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Time Stop | street0 | 11

 

You restart time from your hiding place.

The twenty-something girl shampooing the one client you haven't toyed with is watching in mesmerized horror as the two senior stylists are seeming to do more and more inappropriate things to each other. Her woman client is deaf to it all, the roaring water she is being rinsed with having drowned the commotion.

The receptionist, beautifully bottomless again, screams and falls over behind her desk. She struggles vainly to free her wrists and ankles from the phone cord entangling them. All that results is her blouse being stretched dangerously tight across her rack. The headset violating the pink geometry of her cunt and ass is agonizingly uncomfortable.

The lady stylist involuntarily sucks in and swallows the ass juice covering the hairbrush handle, fresh from her anus.

The male stylist, Rene, is caught off balance by having one hand in his female partner's cunt and another holding the hairbrush in her mouth. He starts toppling onto her, which shoves the anal hairbrush half-way down her throat. As his other hand searches for a grip, his palm crushes into the lady stylist's clit and his fingers grip her inner wall.

She screams gutturally through the brush. Rene pulls back his hands, but the damage is done. The female stylist sobs uncontrollably in his tentative embrace.

The MILF with the freshly cut bald spot is turning her head like a metronome, shocked first at the bottomless receptionist, then at stylists, then at receptionist again. Her haircut feels nice and breezy, though, perfect for the summer. The mirrors are behind her, and now is not the time to look at them. At last, she starts pulling out a cell phone.

Another scream rocks the salon as the hair of the client in the hairdryer crosses over from singing to smouldering to burning. She jumps up, banging her head on the metal dryer, and stumbles towards the shampoo tables.

The cockhole is still sequestered in the washroom, oblivious to the chaos ahead of her.

While watching the chaos bemusedly, you notice that there is a variety of bottles on the salon counters. There's bleach, peroxide, shampoo, conditioner, gel, powder, cosmeticians' kits, and dyes in all colours from green to chestnut to purple. There's also all sorts of scissors, clippers, trimmers, and razors.

 

Is it time to wreak more havoc?


          moving on

 
 
 

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