The Salon

I had never had a girlfriend like Gina. She was perfect for me in so many ways -- ways she couldn't even begin to imagine. The three years we'd been together had passed as if we'd met each other only last week and yet so much had happened in those three years.

Gina was unbelievably beautiful. At 40, she got stares that even younger women didn't. Gina was petite -- just barely five-foot-one -- with long red hair, 34DD breasts, and legs that constantly got her double takes when she'd wear a short skirt and boots.

Interestingly, while she never had trouble attracting male attention even when the room was filled mostly with women, she didn't seek it out. Gina was quite conservative in her approach to sex. It's not that she didn't like it, she did. She just didn't seek it out, especially not for one-night stands. Sex, she was taught, was for a relationship.

I'm pretty much the exact opposite. Not that I'm opposed to a relationship -- I very much enjoy it, especially with Gina. However, I consider sex the ultimate pleasure to be experienced in any and every creative manner you can conceive as often as possible, so long as you aren't forcing anyone into something they really don't want to do.

Whether a need for money counts as "force" is open for debate. It certainly changes your perspective on "right" and "wrong," what you will do and what you won't do. And even what you want to do. It doesn't take very many months of scratching out enough to keep the lights and water turned on, dropping the car payment in the mail late, being threatened with elimination from the consumer credit counseling program because of missed payments, borrowing to make the house note by the deadline and bare refrigerator and pantry shelves to wear you thin.

Gina was more than worn thin. She worked six days a week and still didn't make ends meet. She lifted and moved furniture at the warehouse three days a week and styled hair at the salon she and her sister had recently opened the other three. Sometimes the hair business was good. Sometimes it wasn't. Six days a week, week after week after week with no end in sight. She needed a vacation but to take any time off would put her further behind and create even more stress. And she was already at the breaking point.

She often asked me whether I thought she could make some extra money by selling herself and I'd respond that I could help turn a very nice profit. I was serious, she was not and we both knew it. We'd laugh and let it go. Sometimes we'd do a little role playing on that theme and I enjoyed it immensely, but I knew very well that's where it ended.

I have no idea why someone else fucking my girlfriend is such a huge turn-on for me, but it is. Why is a gay man gay? He doesn't know. He just is. Why do some people like scary movies? I can't imagine. It makes no sense to me, but they do. To many, a guy enjoying someone else pounding into his girlfriend is sick and twisted. They can't fathom a MMF threesome, let alone a gangbang. I've stopped trying to understand why I enjoy those kinds of things with my committed partner at the center of it. I just do. Immensely.

Not that I share it with many people. I fully understood that even talking about it with Gina carried a great potential risk. We did talk about it occasionally, enough for her to know I never intended to push for anything like that when she wasn't comfortable with it and enough for me to realize that those interests and intrigues were something I needed to set aside to maintain a real relationship with this wonderful woman. I knew where that world was. I knew its inhabitants. And I knew the way back. But I had to make a choice. And I did.

One Sunday afternoon, Gina was particularly frustrated as she tried to reconcile her bank accounts with the bills on kitchen the counter in front of her. "I'm tired of this, Kurt!" she announced with finality in her voice. "I'm sick of everybody wanting my money! I work too hard for it."

She didn't slam the laptop shut. She didn't pound the mouse on the countertop. There was something different this time about the exasperation she felt or, at least, in the way she expressed it. It seemed she really had reached the end of her proverbial rope.

"I'm sorry, Baby," I told her.

"You don't understand, Kurt," she replied softly. "I'm over it. I'm really over it."

"I know you are, Sweetie," I responded. I felt really badly. I couldn't write a check and make her problems go away and, even if I was able, that wouldn't be a long-term fix. She needed more money coming in regularly.

I paused and thought a moment before I continued.

"There's one sure way of increasing your income," I suggested.

Now she paused. She looked hard at me and didn't smile. I braced for the anger I was sure I had unleashed. "I know what you're thinking," she said flatly.

She took a breath. I waited for the expletives and a sharply-worded demand for me to leave to follow.

"I've been thinking about it, too," she softened.

I was smart enough to let her continue without interrupting.

