THE WEDDING DAY
She was exhausted. The night before seemed like a dream. She had finally gotten back to her hotel this morning and stood in the shower for half an hour. The water washed over her in an attempt to revitalize every cell in her body. Her knees seemed weak and her muscles were sore.
She felt as though she had run 5 miles. Her legs ached. Her jaw ached. She knew she had been used by at least eight different men in every orifice of her body.
She normally did not let anyone use her ass but the alcohol had left her more accommodating and needy than usual. Besides, she thought, it actually felt good to be used and filled in so many ways.
While she felt completely satisfied, she still had the desire to serve more.
She was schedule for her hair at noon; her mani / pedi at 2:00, and aromatherapy massage at 3:00.
The wedding was at 7:30 p.m., so that would still give her adequate time to get a nap, dress and arrive at the bride's house by 6:00 p.m.
The Stylist, Raoul, was a fit specimen. Unlike many stylists, he was not gay. However, he used that assumed perception to avoid the suspicion of husbands and to open the doors to many bedrooms by women who initially viewed him as a "safe" flirtation. Once they had experienced his prowess, however, he was always welcomed for an encore.
His olive complexion gave the appearance of a constant and healthy tan. His hair was black and wavy with just the hint of grey beginning to show at the temples. This gave him a look of distinction and a hint of his otherwise undetectable age. His upper arms were tight and well defined... his forearms strong. His well developed and divided pectorals peeked out from his open shirt through a mat of curled black hair. His calves and thighs and buttocks were all equally tight and toned and easily traced through the tight spandex and denim jeans he always wore.
Likewise the package he carried between his legs was more than ample to stir the interest of even the most dedicated, faithful and committed wife.
Paolo was Raoul's brother and the resident masseur at the salon. Like Raoul he was of medium height with the same Mediterranean complexion and exotic good looks. He too was muscularly well defined and anatomically gifted.
She sat quietly in Raoul's styling chair trying to remember bits and pieces of the night before; the police car; the highway noises and car lights; the handcuffs; the police officers; the two college boys; the four African - American men; and the biker trio who had taken their pleasure with her and left her in a sticky heap by the side of the road.
The thoughts raced through her head like a blurred highlight reel. She had trouble with the detail but obviously enjoyed herself because now as she attempted to recall the night, she felt herself getting wet and beginning to throb with desire.
Under the salon styling apron her right hand slid up beneath her short skirt to seek out her moist nether region where at least eight men had taken her and where she now felt the returning desire to be used again. She was throbbing with anticipation and moved her fingers delicately but ever so aptly under the apron. Raoul pretended not to see the movement but could sense her tension and building climax.
He was about to blow dry her hair and comb it out when she stopped him and asked if he could do a Brazilian Blowout.
(This is where the client hangs her head upside down and the stylist blows the hair dry from beneath causing an added perception of volume and thickness.)
