u/azpdxguy

All people in this story are 20+

So I went to the barber today and got way more than expected.

Been going to Mario for 10 years now. He was young then, and honestly, he still is. He was 19 and had only been cutting hair for a few months when he showed up at my local barber shop. He was tall (6’1”) and about 200 lbs. Tan, flowing long hair that danced on his shoulders, built like a 19-year-old that spent most of his free time working out and doing sports. After getting in his chair, we got talking sports, and he proceeded to tell me about his short run in minor league baseball. I’m not much of a baseball guy; I generally find that sport rather boring. Don’t get me wrong, I love a few rounds at a batting cage, but that’s about it.

At the time, I was in my mid-30s racing and still racing semi-professional cycling, which is a fancy way of saying I’m fairly fast regionally. Still, it’s easy to connect with other athletes and respect their craft and skills. I’m 5’11” and 170 lbs, with broad shoulders left over from years of competitive swimming through college. Then I switched to cycling after a few shoulder injuries that were beyond repair to continue swimming as an adult.

Mario and I always just BS’d about sports — fairly typical barbershop talk. But I’ve got to give the kid credit: he cut my hair better than anyone ever had, which was great because I actually found a barber I could trust to keep my looks going. As time went on, a few years later I met my now husband, and he started using Mario as well to cut his hair. Mario never skipped a beat. No judgment, no gay jokes, same conversations, same jokes, etc.

Time goes on, life changes, and evolves. My husband and I have a fairly healthy sexual relationship; however, he has adapted to my kink needs over the years. I love being submissive most of the time, which can be a challenge in a relationship when you are both busy professionals and trying to find the balance between real life and our at-home practices. One thing I overly enjoy is extended chastity sessions. We tend not to discuss the length of lockups. My husband knows, but he does not share that with me. Most of the time, 30 days is a minimum, and it has been as long as six months (minus cleanings and some doctor appointments — not all doctor appointments). Once you get past the first two weeks, the cage just kind of disappears, and frankly, you sort of forget about it.

So the story goes: we started a lockup a few weeks ago because I had kind of checked out sexually. I had been spending too much time jerking off to porn, Reddit stories, and other stories on the web. I usually get caught and called out for it because I lose focus on my partner’s needs and place my teenage horniness first. So that generally causes the cage to come out and the rules to come into play.

So we recently started a multi-state relocation and have started closing our life in the Southwestern U.S. and relocating to the Pacific Northwest. I got up early to get on a flight and get a few things done over the weekend in the Southwest. I head to the airport, and I’m going through TSA PreCheck when I get randomly pulled aside, which immediately had me thinking, “Fuck.” I had to go through the body scanner. My emergency key is wrapped in a lock case and wrapped in duct tape, so it’s a bit of a production to get to it — as it should be.

So, of course, the crotch area lights up. I have to step aside. They ask me to empty my pockets, and I quietly tell the younger TSA agent that it’s jewelry. He looks at me and goes, “That’s more than jewelry.”

I pause and tell him, “Well, it’s a cage, and it’s made of plastic.”

He chuckles and says, “I still need to pat you down.”

Mind you, I’m not one for forcing kink onto people. He was cool about it, and I was fairly humiliated, but it was still kind of hot. As he finishes, he goes, “This happens multiple times a day.”

I smirk and tell him thanks, then head to the gate without further incident. I text my husband. He laughs and says, “I know you enjoyed it.”

He was right. Just like the time we went to Folsom and he had me wear my kilt on the plane to and from, making sure I didn’t expose myself.

So I get to my destination, knock out my work, and get to my haircut appointment. My shorts are fairly tight and have a 5” inseam, and the cage bump is fairly visible if you look and know what it is.

The haircut goes great, just talking about the playoffs and frankly telling him I’m not really a fan of the teams that are playing, so that kills that part of the conversation. He waxes my nose, does a cleansing mask on my face, and gives me a straight-razor shave. He sprays the tingly liquid, which always makes me jump. He and I laugh, and he starts shaving my neckline. He pulls my shirt down and goes, “Your back hair needs some love.”

I chuckle and say, “Yeah, it does. Just been busy, and I’ll get my husband to shave it when I get home.”

He continues to shave my neck, wipes it clean, and stops. He goes, “Hey, let’s go to the room and I’ll shave this up. Only a few bucks more, and I’m slow today, and you’re my last appointment.”

I knew they offered back shaving, but I had never asked him, as I didn’t want my straight, Mexican, alpha baseball-playing bro to think it was strange to be shaving his gay client’s back.

I paused and said, “Sure, why not? I’m probably only going to have him cut my hair one more time after 10 years, which is kind of sad. It’s really hard to find a good barber.”

We go back to the room, and I sit on what looks like a PT table and take off my shirt. Mind you, I’m in my mid-40s and still in good shape: flat stomach, good legs, decent chest, small nipple piercings — had them for years. He looks and chuckles at me and goes, “You have nipple rings?”

