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The bribe by Manny
I was nervous, waiting to be called. The flight to Poland had been long, followed by an almost equally long bus ride to the border town. I was determined that the effort and expense would yield the result I wanted, getting my mother-in-law Olga out of the refugee reception center. Ever since the invasion had begun, my wife couldn't sleep right. When news came that Olga had crossed the Ukraine-Poland border, my wife began urging me to go bring her out of the camp and to the U.S.
"Don't come back without her!" my wife warned, only half-kidding. "Here, and you might need this to help convince the authorities to let her leave. I read they are only releasing the refugees to people who live in Poland at this point. But, the thousand dollars in this paper sack should open the exit gate."
She wanted me to bribe an official?! My wife was from those parts originally, and said that it would be nothing unusual....even expected. She explained that's how poorly paid border guards got by financially -- by receiving bribes.
I shifted nervously on the hard wooden chair listening for my name to be called. The paper sack was in my coat pocket, but I hoped I wouldn't have to use it. Common sense would prevail. Why would they want one more old lady on their hands?
I ran my fingers through my hair nervously. That was another doubt I had. Perhaps I should have fastened it into a neat bun in back instead of letting it flow freely past my shoulders. A border guard might take one look at my long hair and disapprove. As I was searching for a scrunchy in my pocket to fasten my locks into a bun, I heard my name being called.
"Smith! Kevin Smith!" the young lady called out tersely.
Oh, a lady! Perhaps I could charm her into releasing Olga into my custody.... I was very convincing with the ladies, and she was quite cute! It was hard to keep my eyes off her tight ass that her mini-skirt did little to conceal.
"This way. Mr. Cherlovski will see you now. But he only has 5 minutes, and the answer will be no if you are not a legal resident of Poland," the young tart snapped. As she whirled around, I could not take my eye off her little mini skirt that fully revealed lovely, shapely legs.
Mr. Cherlovski did not even bother to look up. "Yes?" he intoned in a perfunctory manner.
"I am here to take one of the Ukrainian refugees, Olga Seminova, home with me, back to my country, the USA," I said in a firm, resolute tone.
Mr. Cherlovski looked up at me. Then, his eyes locked onto me for a bit, and he smiled...well, it was a bit of a smirk, passing for a smile. "And she has an American visa in her passport already?" he asked.
I was taken aback. I hadn't thought of that. "Uh, no, we will get one after we leave here...." I stammered.
"The answer is no! NO!!" Mr. Cherlovski said with an air of finality. "Our interview is over, Mr. Smith!"
That was it? One question....and it was over?! I'd traveled all that way for a 5 second interview?
Then I remembered the paper bag. My wife had been right! He was waiting for the bribe....
I took it out of my coat pocket and put it on the desk. "This will help you reconsider, I hope."
"A paper bag?" he asked, arching one eyebrow.
"With enough in it for you to make your mistress happy. Perhaps a new stove or television?" I purred confidently.
"First, this is Poland, not Ukraine. We don't operate like that. Second, I'm single. Third, if I thought you were trying to bribe me, I could call the police right now and have you arrested, Mr. Smith," the Polish official scowled. "And the first thing the police will do after they book you into the jail is shave your head. Just in case there's lice lurking that flowing mane. You might look good with a bald head!"
My hair had pissed him off! I should've....
Suddenly, his voice turned to a surprisingly sympathetic tone, "I can't receive anything from you, but I can give something to you. You've come a long way. Let me buy you a cup of coffee. There's a little tea shop in the middle of the park. Come!" Mr. Cherlovski said.
I hustled to keep up with Mr. Cherlovski as we scurried out through the main lobby, down the front steps and into the park. Then it occurred to me that he would receive the bribe off premises, not in the office. Perhaps there were cameras above his desk....
We sat down at a little table and he ordered two coffees for us. "Call me Lesa," he said, smiling warmly. "You know the rules about the refugees. Unless you are a resident of Poland or you have proof they will be admitted legally into a third country, they cannot leave the camp."
