Sissy Mission 5 Stacked Sissy
- 1 year ago
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Sissy Mission #8: Up-do Sissy free porn video
I sat in the car, taking a few deep breaths and trying to calm my
nerves. My Spanx body-shaping briefer tightly held my lower mid-
section over my sheer pantyhose, which provided some comfort as they
hugged my legs. As I slid from the seat to get out and enter the mall,
I felt the cool silk of my nylon panties on my bottom underneath all
those layers.
I walked into the mall past the throngs of people typically roaming the
polished floors on a Saturday. My heart was beating fast, and I was
conscious of the swishing of the pantyhose underneath my Dockers. It
wasn't a far walk to my destination, yet I reached it flushed as if I
had run the entire way. My cheeks felt warm as I took another deep
breath and walked through the door of the UltraCuts franchise.
Amy, a young woman of about twenty-two with dark hair and bright red
lipstick, greeted me as I walked in. "Are you here for a haircut,
sir?"
"Um, no. Actually, err, I'm here to see if anyone has time for an up-
do," I said, my voice faltering into a high pitch.
Misunderstanding me, she replied, "Well, first of all, we don't take
appointments, just walk-ins, so you will have to bring her in with
you?is it for your daughter for prom?"
"Uh. No. It's for me. I have a party this evening and I would like a
curly up-do."
"Oh, umm, of course!" she said, brightly and almost too loudly,
surprised at my request. "I think Carly is just finishing up with a
client. Please sit down and she'll be right with you. What is your
name?"
"Patrick," I answered, not thinking quickly enough to give her a name
other than my own.
Honestly, I thought of leaving at that point from the deep
embarrassment of doing something so unusual and so sissy, but I
obediently took a chair. I sat down next to an older woman who was
waiting, and she looked at me in such a way that I could see she wanted
to say something, but was keeping it to herself. Her eyes hinted at
her simultaneous amusement and disgust.
I looked down at the table and noticed several style books, and picked
up one entitled "Formal Prom and Bridal Styles." It depicted lots of
young women with elaborate up-dos, many with curls. I paged through
until I found one that appeared to be very intricate, with sausage
curls held high on the crown in the back.
"Patrick?" I heard from my left as a petite 30ish blonde with a
highlighted bob approached through the archway. Her voice inflected
upward toward the end of my name, indicating her curiosity about who
this man was who wanted an up-do.
"Come right back," she invited. "Sit right here," she brightly asked
as we approached her chair.
"I'm a little bit nervous," I admitted, as I sat down in the chair.
She swung me around and I realized that on this side of the salon I was
facing the windows that looked out onto the mall. There were many
people passing, and it seemed like they were all looking into the
salon. Of course, at this point, I looked like any other male sitting
down for a haircut in a unisex salon, but in my mind I was naked and on
display.
"Nervous? Well, don't be. I'm very good at up-dos. Can I ask what the
occasion is?"
"A party. My wife is having some friends over."
"Oh, really? Is it a fancy dress party or a drag party?"
"No, just a celebration of my wife's promotion. She is having some
friends over and I'll be serving drinks."
"Oh. So what will you be wearing? YOu see, I usually try to tailor the
style to the clothes, but I've never done an up-do on a man's hair
before."
"Um, well, I'll be wearing a maid uniform with petticoat and pearls."
"Oh, I see! This is going to be fun." She seemed to be very intrigued
with the idea and obviously wanted to ask more questions but was
restraining herself."
Next she said, "Well, let's get started. You have a book in your hand.
Which style were you looking at?"
"This one," I stated, my hands shaking a bit as I opened the book and
pointed to a picture of a young blonde with long hair. The front was
pinned into a very controlled cap of hair with a few tendrils loose and
curly at the front. In the back, the hair was pulled up and arranged
around the crown in the back, flowing out again into spiral curls.
Throughout there were sprigs of small white flowers worked into the
design.
"THAT'S very pretty!" she exclaimed, "YOU have very good taste. It's a
little bit more of a bridal fashion, but I'm sure it will work very
well with your maid outfit. I think it will work well in your hair,"
she said, running her fingers through my hair, which had been growing
out for a few years at my wife's request. "Let's get you in the
shampoo chair and get your hair wet."
She led me back past a row of dryers to the shampoo bowl. She reclined
the chair and motioned for me to lie back and place my head in the
bowl. As she walked around the end of the chair, she bumped the corner
with her leg and stumbled. As she righted herself, she touched my
outstretched leg below my pant cuff, sending a slight sensation through
me as her fingers brushed my pantyhose. "Oh, I'm sorry! I'm so
clumsy," she said, patting my leg and sending another, this time
stronger, sensation through me. I guess it shouldn't have been that
embarrassing that she knew I was wearing pantyhose, considering I was
in the salon for an up-do and had already admitted that I would be
wearing a maid uniform later that evening.
Carly very efficiently washed my hair, moving her fingers in and out of
it vigorously, commenting on the thickness of it. I tried to enjoy the
process and calm down a bit as the warm water washed over my head and
she placed it in a towel. "Let's get you in the chair, then," she said
brightly as she lifted the chair up and guided me back to her salon
chair in front of the windows.
