We’d been in Ireland for nearly three weeks and hadn’t really started our Irish vacation; my husband got COVID before we left France and felt it from the day we arrived in Dublin. His recovery was slow; as in weeks slow. After he was feeling more himself we’d decided to stay for pride weekend which was a couple of days away even though our original plans had originally planned our trip ending in Cork by then.
Pride; why the fuck not blow off some steam during the celebrations? Kent also fielded a new very lucrative consulting assignment from a client of his that had a second headquarters in Galway. They were having a team kickoff he would have normally done virtually but we made the decision to head west on land after Pride instead of south or to fly out and forego the rest of the country; we’d decide that after Galway. So for the reason of the business meeting that next Monday which included a mixer where spouses and significant others were invited, we decided we both needed to look our best now didn’t we? To say nothing of the benefits during the Pride event. A dudes’ spa day might be in order.
It was Thursday when we made the decision; the parade was Sunday. And the two day interval after a good professional face shave would get our stubble to the perfect level for … interest. We went to the lobby in full sweat after a hard workout in the hotel gym after making the decisions. There would be two more before the parade; the Saturday the most intense to have the best pump before we hit the street shirtless (at least).
The very friendly young concierge knew us well and continued to be overly friendly even though we hadn’t taken what had obviously been invitations; his compliments of our post-workout sweat and pump was even more direct. We thanked him with clear but gentle rebuff. Then we told him we needed the works at a spa: haircuts and brow trims maybe even some tidying manscaping below the neck. He grinned with a frightening devilishness. “I’ve got just the man for you don’t I now?” He reached for his cell phone and quickly sent a text. He then said, “Much as I’d like to continue to inhale your sweat and eye-shag you he may not answer for a bit if he has a client. I can call up when I hear from him.” After we thanked him for continuing to know just what we needed and were turning to leave for our suite he added, “Mr. and Mr. Sherbourne I’ll see you there; and it would be a shame for you to tame your manly pelts too much. Please give it some thought!” We assured him we had no such intention and left with plumped egos as always.
We were drying ourselves quite some time later when the call came; we’d … taken our time to enjoy each other before and then again in the shower. I carefully navigated the bathroom’s marble floors with my moist feet and got to the telephone by the sinks and got the news that the “very special barber” could fit us in as a favor to Cormac the junior concierge; the implication was likewise clear that though Brendan the barber wouldn’t mind fitting us in so to speak tonight but Friday was “booked crazy busy;” basically take it or leave it. We took it. And before I disconnected he reminded us a bit more pointedly about our body hair. “I hope Saturday I’ll be inhaling the sweat from the sun as it runs through your fur don’t I now?”
“We should fuck that hot bitch before we leave Dublin,” my husband said after I disconnected the call. We’d been on speaker.
I didn’t disagree that the jacked young concierge looked a manly meal awaiting the consumption. “Why don’t we tee it up when we leave Sunday for Galway for when we’re back overnight before we fly out whenever that ends up being?”
“Or we could fuck him Sunday before we leave for Galway; and then we’d know if we wanted to fuck him again that night we’re back in Dublin?”
I laughed. “You want that boy’s ass bad.”
Kent blushed, advanced on me, and kissed me until I was slumped against the sink weak-kneed. “I want you more!” he told me. And we were another hour before we hurriedly headed out for breakfast which had become lunch.
Brendan the by-appointment barber and aesthetician operated from an upstairs suite off Parliament Street in the gay village. A medium-tall black Irish stud is what Brendan turned-out to be. I’ll confess to expecting a queeny-leaning gay for a barber but Brendan looked more like a former pro athlete turned stock-broker with a healthy dose of bro thrown in. “Well well Corm said you two would be worth my while,” he said with an intrusively appraising and awkwardly long glance. To be fair we were doing the same before he opened the door wide enough and stepped aside for us to pass into what seemed like a masculine-appointed salon suite.
Looking his direction warranted a long look also. About six feet; wide shoulders and plenty of black chest hair over milky skin visible at the v-neck of a well-fitted t-shirt that showcased an epic pec cleft and huge biceps. Add wide huge shoulders and an exceptionally narrow waist. His white track pants weren’t painted on but were filled-out with a very nicely-accentuated bulge in front and they were tight at his thick quads and calves; we later saw his ass was as or more impressive. Hairy vascular and muscled arms; t-shirt arms stretched over huge shoulders, bis, and tris that looked truly excessive for a barber. Face-wise a young Pierce Brosnan; handsome, eyes a captivating shade of azure, hair thick, dark, and wavy, and very clean-shaven. Big wide bare feet and a visible tattoo which peeked up at the back of his neck and continued down under his shirt.
