Barbershop Tales
The Executive
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The man enters with a stern nod, a grim line set across his face and an immaculate sweep of gray hair that looks like it has never needed a trim. He takes a seat as though he owns the place — and given the way he carries himself, maybe he could.
"Morning, Mr. Volkov," I say, earning a nod from him. Thankfully, there's no one in the shop and I can give him the full experience. He takes off his coat and sits on the chair.
I get started on his hair, trimming specks just a millimeter too long. I may have other plans, but I sure do still take cutting hair seriously. The stern frown on his face doesn't disappear, but I notice the clear signs of drowsiness that men have when they go to the barbershop.
The snip snap of the scissors are deliberate, cutting only what is needed. The rhythmic sound of the fan above him hums.
The man's eyes flutter to a close, but his hand firmly grasps the chair's sides. The slow cadence wins. His hands unfurl and he lets out a small, involuntary shudder.
With a press on his chest to make sure he's really out, I walk to the door of my shop and flip the sign 'Closed'.
The man's chest rises and falls, the frown gone and the man as calm as the sea. He looks much better not frowning, though I know a way to make him look and feel even better.
I open my mouth and feel a shining bright light appear from my core. My body drops to the ground as that light shoots out of my mouth and into the man's ear.
There's a few seconds of tense silence on the shop. Any passerby would've seen the sleeping man and the barber lying on the ground. The man in the suit wake. With practiced efficiency, I grab my body and prop it on another chair, making it look like I'm just asleep.
I adjust his tie on the mirror. The man's eyes stare back at me. I try his frown, the stern look on his face that definitely scares the people he works with. I break out into a grin, watching the man's face contort and shine brightly.
I can already feel the bulge on his crotch hardening, a combination of my own arousal and the man's days of control breaking.
Every inch of me is amplified; the way the cloth touches his skin, his feet wrapped in his socks, and the faint smell of his expensive cologne are all amplified. I can taste the saliva on his mouth, his tongue moving about exploring this strange yet familiar sensation.
I stroke his bulge, watching his reflection do the same. If he saw the cctv footage, he'd have seen his own self massaging his crotch as the barber sleeps on the chair.
"Черт, я такая сексуальная!" I say in his deep baritone voice. Fuck. I grip the side of the chair as I buck his hips involuntarily, a moan escaping him. Fuck, even the sound of him was getting me off.
"I should stay in here," I say with a growl as I unbuckle his belt, watching his reflection on the mirror as I unzip and pull down his slack blue pants suit. He's wearing dark gray boxers, and I growl as I stroke his lengthening cock, the python's head already bursting out the underwear.
"... should stay in this body, live his life, and fuck men as I please," I say in his voice with a groan, taking out his cock, a mighty 7-inch fucking thick as a beer can cock, already starting to fuck the air. The sounds of his groans and growls fill the shop, and I stroke his cock even faster and faster.
I race through his memories as I stroke his cock, how he likes to take control in meetings and fuck every new secretary he hires. I see a memory of a wife, and I stroke his cock even faster at the thought of this hot daddy wearing leather, fucking a man younger than him and owning him completely.
I stroke faster and faster. Beads of sweat form from his temple as I raise his arms and lick his armpits through the cloth. I see memories of him fucking women with wild abandon, only caring that he comes, and I imagine him doing the same with the executives, shoving their faces down and forcing them to service his cock. I stroke his thick cock faster and faster and feel the dam about to burst in every corner.
His toes curl, saliva drips from his open mouth. I grip his chest, stroking the fabric of his suit. His reflection stares back at me with the same crazed lustful haze.
"Fuck yeah, fuck hgnhhh!" the man groans wildly as ropes of cum shoots to the chair, the window, and his suit. I groan as endless amount of cum shoots out of him, closing my eyes just to savor every single feeling of being this man.
I let his body sigh, heaving. I enjoy the way his chest moves, his cock softening, spent. He'd be back again soon and I'll be ready to take him in again.
I smirk on his reflection, globes of white cum streaked across it, and some even on his suit.
After a while, I grab some tissues and clean as best as I can, though I scoop up some cum on his suit and lick his fingers clean. I sit on the chair, taking one last look at the man's smirk, a satisfied look on his face.
"One of these days I'll stay longer in you," I say in his deep voice. I open his mind implant a few more suggestions.
I open his mouth as the bright light shoots out from his mouth and into mine.
I get up from where I was resting and feel the calmness and familiarity of my body easing. The man sleeps on the chair. I give his chest one last squeeze before finishing his haircut.
The man blinks awake, bleary. His eyes land on his reflection. He doesn't notice the wetness on the side of his tie.
He nods sternly, seemingly pleased. He grabs a wad of bills.
"That's too much, Mr. Volkov," I say, but he shoves it on my hand anyway. He steps forward and grabs my crotch, and I gasp as he grins predatorily at me. He doesn't seem to notice how odd he just behaved as he's already walking out the door with the same efficient way he walked in, though he seemed much more satisfied now.
I stare at the chair he was just in, already thinking about the next time he'd come back. The chime of the front door ring. I smile at the customer and motion for him to sit.











