Spa Day (TF, Bimbo)
This is a continuation of the beauty salon spa ask delivering you the description of the post TF of what he’d like to be voluntarily by ‘breaking the mold’ and to be happy and carefree and if if that means she wants to be a sex object based on her own kinks and I hope that’s a rhyme or reason to make this prompt a ‘green flag’ . She’d have brown hair with dark pink highlight; big plump fake BJ lips, a fit and firm body supporting a pair of Fs or Gs or H-cups; manicured nails and curvy plump butt
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She said “Oh, go on in girl. It’s just what you need. A little primping, a little preening. When you walk out, you’re going to be a whole new you. Just you wait!”. Lila was like that. Always asking if I wanted to get coffee, or a trip to this salon she went to. I’d mention the gym or library, and her nose would just scrunch up. She’d pull out a compact and open it, making duck face after duck face.
“Oh, I don’t know love,” she’d say. “Why don’t you try something of mine instead? You know you want to,”
So I did. I finally gave in after months of pestering. I thought about going with her, but decided to check it out myself first. Lila and me, we were friends. Sure. But we were worlds apart with what we wanted. I was comfy in a hoodie and pajama bottoms. Lila loved heels and mini skirts. I combed my hair for work. Lila tossed around words like “highlights” and “stylized” as much as she inhaled. Our differences didn’t break us-but rather, we looked upon each other and became aware of ourselves.
Lila wanted me to be her. I wanted Lila to read. We said as much to each other with small suggestions, like the gym and the spa. But I broke first. I’d called Lila up, and asked for the number to the place. I asked her if they took walk ins, and Lila cooed as she spouted off the phone number. Then the twitter, the instagram, the tumblr page and even more socials. I nodded along, phone cradled to my shoulder until I got the last digit down. I went to hang up, and that’s when she said it.
“You’re going to feel like someone totally different!”
Her voice gushed, every syllable so high pitched I thought my eardrum would burst. I got off the phone with her, and dialed the place right up. “A Touch Of The Goddess”-it wasn’t the most subtle name for a salon, but who was I to judge? The phone rang a few times before there was a click. A sultry tone from what sounded like an older lady filled my ear.
“Touch of Goddess-how might we craft you today?” she said.
I tried not to laugh. It was just so overt, so over the top I couldn’t help it. I didn’t hold back a smirk as I asked her their hours though. She said they were open “for whenever the need to worship strikes”. I rolled my eyes, and asked her if that meant they took walk-ins. What she said next, it didn’t make me laugh. My smirk dropped, and I felt my brow knit as her rasping voice came over the receiver.
“Well now, none of us are ever who we truly wish to be. Some find their way here, some don’t. We don’t call them walk-ins, sweetie. Just people finding the real them. Can we aid you in that?”
“I uh, I suppose you can,” I said. I glanced up at my clock on the wall, a simple white and black affair. “Are you going to have a spot open at three?”
“There’s always space open here sugar,” came her voice. Rolling and dripping, just as it had the entire time.
“Right. Uh, see you then,” I said. I hung up the phone, and stared at it a moment before I slipped it into my pocket.
As much as I joked about Lila, I hadn’t expected the lady to sound so…professional. That was the term that came to mind, but it didn’t feel like it fit. Her words kept rolling through my head. About people being lost, “crafting” her customers. Part of me knew it was just a sales pitch. She probably sold that same line to every single person that called. But as I laid back on my bed, and stared up at my off-white cieling, I kept coming back to it.
Lila, for all her goofiness, seemed happy now. There had been a definite point she was like me. Scrummy college student, slightly cleaner because she was on a med track. We’d eat ramen we microwaved in the tiny efficiency apartment I had. Every slurp juxtaposed against saying how fat we were gonna get. But after graduation, we lost touch for a single summer. Sure, we’d had facebook and text. But it wasn’t the same.
Then I ran into her, and she was as she is now. All done up, her lips prominent as her skirt rode higher with every step. Always mentioning this salon, too.
But always smiling.
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That laugh I’d held in check on the phone? It was gone when I pulled up to the place. In it’s stead was the growing question of just what the hell I was getting myself into.
“Touch of Goddess” was a lot like it’s clientel. Massive and bright, noticeable from the freeway. It was trimmed in pink neon-hell, the entire building was pink. It was the kind of place preserved from the 1980s, without a single brick out of place. Even the parking lot was smooth as I pulled up. I’d half expected to see luxury cars, maybe a lambo or two. I was relieved to find totally normal looking vehicles, the kind like those I found back on campus. My rattle-trap of a honda took up a space on the far end, and I killed the engine. I sat there, just taking it all in when it dawned on me.
