The beauty parlor

By Doktor Gummi

Short, sweet, and open to many additions, I'm sure....

Jane frowned; her diary was full, but not so full... and it sounded like an attractive treatment.

"Yes, I think I can come back this time tomorrow" she said, leafing with her immaculately polished nails through the appointment book.

"Great" said Letitia, her dusky and terribly overmade-up face cracking - almost literally - into a smile. From Jane's vantage point in the salon chair, she could see the line where makeup ended and dark, smooth skin began; it was just as well, she reflected, that this girl wasn't the makeup specialist hereabouts.

She was on assignment, in this small town up in the Mammoth Lakes area; peppered around with geysers and quaint signs to other peripheral volcanic manifestations: unspoiled as yet, untouched - but with some terriffic potential. Get up there, they said, and look at who owns what land. Could be the next Sundance, they said: Europeans go for that spa vibe, gets 'em away. See if we can get Holiday Inn interested, take some major plots.

The locals didn't respond very well: she was stuck there for a couple of weeks. They didn't like her shiny hire car, either, nor her Power Dressing ways; heels and the Mammoth Lakes mud din't go well together in the slightest. And to top it all, she'd just been in St Petersburg: no beauty parlors there, for sure - just girls in nylon parkas of many delightful hues.

So she was way overdue for a trim n set: and this place - with it's garish sign, nail 'center' and wig specialty, was the only game in town. Like everywhere else, it had a few nodding concessions to the surrounding geology - a few dot-matrix labelled, splashed-up pots of the local volcanic mud dotted the threadbare shelves.

It was the mud which Letitia was selling - an exceptionally fine beauty treatment, she said, truly amazing for the skin. And not just the face; why, out back they had this old jacuzzi just set right alongside a mud-spring... just did wonders for ladies into their middle years like'n yourself, Ms Jane...

Jane was energised: could be exactly what she was looking for! Both personally, in her hunt for the better body now that 40 was gone and 50 not that far away - and better still, low barriers to entry. Non of that '20k for a full face job' problem that kept the returns from the Mexican clinic so disappointingly low. This could be a mass-market deal!

Letitia reappeared with a towelling robe; Jane slipped into the cubicle and carefully hung up the light tan Chanel, the silk blouse, and made a neat pile of her Victorias Secret bits and bobs. Letitia's nail job - a little too long for Jane's taste, but done beautifully cleanly and with excruciationg slowness - made removing the stockings a little difficult, but eventually she had it all done.

She looked around for some slippers, saw the state of the floor and decided to look no further. Back into the court shoes for the walk round the back of the building.

Letitia led the way, smiling happily and vacantly, the mass of her hips straining the back of her gingham overalls. She opened the back outside door and a plume of steam obscured the world outside; a mumbled "C'mon" and sh vanished into it too.

Jane wrapped the towel robe tighter about her and stepped out. The blackened, mud-bespattered Jacuzzi was in a small open yard, the creosoted fence at the border hiding her and it from prying eyes, giving superb views of the still snow-capped mountains surrounding this cosy little valley. A plume of smoke drifted from the top of one especially symmetrical peak; consequently, she was thinking about zoning and room rates and getting round the insurers, more than about the jacuzzi. She mounted the short steps to the edge, kicked her shoes off, and was actually partway out of the wrap before she looked down.

Black mud. Different shades of it making little concentric rings round a few slow, lazy bubbling parts; the jaccuzzi was filled to the brim with black mud.

"Don't worry, missy" says Letitia "It's not too hot or nuthin. We pipe it straight up from the vent out back and in here; the steam drives it in every so often. Just dip a toe, you'll see it's OK."

There's a cool wind out here, and the thought of standing here in the buff has no appeal: she dipped her toe. The mud is very fine, very dark; my toes encounter no friciton rubbing against one another. Holding on to the side of the bath, she put one foot on the hideen step beneath the material, then carefully walked further down the steps. Slipping would be very messy; the mud is fluid, just, and she sees herself leaving a curlicued wake as she goes in up to her knees, her upper thighs...

"Sit right in it up to your neck, and hold still" Says Letitia, looking at her watch. "make sure you put your hands under too. I have to go git something. You have any problem, just aks."

She turns away, stomps down the steps, carrying my robe. Jane feels the weight of her body on each step as transmitted vibrations through the stiff jelly of the mud. A few minutes pass: she gets an ich on her nose and raises one dripping hand out of the liquid, then puts it back; it looked like something from another planet with the long nails and the slick slippery warm coating; almost like Jane didn't exist and some strange spirit was calling hand-shapes into existence from the ooze. A distracting notion - until a gas bubble started out very slowly beneath her and trickled up the side of her leg, quite distinctly dividing at her sex and proceeding up her abdomen and along the crack of her ass: by the time it burst at the surface, Jane was sweating gently.

Letita reappeared after only five minutes or so, with the towelling robe over one shoulder and a floppy mess in the other hand. Jane looked curiously as she strode up to the bath, shaking the mess out into a cloudy, transparent outline.

"our secret 'gredient" she said proudly. "keeps the mud working for 24 hours straight. Now, you hop on out and put it on."

