Jenn jumped when the alarm went off to hard-metal music. She hit the snooze button trying to think of why she should get up at 8:30am. Like everyone morning, the first think that came to mind was that she was not in college studying to be a sports physiotherapist. Her mind had to scroll through the reasons why she wasn't in school, namely, her scholarship ran out, her Dad left her Mom, and there was not money to enter her sophomore year.
At 20 years old, she felt old and a failure. She didn't have a dorm room, a car, or many friends left in her hometown. Living with her Mom was ok, at least she didn't have to pay rent and her Mom needed company.
"Boom" the alarm sounded again and she threw the covers back. Her Mom had already left for work, so she knew she was alone. Half-asleep, Jenn headed for the bathroom and sat on the toilet listening to her pee. She was remembering trying to finger herself last night, when she went to bed, hoping for an orgasm that didn't happen. She was fantasizing about a client from her afternoon session. It was the way the older woman had carried herself with confidence and poise. Wearing a suit with tight skirt, her ass had the perfect roundness to it and her breasts held high, probably with a push-up bra that certainly wasn't padded. The skirt was almost ankle length. The only thing that could have been better is if the client hadn't been wearing pantyhose. As a lesbian, Jenn hated pantyhose. They represented the "establishment" and the oppression of women. She could handle suspenders and hose, but not pantyhose.
Finished peeing, Jenn didn't bother wiping her cunt. She liked the word "cunt" over vagina or pussy because it had some 'gravitas' to it. It made her feel she had something that half the human race did not. Then, she looked in the mirror. Here she was, 20 years-old, short blond hair with half-decent breasts (34A-cup -- she reminded herself), 5'7'' with an ass just a tad too fat. She tried to smile, but she could not feign one.
"Blah, fuck it" she muttered into the mirror before turning around and opening the laundry hamper. Happily, her mother left her panties--a pair of blue cotton bikini--on top. She brought them to her face and inhaled. She recognized her Mom's vaginal scent immediately.
"Fuck it," she muttered again and fell back into bed while stroking her cunt with the blue panties. The sensation of the cotton against her clitoris felt so good and soothing that she kept up the motion for a long time. She felt her breathing change and her heart began to beat faster. Her mind raced with images of sucking her Mom's hairy cunt and the well-rounded ass of the client from yesterday. She could have climaxed just then but held back enjoying the sexual tension in her thighs. Suddenly, she raised her legs and ass off the bed and moaned as an orgasm quaked through her body. With hand buried between her legs, she rolled over and enjoyed a moment of bliss and quiet. It was terrible, she felt, in her post-orgasmic ecstasy to be so obsessed with women older than herself. What she really wanted was a friend, someone like the client begging Jenn to be with her, begging Jenn to be her friend. But no such luck. Jenn was a loner.
In the bathroom, she quickly shaved her underarms and legs before hoping into the shower. Finishing, she put on a matching set of white tanga panties and a demi-bra that made her tits feel larger than they were. In her state of mind, pride took many forms, looking at her breasts and bra. At least she thought, she had a decent pair of aureoles and strong, stiff nipples when erect. The nipples, in fact, were still erect from your earlier orgasm and felt them press as the bra cup. She then dawned casual slacks and a hoodie and put on her winter coat. Grabbing a muffin, she locked behind her and trudged on icy sideways in the midst of a Minnesota winter. It was 11:30am.
Taking the subway downtown, she walked up the stairs into a busy city street and lazily walked toward work. There was nothing new in the shop windows she hadn't seen before, so she bought a coffee and continued her slow saunter.
At 12:30pm, on time, she arrived to the staff entrance of "The Salon." The Salon offered the whole gamut of services for women who could afford them -- hair styling and coloring, manicure, pedicures, nails, tanning, waxing, massages and more. Jenn was the more.
Sofie, the day manager, greeted Jenn with a cheerful hello and a lovely maternal smile. Jenn responded with a simple forced smile.
"What's wrong, babe, you in a funk?" the big black woman asked before grabbing Jenn and burying her in a big hug. Jenn loved her hugs because they were warm, firm and sincere. Jenn felt Sofie was someone who really understood her and to whom she could reveal her worse secrets and best successes. More, Jenn loved the smell of this woman, it was the scent of feeling safe and protected.
"Yes, I am in a funk, but don't worry. I'm OK," she replied stepping back from Sofie.
"OK baby girl," Sofie replied softly. "Even if you're in a funk, you're looking good and hot. Now, if you wanted talk, you know were to find me. Now you get, your first appointment is in a half-hour. It was just called in for 1:00pm."
Jenn smiled and walked toward "The Sapphic Room." This was her workplace in "The Salon." This space was a large white square room with a high ceiling and French provincial look. There were no windows but a lot of mood-lighting. In the midst of this inviting cozy room was a large white leather chair that was something between a dentist chair and a gyno examining table. Once a woman was in the chair and sitting back, the chair would recline almost to the prone position while two leg-rests separated her legs but lifted them as well. Between the separated leg rests, on the floor, was a padded stool for the "service girl."
Jenn quickly took her coat off and put it in a beautiful white cupboard and took out her makeup kit. She quickly stripped out of her slacks and hoodie and snapped off her bra and slipped off her panties. Salon regulation that she was to wear a pair of sheer white high-cut panties and a translucent blouse with the logo of the "The Salon." Looking in the mirror, she put on makeup, lipstick, light perfume and a very delicate set of earrings and gold necklace. Her nipples were clearly visible though the flimsy blouse; worse, the fabric easily stimulated her nipples if she were to become the least bit aroused sexually.
No sooner had made sure everything was in order than a small light above the door flashed indicating the client was at the door. Jenn rushed over and open the door. Standing there was a middle-aged woman dressed in an older fashioned business suit holding her purse by both hands in front of her skirt as if she was frightened.
