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Mr. Sig and Alexander, the New Trustee by Manny

As I pulled into the majestic drive leading up to the main building of the prestigious Beecher Ward Military Academy, I felt a flush of pride. It would be my first time at the annual Board of Trustees meeting with the administration and staff of the academy. It hadn't taken much -- donating a few excess vehicles from the network of dealerships I owned in metro-Atlanta. And now, on my resume, I could include another feather in my handsome cap: Trustee, Beecher Ward Military Academy.

I turned off the engine and took a look at myself in the rear view mirror before heading in to meet the group of elite comrade trustees in the walnut-paneled exclusive board room. The site was a bit disappointing. My hair usually was my proudest asset -- thick and wavy and full of sheen. I took out my brush to see if I couldn't "work with it" a bit. I had so much hair and wore it on the longish side for a professional, that when I missed a trim at the salon, it tended to look bad. Shaggy and bad. Like an overgrown bush. With my hand I worked to smooth it down and reduce some of the "puffiness". The sensation on my hand, as I worked with my locks, was reassuring. I had lovely, silken thick hair -- a beautiful chestnut color with fiery auburn highlights! Finally, I got it to where it looked acceptable and headed into the stately administration building.

I was greeted with all the pomp I expected by the school brass and ushered into the imposing conference room. "Here, let me escort you to your place right over here between our Dean of Student, Philip Price, and our Chaplain and Guidance Counselor, Robert Siggenthal," the Chairman of the Board said.

The two school officials welcomed me warmly, and I was immediately captivated by the charm and charisma of Mr. Siggenthal. The way he shook my hand, squeezing it boldly and holding it longer than I was accustomed, while staring at me with his twinkling blue eyes was a overly stimulating! I quickly got used to the lack of personal body space that he imposed on me. The smell of his cologne seemed to add to the feeling of semi-intoxication.

Mr. Price was also friendly, but he seemed to be standard school-administration issue. His closely clipped taper, with his salt-and-pepper hair neatly parted on the side, was gelled stiffly into place.

"Most of us wear several hats here," Mr. Price explained. "Besides being the Dean of Students, I am in charge of corporate fund-raising. We were so thrilled to get your donation of six vans, Mr. McQueen. Now our polo and rugby teams can travel in style to their away games!"

"And what about you, Mr. Siggenthal?" I asked. "What are your co-lateral duties, besides leading the weekly chapel services and counseling the students?" I asked.

"I'm the campus barber," he stated, eyeing my puffy hairdo.

"Oh?!" I exclaimed, amused. "And do trustees get free haircuts?" I asked with a joking tone.

"Ones that are in desperate need of haircuts get them," he replied.

I gulped nervously. He had noticed!

"I'll be happy to take you on a little tour of my world after the meeting, Mr. McQueen," he said.

"Call me Alex," I replied, with a smile. "And, it would be my privilege."

During the meeting, it became clear that Mr. Siggenthal -- or Mr. Sig as everyone called him -- was bit of a star on campus. Everyone seemed to differ to his opinions. Phil Price absolutely gushed at anything he'd say.

As soon as the meeting ended, Mr. Sig clapped his hand on my shoulder and stated, "Ready for our little tour?"

I gave a pro-forma reply of assent and felt myself being firmly moved by Mr. Sig through the crowd as he drove me along, still with his hand on my shoulder. After we moved into the hallway, his hand moved from my shoulder up into my plush mane, right at the nape!

I was totally taken aback at his boldness! My knees wobbled a bit as he noted, "Seems like your barber's been on vacation. Or do you always sport overgrown thatch like this?"

I stammered awkwardly for an explanation. "Oh, I missed my appointment last week, but have rescheduled for tomorrow," I explained.

"Appointment? I see. You shell out money at one of those salon-type places. But, you'll be able to cancel your appointment for tomorrow. Ah, there's the barber shop."

Mr. Sig picked up the pace as we approached the shop. It became obvious to me that I was being taken there for the purpose of receiving a haircut! What had started out as a bit of humor, was turning into an unexpected cropping by a military academy barber.

The shop was rather spartan -- one large barber chair facing a large mirror, trimmed with a counter from which hung an array of electric hair clippers. There were a few chairs that formed a waiting area and a curtained doorway leading to another room.

"So this is where you hang out when you aren't preparing your sermons?" I asked, trying to seem chipper.

"Yep, this is it. Okay, take a seat there, Alex. I'll be with you shortly." Without another word of explanation, he slipped behind the curtain.