He held position after he closed the door behind us then put out his hand to shake and introduced himself as we removed our shoes and put them neatly in a rack with many of his. His grip was firm, his voice was deep and slow, and his second smile was even more piercingly eye-to-eye; all very reassuringly manly. He surprised me by reaching out and running his fingers through my once-thicker wavy once-blacker hair. “Nice. Quite like my own.” Then he turned to Kent and not only did the same but took a grip of his straighter hair in his fingers surprising my husband but making him grin. “Thick. Won’t be sayin’ I don’t like it thick,” Brendan the barber said with a grin giving it another tug. Kent and I were both wide-eyed.
“How are yees comfortable?” he asked. Pointing behind us he said, “The closet’s there to take off as much as you want before the cut. If yees decide to be stripping down I’ll join ya!”
Kent and I were again wide-eyed but Kent recovered quicker. “Would I be right that the haircut might not be the only service you provide?”
Brendan’s smile returned to a grin. “Corm my boy at the hotel filled you in on the bill of fare eh?” We both shook our heads and before we could verbalize the answer he went on. “Well he certainly set the stage with two fine-looking gents like you being sent my way. All right then we’ll go the official route. Under the sexual offenses act of seventeen it’s illegal for an individual to pay for sex while it’s not illegal for an individual,” he stopped his rapid rendition and pointed to his chest, “that would be me if you’re wonderin’ to solicit for it so long as I do it in private; the soliciting and the sex,” he said with a laugh.
”From the looks of your establishment here there’s more to the spa services too?” There were in fact five doors visible out of the room set-up for barbering which we could see into. Three of the doors were open; one to a massage room, one had a different more padded chair in it, and another that looked like it had a different type of electric adjustable table. Those rooms all with more of a treatment feel than the hyper-masculine barbering room.
“Probably easier,” Kent said, “to show the menu of your uh official services which I’ll bet is wide and tailored.”
Brendan’s eyes narrowed. “You’d be winning the bet; I’m very versatile in my offerings. And well-distincted.” Is that a word; even here in Ireland? My brain often takes those turns to the anal-retentive when I should stop at anal! “Here the spa services which are committed to menu is what yees be payin’ for and anything else is courtesy of the establishment.”
“Then why the disclaimer?” Kent asked.
“Safe over sorry,” he said as if it clarified which it only partially addressed the implied part of my husband’s question.
“Are you a good barber?” Kent asked boldly. “That’s the biggest part of what we came in for.”
“Am I a good barber?” he responded almost indignantly. “I’ll be having you know that I have seven very popular actors whose appearance is their trade who use my barbering services without consumin’ my er gratis services. And four of those refuse to let anyone manscape them but for yours truly.”
“Then maybe I should ask if you’re a good fuck,” Kent said with a wide grin.
Brendan looked surprised but also very delighted. He clapped a big hand on Kent’s shoulder and said, “I’m in my prime, versatile as I said in providing my services, and tailor them to my clients’ unique pleasures.”
“So the uh dress code,” I asked. “is that mutual not special for us?”
“There are many men for whom me services are limited to the official menu. But for studly gentlemen like you both I’ll be fully stripped-down: that is if yees don’t be mindin’ me unruly bliúcán pokin’ ya from time to time,” he said with a grin and a nudge with his shoulder against mine.
“Your blehhhhh … “
“Apologies. Me mickey.”
When I was still silent, Kent said, “I think he means his hard cock.”
“Yeah you got it.” He jutted out his bulging crotch which appeared more bulging than it had been and grabbed it firmly. “My wee man,” he said. “He’s seeming a bit overly interested so just be giving’ yees fair warning. He’s also not so wee if yees get me meaning.”
“I think it’s a compliment to us hon,” Kent said pulling me close. To the barber he said, “I have the same problem with my cock around this stud,” and kissed my neck.
The barber’s blue eyes became more brilliant for a moment and his grip tightened. “I’ll sure be hoping your spa services choices aren’t the only thing I’ll be givin’ yees tonight.”
