The Salon Assistant - Part 3 free porn video

The journey home after my first day at the salon was an uncomfortable experience (physically and emotionally). Thankfully it was dark by the time that Becky had discharged me, in more ways than one, so it was much easier to hide from the unwanted gazes of strangers. Still, I don't know what took the most effort to conceal, my coral pink nails or the damp patch in my jeans. I heaved a huge sigh of relief when I finally made it home that evening. The next morning I made my way through the quiet Sunday streets in the city centre and paused about 100 yards from the salon. The temperature was due to hit 80 today, which was highly unusual for a Scottish summer, and I was wearing a white polo shirt, blue dress shorts and my best pair of trainers. I looked at my reflection in the shop window and took off the cap I was wearing. I then spent a few minutes primping and preening my hair to see if I could get it to look the same as it did when I left the salon last night. I eventually got it to the stage where I was pretty pleased with my handiwork. I smiled at my reflection and then walked the remaining 100 yards to the salon with a feeling of quiet confidence. I pushed the door of the salon open and, unable to see anyone, I shouted into the darkness, "Morning Becky." This was met with complete silence so I moved up the stairs onto the mezzanine level and noticed Becky coming out from the back of the salon. "Morning B...." I started to say but before I could finish the greeting I caught her looking sternly at me and I immediately changed tack and said "Morning Ma'am." "Morning Steph," she said as she looked me up and down with a 'disappointed to see you' expression on her face. "Do you think that's the appropriate attire for work?" "But it's going to get really warm today. And I thought that just because it's only you and me here..." "So?" she retorted. "That's no excuse for letting our standards slip. This is a high-class establishment." She stopped mid-sentence after moving her attention from my outfit onto my hair. "What have you done to your hair? I thought I told you not to touch it or put anything on it?" "I haven't. I didn't," I pleaded as my face reddened. "Don't lie to me or I'll put you over my knee." This announcement took me by surprise. "What? No, I, I, I just wore a cap this morning?" "You wore a cap? You wore a cap? After all my efforts to make your hair look perfect last night you wore a cap?" "It, it, it kept the sun out of my eyes." Becky looked at me knowing that there was more to this than just shielding my eyes from the sun. There was a brief silence as I plucked up the courage to add, "And, and, and I didn't want anybody staring at me on the bus." Becky looked at me with amazement. "Look, I know it's just you and me here but do you not want to look your best for me? Do you think I shouldn't have made an effort and just come in as scruffy as you?" I looked at her and, although she was just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, her hair and make-up had been done to perfection. Her make-up was identical to the look she had in the salon yesterday but somehow the casual nature of the clothes she was wearing made her look even hotter. "Yes, No....I mean yes....I mean I don't know. Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a salon assistant," I stammered as my groin started to waken from its early morning slumbers. Becky shook her head. "Maybe you're not," she said before telling me to go into the back and to start putting all of the styling capes into the washing machine. After about thirty minutes of taking a crash course in washing machine language and trying to figure out the correct temperature to wash the styling capes at, the right amount of washing powder to use and the fact that no softener was required, I started the wash cycle and headed out to get my next job from Becky. "I've put the capes in to wash, Ma'am," I said. "Good, go and take a seat at the sink and wait for me." I gulped and hesitated. It was at the sink last night that I had my first accident and there was no way that I could afford to have that happen again. Not today, not in this weather. Not when I was only wearing shorts. I made my way to the sink and perched myself on the edge of the seat without reclining my head back. This was my vain attempt at trying to take some control over this situation. After a few minutes Becky came over and looked at how I was sitting. "Come on, assume the position. I need to get you hair sorted again." She saw the look of fear on my face and tried to reassure me with, "Don't worry, we won't be sharing a seat this time." I leaned back in the chair and slowly rested my neck against the collar of the sink. Becky pulled up a chair behind the sink and also dragged over a trolley