Cumming With Style

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Gavin gets the wettest fuck of his life with hot stylist.
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Archer2050
Archer2050
2,132 Followers

I shouldn't have been as horny as I was when I entered the salon that day. While I hadn't seen Penny, my fuck-friend, or Autumn, my jerk-off buddy, all week because of conflicting schedules, I still had had to time to masturbate to the memories of all the wild things that had gone on in recent weeks. I had jerked-off shortly after awaking on this particular day, but by lunch my cock was straining against my jeans, making for a very difficult workday. I hoped the old lady I was working for didn't notice the bulge, or if she did, I hoped she didn't think it was for her.

By the end of the long, long day, I was ready to explode. It didn't help matters when I remembered that Autumn was still away with family or something, and Penny was having a study session with some classmates from the community college tonight. As I stepped into the shower, I decided I'd have to make myself cum again, or I'd never get to sleep.

I stepped into the warm spray and fantasized about the incredible scenarios that had turned my life around this summer. There was Autumn, with the body of a goddess and red hair that flickered like fire, who would finger herself for me in her room as I watched from my neighboring window. Then Penny, who loved tasting me, as she had told me on a number of occasions that my cum tasted like candy. I could almost feel her tongue swirling around me passionately, her lips massaging my shaft. And then there was...

I snapped out of my trance and stopped pumping my wet, soapy cock just before I hit that point of no return. I had forgotten all about it—my hair cut appointment! I jumped out of the shower, not bothering to dry off, and threw on the first thing I could find—some sweat pants and a t-shirt. Then I bolted out the door, hoping I had time to get there before the doors at Style's Salon closed for the evening.

Because my work often ran late, and because Style's Salon didn't take walk-ins, I had to have a special arrangement with the owner in order to get my haircut there. On every last Thursday of the month, she would keep the store open an extra half-hour just for me. It was a quarter past nine P.M., so I was already fifteen minutes late.

Sure, there were other places in town I could've gone during the week, and any barber could do for eight bucks to my hair what a stylist would charge for twelve, but Style's Salon was a special place to me. My late mother had worked there for a time, before I was born, and then became a regular customer. I had sat in the waiting area many times as a child, and while most employees would come and go, the owner, Style, was like an old friend. Besides that, being a horny eighteen-year old, sitting in the company of a bunch of beautiful women in a room full of mirrors was better than waiting in some dank barber shop with a bunch of old men.

I got to the salon twenty minutes late, which wasn't bad. My basic haircut could be done in ten minutes. If it took longer, it was just because Style was chatting away and taking her time. She was an animated character that loved to laugh, and loved to make others laugh. When she opened the salon years before I was born, she changed her name to Style, which was a pretty wild decision back then in what had been a very subdued community. Style had told me a number of times how hard those first years were—her a teenager with a wild name and pink hair running her own business in a town that just wasn't ready for a "modern" salon.

With the help of my mom and a few others, though, Style's Salon became infamous, and Style was more than willing to cater to my odd schedule. She was now in her early or mid forties, and as I walked into the empty shop and spotted her, I was amazed by how smoking hot she still looked. It wasn't just that I was horny from having abandoned my orgasm minutes ago—no, Style was no less a knockout now than she was ten years ago. Anyone who didn't know would have sworn she had just turned 30, at most.

She had platinum blonde hair that still had streaks of pink in it, her favorite color. Her face alone, delicate and smooth, could have gotten her a modeling contract with Victoria's Secret, and it still amazes (and disappoints) me that her body never made it to the pages of Playboy. I know there are rumors that her huge DD breasts must be fake, not just because of their size, but because of how perfectly they've held up through the years, but having known Style literally my whole life, I knew the truth was that her chest was as natural as was the desire of any man to see them. The smooth curve of her plump little ass and some of the longest legs on the planet were just topping on the cake.

We said our hellos, and I made an apology, and all was business as usual as she guided me toward the chair.

"I hope you don't have to be anywhere, soon," I said as we moved to the back.

