An Old Fashioned Boss - Part 2 by Roy

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It was a mind-numbing legal battle across the state, and I wanted nothing more than to go back home, rest well, and attend office on Monday. 

Almost six months had gone by since Logan joined. Apart from his perky antics to steal my attention, he was a good lawyer. I didn’t remember getting along with any of the associates before him. Or maybe, I enjoy his company more than I would like to admit. I clamped down on that thought and continued.

Finally, it was that morning. As I stepped into the elevator, for some unknown reasons, the thought of seeing Logan was the first thing that crossed my mind, rising above the importance of pending legal suits! 

S**t! What am I thinking? 

Excitement rippled through my muscles the day I saw the boy getting shorn—all nice and tight—like a real man! I was glad when Remo gave him the signature barber ‘high-and-tight’ instead of a short crop. I didn’t know if it was my threat of shaving Logan’s head or his liking for a short style, but he kept his hair neat and short all this while.

Before the ding of the elevator resonated, my phone vibrated indicating a text from Logan, that read: Good Morning and Welcome Back, Sir. 

Absently, my lips pulled into a smile, earning myself strange looks from the people around. I strode into my office, where Martha greeted me with a cup of black coffee and narrated my schedule for the day. 

"Thank you, Martha. You may leave," I dismissed her. "And please send Mr. Davis right away."

"Err...I will send him right away, Sir, when he reaches here," she replied hesitatingly. 

My head immediately snapped up, with a misguided glare at her direction. "It is past 8 a.m. Mr. Logan Davis should have been here," I punctuated. "Was he ever late before in my absence, Martha?" I inquired. 

"Just a couple of times, Sir," she responded guiltily.

To my utter disbelief, Logan reached office almost half an hour later than his usual time. It wasn’t his tardiness that angered me, but the brazen sight of his hair shocked me even more. It was no longer short and neat but grown out into his natural wavy length. As if this wasn’t enough to rile me up, he even dared to color his brown locks into an ugly shade of blonde! Was he suicidal?

"Martha said you asked for me. Is there something I can do, Sir?" he queried, with that warm boyish smile. And right then, I knew it! He was playing with fire, and he thought it would be exciting. Well, manipulation has consequences too.

"I asked for you thirty minutes ago, Mr. Davis," I told him.

"I am sorry, Sir—I was running a bit late today." The smile peeking out from the corner of his eyes didn’t make him look apologetic at all. Nevertheless, I played along.

"It’s all right. I hope you can stay back a little late after office hours? I hope it won’t be an issue."

His eyes gleamed with excitement at the prospect. "Absolutely not, Sir!" 

The busy day wore on, and by the time I wrapped up the last meeting, every one of the associates had left, saving for my insolent protege. "I have some things to discuss with you, Mr. Davis. Would you mind coming to my place, or we can talk tomorrow morning?" I asked. 

"Your place is fine, Sir."

On our way, I couldn’t help myself asking about his audacious act, keeping subtle undertone. "I see you have changed your hair."

He casually shrugged. "I was getting bored with natural brown. Plus, slightly longer hair looks trendy." This boy knew how to push my buttons and how!

I somehow managed to rein in my temper until we reached home. And no sooner we did than I sat him down on the couch and thundered. "You said bored, huh? Looks like, I haven’t given you much work to do, Mr. Davis. Well, I have to take care of the problem then. Starting tomorrow—"

He quickly cut me in, standing mere inches away from me. "Logan. Call me, Logan," he rasped. "I don’t care what you call the other associates, but I am your own. I know it, and you know it too."

My eyes bored into his for longer than a moment. "If you were mine, you wouldn’t have a blatant disregard for my rules." Grabbing a chunk of his blonde locks, I gave a sharp, meaningful tug. "This—really, Logan? My protege walks into the courtroom looking like this?"

I saw a flicker of hurt in his expression as he quickly averted his eyes. "I was angry," he admitted. "I thought you took me as incompetent when you took someone else for the tour."

You got to be kidding me! I wanted to whip his ass and beat some sense into him. Instead, I explained as calmly as possible. "So this whole rebellious act was an infantile outburst?" Yanking his hair, I forced his gaze on me. "For the tour, I needed a boy for legal errands, and there was nothing to learn. And contrary to what you may think, I made you stay back because I thought are worthy enough to represent me in the courtroom for the cases I handle."

"Really?"

"Really." I sighed exasperatedly. "Perhaps, I need to teach you to communicate. But first, I have to take care of something else." Wordlessly, I grabbed him by the nape, led him to the bathroom, and sat him down on a stool. "Strip down to your briefs before I return," I instructed.

