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Mr. Sig and Victor, the Visitor by Manny
It was going to be a long day, but I wasn't sorry I'd volunteered to be one of the parent chaperons for the mini-soccer camp sponsored by the Beecher Ward Military Academy. I was looking forward to the kick-off scrimmage because my son would be starting in a offensive position for the first time. I told him if he scored a goal, he could get the upgraded smart phone that he'd been pestering me for.
The campus of the prestigious academy for sons of the elite who had behavioral issues or problems finishing school in a normal period of time was lovely. The crisp fall air was invigorating and the leaves of the mature oaks were tinged with a bit of orange.
The scrimmage was spirited and got off to an amazing start. On the very first drive down the field, my son almost scored! The ball smacked against the top bar of the goal, much to the excitement and dismay of our team.
After watching me cheer wildly, the fellow sitting near me in the empty bleachers asked me if I was related to the emerging star on our team. Of course, I was flushed with pride to say that I was the father!
He introduced himself as Robert Siggenthal and continued to chat me up with engaging banter. His warm personality, along with his sparkling blue eyes and charming grin, were a welcomed presence and I found myself moving to sit next to him.
"Just because we're rooting for opposite sides doesn't mean we can't be friends, Victor!" he noted cheerfully. Throughout the first half we chatted and laughed together. His charismatic personality made me feel very relaxed.
A few minutes into the second half, he asked me, "Now which of the fellows on the field is your son? Number 12?"
"No, #14, over there on the left -- you can't miss him with that long blond hair flailing about!" I noted. "I don't know how he manages to see well with it constantly in his face like that, but for some reason he won't put it in a ponytail!"
"Our boys don't have that problem!" Robert noted with a laugh.
That was an understatement! Every one of them sported extremely short, military haircuts -- crewcuts, bald fades, butch cuts, ivy leagues, and even flattops! In a way, they looked crisp and disciplined -- especially compared to my son's team with its rag-tag appearance and lack of cohesion among the players.
"I understand this is a sort of reform school," I said.
"Hardly! They're guys with a lot of potential, but their wealthy parents just don't have time to spend with them. The busy parents turn them over to us for the character building and discipline! First thing we do with them when they arrive is shave off the mops and strip off the sagging jeans! Lots of them arrive with hair like your son's! It's like the fathers don't have either the time or the will to take them to the local barbershop for decent haircuts!"
Robert's remark stung! I mean, it was like it was directed at me! It wasn't like I didn't have the time for my son to get a haircut, I just couldn't make him go to the barber. Well, he had nice hair....just like me. Thick and shiny and full of body. Both of us could free lance as models. I was in my forties, but still sported a very glossy mane, free of grey and very nicely styled.
"They're all too busy with their board meetings or getting massages to help cope with the high stress of the corporate executive world," Robert explained.
We watched the game in silence for a while, and then Robert continued with his previous line of conversation. "When the long hair gets sweaty and starts slapping around in the eyes, it's a real mess."
"Well, maybe seeing how the BW guys are groomed and play so well together will make my son want to visit the barber," I replied.
"You should take him yourself. Both of you should have the barber give you nice short crewcuts," he said, suddenly reaching up and tussling my hair.
I was quite taken aback by how forward he'd been with me. Then, Robert quickly put his arm around me and gave me a quick hug. "Don't let me get to you! I like to tease. And you really do have very nice hair for a man your age," he said as he smoothed it down. Robert's fingers lingered a bit in the thick locks that lapped over my collar.
My cock stirred. I found myself liking both the attention and his playful, teasing attitude -- even if I was on the receiving end of his gentle taunts. Me and my son with crewcuts! The idea, which seemed so outrageous and impossible, suddenly excited me.....
Just then, BW scored the first goal of the game. Robert stood up and cheered the player who kicked in the long shot from near the corner. There were only a few minutes left in the match. Both teams went into overdrive. The ball sailed furiously from one side to another. Then, my son received the ball at mid-field and wove his way right down the center with fancy footwork. In a flash, he scored and tied the game up. Robert was cheering as loudly for him as I was. We hugged each other and laughed and hugged again. I enjoyed the feel of being in Robert's arms. His manly cologne made me feel woozy. He held me tight and squeezed me hard, even after I attempted to break away. I sensed his dominance over me. Then, I felt his face nuzzling my thick, glossy hair. No one, I'm sure, noticed us with the delirious cheering and screaming that was going on. I felt myself wanting Robert to hold onto me tightly and to continue caressing my hair.
