tagFetishA Lamb in the Lions' Den

A Lamb in the Lions' Den


I’ve always had a secret fascination with barber shops. I guess it’s because that’s where men are most themselves. When I was in high school, my dad would take me and my brothers along when he got his hair cut. Like clockwork, he would go to this seedy shop in Little Italy and get a trim and a shave from the owner, Tony.

My brothers and I would read the newspapers and magazines while the barbers and patrons snipped, gossiped, smoked cigars and talked to their bookies. Sometimes my older brother would sneak a Playboy from the pile and drool over the centerfold while I stole shy glances at the naked girls on the cover.

I was a gangly tomboy then, and Tony always joked about shaving my boyish bob into a crew cut.

A few weeks ago, I found myself craving a trip to the barbershop of my youth. I wondered if I would recognize anyone since my father stopped going there years ago. I wondered what Tony would say when he saw the beautiful woman I’ve become.

The next morning, I got up early and decided to go. I slipped a tight-fitting white oxford shirt over my size-A push-up bra. I love the way it accentuates my small breast, pushing them against the front of my shirt.

I selected a very skimpy pair of white, satin panties and a dangerously short, wrap-around kilt, much like the one I wore in high school.

Reaching into my top drawer, I pulled out a new pair of pantihose I had been saving for a special occasion: Dim ultra-sheer, low-rise nudes.

I don’t know why, but I always salivate when I pull out a fresh pair of stockings or tights. I love the feel and the smell of Lycra and silk, and I can’t wait to feel them hugging my long, smooth, sexy legs. I stretched my new pair across my lips as I pulled them from their box, savoring their delicate scent as they drifted under my nose.

Sitting on my bed in front of a full-length mirror, I slipped one hand into the first leg of my Dims, reaching in till I found the toe. The new nylons felt so silky and tight on my forearm, I yearned to feel them on my legs.

I quickly pointed the toes of my right foot into the toe of my tights. I don’t know why, but I always cream a little as I stretch my stockings over my heel and begin the long, sensual journey up my leg. The wetness in my panties grows as, inch by lovely inch, my leg is swallowed by silk.

I stand up, hiking my skirt as I pull my nylons over my satin-pantied bottom, snapping the waist against my flat tummy. Adjusting my skirt in the mirror, I marvel at how sleek and beautiful I look. My nylons are practically invisible, matching my skin tone perfectly. But they make me so horny and sexy I can hardly stand it.

I dropped back on my bed, crossing my legs this way and that, enjoying the view passengers will have as I travel on the subway to the barbershop. Slipping on a new pair of leather oxford shoes, I hook my left heel on the edge of my bed and kiss my pantihosed knee, running my left hand down my shin to the buckle of my shoe while drawing my other hand up my thigh and under my skirt, cupping my warm mound in my hand.

I squeezed gently, feeling my clit harden as my left hand lovingly stroked my nylons, from ankle to knee and back again.

I could see why men turn to drooling puppy dogs when I show my legs. They go to ridiculous lengths to cop a peak, and some even stop dead in their tracks and stare. I can also see why even women trip over themselves following me up the stairs.

I’m always flattered and a little turned on when I catch other girls enjoying my legs, and I never miss the chance to return the compliment.

Standing, I took one last head-to-toe look before heading out to catch the train. “What a sight,” I thought, arching my back, straining my perky breast against my shirt. I was one saucy little stuck-up bitch.

I found the barbershop much as I had remembered it. Conversation halted as I walked through the door and sauntered to a chair in the far corner. It was a low, leather chair, and I had to be careful crossing my legs as I sat down, knowing every eye in the room was straining to peer up my skirt.

It was so quiet, I swear I could hear the brush of my nylons as I crossed one knee over the other and flattened out my skirt.

I felt like a lamb in the lions’ den. Some of the patrons dropped their newspapers and openly stared, jaws gaping like they’d never seen a beautiful woman before. Others were more discreet, but everyone took a good, long, lusty look.

I leaned over and took a newspaper off the shelf, noting the stack of skin magazines just where I remembered. My eye lingered on a sultry brunette in a little french-maid costume on one of the covers. I shifted in my chair, squeezing my thighs together, thinking how sweet it would be to trace the line on the back of her stockings with my fingers and tongue. She looked so naughty, leaning over with her feather duster, the back of her dress revealing the straps of her garter.

