The Salon Assistant - Part 8 free porn video

I was roused from my slumber by a buzzing noise in my ear that, in my state of semi-consciousness, I assumed was a fly or a bee and tried to swat away. When this didn't work and the buzzing sound persisted I opened my eyes fully to find a grinning Becky standing over me and gently caressing my cheek with her small, silver vibrator. "Say hello to my little friend," Becky said, in her very best Al Pacino impersonation. "What? Don't you like the vibrations against your cheek, sweetie? That's not what you were saying last night. Mind you, that was a completely different cheek that I was holding it against, wasn't it?" Becky's words washed away the sleep from my brain and exposed the memories of the previous night. Once more, despite my very best efforts, Becky had to rely on her "little friend" to lead her the final few steps into the land of pleasure. And once she had checked her luggage in for an extended stay there she decided to see if her petite people pleaser could find some room at the the Big O hotel for me. Needless to say, it did. That was why, despite being prematurely awoken by the most novel of novelty alarm clocks, every limb in my body was completely devoid of stress and tension. In my short time with Becky I had realised that this was a sensation that could only be experienced after a bout of intense sexual activity. I was growing increasingly fond of feeling this way. "What's up, sweetie? Pussy got your tongue?" I grinned at Becky's crude play on words, "If it's yours? Always." "If I hadn't got dressed already I'd be taking you up on that offer," Becky said as she pouted her lips as a visual expression of her disappointment. It was only at this point that I noticed that Becky was indeed fully dressed. She was wearing a pair of tight, faded jeans and tucked into those was a tight black t-shirt that clung to her and seemed to firm up her small, round breasts. Her hair had been immaculately restored from the tousled mess that I remembered before falling asleep last night and her face had a light covering of make-up. She looked amazing and my eyes now weren't the only organ that had spotted this. "Time to get up, sweetie," Becky said as she gave me a soft and lingering kiss. "In a minute," I responded. "Waiting for your erection to go away?" "How did..." "Look where my hand is." I looked down and noticed her hand cupping my groin through the duvet. I blushed as she slowly dragged her hand away and moved over to the mirror to check that she hadn't smudged her lipstick too badly on my lips. I watched in silence as she applied another coat of lipstick before asking her, "Becky, why don't you want me to come to your birthday party?" "What? It's not a party. It's just a night-out." "Why don't you want me to come?" Becky hesitated for a few seconds before responding with, "It's not that I don't want you to come. I'm just not sure you're ready for it." "Ready for what? A night out? We've already been out a couple of times." "This is different. When me and the girls go out on a weekend we go full on Sex and the City. It's a high glamour occasion with cocktail dresses and heels and lots of male attention. I think this might have come just a bit too soon for you; for us." The thought of Becky wearing a beautiful dress and sexy heels enhanced my morning glory even further. However the inevitability of her receiving lots of male attention while out was starting to cause some pangs of jealousy and making me feel more than a little insecure. These feelings, allied to my rampant horniness, were enough to persuade me that, no matter what, I had to be there on Saturday night. "I think if the last few weeks have taught you anything it's that I'm an expert in things coming too soon." Becky's smile told me that she had got my little joke and I continued," I'm ready. I want to be there. I want to help you celebrate your birthday in style." "Ok, if you're sure?" I was anything but sure about where this was going to end up. "Absolutely," I said, hoping that I was successfully hiding the unease about exactly what I was letting myself in for. "Ok, if you insist," said Becky as she walked over and placed her freshly lipsticked lips on my mouth, before pushing my lips apart with her tongue. After a few minutes of her tongue exploring the inside of my mouth she threw back the duvet cover to expose my naked, hairless body to the cold of the morning air. Before I knew what was happening her lips had withdrawn from mine and started to make their way slowly, tantalisingly, down my body with a series of butterfly kisses on my exposed flesh. And then it happened. Her lips parted and she took my penis inside her mouth. This was teenage fantasy bursting its way through into the real world and the feeling was just overwhelming. Needless to say I didn't have the experience, or simply the desire, to forestall my pleasure for any length of time and, in a matter of seconds, I deposited all of that pleasure inside Becky's mouth. This left me weak and defenceless so I was unable to put up much resistance when Becky released my penis and kissed me on the lips once more. This time though there was slightly more aggression, more urgency in her kiss and her tongue once more pushed my lips apart. However this time it resulted in a warm and salty liquid being pushed into my mouth. It took me a few seconds before I realised that I was tasting my own semen. I tried to pull my head away but Becky placed her hand on the side of my head to keep our lips locked together and dripped more onto my tongue. After what seemed like an eternity I realised that I had no choice, I had to swallow. Becky eventually released her lip-lock on me and, still cupping the side of my face, looked me in the eye, smiled and said, "No point in me keeping all of those nutrients and calories to myself. Did you enjoy that, sweetie?" 'Enjoy what?' I thought to myself. 'The blowjob? Beyond the boundaries of measurement. Tasting my own semen? The jury was still deliberating on that. Which aspect of the last few minutes was she asking me to rate?' In the end it didn't matter. I silently nodded my approval. "Thought you would. Now get up and get dressed lazy bones. If you're going to be on my arm on Saturday we've got some work to do. And there's no time like the present to start it," Becky said as she exited her bedroom leaving me in a satisfied, but confused, heap on the bed. 'What did she mean by work?' I thought. 