After the match, the boys were going to spend the next several hours developing skills and listening to strategy talks. Robert invited me for a cup of coffee in the main building. We walked through the lovely campus together. His humor and charm made me grateful for his company.
"I have a private hang-out. We can chill there for a while, Victor. What do you say? Give us a chance to get to know each other better," Robert suggested, as we walked down the hall.
"Sure!" I replied. I spotted an office labeled 'Robert Siggenthal, Chaplain and Guidance Counselor'. "So this will be our hang out?" I asked.
"No, I have a place I like better, ahead and to the left," he replied, as he took me by the arm and guided me forward. Then he gripped my arm firmly. I felt a bit like I was being escorted by Robert -- like I was being marched down the hall of a penitentiary by a corrections officer!
We turned the corner and I saw a red and white striped barber pole sticking out into the hall halfway down. Then I felt Robert's fingers working their way up through my nape, fondling the sensitive area and giving me chills. Were they of excitement or fear? I couldn't tell!
"We should pop into the barbershop. I'd like to see you with a crewcut!" Robert suggested.
My heart beat wildly. Fortunately the light was off and the barbershop was deserted.
"Well, that's not going to happen without a barber!" I said with a nervous chuckle.
To my surprise, Robert stopped and reached into his pocket. I watched him take out a key and insert it into the lock. Then I spotted the name plate on the other side of the door: Robert Siggenthal, campus barber. My face broke into a cold sweat.
"Voila!" he announced as he swung open the door. "Victor, step right on in! There is a barber here after all. And you are going to take a seat there and sit quietly in the barber chair while I strip off this overgrowth! Understood?" Then Robert muscled me through the doorway.
I looked like a buck in the headlights as I saw myself in the large mirror that hung on the wall in front of the single, huge barber chair with a shiny chrome base. My hair glistened in the neon. The thick brown locks were smack in the middle of Robert's radar screen. He was determined to give me a crewcut!
"Listen, Robert," I said, beginning my explanation of why I didn't want a haircut.
"It's Mr. Sig, Victor. Now that you're in the campus barbershop, you will call me Mr. Sig like all the students do," he instructed.
"Yes, Mr. Sig," I replied instinctively, suddenly realizing that I was accepting his insinuation that I would do as he told me. I stood frozen in fear.
"Now take a seat. Be cooperative, or I will have to discipline you, Victor," he warned. "We do use corporal punishment at Beecher Ward." The statement was flat and without emotion. I had no problem believing that it was true.
"But I'm a grown man," I protested.
"Come on back here, Victor," Mr. Sig commanded. I trotted behind him through the curtained divider. "See that paddle? You have two options -- and I'm being kind to you since we've gotten along so well this morning. You can follow my instructions without talking back or dragging your feet. Or, I will pull down your pants, turn you over my knee and spank you with that paddle. And it will sting! Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," I said quickly and submissively.
"It's time for your crewcut. And, it's going to be short! Now, go take a seat in the barber chair outside. I'll be with you as soon as I slip into my barber's tunic," he stated.
I hustled through the curtain and took a seat in the big barber chair while thinking about what it might be like to receive a spanking from the charismatic Mr. Sig. Then I started wondering what I would look like with a crewcut. My thick, shiny hair looked so nice in the mirror. And he was going to clip it all -- or most of it -- off. I definitely would find out what I would look like with a crewcut. It was kind of exciting to know that Mr. Sig would administer a very short haircut on me despite my protests. Then a thought popped into my head -- I could also find out what it would be like for a grown man to receive a stinging spanking. I jumped out up of the chair and adopted a bit of a defiant posture. I would role play and act like my son when he would blow me off about needing a haircut.
Mr. Sig looked so professional in his barber tunic that button up on his left shoulder. His muscular arms bulged at the base of the short sleeve cuff that showed them off.