“Out of curiosity,” I asked at risk of tamping the growing mood, “why don’t your seven hot actors avail themselves of your um ancillary services?”
“Well let’s see now. Four are decidedly straight; and two of those not for lack of tryin’ things out haven’t they? One is in a long-term arrangement. One is me ex; and that is just not a hole I want to be fokin’ in again if you’ll be excusing the frankness of it.”
He’d stopped and I waited until I couldn’t help myself. “That’s six; you said seven,” I challenged his tally.
“Ah well now the last one is a wee bit personal so we’ll not be discussing him in any identifying way now will we?”
I thought that meant we’d leave the subject but we didn’t.
“The poor man lost his bollocks. Cancer. Then he got it in his prostate and that took the steering out of his rudder for good it did. Very sad; plays the stud well on the big screen he does but that’s all it is isnt it … playin’ cuz he’s not got anything going down there to play with when the going gets to the point the poor sod. Paid a king’s ransom for an electronic pump that malfunctioned and had him in A and E with a right dodgy problem didn’t he just? His publicist had to give his arse up but good to keep that under wraps!”
I wanted to say TMI but I was too busy trying to shut-out the empathetic pains I was feeling. Kent said what I was feeling. “I’m rather attached to my bollocks,” in a rueful tone. “And to boners!”
“More’s the better about that then!” Brendan agreed with the sentiment.
Kent and I (and our third Daniel who’d intended to join us in Ireland and cancelled abruptly when Kent came down with COVID; he wasn’t flexible work-wise and couldn’t reschedule it for a few weeks later) generally didn’t wear clothes at home. Kent told Brendan that and his eyes showed his enjoyment of the prospect. “Then make yourselves comfortable gentlemen and then come through. I’ll put my clothes in my own closet and be joining you there momentarily.”
When we did go into the adjoining room without a care for being stark naked. The barber was standing passively by a proper set-up with a professional barber’s chair, sink for hair-washing, big mirror and plenty of clippers and cans and jars all orderly-placed but cluttering the counter. And he was stark naked as well.
The newly-exposed parts of him were as breath-taking as the glimpse of him had promised. Every muscle well-defined under a well-tended pelt of the same wavy black hair we’d seen on his head and arms. Nice package; not hard at least not yet and hanging short but long enough and quite thick amid a trimmed thickly-tangled bush.
He looked up and smiled but immediately reacted to my racing stripe. “Well now you’ve been through it haven’t you son?”
I was a good twenty years his senior but I didn’t react to the “son” with a cheeky “daddy” comment because he seemed sincere. “It’s all behind us now,” I said simply. “Still I’m not sure I’m excited about showing this at the parade Saturday,” I confessed unintentionally.
He laughed. “It’s to be a warm day and the parade is about pride and inclusion. You’ve plenty to be proud of with that fine body and your manly endowments. The scar is another sign of survival which many of our brothers have not been so lucky.”
Kent reached over and hefted my balls and dick. “He’s a bull by any measure my husband is,” he said and I felt myself blush.
“You’re a right bull yourself there man!” Brendan said with his eyes on Kent’s far bigger presentation. Then he looked up with a smile. “Well now who’ll be going first into my care and is it just cuts and trims or facials and manscaping maybe a massage too?” We opted for the cuts, shaves, facials, manicures, and hot paraffin for our hands and feet. The massage we said we’d leave the decision on until after the “spa services” to allow him to gauge his energy level.
Hours later when we were both finished and it was nearing sunset through the barber room wall of glass I came to Kent still in the manicure chair and put my head next to his looking into the mirror. Easily one of if not the best haircuts I’d ever seen for each of us. The services to that point had been all business despite Brendan having hard-on most of the time; the impressive thickness of his inflated state and six and a half inches if I guessed right. I’ll admit I’d once tried to bend down to take the mouth-watering piece into my mouth if only to take care of the pre glistening at his tip but I’d been swiftly chastised and reminded that the haircut in progress at the time was the priority; I hadn’t tried again although during Kent’s time I thought that I might be of better use on my knees than across whichever room in a comfortable chair.
The sun was low in the distance and although blocked by some buildings it was still warming the barber room as it descended; we’d been told the wall of windows was one-way glass so as not to worry about being seen from the street one floor below or from adjacent building windows. Maybe the warmth was exaggerated by my eyes on Brendan’s very appealing form: particularly that luscious dick of his. With my stud husband in view too over-heating was always in the offing.