"But I read that in certain humanitarian cases, exceptions can be made," I argued.
"True, but I reserve those for VIPs and high-profile situations. Is there anything special about this woman, Olga Seminova?" he asked.
"She's my mother-in-law, and my wife said don't come home without her!" I said earnestly.
Lesa took it as a joke. He slapped the table! "Don't come home! That's a good one. You could stay with me, in my flat," he laughed, gently placing his hand on my arm and giving it a slight caress.
Suddenly, I felt a tad uncomfortable. Was he coming on to me? He was single...and getting strangely chummy. Despite my reservations, I didn't want to discourage his perceived advance. I needed his signature to get Olga out of the camp.
"That is too kind!" I stammered, nervously joining his laugh.
The coffees arrived and broke up the awkward connection we'd made. We sipped a bit and sat in an uncomfortable silence.
I decided to rekindle our previous conversation, even though it had made me feel uncomfortable. I wanted Lesa to stay connected to me and my request. I realized I was at his mercy....
"I sure hope you were sincere with your invitation about staying with you, Lesa. If you don't sign this paper for me, Olga stays in the camp, and my wife...." I tapped into a genuine worry and my tone revealed it plainly.
Then, I leaned over and touched his arm exactly as he'd touched mine, "See, it's all typed up. Just your signature here," I said, pointing to the line at the bottom.
He took the paper and examined it. "My signature and the official seal...." his voice drifted off.
Then he looked up at me. "Do you like the coffee?" he asked.
"Yes, nice and strong, just like I make it at home," I answered.
"Good, I'm glad. Now, I must get back to work," he said. He put a colorful bank bill under his coffee cup and rose to leave. Then he handed the typed form back to me. That was it? Was he just taking a coffee break with me?!
"Lesa, please!" I stammered, ready to do anything for his authorization. Then, I threw caution to the wind. "I'll do whatever you want me to!"
Lesa paused and glanced down at me. He seemed so high and mighty -- holding all the cards. And, I was at this mercy!
He rested his hand on my shoulder. Then, ever so slightly, he gently grasped a lock of my hair and fondled it briefly.
"I would like to give you something else....something this evening, in my flat...." he said, awkwardly, glancing away and avoiding eye contact with me.
Oh, no! I had been right! He wanted to screw me! I shifted nervously in my chair. What do to? In my mind, I was prepared to submit to it. Once in college, as a dare, I'd had a massive dildo crammed up my anus at a wild fraternity party and hadn't exactly minded it. I would let Lesa have his way with me for the signature and official stamp. It would be my last resort, my hail Mary pass.
Then, Lesa surprised me.
"I want to give you a haircut," Lesa said. "Tonight, come to my apartment. Your long, thick hair..... I will be your barber and will cut it short, very short!"
"What?!" I stammered. "You want to cut my hair? For what?"
He remained silent, then turned to walk away.
"Lesa, if I let you cut it, you'll sign the paper?" I asked, still confused whether I'd understood him correctly.
"Yes, I will sign it. But your hair will be cut very short, do you understand? You will sit quietly and submissively as I put the barber's cape on you. Your long brown hair will fall away as I take the electric clippers to it. Is that understood? The haircut will be barber's choice." Lesa's face was extremely serious. That was it -- no bargain. Take it or leave it.
My hair had grown so long during the pandemic.... So many people complimented it, and my wife was wild about it. She told me I was her own private Fabio! I'd grown used to the long hair, but wasn't fully enamored with it. Especially in the summer. Periodically, I had an urge to chop it all off, but knew my wife would go bonkers! Oh, why was I controlled so much about what she wanted and what she felt?! Lesa's unusual offer, I began thinking, would actually work to my advantage in several ways! I'd return home with Olga and with a practical, short haircut!
"Just a haircut? No other obligation?" I asked, still trying to make sense of it, a bit uneasy about the terminology, 'barber's choice'.
"Nothing else, unless you agree to it," Lesa replied. He scribbled an address on a piece of paper. "Come at 7:00 pm. I will have the form prepared in the office this afternoon and give it to you once I take the barber cape off."
