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Patrick Pounces by Manny


I was so grateful to my cousin for asking whether she could bring along a college friend to the cocktail party I was hosting to celebrate my promotion into the rank of partner at the firm. It was mainly a middle-age crowd; some folk were giving into the ravages of age while others were fighting it with a fury and trying to look like the were still in their late twenties like my cousin and her friend Patrick.

She was sporting this very clingy black dress that exposed a lot of skin and Patrick made his mark by wearing outrageously expensive labels of the very latest fashion. With his lionesque mane of thick, wavy blond hair, he looked every bit the part of a male model for Canali or Zegna. The older cougars in the crowd immediately pounced on Patrick, fussing over his skin tight clothes that poorly concealed his rippling muscle. He eyed them with an amused look through a heavy forelock which spent most of its time hanging in front of one of his crystal clear blue eyes.

"I just love his hair!" one of the guests exclaimed to her friend. "The sheen, the body, the length."

"Not since Fabio have I seen a stud rock long hair like Patrick does!" the other replied. "And I much prefer his soft waves to Fabio's straight tresses."

Of course, this was said within earshot of Patrick who humored his admirers by flicking his head so that his golden locks danced about the base of his collar, where they hung just above his shoulders.

It was my cousin who rescued her friend from the group of cougars that were busting out of their party dresses despite the most expensive spanx they could afford and dragged him over to meet me, the host. "Patrick, this is my cousin Joseph, or Josey as we call him."

He reached out his hand, which felt as soft as silk, and shook it as he congratulated me on my promotion. "You must be the youngest partner in the company!" Patrick remarked as my cousin peeled away to greet another acquaintance.

I couldn't tell for sure, but I thought I detected a bit of a wink under the massive forelock that hung to the middle of his cheek. Or, perhaps it was a smirk! The little asshole was making fun of me and my age....or was he trying to ingratiate himself to me?! I couldn't tell. But I would find out. I would get to know Patrick much better. And, if I was lucky, he would get to know me -- and my secret hobby that involved clippers, capes and traditional barber chairs!

"Well, how old do you think I am, Patrick?" I asked bluntly.

His face blushed. He stammered. Yes, that had been a little ruse to mock me! He viewed me as an "over the hill" has-been, just like I had suspected.

"Not a day over 30," he finally said, with a sly grin on his face.

"Oh my, all that hair in your face has kept you from seeing these creeping wrinkles around my eyes, I'm afraid!" Impulsively, I reached up and pushed his wonderful mane back and tucked it behind his ear as I fondled the silken strands. "There, now perhaps you can get a better look at me and make another guess." The faint smell of cologne lingered on my hand as I adjusted my glasses.

Patrick did not recoil from my bold move to arrange his hair. Perhaps it happened too suddenly or too quickly. Or, perhaps he welcomed it! He smiled sweetly, "Well, now that you mention it, I do see a few gray strands. But most older men don't have such shiny, thick hair," he said acknowledging the nicely groomed hair that I was rather proud of. He gave me the once over, lingering a bit on the growing bulge in my cock. "Should I add ten years to my estimate?" Patrick said, relaxing a bit.

"Try 18 years! I was already well into my career when you were still a young teen, running around with your pals, making trouble, and getting turned over your father's knee for a few swift cracks of the belt across your tight ass!" I laughed.

Just then one of my other guests grabbed me by the arm and turned me away from Patrick to meet her husband. Patrick was left standing alone, smoothing his dreamy mane. Instantly the cougars pounced on him again and fawned over his youthful good looks.

Despite our separate coversations, I kept eyeing him and he kept eyeing me across the room. The growing synergy between us, even though I was probably old enough to be his father, added to the excitement of the evening.

About an hour later, I was on the balcony getting a break from the chatter and noise when I detected the familiar scent of Patrick's cologne. I sensed him behind me and I heard a soft whisper in my ear, "My father didn't believe in spankings. When I was bad, he put me in time out. There was a special chair in his office where I would have to sit for half an hour and not say or do anything. But I didn't mind....my fertile imagination spent the time well. And then he was very affectionate afterwards, which I liked."

I whirled around to face him, despite his close proximity. I caressed his beautiful hair. "I have a special chair in my office too. It's for pampered boytoys who need a little discipline." Then the tender strokes turned into a painful yank! Grasping his copious mane, I pulled him to me. Veiled in the dark of the balcony setting, our lips met.

"I can pull off a stunt here at your swell party tonight that might earn me half an hour in your naughty chair. I am a very spoiled boytoy who needs your firm discipline!" Patrick panted with anticipation.