from one of the styling stations. I looked anxiously at the sight of this trolley being pulled up beside us and she ran her hand through my hair and said, "Don't worry, sweetie. This is just the colour trolley." As soon as she said that she turned on the shower and the water came out at full force, splashing all over the sink and saturating the t-shirt I was wearing. "I thought I told you last night to make sure the water was turned down low on all of these?" "I did....I mean, I think I did," I said. "Doesn't look like it," she retorted. "You're drenched." I tried to raise my head from the sink but her strong hand pulled me back down. "You can sort it out when I've finished with you." After quickly washing my hair and, somewhat roughly I felt, squeezing the excess water from it with a towel, Becky started to comb and separate sections of my hair. I'd feel her grab these sections, dip a brush or spatula into one of the three bowls she had on the tray and rub these against the section of the hair that she was holding. Once she had done this she would then wrap a piece of tinfoil around that section of hair and move on to the next one. I finally plucked up the courage to ask her what was going on? "Well, sweetie, I've been having a think about it and I think your reluctance to let the world see your wonderful new hairstyle might have been my fault." "But what..." I stammered before she continued. "You see, I gave you the cut and the shape but not the added ingredient you need to make it as stylish as mine. That's why I decided to give you highlights just like mine." "Highlights?" I sputtered as I tried to raise my head from the sink. "Careful, Steph. You nearly knocked the dye out of my hand and become a full on blondie there," she chuckled. "Of course I'm giving you highlights. What did you think I needed the colour tray for, sweetie?" My face turned a bright red through a combination of anger and acute embarrassment. I think Becky spotted this and immediately moved to distract me from what she was doing to my head. "So, what have your friends said about your new hairstyle? Having they been making fun of you?" This immediately put me on the defensive. "What? Eh...." "What do your friends think about your new hairstyle" she repeated. "Ehm, well, not sure." It was no use, I would need to admit it to her. "I don't really have any friends." "What?" she said. "Everybody has friends. Not even one?" My face remained bright red but it was now solely due to the embarrassment of having to admit that to someone. "Well we know your mum likes it. And I like it. So you don't really need anyone else's approval, do you?" I assumed this was a rhetorical question and didn't respond. "What about your nails? Did you mum like your nails? Or did you manage to hide them from her?" Becky asked enthusiastically. "Eh, no. I tried but she saw them. I think she was just happy they were clean for a change." "Oh, I forgot to check them. Show me your nails." I half-heartedly held up my hands and showed them to Becky. I could sense her smiling behind me. "Perfect, not a single chip. Maybe you like them better than you hair?" Again I could sense her smiling behind my head as she continued to section, dye and wrap my hair. "Oh, there's still a couple of pre-employment questions that I forgot to ask you last week. Do you mind if we do it now?" She, of course, didn't wait for an answer and announced, "I'll just go to the office and get your file." This brief respite gave me time to notice the strong chemical smells that were wafting towards me from the bowls on the colouring trolley. They had an aroma of permanence to them. As I arrived at this stomach-churning conclusion Becky breezed back in. "Right, just a few questions, sweetie. Do you do any exercise?" "Eh...What? Yes, I go running three times a week." "Ooooo, that's wonderful for your legs and your bum. What's your waist size?" "What?" I enquired. "Your waist size, sweetie? What size of jeans do you wear?" "Oh," I responded. "30 inch-waist, but I'm probably a bit smaller than that because my jeans are usually a bit baggy in that area." "Chest-size?" she enquired. "Eh?" "What size of t-shirts or tops do you buy?" she said. "Small." "Small isn't a size silly. Do you have any suits? What size is the jacket?" "Oh, no, I don't know. I don't have any suits," I said. "Never mind, I think I have a measuring tape somewhere. I'll measure you after we finish here," she said as she put the file down and started to work again on my hair. After a few more minutes of sectioning and wrapping Becky finally announced that we were done at the sink. "We just need to wait for the colour to take and then I can wash it out. Stand up sweetie and let's see what we can do about your t-shirt." I stood up and must have looked a right sight with my hair wrapped