Disclaimer and Legal Stuff: Don’t read this if you're not supposed to, either because you live in a regressive community or you don’t like erotic stories about gay sex (in which case, why are you here?). If you distribute this story, that’s fine, just don’t edit it, and leave my name on it. Thanks.
I had thought that that was the extent of his intentions but I was wrong. He raised an arm over my head and my heart sank as I realized what was coming. I said nothing to protest. I offered no resistance as he quickly denuded my armpit. He repeated with the other arm. He took a quick glance at my forearms, shrugged, and moved on. I had only a thin covering of hair below the elbows and I was relieved that he seemed disinterested in it. Most of my arms are covered at work by my shirt sleeves, but not my hands, and the t-shirts I wear to the gym and polos I’d wear casually throughout the summer would expose any shaving.
Andrew sat on the edge of the tub. “Turn around and bend over. Spread your cheeks so I can see your ass.” I obeyed, grabbing a cheek in each hand and revealing my hole. I didn’t have more than a few wispy strands sprouting from my crack, and he ignored them, too. I almost jumped through the tile wall, though, when I felt his fingertip probing against my sphincter. “Man, this really looks tight! You have been fucked before, right?”
“Yes sir,” I answered over my shoulder.
“How long ago was the last time?”
“Not since law school, Sir.”
“Mmmyeah, bitch, I’m going to fucking love busting this cunt open! You’re going to be tight as a fucking glove around my big, fat dick.” I could hear the smile, the glee, in his voice. “I can’t believe that no one’s used this in so long as hot as you are. In fact, I can’t believe you haven’t been begging for it to be used, as big of a cockslut as you seem to be instinctively. But I guess that’s all going to change now, isn’t it, Robbie boy? Now you’ve got someone who’s gonna plug you up regularly. I was going to focus mainly on your mouth because you’ve got a lot of talent there, but now that I see this tight pussy I’m going to have to figure out how to use it more often, too!”
“Yes sir,” I whimpered. His finger at my hole, tracing lightly around it in small circles, together with the words of conquest he spoke had me in heat. I began to rock my hips back towards him slightly, subconsciously trying to force some penetration by his finger. He chuckled.
“Damn, you really are a cunt. You want this so bad, don’t you? You really do need a master to treat you right, to make you the slave you’ve always wanted to be. Well, lucky for you, here I am. But I’m not going to use this yet. You’re not cleaned up right. And you’ve got a ways to go before you earn my fuckstick in here. Now turn back around.”
I turned and he looked over my shins and thighs. He paused, pensive. He moved the razor in and began to erase the hair, taking long stripes up the leg, beginning with the ankle and continuing up to the mid-thigh where the hair tapered off. He pushed my knees apart, widening my stance and lowering me into a slight squat as he continued. I watched him, speechless, aghast. So much for shorts. Or swim trunks. My leg hair joined my chest hair at the bottom of the tub.
He stood when he was finished. My eyes remained on the pile of hair at my feet, and the long stretches of white, stubbly skin on my legs. “All right, we’re almost done. Just one thing left. You need to take that jock off now so we can do your bush.” I knew it was coming. There was no way after my legs and chest that my pubes were going to last. I had surrendered to it mentally. I didn’t want to lose them, but I knew he wouldn’t let me keep them, and I knew I wouldn’t argue with him when the time came. I reached for the waistband of the jock strap I wore and began to pull it away. Almost immediately, pain shot up from my groin as the cloth, glued to my pubic hair by the dried cum from his morning load, fought to keep hold.
“Ow!” I yelped. He chuckled again.
“Well, I see you obeyed orders this morning. That’s good for you, because I had something special in mind if that jock just peeled right on off. Let’s just say the Monday conference would have been really interesting for you and leave it at that. I might still want to use that idea, after all. If you’re not a good boy,” he smirked.
“I think the jock will come off easier if you get it wet. That should remoisten my dry cum so it will pull free better,” he continued. “I noticed you didn’t come out of your office all day today, so you should be able to get it nice and wet.” I stared at him blankly. I looked over at the shower taps. He chuckled again. “Nah, Robbie boy, you’ve got all the water you need right inside you.” He patted just below my navel. My eyes widened. I was supposed to piss myself, right in front of him?! I groaned.
“Please, Andrew, please don’t make me piss myself,” I pleaded. His eyes darkened and his smirk vanished. He took hold of the jock and, before I could move my hands to protect myself, quickly yanked the waistband away from my torso.
I screamed and halfway doubled over in pain as the little pricks of hundreds of strands of hair, tangled and enmeshed in the cum crust, either pulled free or tugged against their roots in my crotch.
“What the fuck did you call me?!” he shouted over me. He released the jock and open-palm slapped the side of my head.
“Sir! SIR! Ow, I’m sorry, sir!” I cried, one hand pressed over my abused pubes and the other to my ringing ear as I cringed in front of him.
“Do not let it happen again!” he bellowed.
“Yes sir, sorry sir!”
“Now stand up and piss,” he ordered.