I took the address and gave Lesa the document.
Then, he felt like he needed to explain, "My secretary, Maria, the one whose legs you were admiring. She gave me a jar of jam, strawberry jam, this morning. Why? She made it over the weekend. She said she enjoyed making jam. She wanted me to have some. In a way, I'm like Maria. Except instead of making jam, I enjoy giving men haircuts -- especially to handsome men with beautiful long hair like yours. I love to see the clumps of cut hair piling up at my feet. Years of growth cut off in minutes. The men leave my chair looking so different...with their hair cut short."
"Looking better?" I asked, curious as to his motivation.
"Sometimes," Lesa replied cryptically.
I was very intrigued by the strange dynamic. Lesa was a middle-aged man. Fairly handsome, with nice hair cut into a rather longish business style.
Then, Lesa added, "The money in the paper sack....buy the most expensive bottle of whiskey you can and bring it with you. We will have a memorable evening. You need to have some fun, because tomorrow you will have Momma Olga to deal with!"
He strode away. I realized his pants were almost as tight as Maria's skirt -- and his ass also very shapely! Suddenly, thoughts of my experience with the dildo in college flooded my mind, sort of freaking me out! I tried to shake them by searching for a bottle of whiskey to take Lesa in the evening. The phrase, "....not unless you agree to it," kept flooding my mind, uninvited.
I must have looked at my watch 100 times from then until the moment I got into the Uber. That afternoon, I had washed and dried my hair. It looked wonderful, flowing down to my shoulder blades. Frankly, I was glad Lesa was determined to cut it short, VERY SHORT! The clippers mowing it off...I would welcome them. Truth be told, I'd even welcome a razor scraping my head clean!
As I rode to his apartment, I felt my heart beating quickly....not just about the haircut, but about seeing Lesa again! The discreet caresses, the way he tenderly fondled my hair. The handsome face, the shapely ass....I might just agree to something more!
I was more excited than nervous as I knocked on the door. Lesa must have been waiting for me, because the door swung open instantly. In the soft light of his flat he looked incredibly handsome. His tight shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest revealing glossy, manly pelt. He oozed manliness.
"Lesa!" I stammered, like an infatuated school girl.
I stepped in, and he instantly seized my hair with both hands and took copious amounts between his fingers. Then, he sent the door closing with his foot.
"What happens in Poland, stays in Poland," Lesa said with a twinkle in his eye.
"I'm thinking, perhaps, Momma Olga's paper work might be delayed...and I might need a place to stay for a few days, Lesa," I stammered, trying to conceal a grin.
He turned me around. He was studying my flowing hair. "Beautiful! Beautiful! Every barber's dream! And you won't mind the clippers?" he asked in a sensitive tone. His fingers plied through my freshly washed hair.
I shook my head a bit, as I was accustomed to doing when I wanted to flaunt my sexy tresses.... I held a mass of it up and let it fall. "This is all at your disposal. I'm quite looking forward to the clippers. Even a razor, if you want to take everything!" I offered.
I turned around and found him even more handsome than before.
"But, I thought I might find you sporting a barber tunic," I purred.
"Sure, I have one. If you want to start with the haircut, I can put it on now." He began slowly unbuttoning his shirt, as if in a tantalizing strip-tease. He stood there without a shirt on showing off his well- sculpted abs and muscular arms. He must live in the gym after work, I thought.
Lesa's crowning glory was his lush, lustrous chest hair. I felt bold and stroked it with my fingers. "You've never wanted this waxed?" I teased, imagining me giving his pelt a howl-inducing yank with a waxing strip -- poor Lesa strapped to a table, babbling for mercy as I prepared the wax strips.
The comment took him by surprise and he instinctively protected his furry chest with his arms. "Never!" Lesa exclaimed.
Then, as if to not let the power dynamic reverse, he took me by my hair and all but dragged me further into his apartment. A neon lighted at the end of the hall proved our destination. A real barbershop! With a huge, traditional barber chair and all the usual accessories!