in multiple pieces of foil and my t-shirt soaked right through. "Hmmmm, it's still saturated honey. I think it'll need to come off." "But....but...I don't have anything else to wear," I exclaimed. "I know, and your favourite styling cape is in the wash so you can't wear that," she said with a huge grin on her face. "I could....I could...just take it off and wait until it dried," I suggested. "And wander around my salon in just your shorts? I don't think so?" Becky seemed to think for a minute and then appeared to have a brainwave. "I know. I've got a spare shirt in the office. Go and see if that fits." "What?" I protested. "It's a blue and white Bengal striped one and it's hanging up on the back of the door." She threw me a towel. "Go and dry yourself off and put it on." "Oh, and before you try it on put on this deodorant," she said as she reached into her bag and threw me a pink aerosol can. "I can't have you stinking it out with your boy smells." I reluctantly trudged to the office, fearing the worst about the shirt. When I got there I was pleasantly surprised when I saw the shirt as it just like one of the blue-and white striped shirts that were worn by city traders or businessmen. Although it did appear to be a bit on the long side when I saw it hanging up on the back of the door. I removed my t-shirt, dried myself thoroughly and thanked my lucky stars that the drenching left my shorts bone-dry. I gave myself a quick spray of the deodorant and started to button up the shirt and this process seemed to go on forever. After I had finished fastening all of the buttons the bottom of the shirt extended down below my knees. I tried gathering up the shirt and tucking it in to the top of my shorts but this just didn't look, or feel, right. At that point Becky entered the room and saw me with the shirt bunched up and tucked into the top of my shorts. It looked as if I was wearing a nappy under my shorts. Becky laughed and approached me. "Don't be silly," she said. "You don't wear a shirtdress like that." "A shirtdress? A dress?" I exclaimed. "I can't...." She put her finger to my lips. "Why not sweetie? It's just you and me here and it doesn't matter what we wear, does it?" she said, carefully throwing back my argument from earlier at me. At this point she pulled the shirtdress out of my shorts and let it out to its full length. She then pulled herself closer, reached both hands around my waist and grabbed hold of the belt that I hadn't even noticed was hanging down from each side of the shirt (probably because it was made of the same material and had the same pattern as the rest of the shirt). She then fastened the belt in an extravagant bow at the side and said, "There, that's how you're supposed to wear a shirtdress." She stood back and declared, "That looks lovely on you." I looked down and this simple act of tying a belt had given this garment a completely different character. The skirt billowed out and there was now no mistaking the fact that I was wearing a dress. You couldn't even see that I had shorts underneath it. "Okay, now where did I put that measuring tape so that I can get your chest size?" Becky rummaged around one of the drawers in the office desk and, to her obvious delight, produced a tape measure. "Come over here Steph, sweetie." I walked over towards her and suddenly felt the hem of the shirtdress swishing and rubbing against the tops of my calves. This sensation immediately produced an erection inside my shorts. The one advantage of now being in a dress was that it wasn't visible. "Closer," she said. "Put your hands out to your side," she said as she wrapped the tape measure around me and seemed to be pleased at the results. "Hmmm, 36-inches. All that running is keeping you nice and slim." At this Becky noticed the creases in the shirtdress that had been caused by me trying to tuck it in to my shorts and started to try and smooth them out with her hand. "For goodness sake, look at the mess you made of this," she said as her hand made contact with a crease sitting just above my erection. "Hmmm, have you still got your shorts on? Might want to think about taking them off in case you have another accident sweetie." She smiled and left the room. I stood in the office feeling totally humiliated. Not only was I now in a dress but Becky was probably right that I should remove my shorts. I couldn't face the possibility of soiling the front of my trousers again. I wrestled with this dilemma for a few minutes before I gave in to the inevitable and removed my shorts. I folded them neatly and walked out of the office with my shorts in my hands. "Is that what I think it is?" Becky asked. I nodded meekly. "It makes sense, sweetie." "Okay, before I wash out your hair I want you to go and get us both lunch." At this I caught my reflection in the