Copyright Oggbashan January 2017
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
I know I was a mess but did Mary have to be so blunt?
"No, Hugh, I'm not going anywhere with you. I'd be ashamed to be seen with you in that state. Your hair is full of plaster, your beard is straggly and paint-smeared, and your nails? Yeuck! I'm a qualified hairdresser and nail artist. What would people think if I was with a slob like you?"
"But... the villagers know I've been working on my father's barn. They know..."
"We're not going to be in the village. The Valentine's dance is in the next village. They'll judge you but what they see. They'll judge my work by you. I'm not going to wreck my career by being associated with you."
I wanted to protest that even the next village would know about me. Mary's kiss stopped me.
"I might go to the dance with you on one condition, Hugh," Mary said. "If you let me do my professional best and you wear your good suit, I'll see. If I can make you look presentable, then yes. If I can't? No. Will you let me try?"
"Of course I will, Mary, if that means you'll be my partner."
"Might be your partner," Mary corrected. "I'll do my best. Whether that will be enough? I'll see. You'll have to cooperate and let me do whatever I want. No protests, no objections. If you put yourself in my hands for a couple of hours probably two or three times this week, then maybe. Is it a deal?"
"Yes, Mary. If it means you'll come with me to the dance, yes."
"I might. That's all I'll promise, Hugh. I might."
I left it like that. Mary's mother is the village hairdresser. She has a small corner shop. She cares for the hair of most of the village women and on Saturday mornings and evenings she cuts hair for the men and boys. She deserves a better location than our village because she is skilled. Mary had been a poorly paid trainee in a large salon in the nearby town. Now she is qualified for both hairdressing and nail care she is too expensive for that salon to keep. She could set up on her own but she's decided to work with her mother for a few years first.
On Tuesday evening I went to the hairdressing salon for Mary's first attempt to make me look like a potential escort. I knocked on the front door of the shop. Mary opened it dressed in her professional hairdresser's tunic over a flared skirt.
"Come in, Hugh. We'll be in the back room."
Mary's lips brushed my cheek. The back room was for the more extensive treatments such as tinting, highlighting and now Mary's nail art. I was surprised that there was no sickly smell of hairdresser's chemicals and said so.
"I know, Hugh," Mary said. "I got Mum to install a better ventilation system. The perfumes were deterring some of our male customers but some of the products I use on nails are volatile. They could be dangerous near hairdryers but not now. The ventilation system takes all that away safely and filters it before discharging it outside. Please strip your upper half down to your T-shirt. Oh, and take your trainers and socks off. I hope your feet are clean."
"Yes, Mary, they are. I showered half an hour ago. It didn't do much for my hair."
"I can see that. It's still full of plaster. I think I know how to sort that out. Sit in that chair."
"It looks like a dentist's chair," I protested.
"It was. One of my former colleagues told me it was in the town's auction. It was cheap but ideal. It cost more to have it delivered and installed than to buy it. Sit!"
I sat. Mary wrapped a towel around my neck and a black satin cape that fell below my knees. She reclined the chair and swivelled it so my head was over the washbasin.
"I'm going to rinse your hair then apply a shampoo that should loosen the plaster. I'll have to leave that on for about ten minutes. While that's working I'll start on your finger and toenails."
Mary's fingers massaged my head as she used the shower spray. Her fingers dug in hard as she worked the shampoo into my hair. I relaxed and let her work.
"Now for your nails," she announced. "They'll need softening first and you must keep your hands and feet still while they do. I know. Wait there."
She walked into the front room and came back.
"Hands still!" she ordered.
She strapped my wrists to the arms of the chair.
"Shut up, Hugh. I haven't finished yet."
Mary slid a plastic former under my restrained hands. She attached each finger with a Velcro strip. I couldn't move my fingers at all. She knelt down. I felt straps around my ankles.
"Your toenails are more like an animal's claws. What do you use to cut them? An angle grinder?"
"Shut up, Hugh. Just relax. You're getting professional care whether you want it or not. You can't refuse now, can you?"
"No, Mary. I'm helpless. But this isn't your normal professional care, is it?"
"No, Hugh. It isn't. You're getting my personal attention. I might want some from you too but not yet."
