Sharon Goes Back to School Ch. 17A

"How's my favorite BZ Bitch?" Dave picked up immediately. Sharon blinked in surprise.

"Fine," she managed, "I'm getting ready."

"Getting ready for what?" Dave sounded honestly puzzled.

"For tonight's party," Sharon answered in obvious exasperation.

"There isn't a party tonight," Dave answered, "Your coming out party is tomorrow night."

"Oh," Sharon hesitated, "Really? Because if you're just playing a trick on me it's mean."

"I'm serious," and he sounded sincere, "We're having the party Saturday night.

"I'm not sure I can wait that long," Sharon hated whining, but could not stop herself. Dave laughed. "Can you or Shaun come visit?"

"Sorry, Shar', but we're busy tonight."

"I could go visit Mary..."

"And just what do you think you'd do there?" Dave did not wait for her to answer, "No, you're going to be a hit at the party, no fair showing off before then." Sharon frowned, frustrated at her utter lack of options.

"Then I need my car," she changed tactics.

"You'd go home before the brothers have gotten to see the new you?"

"No," Sharon bit back a retort, "I want to get my hair done."

"Oh," there was a pause, "That's not a bad idea." There was a longer pause, "Tell you what, someone will be by to pick you up in thirty minutes. Cover up-- no showing off, now." And then he was gone. Sharon did not bother drying her hair, putting on the modesty bra that barely fit, and then two T-shirts and a university hoodie. She donned matching sweat pants, and her sneakers, frowning at how she looked in the mirror.

She had just finished applying her make up when there was a honk. She hurried out to find Verel behind the wheel of her Range Rover. She locked the door, jogging to the curb to climb into the passenger seat.

"I don't understand," the big football captain shook his head as he pulled away.

"Don't understand what?" Sharon asked defensively, keeping her arms crossed over her chest, not wanting to anger Dave.

"Why you think you need your hair cut," he shrugged, "You're shit hot, girl, what's not to like?" Sharon dimpled at the compliment, running a hand through her hair.

"Trust me," she assured the younger man, "You'll be pleased when it's done." She pursed her lips, "But I don't really know where to go..." The ZB member laughed.

"No worries," he assured Sharon, "Dave is taking care of it." They drove away from the campus to the west, away from the road to the highway and home, and away from the row of bars and student oriented service shops where Sharon had guessed he would drive. She did not bother asking where they were going.

They drove past the strip malls on the city's west side, as well, pulling in at a low row of businesses shortly before the turn onto the highway that would have taken them to Go's. Sharon saw the over bright 'salon' soap inked on the glass of one of the shops. Verel pointed, and Sharon climbed out, suddenly nervous. She wondered if she could convince Verel to take her back home, considering she would be going home for Valentine's, and could visit her own stylist then. She laughed, then, wondering if the woman would accept her call; she had not been back since her 'off to school' styling.

As she opened the door, Sharon recognized that her nails needed work, too. She stopped as the heavy glass door closed behind her. Standing behind one of the three chairs arranged across the small space was Joyce.

"C'mon, girl," she waved her manicured hand at Sharon, "Dave told us to hook you up. We gonna hook you up." Sharon smiled in relief, following the younger woman's directions.

"Thanks Joyce," she settled in the cushioned seat, surreptitiously making sure that there were not hasps or locking shackles, like she remembered from the mall. "I thought you were in school."

"Oh I was, girlfriend," Joyce smacked her gum loudly, "But I finished beautician school last summer." Sharon watched the other women, who were all busily cutting hair or applying color for their clients.

"How long have you worked here?" Sharon realized it might sound rude, "I mean... I just didn't figure since you're at the ZB parties..." she stopped, knowing it sounded lame. Joyce took no offense.

"I own this place, honey," she waved her hand, "These bitches work for me, ain't that right?" she had raised her voice, and the other women glanced over, nodding. Sharon thought the willowy black woman standing behind the third chair looked familiar.

"Are they all..."

"BZ Bitches?" Joyce laughed, "Nope. But LaToya down there is," the experienced ZB sex toy confirmed Sharon's suspicion. "Most of the girls are so happy to have the guys doing everything for them the last thing they want is a job." Sharon nodded, thinking about Kelly, and then about Lisa. Her breath caught, the moment she realized she was considering her daughter as a fellow BZ Bitch. Horrified, she clenched her hands in her lap, digging her nails into her palms. "... want a position?" She blinked, realizing Joyce had been talking.