mirror with my head full of foils and my mind swimming with the new sensations of wearing a dress. "No way, not like this." "What's the problem? It's just 50 yards down the street. They're used to girls from here going in to get something to eat when they're waiting for their hair to dry." "Mind you," Becky said, "your legs are a bit hairier than most of the girls." At this I looked down and suddenly became very conscious of my hairy calves sticking out the bottom of the dress and disappearing into my trainers. "That's it, no way am I going out like this." "Yes you are!" Becky insisted. "It's just a matter of when. You can do it now when it's fairly quiet or wait until it gets really busy. It's up to you." "But my legs," I pleaded. "Nobody will notice if you walk with a bit of confidence." I shook my head, "No way!" Becky approached me and I braced myself for what was about to happen. "What, not even if I ask you like this?" she said as she pulled me towards her and gave me a long and lingering kiss on the lips. "Will you get my lunch for me, sweetie?" I stood in silence, unable to respond. "Please?" she pleaded and then kissed me again, only this time she forced her tongue inside my mouth and cradled my bum with her hand. It was no use. My reluctance was still strong but my resistance had been broken. I meekly agreed to go to the shop. "What do you want?" I asked. "Eh, get two plain salad boxes. One for me and one for you. We've got to watch our figures," Becky said as she ushered me towards the door. Just before giving me a final push out she forced her purse into my hands and declared, "Lunch is on me." She then shut the door behind me and I stood motionless as one man walked past me and smiled as he saw the foils wrapped around my head. I waited for him to get further along the street before I started to move. Each step along the way reminded me that I was now wearing a dress as the hem of the skirt swished and swayed with my movement. I clutched Becky's purse tightly in my pink-tipped fingers and finally made it into the sandwich shop. To my great relief there was no queue and I would be served straight away. The man working behind the counter glanced up, saw my foil-clad head and enquired, "Is the salon open today?" I blushed and, in my quietest voice possible I muttered, "What? Yes, No, Yes, I mean No. I work there." He looked at me and said, "If you work there I hope you're not responsible for putting up the open or closed sign? It doesn't sound as if you know either way," he smiled. I blushed and he nodded at me and asked, "Experimenting?" I gulped and gave him a look to indicate that I didn't understand the question. "Experimenting with new hairstyles are you? You know, before you try them out on customers?" I smiled and meekly said, "Yes, of course," and patted my head. "What can I get for you?" he asked. "Eh, two plain salad boxes please." "Watching your figure?" "Yes, always," I lied. The shop assistant disappeared off to make up the salad boxes and, at that point, a girl in her early twenties entered the shop and smiled at me. "Getting your hair done, are you?" I smiled back and nodded, not wanting to engage her in any conversation. "Is it that salon just down the street? I've heard good things about it." "Yes," I said. "They're very good." Much to my relief the man appeared with the two salad boxes and stopped any further engagement with the girl. "That'll be eight pounds." My fingers wrestled nervously with the clasp on the purse before I managed to open it and pull out a ten pound not and hand it over to the man behind the counter. He quickly handed me my change and I smiled at him and the girl waiting in the queue as I made a hurried exit from the shop and headed back to the salon. I arrived back at the salon sweating profusely with my heart missing every second beat and my penis throbbing every time that the hem of the shirtdress brushed against my calf. "Wow, you're back in record time. I'll need to send you out in a dress more often. Go and put the salad boxes in the fridge and make your way over to the sink. It's time to rinse out your hair." I paused, recovered my composure and deposited the two salad boxes in the fridge for consumption later. I then slowly, and very deliberately, walked over to the seat in front of the sink and immediately plonked myself down on it with the skirt billowing out to the sides and only my boxer shorts stopped my cheeks from making direct contact with the chair leather. On seeing this an exasperated Becky shouted, "Stand up! That's not how you sit down when you're wearing in a dress." I stood up and she came round to my side, smoothed out the skirt, caressing my cheeks through the material and moving her hand down until it rested on the back of my thigh just above my knee. "Sit down now," she