It all started about six months ago when I began having my hair cut at a barbershop in a local suburban shopping centre. There were three barbers working there, but I always seemed to get the same guy, a gentleman who didn't say all that much, probably because he spoke only very limited English. He was good at his job and it was nice to lay back and relax while he cut my hair without having to try and sustain a conversation.
I would place my hands on the arms of the chair concealed by the gown and after a while I began to notice something a little unusual. He would sometimes press his body against my hands as he worked and I became curious to know whether he might be doing this deliberately. The next time I visited the shop, the same thing happened and I began to wonder if there might be a way to find out whether it was accidental or not. When he pressed against me this time I moved my hand a little, just enough to make sure he knew that it was me he was pressing against and not the chair. It didn't seem to bother him, and I noticed that my hand had rubbed up against something hard in his jeans, although that could have just been his keys. I began to think that it was time to take things a little further.
On my third visit, I went there just before closing time, it was quiet and he was the only one working. This time he started pressing against me pretty much straight away, and after a little while I got up the courage to give him a little squeeze. He reacted by stopping what he was doing, but he certainly didn't pull away, indeed he pushed even harder. I continued rubbing the front of his jeans and two things became clear to me. The first being that he was enjoying this as much as I was and secondly, that this was unlikely to be the best haircut I had ever received. He continued working however despite the distraction, and finally finished the job. For a moment it seemed as though that was where it would end, we proceeded to the counter so I could pay him.
As he took my money he looked me in the eyes and spoke. "One moment please, you wait". He left the counter and walked to the shop's door, closing then locking it. I must admit that at this stage my heart skipped a beat and I felt that unmistakeable, exquisite tingle as the precum starts to flow. He then walked past me towards the back of the shop, uttering only one more word: "come". "Here we go" I thought, dutifully complying with this request.
As much as I should be offended by this infringement of my privacy, the sheer erotic effect of watching myself being penetrated on film was something I found overwhelming. The memory of how this felt was still fresh in my mind and boy it felt good. Now I could see the detached expression on this man's face as he used my body purely as a vessel for his own pleasure. Having on occasion experienced anal sex from the other side with women, I know exactly what he must have been feeling. It is warmer, tighter yet at the same time paradoxically smoother, more velvety soft than any other form of sexual penetration.
When a man first enters me there is a moment when my erection temporarily subsides as I adjust to the invasion. But as the rhythm of his thrusts increases in intensity, I become almost painfully hard. I also become quite verbal: "yes, fuck me, god I love your beautiful cock" and eventually "I want you to cum in me, I want you to explode deep in my willing hole, I want to feel your seed flowing out of me". Or words to that effect.
But nothing can approach the intense pleasure a bottom experiences when you orgasm with another man's cock doing the same deep inside you. It feels as though you are about to explode. So, as the video I am watching comes, quite literally to it's climax, I am reliving that moment myself. My top shudders uncontrollably as he ejaculates, while at the same time I am watching wad after wad of my own cum exploding onto the concrete floor below.
Right then, at home in front of my computer screen, I was doing much the same.