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The Salon - 1/3
🕑 Added 2024-07-24 13:00:12 +0000 UTC
Disclaimer: This story contains adult themes. It is not suitable for minors or the easily offended.
https://linktr.ee/spartacuswrites
Contains: Breast Expansion
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The Salon
Skye
When Melanie locked the front door and flipped the open sign to closed, I dropped into my styling chair to finally relax. I’d known the job would be hard work, and the dull aching all over my body was oddly comforting. This wasn’t what I thought my life would look like at twenty-four, but it felt good to have a job that wasn’t retail or waiting tables. I enjoyed the three summers I worked at Joe’s and even did a holiday stint at Banana Republic once, but those jobs weren’t careers—not that I’d ever planned on having a career. But regardless of the plans I’d once had for my life, I couldn’t sit on my ass or work retail forever. I needed a job to pay the bills—and something “productive” to do with my time. I’m not a passive person; if anything, I’m usually too competitive about things. So, I borrowed a little tuition money from my parents and went back to school.
Cosmetology school had been a lot of work, but honestly, I enjoyed it a lot more than high school. Turns out there’s a big difference when you actually want to be in school. I had teachers tell me more than once that I had a natural talent for cutting hair, so I knew I’d made the right choice. I’d been so anxious about doing it for real, though. In the school’s salon, everyone knew they were getting free or cheap work done because we were students, so they were pretty understanding. It was kind of expected that we’d all fuck up at least once. Mine were never too severe, of course. Not like that one girl who used the wrong attachment on her clippers—the teacher had to practically shave the guy’s head.
But I wasn’t in school anymore; I had a real job at a real salon. I’d cut six heads on my first day, and two of them even tipped over twenty percent! I always did pretty well as a server; people say I’m a “people person,” and whenever the other servers compared tips, I was always at or near the top. I suppose it helps that I’m kind of a snack. Not to be conceited or anything; I stay in pretty good shape and take care of my skin. I probably spend too much money on clothes, but I believe it’s important to have the right fit whenever you go out.
Melanie started closing out the register. She seemed like a pretty cool boss. I’d only met one of the other stylists so far, a girl in her early thirties named Amy. She seemed alright but spent most of the day talking about her kids. I pushed up from my chair to clean my station. I was very much looking forward to getting back to my empty apartment, opening that new box of white wine in the fridge, and watching an episode or two of Grey’s before passing out. As exhausted as I was, it would hopefully be the best night’s sleep I’d had in over two years.
***
Melanie
I’d just finished counting and bagging the extra cash from the drawer when the new girl stepped away from her station. “All done?” I asked.
I would almost certainly have to re-organize the station myself—it always took a few shifts for a new stylist to figure out our system. Skye was fresh out of cosmetology school, so it would probably take her even longer. She’d done alright with the customers, but the extra time it took her to find things really slowed us down. It was always risky hiring stylists who were too pretty. They put some customers at ease—mostly men—but others would get distracted or jealous, giving the salon an uneasy vibe.
Skye flashed a bright smile. “Yep! Need me to do anything else before I head out?”
To be fair, having Skye in the shop had slowed me down a bit, too. I really shouldn’t have been stealing glances in my mirror at her tight little bottom in those jeans.
I gave her my “customer smile.” “Would you run the broom one more time before you go?”
I could have let her go home. I’d have to re-sweep the floor myself anyway, but if she got most of the hair up, it might save me five minutes or so. Skye nodded, untying her apron, and I held out a hand for it. I hung the apron on a row of hooks, making a mental note to order another one in extra-small. She had decent curves for such a tiny girl, but she was swimming in a size medium apron. Hanging it up for her gave me a good excuse not to check out the rest of what the oversized apron had been hiding. I’ve always had a weakness for skinny girls gifted in the chest region, and it’d been so long since I got laid that I was having a hard time not imagining filling my palms with those beauties. I made another mental note to hit up the bars this weekend and prowl around for a nice girl; the last thing I needed was for my newest hire to report me to corporate for harassment.
I stole another glance at Skye’s booty as I locked the front door behind her, wondering if I should stop by The Flamingo that night instead of waiting for Friday. I bet Matteus would be down. But it was a Tuesday. Not even karaoke night. We’d be lucky to see more than a dozen people at the bar, let alone any potential bed warmers. With a sigh, I checked over the stations and swept the edges Skye had missed. I got off pretty cheap at The Flamingo—they usually undercharged me—but I had a brand-new bottle of bourbon at home. I was better off not wasting my money. I’d go home, pour a glass, and burn through a few more chapters of my latest romantasy read. With any luck, I’d finally get to the spicy chapters.
***
Skye
Mom called just as I was sitting down to eat dinner. Somehow, she always managed to do that, no matter how random my evenings got.
“Hi, sweetie! How’s it going?”
“It’s going good, mom. I’m just about to have dinner.”