“But sir, the jock will come off now,” I whined.
“Yeah, I ripped it free because you disrespected me. That was punishment. Punishment doesn’t buy you any benefits, bitch. Now piss yourself!”
“Yes sir,” I whimpered. I stood, placing my hands at my side. I’ve never been able to go to relax around other people. If anyone is at a urinal, I head to a stall. If anyone walks in on me while I’m at a urinal, I have to consciously force the flow to keep going. And to top it off, now I was still rock hard! And I was still wearing clothes! I stood there, clenching my eyes, in Andrew’s tub, willing my bladder to release. Silence. Minutes passed.
“Let’s get it going, bitch!” he urged, impatient.
“I’m sorry, sir, I’m trying!” I responded in frustration, opening my eyes to plead with them.
He snickered. “So Robbie boy is shy about going peepee in front of big boys. Aw,” he mocked me. “Stay right here,” he said, and he put the razor down and stepped out of the bathroom. I began to relax slightly, hoping I could get the pipes loosened up. I felt pretty close when suddenly he stepped back into view. He carried a stop watch in his hand. “OK, I’m going to beat you for every ten seconds you make me wait. I was going to beat you at some point anyway, just to get you used to taking discipline from me, but now you’ve earned it. Let’s say it was two minutes you’ve wasted of my time already. You’re a lawyer, you know how expensive time can be. Two minutes, 120 seconds, 12 strokes. We’ll start counting the rest now.” He pressed the start button on the timer.
Instantly all the relaxation and mental preparation I’d worked through vanished. Everything was cinched solid again, and my mind was full of the idea of him spanking me. Would he use a belt? A paddle? His hand? I felt my cock bob at the though of his hand swatting my ass. Fuck! I’d never been into spanking! And now I need to get soft and piss, not get hard and leak more precum!
I closed my eyes again and imagined I was at home, standing in front of my own toilet. The bathroom door closed behind me. No one else around. The toilet lid up. My dick out. My bladder ached from the contents it held. Time passed. I took a deep breath. Relaxation. I leaned my head back. I moaned as the trickle began to flow. It grew into a steady stream and I grunted with relief, both physical and mental. Immediately, the scent rose to my nostrils and I felt the jock grow sodden against my crotch. My urine was hot as it flowed up through my cock and then down through the absorbent cotton of the jock. It quickly filled the pouch and ran down my partially shaved legs. The flood began to ebb as my bladder emptied, and at last I stood there, drenched in my own waste. I opened my eyes and looked down, the humiliation overwhelming me as Andrew clapped sarcastically.
“Good job, Robbie, you pissed yourself like a little boy. How does it feel to soak in your piss? Think about how it would have felt to soak in mine at work.” I shuddered. He looked at the stop watch. “197 seconds. We’ll just say 200. Twenty strokes! Plus the other dozen. Congratulations. Now take off the jock, wring it out, and hang it on the towel rod in the shower.”
Reluctantly, I peeled the sopping garment down my legs, grasped it in both hands, and squeezed the liquid out. I then reached over and balanced it on the towel rod, looping the leg straps together. I turned back and Andrew began to complete my shearing. He almost nipped me with the razor when he grabbed my cock. It wasn’t his fault, I just jumped in reaction to his touch as he maneuvered it out of the way. In short order, my bush had been reduced to a field of prickly stems, the straw colored thatch roughly cleared like a medieval forest. “That’ll do,” Andrew said. He reached for a plastic bag and told me to pick up the hair in the tub. I obeyed and put the hair in the offered bag. He tied it shut and dumped it into the wastebasket by the sink, discarding the signs of my masculinity, then replaced the razor. I noticed that his cock was now almost soft, but it was still coated pretty liberally with slime and some had run down over his sack.
“Go ahead and get the water warm,” he said. “I’m going to let you wash me for real now. I don’t want dried cocksucker slobber all over me for the night.” I turned to the taps and he stepped into the tub behind me and closed the shower curtain. When the water felt right, I pulled the pin to divert the stream from the bath tap to the shower head. Andrew jostled me around and stepped under the flow and pressed a wash cloth into my hand. I reached for the soap and lathered up the cloth, then began wiping it over his body. He turned and raised his arms and I bent and stroked until he was covered in lather. He then rinsed himself off.
“Now clean yourself off,” he said. “You’ve got loose hair on you and you reek of piss.” I blushed deeply and turned the washcloth on myself, using the rest of his lather. He stepped aside and I rinsed. He then ordered me to turn the water off and dry him. When I’d finished, he stepped out of the tub. “Stay there,” he instructed.
He returned to the sink and opened another drawer. He produced a box, from which he took a pair of latex surgical gloves. He put the gloves on and then took a large tube from the drawer. I stood, shivering as the water evaporated from my body. He returned to me, unscrewing the cap from the tube. He squirted a large dollop of grey paste into one gloved hand. He smiled at me wickedly and began to smear the paste thickly over my body, repeatedly acquiring new quantities from the tube, over my chest, back, arms, legs, crotch, and ass, even into my crack, until I was coated from neck to ankles. “Stay still until I get back. Don’t move a muscle, or I’m going to double your strokes during your beating!” Andrew disappeared into the bedroom.
