Mickie and Laurie Pt. 08

After I was excused from standing in front of Jamal and Mickie, they sent me to the kitchen to make them some light snacks. I asked if I could get dressed, and they told me no. They compromised when I asked if I could at least put on my panties, and I gratefully slid them on and quickly scooted to the kitchen. I decided to make a cheese and meat board, with warmed Italian bread. I also found a selection of olives, which I put in a large bowl, with a smaller one for the pits. Finally, after looking around for a while, I located a bottle of Amaro, and added that on a platter with two sipping glasses. Needless to say, I did not set aside anything for myself, given the diet that Mickie had me on.

I walked in with the food, and found Jamal and Mickie back on the couch. Jamal was still naked, but Mickie had taken inspiration from me, wearing panties but nothing else. I noticed that a wet spot was forming in her crotch, and I supposed that it was leakage from Jamal's ejaculation. I felt a strange sensation, and identified it as hunger. In fact, I was hungry--I seemed to constantly crave food--but specifically, I was hungry for the cum that was leaking out of her snatch. I would have loved to clean her out, but knew that this would only be possible if they ordered me to.

Jamal had his arm around Mickie's shoulders, holding her against him. When I set the board on the coffee table, they both sat forward and surveyed the spread with interest. I apologized and excused myself to go fetch the Amaro. When I returned, they were both enthusiastically munching on bread, meat, and cheese.

No knowing what else to do, I simply stood to the side, waiting in case there was something else that they needed. However, for the next 5 minutes they just ate, and then poured some digestif and began sipping it with appreciation. I felt a sense of accomplishment that my impromptu after-sex layout had been well received.

Eventually Jamal took notice of me, and ordered me over to him. When I was standing next to the couch, he told me to kneel on the floor. I was not sure what was going on. Did he plan to have me service him while he was sitting next to Mickie and eating? I hoped not--that could create a lot of hard feelings.

Instead, Jamal took hold of my hair and pulled sharply, causing my wig to come off. I was shocked, and then flooded with embarrassment. I could see my wig grasped tightly in his hand.

Jamal turned to Mickie and said, "I thought I noticed something move when she was sucking me. This bitch needs to grow out her hair."

"I totally agree, Jamal," Mickie replied. She turned to me and said, "No more fucking around, Laurie. You've got a nice head of hair, and we're going to take full advantage of it."

I said nothing. If I was honest, the prospect was not unpleasant. I was tired of wearing the wig, and was interested in seeing what my own hair would look like at that length. I kept my eyes down and my mouth shut.

"You hear that, bitch?" Jamal asked, grabbing my short real hair. "No more wigs."

"Yes, Daddy," I replied, continuing to look down. Jamal chuckled and let go of my hair.

Having cum twice, and then enjoyed a nice meal and drink, Jamal decided that he had had enough, and got up in order to get ready to leave. He was still naked, and I saw that his cock, when entirely flaccid, was still over 4 inches in length, and quite thick.

Jamal caught me eying his dick, and ordered me to kneel in front of him. Would he make me suck him off again?

Instead he said, "You need to kiss this cock goodbye. I know you're going to miss it, but you'll definitely meet again."

I carefully took hold of his member with one hand to lift it away from his legs, and kissed the end. The smells and flavor were intoxicating, and it was all I could do not to slide my lips over it. But I restrained myself--I knew that I was never allowed to take the initiative. I would have to be told first.

Jamal seemed satisfied, so I let go and remained kneeling. Mickie came over and hugged and kissed him. Then he pulled on his clothes, grabbed his car keys, and quickly left. Now it was just the two of us, both in our panties, and me kneeling next to her. I wondered what she was going to do now that we were alone.

Mickie turned to me and said, "Well, I guess that went pretty well. You made a good impression on Jamal."

I was afraid to say anything, so I just nodded and looked down. Mickie sensed my uneasiness and continued.

"You probably think I'm mad that he made you blow him, or that he said he was going to fuck you," she said. "Well, don't worry about that. I've been preparing you for months to do exactly that. I was just worried that things were happening too quickly and you might get freaked out. Anyway, if things worked out tonight, I may not be looking for much sex in the next few months. It'll be great to have you to pick up the slack."

I realized she meant getting pregnant. I was really surprised by this turn of events. When we were first married, Mickie had been adamant that she did not want to have kids, and now here she was trying to bear Jamal's child. I guessed that this was a reflection on the relative attractiveness of Jamal and me as purveyors of genetic material.

"Now what are we going to do about that hair?" Mickie asked. Suddenly, her face lit up. "I know--we can get extensions! I know a great place."

"But Mickie, what about work?" I asked, only realizing afterwards how whiny I sounded.

"I have a solution for that," she said. "When we get you extensions, we'll also get a wig that matches your color that you can wear over your long hair. I've seen that before--if we choose well, you can hide a lot under a wig."

The next day, which was a Sunday, Mickie called up her hair place and arranged a special appointment. Normally they were closed, but since they knew her and the visit came with the promise of a pricey purchase, the owner agreed to meet us in the afternoon.