instructed. This time the dress neatly folded under me as I sat down. "You know the drill, sweetie. Assume the position. Lean back." I was reluctant to do this because, as soon as I did, it would become clear to Becky that my erection hadn't subsided since she used the belt to magically transform this into a dress. I slowly leaned back in the chair, rested my head against the collar of the sink and could sense Becky smiling behind me again. Once she had removed all of the foils from my head Becky quickly rinsed, shampooed, and rinsed my hair. She then wrapped a towel round my head like a turban again but, before letting me up from the sink, said there was one more finishing touch that would give me the confidence to let the world see my beautiful hair. I heard her fumble around behind me and, by twisting my neck slightly, could see that she had brought out a small hand mirror and was staring intently at her own reflection. I looked away and then felt her place her hand against my forehead and I could feel a stinging, tugging sensation as she worked her way along my brow. "Ouch! Ouch!" I exclaimed as I wriggled under her firm grip. "Stay still! Stay still! Don't be such a baby!" This continued for what seemed to be an eternity as she paused to look intently at me, stare at her own reflection, and then resume the torture again. None of this was helping my erection stay undercover. Finally the torture was over and Becky declared, "Right, over to the styling station with you. And remember what I told you about sitting down in a dress." I slowly walked over to the styling station and Becky cleverly steered me away from being able to catch my reflection in any of the mirrors in the salon. I sat down, carefully smoothing the back of the dress with both hands before I did so. "Well done, sweetie," Becky declared before unwrapping the turban from my head and tousling my hair with her fingers. The next twenty minutes had become all too familiar over the last week or so as Becky dried, brushed, dried and brushed some more before dousing me in a mist of hairspray and finishing with an, "All done!" She then span the chair round so that I could see my reflection in the mirror. This time my reaction was different though "What the fuck?" I exclaimed as I realised that androgyny had now been replaced by effeminacy. My hair, although styled exactly the same way as it had been before, now looked completely different with the highlights somehow making it much more feminine. And then I noticed my eyebrows and suddenly the hairstyle paled into insignificance. They were no longer groomed, these had become sculpted into a feminine arch. They started off relatively thin, and high, at the side of each eye and got thicker as they approached my nose. This simple act had completely transformed my face. I leaned forward and, still staring into the mirror, traced the line of my right brow with the pink nail on my index finger. "Oooo, that's another good picture," I heard as Becky appeared behind me with her phone again. "I'm building up quite a good collection." She then placed her head next to mine and declared, "Selfie!" before snatching another photograph. She showed me this one and I stared at it in bemusement. My hair and eyebrows were now identical to hers. It was truly uncanny. And what was that on my lips? Was that Becky's lipstick from when she kissed me? Shit, I'd gone out to that shop wearing smudged, second-hand lipstick. As I pondered all of this I suddenly realised that I had made a mess in my boxers again. When did that happen? Was it when she was washing my hair? The pain and humiliation as she plucked my eyebrows? When she dried my hair? Or was it when I saw my reflection in the mirror? "What's up, sweetie? I've fixed my mistake and you should be able to walk around with your head held high now? Nobody will look at that face and think that the hairstyle looks out of place now." Becky smiled at me and my heart sank as I realised how deeply she had dragged me into this. This needed careful planning to extract myself from her clutches, if indeed that was what I wanted. However first I needed to address the mess in my underwear and try and make sure that it didn't stain Becky's dress. Who knew what she would do to me if that happened. As I tried to discretely pull the front of the dress away from my gooey, sticky crotch before I got up Becky, of course, noticed this and in her most patronising voice said, "Have you made a mess again?" I said nothing. "Did you bring spare underwear?" And before I could answer she added, "No, I didn't think you would. Lucky for you though I brought some." At this point she reached into her handbag and produced a pair of what looked like extremely short and flimsy purple boxers. Of course they weren't. "They're called boyfriend shorts. Cute name