Then he boldly marched into the living room and hollered above the noise to silence the gathered guests. He heightened his stature by standing on the coffee table. "Excuse me! I have an announcement to make about our generous host, Joseph! Come on in here , Joe. I know you've been hiding out on the balcony from all your admiring guests," he said has he ran his fingers through his long hair. "Joe wants to share his new wealth as a partner with you by sending two lucky winners of a raffle he's sponsoring. The winners will go to the championship final game tomorrow night at the arena downtown. He's got a pair of the priciest tickets available. If you want to enter the raffle, drop your business card in that vase near the front door as you leave! Let's hear it for our generous host!" The crowd clapped wildly and Patrick led the group in a rousing rendition of 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow'.

Several hours later the crowd began to thin. I heard my cousin tell Patrick that she would get a cab if he wanted to stay longer. She needed to get up early in the morning.... Finally everyone was gone except for Patrick and me.

"Did you like my stunt?!" Patrick asked with a laugh as he held up the vase of business cards.

"You must know I don't have the tickets you promised!" I said.

He smirked, "Everyone will think someone else won.....Yes, I'm quite a bad boy!"

I wrenched him by the arm. "You will need to spend a good half hour in my naughty chair!" Then I led him down the hall and threw the door to my study open. On one side was a large desk with the computer equipment and on the other a 1910 vintage Kokken barber chair with a lovely enamel base and fancy wrought iron foot rest. Patrick instinctively hesitated from entering the study, but I forced him in. "Come on -- up in the barber chair, boy!"

"Wow! That's quite a chair. What's the story behind it?" he asked, still not taking a seat.

I moved him forcefully closer to it. "I'm an amateur barber....and you need a haircut!"

Patrick turned with a look of panic on his face. "Not my hair!" he gasped.

I manhandled him so that he was forced to lean over the arm rest. Then I gave him three hard smacks across his tight ass. Patrick yelped in humiliation. It must have been his first experience with corporal punishment. "I loved to administer a grown man's first spanking!" I chirped gleefully. Then I barked at him, "Take a seat, Patsy! Now!!"

He complied meekly. My plan was moving along nicely, I thought to myself as I watched at him squirm nervously with a sense of vulnerability etched across his youthful face.

Out came my cape and I fastened it tightly in place after pulling out the luscious length of his golden locks. Then I began brushing his hair and stroking it so that he began to relax a bit. Patrick's locks were truly lovely. So full of body that it seemed like the coils had just been released from beauty salon curlers. I pulled the huge forelock back with the brush and smoothed the long hair down repeatedly with my hands.

"Glad this seat is so soft," Patrick finally remarked with a soft laugh. "That whipping you gave me hurt!"

"You need to learn to comply quickly and not talk back or ask questions when you're in my barbershop. Now stay seated here and I'll be back in a few minutes. I slipped out to change into my traditional barber outfit -- head to toe in white with a professional tunic, slacks and matching snowy white shoes. Just the blue embroidered name "Joseph" on my chest pocket broke the block of color. As I emerged from my bedroom, clad in barber's best, I saw Patrick leaving the study sans cape.

"I told you not to get up from the chair!" I barked.

"I thought that...." Patrick stammered.

"Now you've pushed the limit -- Patrick, strip off your girly-boy clothes!" I commanded.

The flowing mane danced about as Patrick complied nervously. Getting out of his tightly tailored clothes proved difficult. He looked like a gem in the buff standing amid the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. I grabbed him by the hair and marched him back to the chair. Again I forced him to lean over the arm. Smack, smack, smack! The slaps of my hand against his virgin white ass rang out loudly and Patrick gasped in pain. Smack! Smack! "Have you learned your lesson?" I asked, examining the shining red welts that covered his rear end.

"Yes," he murmurred. "To cooperate and obey."

"And, you will address me as sir! Understand?" I added sternly.

"Yes, SIR!" he instinctively replied.

"Now get in the chair, Patsy! Your punishment will be severe!" I snapped.

The frightened lad complied and seemed grateful for the snowy white cape to cover his denuded body.

"Oh, my! All this girly-boy hair!!" I exclaimed fondling the prized locks. "When was the last time you were taken to the barber shop and treated to the clippers?"

"Never been!" he murmured.

"I've never had that pleasure, Sir!" I said in a corrective manner. "Now repeat that! The longer it takes you to learn the protocol, the shorter your first disciplinary haircut will be!"

"I've never had that pleasure, Sir!" Patrick parroted nervously.