Style liked to give me my late night cuts in the far end of the shop, out of view of the windows, so any passerby wouldn't think she was open. She also doused the lights, leaving on only the one right above our workstation. The music was always off, and at times like now, when there were no other employees left in the building, it was dead quiet except for the two of us. Sometimes that made me feel uncomfortable, but more recently, it was a bit of a rush—even a turn on.

"No, Gavin, don't worry about that," Style said in that luscious voice. "I try to keep my Thursday nights open so I can get rested up for the weekend."

As we neared the chair, she gave me a double take.

"Are you sweating?"

"No," I replied. "I was in the shower when I remembered I was supposed to be here. I didn't even get to soap up."

She laughed, throwing her head back, and I took the chance to get a better look at her form. She was wearing a short white skirt with nylons, and pink high heels. But while looking at her legs was a treat, seeing her top was a gift from Heaven. She wore a pink shirt with a white jacket, which together formed a beautiful frame of her incredible cleavage. Sometimes I wondered how she didn't fall over from being so top-heavy; maybe that's why her legs and ass were in such good shape—from constantly having to catch herself when off-balance.

My eyes were still stuck in the deep crevasse of flesh on her chest when Style looked back at me.

"Do you need a shampoo then?" she asked.

I heard the words, but didn't have the mind control to look away until a moment after she spoke. I fumbled with a reply, knowing I'd been caught when I finally looked into her eyes. She just smiled, suppressing a laugh, and took my shoulder to guide me back to the shampoo area.

"Come on," she chuckled. "I'll finish what you started."

My cock twitched at those words, and I thought; If only you knew.

I laid back on the chair and rested my neck on the padded edge of the sink, waiting as Style prepared out of view. Staring up toward the ceiling, my mind kept jumping back to that embarrassing little moment, and then even further back, to the sight of Style's massive breasts squeezed together in that little pink top. No wonder her chest held up well after all these years; she probably wore a miracle bra every day, never giving her bosom a chance to droop.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of my dick growing rapidly. I was immediately alert, as in my haste to make it here on time, I hadn't put on boxers under my sweatpants. Add to that the fact that the wet material was clinging to my skin. Any movement my dick made would be as easy to spot as if I were wearing nothing at all. It was terrifying, embarrassing, and there was no easy way out of this vulnerable position, and yet these fears weren't shrinking my erection, but only making it bigger and more obvious.

I was about to move my hands to cover myself, knowing it would look ridiculous but hoping it would get me through the shampoo, when Style suddenly appeared at my side. She had taken off her white jacket, probably so the sleeves wouldn't get wet, which fully revealed the pink tank top and just that much more of her chest. My dick jumped off my stomach and pointed upward, making a tent in my pants that I could feel and Style could undoubtedly see.

I squirmed in the chair, trying to disguise the movement, but it was no use. Style's eyes went down to my crotch, widened, then she looked away, smiling and biting her lip.

"I'm sorry--" I began.

"About what? Being late?" she said. "I told you, I don't have anything to do tonight." Then she gave me her sexist grin. "I'm all yours, remember?"

Before I could respond, Style started the water and aimed the hot spray on my head. I closed my eyes as droplets splashed onto my face. It all felt great, and was a welcome distraction that would help to make my erection disappear. But just as I felt myself relaxing, Style stopped the water, then shot a couple gobs of warm shampoo into my hair.

Her hands were on me instantly, massaging my scalp as she worked the soap in. Her tough was firm, but not tough, and then grew softer, gentler, until she was just tracing the tips of her fingers through my hair. If I wasn't so damned nervous and horny, I could have fallen asleep right there. Instead, my dick was only growing, pointing even higher towards the ceiling.

I opened my eyes to the spectacular view of Style's DDs practically falling out of the large neck hole in her tank top. She was leaning over me, her cleavage just inches from my face. I could see her large nipples erect and straining against the thin, tight fabric. From this angle, I could tell that my earlier theory was incorrect—she was not wearing a miracle bra, or any bra for that matter. If that pink shirt gave way, I would be happily suffocated by Style's naked tits.

Still massaging my head, Style moved down further, to rub the base of my skull where it meets the neck. Doing so brought her chest further down, and at first I thought I should move away, to avoid another embarrassing moment. But before I could react, her cleavage was on me, my nose buried between her breasts and smelling her sweet perfume. If she wasn't going to pull back, either was I.