'The salon was closed so she wasn't talking about that type of work. Maybe pushing to be invited to her birthday night-out wasn't the best of ideas.' After a brief shower, where I lingered under the water for a few seconds in the hope that Becky would appear and pin me to the wall of the shower cubicle with a single finger, just like in that Edinburgh hotel room, I walked back into the bedroom with just a towel wrapped around my waist to be greeted by a smiling Becky. "Mmmm, there's my little wet dream there. All nice and clean?" I nodded. "Well, nice and clean apart from that dirty little mind of yours I hope?" I blushed and nodded again without looking her in the eye. "Good. Now I've been to the salon this morning to pick up the clothes you were wearing before you got changed and put your dancing shoes, dancing slacks and dancing blouse on last night. Dry yourself off, get dressed and shout me in when you're ready and I'll do your hair for you." Becky then left me alone again in her bedroom and, almost as soon as she had, I inspected the bundle of clothes that she had left on the bed. It was exactly as she had said. Resting on the duvet in a neat pile were my trainers, my jeans and my t-shirt. Somewhat curiously though my boxer- shorts were missing. In their place was a cute par of lilac-coloured panties and, underneath them, was a condom and a satin ribbon that was the same colour as the panties. The condom and the ribbon were a clear sign that the work that Becky had in mind for us today was of the personal improvement kind. After I had dried myself I started to get dressed, condom first of course, but that activity quickly stalled when I hesitated about tying the ribbon around the base of the condom. Much to my surprise, I wasn't questioning if I should do this. I was actually hesitating over how to secure the ribbon in place. The dilemma I was faced with was whether or not to use a simple knot to tie the lilac ribbon around the old oak tree, or if I should try and secure it using the type of flouncy bow that Becky had used the night before. In the end, the memory of Becky pulling at the bow with her teeth and effortlessly releasing the knot was more than enough to persuade me to try and replicate Becky's handiwork. After a few abortive attempts at tying the ribbon I finally managed to get something that at least resembled Becky's bow and, satisfied with my effort, I pulled on the panties and the rest of my clothes. Once I had done this I then took a few minutes to examine my surroundings in a way that simply wasn't possible from the kneeling position I had adopted when I was eagerly trying to please Becky the night before. Becky's bedroom was very modern and stylish with an entire wall handed over to custom built-in wardrobes with opaque glass doors. The remaining walls were painted a crisp white colour that was punctuated with a series of very stylish photographs and art work. The one that hung over the king-sized bed in particular caught my attention. It was a drawing of a pair of glamorous women facing each other, one white and one black, flexing their muscles in the way that a bodybuilder shows off their biceps. Both women looked like factory girls from the forties or fifties, with their up dos and the red and white polka dot scarves tying back their hair to keep it out of their immaculately made-up faces. I wasn't sure why but I found this image slightly arousing. Once I shook myself from this daydream I contemplated checking-out the contents of the wall of wardrobes but, before I could even slide open the first door, Becky reappeared and startled me slightly. "Don't you knock?" "On my own bedroom door? I don't think so, cheeky," said Becky. "Got something to hide?" As soon as she said this my face turned as red as the scarves in the picture I had just been admiring and I stammered, "What? No. No. Definitely not. I was just surprised to see you. You said I was to call you in when I was ready." "I know, but you were taking too long. I need to get your hair done before it dries again." As she said this I realised that Becky was holding in her hand one of the styling capes that she had bought at the hairdressing conference in Edinburgh. "Did you get that from the salon when you were picking up my clothes?" I asked. "No. I'm keeping this one here for whenever we need it." Based on that statement it sounded as if my first overnight stay in Becky's place wasn't going to be my last. "Now be a good boy and come over here so that I can get your hair looking as pretty as we both know it can be." That innocent little sentence somehow resonated in my core as it seemed to perfectly capture the dynamic of the relationship that I was building with Becky. Of course I obeyed her instruction and walked over and then turned to stand with my back to her as a silent invite to fasten me into nylon bondage once more. Once she had done this Becky walked over to her wardrobes and opened one of the doors to reveal a full-length mirror. "Like what you see? I know I do," said Becky. I raised my gaze from the wooden parquet flooring and found myself staring at the reflection of a damp-haired boy trapped inside a hairdressing cape which made it look as if he was wearing a pink ballgown. "On Saturday you're going to be doing this for real," beamed Becky. "Do what for real?" "Wear a dress, silly. Remember? I did warn you. Dresses are the dress code if you want to come out with me and the girls on a Saturday." "What? I didn't think you meant me. I thought that was just going to be you." "And be the only one that gets leered at by dirty old men? I don't think so, sweetie." "It wouldn't just be the dirty old men. I'd be leering at you as well," I said as I tried to lighten the mood. "Yes, well I want to do some leering as well. And there's nothing I'd leer at more than my pretty little Stephie in a frilly frock. But if you don't want to do it I understand." I wasn't quite sure if, offering me this get out, was her way of making me do it or if she really didn't want me to go out with her on Saturday night. In the end I decided I couldn't take the risk of her hooking up with another man. "Aye. Sure. Of course. A dress," I stammered unconvincingly. "You can pull out if you're not sure. I didn't think you were ready yet either, remember?" "No, never. I'm ready. I'm ready," I said, unsure of which one of us I was trying to convince the most. "Ok, if you say so," said Becky in a tone which indicated that even if she was the one I was trying to convince it hadn't quite worked. "Come over and sit at the dressing-table and I'll get your hair done. Unless you want to admire yourself in that cape for a bit longer?" This was enough to unfreeze me and I moved over and perched myself on the stool that sat in front of the mirrored dressing table. The next fifteen minutes were spent with Becky pushing my head forwards, backwards and from side-to-side as the magical combination of warm air, a styling brush and Becky's skills put every feminine feature of my relatively short hairstyle on full display. Even without make-up the hair, when it was styled this way, placed a muslin gauze over my masculine features. After she had finished, and sprayed a full can of polar bear kryptonite onto my hair to keep it in place, Becky briefly stood behind me and held a few things against my ear. I tried to lift my head to see what it was but she kept her hand firmly on the nape of my neck to ensure that I couldn't see my reflection in the mirror. The only thing I