I looked at my phone to check the time.

Damn, I was five minutes late. I paid the cab driver in a hurry and got out of the car. Looking across the street, the shop door was already closed but I could see movements through the window.

“Fuck, five minutes late and he’s already closed,” I muttered under my breath, my mind still swimming from the fantasy I always had each time I visited the barber, my hot barber. I couldn’t be bothered with a salon, the endless chatter there, and the occasional yapping of a dog or two.

My high heels were clicking loudly with each step I took to cross the street, and the pencil skirt I wore that day would only let me walk so far as the slit on its side allowed me to.

“I’m so sorry, I know I’m late,” I spoke breathlessly the moment I opened the door; the bell that hung just above it gave a sparkly, but faint melodic tinkle. He had his back turned to me as he ran his blow-dryer over his work space. Little flecks of grey, brown and yellow fell down to the ground.

“Hello?” I said rather hesitantly.

I didn’t think he heard me. He turned the blow-dryer off and looked over his shoulder. He had a smile on his face so I presumed he wasn’t annoyed that I was late but I couldn’t tell really — he always had that grin on that boyish, but very handsome face of his.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” he said in his fruity, delicious voice. He flicked the switch on the blow-dryer, ran the hot air onto the elegant black and silver seat and turned it off again. “Um, ready?” he asked while he grabbed the black gown, unfolding it.

Placing my bag on the seat by the door, I hastily removed my coat. I remembered getting all hot and bothered under the gown he wrapped around me the last time so I came prepared and wore a nice black tube top underneath it. Our eyes met as I walked around to the seat, and as soon as I sat myself down, his gaze fell on the side slit of my skirt, exposing the lacy edges of my stockings. I didn’t bother adjusting my skirt as I looked up at him, while he draped me with the gown with his practiced hands.


He began running his fingers through my hair, walking behind me, placing his big, warm hand on my bare nape.


I noticed he was looking at me through my reflection on the mirror. He took a deep breath and seemed to have tightened his grip on the back of my neck.

How delicious, how erotic, and he always did that. I didn’t think he’d do the same to his male clients but with me, he surely did. It was the stuff of my fantasies — the ones where I’d want him to grip my hair tight, tilt my head back so he could stick his tongue in my mouth while I lustfully grabbed his hair to make him kiss me deeper. I looked at him straight in the mirror and bit my lip to contain myself. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again and started combing my hair, his scissors sharp and ready.

He began, snipping here and there, moving the chair around, pausing from time to time as if contemplating how sharp the lines he had done were. All I could do was observe him — his short, salt and pepper hair gave character to his boyish, sexy charms; his face attractive, highlighted by those small eyes, straight nose and luscious lips; those delectable broad shoulders and arms underneath the sleeves of the white button down shirt he wore were toned, muscles defined by the gym.

He stopped right in front of me.

I could see the big bulge that I’d already noticed as soon as he saw the lacy edges of my stockings which I wore specifically for this moment. Glaring at the mound in his jeans unashamedly,  my hand made its way out from underneath the gown so I could bite my thumb. I needed to keep a straight face.

But I was a hopeless case; my mind began wondering again, I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know how his cock would feel on my lips right now. My thoughts were of his warm cum spurting out of his dick. How I would suck it, how I would lick his shaft all over to clean him up. I still hadn’t decided, with all the steamy images that had been swimming in my mind today, where I’d want his cum — dripping from my pussy, in my mouth or on my face — all I knew was that I wanted to taste him all the time.

He walked slowly towards the door and back to the side of the seat, waking me up from my reverie. I squirmed in my seat — I was sure my pussy had already soaked my lacy thong with all the naughty thoughts in my head.

With a slight movement, the seat lowered; his warm palm at the back on my neck again. It felt heavier, more like a grasp, while his other hand pulled my thumb away from my mouth.

My heart was beating faster.

I could hear it just as loudly as I could hear his hard cock pulsating underneath his jeans. It was screaming to be let out. He gripped my hair, pulling my head back, making me look up straight at him as he towered over me; I could see him breathing heavily; he raised his other hand and parted my lips with his long thumb.

I let out a gasp as I slid my tongue out slowly. Touching the tip of his thumb while he moved it around.  He was dipping it in and out, making my lips wet. Not letting go, he gripped my hair tighter just as his thumb rubbed my lower lip, his pointy tongue seducing mine. I reached for his head, ran my fingers through his hair, savoring the softness and the taste of his lips.

I know you are looking forward to part 2. You can find it here Wednesday! You can also listen to me tell you the entire story in my oh so sexy Audio, found here!

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