Style's next move was even more unexpected, as she took me by the back of the head and pulled me harder against her chest, guiding me to rub my face between her tits. I was breathing so hard, and her flesh was getting wet with moisture from my hot breath, and yet I held back from licking her. I still wasn't sure how far she was willing to go, and didn't want to assume anything.

She, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what I wanted, because in the next moment Style ran one hand up to the top of my head, then grabbed the neck of her shirt and pulled it down. At first nothing happened—her breasts were too big to fall through--so she pulled harder until I heard the fabric tear. Then her tits fell naked and free, one huge, firm orb on each side of my face. She continued to rub my head into her, and then moved her chest from side to side so that her breasts were dragging across my entire face. Her hard nipples, each over an inch long, poked at my eyes and dropped into my mouth, which was frozen open with bewilderment.

She moved up and down, from side to side, and I could no longer hold back from licking. I grabbed her waist to assure her I was into this (as if there was any question of that!), then opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue. I licked whatever she offered me, whether it was a breast, a nipple or the skin of her chest between. Then she rose up on me so far that I was slapping my tongue across her flat stomach. When this happened, her tits fell against the top of my head, and the soap in my hair smeared all over them. Next I felt the spray of the hot water as Style rinsed off my head and her soapy breasts at the same time.

When she finished, she lowered herself back down, dragging her wet, slippery boobs back across my face. I licked at the droplets and drank what I could get into my mouth, but this moment was short-lived. Style backed away, pulled her shirt back up as best she could, then gave me a towel to dry off.

A sat up, letting the water run down my body. For a moment I didn't move, stuck between the shock of what had just happened, and the dread that it might be over just as quickly. Style didn't say a word as she dried her hands and did a quick clean up of the shampoo workstation, which was unlike her. Finally she broke the silence.

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

I feared that she had decided her impulse was wrong, and now she might ask me to go, never to return. That was the last thing I wanted to happen, not just because of how hot I was right now, but because I didn't want to lose Style as the life-long friend she was.

"You don't have to worry about anything," I said. "We didn't do anything wrong. It was just a surprise, for both of us."

She shook her head. "Yeah, a surprise. I'm twenty years older than you. I knew you as a baby. God, I can't imagine what you must think of me right now. Some cradle robbing old woman—"

"No," I interrupted. "I've never thought of you as old. You're younger and more full of life than most people my age. I've fantasized about you for as long as I can recall, but I've never wanted you more than I do right now."

It was all true, what I said, as Style looked like the sexiest being in the world as she stood there in front of me, with her dripping wet chest barely contained in that torn shirt which clung to her more tightly than ever before. There were small traces of soap still lingering on her cleavage that only increased this sexual image. And she was breathing hard, still pumped from what had just transpired. Her lips were full and wet, and her eyes registered a need that was matched only by my own. "So let's just be fair about this," I said, taking control with a grin. "You washed my hair..."

I stood up from the chair and reached for her hand.

"Now let me wash yours."

Style looked at me first with disbelief, then with pure lust and passion. She took my hand gently, then practically jumped on me, slamming her tongue down my throat. She was a tall woman, at least a few inches taller than me, and so I was at her mercy as she bent my head back and swirled her tongue in my mouth. Embraced, we backed up to the chair and spun so that she could lie down on it without us ever having to break our kiss.

She layed her head in the sink and I crawled on top of her, straddling her on the chair with our tongues never parting. Blindly, I reached up for the shower nozzle and fumbled with it until it turned on, shooting a steady, hot spray of water into her shimmering pink and platinum locks.

I positioned the nozzle so it was directed into her hair on it's own, freeing my hands to massage her head as she had mine. My fingers slipped through her long, wet hair and rubbed her scalp as Style moaned with pleasure into my mouth.

I pulled away, breaking the kiss for the first time, and we looked into each other's eyes as my fingers caressed her hair. I glanced down at her cleavage, and she must have read my mind, because before I moved my hands, she grabbed her shirt herself and tugged and tugged until it ripped even further. Her breasts hung free once again, and I dropped my head to them, licking the nipples, than taking as much of the massive tits as I could into my mouth.