Mary gently applied some liquid to each of my finger and toenails. She swore under her breath as she worked on my toes. When she had finished she washed her hands before checking on my hair. She gently rinsed it and eased the small residue of plaster out.
"Sorry, Hugh, you'll need another application before I'm satisfied. I'll put it on now."
She rinsed the shampoo out and applied more. She dried her hands.
"Next on my list is your beard. It's coming off. It doesn't suit you and it's not much of one, is it? Any objections?"
"No, Mary, if that's what you want."
"It is. I need your head still while I do it."
She pushed two plastic blocks either side of my wet hair before tightening a cloth strap across my forehead.
"Keep still and no talking. I need to concentrate. I haven't shaved many men. The stubble is going first."
She used an electric trimmer before lathering my face. I looked at her face close to mine as she gently shaved my face. Her tongue was sticking out with concentration. I wanted to kiss those lips so close to mine. I couldn't. I was absolutely helpless, restrained by the woman I loved, and unable to do a thing. I could feel the warmth between my legs growing as Mary's face was inches away but unreachable.
Once she had finished shaving me she removed the strap and the blocks. She gently washed my face with a warm flannel.
"That wasn't too unpleasant, was it, Hugh?"
She kissed me to stop an answer. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and continue the kiss. My arm muscles strained against the wrist straps.
"Keep still!" She ordered again. "Your fingernails are next."
She pulled a wheeled stool alongside me. Her head bent over my right hand. I felt her cutting the cracked and broken nails. The nail file tickled. I wanted to clench my hand but the restraints stopped me. Mary scooted around my extended legs to repeat the cutting and filing on my left hand. She moved away to start on my left foot. The nail file's action was excruciating. She had to work on that foot for about a quarter of an hour before she was satisfied. Why? No one was going to look at my toenails. My feet lived in heavy boots on most days. I tried to squirm as she worked on my right foot. I couldn't. Her straps stopped me.
Mary sat back on her stool.
"I'll sort out your hair now. I'm not going to cut it today. I'll do that on Thursday. OK?"
"Yes, Mary, if that's what you want," I replied.
"It is. I'll rinse and dry your hair before going back to your nails."
She rinsed off the shampoo. As her fingers moved around my head with a comb I could feel that the plaster had gone. She was easing out the tangles. She tilted the chair upwards and swung it around so I was facing the mirror over the washbasin. My beard had gone. I looked better shaven than I managed by myself, perhaps because Mary had taken much longer than I ever did. She swung the chair at right angles to the washbasin before wheeling a hairdryer to the back of the chair. It took her some time to adjust the hairdryer's dome over my whole head. I was looking out through a transparent visor. I was uncomfortable with it because it was such a tight fit. Mary turned the dryer on.
The air was warm rather than hot. Mary moved in front of me, looked quizzically at me as if assessing whether the hood fitted, and pressed the controls to lower my legs. I was sitting in a normal upright position but my wrists and ankles were still restrained.
"You've been good, Hugh, and let me do what I wanted. So you deserve a reward."
A reward? What reward? Would Mary accept my invitation to the Valentine's dance?
Mary's hands unfastened the belt of my jeans and unzipped them.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Shut up! Just enjoy this."
She eased my jeans and boxers down to reveal my prick standing in salute. She brought her head down to kiss the tip.
"Mary!" I gasped.
"I said shut up," she said before her mouth surrounded my erection.
She ran her tongue up and down several times before taking most of my erection in her mouth. She sucked and pulled gently. I couldn't hold back. After only a couple of mentions I had ejaculated into her mouth. She sat back swallowing with a smile of her face.
"That's a small reward," she said when her mouth was empty.
She wiped her mouth with a damp flannel before turning a kettle on.
"Nearly time for a tea break," she announced. "I'll just check your hair."
She raised the visor on the dryer's hood and felt the hair just above my forehead.
"That'll do. I'll just comb it again and your hair is finished. You're not. I'm going to work on your hands and feet again after tea."
She turned the dryer off before lifting the hood off my head.
"How will I drink tea?" I said, trying vainly to flap my hands.
"I'll have to hold it to your mouth, Hugh, unless..."
"You let me fasten your hands again after the tea. Will you?"
"Yes, Mary, I will."
"You trust me?"
"Yes, you know I do."