“Wow we look great,” Kent said grinning into the mirror. “We’ll be popular at the Pride parade. Thanks for this Brendan.”
The barber had finished tossing the cape he’d had on Kent into the bin where mine had gone before and stepped back to us. He reached out and hefted each of our balls and dicks one with each hand; that surprised us after the chaste proceedings until that point. “I’ll be taking the compliment but yous two will be plenty popular however you’re coiffed!”
“I’ve never had sex in a barber’s chair,” Kent said with a grin and his own hand stroking Brendan’s length.
“Mmmmm and unless that’s what you’ll be wantin’ I have a more comfortable suggestion.”
After settling our bill via his phone which Kent retrieved from the front closet we made our way following the barber through a short hall and past a well-appointed bathroom; my eyes went to the urinal though the bathroom appeared more like a home set-up. We proceeded to a small but nicely-furnished bedroom. A king bed dominated the small space but worked. “Your bedroom?” I asked.
“Only for customers and our mutual enjoyment,” he said moving in against us.
From there it was mostly noises not words as we immediately moved together and felt and rubbed and ground and licked and sucked our way to the first fuck. We’d dispensed with all of the preliminaries about statuses and when we’d last been checked during the haircuts; so we were good in our judgment to go bare.
We rock-papers-scissored believe it or not to see who would have first decision about the fucking. Brendan “won” and was all about being spit-roasted and handed us some vegan-friendly lube called Wicked; the name stoked my expectations but the vegan part was a first for both of us! Flavored too; cherry so someone at that company had a good sense of humor.
Brendan’s ass was perfect right down to the hairy cheeks, hairier trench, and cleanly-shaven pucker. “Fuck that’s a nice looking cunt! I’ll get it ready for you hon while our hospitable host gets you nice and hard to fuck it,” Kent set-out the playbook.
The barber waved his ass at Kent and took me by surprise when he reached over to me and gave my hard-on a hard THWAK. “FUCK!” I spat.
“If this beauty needs more help to be ready for the shagging I’m in for a spot of bother!” the barber said with a grin.
“Wait until it’s inside ya!” Kent warned.
“If you find we need it me HSE medical card and my VHI card are in me sparàn up the stairs in me kitchen,” he said as he demonstratively hefted and squeezed my dick. I hoped we would need those cards; not the least of the reasons being that I wouldn’t know what a sparàn was if I had to find it!
“And you!” he exclaimed turning to Kent while still fondling me, “are the bigger still! I’ll be wrecked I will.” Kent cut in and they finished in unison. “And it’ll be a bright day indeed whether I’m walking or being pushed.”
We all laughed and Kent dove into Brendan’s hairy crack as the barber rolled back my foreskin and lapped at my head very gently which I appreciated. “Your gentle tongue is much appreciated; you don’t have to be gentle with my balls.”
He didn’t waste any time and grabbed my balls tight and yanked them so that my dick was propelled inside his open mouth. He swallowed me with his tongue lapping my under-side and took me like a pro with only a moderate difficulty swallowing my head into his throat. He groaned and my balls felt like the electrification of his grip doubled in voltage. “FUCK YEAH!”
Kent was pigging-out on the barber’s hole; slurping lewdly and groaning lasciviously. He later told me the hole was “musky as fuck with sweat!”
I had the barber’s head by his hair and was pumping in and out of his very welcoming throat; his gagging and sucking in breaths when I pulled out were turning me on. Problems were his grip on my ball-bag had my pride and joy tightening and no way was I going off half-cocked so to speak. “How’s that hole? Ready for me yet?” I asked while slowing the pace of my thrusts and holding Brendan’s enthusiasm at bay with my grip on his locks.
Kent came up for air with a long “Mmmmmmmmmmmmm FUCK that’s some good man-puss!” His sopping face evidenced his enjoyment.
“One of yas fuh Christ’s sake fuck me!” Brendan growled.
“Looks like decision made,” my husband said and moved around and slapped his monster dick against Brendan’s pretty face.