"I told you to sit in the chair and wait for me," he snapped.
"I like my hair like this -- it makes me look youthful. I'm quite proud of my hair and don't want it cut. I thought we were coming here to get a cup of coffee. If you're making it back there, I take a teaspoon of sugar," I said with a hint of attitude in my tone.
Mr. Sig stepped up to me and grabbed me by my hair. He yanked it purposefully hard. I shrieked; it hurt. Next thing I knew, he was dragging me by my hair into the back room. He muscled me over to the table and leaned me over it. Then, he reached for my belt buckle; I felt him wrestle my pants off. They fell down around my ankles. Then he pulled down my underpants.
In a flash, I felt the wood smacking against my rear end. SMACK!
The pain made me feel dizzy.
SMACK!! The paddle was swift and authoritative. Then, he paused and stroked my hair. "You're proud of your thick, youthful hair, aren't you, Victor?"
I nodded to let him know he was correct.
"And you enjoyed being disciplined by me, didn't you?" Mr. Sig asked. "In fact, you purposely defied me out there because you wanted your first adult spanking, didn't you?!"
I nodded to let him know he was correct again.
SMACK!!! The third swat with the paddle hurt most.
"And you enjoyed being disciplined by me, right?" he pressed.
"Yes, Mr. Sig, I am," I admitted.
"Now, go take a seat in the barber chair. You're getting a baldy cut. Like a 'scrub' recruit. There will be no more arguing over hair length. Understood?" he stated in a steely, no-nonsense tone. He was going to be obeyed!
"Yes, Mr. Sig. Understood!" I quickly replied. I couldn't believe things had escalated, and now I was in line for a boot camp haircut -- a tight butch cut.
The stinging sensation on my rear, coupled with the dread of the baldy cut, made by knees feel like jelly. I wobbled out to the chair and took a seat.
Mr. Sig was on my heels. The cape billowed in the air. Mr. Sig was an expert in fastening it tightly about my neck. He brushed my hair as he admired it. Then he sniffed it and nuzzled his face in it again. "Um, the intoxicating smell of expensive shampoo...."
Finally, he reached for a large set of clippers. My eyes bulged. They looked terrifying. "These balding clippers will cut it so close to the scalp you will hardly feel the stubble. Like a very, very fine grain sand paper on your scalp." He clicked the clippers on. "Ever had a baldy cut before, Victor?"
"No, sir. I've never had a clippers taken to my hair," I admitted amidst dueling feelings of fear and curiosity.
"Then this will be a real treat! A vain man with his luxuriant mane -- a barbershop virgin! -- getting his first baldy," he cooed softly in my ear.
I watched him slowly drive the hungry teeth into my forelock. My hands gripped the arms as I watched my cherished hair begin to fall in torrents to my shoulders and then slide down aimlessly into my lap or tumble to the floor. The scalp that was exposed was a virginal white!
"You're going to look very different with no hair -- very boyish and very, very vulnerable," Mr. Sig said in a sweet, tender tone.
Suddenly, to my horror, my eyes welled up with tears and one lone tear streamed down my face.
Mr. Sig chuckled. "It's been a while since I've had someone tear up in my chair! It's because you had such nice, pretty, stylish hair, my dear Vulnerable Victor. And now I see that you have a rather awkwardly shaped head! There will be no disguising it when you walk out of here with your baldy cut."
More of my locks were peeled off by the machine and I began to understand what I would look like bald. It was not an attractive site! I stopped trying to hold back the tears and they streamed down my face liberally.
"What do you do for a living, Victor?" Mr. Sig asked.
"I'm an appellate judge," I stammered.
"Then, I sentence you to a total chromedome, not even a hint of stubble, for the next six months. And thereafter to a very, very short crewcut. Understood?" he asked.
"Yes, your honor, Mr. Sig," I said, breaking into a smile through my tears. He tenderly wiped them away with a tissue and began working the lather into my scalp.
"Now, relax and enjoy this. It'll be sweeter than that teaspoon of sugar you asked for," he said before kissing me on the lips.
I felt like the luckiest person in the world.....