"What?" Sharon flushed, "I'm sorry, I got distracted."

"I didn't know if you were a beautician and were wanting a job... sides shaking your ass out at Snake Eyes." Sharon shook her head, hoping her distaste at the idea of being a beautician was not obvious.

"No," she said, "I mean I'm not a beautician. I didn't ever go to college until I started here in the fall..."

"Shit," Joyce snorted, "You can... what's it called 'Toya?"

"What?"

"Y'know, learn on the job," Joyce found the phrase herself, and LaToya nodded, then went back to talking to her client. "I can put you on a chair if you ever need it." Sharon wondered if there was some warning in what the younger woman was saying. "You sure you want this?" she asked Sharon then, and Sharon nodded, relieved it was someone she knew. She doubted there would be a sudden visit from any of the ZB as had happened at the casino, but if they did decide to get some at least Joyce would not be shocked at what happened... Sharon told herself to relax as the shapely black woman spun the chair, tilting it back so that her hair pooled in the stylist's sink at the back of the station.

Joyce was skilled, Sharon quickly recognized. Despite her too long nails, she deftly combed out Sharon's hair, soaping it, and then rinsing it before she really went to work. Sharon was surprised when she spent several minutes with the long scissors at each side of her head, and gasped when she ran the electric trimmer over her ear, front to back, and again making a similar stripe one blade head higher. The process was repeated on the other side.

"What?" Joyce asked, seeing Sharon's expression, then, "You didn't know what you're getting?" Sharon carefully shook her head. Joyce snorted. "Typical. You heard of Chrissy Kenworth?" Sharon shook her head. "She's new out in California... Big ass, ink all the fuck over... even by her eyes." Sharon winced, sure that Chris would freak out if she came home with ink on her face. "She wears her hair like this," Joyce waved the clipper and Sharon flinched back. "Just let ol' Joyce do her work." Sharon nodded, knowing she had no more choice then if she was tied to the chair. The third woman, whose nametag read Maria, came over at a gesture from Joyce, and as the stylist set about applying foil and color to Sharon's hair, the older Hispanic woman carefully went to work on Sharon's nails.

Sharon had difficulty taking her gaze away from the finished product at home ninety minutes later. Her hair was platinum blonde, and nearly glowed at the almost shaved sides of her head. On top, though, Joyce had died the tips of her hair a dark brown, darker than Sharon's natural color. The bangs were teased up, curled, and gelled into place. Sharon had watched carefully, learning how to care for her new 'do.' Several new bottles of product were still in the bag on the sink. Sharon turned her head, looking at the fine carpet of short short hair at each side of her head. It was so severe... Her nails had been adorned with high quality inch extensions painted a garish red. 'FebruRuby Red' Joyce had told her, explaining that it was a lacquer just like was used on real nails, and that they should last through the holiday. Her toenails, of course, had been painted to match.

Eyeing the fringe of newly dark hair, Sharon wondered if Go would be angry, or if this meant she and Kelly were not going to dance together when she was cleared to go back to work. She had looked at some images of the porn star Joyce had mentioned... The woman was younger, and truly did have a fearsome number of tattoos. Her ass was much bigger than Sharon's, too, and she was not close to the housewife's fitness level. Their breasts were probably close, although Sharon thought that hers looked more natural and were also slightly bigger.

As her appointment had wrapped up, Sharon had almost convinced herself Joyce had not noticed the change. When the shapely black woman spun her to look at the results in the station mirror, though, she had smiled at Sharon's reflection, telling the housewife,

'That's nice work, hon'... The ZB are gonna go nuts over your new rack.' Instead of considering what that might mean, though, Sharon had beamed, winking at her fellow BZ Bitch, and nodding, 'I hope so,' she had admitted. Joyce had snorted, shaking her head, and then waved off Sharon's attempt to pay, telling her Dave had already taken care of it.

Although she had expected success would mean trouble, she had been so hot on the ride home that she took the chance, letting her hand wander across the seat, newly affixed nails tickling over Verel's thigh and groin. The big football player had snorted, eyes shifting to examine the housewife, but he had not stopped her, and Sharon's hopes had risen. At the next light, she had slipped out of the shoulder harness, bending down across the front seat while her left hand struggled to lower his zipper and free his swollen cock. She never considered anyone might be beside them, watching.