I took my place behind the hunky barber and rubbed my slicked dick up and down his wet hairy trench. He moaned and bucked back when I scraped over his pucker the second time with my slippery dick-knob and I pushed into an inferno of plush tightness.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh fuuuuuuuuck,” he moaned at first. Then it went gutteral as I descended inch after inch and butted-up against his second passage-way. “Nnnnngggghhhhhhhhhhh!” And with enough more pressure to raise his pitch and volume I overcame the obstacle and my bush finally ground into his hairy trench.
“Good, isn’t it?” My husband asked to one of us.
I couldn’t tell to whom. And the intensity of the grip around my eight inches had my breath; answering was impossible.
“So. Feckin’. Deeeeeeeep! He is!” the barber exclaimed breathily. “FUCK!”
I was startled by the final outburst at almost excessive pitch and jerked back. “Yeah hon use that deep cunt of his!” Kent encouraged me.
Apparently he took my withdrawal as a wind-up so who was I to deny him. I pulled out farther and then slammed back into him. “Aaaarrrrggggg feckin’ YES!” the barber shouted his own encouragement and ground back onto me.
Kent shoved the barber’s head down and guided himself into Brendan’s pretty mouth to quiet him as the last outburst might be heard down on the street. As my husband’s huge dick invaded his throat it caused his body to jerk and clench which was like a milking machine on my hard-on. “Nnnnnnnmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” I heard myself moan as my groin and thighs slapped loudly against Brendan’s hot bubble butt.
Kent and I wordlessly synchronized our motions so that the clenching inside the barber’s chute continued milking me just as I was bottoming-out again. He would occasionally let our bitch-boy up for air and the sounds of his moans further stoked my simmering balls. Then Kent pulled me forward into a deep kiss and my balls were on the verge of going nuclear.
The changed angle had the barber bucking with each thrust and his muffled cries were loud and prolonged. And as my body felt heat rising and my sac tightening I felt the barber shudder and then the rhythmic clenching around my dick; he was cumming. Most any top will tell you that fucking the cum out of his partner is almost as ecstatic as feeling as actually cumming. Seeing the bottom spew what looked like a quart of cum was all the more inspiring.
My balls were not to be denied their pleasure; my own body exploded and my hips were planting me and burying me in his depths as I began to expel my essence. My mouth pulled away from Kent’s as my body jerked and he held my neck and we panted on each other.
When I’d calmed a bit Kent touched his lips to mine and said softly, “My turn.”
Pulling out of the barber felt like miles of dick; every nerve ending was firing and there was the squelching sound of his ruined and drenched passage. Kent had withdrawn from Brendan’s other hole and ordered him, “Jack me and suck only the tip. I’m gonna drench you.”
Brendan sucked the first few inches of my husband’s massive hard-on in as he jacked the rest of him. It seemed to go on forever; until Brendan reached with his other hand and took hold of Kent’s balls and pulled. “Want it!” he spat with his eyes locked on Kent’s.
Before his mouth engulfed Kent’s hideously swollen dark dick-knob again his grunt echoed and a sharp burst of cum flew directly up the barber’s nose. As Brendan sputtered drenching blast after blast doused him and flew all over both the cock-sucker and me. I laughed joyously as Kent convulsed and emptied himself. Then Brendan caught Kent’s dick in his mouth again; Kent sucked in a breath and the barber moaned as I knew more was delivered.
I bent down and took a long swipe of a cum trail along the barber’s muscle-ridged back; my husband’s taste exploding in my endorphin-enhanced senses. Kent had pulled free and slumped back. The barber rolled away and over onto his back; and in doing so revealed a splattered wet spot in his bed-cover that was impressive from where he’d unloaded. I was again impressed with myself for having caused that at all much less the volume.
“I’ll be wishing all of me special clients were so … “ he let it hang in suspense for us, “special,” he finished.
Kent got up. “I’m starved!” he announced.
”I’ll leave the obvious cheeky comment about there being plenty of meat available to you here! I’ll be getting us some water,” he said and swung his hairy muscled legs and wide feet off the bed. “You passed the bath on the way in,” he continued. “Feel free to freshen-up; the twos of ya.”
”Join us?” I asked with my balls still buzzing.
Brendan was in his feet and laughed heartily and clapped my shoulder. “If we do that we’ll be denying your poor man his dinner.”
I was going to reiterate his earlier mention that there was plenty of beef on offer! Kent stopped me with a look which I took to be “Let’s get moving.” Hangry might take-over the endorphin rush if I didn’t.
