Velvet Touch | Dubai Diaries
Synopsis: When Meghna Diwakar, a reserved yet modern Brahmin IT girl, walks into Dubai’s most luxurious salon for a simple hair spa, she isn’t expecting her world to shift. But in the skilled, sensual hands of Nyla Usha a 41-year-old divorcee and top stylist boundaries blur and desires awaken. What begins as a casual appointment slowly transforms into a provocative dance of touch, trust, and temptation between two women from different worlds.
A story of soft seduction, emotional unraveling, and the thrill of the first forbidden surrender.Character Spotlight:
Meghna Diwakar, 27, is a Tamil Brahmin girl from Coimbatore. She’s smart, elegant, with curves she often hides behind pastel kurtas and formal trousers. A software engineer by day, Meghna works in a reputed tech firm in Dubai. Despite her orthodox family background, she’s grown into a modern woman living alone, choosing her clothes, sipping wine on weekends, and hiding fantasies that would make her grandmother faint.
Nyla Usha , A 41-year-old sensual divorcee from Kerala. She’s calm, collected, and built her empire in a world full of rich men and prettier women. But her fingers, her eyes, and her tongue know how to make anyone melt. Her real art? Reading desire... before even you know you have it.
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A Friday afternoon. Meghna’s team outing got cancelled. Alone, bored, and sore from days of laptop tension, she googled “hair spa + Dubai” and clicked on the fanciest name she saw: Bliss & Mane.
Inside the gold-trimmed reception, she felt out of place no heels, no makeup, no perfume. But the receptionist smiled warmly.
The receptionist smiled politely. “Hi, Miss Meghna? You’re a bit early for the 5 PM spa slot.”
Meghna returned the smile, adjusting her dupatta loosely thrown over her shoulder. “It’s okay. I can wait.”
“Miss Meghna, One of our top stylists is available now. If you're okay, she can personally attend to you.”
Meghna nodded shyly. “She?”
The girl winked. “Oh, you’ll love her. Nyla is… special.”
The spa room smelled like jasmine and musk. Low lighting. Velvet chairs. Meghna sat nervously until the door opened.
Nyla walked in.
Tall. Confident. Black silk shirt hugging her curves. Glossed lips. Hair in a messy bun. Silver toe-ring visible in open sandals.
Meghna stood, suddenly awkward.
“You’re my 5 PM?” Nyla asked, her voice like warm wine.
“Yes… Meghna.”
Nyla’s eyes moved over her gently from her shy eyes to the slim wrists, to the slight curve under her pale blue kurta.
“So pretty,” Nyla said casually, walking behind her.
Meghna turned. “Sorry?”
“I meant your hair. Long, thick. You’ll love what I do with it.”
She gestured. “Lean back, sweetheart.”
Warm water cascaded over Meghna’s scalp. She gasped softly more from the fingers than the water.
Nyla’s hands were firm, slow, expert. Her thumbs rubbed slow circles into Meghna’s temples. Her palms cradled the back of her head like a lover would, Meghna tried not to squirm. But the moment Nyla’s nails scratched gently down her nape, her thighs pressed together.
“You okay?” Nyla whispered.
Meghna nodded, barely audible. “Y-Yes. Just… new.”
“Mmm,” Nyla smiled. “You’ve never had a woman touch you like this?”
Meghna’s eyes flew open.
Nyla leaned closer. “I mean your hair.”
But her smile said something more.
With a towel wrapped around her head, Meghna moved to the plush drying chair. Nyla stood behind, removing the towel with care, fingers brushing her neck, her ear, her collarbone...
“Your skin’s sensitive,” Nyla murmured.
Meghna nodded slowly, breath shallow. She could smell Nyla’s perfume now. She could feel her body heat behind her. As the dryer hummed, Nyla’s free hand slipped down, First to the shoulder. Then the upper arm.
Then lower.
Too low Just where Meghna’s breast began under the kurta.
She twitched.
Nyla’s voice was low. “Let me know if I ever go too far…”
Meghna whispered: “No… please… it’s fine.”
The blow dryer stopped. Silence.
Nyla reached around to fix the cape. Her hand brushed Meghna’s stomach.
Then her fingers slid just a little lower. Over the kurta. Flat against the waistband of her leggings. Resting there.
“You’re tense here too,” she said softly, pressing.
Meghna's lips trembled. She didn’t move.
“Say something,” Nyla whispered, voice now behind her ear.
“I.... I haven’t been touched there in a long time,” Meghna confessed.