I was left to stand there, not knowing what to do. Walk out? Stay standing and explain that I didn't intend to have my haircut by him? Or, take a seat as he instructed?

I was shifting about nervously, trying to decide, when he burst back through the curtain -- clad in a traditional barber tunic! He seemed eager to start my haircut!

"Come on, don't be shy!" he said -- half ordering, half cajoling -- and pointing to the chair.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I needed a good shearing. And, I felt myself succumbing both to Mr. Sig's charm and his authoritative manner. So what if it was cut a bit shorter than normal?

"Well, I really was kidding back in the conference room about the free haircut. I don't want to abuse my new position here on the board," I stated calmly.

"Frankly, the school would rather its trustees reflect its military values -- including its strict grooming standards. You'll be having your official portrait to be taken before leaving today to be hung in the gallery of the board room. You don't want to be framed for posterity looking like that, do you?" he replied.

"I suppose not," I said, a bit reluctantly. The reference to strict military grooming standards was rather unnerving.

I took a seat in the chair and felt a wee bit of excitement about getting a crop in a barbershop. I hadn't been in one since I was a lad.

Mr. Sig grinned broadly as he reached for a cape. I noticed a bit of a smirk morph across his face as he snapped it open. The cape was fastened incredibly tight around my neck, almost making normal breathing difficult! Then, with a comb, he worked rather unsuccessfully to drag it through "my thatch".

"This is very thick and unmanageable!" he announced, reaching for the clippers. "A short crewcut will suit you much better!" Without another word, he snapped the machine on.

I was in total disbelief. "A crewcut?!" I gasped. "That would be very short!" I protested.

"Yes, it would be, Alex," he confirmed as he wrenched my head to the side. "And a good cut for you!" Then I watched on in horror as he ran the large set of Wahl clippers right up the side of my head, slicing my sideburn and hair off right at the scalp all the way up through the crown. A huge clump of my beautiful hair fell to the cape!

"Mr. Sig, please!" I pleaded. "I'm a respected businessman. That is very short!" I whined.

"Too late. My mind is made up. You are getting a crewcut!" he snapped as he quickly clipped another swath of my hair off.

"Please let me...." I began, as I struggled to break away from his grip.

"Hold still!" he barked, as he grabbed me by "my thatch" at the back of my head and yanked it so that I was forced to look up, boot camp barbershop style. "You need some discipline!" I was totally drained of emotional resistance as I realized Mr. Sig was running the clippers down the center of the top of my head, from forehead to cowlick. Mounds of shorn hair tumbled down in front of my face. He was giving me a "scrub" baldy cut, like I was a brand new student recruit.

To my surprise, my cock sprang to life as he forcibly sheared off my hair.

"Yes, you're getting the full welcome to Beecher Ward, Alex. This is the way we welcome all the lowly student scrubs. I'm taking it all off -- down to the scalp! You'll learn military discipline -- how to respond without answering back. Am I clear?" he said in a firm, steely tone.

"Yes, sir. Very clear, sir!" I said. My cock was in full bloom.

He smirked as he stared down at my lap. "I see, this haircut is exciting you. I think we have enough time to lather shave you. A true chrome-dome. What do you say? Scrape away this nice stubble, Alex?" he said, enjoying my discomfort.

Just then, the barbershop door swung open. "Ah, the photographer is here. Yes, a few pictures of the new trustee getting his haircut. 'Honorary scrub being inducted into the Class of 2016.' Make sure you get a nice close-up of all that hair that's collected on his lap!" The instruction sent Mr. Sig into a case of the giggles.

The clicking of the camera sent me into humiliation overdrive. My shame would be total and complete.

After the brief photo shoot, Mr. Sig reached for some lather and began massaging it into my scalp. His fingers were strong and his touch felt sensual.

I groaned with pleasure.

"Aren't you glad you joined the team here at Beecher Ward?" Mr. Sig cooed into my ear.

"Yes, and I'm so glad you talked me into this haircut," I replied.

"The minute I clapped eyes on you, I knew you were as good as scraped clean. There was something in the way you looked at me, longingly." He was quick and skillful with the razor, scraping away the lather and stubble. I watched my pristine white scalp emerge from the white foam of the shaving cream. Then he wrapped my head in warm, steamy towels and I felt a wonderful sensation of pure delight.

When the towels came off and myself totally bald for the first time, I freaked out. "Oh my! My hair!" It had been my pride and joy.