"You can help me with that, right?" he goaded and added as an afterthought. "Sir."

Logan Davis, my protege, liked living dangerously. 

I leveled him with a look. "Yes, I can," I told him firmly. "But, if I have to, your ass would be too tender to sit on it."

With that, I went on to grab my Wahl clipper and the rest of the required tools. When I returned, he was sitting on the stool, wearing with nothing but the white ‘good-boy’ briefs. Despite the sheepish look, he did nothing to hide the unmistakable bulge. 

Walking over to him, I roughly ran my fingers through his hair, assessing the wild growth. "Tomorrow, you will be appearing with me in Court for Warren’s Case. And I can’t have you looking like this." I fisted his hair. "Can I?"

"No." 

"No?" My eyes narrowed.

"I mean, no, Sir," he amended, then added softly. "My hair looks unprofessional."

"Yes, and I intend to change that," I informed. 

I released his hair from my grip and plugged in the clipper, but set it aside on the nearby counter, for I had better plans for him. Picking up the scissors, I grabbed the longest chunk on his head and was about to snip when he turned his head to look at me.

"Err… Do you have a towel or something?" he asked. "We can use it as a cape."

"Why do you think you are sitting in my bathroom wearing nothing but your underwear? No cape for you, boy. You must know when the hairs fall around you. I want you to sit tight and keep quiet. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

I resumed hacking away at his hair from the top. His hair, I reckoned, grew unbelievably fast. Every time I would snip a chunk, I purposefully dropped it on his lap and it brushed down his thighs. Once I have unevenly lopped off the top portion, I moved on to the left side. Seizing a random bunch, I slid the sharp blades as close to the scalp as possible and snipped it. The lifeless blonde pieces of hair fell on his lean shoulder, and some trickled down the bareback. 

I felt Logan slightly shudder when the hair clippings would slide down his spine or pool between his thighs. I shoved his head down forcibly, letting him feel the power and snip away at the back. Finally, when there was no length left to be severed by the vicious scissors, I put them down. 

Logan’s head was now an uneven short length of blonde-pelt, but his natural brown roots were peeking out. When I went to grab the clippers, he turned around to look at the mirror. Grabbing by the ears, I wrenched his head back to the previous position. "What did I tell you about keeping still?"

His playful smile appeared. "Sorry, Sir."

"You aren’t sorry yet, but you will be," I promised, and pushed his chin down to the chest and firmly held him there. The beastly balding clipper came alive in my hand, and I brought them right at the base of his skull where the natural hairline began. It roared in its way, ascending higher towards the crown, leaving behind nothing but a naked strip of skin. Within five to six passes and using upward-strokes and rocking motion, I scalped the back of his head.

Moving over to the side, I tilted his head sideways, and ran the clippers from the sideburns to the temple, and then around the ears. The opposite side was dealt with in the same manner—shaved to the bone. Soon, the dominant clippers were passing from the forehead to the crown, liberating masses of hair in its wake. 

Finally, his clipper shave was complete as I switched off the machine. I had already sensed his movement and growled at him. "Don’t you dare move those hands, boy!" Submissively, he complied.

He was absolutely a sight! Reaching out, I rubbed his bald head all over, stroking every inch and feeling the coarse texture for myself. It was highly arousing to fondle his bald head. Logan seemed to enjoy it as well, as he leaned into my touch. "You feel this?" I asked him, stroking the sensitive nape. "No hair at all. And it will be a long, long time you would be growing out any."

"Can I keep it buzzed, please?" he pleaded.

"After the stunt you pulled? Hell no! And I am not done with you yet."

I quickly smeared the shaving cream all over his head and used a Gillette Razor to get rid of the coarse stubble. Wielding a cut-throat razor wasn’t my forte, so I chose the safest option. Needless to say, it worked amazingly. Soon, the shaved dome was gleaming, devoid of coarse-texture as I wiped off the excess lather. 

This time, I brought him to stand before the mirror. With wide-eyes, he watched himself in awe—the stark bald head that he never encountered before. His fingers skimmed over, slowly and gently, as he murmured, "Wow! It’s so… I have never been shaved like this before."

I looked at him through the reflection in the mirror, with my fingers stroking the back of his head. "This whole rebellious act—was it worth then?" I asked.

Grinning, he replied, "It was worth it—every bit of it."

"I hope so because you are getting shaved every week from now onwards—until I decide otherwise."


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Thank you so much for reading my story.

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