I looked intently at his long beautiful hair. It would be almost painful to ruin it. But a pain that would be subsumed in pleasure, I quickly reminded myself.

Just then, my cell phone rang. It had a distinct ring, from a caller who I knew I had to answer. I rushed over to the desk where it was lying and answered it. I couldn't believe what I was hearing on the phone -- my date for the following evening was backing out on my! The weasle! But I didn't care. I had Patrick in the pipeline. I snapped, "Goodbye for good!" over the phone. Then I sensed the smell of Patrick's cologne! He was out of the chair!! I whirled around, and his youthful strength quickly overtook me. Despite the handicap of the cape still about his neck getting in his way, Patrick was able to quickly wrestled me back to the chair....and then I saw a roll of duct tape in his hand!! It was the roll that I had left out from a project I was working on early.

"Patrick!" I stammered. "What are you doing?!"

The question was rhetorical. What he was doing was very clear. Patrick had pounced on his unsuspecting prey! He easily forced me into the barber chair and strapped me around the torso to the chair. Then he secured my arms on the rests and my legs to the elaborate footrest. The barber had the tables turned on him! I was at Patrick's mercy!

"Oh, don't you look precious, sitting in your special naughty chair, Joseph?!" he crowed. Patrick ripped the cape off exposing his cannon in its full glory, ready to fire. He looked like Thor or some other Scandinavian god ready to deflower a fiesty wench. Then he fastened the cape around me and began toying with my coiffed business cut. "Very little gray and a surprising thickness for a man pushing 50! Oh, it's so nice and soft and full -- especially back here at the nape. Rather too much like a salon cut for a traditional barber like yourself, don't you think Josey?" Patrick flashed his trademark smirk and reached for the clippers.

I began to blubber and beg, not at all used to being on the receiving end of my hobby. "I just got a promotion and need to make a good showing on my first day in the office on Monday. Please, Patrick! I'll do anything....."

He just smiled and continued calmly, snapping the clippers on.

I noticed there was no guard attached and my blood pressure spiked! "You don't have any experience as a barber, Patrick. I'm begging you...."

He set down the clippers and my panic eased a bit. Then he picked up the shears....but, instead of going for my hair, he took the duct tape and cut off a piece large enough to seal my mouth shut.

"My mustache!" I protested, as he slapped the guey mess over my pride and joy -- a thick dark stache' aided in color by some "Just For Men" dye. My 'stache was my crown jewel, and it rivaled the one of my musical hero in his prime -- the new age pianist Yanni -- sported.

Once I'd been humiliatingly silenced, Patrick yanked me by the hair at my nape and jerked my head back, marine bootcamp barbershop style. Then, slowly and methodically he drove the screaming metal teeth right down the top of my head. The shriek of the clippers hitting my hairline was deafening. I watched in horror as the first clumps of my coif fell before my panicked face. I was certainly being taught a lesson by the precocious, preening Patrick!

With delight, he unleashed the clippers on my and showed remarkable skill around my ears and nape. He was very determined to take me down to the wood all over and leave me with a mere hint of stubble. "So, this is what you had in store for me?" Patrick laughed as he rubbed his hand over the shorn swatchs of scalp. To re-inforce the reality he flaunted his long hair in my face and ran the silken locks all over my shorn pate. The smell and feel was intoxicating.

After Patrick finished clipper shaving my head, he gave me a peck on the lips.

"Well, it's time for me to say goodnight to you, Joseph! You've been a wonderful, obliging host. And you've taught me how to administer discipline! Spanked and shorn is a great combination. My welts will fade away unnoticed, but your baldy look will hang around a lot longer, I'm afraid!"

Then he dressed and took a brush and styled his amazing mane as I sat, strapped in the chair, swathed in a cape that was covered with my shorn hair. Patrick laid the chair back to its full reclining position and placed the set of open shears in the middle of my belly. Then he picked up a cut lock as a souvenir. "I rather liked playing barber. I think, once I'm gone, you'll be able to reach the shears and cut yourself free Joseph. Just be careful not to knock them to the floor or you might be in this chair for quite a whilte. I'm leaving my business card in the vase with the rest, just in case I happen to win those two tickets you're raffling off. Goodbye, then! And congratulations on your new position and your new haircut! I'm sure your partner friends will love it when they see you Monday!"

Then Patrick yanked the tape off my mouth. I shrieked in pain as part of my beloved mustache came off and stuck to the duct tape in it's broad, long shape. And with that, the dreamy Scandinavian god was gone....and I was left alone, digesting a dose of my own bitter medicine.




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