for them, isn't it?" she said as she tossed them to me. "Now go and clean yourself up and put them on." I gingerly walked away, taking great care not to soil the shirtdress and locked myself in the toilet. After twenty minutes of cleaning myself and fighting back the tears I emerged with my newly acquired boyfriend shorts beneath my dress. "All clean? Good, let's get our lunch now." We sat down next to each other in the styling stations and Becky chatted non-stop, telling me how important it was to have friends and how everyone that worked at the salon was super-friendly and would love to have me join their social circle. I quietly picked away at my salad until Becky switched the conversation to talk about her clients, and in particular the ones who came into the salon yesterday. "So Steph, who did you think was the hottest person that came into the salon yesterday? Apart from me, of course?" I blushed at this question and she sensed my reluctance. "Don't worry, I won't tell. It'll be another one of our secrets." I thought briefly about it and then started to rhyme off a few names. "I thought Mrs Doherty was beautiful, Mrs Allan was stunning and Ms Aitchison walked out of here looking breath-taking." Becky smiled at this and probed a bit more. "They're all middle-aged women though. What about the younger girls? Naomi, Jennifer, Nikki?" I quickly tried to cover my tracks. "Yes, they were all gorgeous." Becky smiled at this. "But didn't quite catch your eye the way the other ladies did? Hmmm, I think you've got a thing for older ladies young Stephie," she teased and I blushed in response. "Nothing wrong with that. We're confident and know exactly what we want. That must be a very attractive quality to a young sweetie like you?" The thought of that prompted my penis to start to test the elasticity of the boyfriend shorts. "Right, finished your lunch? I've got one more task for you before you call it a day." Becky tossed a duster in my direction and said, "I want you to dust the light-fittings." I looked up at the glass fittings that were hanging from the ceiling and said with confidence, "No problem." I rose up out of the chair and tried to reach the first light-fitting and soon realised that I could reach the bottom but couldn't make it all the way up to the top. So I started to drag a chair across that I could stand on to get the job done. "Woah, what are you doing?" Becky asked. "I'm getting a chair to stand on so that I can reach the top of the light-fitting." "I don't think so sweetie. What if you fall off? The health and safety police would lock me up and throw away the key." "But I just can't reach the top of the fitting to do a proper job. I just need to grow a few inches. Have you got a ladder?" "Wait here," Becky instructed. She disappeared into the back office briefly before she strode back over towards me and placed a pair of blue velvet stilettos with five-inch heels in front of me. "Try those." I looked at her as if to say, come on, be serious. "Look, these will give you the boost you're looking for." "But they're women's shoes." "Says the boy with pink nails, wearing a shirtdress, women's deodorant and quizzically raising his sculpted eyebrows into his curly fringe." Put like that I had no defence so I meekly succumbed to Becky's unerring logic. I removed my trainers and gingerly put my feet into the shoes. As I fought to retain my balance I caught Becky out the side of my eye looking at my legs and snapping another photograph. "Wow, all of that running has given you really toned calves. Your legs look would amazing in those heels if it wasn't for all that hair." She then came over, took my hand and helped me keep my balance as she walked me under each light-fitting to allow me to thoroughly dust them. Although when we reached the last one she suddenly let go and, as I struggled to get my balance and kicked one foot behind me and leaned forward, she took another photograph and seemed to take great delight in this image. Once I had finished that final light though she took my hand again and allowed me to step out of the shoes. "Right, I think that's us done for the day. Your t-shirt should be dry now. You'd better go and change. Keep the boyfriend shorts though." After ten minutes I returned wearing the clothes I arrived in (apart from the boxer shorts of course) and handed the shirtdress back to Becky. She reciprocated by handing me the pink deodorant can I used earlier. "I want you to wear that, and the boyfriend shorts, when you come back next Saturday." I took the can in silence. "Oh, and be a sweetie and bring an overnight case with you. I need an assistant for a hairdressing exhibition I'm attending on Sunday and we'll be staying in Edinburgh on Saturday night." "Yes Ma'am," I said as I left the salon, feeling more bewildered than ever.