knew for sure was that it felt as if she was selecting something. "Hmmm, I suppose it depends on what kind of dress we go for," I heard her say to herself. "We'll decide later," she said before she sprayed her favourite perfume on the side of my neck. "Right, that's you all ready sweetie. Now let me get this cape off you before you fill up that condom I left you," Becky said with a mischievous grin on her face as she undid the cape and pulled it away. "What? No way would I do that," I protested. Becky looked at me, furrowed her brow and said, "Are you trying to tell me getting your hair done while wearing that pretty cape hasn't got you excited?" Knowing the truth I shook my head as a very half-hearted rebuttal to her accusation. "Stand up then. Stand up and show me how much you haven't been excited by that," said Becky in the full knowledge that any evidence that would be produced at this stage would fully support her accusation. I slowly, and reluctantly, rose to my feet aware that I was about to reveal the incriminating bulge at the front of my jeans. As I stood there, avoiding eye contact with Becky, I was amazed when she said, "Hmmm, maybe you're right. I can't quite tell." I looked at the bulge in the front of my trousers and, at least to my eyes, it appeared to be as plain, and as big, as the nose on Anne Hathaway's face. "Right, drop the trousers and your panties, I need to see the proof," Becky declared. "What? Now?" "Yes! Now! We don't have all day," she said in a tone which demanded, and got, my immediate acquiescence. I undid the buttons on my jeans and slid them down to my knees. The flimsy lilac panties were no match for the force of my erection as it stretched the soft material almost to breaking point. It was clear not only to the naked eye, but to the myopic one also, the effect that having my hair styled under that cape had on me. "Hmmm, lilac is a really good colour for you, sweetie. Slide them down," said a still to be convinced Becky. "But....but...." I stammered. "But nothing. Slide down your panties and prove to me you don't love wearing that cape." My face was now crimson red as I knew, and Becky knew also, that the evidence was going to prove the exact opposite. I pulled the lilac panties down and over my erection until the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth was standing to attention inside its rubber protector. Becky walked towards me and, whilst slowly stroking me through the condom, leaned in and whispered, "You see, sweetie. I know you much better than you think. You love being under a pretty cape as I turn you into a pretty boy. Oh, and thank you for tying such a pretty bow with the lilac ribbon. It's so pretty I almost want to open my little present now," she said as she nibbled the bottom of my earlobe. Becky then quickly pulled herself away from me and declared, "But I won't because we've got lots of things to do today. Now pull up your panties and jeans and come and get me in the hall. We've got a busy day ahead of us." As soon as I had rebalanced my sexual equilibrium and had taken my state of arousal from DEFCON 1 back down to an amber warning level I did exactly as Becky instructed and joined her in the hall. She was clearly a bit impatient because when she saw me she opened the front door and gestured for me to exit ahead of her. Once she had locked the door behind us we headed into the city-centre for, as Becky described it, some retail therapy and a bit of cosmetic topiary. Of course I had heard the phrase retail therapy before. Cosmetic topiary, on the other hand, wasn't a term that I was familiar with. However it wouldn't be long before I understood exactly what it meant. Our first stop was at a shopping centre that had clearly seen better days. Although the building work that was going on was an indication that it was trying to fight its way back to the top of the mercantile mountain by opening some new restaurants and a cinema complex under its huge glass canopy. We got there around 11:00am in the morning and the place wasn't particularly busy, a fact that I was soon to be grateful for. We started along the ground floor of the shopping centre, past all of the small stalls or pop-up businesses that occupied the centre lane of the floor. There was a place that sold phone cases and protectors, a vape booth, a stall for a broadband provider and then one that caused Becky to stop in her tracks. This was a simple enclosure of wooden boards, about four feet high, with four black leather reclining seats placed back to back inside the rectangle. The sign that adorned this enclosure simply read "The Eyebrow Lounge" which, to me, made it sound like a place where eyebrows went to get drunk and pick up other eyebrows. Becky turned to me, took my hand and started to pull me towards the entrance of the enclosure and declared "Come on, we're getting our eyebrows done." On hearing this I stood my ground, whilst still holding on to Becky's hand, causing her to judder to a halt. ?Done?? I enquired. ?Remember when I plucked your eyebrows when I first did you hair?? I looked around hoping nobody had heard Becky say that. ?Well we?re going to do that again,? Becky said as she tugged and forced me to follow her into the enclosure. When inside we were greeted by the broad smiles of two young women of Indian descent. When they said hello though their accents made it clear that they were 100% Glaswegian. ?Hi. I wonder if you can help us? My boyfriend and I would like to get our eyebrows done,? Becky said. ?You?ve certainly come to the right place for that. At least you have. I?m not so sure about him,? the more senior of the girls said to Becky. ?We?ve only ever done girls? eyebrows here.? ?That?s perfect then,? said a grinning Becky. Stephie wants his brows to look exactly like mine. Don?t you sweetie?? I would?ve bolted out of that enclosure, and probably the entire shopping centre, if Becky hadn?t kept a firm grip on my hand and my entire blood supply hadn?t been re-routed into my face. As it was all I could do was stand there and avoid eye contact with the girls. ?Well, if he?s sure,? said the senior girl. ?Of course he is. Aren?t you sweetie? We?ve got a big night out on Saturday and he wants to look as pretty as he can for it.? Out of the corner of my eye I saw the girls look at each other and shrug. The senior one then led me to sit down at one of the chairs and Becky was placed in the chair with her back to me. ?Take your glasses off please,? instructed senior eyebrow girl as I sat down. ?So, you want your eyebrows to look exactly like your girlfriend?s? I gave a non-commital shrug that she seemed to accept as my assent. ?Ok. I?ll just grab a quick picture of your girlfriend before we start and I can use that as a guide,? She then grabbed her phone and I could hear some activity behind me as she took her eyebrow close-ups with Becky. While all of this was going on I also realised how exposed the enclosure was and saw several people taking a second-look just