Paresthesia Pt. 09

"You know, we really don't get a lot of men here. Well, for this part, I mean. We even do shaves. But no, men like those barbershops with dark wood and sports and straight razors. Shame. They miss out on so much over here."

She turns around again and I think she is trying to seduce me. The thought forms hesitantly, mostly because I did not want to assume. That would be impolite. But the way Sylvia moves, rocking and swaying, there is no other way it can be construed. She's looking for an outlet, at least in pretense. She has her clippers and the wire needs its juice. I have my mirror and that is enough. Calm empty space and nothing round and inviting and begging for an open palm and thrusting hips.

"So, I guess we now cut to the question of the day."

"The hair? I told you. Mohawk. Big, big mohawk."

"Not that. That's important, but not really what I was ambling towards. Do you want to see what a lot of people miss out on?"

It's a game. It finally hits me that this is the game. Dancing around words with low voices, saying nothing and letting the mind fill in the rest. It all seems so obvious. But, in my defense, I was nervous. And the sharp things and the clipping things and all the things that could tear at my skin and leave me a bloody mess don't exactly lend themselves to clear thought.

"I'm interested," I say. I try to be cool. And that only makes me less cool. I should have been uncool, but not trying to be uncool, so then I would be cool. I think that is how cool works. I am not really all that sure. Sylvia chuckles and twirls the slippers around by the wire. She is very coordinated. I am honestly impressed.

She raps three times on the wall and waits.

"Just to be sure," she says, "Before we start. Basic trim, style, I'm thinking a nice fade on the sideburns, and we'll color once we have the form all squared away. Because once the fun starts, something tells me that you won't really be one for talking. Seem kind of green. Something to be expected on the other side, I guess. Maybe if they ran things more like me, then you might have stayed. Oh well. You're mine now."

The knock comes back just the same as when it went out. The mirror starts to tilt and open and suddenly there is a topless woman with long bouncy blond curls and very little else looking at me.

"You already met Katie here. She'll be helping me with you," Sylvia whispers in my ear, with a soft puff to trail away. Katie giggles and waves.

"Katie, this is Beat," Sylvia continues, "I'm going to be working with him from now on. Now make a good impression. I would hate for him to think we're all work and no play."

Katie giggles and I think that's part of the game. It's too high, a little too clipped and sharp to be natural. I don't complain, though. It makes the rest of her bounce and she can do any forced motion that makes her bounce.

"I didn't think you ran a place like this," I say. I'm surprised I can do anything so complex as form a sentence.

"Part of the trade, really. And I make sure nothing bad happens. People always slip through the cracks, Beat. Then we're there to greet them in the gutter. Some we push back up above the board. Others find their place with us, below it. And they all make their choices about where to go."

She buzzes the clippers right near my ear and I hear all the teeth start to flash and ring and rip and shred and I jump. I do not want to jump, but I do. Sylvia laughs and Katie giggles. That one is a little less forced. It creeps into her nose a bit.

"So jumpy. So, tense. So high strung. Goes with the job, I guess. But relax buddy. Just relax. Katie, you can start. Just make sure he stays still."

Katie nods and giggles that forced way that is meant to be endearing. I prefer the nasal one though, fully slipping into authentic and unchecked. But I don't mind. Her chest shifts and moves and sways once against and it is hypnotic.

The razors hit my neck and I finally do not jump. The buzz doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all. Katie, my new best friend, slips down to her knees and goes beneath the cape down my front. Hands on my legs, hands on my neck, my own hands on the arms of the chair griping white knuckle. I think I like all this. A little too much to start, but it's a good introduction.

Through the hum of the clippers on my neck, my face, I hear the zipper go down and the shift of my waistline down. She manages, somehow, to do so over my rigid length and aching flesh. It's uncomfortable, the stillness, the length, the terrible confines of fabric. Katie moves the elastic and comes back with the nasal giggle that slips up through me.

"He's really nice down here, Sylvia," says the moving lump under the cape, "All smooth and clean."

"That's good to hear. Proper care really is a lost art. Have fun down there. Let me work."

Sylvia moves the razors up and down and the pleasant thought starts to slip through. This alone would be nice. This alone would be a pleasant evening. But the hands below and the moving flesh, that is heavenly. I close my eyes and sigh. I close my eyes and it slowly lets the knots flow down and out.

"He is tense," she says between my legs, "So many knots."