Nyla moved in front of her now. Crouched.
Took her hand. Held it.
“You deserve to be touched. Properly.”
Meghna looked into her eyes. And melted.
After wash Meghna sat quietly in the plush styling chair, her towel-wrapped hair damp, eyes avoiding the mirror. Her heartbeat hadn’t returned to normal since Nyla’s fingers brushed her waist during the blow dry.Now, Nyla stood behind her again calm, focused, utterly in control.
“So,” Nyla asked softly, running a comb through Meghna’s thick strands, “how much are you willing to let go?”
Meghna swallowed. “What do you mean?”
Nyla leaned closer, her breath warm against Meghna’s ear. “Your hair. Your tension. Your rules.”
“I… I trust you.”
Nyla smiled. “That’s dangerous. And beautiful.”
Nyla clipped sections of Meghna’s hair with gentle precision. Each lift of a strand exposed the nape of her neck, her shoulders, the skin under the soft collar of her kurta.
“Such beautiful texture,” Nyla whispered, snipping the ends cleanly. “But you’re hiding too much behind it.”
Meghna laughed nervously. “It’s just hair.”
“No, darling,” Nyla said, running her fingers from the crown down to her spine, “It’s your curtain. And I’m about to open it.”
Snip. Snip. Snip.
With every cut, Meghna felt… lighter. Exposed. Freed.
And a little aroused.
Then Nyla turned the chair slightly to face her. Meghna blinked as their eyes met in the mirror.
“What shade are you feeling today?” Nyla asked, tilting her head. “Something bold? A little rebellion in caramel?”, Meghna bit her lip. “I don’t know. I’ve never coloured it before.”
Nyla crouched in front of her, holding up samples. Her fingers, as if absent-minded, brushed Meghna’s knee… slowly… lingering.
“You have warm undertones,” Nyla murmured. “Honey brown… with ash lowlights… would bring out the goddess in you.”
Meghna blushed.
“You’re… very good with words.”
“I’m better with hands.”
Back at the colour bar, Nyla prepped the dye gloved hands mixing creams and tones with graceful precision, then she returned behind Meghna, gloved fingers parting her hair.
“I’ll apply directly. Scalp might tingle,” she said.
Meghna shivered the moment Nyla touched her crown again but this time, it was slower, firmer… rhythmic. The brush dipped into the dye, slid along the roots, then her fingers followed massaging it in, pressing down.
“You’re breathing heavier,” Nyla said softly, lips close.
“Am I?” Meghna asked, flustered.
“Mhmm. That’s good. Means you’re alive again.”
Nyla leaned in and whispered:
“Just close your eyes, Meghna. Let go. You’re safe with me.”
The gloves grew slick with colour. Meghna’s eyes fluttered shut. The way Nyla’s fingers traced her scalp, neck, and temples it felt less like a salon session, more like foreplay.
Nyla’s palm pressed flat on Meghna’s chest above her heart steadying her.
“You know,” she whispered, “Hair holds memory. Trauma. When you let someone touch it, you’re giving them permission to see who you really are.”
Meghna opened her eyes slowly. Their gazes met in the mirror.
“Do you see me now?” she asked.
Nyla paused… and said, “More than you know.”
Then, Nyla’s fingers dipped in caramel brown trailed down Meghna’s collarbone… and lower…
Stopping just before the swell of her breast.
Both women breathed in sync.
Meghna Wrapped in a warm towel, hair pinned in foil, Meghna sat alone for the dye to develop. Nyla had stepped away briefly but her touch remained. Echoed. Tingled on Meghna’s skin.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her blouse was damp from the dye session. Clung slightly. Her lips parted. Her eyes dilated she pressed her thighs together. Her phone buzzed with a work notification. She didn’t care, Because something inside her had been touched. Not just her scalp. But her silence , And it was unraveling. The soft instrumental jazz played in the background. Meghna sat with her freshly dyed hair wrapped in foil, a thick towel around her shoulders. The lights were dim, warm. The chair hugged her back.
Nyla poured her a warm herbal tea, then sat across from her legs crossed, sipping her own.
They sat like that for a few moments.
Until Meghna broke the silence.
Her voice was softer than usual, but her eyes were steady.
“Can I ask you something… personal?”
Nyla raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Of course.”
Meghna licked her lips, nervous but drawn.
“Have you… ever been with a woman?”
Nyla didn’t flinch. She smiled.
“More than once,” she said, sipping again. “Why?”