to confirm that their eyes weren?t deceiving them. There was indeed a real boy sitting inside The Eyebrow Lounge.? After completing her stint as the eyebrow world?s equivalent of Dave LaChapelle, senior eyebrow girl returned to the side of the enclosure where I was seated and started to work on my brows: a bit more aggressively than I thought the task warranted. After I let out another involuntary ?ouch? senior eyebrow girl paused for a few seconds. This was just long enough for the nerve-endings on my face to stop slapping each other and for her to take a look at the pictures of Becky on her phone to ensure the deforestation of my brows was following the right route. After what seemed like an eternity of senior eyebrow girl staring at me, staring at her phone, and then staring at me again she looked at me with bemused expression on her face. ?Have you got the same haircut as your girlfriend as well?? senior eyebrow girl enquired. Of course on being asked this question the rest of my face took on the same fiery red of my enflamed eyebrow ridge and I stammered some incomprehensible gibberish until senior eyebrow girl answered her own question. ?Oh my God, you do. You?ve got the same hairstyle as your girlfriend, right down to the highlights. And now you want to have the same eyebrow shape? Are you a tranny? Is this turning you on? We don?t do trannies here, you know? The answers to those questions were of course; don?t think so, yes and that doesn?t sound like very good business sense. However, before I had a chance to stammer out those very retorts Becky spoke in a voice that was loud enough to be heard by the passers-by in the shopping centre. ?No, he?s not a tranny. He?s just a very sweet boy who takes pride in his appearance. Now I think we?d both appreciate it if you just got on with the job we?re paying you to do,? said a strident Becky. Senior eyebrow girl was stunned into silence and I was frozen to the chair, reluctant to look-up and see the inevitable rubber-neckers staring into the enclosure after they heard Becky barking her orders at the girl. The rest of the session was spent in complete silence as senior eyebrow girl plucked away at my brows, causing me to wince in pain occasionally; something which, I?m sure, she took great pleasure inflicting. After what seemed like an eternity both eyebrow girls declared themselves to be finished. I gave a brief nod of approval when senior eyebrow girl thrust a mirror in my face and then quickly put on my glasses to avoid having to stare at the results of her tweezer torture. Becky then settled the bill and we decided to head up to the food court to get something to eat and allow Becky?s temper, and my fiery forehead follicles to calm down a bit. I was pretty hungry as I hadn?t had anything to eat since the meal the previous night and was looking forward to sinking my teeth into a burger and chips. Unfortunately though I was tasked with grabbing a table and Becky took it upon herself to get the food. This resulted in us both having to make do with a garden salad and a glass of pineapple juice each. Becky must have seen the disappointment on my face because when she sat down she seemed to feel obliged to explain her choices to me. ?You need to watch what you eat before Saturday night. No junk food. Nothing that will bung you up and ruin everything. Oh, and the pineapple juice is something you should drink every day.? ?Why?? I asked. ?What does it do?? ?It?s magic. It turns salty things into sweet things. Just drink it every day and you?ll be thanking me in a couple of weeks.? Despite my junk-food cravings I quickly polished-off the salad and juice and sat and watched Becky as she finished off her lunch. As she dabbed her lips with a paper napkin she looked directly at me. When her dark brown eyes locked onto mine it always seemed to make time slow down and glue me to her gaze. This was why she was able to reach across the table, grab the legs of my glasses and gently remove them from my face without any interference or protest. ?Let me see what I just paid for.? Becky looked straight at me, squinting occasionally and tilting her head slightly to apparently get a better look. A huge smile then broke out across her face. ?That girl might be a bigoted bitch but, I?ve got to hand it to her, she?s got magic hands.? Becky then replaced my spectacles and smiled at me. I wasn?t quite sure what magic those hands had worked on me but I decided to try and take my mind off whatever it was by focusing on the birthday girl. ?What do you want for your birthday?? ?What?? ?What birthday present will I get you?? ?What? Don?t be silly. I don?t need anything,? Becky replied. ?Is there anything you want for your birthday though?? ?Just you, sweetie. Trust me, what you?re going do for me on Saturday night will be more than enough.? I started to feel a bit uneasy because it felt like Becky was reluctant to accept any gifts from me. ?What did this say about our relationship and my status within it?? I thought to myself. ?But I?m your boyfriend. I should get you a present,? I protested. ?Sweetie, what you?ve just done for me is more than enough. In fact, everything you?ve done over the last few weeks is more than enough. Not many boys would change themselves as much as you have for a girl.? The weeks of feminisation, submission and subservience hadn?t stripped away all of the societal indoctrination I had been exposed to in the first eighteen years of my life. I decided to assert my rights to buy my girlfriend a birthday present in quite possibly the least masculine way I could. I stammered and pouted. ?But...but.....I should get you a present. Let me get you a present.? ?Oh, okay then; if it means that much to you,? Becky replied. I smiled, ?What will I get you?? ?I tell you what, if we see something I like today I?ll let you know. Deal?? ?Deal,? I responded. ?Good. I?m glad that?s settled,? Becky said. Then without waiting for any further comment from me said, ?Right, let?s get going. Shoes and dresses don?t buy themselves.? She then stood up and, with a sense of real purpose, we strode out of the food court and into one of the major shoe-shop chains. As we entered I instinctively veered to the left towards the gents? collection. However Becky immediately grabbed my arm and said, ?Don?t be silly, sweetie. The girls? shoes are on this side of the shop,? and pulled me over towards the wall of fuck me heels, fuckin? hell, how much stilettos and frumpy flats. As we were browsing through this bewildering array of footwear one of the young shop assistants approached Becky. ?Can I help you, madam?? ?No thanks,? said a smiling Becky. ?I?m just looking for a pair of training heels for young Stephie here.? And then gestured in my direction. The shop assistant looked at me as I stood there in my boys clothes with my short, but effeminate hairstyle and, I think it?s fair to say, she realised that her sales training hadn?t quite prepared her for this type of scenario. We stood in