The Back Room

blonde-240941“Good morning, Wilma. What are we looking for today?” Demlin lifted the mass of wet blonde hair and caressed it.

“I’m thinking page-boy this time.”

His brown eyes shot up to meet her blues in the mirror. “Really? That much?” His eyes returned to the hair. “Imagine the wig we’re going to get out of this.”

“I want it donated, yes.”

“Thank you, but I’ll never wear it.” He pulled his fedora forward and winked at her through the mirror. That hat was his self-conscious question of whom would ever trust a bald hairstylist. His regulars, however, knowing his situation never blinked.

Wilma laughed. “You know what I mean, silly.”

“Yes, and thank you.” He grinned at her. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he got in closer. “Shoulder length then?”

She nodded.

“Any colour?” He brushed a stray hair off the shoulder of his black t-shirt. Black was an excellent colour to show off muscles, he found. Considering the chemo, he was surprised he had gotten them back so quickly.

“No, my husband likes the grey streaks.”

“I bet he does.” Pulling back, Demlin straightened pushed his fedora back to keep from shading his eyes. “This will look fantastic. Anything else?” He walked around her chair and found his scissors.

Wilma blushed. “I’d also like a back room treatment.”

“Good thing you’re my last appointment then.”

“I booked late hoping.”

He smiled. “Then let’s get started.”


The page-boy cut in mostly brunette with grey streaks looked stunning on her. Demlin thought she looked like a feminine Doctor Strange. He pulled the gate across the storefront entrance and locked it. “So,” he whispered, “to the back room?”

Wilma’s petite body followed him from the chair to the back door. Her green flowered sundress swished and swirled as she walked.

Even with the closed mall, Demlin couldn’t do this in the front where security could catch a glimpse as they walked the corridors.

The backroom was cement walls and a faux-ivory vinyl tiled floor. A variety of beauty products filled shelves on two of the walls. At the back wall, beside the door to the loading area, was a chair that Demlin had designed himself. It was like a stylist chair but had raised stirrups in the front.

“If you would be so kind as to disrobe insofar as you are comfortable, please.”

Wilma quickly pulled her sundress over her head revealing, as Demlin had suspected, no underwear beneath. Her petite body was slim with the natural curves of motherhood.

“So gorgeous. You came prepared, I see.”

“Of course.” Without instruction, she lifted herself into the chair and put a foot in each stirrup.

Demlin switched on a lamp for more direct light and pulled his stool forward with a scrape on the floor. He looked closely between her legs. “Darling, you’ve been shaving. You don’t need me to do this.”

“Need, no. Want, hell yes.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers for a moment before returning to the trimmed pubic hair in front of him. “I do like being wanted.” Reaching to one of the shelves, Demlin found a cup and shaving brush. Inside the cup was the concoction of shaving cream he had made while Wilma’s hair was drying. Stirring the cream with the brush, he lifted it out and applied it to her pubic hair.

Wilma squirmed at the bristles against her.

Putting the cup aside, he next produced a straight razor.

“So much less painful than waxing.” Wilma giggled as she watched him swoop away the shaving cream and hair.

“True, but waxing lasts longer.” Finished, he stood and walked to the washroom at the far corner. He returned with a hot wet towel and smoothed it over the area for clean up.

Wilma groaned.

“Alright, almost done.” Putting the towel aside, he removed his fedora and set it aside. He moved in closer to make sure he left no stray hairs. Quite on purpose, he expelled breath on her pussy lips as his eyes searched.

“Oh, yes.”

Seeing no hairs, he allowed his tongue to flick her.

Wilma squealed and giggled.

His tongue then pushed between her labia and found her clit. Pushing closer, he massaged her clit with his mouth. The fingers of his right hand spread her open and pushed inside beneath his tongue-work. Feeling her squirm, his right hand rested on her belly to hold her down.

More squealing.

His fingers found resistance as her pussy pushed back and squirted out over his head.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry.” Her laugh suggested this to be a lie.

Pulling another towel, Demlin smiled and wiped himself off. “All part of the service. Nothing to be sorry for.”

Lifting from the chair, she kissed him. “One of these days you’ll have to let me at that cock of yours.”

“One of these days.” He winked at her.



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