Cut and Blow

“You look very nice today.”

“Why, thank you,” the hairdresser replied crisply. “In about fifteen minutes, if you allow me to finish, then so might you.”

He suppressed a grin and caught the eye of a passing assistant. Around twenty, short blonde hair, tits out to here and legs to die for. Not that he was looking.

“Hi, have we met?” he flashed a smile. “Guy Pearson.”

The girl simpered a little, and blushed shyly. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Pearson.”

“You’ve met him, Annette,” Cynthia ushered her away. “He comes once a month.”

“And on holidays,” Guy added.

“Oh, right, I just, I mean, you know, I was being polite.”

“Well, get back to whatever you were doing. And you, Mr Pearson,” she leaned over Guy to block his view of Annette’s departing rear, “should be ashamed. That girl could be your daughter.”

“Impossible, she has blue eyes.”

“It says something, I suppose, that you noticed.”

“And also great tits.” He shook his head wistfully. “All the women in my family are flat-chested.”

“Are you going to behave?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I was just kidding. You know you’ve always been the one for me.”

He slipped a playful arm around her waist. She gave a reproving smack, and eased it off.


The harassed hairdresser tugged the neck of the wide cape that covered both customer and chair tighter, so he withdrew his arms, and settled back. He fixed on the mirror over the worktop in front, and examined her critically.

“Am I the first customer that ever flirted with you?”

She put a hand on his head to make him face down as she worked on the neck. “Oh, is that what you call flirting?”

He kept the smile and shrugged. “When you get married, you fall out of practice.”

“I somehow think you’ve had all the practice you need.”

“A little more doesn’t hurt.”

“Dream on, loverboy.”

She combed and snipped. Guy clasped his hands and twiddled thumbs under the folds of the cape. He looked up again to study the hairdresser in the mirror as she worked; she was really quite something.

Cynthia looked much the same age as her client, and was smartly dressed in a tight dark skirt that fairly strained across her smooth rounded backside. Her short-sleeved silk blouse shimmered under halogen downlights that reflected off every shiny surface of the salon. Guy couldn’t see her feet, but heels clicked on the polished tile floor.

He didn’t especially relish having his hair cut, yet his work required that he be well groomed at all times, and he found the ritual relaxing. It was time alone with Cynthia. He closed his eyes and thrilled to the light press of her stomach against his arm, as she leaned close.

He was alive to every subtle hint of femininity – the light waft of scent; a tinkle of bracelets; the tiny suppressed exhalation of a sneeze with a near silent: “Excuse me”. There was something intoxicating about her; the dark eyes, flawless skin, red lips slightly parted with teeth touched together, as she hummed to herself or frowned in concentration. At any moment, she might linger with a hand, brushing his collar, or soft brown hair might caress the nape of his neck, as she leaned to assess progress from his angle, or – what joy! – a supple breast might press against his back, and all with the object of his exquisitely restrained desire seemingly unaware.

Yet, surely she must know the effect such tiny intimacies might inflict on a man sensitive enough to be receptive to them – at least one of a certain age. Oh, yes, these other young girls might have more superficial charms, gaudy and obvious, but here was a real woman: self-assured, of unaffected grace, with an acquired sensuality that came with experience of years.

He followed her movements in the mirror, and observed, with razor clarity, the rise and fall of a slender chain at her neck, cast between two open buttons of her blouse, on each measured breath as she bent to her work, deftly snip-snipping. Her movements became magnified, the intensity of his focus running the details to slow motion, as he watched her fingers flow. Light glinted off the ring on her left hand. He closed his eyes again.

They were in a semi-private room at the rear of the salon, with a wide open doorway through which the salon owner could keep an eye on the running of her business. From time to time they might glimpse one of the assistants in the many mirrors placed everywhere about, but they were otherwise fairly secluded.

“How about a drink?” he asked.

“What would you like? We have herbal tea; filter coffee; or there is bottled water there.”

“I mean you and me, tonight.”

“Uh,” she reminded him with a small laugh: “Kids?”

“Perhaps just a drink to begin.”

“I mean, who will look after the two adorable little kids that will soon be waiting at home for their mother to finish work and make dinner, and otherwise generally look after them, and the running of the house. Or are there no children to consider in your fantasy world?”

“You could get a babysitter.”

“For my husband?”

“If a husband loves his wife, he should want her to be happy.”

“I sometimes wonder.”

“How long have you been married?”

“You know perfectly well. Eleven years, four months-”

“-and sixteen days,” he said along with her. “Just testing.”

“You go through this exact same routine every time you come in here.”

“And you always indulge me. I’m simply making sure that you are keeping score of the days you have been married to that very lucky Guy.”

“And I tell you every time that I have been completely in love with my husband for each one.”

She moved the sides of his head to face forwards again. He glanced up at her in the mirror to catch her eye, but she was absorbed with the back of his head.

“All I’m asking is that you keep checking your calendar. Count the days, and really, really think about it. You can talk to me here, I will understand. Tell me anything, I’m just a customer ready to pass the time of day. But this is important: I want to know the moment you are not sure.”

“I have many other things to do than wait in anticipation of your next appointment.”

“But, if you ever change your mind…?”

“As I keep telling you,” she emphasized each word: “I love my husband.”

“Then he really is a lucky man. I bet you could have any guy that walks in here.”

“Have you seen our clients? No thanks.”

“Ah, so you’re saying if a really handsome man came in, you wouldn’t be interested?”

“I have a handsome man right here.” She put down the scissors. “What do you think?”