silence for a few seconds, staring at each other, and I was in no doubt that, just like me, she was mentally clicking her ruby slippers together and chanting ?There?s no place like home. There?s no place like home,? in the vain hope that she could be magically transported out of this scene. Alas, we both discovered that Hollywood magic doesn?t quite have the same power in Glasgow so she eventually recovered her composure long enough to spit out a standard, ?Oh, not a problem. Just let me know if you need any help.? Although that last sentence was delivered with about as much sincerity as a ?Get Swell Soon? card from Donald Trump. After the assistant had retreated into the back of the shop, and for all I know, straight into an HR counselling session, Becky held up a shoe and said in a fairly loud voice: ?What about these, sweetie? These would be perfect for your first pair of heels.? The magical slippers my brain was currently trying out now weren?t the only thing that was ruby red as my face beaconed my embarrassment to every customer in the shop. As I looked up I was pleasantly surprised though when I saw that Becky was holding up a fairly androgynous looking brown suede brogue show. However this feeling of surprise soon turned into one of alarm when she turned the shoe to let me see the side elevation and reveal the feminine credentials of the shoe. It had a 6 centimetre, cream wedge heel which transformed the genderless nature of the shoe and fixed it firmly in the feminine footwear camp. Despite my acute embarrassment, and the fact that I had noticed out of the corner of my eye that there were at least two young girls waiting for my verdict on the shoe in the same way, I imagined, that they would hang-on the opinions of a beauty vlogger, I found myself thinking that the shoe was actually quite cute. ?Eh, yeah. Whatever you think,? was how I summed up this internal dialogue to Becky. ?It?s settled, then. These are going to be your first pair of heels. I?ll just call the girl over and make sure they?ve got them in your size, sweetie.? Thankfully a different shop-assistant came over and Becky got the girl to fetch a pair in the correct size without giving any indication that they were for me. She even declined an offer to try them on by telling the girl she was buying them for a friend. When Becky and the shop assistant wandered over to the checkout, leaving me to straggle behind them, one of the girls who had been watching the shoe selection scene came up beside me and whispered in my ear. ?Aren?t you going to try your new shoes on? That?s a bit of a schoolgirl error. They might hurt your little toesies,? she said before walking away in peels of laughter with her friend. This little joke stopped me in my tracks for a few seconds as I let the laughter from the girls fade into the distance. I then decided that my safest option of avoiding further embarrassment was to make my way towards the exit and wait for Becky there. Once she had concluded the transaction Becky strode towards me and extended her arm to offer me the carrier bag. ?Go on. I?m not carrying them. They?re your heels.? On hearing this I meekly took the bag from Becky. ?Right, this is the good part now. Let?s go and try on some dresses.? Becky said as she exited the shoe shop. I followed behind, adjusting my stride as I tried to catch up and then keep pace with Becky. ?What do you mean try on some dresses?? Becky looked at me to indicate that it was a pretty self-explanatory statement and if I needed any clarification on what that meant then the Scottish Government should be claiming a refund for my English education. ?I.....I....I can?t try on dresses. Maybe you were right. I?m not ready for Saturday yet,? I said. Becky stopped walking and turned round now that she realised her statement would indeed benefit from some clarification. ?Not you, silly. Me. I?m the one that?ll be trying on the dresses. You?re just going to help me pick out the sexiest one.? ?Oh, that?s ok then,? I said. ?But if you?re not ready to come out with us on Saturday I totally understand. All that male attention we?re going to get might even be a bit too much for me. Goodness knows how you would cope with it.? Again, the thought of Becky getting all of that attention, and the high probability of some of that coming from men who were much better looking than me was enough to ensure that I kept my options open. ?What? No.....I....I just meant that I wasn?t ready to pick out a dress for Saturday yet.? Becky smiled. ?Oh don?t worry about that, sweetie. You don?t get a choice. I?ll decide what you?re going to be wearing on Saturday and I?m going to keep it a complete surprise. Isn?t that exciting? Now, let?s get a move on before all the pretty dresses are gone,? she said as she took hold of my hand and pulled me into the ladies? department of a major department store. As Becky made a beeline for the evening wear section the full array of colours and fabrics that were on show filled my senses. I even found myself subconsciously extending my arm and touching the racks of silk and satin blouses and skirts as we whisked by them on the way to see their more irresponsible clothing cousins in the party section. With each brush of my fingertips against the soft, silky fabrics I found myself getting harder and harder. The next hour or so did nothing to quieten my ardour as I found myself standing in the eye of a blizzard of sequins, lace, satin and silk as Becky tried on what seemed like the entire spring/summer collection of every fashion designer in the country. What was strange though was, no matter how good a dress looked on the hanger, only a handful of the ones she tried on seemed to suit her. I suppose that was one of the mysteries of clothes shopping. It also probably explained why trying on clothes seemed, at least from the outside, to be a favourite female pastime. I have to admit that I did get some pangs of jealousy when I saw how much fun that Becky seemed to be having. So much so that I started to wonder what it would be like to try on some of the dresses. This wasn?t helped any when, at one point, Becky placed a dress that was still on it?s hanger over my head and stood back to see what it looked like up against me. Thankfully I was able to quickly lift the hanger back over my head before anybody noticed. All of this fun was abruptly brought to an end when Becky tried on a dress where all of the primary elements of eveningwear; sex, glamour and sophistication came together in perfect harmony. The dress was a knee-length, dusty rose pink sheath dress with a high neck line and a pink embroidered filigree pattern decorating the dress from the hem all of the way up to the neckline. The look was completed, and elevated, by a pink chiffon poncho which, at the front, finished just beneath Becky?s breasts. At the back the poncho trailed all of the way down to the hem of the dress. This wasn?t a dress that said ?look at me?: it was a dress that said ?try to look away from