Lila, the lady on the phone? They hadn’t mentioned a price. I almost pulled out my phone to check my accounts-but I was here. So instead I opened the door, and stepped out. It was a pleasent night-not too warm, with a light breeze. Even from the curb, I caught a whiff of the salon. A mix of perfumes and hairspray. It wasn’t pungent enough to make me gag, but it absolutely was palpable. The scent only grew more pleasing as I approached the automatic doors. I placed a foot on their welcome mat-also pink-and the doors parted.
Boy George boomed over the speakers about suicide as I stepped in. The inside of the salon was pink-but thankfully not a uniform shade. It was a long room, with either side decked with chairs and mirrors. At almost every seat a woman sat, hair in curlers. Hands extended, getting lacquered. But on their faces were nothing but smiles, save for the moments they were giggling. I stood there and watched, my eyes darting all over the place. It was-it was just a lot to take in. I’d never been somewhere like that before, much less thought of going. With the doors as the only seperation betwen here and the road, it was like a different reality.
I nearly jumped when a voice said “Why, hello there. You’re our three pee-em, aren’t you?”
I turned to face the speaker-and almost went face first into a massive bust. I tilted my head up, my eyes widening as I realized just how tall the woman before me was. She was easilly six five, give or take an inch. Between her jet black hair, her strapless dress and green eyes, every aspect of her filled my vision. I tried to speak-but nodding came a lot easier.
She giggled-every bit of her threatening to drop out of her pink top. “Oh good, we were hoping you’d show. Lila sends her regards-and says to use her tab,”
“Oh uh-I mean, I can pay my way,” I said, “It’s no trouble. Really,”
The woman laughed again, and for a moment I really thought her breast would bounce free. Just how damned big were those things?
“Oh, I’m sure. But Lila said you needed an overhaul-something to get you right and new. Something to guide you. I’m Yaga,” she said, extending her hand. “And I’ll be taking care of you today,”
I looked down at the extended palm, bedecked with long crimson nails. They could have belonged to a jungle cat-but here and now, they looked right upon her. I took her hand, and gave it a small shake. “I’m Tina. Nice to meet you,”
“Tina-that’s a lovely name. One that will fit even better when we’re through with you,” said Yaga. She rolled her tongue over her plump lips as she brought a hand to her jaw. She tapped a finger against her chin, and gave a nod.
“Why don’t you be a dear and follow me now? There’s far too much noise out here,”
“Uh, if you say so. Where are we going exactly?”
Yaga snickered, and stepped past me. The back of my hand met the sway of her hip. Even for a brief second-I felt it sink into the soft warmth of her ass. My eyes followed, moving like a metronome on her figure.
“Oh, you’ll see sugar. They always do,”
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It was the only room that wasn’t pink. Not a single drop of it. Instead the place was every color fo red-crimson to cherry to maroon. It was lined with cabinets with glass fronts. I peered every manner of make up in them I could-until Yaga shut the door. The sound from outside, the laughing and music, it all went with the turn of a knob. Yaga turned towards me as her hand went behind her.
The setting of the lock echoed in that chamber. So loud and full. I felt a chill run up my spine-one that was dashed as Yaga jiggled towards me. She stepped in a semi circle, her eyes on my frame as her head tilted to the side. When she finally spoke, it was in such a soft tone I almost didn’t hear it.
“Yes, yes we’ve much to do. But we can work with this. We absolutely can,”
She turned towards the cabinets, and reached. They opened without so much as a creak, and I watched as she reached within. The jars she pulled out didn’t have labels, but yet she seemed to know just what they were. I figured it was make up, curlers and more. But what she pulled out last made me pause. It was a massive book, aged and tattered. The letters upon it were in gold emboss that had worn away from the years. Yaga sat it to the side, her long-nailed hands busying themselves with the jars.
I coughed into my fist, and said “So uh, what are we thinking? Mani-pedi? Some highlights?”
Yaga’s laugh wasn’t the giggle I’d heard outside. It was deep and full, the tones sultry as she turned. A single green eye peered from her flowing black hair, and she shook her head. She turned back to the jars and lifted a hand. She gripped the book, her nails scrapping the cover as she flipped it open.
“How well do you know our little slice of heaven, dearie?” she said.
I didn’t really know how to respond. I sat there, silent and still as Yaga turned the pages of her massive book.