The reason for her arousal was obvious enough. When Joyce had finished applying the color, the BZ Bitch cum stylist had asked Sharon if she was comfortable. Relaxed, Sharon had answered with her own question, asking about the ridge in the middle of the seat. Because she had never seen such a chair in a salon. She had found herself hoping there would be another seat where she could wait with the foil and color in place.

"See, hon', that's my special gimmick," Joyce had smiled, "Them Sports Clips have the TV and the hot towel. Gea has the froofy granola smoothie bar."

"And you've got an uncomfortab... Oh!" Before Sharon's complaint had escaped her lips, her sister had flipped a switch at the back of the chair. A deep buzz had started, and the vibrator units strategically placed along Sharon's inner thighs and right up against her sex and perineum had left her rigid, struggling for breath. Joyce had just laughed,

"See?" she teased, "And imagine how that feels to the poor girls here who haven't had a real cock." Sharon could barely manage a nod, smiling when Joyce added that her vibra-ride would not interfere with her manicure.

The vibrating chair had been amazing... and maddening. Because as close as Sharon had gotten... The inescapable buzz had quickly brought her nipples fully erect, and elicited a flood of arousal from her hungry sex, leaving the white housewife a quivering wreck... She had been unable to pay any attention to what was being done to her nails, it felt so good... But she could not slip over the edge; there was just slightly too little stimulation, despite her trying different positions, literally hunching forward, pushing her sex against the seat.

She wanted more, but the delicious sensation was enough that she had feared she would moan if she spoke, and so for a long time endured the excruciating pleasure, unwilling to either ask Joyce if there was a higher setting or to beg her to turn it off.

She nearly growled at the fellow BZ Bitch when Joyce finally shut it off, in order to remove the foils from Sharon's hair. Joyce just giggled, and when Sharon glanced over, LaToya was nearly laughing as well.

"Girl," the more experienced BZ Bitch managed after almost a minute, "That was awesome."

"What?" Sharon managed to pant, afraid to look down at the crotch of her sweat pants.

"Nobody's ridden it that long... Not even LaToya."

"I got to get up and finish myself off," the other hairdresser allowed, then added, "Cuz' it won't get you off." Sharon nodded in agreement. "Make you crazy hot, but it won't push that button... ZB ruined us for that."

"I had some housewife in last week," Joyce continued, "She asked about it-- I get lots of referrals that way. So I set her up, turned it on..."

"She starts screaming, grabbed the arms of the chair, body twitching, but damn if she didn't keep her ass tight. Swore she came in the first seconds and didn't stop until she passed out." Sharon found herself giggling at the mental image.

"Did she get mad?" she asked, imagining how she would have reacted just a few months before.

"Shit," Joyce snorted, "Tipped me fifty, and set up for a 'retouch' next week."

"We got women come every couple weeks just for their 'fun time,' LaToya added. "And that new bitch of Dave's?" Sharon was suddenly totally focused. "What's her name... Gordon... Gardner, that's it... Mary."

"She's been in?" Sharon was surprised.

"A regular... has us get her all polished up before her 'parties.' And she still can't take the chair for more than a minute," Joyce snorted, her impression of the older woman obvious. Sharon struggled to hide her pleasure at hearing that.

"Well, I think I'll be a regular too," she said. The women laughed.

"you ain't gonna need but a touch up for a long time, cut that short," Joyce shrugged, "But Maria does a great job on nails." And she had been right. Except for the impossible lengths, they looked completely natural.

It had not been another ten minutes before the still aroused white wife had stepped out of the shop, gasping in surprise at how cold it felt with almost no hair above her ears. She had hurried to climb into her car. The way Verel had eyed her as she settled and put the seatbelt on had simply fanned the flames of her ever present arousal.

"What are you looking at?" she had scolded. Verel had smirked, starting the big SUV.

"A shit hot fuck toy," he looked at her again then shifted his attention as he backed out of the stall. "You know who you look like?" Sharon had nodded,

"Chrissy Kenworth," she frowned, "She's a little heavy... great breasts... too much ink... and her hair is black."

"Not always," Verel corrected, "But mostly, yeah. And you forgot, she got a phat ass. Damn that would be a fun ride." He shrugged in a way that puzzled Sharon.

"I'm not a fun ride?" she prodded. Her chauffeur snorted.