“Okay, I won’t keep you long…”
She proceeded to update me on everything she and Dad had done in the past week, every conversation she’d had with her friends or our extended family, and a full itinerary for their weekend. I gave the appropriate murmurs and single-syllable responses, and my chicken was completely cold by the time she said, “So, how are things going with you? How’s the new job?”
“It’s going really well. My coworkers are nice, and I’ve been getting a lot of tips.”
“Really? People tip at the salon?”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. My parents still acted like they were poor, pulling out a calculator at restaurants to tip fifteen percent exactly. It was a hill I’d long ago decided wasn’t worth dying on. “Oh, not everyone. But most people do.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice. You’re doing okay otherwise? Are you getting enough to eat?”
Tugging on a bra strap that had been irritating me all day, I said, “Yes.”
“Alright, well, I just worry about you, you know? Do you need money or anything?”
“No, mom. You and Dad already loaned me the money for school, and I’ll be able to start paying you back soon.”
“You know we have room here if you need somewhere to stay. I hate the idea of you throwing money away on rent.”
“It’s fine, Mom, really. I don’t wanna have to drive that far to work.”
“You know I ran into Lisa the other day…”
I clenched my teeth and held in a sigh. Why on earth would I want to hear about my ex-mother-in-law? “Oh?”
“She said Johnny got promoted at the factory. I sure wish you kids could have worked things out.”
My eyes lost focus, and the room started to spin. I loved my mom, but I could not have this conversation again. “I really should let you go; my food’s getting cold.”
“Oh. Okay! Well, I’m glad you’re doing okay. Let me know if you want to come over for dinner or do your laundry or anything.”
As much as I hated using the laundry room in my building, it beat driving over half an hour to listen to my mother speculate on what I could have done to save my marriage. Besides, the way it was pinching, I was pretty sure Mom’s ancient dryer shrunk my bra.
“The salon is pretty busy on the weekends, but I’ll try to make it for Easter.”
“Alright, sweetheart. Have a good night!”
“You too, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you, too!”
I wanted to chuck my phone across the room, but I definitely couldn’t afford to buy a new one. I put my plate in the microwave and opened the fridge to refill my wine glass.
***
Melanie
I was in the back room on my lunch break when I heard Skye wrapping up with a male customer. Business had picked up a fair bit in the month since she’d started, and I mentally patted myself on the back for hiring her.
“Alright, you’re all set!” Skye said.
“What do I owe you?”
“It’s twenty-two.”
I could hear Skye’s dazzling smile in her voice. “Okay, out of forty… Oh! Thanks so much! You have a great day!”
I nearly choked on my food. The man had tipped her almost twenty dollars? She’d be taking my job soon if I wasn’t careful.
That afternoon was slow, so Skye and I sat in our chairs, waiting for any walk-ins before the next appointment. I looked up from my phone to see her plucking at the fuzzy cropped sweater she wore under her apron. She was covered almost to her throat, but the better-fitting apron really emphasized her chest.
I asked, “You feeling okay? You’re not getting sick or anything, are you?”
Skye looked up. “No… why?”
“You seem kinda… fidgety.” What the hell was I saying? “Sorry, I’m still a little paranoid about customers thinking we might be sick. People are still a little touchy sometimes… after… you know.”
She set down her phone, using both hands to adjust herself in her bra with a sigh. “No, I’m fine. This bra is just pinching at me again.”
I pushed the image of Skye’s bra out of my head and asked, “Is it bloating?”
“No, I had my period last week. I don’t bloat like that, anyway. I’ve worn a 28C since I was sixteen.”
I had no response to that. My question had been more than a little inappropriate, but I hadn’t expected her to answer with such blunt honesty. Maybe that’s just how young people talk. I’d certainly heard high school and college-aged girls talking about very private things in the shop—stuff that seemed private to me, anyway. Maybe their generation had fewer hang-ups than mine did. Luckily, I was saved from this awkward conversation by a customer. He looked late twenties or maybe early thirties, and I could tell from the way his eyes kept darting to Skye that he was trying to come up with a polite way to request her specifically.
I nodded for her to go ahead. Skye stood and gave the man that perfect smile of hers. “Come on over and have a seat. What do we need today, just a trim?”
With nothing else to do, I had a perfect opportunity to watch Skye work. I was starting to see why she was getting tipped so well. When she reached around to drape her cape over him, her breasts bumped the back of his head. When she grabbed her trimmers from the counter, they brushed against his shoulder. And when she tilted his head to trim his eyebrows, it rested right on top of her chest. I was certain she wasn’t doing it on purpose—she was short relative to the salon chair, with short arms to match.
When she stepped to the side to trim around the man’s ears, I got a good look at Skye’s profile. If those are C-cup boobs, I thought, I’m Ani DeFranco.
I shot Matteus a text that simply said, “Karaoke?” I needed to find a girl and get Skye out of my system.
Comments
Yarn
Interested to see where this goes
