The Business
I used to go to a hairdresser but now she comes to me. She got fed up with the demands of her boss, who wasn't much good at cutting hair, and I got fed up with the chairs in the waiting room. When she gave me her business card, with a wink, I was enthusiastic and rang her that night to say I was her customer. I had always thought there was something special about Monique.

"You're my first," she said, "Thank you for your confidence." A week later I rang and she was at my place with a suitcase trolley of tools ready to start.

It wasn't easy for Monique. Many of those who had promised their support didn't give it. While she was cheaper than before many expected her to be cutting hair for next to nothing. Her situation was becoming desperate and one day she called in to talk about it.

"Why not make it a business?" I suggested.

"Isn't it a business?" she asked. I told her I didn't think it was.

"Instead of being a hairdresser who has gone out on her own, because she didn't get on with her boss, why not offer something different and sexy?" I went through the issues of image, advertising and the rest.

Four days later she rang to say she was had a business plan, much the same as I'd suggested. A few days later she rang and asked to see me.

That evening, when I opened the front door, I was surprised.

"How do I look?" she asked. I couldn't stop looking. The old sweater and jeans were gone. She was in a skirt and crisp, white shirt. I also saw a generous cleavage and an unexpectedly feminine figure. She'd painted her fingernails, put a few blonde streaks through her hair and used sensible makeup. She looked a million dollars.

Best of all was her smile, she looked like someone who deserved to do well and was committed to it. I took a while to take it all in and eventually remembered to invite her inside. We sat and I told her of how impressed I was while she beamed.

She started talking about her business plan. Essentially she would save on overheads by making home visits. She would cater for men and offer a wide range of services. My eyebrows shot up and I asked,

"What services?"

"That's why I'm here," she said. "How would you like a free wax and shave or a free wax only?" It took me a while to take it in.

"I need the practice," she said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile, her cleavage deep and inviting.

"Please?" she asked. I looked at her and thought of my chest hair. It wasn't an issue.


"You're sure?"

"Sure enough!" I said.

"You're a darling!" and she gave me a hug. She left and came back with a black suitcase. She opened it and took out a dressing gown.

"Be a sweetie; go, have a shower and come back with this on." I did as I was told and while showering she got everything ready. When I returned she had a rug and pillow on the floor which she indicated I should lie on. Around it were bowls and things. When I was comfortable she opened the front of the gown and started with the waxing.

"Rip!" The first strip came off. The rest of my hair almost fell out through the shock. She ripped off more strips to make my chest naked. Then she opened the gown further.

"That's cheating!" she said with a very broad grin, indicating the jocks I'd put on.

"There's no way you're going to wax anything under them!" I replied with a laugh.

"That's ok, but I do need practice with shaving."

"Have you shaved anyone before?" I asked.

"Of course I have!"


"Me. Every day!"

"And how do I know you're not covered with sticking plasters?" She thought for a while. Then she stood, stooped and without a word took her knickers off.

"Have a look! No sticking plasters here!" She laughed. I looked, had a long look, and saw she was beautifully shaved, her skin was smooth and clean. I could also see her delicate little lips poking through, a darker shade of pink. Then, with both hands she opened herself.

"See," she said, "No hair, no cuts, no sticking plaster! So, now, can I shave you please?"

"Ok." I regretted having made the decision so quickly because she dropped her skirt and started being busy. She went to the kitchen, filled a bowl with hot water and dropped the shaving brush in it.

"I'm ready!" she said. I slid my jocks off and lay down. She prompted me to raise my knees and spread them. I felt very exposed.

"Wow! For someone who has so little chest hair you sure have plenty here," she said with a laugh. I pulled the top of the dressing gown together.

"Oops! I'm sorry. First rule in hairdressing- keep the bits you're not working on covered. I'll have to remember that." She squirted shaving foam onto her hand and dabbed it around my cock to eventually cover everything. All the white made me look like an old man.

Then she swished the shaving brush around. It felt beautiful, the silk caresses so warm and wet. For a few moments she waited, then reached into her suitcase and pulled out a box. She opened it and next I saw was a cut throat razor being opened in her hands.