Guy glanced out into the shop. Annette was busy sweeping the floor, and the receptionist, Sadie, sat bent over the phone. He swiftly grabbed Cynthia by the waist again, and this time pulled her towards him and kissed her full on the mouth.

He might have expected her to react sharply; fight him off or shout for help, but she stayed perfectly still and let the kiss go on. She didn’t respond in the slightest. He broke off, chastened.

“Are you done?”

She straightened up and moved away, brushing her clothes. He shook his head with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m sorry, I just sort of thought-”

“This is a place of business.”

He stirred at that.

“Oh, you mean you would be prepared to do this someplace else?”

“I mean that while you might think you are charming and witty and devilishly debonair, if you carry on like that in here, I’m the one that would be charged with permitting sexual conduct on the premises liable to constitute harassment to my staff.”

“Harassment? Hey, lighten up, I only said, ‘Hi’.”

“Oh, please. You had that girl stripped to her underwear.”

“I don’t think she’s wearing a bra.”

“The hands; the leers; that kiss?”

“All right, I’m sorry,” he looked genuinely contrite. “You’re right. But it’s all because of you.”

“Now, look-”

“Hear me out, Cynthia. You should know what you do to me. I try not to think about you so much, but I can’t. I think about you all the time, and this… I love this. I love being close, I love the attention. I know it’s your job, but I just…” He looked at her for a long moment. “I love you.”

Cynthia now glanced into the shop, and seeing the girls busy, she quickly sat in Guy’s lap and looped her arms around his neck. The two were squashed between the leather arms of the seat.

“You really mean that?”

He looked shocked as she leaned close and gazed into his eyes. He could see the lacy edge of her bra down her cleavage, smell her perfume, feel her breath, the warmth off her skin.

“Why not come home with me, right now?”

“Now?” he stammered. “No, heck, I can’t, I–I have work.”

“There, I knew it.” She rolled off and stood up. “You like to play games.”

He heaved a deep breath. “Are you saying you don’t?”

“No, I like to play. In fact, sometimes I love it.”

Before he could make another move, Cynthia lifted the hem of the cape off his legs and ducked under. Guy gasped as she nimbly unzipped his pants and reached straight for his dick. It was hard from the moment she sat on his lap.

He struggled upright in his seat and squirmed over his shoulder to check that the assistants had not seen what was going on. He groaned and shut his eyes as the hairdresser’s hot mouth closed around his straining erection. He moaned under his breath and grasped for the back of her head, tangling fingers through her hair and staring, wide-eyed in fascination, as the shape under the folds of the gown began to bob back and forth.

She knew precisely what to do: he had never in his life had another woman so expertly find the exact spot where his dick was most sensitive, and use her hand on the shaft, pressing the base, building pressure, while cupping his balls caught under his shorts. He shuffled his hips and fumbled under the cape to release the top of his pants, as that busy tongue licked, and pressed, and probed the full length. Her mouth compressed and relaxed as she sucked, and rolled her tongue: smoothing the girth and then feathering the tip. Faint slurps sounded muffled beneath the gown as she slid tight moist lips to the head of his cock, and teased the sensitive glans as her tongue probed the slit.

He felt a swelling rise from his balls held firmly in her hand, as if a hose had been switched to full pressure. His head surged on a giddy rush as he bucked his hips to alert her to the impending eruption. She was ready, with a thumb pressed underneath, and brought him so swiftly to the point of release that it exploded in an instant. He gripped her head tight, and writhed in juddering spasms, grunting through gritted teeth as he shot his full load – spurt after spurt of hot frothy liquid, showering delight into the wet tunnel of her mouth.

She took every drop.

He gasped, trembled, and shook, heaving for breath as he struggled not to make a sound until the last departing waves of the intense, unexpected orgasm subsided to a hush.

“Is everything all right?”

Sadie appeared at the door, and Guy quickly snatched up a towel and ran it over his face, doubled forwards, so that Cynthia was safely hidden on the other side of the chair, still under the cape.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just had to cough. And, um, sneeze.”

“Would you like a glass of water?”

He made an extravagant noise, clearing his throat.

“No, no,” he saw the bottle and glass on the counter in front of him. “I can manage with this.” He smiled weakly, aware that his face was still flushed. “I’m fine now, really.”

Sadie seemed satisfied. “I thought Cyn was doing you?” The receptionist searched all around, and moved as if to come in.

“Oh,” Guy quickly blurted, “she is.”

“Is she here?”

“I think she went down- I mean out.” Cynthia dug her fingers into his thigh, making him yelp. “For something. She has pretty well finished me off, anyway.”

He felt the pinch again, and prodded the insolent body smothered beneath the cape. He glanced down, seeing the head shaking between his legs with the noiseless laughter of the shameless proprietor. Sadie gave him a strange look.

“Well, Annie and I have to go. Could you tell her I won’t be in until ten tomorrow morning?”

“I certainly will.”

“Thanks, Mr Pearson, goodnight.”

“Yes, goodnight, Sadie.”

“Goodnight, Mrs Pearson,” Sadie called out, as she turned and departed.

Cynthia emerged from under the cape, looking a little sheepish but grinning from ear to ear. Guy stared at her for a moment, and then both burst into laughter. He pulled her towards him and kissed her again, and this time she returned the kiss, hard and strong.

She eased back and hummed lightly as she ran her fingers through his hair, making slight adjustments either side. “You know, we’d better see about that babysitter,” she murmured, as her husband held her tight. “I think we’ve a busy night to come.”