"Now, here's where we have to make a decision," she said. Normally, I
would do some of this with a curling iron, but with your hair's
thickness, I think it might be a good idea to spiral set it on rollers
in the back and just use the curling iron to finish the front. Is that
OK?"
"Sure," I said, knowing that I would probably be spending at least the
next couple of hours on display in the salon.
As Carly quickly and professionally rolled my hair in a spiral pattern
on medium size perm rods, I watched in the mirror as people walked by
in the mall outside the windows. I felt as if everyone was looking at
me, but I'm sure that many who walked by missed the fact that there was
a male in the salon chair getting the ultimate treatment in feminine
hairstyling.
"All done with that part. Let's put you under the dryer and let you
cook," said Carly cheerfully. She led me to the dryer chairs, which
were at the end of the row of stations, and in full view of the salon
and the windows. I was very conscious that everyone could see me as
she settled me into the chair, adjusted the heat, and dropped the dryer
over my head. The heat was nearly uncomfortable, and added to the
sensation of burning in my face that was already there. As Carly
walked away, I could see other stylists commenting to her. I imagined
they were saying things such as "what a sissy!"
A few minutes into my time under the dryer, Carly came back with a
magazine or two in her hand. "How are we doing, hon? Would you like a
magazine? I picked out a couple you might like." I indicated that I was
OK and reached for the magazines. She had chosen "Modern Bride" and
"Glamour." I think she probably had found it quite obvious that as
uncomfortable as I was, I was excited by the attention and enjoying
myself.
After a time of "cooking," as Carly put it, I did indeed feel like a
roast turkey. I was conscious of every perm rod on my head as the hair
dryed and tightened around them.
"Wow. Your hair takes forever to dry. It's so thick," said Carly as
she picked up the dryer for the last time and checked one of the rods.
"I think you are done, though. Let's get back in the chair one more
time." She led me back to her station.
"I grabbed lots of pins," she said, grinning, as she began to take the
rods out of my hair. "The curls look fabulous! Just like Scarlett
O'Hara."
With all of the rods out, she primped and pulled on the curls, evening
them out across the back of my head. Then she expertly began a
complicated and mysterious process of pinning my hair up so that the
curls began high on the back of my head and cascaded down, teasing my
neck in little bouncy springs. As she pinned the hair back on top of
my head, she reached into her drawer for some sprigs of tiny white
flowers, saying, "These will match your pearls. They were left over
from a bride we had in yesterday. Your hair is actually much prettier
than hers."
"Now," she said, "for the finishing touches. We're almost done."
She turned me toward the window, and I took a deep breath as I saw a
group of young women gathered outside the salon. They had noticed me
and now were very interested in why a man was getting what looked to
them like a bridal hairstyle, I'm sure.
Taking her curling iron from the table behind her, Carly carefully
spiral-curled several tendrils she had left hanging on each side of my
face. She looked at her work very closely, smiling as she arranged
them on each side, saying, "This is very pretty. I hope you like it.
Let's turn you around and spray it so it doesn't go anywhere."
The sweet smell of the hairspray enveloped my head in a cloud as Carly
walked around me spraying and arranging last minute details with her
fingers.
"Well, that's it. I think you're as pretty as you're going to get for
now. What do you think?" she asked.
I was sort of speechless as I looked in the mirror. Although I wasn't
wearing makeup, the hairstyle was so intricate that it was all I
noticed. My eyes went from the crown with its carefully arranged
flowers, to the tendrils delicately falling on either side of my face.
Carly held up a mirror so I could see the spirals of curls arranged
across the back of my head, falling to my neck.
"Well, let's show you off to the world," she said with a flourish of
the cape as she let me get up from the chair. Her words reminded me
that I had a ways to go to find the car. I thanked her and generously
tipped her as I paid for my transformation, my heart beating at the
prospect of running the gauntlet of the mall.
As I walked through the mall, most of the people I met on the way out
seemed interested in my hair. I now knew what it must feel like for a
girl to be out in public in her prom outfit and hairstyle, or in her
wedding dress. I think at first, my gender wasn't an issue, but it was
the elaborate hairstyle that attracted attention. Of course, the looks
on faces changed a little bit when they saw the incongruence of a very
fancy hairstyle on a man dressed in a polo shirt and Dockers. One
young girl walking by was even brash enough to blurt out, "You have
very pretty hair, sir!" My cheeks burned.
Finally leaving the mall and breathing the cool fall air, I made my way
back to the car. My wife was in the driver's seat, so I opened the
door and sat down on the passenger seat.
"Sissy mission accomplished."
"Yes, indeed, dear," she said, as she obviously couldn't resist
touching my sprayed curls, bouncing them a little bit in her palm and
running her long wine-colored fingernails over the top of my hair and
all its pins. "I can hardly wait to paint your pretty face to go with
this fabulous hair." She paused with a devilish little grin shaping her
pert mouth.
"While you were in the salon, I took the liberty of finding something
to go under your maid uniform," she said, glancing to the backseat as
she pulled out of the parking spot.
I turned and spread out across the backseat was the softest, fullest,
frilliest white petticoat I had ever seen. It is going to be a long
evening, I thought, squirming in my satin panties on the seat. This
sissy mission was actually just beginning.
Uma
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