"If I could make another $800 a month that would take a lot of stress off me," she explained. "A thousand and I wouldn't have to worry about anything. That's my house payment. I might not even have to work down at the warehouse anymore."

It had been her goal since opening the salon to work only there and work only a five-day week. The wheels were obviously turning. She really had been thinking about it.

"What do you think is realistic?"

I didn't want to speak too quickly, realizing that the moment could easily turn the wrong way.

"What do you charge for a cut, color and blow dry at the shop?"

"A hundred-25," she said.

"That's what a typical escort service charges here for an hour," I noted. "That's sight unseen and with women who might not even be considered attractive -- nothing close to you. Realistically, you could double that."

"So......250?" she queried.

She let it drop at that point. I wasn't sure whether she was intrigued or insulted or had just decided she couldn't ever really do it. I decided not to pursue it and let it go, as well. But she brought it up again one night after work a couple of weeks later.

"I got a new client today," she announced.

"Good," I said with some enthusiasm. She needed all the new clients she could get.

"It was a guy. And he was trying really hard to get into my pants."

She knew I liked hearing about guys flirting with her.

"They're nice pants," I joked. "And there's no better place to be. I assume you got a nice tip from him?"

"Twenty dollars," she laughed. Then she got serious again. "But I think I could have gotten more."

"Really?" My curiosity awakened.

"Yeah. He didn't leave right away. He said he noticed I wasn't wearing a ring and he asked me if I wanted him to get me a drink from across the street. I told him I'd take a diet cherry Dr. Pepper if they had one and he came back with one. He wanted my phone number but I didn't give it to him so he booked another appointment for next week!"

"Wow, that's strong!" Guys hadn't done weekly haircuts since my dad was a teenager. It wasn't his coif he was interested in, that was clear. Nobody tips $20 on a $20 haircut.

"And you've got him coming back next week," I noted.

She waited a minute before continuing. "I may try to make some real money on him when he comes back."

"Oh?" I mused.

"He's good-looking," she said. "He's really nice. And he was wanting it. But how do you talk about money? I need your help with this."

I asked her if she had flirted back and she admitted she had. When he pointed out that she wasn't wearing a ring, she told him there were other things she wasn't wearing, too -- very out of character for her. She had obviously been thinking about where she might be able to take it.

"You've got his number, right?" I was treading cautiously.

"Yes."

"Why don't I call him and confirm his appointment, then tell him that 'extra services' are available if he'd like?"

She reflected for a moment. "OK," she finally said. I got the feeling she was beginning to have second thoughts about it. I tried to encourage her.

"In one hour," I reminded her, "you will make more money than working 24 hours down at the warehouse. You'll double what you make in a two-hour color at the shop. One hour."

"How does it work?" she asked.

I decided if she was asking she wanted to know, so I explained that we'd make sure this client was the last scheduled for the day when Brenda was gone and even the other businesses in the strip were closed. She'd treat him like any other client until he requested "extra services" once the cut, shampoo and style were finished. Everything would take place at the shop where there were leather chairs and a very comfortable couch. The windows worried her, but I told her we'd take care of that over the weekend by putting up some expensive decorative blinds that we could draw whenever the shop was closed.

She had one more question.

"Will you be there?" she asked.

I told her I'd be at the desk when her client arrived and take payment from him in advance. Then I'd leave and be back in an hour.

"Well.......ok," she said. "You set it up." She didn't seem nervous anymore.

"I might even like it," she smiled. "Did you ever think of that?"

I loved the playful sparkle in her eyes.

"I hope you do," I told here. And I meant it. I wanted to hear the details afterward.

I called the client to confirm the appointment and explained that extra services would be available at his request. He asked what the extra services included and I simply explained there wasn't anything Gina couldn't do and assured him she would make him very happy. I told him we could talk more about it when he arrived for his appointment, which I scheduled for 7:00 Wednesday evening. On Sunday, we found some very nice decorator blinds and installed them at the shop.

We didn't talk any more about it until Tuesday night when Gina was trying to decide what to wear. That wasn't an easy task on a normal day since Gina was very particular about what she wore based on the day, the occasion, the people she expected to see and even the weather. She thought maybe she should take a change of clothes with her. I agreed, but reminded her how sexy she looked in everything she wore.