"I figured. Up here isn't any better. His shoulders are insane. So tense. So pent up. Shame. The good guys could probably afford a masseuse or something, right? At least a pool table or an arcade machine. Do they have anything like that, Beat?"

"Not really. A lounge with a coffee machine and a TV, but that's about it."

"That's pathetic. The amount of taxes I pay on this place? Figured you guys could at least put up a ping pong table."

"We don't have a ping pong table," Katie pipes in.

"That's a limitation of the space. We have that couch though."

"That couch is really nice. Doesn't make up for the table."

"When I get a bigger place, Katie. You have a job to do right now. So do that."

Katie hums a bit more and the clippers do their work. Soft hands, everyone here has soft hands and gentle touches. Sylvia keeps the flair riding, sharp things spinning and tossed and twirling. She is focused. She is focused and calm as the cape keeps moving. I don't know which feels better. I think Sylvia has the edge out right now. Lingering glances and shifting digits, the suggestion of more that can be unleashed at any point.

Lips and fingers and eyes closed until it all just melds all into the simple pleasure. Smooth, smooth and slipping into the soft little lightning bolts concentrated in my stomach. It slips into my mind and shudders my spine. There are hands. There are hands and lips and tongues on me and nothing else seems to matter.

"You need to be still, Beat," Sylvia whispers in my ear, "So many things can go wrong with sharp blades. You need to be careful."

Just to hammer the point home, she snips them right next to my ear. There is too much to notice. The startle slips through me, forgotten before it even registers. It settles in the spinal cord and tries to pull some reaction. There are tongues and lips to consider. Those are more important. I remain still, hands gripping the harm rests and beating deep in my chest.

Katie has practice in the act. It's easy for her. It is simple and clean, smooth experienced motion and I do not care where they come from. They are given to me and the hands on my neck, my scalp keep me from being lost in the wet muscle. It's close though. I always so close to just slipping away. I heard I have an hour here. I need to make it least.

My head grows lighter as more and more of my hair is shaved away. I didn't think there was that much in there, but I am not the professional. At any of this. And the woman between my thighs with a wonderfully skilled tongue is doing things to my thoughts. So many things. SO many things that drop my consciousness from the sharp things and the giggling things. There are hands crawling up my stomach and there is a moment where I am free.

"He's in great shape, Sylvia," Katie purrs, "I don't think I've ever seen abs like his before."

"That's amazing," sighs Sylvia, "Y'know she doesn't really give compliments all that often, Beat. You really must be something special. Go on, Katie. What else do you like about him?"

"He's not too hairy."

"Such a wonderful thing to be," I grunt. She's starting to stroke me again with idle hands played by the devil.

"You'd be surprised, Beat. I've done this to a lot of guys. Some of them get really hairy and it just gets everywhere. And it's kind of weird when a guy is completely bald. Like, it just doesn't fit right, y'know? But not you. Yours is really soft and fine. You're just really fun to touch."

"I know right," Sylvia says in my ear, "Even his stubble is kind of nice. Little bristly, but a good bristly. I imagine it would feel really good when he goes down."

Katie gives that little authentic giggle and I jump in her hands. That only makes her laugh harder.

"I think he likes that idea," she says, "Maybe I can have him once you're done. Would you like that?"

I grunt some noise that might mean yes or no. I'm not sure. There are a pair of lips around me again and it is a dizzying spiral of sensation. Sylvia smiles and that is the last thing I see before I shut my eyes again and let it all flow out of me.

I remain still as Katie, the goddess of soft lips, does as she wants with me. I remain still as Sylvia, goddess of the sharp metal, does the same. I am clay to be molded, and shaped and administered force until I am something else entirely. I will be something else entirely. It is only a matter of time. The clippers are gone and it is only the scissors now, sharp metal so close to things so delicate and fragile. The hands are gone and it is in the throat, the swallow and hum and the simple satisfaction of pleasure overwhelmingly give. My legs are shaking and that is all the motion I am allowed. The cold shears keep everything else together. The whispers of a smooth voice bend me as I want.

Katie is bobbing her head frantically, impacting her body against mine. I feel the momentum shift and collide with me, her chest, her arms, her hips. Every bit of her leads into the motion of her throat. Manic, she is almost insane with motion over me. Tight and hot and wet, all the things that it is supposed to be, with humming pride-filled vibrations through me. They are both good and it is all I can do to hold on and endure. I am stalwart and eternal. I am on the brink of ecstatic ruination and all I have to do is give in and it will all be over.