Mickie made a command decision that I would go as a girl. I balked--I was worried that I could not pass in the real world, especially with my regular short hair. Mickie told me that we were not really going to be in the "real world," except at the hair salon, and her friend was very discreet. She also assured me that I had looked like a legit girl the night before with Jamal, and anyone looking in our car would see two women. Finally, to placate me, she told me I could wear the wig to the salon. I relented and agreed to dress up in one of the outfits she had gotten me.

We went to my closet and Mickie took out various skirts and tops, laying them on the bed. I realized that she had been continuing to add new items, and some of them looked really cute. She held out a short, ruffled black skirt that I had worn a few times previously. I knew this looked good on me with my slender profile. She paired it with a short-sleeved button-up knit top that was cream-colored with black piping up the front and on the collar. I thought it looked very sophisticated, but I was worried about how my boobs would do under it--it looked like it would fit snugly.

Nevertheless, I pulled up the skirt and secured it, then shrugged on the top. As I had guessed, it was tight, and I had to pull on it a little bit to get it buttoned. However, it was not so tight that the buttons pulled, and it looked great with the skirt. Unfortunately, my minimal bust was very apparent, and I could feel the fabric chafing my sensitive nipples. I turned from the mirror to tell Mickie about this problem, and found that she was holding out a bra. It was a lightweight off-white bra, and clearly not one of hers since it was an A-cup and padded. She had gotten me a training bra without telling me.

I realized I was very excited about this. With shaking hands I unbuttoned my top and took it off. Then I slid the bra straps over my shoulders. I realized that it was going to be a challenge to secure the hooks in back, but I reached behind and fiddled with them for a while. Mickie did not help--she clearly saw this as something I needed to figure out. Eventually, using the mirror to guide myself, I got the hooks in. It felt very strange, and slightly constraining. I straightened it out and returned to the mirror to look at it from various angles. Not bad.

Now I put the top back on and buttoned it. There was a noticeable difference in the front; something seemed to be there where one would expect to find breasts. Equally important, my nipples felt much better against the smooth inner fabric of the bra cups. This was a huge improvement.

Next, Mickie handed me a pair of thigh-high stockings the same color as the top, with black piping at the top. I sat down and pulled them on, savoring the sensuous feel of them sliding up the skin of my legs. The top elastic was tight enough to hold them in place. I stood up, and saw that my skirt hid the tops of the stockings--unless I were to bend over or get caught in the wind. Mickie asked me to twirl around, and applauded when she saw the overall effect. I felt a rush of pride over my appearance, and affection for Mickie that she had invested all this effort in my appearance.

The final surprise was in the shoebox that she handed me. I opened it to find a pair of very cute and sexy platform sandals. I was speechless. This would be the first women's footwear I had tried, and of course it was essential for a field trip like this. I sat down and strapped them on, after a bit of trial and error. Then I stood up, feeling a bit unsteady. This extra height would take some getting used to; I was now more like five eleven. I tottered over to Mickie and enveloped her in a hug.

"They're perfect, Mickie," I said. "Thank you so much."

"It's OK. I bought them with your money," she replied. Still, I could tell that she was touched by my heartfelt thanks.

With my attire squared away, we now turned to my face and hair. Mickie had me fit the wig on, and then watched critically as I applied foundation, blush, lipstick, mascara, and eye shadow. She stepped in and touched things up a bit, then stood back and looked at my face in the mirror. Finally, she got out a black eyeliner pencil and told me to close my eyes. I felt her drawing along the edge of my upper eyelid, and when she told me to open my eyes I was surprised by how much a simple line made them pop. She then told me to look up, and put a very light amount on my lower lid. When she was finished, I just stared at myself, marveling at how much this extra piece enhanced the overall impression.

On a whim, Mickie took my wig and put it in a messy bun low on the back of my head. It looked very cute. She called it a "chignon," and told me that it was a good fit for the outfit I was wearing. Then she instructed me to walk around the house for the next few minutes and to try and get comfortable with the sandals. As I did, I realized that the heels were clearly higher than the toes, and I needed to account for this as I walked. I could not use my regular careless gait. I eventually found something that did not look too ungainly, involving very careful bending of my knees and planting of my feet. Mickie found it acceptable, but said we would need to work on that in the coming weeks. I realized the implications of this: she had plans for excursions with me in my new persona.

Since I no longer had pockets in my attire, Mickie also gifted me with a cute little pocketbook to hold my keys and cards. As I stashed my important items, she reassured me that at least I didn't need to keep any tampons in there and I found myself chuckling.

We arrived at the hair salon at the scheduled time. It was in an old, two-storey house on a corner of a block that was part residential and part businesses. There were several parking stalls in front, and one was already occupied by a newish SUV, which I presumed belonged to the owner. Mickie was driving, and when we stopped I experienced some confusion as I opened the passenger door to step out. I had slouched in the seat out of paranoia that someone would recognize me, and now my skirt was hiked up, exposing my legs almost up to my panties. I was not sure how to handle this while getting out. I took hold of my skirt with one hand and placed my sandals on the pavement. Then I tried to smoothly pull the skirt down to its correct location as I stood up out of the seat.