"This is my playground," Lesa announced.
"And, tonight, I am your plaything!" I replied. I strode up to the counter and took a brush. Then, I began preening and ramping up with gloss with some vigorous brush strokes. "Three years of growth! And it's all yours, Lesa!"
"Let's drink to your makeover before I get started. I like to feel a bit of a buzz before the real buzzing with the clippers begins," he laughed. "If I get drunk, you'll end up bald!"
"Bald! I might like that, I'll pour you glass after glass of whiskey to make sure it happens," I replied, feeling totally hard at the thought of leaving Lesa's with no hair at all. "I'm tired of long hair, really! You're like an angel, ready to rid me of my torment. Washing, untangling, conditioning, brushing, drying, styling....I feel like a woman sometimes!"
Lesa took the brush from my hand and continued the chore of plying it through my thick locks. "I love the smell of freshly washed hair," he murmured, inhaling deeply. "And, how will you be received back home if every bit of this mane stays behind in Poland?"
"Many howls and protests, for sure. My wife will be furious. Probably an equal number of cheers, though, as well. There are a number of fellows who won't miss my girly hair one bit!" I exclaimed.
"And, what will you tell your wife?" Lesa asked, genuinely curious.
"That I got arrested for trying to bribe an official. It was all her idea, anyways! And, the first thing the police did to me was shave my head," I stated, enjoying the irony of my invented explanation.
Lesa opened a drawer and pulled something out, quickly. In a flash he was wrenching my arms behind my back -- I was being handcuffed!!
"You're under arrest! Don't resist an officer! On your knees!" Lesa ordered. He manhandled me to a kneeling position.
Then I watched him unfasten his extremely tight slacks and unzip them. "There's no expectation or commitment to this, but if you would like to...." Lesa offered.
It was enormous! Larger than the dildo that had been used on me in college. I knew what he wanted, but I couldn't make myself do it. Perhaps, once I'd been shaved bald....but not just yet.
Lesa quickly perceived the situation. He took my long hair and wrapped it round and round, like the hot pulsating thing was a turbo-charged curling rod.
After he had some fun with my hair, he disappeared for a few minutes. I was left cuffed and still kneeling. Finally, he reappeared, sporting barber whites from top to toe. He looked like an angel!
"I'm your angel to release you from bondage!" he announced before proceeding to uncuff me.
"Such a gracious host," I murmured, rubbing my wrists a bit, hoping to relieve some pain.
Lesa could not keep his hands out of my hair as he took me back to the living room. "Are you sure you won't mind having all this beautiful hair butchered?" he asked.
I got the feeling that it would give him more pleasure if I in fact did mind. Why not g0 along with his fantasy?
"Well, I suppose I've been convincing myself since our coffee in the park that I wouldn't mind having it whacked off by an amateur barber. But...." I made my voice quaver a bit.
He couldn't not contain a grin. "But...?" he playfully simulated scissors with his fingers and began 'chopping' away at my locks. "Pretty boy, here, might get a little weepy when he sees all this glorious hair on the floor of my barbershop?"
"You might have to console me, Lesa, and it might take all night," I murmured.
Then, to my surprise, he pulled open a drawer in the coffee table and whipped out an actual pair of barber shears.
"You won't cut it too short, will you? And, that business about shaving me bald....it was really a joke, you know," I said, keeping my eye fixed on the shears in his hand.
"Barber's choice," Lesa reminded me, pumping the shears open and shut a few times. "You agreed to that!"
Lesa enjoyed brandishing the shears at me and watching me flinch. I hammed up a convincing, fearful reaction.
"But, first, let's have some of that whiskey!" he exclaimed, setting down the scissors.
As he poured us some, I watched Lesa, wondering how he'd become so obsessed with cutting men's hair. His own hair was fairly unremarkable -- perhaps a bit longer than most men his age. It was full, and he sported quite a nicely styled forelock.
We enjoyed the whiskey and each other's presence for a while.