"I also like the noises he makes," says Katie during her next break.

"Those are nice," Sylvia says, twirling a comb from one knuckle to the next, "I'm surprised at how deep it is."

"What's that supposed to mean," I grunt.

"Oh, now you're trying too hard. You're kind of a small guy."

"Depends where you stand," giggles Katie.

"From my point of view, you're kind of a small guy. No way around it, Beat, you're short. And the hair isn't going to cover that up, despite what you may think. But don't worry. A lot of girls like short guys. Like me."

"And me. And you're not that short. Taller than my ex at least. And a lot more fun. He didn't make noises like you do."

"More guys should be ok with making noise. It gets so boring when they do the whole silent serious face. Most try to pull it off, but just can't get it right. Turn your chin, please. And the other way."

There are more snips and more licks and more everything everywhere and I slip back into the mindless noise. I start to move my hips and Katie makes her own fun noises now. She is laughing. I wish she wouldn't. She should go back to sucking and licking.

My hands move before the thoughts can form in any real sense. But it agrees with the action. My hands entangle in the locks and pull towards me. A yelp of excited pain and more giggles slowly fade down into the action of me. I rumble and quake and Sylvia sighs from behind me.

"You can be rough," she whispers, "I don't mind. She doesn't mind. Don't cross the line, though. Just want you to know that. But have fun. Its about time you did."

And once more the scissors come a little too close to my ear to be safe. I don't care. The pain would be worth it. I am in her throat and my hips are moving while the hands set the pace. Katie is over me and I am in her. My eyes are closed and my hips are moving slightly, urging deeper and deeper worship. More weight into me, more of the force I put into her is given back with the same force. All the while, the hair is still clipped away.

That is less and less important as the seconds tick on. Sylvia doesn't matter anymore. Throughout it all, she doesn't really seem to mind. There is the work and I am doing my best to keep my head still. And she is doing good work. The glimpses I catch of myself in the mirror are shaping up nicely. I am flushed and red a bit, but I would be worried if I wasn't. But I look good. Someone deep primal machismo part of me likes the way I look when I'm getting sucked off. I imagine everyone looks their best when getting head. Everyone should have that moment. But it is mine now. The ticking of the clock is mine. The throat is mine. The way I look in the mirror is mine and mine alone.

"I'm just about done here," Sylvia says, "Just have to color it, but that's a different station and I would hate for you to pull out before you're finished. Take your time."

I am lost in the motion. I barely hear the words. I know Sylvia's watching me. I know Ultra-Violence is watching me with rapt attention. Not quite lust, or jealousy, or anything close to it. Fascination, maybe. I am too preoccupied to tell. Katie and I, wonderful Katie, have found a shared agreement of motion. The chair beneath me creaks and protests. It has seen the act play out a multitude of times. Old hat, really. It can withstand whatever I throw at it. It can withstand whatever Katie throws at it. But I am lost to it and the thrust and the buck and it is coming close.

"Soon, soon," I groan and Sylvia chuckles a bit.

"She is good, isn't she? One of the favorites. But come on, give me a show. Do something amazing."

Sylvia is now perched on the shelf, thighs idly rubbing together in bored attention. The façade of disinterest falls in the eyes. Wide as the moon, all devouring and all hungry. She looks to me and the flushed grit of my teeth. Her arousal pokes into her shirt and I admire the tenacity of the fabric. Stretched and full and strained., the line of her cleavage pressed tightly together. She sees me watching her and she smirks. A small quirk in her lips, a jut of her chest, just to make them fill more space. And the tongue and the lips are still down there, draining my soul. Sylvia's thighs keep rubbing themselves, slowly growing more and more frantic, but never quite hitting the level of eager. Just a bit more intensity through her body. She just wants to watch.

My hands creep up and snap off the cape. It was getting the way. And I see everything. Katie is bent over me, my hands in her hair and guiding her deeper and deeper, rougher and rougher. The thong she wears is gone within the cleft of her flesh, hips flared and swaying. Everything is moving and asking and I am so close, so close to that final barrier. I hilt and it is gone.

I moan and let it all go. It doesn't matter anymore. I took this from her and it is mine now. The flow and pulse and shot down her throat. The hands gripping my thighs, the little shakes she downs, the hums and giggles and all the small noises that come from this, all those are for me. The mistress sits and watches us both, smirking and playing and doing nothing at all. Two dolls of hers and they are together now. Smashed together and clashing plastic, joints articulated and locked, and all the noises made from the play.