While my own fingers never stopped running through her hair, Style's fingers had made their way into the waistband of my sweatpants. She tugged them down, exposing my rock hard cock, and I instantly ground it against her crotch. She then arched her back and reached behind her waist to unclasp her mini-skirt. As soon as it was loose, Style yanked it off of herself and tossed it to the floor. Then we continued humping, grinding our sex together with fury. Her nylons were still on, but it felt so good to rub my cock on her pussy, that neither of us wanted to take the time to pull them off just yet.

My impatience got the best of me before hers did. I removed a hand from Style's hair and grabbed the waist of the nylons. I tried tugging them down, but to no avail, so Style helped by tearing at the other side until suddenly—RIP—the fabric tore from the waist to halfway down her thigh. It was all the chance we needed.

I slid against her clit a few times to lube myself with her juice, then stuffed my throbbing cock into her pussy. Style jumped and bucked beneath me, screamed out, then grabbed my ass and forced my groin to pound hard against hers, driving me deep inside of her. I put my hand back in her hair and my tongue back between her lips, and then we really started fucking. I was driving so hard into her cunt that the chair would've fallen over if it hadn't been bolted to the floor. Style was screaming into my mouth and I was grunting into hers. This went on for what seemed like forever, until Style let go of my ass and pulled out of the kiss.

She licked my neck, then, panting, said, "Sit up, but keep fucking me. I want to see my pussy."

I did as instructed, kneeling between her legs on the recliner. To help give me balance, and grabbed her legs and guided them over me so her silky cavs were resting on my shoulders. Then I held her firm thighs and returned to pounding her cunt.

She, meanwhile, grabbed the showerhead and fixed the nozzle so it was shooting a single, firm stream of water. Then she positioned it so it moved over her body, first spraying hard against her tits, splashing them and getting water everywhere, then down her stomach. Finally, Style screamed when she had it aimed where she wanted: her pussy.

The hot stream was thick enough to stimulate her clit while hitting the top of my shaft just outside of her pussy lips. It felt incredible, and I groaned while my eyes rolled to the back of my head. With so much sensation, I slowed down to keep myself from coming, but that only seemed to add to Style's delight. She grabbed her tits and pinched her nipples as the water splashed across our entire bodies and poured onto the floor.

Then Style went rigid, and she began thrashing her body wildly. Her torn clothes slapped wetly against her skin. Her breasts bounced together, apart, then back together. She ground her hips up to meet my thrusts, making the water splash back across her with each penetration.

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh my God!" she screamed as she came. She nearly bucked me right off the chair. If I didn't have a death grip on her slippery thighs, I probably would have flipped over backwards and cracked my head open.

Instead, I rode her out, but by the time her orgasms had subsided, mine was creeping up on me with no looking back.

"I'm really close," I warned her through clenched teeth.

The words had barely left my mouth when she replied, "Fuck my tits."

I pulled out and straddled her torso on the chair in seconds while she changed the stream on the nozzle back to the full, lighter setting. It was still pointed at us, though, and so it was as if we were making love in a rainstorm, with water shooting past us continuously, drenching us completely. I grabbed her huge tits and slid my dick between them, already relishing how the sturdy flow made her so slippery. With each of my thrusts, water was splashing from her cleavage to across her face. She closed her eyes to shield herself from the onslaught, and opened her mouth to breath through the deluge.

But even this wasn't enough for Style. She reached to the side of the sink and grabbed the shampoo. Instead of merely flipping up the cap, she unscrewed it and poured the warm liquid onto her tits and my cock. Then she tossed the bottle and used her hands to soap the both of us up. The lathering suds all over my body felt like nothing I had ever imagined.

Soon, we were so covered in the stuff that we looked like we were in the middle of a car wash. And there was still enough gel on our bodies that had yet to foam up. I scooped a handful of the gel from just under Style's neck, then wiped it on my dick as I continued to fuck her slippery cleavage. But two strokes in and I was gone, and I yelled out to announce it.

Archer2050
Archer2050
2,132 Followers
12