"Who is your barber, Lesa?" I asked, imagining myself playing barber to him. "You are looking quite shaggy for someone who has a complete barber shop in his apartment. This needs cutting...."
I grasped his forelock and suddenly felt a surge of authority. Lesa was taken off guard. I seized the barber scissors that still lay on the coffee table.
"Maybe I should barber you!" I exclaimed.
Subduing him by the forelock with one hand and wielding the shears in the other made my adrenalin flow. Such power! Such command!
In a flash, I took the shears to the base of his forelock. The blades were pressed flat to his head. My fingers twitched. "How about I chop this whole thing off! Barber gets barbered!" I shrieked with delight.
Lesa struggled to wriggle free. "Oh, no! Please.... My image at the office....what would people say? I'm the boss!"
As he squirmed to get free, the blades accidentally clamped shut, and suddenly I was holding Lesa' forelock in my hand! OMG! I had in fact chopped it off at the root!
Lesa gasped and felt the missing chunk. He looked at me with terrified disbelief. Panic and fright gripped him. Then, he ran down the hall to the barbering room. I was close behind.
"OH!" he gasped as he saw himself in the mirror, without his forelock.
The anguished look did not make me feel any pity for Lesa. In fact, I felt justified, thinking of all the other men like me Lesa had lured and lorded over to get in his chair.
I held up his severed forelock as if it were a hunting trophy. "Your forelock, Lesa!" I taunted. Then I cast it to the ground.
"Now, take a seat in the barber chair!" I ordered. "I'm not finished with your haircut!"
I was amazed to see him meekly comply. So submissive! He mounted the chair. "The capes are in that drawer," he noted.
I had a wonderful time caping Lesa up and loved seeing him so humbled and compliant.
"So, a baldy cut for the office, Lesa? How about it? Like a little schoolboy with a butch cut," I taunted.
"Oh, please, leave it as long as you can," he begged.
I snapped on the closest set of clippers.
"Not those! That is a very short length," Lesa stammered.
His pleas only heightened my desire to dominate. I plunged the clippers right into his business cut and peeled away the longest locks as I drove the metal teeth down the top of Lesa's head. Lesa shivered as the clippers moved through his dense mane. His hair slid of his hair onto the pristine white cape. He whimpered as he watched his transformation at my hand. Slowly, determinedly, methodically, I clipped away all the length. It was a very short baldy cut! Very tidy, very short. It made Lesa look almost boyish. No more haughty look of authority in his eyes. Just obedience and submissiveness.
I stroked the stubble. "I like you clipped like this, Lesa."
He smiled shyly. "I'm glad about that. Would you like to stay the night with me?"
The short answer was 'yes, most certainly.' But not responding to his invitation made me feel even more in control. I would like to see him beg, to grovel for my company. I was enjoying my supreme dominance after having spent the whole day groveling to win 'Mr. Cherlovski's favor'!
I glanced in the mirror and saw my own mane, so long and abundant. I definitely wanted it cut. But, Lesa needed to stay in a submissive role....
I taunted Lesa again. "My hair is too beautiful to be butchered, don't you agree?"
I continued brushing it while Lesa watched on. "Boys with baldy cuts like you don't have any hair to brush."
I mocked his clipped pelt as I inflicted a quick rub across the bristles. Even though his haircut was long over, I had not uncaped him. No, he would stay caped and seated in the barber chair a while longer! We had come a long way from my kneeling, being cuffed, and pressed for a blow job.
Suddenly, the thought of Lesa's huge baton, as well as my college experience with the dildo, re-occupied my mind. My mood swung wildly between desiring dominance and craving submissiveness. I would not leave Poland without being on the receiving end....and, yes, my head would be shaved bald. I wanted desperately to experience both, and Lesa would be the one to do the honors. I had a great story to explain the shaved head once home.
I took a scrunchy out of my pocket and fashioned my long hair into a pony tail. I planned how it would happen. Lesa would seize me by the tail, control me by it....and finally shear everything off. I would emerge from the chair with a naked head.
I was ready to reverse roles.