me?. Becky wouldn?t just be the belle of the ball, she would be the whole bell tower. ?Well, what do you think? Like it?? ?You?re...it?s....it?s really nice,? were the only words I could muster as my vocabulary seemed to have been swept away in the torrent of blood that had rushed into my groin. ?Nice? Nice? This dress wouldn?t look out of place at The BAFTAs. I think in this I?m going to be turning heads, and maybe a few orientations, on Saturday night. If I looked any hotter I?d be legally obliged to carry a fire extinguisher in my purse.? I was starting to think that I hadn?t quite said the right thing and got a bit worried that I had upset Becky. Not that any of this was reflected in our next exchange as the only statement I could muster at this point registered about eight on the scale of stupidity, and a full ten on the statement of the bleeding obvious scale. ?So you?re buying it then?? After giving me a look which indicated that I might have been too conservative in the stupidity score I had assigned to my response Becky said, ?Too right I am, sweetie. If you don?t like it I?m sure lots of other men will.? Becky then retired to the changing rooms to slip out of her dress and I was left to ponder the possibility of Becky turning, and engorging, the heads of a host of men on Saturday night. I didn?t like the thought of this happening one little bit and I resolved that, no matter what, I was going to be the one on Becky?s arm on Saturday. I would be the one she would be taking home. Once Becky had paid for the dress, and she had passed me the bag to carry for her, we left the shop in silence and started to make our way through the shopping centre when Becky abruptly stopped outside a jewellers. ?Oh wow. That?s it. That?s it,? declared Becky. ?That?s what I want you to get me for my birthday.? ?What?? I enquired, happy that the silent treatment was short-lived. ?Earrings. Earrings. I want you to get me those earrings,? said a somewhat excited Becky as she pointed to a pair that she had spotted in the window. The earrings were fairly small and had two rows of diamonds set on the outside of a silver tear-drop shaped base with a teardrop shaped hole in the middle. They looked very stylish and, I was pleased to see, weren?t that expensive at just under seventy pounds.. ?Wow, I thought diamonds were more expensive than that.? Becky smiled. ?They are, sweetie. They?re not real diamonds. They?re real diamonds,? she said as she pointed to a similar pair that cost more than three-thousand pounds.? ?I know what you earn, sweetie. I don?t think you can afford that, can you?? I shook my head. ?The cheap ones will do for me. They?ll look beautiful on.? ?In that case consider them yours,? I said as I marched into the jeweller?s with a confidence which quickly evaporated when I was confronted by a frosty sales assistant. Especially when she sneered at me when I said I wanted to buy the diamond earrings in the window. ?No worries. I?ll just get them for you after I retrieve the sewing implement from the big bundle of hay out the back.? I stared at her blankly for a few seconds until she realised that her sarcasm had gone unnoticed and hadn?t quite stung me in the way it was intended. She finally broke the silence with, ?I think you?re going to have to be a bit more specific than that. Otherwise we?re going to be here all day.? I then proceeded to give her a brief description of the earrings until she let out an exasperated, ?Show me.? This led to the girl disappearing behind the display window and me having to go back outside to direct her towards the earrings in much the same way that an Aircraft Marshaller steers a plane towards its arrival gate: except I had to do it without the fluorescent table-tennis bats. Despite this handicap I manged to direct her towards my objective and I eventually secured the very first present I had ever bought for a girlfriend. Although not without the shop assistant apparently taking an unhealthy amount of pleasure in telling me that the earrings weren?t real diamonds. Of course Becky had already explained this to me so it didn?t come as any surprise, which, I think, slightly disappointed the shop assistant. I emerged from the shop clutching the small presentation box and, with a smile, handed it over to Becky. ?Happy birthday gorgeous,? I said. ?Thanks,? Becky said with far less enthusiasm than I was hoping for. ?What?s up? Changed your mind? Don?t you want them anymore?? I said with more than just a little panic in my voice. Under no circumstances did I want to be returning the earrings to the shop. If that?s what that assistant is like when she is making a sale I could only imagine how she would handle a return. ?No, it?s not that. The earrings are lovely. But there?s just one thing that would make them even lovelier.? ?What?s that?? I asked. ?If you wore them.? ?What?? ?I want you to wear them, sweetie. That would be the best birthday present you could give me.? ?But....but...the shop assistant said they were only for people with pierced ears. I don?t have pierced ears.? ?You will in a few minutes,? Becky said as she grabbed my hand and dragged me round the corner to an accessory shop that had the sign ?Ears Pierced While You Wait? in the window. As Becky tried to pull me inside the shop I stood my ground and stopped us both just short of the shop entrance.. ?Don?t worry, sweetie. It won?t hurt that much,? she said. ?It?s...It?s.....It?s not that.? Becky then walked back towards me and caressed the side of my face with the palm of her hand. ?I think you?ll look so hot wearing these earrings on Saturday. So much hotter than all of the other men that?ll be there. I might not be able to keep my hands off you.? Those words, allied with the touch of her soft, warm skin against my cheek were enough to remove the lead from my shoes and mainline it straight into my pencil. Any semblance of resistance disappeared as we entered the shop hand-in-hand. As soon as we were inside Becky wasted no time and called over the nearest shop assistant. ?Hello, I wonder if you can help us,? Becky asked. ?My friend here would like to get their ears-pierced.? ?Just the one ear, is it?? asked the shop-assistant. ?Both of them,? Becky said emphatically. ?We want both ears pierced.? ?Oh, I see. Ok, not a problem. Just come over to the counter and we?ll fill in the paperwork and choose the earrings.? After I signed the liability waiver the girl then directed me to a chair in the front of the store and then showed me a card with a huge range of earrings, ordered from left to right based on size, and asked me which ones I wanted. I hesitated for a few seconds as I was now being confronted with a choice that I wasn?t mentally prepared for. After thinking about it I decided to go for the smallest, least obtrusive, pair of 1mm gold balls. ?Are you sure, sweetie?? Becky said on seeing my selection. ?He doesn?t know what suits him yet,? Becky said to the shop-assistant. ?It might be better if I choose for