If I were a man, I would have picked the magazine up and casually ogled the beauties inside. Instead, I had to make due with a newspaper and my imagination.

I looked around but I didn’t see Tony anywhere. The man with the scissors was much younger and far more handsome than Tony. he had slick black hair, a gleaming smile and a nice round ass that made me blush whenever I looked at him.

When it was finally my turn, he whirled around to face me, flipping his white smock like a matador staring down a bull. “Ma’am,” he said, inviting me to take the chair.

“I was looking for Tony,” I said, striding toward him..

“Uncle Tony retired last year,” he said. “I’m Mario. Please, have a seat.”

The over-stuffed chair welcomed my tiny bottom, and I stretched my slender limbs as Mario draped the smock around my neck. I had been sitting for so long, it felt good to stretch out my legs, enjoying this luxury, normally reserved for men.

“What can I do for you today?” said Mario, running his fingers through my shoulder-length bob, dragging my silky locks over my face and back again, his hand coming to rest on the nape of my neck.

“Brush cut, today, miss? Maybe a flat-top.”

He laughed, and some of the patrons, who were still gawking, laughed along with him.

“No,” I said in low, confident tone. “Just a shave.”

Mario’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Suddenly at a loss for words, he ran the back of his hand across my cheek, his fingers lingering on my pouting lips.

“What’s there to shave,” he asked. “You’re as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

“My legs,” I answered, slipping one long shapely limb from under the smock and raising my knee toward the opposite arm rest. “Can you do that?”

“I..I guess I can,” stammered Mario, turning red in the face. His hand fell to my thigh, and he rolled it over my knee, stroking the backs of his fingers down the side of my calf to my shoe.

“You’ll have to take off your stockings and shoes, of course,” he said, undoing the silver buckle on my oxford.

The shoe dropped to the floor as I drew my leg back under the smock. Shifting in the chair, I reached up my skirt, hooked my thumbs into my waistband and tugged my pantihose off my hips, lifting my bottom, as I wiggled them down to the tops of my thighs.

“You take them off,” I whispered, lifting the smock just enough to give Mario a glimpse of my thighs, bound together by the waistband of my nylons.

Without missing a beat, he reached for my other shoe, slipping it off without alerting any of the other patrons. He must have been an expert lover, because his hands were under the smock and squeezing my thighs before I even heard the shoe drop.

His smoldering eyes locked on mine as he pulled my nylons over my knees and began the slow decent to my ankles, the palms of his hands caressing my calves along the way.

One hand reached under and drew my knees together while the other pulled my pantihose over my heels, his thumb stroking the arches of my feet before freeing my toes.

He held my nylons out for my inspection, looking like a magician who had just pulled a rabbit from his hat.

“Be gentle with those,” I said. “They’re delicate, and I want them back in one piece.”

Tucking them into his hip pocket, Mario smiled. “You don’t need a shave,” he said. “Your legs are fantastic.”

Straightening myself in the chair, I fixed my gaze on him and said “Don’t tell me what I need. Just do your job, and make it quick, I’m a busy girl.”

With that, I leaned back in the chair and extended my right leg, resting my foot on his counter top. Mario sprang into action, grabbing his brush and tracing my ankle with lather. I closed my eyes and wondered what he would be like in bed. He was strong and handsome, and he obviously knew how to handle a woman.

As his hands moved up my thigh, I bent my knee, lifting my bum to give him access. At the back of my thigh, right below my ass cheek, there is a single tiny freckle. It is the sweetest spot on my entire body. Spank me there and I’ll cum every time. Kiss me there and I’m your slave.

As Mario’s lathered hands reached that spot I started to cream. My hips rocked involuntarily, and a long, low moan escaped my lips. Noticing my tension, Mario lingered on that spot, taking a nice feel of my ass, his fingers grazing the edge of my panties.

“You’re very fit,” he said, his hand well inside my skirt. “You have a magnificent little ass, I would so love to kiss it.”

Gripping his wrist, I pushed his hand back to my thigh.

“Keep your mind on your job,” I said, glaring straight into his eyes. “I’m not looking for a lover. I only wanted a shave.”

He turned away and picked up an ivory-handled straight razor and set to his task. Each stroke of the razor sent tremors up my legs and into my pussy. When I felt that cool steel scraping along my inner thigh, it was too much. My clit started to quiver and I had to struggle to contain my orgasm.