I unfastened the big metal clip that held Lesa's cape in place and pulled the hair-laden cloth away from Lesa.
"You're so sweet with your baldy cut," I cooed in his ear as I let my marvelous tail draped down across his chest, just a hand away from being grabbed and yanked.
And it happened, just as I set it up. Lesa seized me by the tail.
Instantly, he flew out of the chair, giving me a strong, painful yank!
"Oh, ouch, that hurts," I squealed as I fell beneath Lesa' harsh control.
"Every bit of this is coming off!" he declared. "Lather shaved! Smooth! CUEBALL!" He pulled me by my hair into the chair. I was forced to sit and be caped. The clip was so tight around the neck I could hardly breath.
"Oh, please, Lesa! Not bald! What will I say when I get home?" I pleaded.
"That you were naughty and needed to be taught a lesson," Lesa said.
"A punishment head shave?" I asked, secretly loving the idea.
"You chopped off my forelock and then gave me a baldy cut!" Lesa bellowed. "How about a taste of your own medicine?!"
He took my tail in his hand. "Let's start with this!" he announced.
The roar of the clippers filled the room. Then I felt the metal teeth chewing their way through the tail right at the nape. He had a determined look on his face. Secretly, I was thrilled my transformation had finally begun.
Lesa held the tail aloft when it was finally severed. I felt a jolt of excitement as I saw my severed tail dangling from Lesa's hand. I could not wait to be rid of all my hair. Mounds of it were in and about my eyes, irritating me ever so. Lesa was incredibly handsome in his barbering whites and baldy cut.
He shoved my head forward into a penitent bow. Soft, glossy hair covered my face like a veil. Right up the back of my head the clippers plowed, mowing everything off in their path down to the bone. Then, he kept driving the clippers straight down the top of my head towards my hairline.
I groaned with delight as I watched my cut hair begin to collect on the cape. Lesa was very efficient with the clippers. I could tell he had a lot of experience barbering lads and young men in his private barber shop. My lovely hair looked wonderfully forlorn in my lap.
I slipped my hand from under the cape and grasped a fair amount of it. No, I would not miss it. In fact, I was quite looking forward to arriving home bone bald and telling my wife to get used to the new me.
"I'm almost finished with the clippers," Lesa crowed. "No more long hair for you! And, once I've taken the razor to you, it will be no hair at all for you!"
"You're not going to lather shave me against the grain and leave me with the total cueball look?" I asked, goading him on toward my ultimate desire -- no hair, at all.
"Your head will be clean as a whistle. But, the next phase is going to take place in the shower. I want to make sure none of this nice hair makes its way back to the USA!" Lesa exclaimed. "It can be a nice intimate setting, with you on your knees again.
"This time, I will do my duty.... It will be my pleasure," I said, thinking of his huge baton in my face.
Lesa smiled broadly, "It's a wonder how a simple haircut can change a person. Without that showy mane, you are so compliant!"
Finally, Lesa let me sit up and take in the new me, buzzed down close. He took a duster and whisked around my face and ears.
Then the metal clip came off, followed by the cape. All my hair on the floor looked perfect -- just where it belonged. I felt my clipped pate. Pretty soon the stubble would be removed. Lesa led me by the hand to his bathroom and turned on the shower. Then he undressed me, and I he.
His chest hair was such a lovely coat of shimmering dark hair. I stroked it.
"You're not thinking about waxing my chest, I hope," he said.
I decided to play a bit with him. "Well, if I get the...."
Lesa was not to be toyed with! He whirled me around and leaned me over the bathroom counter. And then....it was my college experience all over....decidedly more painful, but ten times as pleasurable.
"Oh, Lesa! Don't stop," I panted.
We were both gasping for breath when he had finally felt I'd learned my lesson. Steam had totally enveloped the bathroom. He led me in like a lamb.
"By the way, Momma Olga's paperwork got lost....you can start the process again once you've finished your three-month sentence in my apartment for trying to bribe a state official," Lesa crowed. He forced me to my knees. "It'll be three months of hard labor. Now, get started!"