the time the cute hairstylist was grinding on my hand [MF] [exhibition]

I’m standing in a shitty hallway in a shitty apartment building in a shitty part of town. The bare fluorescent bulb mounted overhead casts an unsettling green glint onto her unit number. The numbers are stickers, peeling off the door. I’ve rung her doorbell and can hear her moving around inside. I think back to what I know of Noelle. It’s not much, I’d just met her yesterday.

I had had an appointment with Maria, my hairstylist. I’d been going to Maria for years, a decade at least, and she’d always done a great job. Not that my basic men’s cut is difficult. But even for something simple, I don’t want it wrong, and I trust Maria.

Maria’s reliable. However, forty-five minutes before our appointment, for the first time ever, Maria called to cancel. “I’m so sorry, Christos, I would never flake on you last minute like this, but it’s a family emergency you know.”

I sighed. “Ok, Maria.” I was holding my phone to my face. “Do you know when you’ll be back? Later today? I have a dinner, I need to look sharp.”

“No, so sorry, it may be a while, I do not know when.” Maria was raised in Poland and still had a slight accent. “But I’ll tell you what, I’m training a new girl, she is very good. She will cut your hair, ok? Same time. You trust me, Christos, and I trust her, so you trust her, ok?”

I sighed again, ran my fingers through my hair. Gross, it was far too long. I needed this haircut. And if Maria was vouching for this girl…

“Ok, Maria,” I said, “But it’s your reputation on the line, you know.”

“Ok, thank you, yes, Christos,” she said, “Her English is not so good, but she is very good with hair, has a great eye, very stylish. I will call her right now, let her know to meet you there.”

“She’ll give me the same cut you give me, right?” I said.

“Yes, I will explain to her,” Maria said, “You’ll love her. Very good.”

“Ok, Maria,” I said, “I hope she’s as good as you say.”

“She is. You’ll see!”

So I went down to the salon Maria operated out of. It’s a classy place in a nice part of town, dark marble floors with shiny brass fixtures, careful spot lighting, a heavy smell of hair product. This petite girl with spiked black hair and pink highlights and a dozen piercings was waiting there at her chair, wearing the black apron that Maria always wore. She looked young and cute and bored, flipping through her phone, barely looking up when I rapped on the counter.

She sighed, slid her phone into her pocket, and slowly walked to the front.

“You’re Maria’s girl?” I said. The other stylists looked over, but were quickly disinterested.

Her eyes gave me an assessing stare. “Christos?”

“Yes,” I said, “I’m the three-thirty.”

She took a moment to eye me over. I couldn’t read her reaction. She simply said, “Ok,” before turning and walking to her station and pointing to the chair, “Take seat.”

Despite her youth, she did seem like she knew her way around hair, operating with confidence. Operating with confidence, but also with silence. Maria loves to chat, I don’t mind it, but I also didn’t mind this girl’s silence. No, so far, this girl was living up to Maria’s promise, giving me what appeared to be a professional, stylish cut.

Except that she was leaning against me.

I mean, every haircut I’ve ever had, Maria, whoever, they inevitably end up brushing against me at some point. It’s nothing, something to ignore, a meaningless, inconsequential accident.

And, yeah, this girl’s touch did seem accidental at first, too, I guess. She was petite, had to lean against me, push up onto her toes, to get to the top of my head or whatever. But then she was against my arm, her tits rubbing against my shoulder. My dick noticed that, even if the rest of me pretended not to. But I still thought it was just an accident.

And she wasn’t flirting or anything like that. Her expression didn’t betray any concern for me one way or the other. Yet, she pressed her tits against my back in a way that seemed totally unnecessary, then against my other shoulder. I gave her a glance, and her demeanor was all business, no hint of anything … unprofessional.

But when she pressed her crotch against my knee, grinding her pussy against me through all that fabric, my mind reeled. There’s no way that was an accident. I gave her another look, and again she ignored it, focusing on cutting hair.

I didn’t know what was going on, but I was intrigued.

So I tried a little experiment. I swung my hand away from my body, pivoting on the armrest so that my fingers were splayed out, and just held them there like it was no big deal.

And at first nothing changed. But sure as shit, a minute later, this girl nonchalantly made her way over to where my fingers were and pressed herself against them. The realization washed through me.

Then she pushed up onto her toes, and my hand slid beneath the apron. She lowered her crotch onto my outstretched fingers. The motion was so smooth, so natural, as if this maneuver was part of her task, focusing on a particularly difficult hair or something. I hadn’t moved, but now I had a handful of pussy, grinding against my fingers through the fabric of her tight yoga pants.

I couldn’t fucking believe it, what was this girl’s deal? Did Maria set her up to do this, some sort of apology for canceling?

I pushed harder with my fingers, giving her a solid grope, the type that’d normally get me slapped, or worse. But this girl just pushed against me even more firmly, biting her lip. It was the first I’d seen her face acknowledge what she was doing. And it was an intoxicating sight.

I rubbed her more forcibly, and she pinched her eyes closed and sucked in a sharp breath. This was so weird, but so hot. She was a cute girl, and she got even cuter with her face flush and warm with arousal.

I looked around the salon. There were people, stylists, customers, whoever, going about their business, not paying us any mind. People who had no idea that we were fucking around right there next to them.

Maybe that’s what got this girl off, the thrill of doing this in public, the absurdity of being caught.

Whatever it was, this girl had my attention, and I was happy to be her rubbing post. She grinded against my fingers, her tiny motions building in intensity, the crotch of her pants growing damp, her breath quickening.

She gritted her teeth and pushed against me hard, her eyes rolling back in her head.

And then it was over. She moved off, finishing my haircut, dusting me off, like nothing had happened.

She pulled the smock off me and I stood up, admiring myself in the mirror. “Got a business card?” I asked, playing it cool, “In case, you know, I need another?”

She gave me a look like she was making up her mind about something. Then she grabbed one of Maria’s, scribbling something on the back. “This is my phone,” she said, holding it up, “Text me.” She’d written “Noelle” next to it.

So, yeah, that was yesterday, and today I texted her, and now I’m standing outside Noelle’s apartment.

The door swings open, and she’s there looking fucking sexy in a sheer red robe that runs from shoulder to knee but hides nothing. She’s out of place here, her beauty incongruous with the ugly apartment. She’s giving me an appraising look. I’m smirking, she’s not.

“Come in,” she decides.

I’m on her couch, swilling vodka from a bottle we’re sharing. She’s got my pants down, and she’s playing with my cock, smacking it side to side, pulling and pushing on it. She sucks it into her mouth, licks my balls, too, but it’s just to get me hard, tease me stiff.

She climbs onto my lap. She’s slender, ivory, and beautiful beneath the thin red material. She lowers herself onto my shaft, her pussy tight and hot. She impales herself with my cock, raises up, then does it again, over and over. Any other girl, I’d take lead, fuck her at my pace. But the way Noelle’s doing this, the way she’s grinding, it’s the same way she got herself off on me at the salon, and it’s fucking hot watching her do the same but on my dick.

She does all the work, and its erotic watching her get herself off again. I push my thumb into her mouth, she sucks on it. And then she’s climaxing, her pussy spasming around my shaft. And then I’m cumming too, spraying my load deep inside this girl. Her orgasm milks me dry, and we sit, my cock still buried inside her while we silently watch each other come down.

I clean up and head to the door, head spinning from the vodka and sex. Laying on the couch, she watches me go, a satisfied look on her face.

“If you want,” she says, “Text me again.”

I nod, and then I’m gone.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/n0mygt/the_time_the_cute_hairstylist_was_grinding_on_my