Hot Times in the Barber Shop

I was late as I hurried into George's Barber Shop just before six. The front shop was empty, so I called out as I sat in the chair.

"Have you still got time to give me a shave George?"

I always go to George for a shave. He's a master. Some days, when I have a big meeting I even call in on my way to work. I prefer him to shave me in the evening though. The ritual of hot towels, traditional brush lather and a cut throat razor is incredibly relaxing. I'm not talking about a beard, but my scalp. I've kept my head shaved for 10 years now after taking the Yul Brynner part in an amateur production of 'The King and I'. The woman playing Anna was so turned on by my shiny scalp, she practically jumped me on stage when she saw it. Afterwards I found it had the same effect on many women, so I kept the look.

As I called again, the shop door opened and in walked a black girl - about 30, tight short curls, wearing a flowing Caribbean skirt and a tight t-shirt holding, only just, an amazing pair of big soft breasts. You don't normally see a woman in George's on their own; they usually have children in tow, bringing them in for his magic touch with afro hair.

"Be with you in a mo, honey.'" she said, with a gorgeous Caribbean lilt, as she went through to the back shop. In theory, that's where George does his shaving, but really it's where the old boys hang out and gossip away from their wives and smoke a bit of pot from time to time. She came out again and went to the shop door.

"Do you mind if I lock the shop door? I don't want any more customers tonight".

She locked the door and switched the sign to Closed.

"Come through the back" she said, "if those old boys see the light on, they'll still be banging on the door."

I'd only been in the back shop a couple of times. I'm literally George's only white customer and it can be a bit intimidating in there. As I went through, she switched off the light in the front shop and closed the connecting door.

"I'm Lettice," she said. "Uncle said you would be in. He's not very well so hasn't opened up today, but he knew you were making a special journey so asked me to see to you."

I smiled at the unintended double entendre. She coloured slightly, but carried on. I didn't know black girls could blush like that.

"He's always talking about you," she continued. "He likes the way you put up with all the ribbing."

I first met George years ago when I heard him sing in a pub band and tried to persuade him to join our theatre group. He wouldn't, but we remained friends and then when I needed my head shaving he suggested I call in. I certainly got some ribbing - largely about my inadequate white dick compared to real men. I knew however from my days as a brothel bouncer (yes really!) - paid in freebies - that my equipment was my no means inadequate, so I let it ride over me.

"He shouldn't have bothered to get you out here" I said. "I could have managed this once myself."

"He wouldn't let you do that, honey. He told me about the mess you made the last time you tried it!" She laughed, a deep robust laugh that made her breasts bounce delightfully. "Anyway, I just live upstairs, so it is no bother."

"Yes, but George uses a cut throat razor," I said, just as she leant forward to pick it up from the counter. Her breasts passed across my eye line, close enough to see that she was bra-less, temporarily distracting me.

"Honey" she said, "I've been shaving men with this thing, since I was 11. I shaved Daddy and both Granddaddies. I can shave the fuzz off a peach so you would think it was a plum. Hell, I could shave your plums with it and you would be fine."

As she said that those plums tightened and my cock stirred. She looked at me and this time I was the one who blushed.

"Serves you right" she said, then picked up a hot towel and wrapped it around my chin, then another over my head and finally another across my whole face. She laid the chair back so that I was almost reclining.

"Now you just relax honey and I'll soon have you as smooth a baby's bum."

So I did. I laid back and let the warmth of the towels ease its way into my skin as she bustled around preparing what she needed. I could hear the razor being stropped, the foam and brush being prepared, then a rustling sound I wasn't used to. Slowly the tension of the day worked its way out of my bones until I was in almost a Zen state. It was this ritual of preparation, as formal as a Japanese Tea Ceremony that I loved, even more than the ritual of lathering and scraping from George.

"Right hon., let's get started." She took the towel from around my chin and from my face. To my surprise she was now wearing a tight fitting white coverall, buttoned up the front, but still displaying ample coffee coloured cleavage. The t-shirt and skirt appeared to be gone. I could see out of the corner of my eye that her rear was every bit as glorious as her chest. She saw me looking.

"We don't want your blood on my clothes now do we?" She laughed again, her chest jiggling under the tight coverall. My balls twitched again and I could feel the first signs of arousal.

She quickly started shaving me and she was indeed as skilled as George. The trouble was her hands were much softer and more delicate than his and as she lathered and scraped, they seemed to be caressing my face in a very different way to the robust manipulation if got from George.

I was breathing deeply now, trying to control the steadily growing bulge in my trousers, thankful that I was for now covered with the usual barber's cape. She clearly knew what was going on though, because her touch became even more feathery and light, flitting across my face, touching the lips to ease away the skin under my nose or beneath the bottom lip. Eventually it got too much for me and I moaned slightly under her touch.

"Did I hurt you honey?" she asked, a faint smile playing across her face.

"No, fine" I managed to say, my face flushed, lips parted.

"You look hot hon, is the water too hot? Shall I take off the other towel?"

"Y-yes please" I stammered.

She slowly unwrapped the remaining towel from around my head, leaning across my face to do so. I could see the rise and fall of her chest, each breath making her cleavage swell, inches away from my eyes. I could just see the edge of her areola on one breast, slightly darker coloured. My face was flushed, my breathing laboured. This girl was dynamite. She had only touched my face and yet she had me almost coming in my pants like a schoolboy.

She moved on to shaving my head. She lifted the chair back up slightly. I could see my flushed face in the mirror, my head poised between those two wonderful soft pillows. I ached to hold them in my hands, to bury my face in them, to slap my hard cock between them and fuck them. She began smoothing the soap slowly across my scalp, working it into the warm skin. I was already supersensitive to her touch, and this was agony. She picked up the razor and gently scraped it across my head, slowly and languorously wiping it on the towel over my shoulder after each slow scrape. My whole body seemed to be made up of only my painful hard erection and my scalp and each touch on my scalp felt if she was squeezing my shaft in her fist.

Finally she finished to her satisfaction, passing one smooth hand over my chin, the other over my scalp.

"Just like a baby's" she smiled, before shaking some lotion into her palm and smoothing it across my face and over the scalp, gently kneading the flesh as she did so. I finally cracked and brought one arm around to catch hold of her hand, burying my lips in the palm, sucking each finger. She watched amused, then gently removed her hand to pat me on the check.

"Perhaps another time honey" she said. I moaned as she touched me. I couldn't help it. Each touch from her was agony and now she says she is going to leave me like this.

"Something for the weekend?"