him. Want me to choose your earrings sweetie?? The shop assistant looked straight at me, looking for some sort of sign that I was happy with what Becky was proposing. With an air of resignation I nodded my head. Becky wasted no time in making her selection but, because she was positioned directly between me and the board of earrings I didn?t have a chance to review what she had picked out. In fact, the shop assistant swabbed my earlobes so quickly after Becky had made her choice that I didn?t even get the chance to ask about them. Once she had finished disinfecting the target area the girl then asked me to remove my glasses. When I did this she immediately noticed my freshly plucked brows. ?Oh, I love your eyebrows. Where did you get those done?? ?Over at The Eyebrow Lounge. They did a fantastic job, didn?t they?? said a beaming Becky. Then, in consultation with Becky, the girl marked the optimum spot on my lobes for the piercings. She then took her piercing gun, which looked identical to the one that Becky had purchased at the hairdressing conference, and positioned it against my right ear. After a short, sharp sting my first ear was pierced. This process was repeated again for my left ear. The girl then gave me a hand mirror to inspect the results of her work and when I saw my reflection my heart seemed to stop beating for a second. Sitting proudly, loudly, in the centre of my lobes were two pink, sparkling diamante studs shaped like daisies. Things then got worse when I glanced up and noticed my eyebrows. They were still quite thick at the side closest to the bridge of my nose but tapered away to virtually nothing as they reached the corner of my eyes. This tapering effect had transformed my brows into sweeping, sensuous arcs. These brows were making a statement, I just wasn?t sure what it was. Somehow, though, these two simple changes seemed to have a more profoundly feminising effect than any of the clothes and make-up that Becky had finessed me in to up until now. As I was taking this in the girl dripped some antiseptic drops on my ears and, when she was finished, handed me the bottle and gave me some advice to stop my ears from getting infected. I wasn?t sure exactly what she said though because her words were mostly drowned out by the alarm bells that began to sound as soon as I saw my reflection. The two changes made to my appearance were, from a physical perspective, temporary in nature: hair can grow back and earrings can be taken out. However, I couldn?t unsee how they had transformed me. That image, that vision, seemed to be shaping a much more permanent change in how I saw myself. ?I think somebody likes his pretty pink daisies,? I heard Becky say in a manner which was the auditory equivalent of seeing something out of the corner of your eye. ?What?? I muttered to nobody in particular as I put down the mirror in search of the source of those words. ?Time to go, sweetie. I?ve just paid the girl,? Becky said as she grabbed my hand and led me out of the shop. As we were exiting we bumped into the two girls that had noticed me in the shoe shop and I could see them nudging each other and laughing. This caused my face to turn a colour which, I imagined, matched the hue of the twinkling daisies that now adorned my ears. ?Nice earrings. They?ll really go with those new shoes you bought,? remarked one of the girls as they walked past. ?Who was that?? enquired Becky. ?Nobody. I mean, I don?t know,? I explained as my face graduated from pink diamante to ruby red. ?They....they....I....they were just talking to me when we were in the shoe shop.? ?Hope I?ve not got some competition for your affections,? Becky said as she quizzically angled her head to one side. Before I could answer though she gave me a long and sensual kiss. When she eventually pulled away Becky gently stroked my earlobe and whispered, ?Thanks for doing that, sweetie. I know it?s a bit unusual but pretty boys look even yummier when they are wearing pretty earrings. And I promise, you will get a chance to wear the earrings you bought for me.? As those words left Becky?s lipstick coated lips and drifted gently into my ear I felt a stirring in my groin. In truth, Becky had no competition for my affections. ?Now, I think that?s enough for one day. Let?s get you home,? Becky said as we made our way to her car. The drive home was filled with excited chatter from Becky, giving me clear instructions about wearing my new shoes every day so that I could get used to heels in time for Saturday. In return I responded with some monosyllabic mutterings. When we eventually pulled up outside of my house I reached over to unbuckle my seatbelt and, as I did this, Becky placed her hand on top of mine. ?Today?s been a big day, sweetie. Maybe I was right? Maybe you?re not ready for Saturday yet?? ?Eh, you might be right. I don?t know. I?m not sure,? I said in a tone which betrayed the fact that the events of the day had started to prey on my mind. ?Look,? Becky said, ?I?ll understand if you don?t want to come out with us on Saturday. It?s a really big step.? ?What? It?s not.....it?s....? ?I?ll tell you what, you don?t have to decide right now. If you turn up for work and you?re not wearing your pretty pink daisies,? Becky said as she gently stroked the bottom of my earlobe, ?then I?ll take that as a sign that you?re not ready yet. Deal?? I nodded my assent and gave a weak smile. ?Deal,? I whispered. ?Good,? she said as she leaned over the gearstick and started to kiss me before her hand drifted down towards my groin. As I started to go hard she pulled away. ?Phew! Those earrings are making me lose control, sweetie. You?d better get going before I?m tempted to climb on top of you in front of your mum?s house,? Becky panted. Without waiting for my erection to subside, I exited the car and just before I could close the car door Becky shouted, ?Now remember to wear your heels every day for a few hours. You?ll need to get your legs and feet used to the sensation. Beauty is pain, sweetie.? I silently closed the car door and then stood and watched as Becky drove off. As she did this I couldn?t help noticing that there was definitely a stark contrast with the way she accelerated her car when compared to the speed that she seemed to be driving our relationship at. As the car faded into the distance I gradually became aware again of the dull throb in my earlobes. ?Did I really get my ears pierced today because I didn?t want to let Becky go out on the pull on Saturday night,? I thought to myself. ?How far was I willing to go for her?? Before my brain had a chance to decline to answer that question I heard my mum shouting my name. This shook me from my bout of navel-gazing and I looked up and saw her standing in the entrance to the house waving to me. ?There goes your chance of sneaking in to the house unnoticed,? my brain helpfully said as it continued to audition for the role of narrator in my life. A role I was inclined not to give to it if all it could do was come