I respond, “Yeah, got them drunk in my late 20s and have just kept them. Frankly, I love the way they feel.”

He starts rubbing the warm shaving cream all over my back, and in the seated position my crack is definitely exposed. He applies it all the way down my crack. Good God, it feels great having it rubbed in with his hands, and it starts running down further. My caged dick is straining in the cage. It’s been two weeks since I came. I flex my pelvis and feel a huge blob of pre leak out. I glance down and see a growing wet spot in my khaki shorts.

He’s talking about his girlfriend and whatnot, and I’m nodding while trying not to cum in my shorts, lol. My dick is straining, and my focus is struggling as he keeps shaving closer and closer to the top of my underwear. He stops and asks — or more tells me — “Hey, looks like your butt needs a quick shave.”

I responded, “Probably. Haven’t been keeping up with my grooming.”

He interrupted me as I was about to tell him I was good. He goes, “Well, drop the shorts, bud. Let’s get you all smooth for your other half.”

When I’m caged, I get excessively submissive, and even more so to alpha/dom types. I have a philosophy that they can smell or sense out a fag/sub. I responded, “Man, I’m good.”

He’s like, “Just shut up and take them off.”

So here I am: shirt off, wet spot growing in my shorts, straining cage, low-rise tight white briefs on, and a guy I’ve always thought was good-looking shaving my back and telling me to get my shorts off. My mind is running 1,000 miles an hour, and I just say, “Yes, sir.”

He pauses when I say it.

I stand up and drop my shorts to the ground, my black Samba Adidas still on with my black socks and my white low-rise briefs — my husband’s favorite — with a huge wet spot and obvious cage bump. He tells me to lean over the table and then pulls my briefs down. The front of the underwear catches on the cage.

He leaves me in that position and says, “Hang on and don’t move,” then leaves the room. He comes back in with a few hot towels and stands behind me again. I’m doing my best to stay professional and mentally act like I’m at a doctor appointment or something — this is just a service.

He starts running the towel over my butt and goes, “Let’s get these off.” Then he tugs at them again. Mind you, when he tugs, there’s resistance because the waistband is bunched up behind the lock. He laughs and goes, “You bricked up?”

Just then, my kinks are on high alert, and another blob leaks out. My submissive side is fully on at this point. I respond, “Kinda, Mario.”

He laughs and says, “Well, kick them off.”

I comply, still fairly hidden because the cage is under the edge of the table. He then applies the cream all over my ass and crack. He gets close to my hole, and I flinch. I’m completely silent at this point because I’m insanely turned on and extremely exposed. He then proceeds to spread my legs a little farther apart to get better access as the straight razor slides over my ass. When my legs spread farther apart, my cage and small balls drop, and I know he now has a full view of my caged junk.

He pauses and goes, “Why the fuck are you wearing a cage?”

I told him, “Just a kink I enjoy, sir.” Fuck, I did it again.

He goes, “Really? Why?”

I proceed to give him a short answer, and then he goes, “Kind of always thought you were the bitch in your relationship.”

I laughed as I’m naked and leaking in front of my barber of the last 10 years. He asks, “So your other half doesn’t get any?”

I tell him that he’s a top/vers and I’m a bottom, and well, it’s not overly big and I’m a shit top. He responds, “No shit if that’s on your dick,” as he tells me, “Don’t move, I’m going to get your hole.”

OMG, that razor sliding over my sensitive hole was driving me crazy. He stops briefly and asks if I’ve ever been cucked. I tell him we’ve done that a few times. He laughs and says his girlfriend would love to watch him fuck a dude. I nodded and was trying not to just explode hands-free. I respond, “Yeah, I’m sure, but I’m not allowed to hook up without permission.”

He stops and goes, “No, you would watch, naked in a corner.”

Just then, a huge blob of cum drops out. He goes, “Looks like you would like that.” He takes the hot towel and starts aggressively wiping me down, and then I feel him spray that stinging spray over my back and hole. I start to jump, and he shoves his hand on my back and pushes me into the table and tells me to sit still and enjoy it.

A short time later, he slaps my ass and says, “Get dressed. That was fun.”

I stood up, and he watched me get dressed. He guided me out of the room like a little boy and past the other barbers and clients in the shop. Felt like a walk of shame.

He rings me up, and I go to pay. $50 like normal — and he added a $100 tip. I tapped my card and said, “Thank you.”

He goes, “No problem. See ya soon, bro!”

I walk out to the car processing everything that just happened, and my text message alert goes off. My husband texts: “$150 for a haircut?”

I respond, “I’ll explain later.”

What a day. Now I’m crazy horny and have no way to rub one out. I guess that’s part of this kink — getting exactly what you ask for.