Stories of hair salon of men wearing curlers

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for Free! The Worm Turns Part 2: The Routine "After establishing a routine, a surprise visit by a man took my tranformation to a new level. Score 4. Published 10 years ago. Often one would do the work while the other recorded the proceedings on video or with a digital still camera. Melinda would drop me off in front of the salon while she drove around to find the nearest parking spot, soon to return with my outfit—always keeping its nature and exact components a secret from me. Meanwhile I would sashay in to the shop wearing perhaps Capri pants, a loose knit top and some high, sporty wedges, selected partially for their open-toe de that showed off my neatly perdicured toes to perfection.

And by now, Melinda had me nearly living in the double-D breasts, glued to my chest as they were for weeks at a time. I was not allowed to wear a bit of make-up to the salon, so my appearance—sort of half male and half female—never ceased to draw stares from passers-by while I walked the short distance to the entrance. Upon entering, Kim and Kristie would stop whatever they were doing and greet me as if I were their long lost third sister.

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Cooing over my outfit or my feigned need for a fill on my nails, they would escort me to my deated chair at the front of the shop. While the girls would prep me by tipping me back for a shampoo, my observer would laugh and drink throughout the proceedings, usually calling more than a few of her friends to offer them play-by-play of my transformation.

Eyebrow-waxing, lip liner and lipstick application, and the attachment of false eyelashes also seemed to be popular with my amateur paparazzi. The sessions themselves became more and more involved as I descended farther and farther into the world of femininity. So when they felt there was sufficient length for extensions to look natural, in they went. Now I had a full head of long, luxurious blond tresses that cascaded down my back. The girls seemed to love the greater opportunities afforded them by the length. Buns, pony- and pigtails, French braids, and up-dos were all in play now.

And since my humiliation was limited to a handful of clients along with their electronically-linked friends, I soon adapted. In place of the cotton blouse and Capri pants, she laced me into a tight, figure defining corset below which dangled eight garter straps. To them she attached smoky black back-seemed stockings usually reserved for our evenings out or play at home in our custom playroom. Slimmed down to a narrow waste and endowed with ample breasts, the leather one-piece dress that she tossed to me now fit like a glove. Once atop the four-and-a-half inch black, open-toed heels, the hem now just barely covered the lace tops of the stockings, a development that I noted with pride.

Despite having been liberally doused with some fine perfume, one thing remained the same as our typical Saturdays: I left the house without a scrap of makeup. I felt at once sexy and clownish. When I asked Melinda what was different about today, she winked and said that the time had come for a more ificant step into femininity.

Her twisted grin indicated that no more information would be forthcoming and I was left to wonder what was to come. Of course, it would become apparent soon enough what was to come. When we got to the salon, the abnormal availability of parking spots right out front also caught my attention. Something was very different about this day. Melinda parked right in front, reached into the back for the camera and tripod that had by now become standard equipment for these sessions, and we strutted into the salon.

To my amazement, the salon Stories of hair salon of men wearing curlers totally empty except for Kim and Kristie. While Melinda erected the camera, Kim busied herself with my shampoo. Especially with the extensions, I thoroughly enjoyed having my hair washed by her.

Her strong hands gave me the most incredible scalp massage, relaxing me deeper into the world of women. As I crossed and uncrossed my legs, the exquisite feeling of my stocking-clad legs rubbing against one another was the magic carpet that I rode to the feminine side of my personality, a side that was stronger than I ever would have guessed. Once my hair had been washed and rinsed, Kim tipped me up in the chair and started the now longer job of rolling my hair. The extensions necessitated lager rollers. She sectioned my hair with large chrome clips and diligently and firmly worked on one small section at a time.

Soon enough, I had a head of massive, rollers wrapped tightly with my shiny hair.

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I was always a little surprised at how much darker my hair was when it was wet, and the dark hair on the large purple rollers mesmerizing me. Instead of placing me under a dryer, I was escorted back across the shop and placed back in my original chair, directly in front of the camera perched atop the tripod. And rather than pumping the seat higher into the air for whatever ministrations might be next, Kim let all the air out of the large cylinder under me seat and I sank to a very pedestrian height.

But before they left, Kim did a curious thing—she turned me in the chair so that I was facing the mirror and away from the front door of the shop.

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And I admit to enjoying what I had become. I was lost in my admirational haze when the chime above the door that announces salon visitors shocked me back to reality. I looked up in the mirror and froze. Standing in the doorway was a handsome young man. Standing where he was, his image in the mirror was right next a photograph that Kim kept on her mirror. I froze with fear. But now I was face-to-mirror with the first male ever to see me so dressed. I hoped he would notice the absence of his girlfriend and immediately leave, but such was not my luck. When I failed to answer, he repeated his question and I repeated my silence.

When he got to my chair, he spun me around to face him. It took him a moment, but I could see the truth dawn on his face—I was a man kind of. Are you the dude who Kim and Kristie make into a chick every week? He looked at me closely and then looked long and hard at my pictures stuck next to his on the mirror.

My eyes must have given away my confusion. He slowly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. When he slipped his underwear down his legs, I could see why Kim complained that taking it in her mouth had taken some getting used to. Even flaccid, that thing was gigantic. I want you to grab it and stroke it. I tentatively reached out and took hold of his massive penis. The stark contrast between my crimson nails and his pink flesh re-excited me and I found it rather easy to stroke it lightly.

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The sensation of blood rushing into it and inflating it to full glory gave me an odd feeling of pride. When I hesitated for a moment, he pinched my nose closed and waited for me to part my lips to take a breath. When I did, he shoved the monster in. I closed my heavily-lashed eyes, but he at once commanded me to open them back up. At first he just held himself inside my mouth, but eventually, he slowly withdrew his member almost all the way before sliding it back in.

For the next fifteen minutes or so, he played this little game—withdraw and then replace. Every once in a while, he would pull it all the way out and even as he was smacking my face with it, smearing my makeup with the mixture of saliva and pre-cum that coated it, I found myself asking him to please put it back in my mouth.

Oddly enough, he never had to tell me to beg—I truly wanted that thing in my mouth. He pushed himself all the way into my mouth and pulled out. As he did so, I could see my smeared lipstick up and down the length of his giant penis, ropes of my saliva and his semen forming an excellent lubricant for his next thrust.

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Finally, his legs started to wobble easy for me to sense since I was now firmly holding onto his little butt checks with my nails firmly dug in, lest he slip out of my mouth. He tightened his grip on my rollered head and with a mighty grunt, emptied a large load of salty semen right down onto the back of my throat.

I tried as well as I could to catch every drop of my first blow job, knowing how the protein would strengthen my nails.

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But such was the size of the load that some of it oozed out onto my cheeks. I obeyed as he went into the back room of the shop where, among other things, the girls eat their lunches. He returned immediately with a spoon. My bewilderment went away the moment he used to scrape off the dripping semen and spoon feed it back to my hungry mouth. It looks like Kim and I have found an answer to her not wanting to do that for me. Nice work, sweetie. Not long after, the girls returned. Cross-dressing crossdressing blow job beauty salon.

Stories of hair salon of men wearing curlers

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