up with statements as banal and obvious as that one. I steeled myself for the barrage of questions as I walked up the path and straight past my mum. I sensed her head turn just as I placed my foot on the bottom of the staircase. ?Have you had your ears pierced?? With my back still to her I tucked my chin into my chest in an attempt to pull my head in towards my body and make my sparkly ears less visible. It didn?t work and I muttered, ?What? Maybe. No big deal. I can take them out.? ?Let me see them, then,? my mum requested. ?What?? I responded, still maintaining eye contact with the 6th step in the staircase. ?Let me see your earrings,? my mum repeated as she moved towards me. Reluctantly I removed my foot from the bottom of the staircase and turned round to find her standing inches away from me. She moved her head to the left and then to the right to get a closer look. ?Pink flowers. Bold choice.? ?It was all they...I wanted....Becky picked them,? I finally admitted. My mum then screwed up her eyes slightly as if she wanted to take a closer look at something and said, ?Take off your glasses.? ?What? Why? I won?t be able to see,? I feebly protested. ?Take them off,? my mum said, a bit more forcefully this time. I slowly removed my glasses to reveal my newly plucked and preened eyebrows. ?Wow! I wasn?t expecting that. You look so....you look so....so....pretty. I can see why Becky went for the pink flowers now,? said my mum, clearly having a similar reaction to my new appearance to the one that I had. She then noticed the bag I was carrying. ?Have you been shopping as well? What did you buy?? ?Just some shoes. Becky bought them for me,? I said. ?What kind?? ?What? Nothing. Just some boring suede brogues,? I said, being as honest as I could without revealing the key design feature of the wedges. ?Suede brogues,? my mum responded, ?Much better than those stinky trainers you wear all the time. C?mon in the kitchen and let me see them.? Before I could dissent my mother grabbed me by the hand and pulled me onto a seat at the kitchen table. ?Put them on, honey. Let me see them.? My face started to glow as red as a summer sunset and, unable to quickly construct a rational, believable reason for not trying on the shoes, I meekly removed the shoebox from the plastic carrier bag. When I removed the lid from the box and pushed back the brown crepe paper to reveal the cream wedges that the brown brogues sat on top of I felt a gust of air blow past me as my mum?s raised eyebrows and wide open eyes introduced some brief turbulence into the still air of the kitchen. Without raising my head, I removed my trainers and replaced them with the towering heels. When I stood up I wobbled slightly on the wedges before I gained my balance. ?Not bad,? said my mum, ?Bit wobbly but you?ll get there. Let me see you walk up and down the kitchen.? ?What?? I enquired. ?Let me see you walk in your new wedges.? Still unable to formulate a plan that would extract me from this humiliating experience I complied with my mum?s request. Once I had finished the 15 steps it took to walk to one end of the kitchen and back again, for the first time in my life my mum gave me a critique on how I had walked. ?Not bad. Wee bit unsure to start with but I?m sure you?ll get used to them soon enough. You just need a bit more practice and no time like the present,? she said as she grabbed my trainers. ?Go to your room and I?ll shout you down when dinner is ready.? Slightly startled at this turn of events I hesitantly made my way upstairs, firmly gripping the bannister as I experienced my first ascent in a pair of heels. Once I had reached the top I felt a sense of accomplishment which was akin, I was sure, to that experienced by the first conquerors of Everest. Of course I could?ve removed the wedges at any point in my climb to the top but somehow that thought didn?t enter my head until after I had scaled the pine peak. I then wobbled my way along the hallway and into my room. Still slightly confused by the conversation I had just had with my mum, and her clear endorsement and encouragement to wear the heels, I did what any young man does when confronted with one of life?s puzzling events: I booted up my laptop and watched some porn. Of course this wasn?t just any old porn that I watched. After a day of being plucked and pierced and reviewing and rating dresses for Becky there was only one thing, or person, on my mind. I typed in Daisy Taylor and, by the power of broadband, the results appeared on the screen before you could say the words ?semi-aroused?. I was half-expecting this just to return some favourite old videos and was pleasantly surprised when the search seemed to bring back some new material. Not only that but it appeared as if Daisy had now radically changed her look. She had shorn herself of her long, lustrous brown hair and was now sporting a cross between a pixie cut and a page boy style. In fact, her new hair made her look slightly tomboyish. On first inspection this new style appeared to have robbed her of some of her femininity; but after staring at the screen and imagining my lips kissing her newly exposed neck as her breasts rubbed against my chest and the tip of my penis touched the tip of hers, I was in a state of full arousal. What she had lost in femininity she had clearly more than made up for in sex appeal points with her new hairstyle. The next few days passed incredibly slowly as I thought long and hard about what to do at the weekend and if I was truly ready for what Becky had indicated I would be subjected to. These thoughts were also interspersed with the odd daydream about Daisy and wondering what major life event had prompted her to chop all of her hair off. ?Maybe she had broken up with her partner and was in need of a shoulder to cry on? Maybe I could be that shoulder to cry on? Maybe she?d cry so much on my shoulder that she?d strip off my damp outerwear to reveal some even damper underwear? Maybe the changes that Becky was making to me were more than just physical?? Allied to these mental challenges, I also faced the physical exertion of wearing the wedges for an hour in the morning and an hour at night. Despite my hesitancy about joining in with Becky?s plans for the weekend I still did as I was instructed and paced up and down my room in them. This was partly as a result of my mother?s constant reminders and urging to ?practice my heels?. However, mainly, I wanted to do it because I didn?t want to disappoint Becky. With all of this going on inside my mind Saturday morning came around before I knew it. I suddenly found myself with my hand on the handle of the entrance to the salon with my heart rapping out an extended drum solo on the inside of my chest cavity. This was it; this was the moment of truth. As soon as I opened the door it was going to become clear to Becky what my decision was. How was she going to take this? What was this going to mean for our relationship? Would we even still have one after this??