Meghna looked down at her teacup. “Just… curious.”
Nyla leaned forward, elbows on her thighs, voice dropping.
“Curious like… wanting to know if I’ve kissed one?”
Meghna’s breath caught. She nodded.
“Touched one?” Nyla added, her tone silkier now.
Meghna’s cheeks flushed.
“Or…” Nyla said, drawing out the pause, “curious like you want to be one?”
Meghna looked up. Met her gaze.
“Both.”
Nyla sat back, a faint smile curving her lips.
“There was a girl. My college roommate in Kochi. She had the most sinful laugh… and the softest back I’ve ever touched.”
Meghna’s thighs pressed tighter together. “What happened?”
“We were lonely,” Nyla said. “Two girls in a hostel. No boyfriends. Too many rules. We’d share a bed some nights. And one night… she kissed me. On the shoulder.”
Meghna’s breath caught. “Then?”
“I turned around… and kissed her lips.”
Silence.
“She cried after,” Nyla added, “and then asked me to do it again.”
Meghna leaned in, whispering now.
“Did you ever… go down on a woman?”
Nyla’s lips parted, amused at the boldness.
“I’ve tasted things more divine than any man could ever offer,” she said simply.
Meghna’s legs squirmed.
Nyla noticed.
“Are you wet, Meghna?”
Meghna blinked, shocked at the question but her body responded before she did.
She nodded. Just once.
“I don’t know why…” she whispered.
“I do,” Nyla said, standing slowly.
She walked behind Meghna’s chair.
Bent down whispered into her ear: “Because I touched you like no man ever dared to.”
Meghna whispered, eyes fluttering shut:
“Will you do it again?”
Nyla kissed the edge of her ear. Just once. Feather-light.
“After the rinse,” she whispered.
The rinse was over.
The warm water had stopped, yet Meghna still felt the heat beneath her skin as if Nyla’s hands had marked her, not just with touch… but memory.
Nyla gently wrapped her hair in a soft towel and guided her toward the styling chair once more. Meghna walked slowly, as though her body wasn’t hers entirely, like she was floating somewhere between the woman she was… and the woman she’d just become.
She sank into the chair.
Her reflection stared back hair damp, skin flushed, lips parted slightly. And her eyes… they were different.
Not shy.
Not guilty.
Just awakened.
Behind her, Nyla removed the towel and began combing her hair with tender precision, applying leave-in serum with slow fingers. Her movements were hypnotic each strand treated like silk.
“You look calmer,” Nyla said softly.
Meghna nodded, then smiled faintly. “You’ve ruined regular salons for me.”
That made Nyla chuckle. “Good. That means I’ve done my job.”
They exchanged a glance in the mirror brief, but full of meaning. Neither said anything more. Not yet.
As Nyla blow-dried her hair, her hands moved with focus, not flirtation this time. But there was something unspoken in her proximity, in how gently she tilted Meghna’s chin, how she brushed a stray lock behind her ear. Each touch still carried heat… but now with reverence.
When she finished, Meghna looked radiant soft waves framing her face, a healthy shine glowing under the salon lights.
But more than that, she looked alive.
Like something inside her had been set free.
Nyla stepped back, arms crossed, admiring her work.
“All done,” she said. “What do you think?”
Meghna stood slowly, glancing at her reflection one last time, then turned to Nyla.
“I think…” she hesitated, then smiled boldly. “You’re dangerous.”
Nyla tilted her head. “Oh?”
“You touch people like they’ll never be touched again.”
Nyla let that land.
Then she simply said, “Only if they need to be.”
Meghna took a deep breath, walked to her handbag, and pulled out her phone to pay.
But then she paused. Changed her mind.
Instead, she reached into her wallet and removed a crisp 500-dirham note not something she ever did. Cash tips were rare. Especially this much.
She folded it neatly and walked back to Nyla.
Rather than hand it over… she slid it gently into Nyla’s front apron pocket, her fingers brushing over the fabric, lingering.
“You deserve five stars,” Meghna whispered, eyes meeting hers. “But this is for the sixth.”
Nyla’s lips curved into a slow smile. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Meghna stepped back, grabbing her purse, turning toward the door.
But before leaving, she looked over her shoulder eyes glinting with a mix of courage and something else… curiosity.
“Same time next month?”
Nyla leaned against the counter, arms folded, voice like velvet.
“Only if you promise to leave the robe untied next time.”
Meghna’s laugh was soft, but her blush said more than words could.
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