"OK. You can have your hands free. But not your feet. And no grabbing. Keep your hands for your tea, not me."
I nodded. Mary made the tea before she removed the formers around my fingers and the straps on my wrists. I flexed my fingers and moved my arms while she poured two mugs. Even so I nearly dropped the mug when she gave it to me.
Mary sat back on her wheeled stool beyond my reach. While we drank the tea we talked generally about village events. Mary's mother was on an outing to a Bingo hall. The group were going to have a meal in town and then go to a pub. For the village matrons that was real dissipation. She wouldn't be dropped off from the coach until nearly midnight so Mary had me to herself for as long as she wanted.
"Last year you took Helen to the Valentine's Dance," Mary said. "Why didn't you ask her this year?"
"Helen? It didn't work out. We're still friends but nothing more. She's engaged."
"She is? I didn't know. To whom?"
"Gary. You don't know him. They met on a Geography field trip from university. He lives fifty miles away. I think they mean to get married in the autumn when they've graduated. I'm not sure because I only saw her in passing at the Christmas Carol service. My parents told me she was engaged to Gary. They were inseparable at that service."
"I wasn't there. Mum and I were staying with her brother over Christmas and the New Year. You know Helen and I are friends?"
"I know. You used to be inseparable until she went to university."
"We spent a lot of time together over the summer. She didn't mention Gary by name just that she might have a new boyfriend at university. But she did talk about you. She told me she liked you but you were a bit rough and ready for her."
"I'm a hard working farmer's son," I objected. "In the summer I'm too busy but Helen and I were over long before then. When she went back to university after Easter we had agreed that there was nothing between us."
Helen took my empty mug and put it on a work surface.
"Time for your hands to be worked on."
She strapped my wrists before fastening my fingers again.
"Helen told me one thing she liked about you," Mary said conversationally, "something she thought you were very good at..."
She pressed the chair's control to recline me horizontally.
"...and I want to know if it's true."
Mary moved behind my head. I rolled my eyes to look at her. To my surprise she was lifting the back of her skirt showing a naked backside. She shuffled backwards until her bare cleft was above my face.
"Well, Hugh? Helen said you were good at pussy licking. Here's a pussy. I need a demonstration."
Her pussy dropped towards my face. I lifted my head slightly and extended my tongue. Mary flinched as I made contact before lowering herself gently. I kissed, licked and sucked. Mary wriggled above me. Her outer lips spread to give me better access. I wanted Mary. If proving my skill at pussy licking was what was needed, pussy licking is what Mary was going to get.
Mary was squealing above me after a few minutes. I sometimes had to struggle to breathe but I was enjoying myself. Mary's pussy was delicious. I had never thought that an appointment for work on my hair and nails would lead to a blow job and a pussy licking demonstration. Her thighs clamped around my head as her pussy spread further. If she didn't relax her grip soon I would be short of breath. She shuddered above me. In her ecstasy I had a chance to snatch a breath. She was almost shrieking with delight as I brought her to a peak again and again.
It was half an hour before Mary reluctantly climbed off me. Both of us were very aroused and warm. She smoothed her skirt back into place.
"Thank you, Helen," Mary said, "you were right. And thank you, Hugh. That was wonderful."
"So, can I take you to the Valentine's dance, Mary? Please?"
"I'll exchange that for another demonstration on Thursday evening. Is that a deal?"
"Yes, Mary, it's a deal."
It was. I had to endure more tickling that evening as Mary anointed all my nails with a clear liquid to protect them, and a repeat performance on Thursday evening after the hair cut. My expert pussy licking was requested again.
After the Valentine's dance I took Mary back to her mother's hairdressing salon before I demonstrated pussy licking under Mary's formal gown. It took several more sessions before Mary was satisfied with the state of my hair and nails. By Easter my pussy licking had ensured that we were an acknowledged boyfriend and girlfriend.
Mary was a bridesmaid at Helen's marriage to Gary. I was there as an usher. We had booked to stay the night in separate rooms at the reception hotel. After the newly-weds had left I proposed to Mary. She accepted with the condition that I proposed again after some more pussy licking. I didn't use my hotel room.
I'm very happy with my hairdresser Valentine. She seems happy with an expert pussy licker.