"No, you are a grade A prime piece of ass... better ass than Miss Kenworth can hope to offer," Sharon beamed at the compliment. "But even if we were out in California or New York or wherever she's working, I wouldn't know." It was Sharon's turn to snort.

"Verel... I've seen what you've got." He looked over, arching an eyebrow, and Sharon giggled, "OK, I've done more than seen it. You've got as much as any guy I've seen in a porno." It was true, she thought, amused at how much she had seen in just a few months, and pleased at how many of 'her' ZB Brothers were truly sufficiently gifted they could make it in skin flicks. He shook his head, though.

"Nope. She won't do a brother." Sharon was surprised. She remembered the exchange in Las Vegas, and shook her head.

"Amazing that there's racism even in porn."

"Truth," the big frat member had shrugged, "But I ain't got much to complain about, right?"

"It's her loss," Sharon said and meant it. Which is when her eyes had fallen to his crotch, and she had made her move.

Her memory of the afternoon... the chair, Verel's words, and her own, spurred the housewife, as did her fear that at any moment the ZB member would stop her. If she got him off, he could really fuck her, too, she knew, when they got back to her place.

She braced the root of his cock with her left hand, head bobbing as she sucked and licked without pause, her right hand buried in her sweats, the soaked panties sticking to the back of her hand as she alternately fingered her pussy and ran a nail extension around her needing clit. She realized Verel was trying to hold out, and redoubled her efforts, murmuring encouragement, almost an outright hummer.

"Ahhh!" he gasped, and Sharon's efforts were rewarded within five minutes. She held herself against his crotch, swallowing his spend expertly, then bobbing more gently, milking the last drops of his jism from his softening tool." She shivered as her fingers and the arousal at what she had just done to the football captain brought her to a small orgasm of her own. Sometimes, she admitted to herself, she needed to feel a cock in her mouth... to revel in the power she had over men in that simple act.

Licking her lips, she sat up, slipping two fingers back into her still hungry seam, and letting her head fall back, mouth open. She was putting on a show, but she wanted Verel ready to go again when he got her home. She had left his cock out, and wanked it steadily with her left hand, her right hand working in her sweat pants at the same pace.

"Get me home so I can really thank you," Sharon murmured, looking over at him as she spoke. The frat member smiled , but did not agree. Pouting, Sharon looked out her window, realizing once again she was at the intersection of the clinic. Sharon flushed with embarrassment, then, at the thought of Bettie or Carol looking out and seeing her. Even so, she could not bring herself to let go of Verel's impressive cock. Or stop fingering her sex.

She looked away, resigned to the fact that she was the slut that Dr. Brian and his nurse had tried to say she was not. She was relieved when the light changed and they drove past the low sad building. And Sharon was relieved as well that Verel did not react-- did not ask why she seemed nervous sitting at the intersection like that. The big man seemed unaware of her mood. She was reminded that he had also not agreed to take care of her insistent need.

"You don't have a better offer, do you?" she teased, squeezing his cock playfully, and enjoying the way the SUV swerved as he responded involuntarily, "You're not tired of me?"

"Shar'," Verel shook his head, "A man would have to be dead or gay to be tired of you."

"So you'll let me thank you the right way, then," she nodded in an 'it's settled' attitude that had always worked with Chris at home. But that was home, where she was the housewife... mistress of her domain. Here she was a BZ Bitch, and such control was infrequent and usually even then only an illusion. He pulled up before her unit, and left the Range Rover running.

"Don't you want to come in?" Sharon teased, pushing her chest out, pulling at Verel's rising cock as if he could exit the vehicle through her door. She shivered at the mental image, and at the awareness she would lead him into her place by the cock in broad daylight if he would join her. "You're about ready to go again, and it would be such an uncomfortable ride home..." Verel put the car in park, and Sharon nearly groaned, her body responding to the confidence she was about to be fucked. She released the seatbelt, popping her door open as he released his own seatbelt.

"Uhm, you'd better put that away... just for a moment," she warned, eyes glued to his thick shaft. She could feel him inside of her already; God it had been too long. Verel tucked himself away with obvious difficulty, making the aroused white wife smile. She turned meaning to get the door open before he was out of the car. Instead, she heard him shift into gear, and as the rebuffed housewife turned, almost shouting for him to wait, her luxury SUV pulled away, making a graceful U turn to head out of the complex and back, she was sure, to the frat.