I was torturing myself, but I didn’t want to give Mario the satisfaction of making me cum. I regained my composure as he lathered up my other leg, this one in full view of the other patrons.

Each razor stroke brought me closer to the brink again. I had to bite my lip, fighting the urge to grab my breasts, throw back my head and howl in ecstacy. The torture soon ended, and Mario threw off the smock, marvelling at his own handiwork. Running his palm up my left shin, he leaned in, lightly kissing one knee and then the other.

“You’re free to go ma’am,” he said. “This is a nice shave for you.”

“Not quite,” I said, to his surprise. He leaned in closer so I could whisper in his ear. “Would you please take off my panties. I think my pussy needs a trim.”

Within a heart beat, my bottom was bare, and Mario was pealing aside my little kilt, stroking my naked bush with the back of his hand.

“It’s pretty tidy,” he said. “I’m the best barber in this city, and I don’t see how even I could improve on this.”

He was right. I’ve never trimmed or shaved my bush. Yet, it’s always heavenly soft and easily hidden by even the skimpiest thong. Nevertheless, I wanted the whole barbershop experience.

“You’d better use the clippers,” I cooed.

Hopes of hiding my pleasure evaporated when Mario switched on the clippers. The mere sound of the buzzing instrument made my pussy ooze. When he grazed it lightly over my mound, my hips began to shake and I clenched my thighs around his wrist.

“Well, well,” said Mario. “I can see you’re going to like this.”

With his free hand, he pried my thighs apart, giving a clear view of my quivering snatch. He had discovered my weakness and was eager to exploit it.

With the gentle strokes of a true master, Mario buzzed away at my downy little bush. He knew just how to tease my clit, pressing the vibrating shaft against my swollen lips and pulling it way as I started to squirm. The feeling was too intense -- like nothing I had ever felt before. I was beginning to understand why so many of my girl friends love their vibrators.

After what seemed like hours of teasing, Mario went in for the kill. With the cord of the clippers draped over my freshly-shaven thigh, he ran the vibrating shaft through the moist slit of my labia, straight to the tip of my bud.

My orgasm shook me from my tits right down to my curling toes. Furiously I ground my bare ass into the leather chair, digging my fingernails into the arms and trying desperately not to scream.

Reaching down and grabbing Mario around the neck, I pulled him forward and growled in his ear: “Fuck me Mario. Fuck me now!”

With customers waiting and traffic filing past in the street, Mario wasn’t about to mount me in the barber chair. But I kept pleading as my orgasm shuddered through me.

“Please Mario,” I cooed. “Put your cock in me now. Push up my skirt and fuck me like an animal!”

Turning in the chair, I presented my ass to him and begged him to spank me. I could see his hard cock straining inside his pants, but it was painfully out of my reach.

My artful barber reached into a cupboard and retrieved a smaller, cordless set of clippers.

“Oh god, yes,” I gasped as he switched it on and turned the handle toward my groin. Sliding it slowly along my inner thigh, Mario teased the entrance of my tunnel with the sleek, quivering shaft. I pulled my thighs up to my chest and wiggled my hips as the shaft invaded my pussy. My strong, tight muscles gripped the intruder as Mario began to slowly fuck the handle in and out.

“Ohhhh...that’s good Mario...that’s the way to fuck me...it feels soooo good!”

With one hand on my bottom, Mario turned me slightly, pulled the shaft from my pussy and grazed it across my anus, smearing my juices over my ass cheeks and the backs of my thighs. Slowly, he fucked it into me again on an angle, brushing across my asshole and driving deep into my pussy, behind my clitoris.

My knees pressed together, trying to keep my clit from exploding while I stroked my own thigh, digging my fingers into my silky flesh. I could feel the pressure building in my loins, and I knew I was going to drench Mario’s hand with my cum.

I bucked and whimpered softly as my pussy spattered then squirted silky fluid over Mario’s fingers. He spread the glistening cream over my slick thighs, ass and newly trimmed bush.

Then, helping me out of the barber chair, he patted my bottom and turned me toward the door. I pulled a crisp $50 bill from a tiny pocket in my skirt and pressed it into his hand. As I squatted to buckle my shoes, my skirt forced a rush of cool air over my ultra-smooth legs and I kissed the little goose bumps on my knee.

I was half-way home on the subway before I realized I had left my panties and nylons behind. “Damn you Mario,” I cursed under my breath. “We’ll meet again, and when we do, you’re going to pay for this!”

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