Mr. Sig splashed some witch hazel on my sensitive scalp that made me jump. Then, he withdrew the cape. I began to stand, but Mr. Sig pushed me back into the chair. "I'm not quite finished with you." He began to undo my tie and take it off. Then he unbuttoned my shirt. I sat submissively without protesting. "Oh, just as I suspected. A hairy mess under here. Tsk, tsk. Okay, Alex, up you go -- hustle back there and strip down to your undies," he commanded.

"What??!" I stammered.

"No whining or dragging your feet if you know what's best for our relationship!" Mr. Sig said.

I did as he told me and felt very vulnerable standing there in just my underwear. I spied a paddle on the table with "Mr. Sig" engraved into the handle.

Just then Mr. Sig yanked aside the curtain and strode into the room. He walked around me and looked disapprovingly of my hairy chest and legs. Then he caught me starting at the paddle.

"The paddle is very persuasive with difficult new scrub recruits, Alex," he said.

"How is it employed?" I asked curiously.

"Would you like a demo?" Mr. Sig asked tenderly stroking my cheek.

"Would you like to give me one?" I replied.

"Giving a respected businessman and pillar of the community his first spanking would certainly amuse me, Mr. Alexander McQueen!" He yanked at my hairy chest and made me wince, but I stood still and obediently. "Once I have a discipline challenge back here and determine that the paddle will be beneficial, I move him over to the table, like this," he said, wrenching me by my arm and forcing me to lean over the table.

My heart beat wildly! I loved the way he manhandled me. "Then what?"

The paddle smacked my rear end, causing me to yelp. THWACK.

Mr. Sig laughed, "I went easy on you. If this stage doesn't work....." Mr. Sig wrenched down my Fruit of the Looms.

In a flash the paddle smacked against my virgin white butt. SMACK!!

"Okay! I get it!!" I exclaimed.

"You won't need that sort of discipline, will you Alex?" he stated in question form. "Okay, stand up now!"

"No sir, I won't need to be disciplined. I want to please you. How would you like a brand new Porsche Boxter?" I asked.

"Very much. Metallic white, to match your clean scalp!" he laughed.

"Yes, sir. I'll drive it down myself on Saturday," I said.

"And, as a note of thanks, I will give you a total body shave, strapped to the chair in the shop out there. All this plush pelt of hair taken away from you," Mr. Sig said with his blue eyes sparkling as he stroked my chest.

"And, if I'm any trouble and don't cooperate fully, that paddle of yours will certainly work...." I commented, looking at the piece of wood longingly.

"Okay, Mr. McQueen. There is a pair of silky red shorts and yellow tee-shirt with the academy's crest on it right over them. Put them on. I'm going to lead you back into the conference room and you can tell everyone about your decision to associate as a scrub with the Class of 2016! Oh, you still have on street shoes -- that looks ridiculous! Perfect!"

As he walked me out of the shop, I saw myself looking frightfully ridiculous in the mirror and felt secretly thrilled at my humiliation -- both now and when the newsletter came out with its photo of my interesting lap.

I mustered up every shred of self-worth that remained as Mr. Sig walked me into the boardroom, where the trustees and academy brass were milling around eating gourmet canapes and sipping on champagne. "Attention, everyone!" Mr. Sig said as he cleared his throat.

The room erupted with a wave of laughter and hoots.

"Attention, attention! I'd like to present our newest scrub!" he announced to loud applause. "Mr. McQueen! Now know to us as just Alex! Give us a few words!" He playfully rubbed my bald head.

The spot light was on me. I cleared my throat, "Well, uh, I've found a new barber!" I ran my hand over my smooth scalp. The conference room exploded again in laughter. "Mr. Sig suggested that I, as a new trustee, visibly express my association and loyalty to Beecher Ward. And, here I am now.....just a lowly scrub, Class of 2016."

"And to show his appreciation to our dedicated staff, Alex will be donating a brand new Boxter Porsche to be presented to one of us who exemplifies the spirit of Beecher Ward," Mr. Sig stated.

The crowd began to chant, "Mr. Sig, Mr. Sig!" He smiled, waved and drank in their applause.

Then, he smacked me on my butt with his hand, like a bit of a love tap... My face turned scarlet. The dignitaries and brass snickered, as I was marched out. They knew what that meant.....that I had been disciplined by Mr. Sig! As we walked back, I imagined provoking him into a second round of learning to the tune of his worn paddle.

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