"What, that thing?" She asked, getting up. The girl shook it out, folded back two bits and said "dip yer feet in here, please. And do it quick: this wind will dry the mud out on you, and you don't want that..."

The instant her breasts rose out of the mud, Jane saw her point; the cooling of the mud was immediate, and she knew goosebups weren't far off. She trotted wuickly up the steps, big drops of mud falling back into the bath, and lifted one leg and slithered it in, pointing her toe as the bump of the ankle and heel part came up. The part-dried mud lubricated her: pretty soon she was standing on the bottom half of the costume as Letitia pulled it up around her hips, talking elaborate care not to get splashed - as slow as she had been with the damn manicure.

Jane's teeth did a little preparatory chatter; impatiently, she found the arm-holes hanging in front of her and dipped an arm in. The suit had gloves too; she deftly wriggled her hand into them, then used the gloved hand to hold the shoulder on the other side still: while Laetitia was still fooling around at each side of her navel, puling, she had her shoulders inside the warmth. A cold stripe up her back: trying to keep the impatience out of her voice, she said "Honey, would you mind closing this thing up? I want to get inside..."

a short zipping sound, up to the nape of her neck, and she stepped into the court shoes again, scampering inside. The transparent suit was a remarkable fit, she thought - and refreshingly warm after the cold bite of the cooling mud.

That was the end of the appointment: very strange getting back into the silk and chanel suit with the coverall on underneath. Even stranger seeing her hands and lower legs: glittering hilights reflected from the combination of transparent top cover and jet black mud, ven covering the slightly over-long talons from Letitia's Big Hair nail-job.

Still, nobody was going to see her for anything important: all there was left to do tonight was some writing up and a light snack back at the hotel. Putting her valse over her shoulder she trotted happily out to the car.

Part 2: no escape

And indeed, that was all according to plan: even her chilly motel chalet wasn't so uncomfortable with the added insulation of the flexible, friendly suit. The only unplanned part were the dreams.

Twice, she woke up in the middle of the night: covers off, thrashing around, crying out in passion, her hands at her own body, denied final contact by a double-layer of membrane. The first time, she couldn't remember the dream content, and tried to get back to sleep, but on the second occasion she realised there was no sense in fighting it: though what motivated her to put her black heels on and kneel in front of the mirror, looking at the combination of clingy, stretchy suit and dark mud, while rubbing her full and aching breasts and squeezing her thighs together, she did not know.

In any event, orgasm was not far away. And a lovely, light dreamy sensation once it was over.

The dreaminess persisted to the next morning, but didn't get in the way of the conundrum of what to wear for the day. She looked down at herself in the mirror - still wearing the shoes - and resigned herself to a day of ski-pants and a high-necked blouse. The appointment was for just after lunch...

The Appointment

Driving over to the salon was more of a challenge than she had thought: all day, the waistband of the ski-pants had been rubbing her navel - even through the suit - and it itched, ferociously. her suit-covered nails were too slick to scratch it, and despite the light and carefree sensation from the mud, she wanted out pretty bad. Letitia was waiting, watching her walk from the lot from the open doorway of the salon.

"All ready, missy?" the rotund young woman asked. "Ths gonna be the last beauty treatment you're gonna need, you'll see.."

Jane smiled aloofly at this haphazard marketing. Soon get that slickened up, she thought. Get some qualified people in, productise it... she quickly got out of the skip ants and the top, almost losing her balance with the top as it rose over her head; no sooner had she hung it on the door than Letitia was there, with a pair of gloves on and what looked like a trash bag.

"If you go and stand out there, I'll be right with you, Missy."

Really, the woman had no finesse; wiping away a spell of dizziness, Jane walked out into the salon.

"Jus' unzip it from the back of your neck, Missy, and I'll just clear up" Came the instruction. Jane tried in vain to get her slick fingers to grasp the zipper. Another wave of dizziness, and she had trouble clearing her throat: what came out was barely a whisper.

"I can't get it. Could you posss..."

her voice faded as Letitia re-appeared, putting the end of the sleeve of her blouse in the trash-bag. What on earth...? She wanted to say, but instead contented herself with licking her dry lips, and pointing, rather awkwardly, at the zip at the back of her neck.

"Oh yeah..." Said the girl, walking round behind her. Large fingers grasped her neck, and the zip trickled down a few teeth.

"Take a seat, missy, and let's tidy up that hair a little."

Jane almost fell back into the squeaky old salon chair: the neck-rest pushed the zip into her and she again tried to grasp the zipper, but couldn't. In embarrassment, she ran her hands down either arm, crossing them under her breasts. In the mirror across the room, she looked like some absurd pervert's wet dream: heels and a glitteringly shiny but night-black body, with the bouffant hairstyle from yesterday and her light daytime power makeup.

Letitia reappeared with a big aerosol sprayer; hairspray filled the air in a massive assault on her style. She nearly choked: it was going everywhere. A little frown almost stuck together between her eybrows with the accumulated synthetic.

"Okay Missy, just put your hands down for a minute while this sets in and I get that zip."