Long, long, more and more and more of it pulls from me. Everything starts to slacken and draw out. Knots flow down into loose threads, all frayed and sheared and simply ragged. I fall apart. While I throb and pulse and Katie swallows. I am giving her everything until I am hollow and empty.

Every single motion draws it out longer, makes me louder, makes her fuller. Sylvia's smirk is gone and there is just the soft parted 'o' in her lips. Even her thighs have stopped their action and she watches the dolls keep clashing against one another. I am locked around her, finding more and more pulses to give. I am melting into a warm dissolving pool of smoke, sharp and gritting and numbing me down to my core.

It ends with a few final powerful pulses and the dull static fuzz filling my mind. I run a hand through my scalp and my brow. Still flushed, a thin sheen of sweat. Really didn't expect a hair cut to take this much out of me. Katie pulls away, fully immersed in that nasal giggling laugh. The edges of her makeup smear and run down over me. It's cute. It's really cute. I stroke her hair and she presses into it. I'm not sure if it's played up or genuine, and I don't really care.

"He's really fun, Sylvia," she sighs with a little hiccup at the end, "Like, really, really fun. Can we keep him?"

"Not the worst idea," Sylvia says, coming back to her feet, "There's probably a market for him. Maybe we start taking more women back to this room. Could be worth a shot. But that's for later. Clean him up and put him away."

"But he's still hard."

She lets out a low whistle, while Katie plants a soft kiss on the tip.

"Impressive. But still. First time's free. If he wants more, then he pays. So, Beat, your call. Color now or pony up."

It's a hard decision in every sense of the word. Katie is still on her knees, color blotted and off kilter, smiling serenely with big eyes that want more. Sylvia is looking at her nails, affecting more boredom than she really has, judging by the glances. And I am still hard. That is a rather important thing to consider. I crane my neck from side to side and work some of the tension out. A series of pops rise up the bones. Loose, I feel loose. Good loose.

"Color," I say. Katie whines and I think Sylvia looks disappointed as well.

"After that, well, we'll play it by ear," I say with a winning smile. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My shoulders are much more relaxed now.

---

My shoulders hunch over the rooftop corner before spreading back a bit and loosening the joints. Slept on my arm wrong and now there's a kink I'm trying to work out. It's getting there. Taking a bit of muscle, but it's a moment away from a deep pop and everything will be better then. Just have to keep working it and then everything will be fine and dandy. Riot has her knuckles to play with and flex and she is doing a wonderful job.

"She's late," Riot sighs.

"Told you we weren't exactly punctual. Fashionable sure, but not punctual."

"Still. She better have a good reason. Is this how Alizarin felt? We need to apologize to her again."

"We should just do that every time we see her. Feels like it's the right thing to do."

"Every time until we stop seeing her. And then we apologize a few more times, because yeah, she needs it. And a head pat. And a snack or something. Maybe a pack of cookies."

"I could go for a pack of cookies. There's a bodega right there. They have cookies. And some juice. I could go for some juice."

"What are you? Five?"

"Probably. And don't tell me you wouldn't go for it."

Riot shrugs and nudges my shoulder. I nudge back. She nudges me again, a bit more behind it. Strong, always so strong. Strong enough to nudge me right off the roof and down onto the unforgiving pavement. But also right in front of the bodega. With snacks and juice and probably a cat that wants pets. I would like to give said cat said pets.

City hall is boring. All the lights are off and all the blinds closed. Marble, faceless stone just off white enough to be called that, pillars with grooves and the little tables at either ends. The staircase is alright, I guess. Nice and big and wide, with railings trisecting it. It just is what it is, serving no artistic purpose other than to be grand and imposing. The common man is mean to walk by in total awe with complete obedience. There is no face, no soul, no anything behind it other than discipline and order. I want to shatter a window, just because. It would at least be more interesting. Some spray paint here and there, murals and slogans and symbols. Clenched fist is always good. The anarchy 'A,' a classic. A couple flags I know that could be put up with rainbows and pastels for a more modern take. Although, that's not really that modern. Point stands, boring building with boring material serving the boring purpose of boring people. Maybe Doppel will change it up a bit. I hope. He likes blue more than off white stone, at least. I am going to break in there and do some things that will change it for the better tonight. Riot shifts and stretches her legs a bit. Mine are falling asleep too. We should have picked a better roof.