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She elegantly lifted one of her long, thin legs and sat, facing him, her summer skirt riding up to show that yes...today was a stockings day...His kisses went towards her neck and she moaned while he fumbled with trembling hands to undo the handful of buttons that kept the top of her summer dress intact, her breasts were small but perfectly formed and he wasted no time in freeing them, all the time kissing her throat and neck. The bra gave way to desperation and he wasted no time in suckling her nipples and running his tongue across them to nip and caress them with his teeth and lips, all the time feeling the heat from between her legs grow.Her took her off him and leant her against the desk facing him. To run his hands up her legs and kiss her thighs, letting his senses drink in the deep ivy aroma of her sex. She was getting ever wetter and demanded satisfaction but even in his passionate state he was utterly taken aback when she turned around and climbed upon the desk, to kneel with. Julie came back and took the scissors in her hands. Shetook one hand and ran it though my hair.“What can I do for you today? she asked.I looked at her through the mirror and said, “Just atrim.”She smiled.Brit had just finished with her customer and took themoney. She walked over to the door and locked it thencame over to where I was sitting and leaned her lovelyass against the table and watched Julie cut my hair.“It’s been a long day,” Brit said. I could use a pick-me-up. With that she turned and faced the frontcounter. She bent over, full at the waist, giving methe most magnificent ass shot I had ever seen. Shereached into the cabinet and pulled out a beer. Sheunscrewed the cap and took a long, slow swig. She movedthe bottle in and out of her mouth like she was givinga blow job. I was pretty sure at this point that it wasintentional.Julie watched her take a drink and smiled. She leanedforward and pressed her chest against my back. Herbreasts felt.
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In the center of the room sat its only furniture and the only untouched surface, an apparently empty, dilapidated desk. Upon that desk was a glass-mounted photograph which faced the door. I couldn’t make out the contents of the photograph through the glare that came from the window across from the door, a window through which the dried-blood hues of the setting sun were just now pouring. I nearly bolted on the instant, but there was something about that photograph on the desk. Slowly, almost mesmerized, I walked into the room, so engrossed that I don’t even think I heard the door close behind me. Crossing to the desk, I picked up and studied the photograph. Now, you tell me that you could have held onto it once you realized that it was a picture of you, from your own collection. I couldn’t, and the picture dropped to the floor, the echo of its breakage coinciding with the voice that startlingly pierced through me from behind. ‘So. I wondered when you’d choose to attend us.’ To say.

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