I don’t know how long he was gone, but the paste began to tingle on my skin. Then it began to burn. Perspiration broke out over my forehead. The burning was especially bad in my pits, crack, and over my sack. I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and began to whimper irregularly. My cock softened. He came back in countless minutes later and smiled at my discomfort. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked.
“No sir!” I responded.
“OK, you can go ahead and rinse it off now. Use the washcloth to swipe it off in long strokes. Trust me that you don’t want to rub back and forth.” I pulled the shower curtain closed and turned the water back on. Using the cloth, I began to wipe the grey paste away and instantly all the hair that had been beneath it slid off.
“Oh fuck!” I cried.
“Yeah, that’s great stuff, ain’t it?” Andrew said. “Less than ten minutes and it does a better job than any razor could. You just have to trim up a bit before the first time, but from now on, you’ll be smooth as a baby’s bottom. I’m going to give you a tube of stuff and you’re going to have to use it on your own to stay like this. Like I said, I like my bitches shorn.”
As I continued wiping the burning grey paste away, my hair kept wiping away too. I couldn’t leave the paste on; it hurt too much and the chemical had already done the damage anyway. When I turned the water off, there wasn’t a single hair below my Adam’s apple. I opened the shower curtain. Andrew beamed. His cock began to fill with blood again as he walked over and lightly stroked my pale, hairless flesh. My summer was fucked. No matter how quickly the hair grew back, Andrew would make me keep it off. Shorts and short sleeves would make it obvious to any observer, however casual, that I had no hair were a man should have hair. Even the little hairs on the back of my hands were gone. They were thin and very blond, so not many people would have noticed them before anyway, but I knew they were there—that they had been there. Even at work, behind my suit and tie, whenever I glanced down at my watch I’d be reminded that I was Andrew’s bitch. He gave me his wet towel and told me to dry off and return to the bathroom. The feeling of the damp, plush towel against my freshly depilatated skin was as unsettling as the appearance of my body, and I knew I’d have ample time to grow used to it. As I dried my hair—the locks he’d left me on my scalp—my head was buried in the towel. I could smell his scent faintly through the scent of the soap. Again, my body tingled, now not from chemicals but with renewed lust. I hung the towel on the curtain rod as my dick pumped quickly back to life.
He was sitting in the armchair in the corner. He motioned for me to stand beside him and I did so. He was like a schoolboy at Christmas as his hands roamed over my smooth legs, torso, and crotch. Each millimeter of me he touched felt electrified and I found myself moving my body, exposing myself to him, trying to position myself to control where he would touch me. He ignored my dick despite my attempts to place it in his way. He took my hips and turned me, then pushed the small of my back. I bent over, resting my hands on my knees, and he separated my cheeks with one hand as he stroked up and down my crack with the fingers of the other.
“Yeah, Robbie boy, now you really look like a fuckslave. I’m looking at one pretty pussy right here, you know that? You’re all cleaned up and I’m almost ready to ram my rod right in here.” He tapped my hole with his finger.
“Oh God, please fuck me, Sir,” I moaned. “Please fuck me like the bitch I am.”
Another chuckle. “Yeah, I knew you’d want it. You remember a week ago? You were the shit, weren’t you? The rising star in appellate division, not only making your mark among the associates but the partners, too. You could fucking do no wrong, man! I’m telling you, Randy, Denise, all the counsel and associates know you’re going to be their boss one day. And now look at you. You’ve sucked me off at work. Twice. You’ve been wearing my cum all day today, feeling your pores drinking it up, smelling it as it dried, itching in the crust. You’ve licked the sweat from my body and washed me. You’re a hairless cunt now, a shaved pussy, ‘cause that’s all you are. Not just this hole right here.” He stroked my anus. “All of you. I own all of you now: you’re my slave, I’m your master. And I’m going to fuck it all. So this hole isn’t my cunt. You’re my cunt. All of you. You’re my smooth pussy. I’m never going to need to do a thing to get off again. You’re going to be right there begging me to let you get me off. Even now you’re begging me to fuck you. By the time this weekend is over, fucking you is going to be the least of the things you’re going to beg me to do. Am I right?”
“Yes sir,” I pleaded, still hunching my ass back at his finger to no avail.
“Tell me what you are, Robbie boy.”
“I’m your smooth pussy, sir. I’m your shaved cunt,” I answered. The words echoed in my head. My hard cock was pulsing and drooling. I looked down at it, rising from the hairless patch that was my slave crotch, as I spoke. What had I allowed myself to become? What had my desperate cock made me become?
“Yeah, that’s right,” Andrew interrupted my thoughts. He pushed me away as he rose from the chair. “Now follow me, cunt, you’ve got some work to do to earn my fucking cock.”
He turned for the door to the hallway, and I trailed along behind him.