Mickie had been watching silently from the driver's side, and she told me that I had managed that fairly well. But there were subtleties that she could teach me as we went forward. She got out of her side, locked the car, and led the way to the entrance of the salon. The "open" sign was not illuminated, but I could see lights on inside, and the door was unlocked. Mickie pushed it open and stepped inside, and I followed into the spacious work area within.

Candy, the proprietor, was waiting for us. She was in her thirties, with wavy, shoulder-length brass-colored hair. She was tan and very fit, wearing a pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. She greeted Mickie and then turned her attention to me, taking in my appearance in a few incisive glances.

"Candy, this is Laurie," said Mickie. We greeted each other, and then Mickie explained that I wanted hair extensions while I grew out my own hair. Candy told me to take off my wig and sit in one of her chairs. I reluctantly did so. I was self-conscious about my short hair, as it clearly undermined my overall feminine presentation. However, as I glanced at mirror while sitting down, I was surprised to find that the overall effect was still girlish with the short hair.

Candy stood behind me and ran her hands through my hair, pulling it out to its full length. She put her hand on her chin as she looked at my head from various angles. Finally she turned to Mickie.

"We can't do clip-ins with this length, but we could probably manage permanent," she said. "But that will cost more."

"Money's not an issue," assured Mickie. "What else do we need to think about here?"

"Well, with her hair still on the short side, I would not recommend super-long extensions. Shoulder we could manage, though," said Candy.

"That'll be OK," said Mickie. "What happens as her hair grows out?"

"It gets longer, and the extensions will grow out with it," said Candy. "So, if she starts out with shoulder-length today, it'll be down to her boobs in a month or two."

All this talk of "her" and "boobs" was making my head spin. They were talking about ME. I was pleased and confused and worried, all at the same time.

"How closely can you match the color?" asked Mickie.

"Oh, that's no problem," said Candy. "Laurie's a dishwater blonde, and has a very typical mix of colors in her hair, and I can use several different colors in the extensions to match the overall color presentation."

Then she looked at me in the mirror and asked, "So, are we going to do this? It's going to take hours, so we need to get started if we're going to."

I nodded, and then she said, "Also, it's going to run you upwards of a thousand bucks. Are you OK with that?"

I was surprised at the expense, but I was fully committed at this point, so I nodded again. I found myself reluctant to speak because I was worried about how convincing my voice was.

Suddenly, I remembered the fact that I would need a wig for work. I turned to Mickie and asked, "What about the short wig?"

Mickie registered this oversight by striking her head with her hand, then asked Candy if she had any wigs in my hair color that were at my current length. She explained that I needed to maintain a certain look in my work. Candy did not seem fazed, and stepped into the back of the salon, taking my long-haired wig with her for the color match. Eventually she returned with a wig that she held up to my head. The color was close, but the length was a bit off--it was too long. She told me not to worry, and that she could style it to make it look as if I had just gotten my hair cut.

First, Candy evened up my hair with scissors and a comb. The next few hours were tough, with a tremendous amount of careful work gluing in the extensions while I sat quietly. As they were added, I experienced a very different feeling with the extra weight pulling on my real hair. Candy assured me that I would get used to it, and she was right. But at the time, it was a big change.

When she was finally done, Candy told me to stand up and face the mirror. I looked at the person in the reflection. Who was this cute girl with dirty blonde hair whose ends touched her collarbones? She touched up my real hair in front so that I could do a middle or side part, and told me that I should put my new hair in a braid at night so that nothing pulled on it in my sleep. As a bonus, it would come out nice and wavy when I unbraided it.

Candy also gave me instructions on its care and washing. "These extensions are made from real hair," she said. "You should shampoo two or three times a week, but no more. If you take a shower, you can wet it, but don't wash it too much. It will get damaged and look bad."

Then Candy showed me how to wind my hair on top of my head to fit the new wig on. After it was in place, she gave it a quick style, and when she was done I did indeed look as if I had just gotten my hair trimmed. It was a neat trick. Of course, getting it on it was going to add some time to my morning preparations, but I was resigned to this.

I took the new wig back off and let my hair down, shaking it as I gazed in the mirror. I was really pleased with the way I looked with the extensions. Mickie and Candy could see that, and were enjoying watching me. Candy walked over to her register, and I got out my credit card from the small pocketbook that Mickie had given me before we left. I handed it to her, and she raised her eyebrows slightly at the name on the card--Lawrence--but did not say anything. I blushed a bit, then went ahead and punched in my PIN. The total cost with extension and wig was over $1,500. Candy had to be happy with this unexpected windfall on a Sunday afternoon.

Mickie and I returned to our car and drove back home. This time, I sat up straight. I wanted to be seen, and I was not at all worried that I would be recognized as anyone but Mickie's cute friend.

That night, to celebrate my new look, Mickie gave me a long and vigorous fucking with me still in my bra and thigh highs. She managed to bring me to an earth-shaking climax. As always, I dutifully slurped up all of the sperm, this time lamenting its inferior taste, texture, and quantity compared to Jamal's output. Even so, it was a perfect ending for a wonderful day. With Mickie's help, I put my new hair in a braid and fell into a deep sleep, a rare happening on a Sunday night before the start of the work week.