“Well-uh. Lila comes to you a lot. And she seems pretty happy,”
Yaga nodded her head, and splayed her hands across the counter top. She stood still a moment, then said “And your friend, Lila. She seems happy with her transformation, yes?”
“As content as she can be. She looks a lot better than we did in college-don’t tell her I said that though,” I said. I gave a laugh, but it was one Yaga didn’t return. The silence stretched on, pregnant as anxiety rippled across my scalp.
Then the massive woman turned, her red lips twisted into a smile.
“Good,” she said, “Good. We’re going to make you just as happy as she. The first step?”
She reached for a jar, the top already off of it. She stepped towards me, and as she did she folded the book closed. She tucked it under her arm, and brought the jar right to my face. I tried to peer in, but all I saw was black. Not from the substance within, but shadow only.
“Take a big, long whiff of this for me sugar. Then we’ll get started right away,”
“I-is this some kind of weird set up? Like, Lila’s going to burst out with a camera or something? Because I-“
But before I could get another word in, Yaga gripped the back of my head. The end of her nails dug into my scalp as she forced the jar to my nose. I tried to scream, tried to yell.
But instead I breathed in. I sucked in every curling scent of that jar, my eyes growing heavy.
Warmth spread from my nostrils down the back of my throat. As it met my chest, Yaga pulled the jar away. I felt myself slacken, then almost fall from the chair. Yaga’s hand met my shoulder, righting me as she cooed.
“Oh, there there lovely. I know, I know. You’re so frightened, but everyone is of change. When we’re done, you’re going to just LOVE the new you. She’s so much better than this ratty old body anyways,” she said.
Dark curled from the edge of my vision-then overcame the room in black.
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“Oh my GOD girl, I love it! I fucking LOVE it!”
I giggled. The sound, one that had sounded so bubbly and odd days before, came so freely. Like a breath. I turned my head, the purple streak in my auburn flipping to the side. Lila squealed again, clapping her hands. She brought them to her lips as her eyes rolled over every inch of me.
The new me, at least.
“Just the HAIR, and these! Oh my GOD these are fucking AMAZING! No more tiny titty committee for you, babe!” cried Lila. She pulled her hands from her lips, cupping my breasts in her palms. A week ago, it would have alarmed me. I would have smacked at her hands, yelled. But the very thought of that felt so distant now, just a ghost of an idea. Not something I’d do. So I let Lila cup and squeeze. I let her flick my top down-it was easy enough. Now at least. I giggled as she stuck her head between my new boobs. Ones so damned big I couldn’t even by bras for them. As they smacked against her cheeks, I giggled again.
Lila pulled back up for air. Her smile hadn’t left since she saw me. She clapped her hands, and gave a jump.
“I just-just holy FUCK you look amazing. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep cursing. And you looked cute before, but now-now you’re HOT! How’s it feel?”
I’d been asked that a lot lately. From Lila, from strangers. Guys in high school that used to ignore me. Sending me DMs, their numbers, pictures of their cocks. I’d tried to come up with an answer every time, but words just fell flat.
So I giggled instead, and flipped my hair. I told her “Oh, so good, you know? Like, like this is so much better,”. Lila nodded, the edge of her eyes filling with tears.
“I just KNEW they’d do good work on you. But like, girl? Who was your stylist? Because I didn’t see anything on my tab,” she said, her hands meeting her plush hips.
“Oh, you know? The owner? I think her name is Yaga?” I said. I reached up, and tried to tug my top over my breasts better.
When I looked back at Lila, her smile hadn’t dropped. But a look of puzzlement spread over her face. With my girls covered the best I could, I gave another giggle.
“You know, she’s like super tall? And has these red nails and stuff?”
Lila blinked. She shook her head, her smile fluttering just a degree. “Uh, are you sure? I mean, I don’t know of any Yaga that works there babe. Much less anyone tall-my girl is like, five eight tops. And she’s the tallest one there,”
I tilted my head, and thought back to her. To my stylist, to what she’d said. How Yaga told me she was “crafting” a new me. I couldn’t remember a single thing about the red room before the jar. I dwelt on that thought a long moment, my bowels growing cold.
Then Lila giggled, and buried her face right back into my boobs. I couldn’t help but laugh-and my girls bounced free all over again. Lila burst into a fresh fit of laughter too, cupping my breasts as she said “These puppies are BIG! Bigger than my head, babe! How are you even gonna contain them?!”
I tried to answer that question. Tried to think like I used to-but then I realized I didn’t have an answer. Didn’t need to, either. I didn’t want to cover up-I wanted to brag, to be free.
To be happy.
Just like Yaga promised.