It wasn't a surprise- it was a shock. I was expecting a disposable razor. I had no idea what to say but she quickly had it crooked in one hand, my cock in the other and started to shave. The touch was so gentle and her action clean as she smoothed away the foam covered forest to leave clean skin. The easy part was soon done. She picked up my sack, stretched it out and the razor cleaned that up too.

I wasn't the only one who was interested. My cock had been impressively semi hard and it swelled to its full majesty, hard as a rock and difficult to move. I was embarrassed.

"Umm" she said, as she tried to move it and added to the problem. There was still a lot of hair around its base. I watched as she thought. Her hand gave up the battle to move it and idly stroked while she wondered. My cock twitched in her hand.

"I think I've left to last what I should have done first!" She laughed. My lack of control was embarrassing.

"Seems a pity to waste it," she murmured as she gently stroked.

I didn't disagree with anything she said, not while she had the cut throat razor in her other hand.

"Highly unprofessional," she said. Again I nodded my head, but it did feel very pleasant. Then suddenly she got to her knees and walked, straddled me, and with a gleam in her eye lowered herself. She held my cock as it entered her. Slowly she settled to sit and my cock inside her throbbed with delight. I'd forgotten she had no knickers on.

"There's more than one way to skin a cat," she whispered, "And to shave a cock!" We both laughed. She bent towards me and flicked the gown away so my body was exposed. She sat for a time as she admired her handiwork and felt the fullness of me. She ran her fingers over me and felt the smoothness.

I reached out, undid her buttons and parted her shirt. Her black bra was brief, it contained her breasts but it seemed miraculous, the cups were small and the smooth, soft flesh of her breasts surged around them.

She leaned forward as I put my hands behind her and undid the clasp. Her breasts bounced with their release. I touched them, weighed them in my hands and gave a gentle squeeze. I pulled her forward and with her breasts warm on my chest I kissed her. I ran my fingers, feather soft and gentle, up and down her spine with a few deviations to surprise, as we kissed.

I could feel my cock continue to twitch, I think she could too, and skin to skin, as we felt and tasted each other. The bliss was difficult to ignore and more difficult to abandon. Our breaths regulated to match each other's.

We ran our fingers through each other's hair and smoothed our fingertips over each other's bodies. The wonder of touch sent streams of tingles round our bodies. We looked at each other as innocents in our nakedness and pleasure. We sighed with the ecstasy and stilled to the music of being fulfilled.

Slowly we began to move and with a gentle rhythm we felt the deliciousness of our intimacy. Gradually she sat up on me, looked silently into my eyes and her pelvis continued its play.

I reached out, held her breasts and teased her nipples. We felt the slick smoothness and warm belonging of our shared parts. I always thought I could love her, I knew then that I did.

The momentum continued to quicken, the sensuous sliding, the full length touch and deliberate pleasure. We fucked, determined and fast. When it came, the explosions of liquids drove through us, coursed to their union and with our cries of surprise at their strength, they mixed.

For what seemed a long time, the sheen of sweat cooled us as we sought to breathe again, we were surprised to realize we hadn't been breathing. We held each other. With broad hands we caressed, and murmured sweet sounds that had no words but meant the world, the earth and stars, everything.

Slowly we moved, she carefully rolled off me and on our sides we kissed and clung to each other. Her breasts molded to me as my cock shrank to wizened smallness. She took it in her hand and held it as I put a finger inside her.

Exhausted we rested, gathered our strength, and wondered what had happened, but knew some changes are forever. I coughed. It shattered the cerebral calm and we started to move. We sat on the rug for a while and beamed like Cheshire cats, we'd spilled the cream. Then she put her hand to my chest, I lay down and she found the shaving foam. Wordlessly she finished her task and shaved round my cock.

"His Majesty is now served," she said, and as she wiped away the residues, she kissed him. I watched as she finished, then stood on my knees and indicated that we change places.

She lay down and with wet flannel and towel in hand I prompted her knees up and apart. Carefully, with the wet flannel, I wiped the congealed juices and errant shaving cream away, cleaned her thighs and her folds. I took my time as I cleaned her, time to touch and observe, to clean each part separately as she watched. Then I toweled her dry, not missing any detail and kissed her slit as I held it open.

"Her Majesty is now served," I said.

We laughed, we kissed and tight, we hugged.

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