Heat in the Chair

Watching Joe give in to the pampering made my heart swell. He always took good care of himself; shaving every morning with that careful precision, smelling faintly of cedar and clean skin, fingernails never grimy; but there was something intoxicating about seeing him simply let go. Head tilted back, eyes closed, a soft sigh escaping his lips as the hot towel settled over his face like a caress. Sabrina had gone all out, rolling out the velvet rope to woo him, to make him feel like the center of the universe. And right now, he was.

The black Escalade that picked us up was obscene in the best way; tinted windows, partition, limo-style seating that swallowed us in plush leather. At the salon, Joe sank into it the reclining chair, nothing but the thick white robe they’d given him at the salon entrance, same as Iris and me. When the hot towel draped across his face he let out a low, contented chuckle. “I could get used to this,” he murmured, voice muffled, lazy and adorable.

Skye, his stylist, stood behind him like she’d been carved from some dark, glittering fantasy. Tall, lean, with a sharp undercut pixie dyed electric pink and jet black. Her lips were painted a glossy, almost-black burgundy that caught the light every time she moved. Her baby-blue eyes gleamed beneath heavy smoky shadow, and the sleeveless midriff tank she wore clung to her like a second skin. The black lace bra underneath did nothing to conceal the glint of silver barbells piercing both nipples; hard little peaks pressing insistently against the thin fabric. Her stomach was flat and taut, a dangling charm belly piercing swaying gently above low-slung white jeans that hugged every curve.

She wasn’t the only one who looked like she belonged on a magazine cover. Kayla, working on Iris, was all lush, dangerous curves; raven-black hair spilling down her back, skin a rich deep brown that glowed under the salon lights. Coke-bottle figure poured into a fitted black blouse and matching jeans that made her ass look like it could stop traffic. She massaged Iris’s scalp with slow, deliberate strokes, and Iris’s eyes fluttered shut, lips parting on a soft, involuntary moan of pleasure.

Then there was Cherry; my stylist; the shortest of the three, barely clearing five feet, but carrying herself with the confidence of someone twice her size. Asian, thick syrupy Australian accent that rolled over every word like honey, bright mischievous eyes framed by white-gold wavy hair and perfect cat-eye liner. Her tits were impossibly perky, straining against a cropped top that left her tiny waist bare, flaring out into a heart-shaped, plump ass that swayed with every step she took toward me.

Iris and I had confessed to each other years ago about our college experiments with women; late-night curiosity, soft mouths, curious fingers, the thrill of discovering what another woman’s body felt like under our hands. I’d mostly tucked that part of myself away after school, but lately… lately, the fantasies weren’t just about tasting a woman for myself. They were about watching them with him. About seeing Joe’s quiet dominance unravel someone else while I directed every filthy second of it.

Skye lifted the hot towel away and Joe’s eyes opened, slow and sleepy. He gave her that gentle, kind smile; the one that made people feel safe and seen; and something in her expression fractured. Her lips parted on a soft inhale. She reached for the bowl of shaving cream, leaning in close, and her breasts pressed firmly against the top of his skull, the lace of her bra dragging across his damp hair. The motion shifted her weight; she stumbled just slightly, her hand landing flat against his bare chest beneath the parted robe.

She froze. “Sorry,” she whispered, cheeks flaming pink against her pale skin.

Joe’s eyes flicked to hers. For a heartbeat he looked embarrassed; then something darker slid into his gaze. Power. The subtle shift of a man who suddenly understood he could have her if he wanted her. That knowledge hung in the air like smoke.

Iris caught my eye across the room. That slow, wicked smirk of hers said everything: See? I told you he has that effect on women. The look said. Her gaze drifted deliberately to Joe, then back to me, heavy with shared understanding.

And just like that, more images crashed through me, vivid and unstoppable.

The three of them moving to him as one. The three of them discarding clothing, Skye’s pierced nipples catch the light as he slammed into her, Kayla on all fours screaming as he fucked her from behind, Cherry riding him wild, head thrown back as the other two felt over her naked body. They took him in multiple positions; effortlessly, as they worshipped him with lips and tongues and wet, eager heat, his seed, thick and viril, flowing from their folds slowly.

I didn’t know where the sudden flood of images came from, but I didn’t care. They could keep coming. They could get filthier. Fuck, I was already soaked, panties clinging uncomfortably between my thighs, clit throbbing with every heartbeat.

And I was absolutely going to steal time alone with him before the concert started.

Somewhere private; a dressing room, a quiet corner of the venue, the back of that damn Escalade if I had to. I wanted him inside me, deep and rough, his hand clamped over my mouth to muffle the sounds I couldn’t hold back. I wanted to feel him stretch me open, feel him pulse and spill.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from whimpering.

Tonight was going to be long... And deliciously unbearable.