More dizziness: could it be her period, starting early? She folded her hands over her flat belly, then moved them quickly as the itch at her navel redoubled. Letitia pushed her gently forward until she was sittingupright, and the zipper moved down some more, letting cold room air to her mud-covered skin for the first time in 24 hours. The click and whirr of a hairdryer, and the cold air was replaced by hot: as Letitia unpeeled the suit, she played the drier over Jane's exposed flesh. The sequence of sensations - soft peelings, cold rush, hot flush - had Jane shivering with arousal by the time a shoulder was peeled free and the black girl started work on her front.

"You can lean back now, Missy."

She did; the salon chair felt light as a feather pillow against her. She looked over the girl's shoulder at her reflection again: the exposed, fan-dried mud was even glossier than the suit which had been covering it, as if it was still wet somehow. She wanted to reach up and touch it, but her hands were still inside the gloves.

She was looking at her face - showing a slight sheen from that damn hairspray - when the roving hot nozzle of the dryer reached a nipple; her eyes turned up inside her head and she could see her heels digging into the salon chair's footrests. The dizziness redoubled, recognisable now as suppressed libido and the effects of being let out of that damned suit. She was embarrassed to move once Letitia signalled her to lift up her hips, but the girl seemed to have no trouble supporting her while peeling the suit away: and, helplessly, inevitably, she spectated at an orgasm as the heat from the gun caressed Jane's clitoris.

Not one of Jane's usual showy shouting orgasms though: more an all-over body quiver that left her neck muscles rigid, her eyes wide open, and her hands gripping the arms of the chair: if her knuckles had been flesh-coloured any more, they would have been white.

The girl knelt on the floor and proceeded with her legs: she could see the whole of her torso now in the mirror, the hilights of the glittering mud almost too bright to look at, shifting and smooth over her skin. Letitia bustled away for a few seconds, coming back with a cardboard shebox and a round hat holder; as she took Jane's shoes off and peeled away the last of the suit, she opened the shoebox and took out a much taller pair of court shoes.

"Try these, they're on special." The banality of the phrase didn't slow down Janes' frame of mind in the least: she was already halfway to the next orgasm.

"Yesss, o-o-ohhhh... Kay" she breathed. "s-should I ssss..tand up?" For some reason everything came out in a soft rush of air. Letitia put the heels on each foot, put a hand in the small of Jane's back, and helped her slowly get into a standing position. Jane looked down at the creases in the mud covering, the way it hugged every part of her body, the extraordinary sight of her talon-like nails covered in the same gloss black coating, and just knew she had to take her mind off coming again.

"uhh... what's the hat-box for?" She asked, as she stood

"Why Missy, that's for you!"

"I- uhh, don't get it. This really doessssnt go with... uhhh. hats-"She finally stood upright, the heels throwing her posture forward. There was a distinct 'pop' from her navel, and she looked down, eyebrows up in comical surprise.

A small tubular bump, an inch and a half long, was protruding from her belly-button. Her mouth fell open - she could feel the hardening hairspray on her cheeks pulling at her skin - and her hands instinctively flew to touch the protrusion.

It had a cap on the end. Without thinking, she fitted a nail under the cap and flicked: no wonder her navel had been irritated by this damn thing, left inside the transparent suit.

"Ohh Missy, I thought I was going to have to do that." Letitia's hands came to her jawline, lifting her eyes to the mirror as the room was filled with a sudden loud hiss, and her heart beat roared and faded in her ears. Her expression froze in astonishment as she looked at her body -


Her arms fell lax by her sides, unable to move as they lost their profile, the glossy surface sinking back to form loose elastic flattened folds; her hips and thighs became outlines, and then shapeless folds, of glittering black. The heeled shoes dangled from her feet, pulling them slowly out of shape until they slipped off and her body resumed something of it's former outline. Her face and neck, down as far as the border of the mud, remained set in a fixed expression of surprise, the hairspray gel glitering like so many grains of sugar. She could just about move her eyes, still, though for how long was a mystery: the breath was still in her throat. She watched in the mirror, helpless, as Letitia shifted grip so that one dark and pudgy hand curled round her neck - which didn't give an inch under the pressure. The other hand came up to her hairdo, and with a practiced swirl, Letitia pulled her complete head of hair away, deftly dropping it ona chair.

"Always like to see a nice formal bouffant" the girl muttered. The free hand came back again, gathering Jane's flaccid, delflated and slippery form up. With perfunctory ease, she folded and flipped the black shiny outline into a lump, and fitted it all neatly into the neck cavity of the dummy head to which it was still attached.

The dummy head went up on the shelf, beside a row of others; black ones, chinese ones, middle -aged looking: all faced the big wall mirror and all could see one another quite clearly. Jane's last conscious notion was to wonder what the others had done to deserve this.


Letitia took the keys to the mercedes and the power-dressing suit. Pulling the blinds to the parlour out front., she sat down at a makup table with the new wig in one hand and the suit in another. Gently, she pushed a pudgy finger up behind her ear, loosening the damp and ringletted afro. Going to be nice, she reflected, not being so big, for a while...