She did, too. With that long red hair and alluring smile, whether it was a pair of studded jeans and boots, clubwear with spike heels, a summery sun dress, a party dress or more formal cocktail attire, she always got noticed. Her sleek, smooth thighs, toned calves, and 34D tits were worth a second look -- and a third and a fourth -- and she didn't mind showing them off.

She decided on a low-cut purple dress that rode about halfway up her thighs with a kind of sheer lace at the bottom. A dress that showed her ample cleavage wasn't unusual at all, but this one was shorter than I'd seen her wear before to the salon -- more like something she'd wear on a date. Add the 4" heels that wrapped around the ankles and just imaging her in it was enough to give me a hard-on.

She had already changed into it by the time I got to the salon about 6:30 on Wednesday. I closed the door behind me and let out a long whistle.

"Has anybody told you yet today how unbelievable hot you are?"

"You're the first, Mr. Williams," she teased, "but I don't think you'll be the last." She knew she looked hot. It was one of the personality traits that attracted me to her -- she didn't "poor mouth" to get compliments. She knew the look she wanted for every occasion and she had most certainly achieved it tonight.

I went to the back, opened one of the bottles of Shiraz left over from the salon's grand opening a couple of months earlier and poured each of us a sizeable glass. She told me that it was a pretty light day -- she had only done one cut -- and Brenda had gone home or wherever it was she was going a little before 5:00. You never quite knew for sure with Brenda, but once she left for the day, you did know -- for sure -- she wasn't coming back.

Gina flirted heavily with me as we drank our wine. She'd strike a pose on the couch and let her skirt ride up so I could see she wasn't wearing any panties. She bent over the big leather chair on which I sat and made sure I knew she wasn't wearing a bra, either. But she wouldn't let me touch. "I'll tell you all about it later," she teased. She knew that would drive me crazy.

We had finished our wine and Gina was in the back washing the glasses when Scott walked in. He was about 6'-1", 175 pounds with dark curly hair.

"Can I help you" I asked.

"I've got a 7:00 appointment with Gina," he announced.

"Yes, you do," I confirmed as I opened the salon book. "She'll be out in just a minute. I've got you down for a haircut which is $20 and I need to take that up front. Tipping is up to you; I don't have anything to do with that."

He didn't say anything as he took out his wallet. He gave me a $20 and I started to wonder if he had changed his mind. He hadn't.

"And the extra services?" he asked.

"That's another $250," I told him.

"And that includes?" he wondered. It was perfect timing for Gina to appear from the back.

"Ready, Scott?" she smiled.

"Everything you see there," I assured him.

He took another $250 out of his wallet and put it on the desk without counting it. I don't think he heard me thank him. He didn't take his eyes off Gina, looking her up and down as he made his way over to her chair and sat down. I didn't blame him. I had a hard time taking my eyes off her, too.

I walked over to the window and turned the sign around to "closed." Then I lowered the blinds on the window and the door, blocking the outside world and giving the shop and even more intimate feel than it already had.

"We're closed," I proclaimed. "I'm going to get me something to drink and let you finish up. I'll be back in an hour."

That was for safety. I wanted to be sure the client knew I'd be coming back to the shop. It was also to start the timer. He got 60 minutes. I winked at Gina as I left, but she didn't acknowledge it. She was behind the chair looking into the mirror. And she looked as sexy as I had ever seen her look.

*************

The door closed and locked and Gina asked her standard question: "So, what are we going to do tonight?" But both of them knew there was a lot more to the question this night.

"Well," he started, "I'm going to fuck you." There was no doubt why Gina liked the guy. His smile matched hers in its allure with his straight white teeth. And he had that same mischievous sparkle in his eye. It was very disarming.

"Oh, you think so?" she laughed. She knew that's exactly what was going to happen. Her stomach was doing flip-flops, but she didn't let on. "Let's start with the hair. You obviously take good care of it."

"It hasn't grown much in a week," he noted. "I don't need a lot done to it, just anything that will put those magnificent tits of yours into my face."

Gina liked it when a guy was very specific about what he wanted. She reasoned that when you pay $250, you probably feel less inhibited than you otherwise might. She knew she wasn't going to be doing any hair cutting, so she didn't put a cape on him. She just came around in front of him and leaned in as if she were going to do a scissors cut. Her fingers were in his hair, the scissors in her right hand, but she wasn't cutting. And her magnificent tits were right in front of Scott's face, just as he asked.

Scott wrapped his left arm around Gina's waist and pulled her closer. That pushed her breasts into his face and he ran his tongue between them.

Gina's heart raced. She hadn't done anything like this before and it all seemed to be happening very fast. But it felt good physically. She closed her eyes and didn't move. She didn't see Scott look up at her and smile.

The dress didn't cover Gina's breasts much anyway and when Scott reached up with his right hand and pulled it aside, it didn't cover one any more at all. He moved his tongue to her exposed nipple and it began to stiffen as he licked it, then sucked and nibbled it.

"Do you like that, Gina?" he asked softly.

She did and nodded her head, her eyes still closed. He smiled and hungrily took as much of her breast into his mouth as he could. He continued to press her into him with his left arm around her waist. He moved his right hand down her back, caressed her ass, and then swept down below the hem of her skirt and up the back of her thigh. The contact with bare skin was electric for both of them. He continued upward until his hand met the curve of Gina's ass again, this time under the dress.

With her heart continuing to race, Gina was beginning to feel the wine she had just before Scott arrived and she was quickly starting to lose her own inhibitions. She opened her legs enough to straddle one of his. She put her hands down on his shoulders, opened her eyes and looked into his.

"I'm not wearing any panties," she told him. Then she kissed him.

He kissed her back, his lips pressing onto hers, his tongue delving into heretofore unknown territory. Her tongue did the same, eager for more contact. Finally, they pulled apart, the barest fraction of an inch between them, both breathing hard.

"I know," he said, and brushed a finger lightly across her slit.

Gina felt the electricity all the way up her spine. Her sharp intake of air was audible a soft "oooh," followed. She opened her legs more, almost involuntarily, and began to move her hips slowly back and forth and in very slow, slight circles. The fact that it wasn't Kurt didn't matter anymore at all. She was wet and wanted a finger inside her.

Gina's reaction made Scott instantly hard, though he was still trapped in his jeans. This hot, red-headed hair stylist was turning out to be everything he imagined she might be.

Gina sat on his knees and straddled them. She began to undo his white, long-sleeve button down shirt. Scott pushed Gina's dress up to her waist, giving him full access to her wetness.

"Mmmmmmm......"

"I thought you'd like that," Gina responded.

Her smooth pussy glistened below the thin, neatly trimmed strip of red hair that remained above it. Scott ran his hand along the inside of Gina's thigh. The pace of her breathing increased.

Scott pulled his hand back and licked his middle finger. He used his other hand to spread Gina's pussy lips, then he ran his middle finger from the bottom up to her clit. He felt the shiver shoot through Gina as he applied gentle pressure to her clit. When he slid his finger down and inside her waiting hole, her reaction intensified.

So did his.

"Ohhhhhhh, yesssss! I like that, Gina. I like your pussy."

"I like the way you finger that pussy."

Scott had no intention of rushing through the "extra services" he had purchased. He fully intended to get his money's worth and enjoy every penny. He pushed his finger deeper and pulled it slowly back. When he pushed in deeply again, Gina's moan voiced her approval. He began a slow circular motion inside her and added a second finger. Gina's cunt was so warm and wet it was like pushing into melted butter.

When he pulled out, Gina wondered what was going on, but she didn't wonder long. Scott picked her up and carried her to the couch near the wall. She lay back in the soft leather and lifted her left leg up onto the back of the sofa, her right foot resting on the floor, her four-inch heels still wrapped around her ankles. Scott opened the last button on his shirt, pulled it off and let it fall, then knelt and buried his face between Gina's legs.

His tongue pressed against her clit and she began to moan again. He licked up and down on her clit, occasionally flicking it with his tongue, swirling over it in circles. She squealed when Scott slid his tongue inside her tight hole. After slowly licking the inside her pussy lips up and down along both sides, he went back to bathing her clit with his tongue.