#i will make you shave my head bald. i will make you lather up my head in shaving foam and shave it bald.

[grimmthorne]

and if someone says anything abt my hair that's isn't wow your hair is so cool, wow you're good at doing it at home im going to throw a grenade. I feel so ugly rn pls let the words coming out of your mouth be fuckin nice im actually genuinely begging

[callme-darling]

speaking of baden baden shower scene...... shower makeouts drabble mayhaps? 😇 hand on throat laughing giggling dripping wet and all

this kind of domestic shit is what i live for 😩

word count: ~650

swann strikes me as the type to revel in quiet intimacy. spending the evening reading aloud to you, allowing you to watch as he rehearsed his lines, idle sunday afternoons spent lazing in the Parisian sun, and, naturally, sharing the occasional shower.

it’d be late in the evening, shortly after he got home from a script reading. you were already in the shower, shampoo suds dripping from your hair when you hear the bathroom door softly push open. you don’t have to look when the sound of a tired sigh follows, just barely audible over the water hitting the tiled walls.

you only turn when you hear the shower curtain pull back, a thick screen of steam emitting from your cocoon of heat.

it’s mundane, natural, the way he slips in under the shower head. his eyes close with a small groan as hot water saturates his scalp. you smile to yourself. your hands are gentle when they reach his hair, fingers threading through the soaked strands to make sure no spot is missed.

“that feels nice.” swann’s alto voice made your smile widen.

you lathered a dollop of shampoo into your palms before massaging it against his scalp. “you should let me cut your hair,” tone playful as you bring the hair atop his head to stand upright. “i’m sure a nice buzz would suit you.”

his eyes peek open with a grin. “come near my hair with scissors and you’ll be the one walking away with a nice bowl cut.”

you pout, mimicking the act of cutting off a large portion of his hair with your fingers. “just a little off the top, something fresh.”

he leaned in closed, making your elbows rest on his shoulders as his hand trailed from your cheek to your neck. his lips ghosted over yours, his fingers tickling the sensitive flesh of your jaw as he whispered, “only if you let me cut yours first.”

you bite your lip, the action causing it to tease against his ever so slightly. for a moment, all that could be heard was the pelting water hitting swann’s back and part of the wall. then, without warning, you feel his tongue dart out to poke your mouth.

your hand instinctively covers the offense, a loud laugh coming from you as you gawk at him. he only wore a smug smile, chuckling lightly as he began to rinse out his hair.

“threaten to cut my beautiful hair again, and it’s going in your nose next time.”

you use your hand to splash a minuscule amount of water in his face, your expression scrunched up in revulsion, “you’re disgusting.”

a hand on your naked waist pulls you against him and back under the stream of hot water. he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. it quickly escalates until his tongue is prodding against yours, quiet moans slipping from you when you feel his hand roam to your neck again. this time he keeps it there, adding the slightest bit of pressure to keep your head still.

eventually you break the kiss, smiling to yourself. teasing lilt still playing on your tongue, you giggle through your words, “perhaps i should shave you bald.” you braced yourself, rushing out the next, “the world deserves to see mr. arlaud’s shiny bald head! hey!” you cry out with a laugh when you feel a mouthful of recycled shower water hit your face and chest. “you’re so nasty!”

he’s laughing just as hard. his hand takes your shoulder and your back is against the tile wall as he nips at your jaw. “if i go bald, you’re going bald with me.”

“deal,” you giggle back. your hands are on his chest as you give him another short kiss. “now let me rinse out my conditioner. you’re hogging all the water.”

[whynotshaveme]

Saturday Night At Bob's Barbershop

By whynotshaveme

Mary Greenwood and her wife Anna arrived at Bob's Barbershop around closing time. Mary is a stern woman in her early 50s with close-cropped black hair. Anna is much younger with long blonde hair flowing down her back. She flinched as her wife grabbed a number. She, however, sat down next her submissively as they waited to be called.

Bob, the owner of Bob's Barbershop, was the only barber present. Curious, once he finished up with what he'd thought was his last customer for the night, he called the two women over. Mary stood up first. Anna hesitated, but one stern glance from her wife got her to her feet and over to Bob's chair.

"Sit down," said Mary.

Then she told Bob that her wife needed a short haircut. Bob wrapped his hairs around Anna's blonde hair and held it away from her as he capped her. He rarely got to touch hair other than his own wife's, so he savored the feel of it in his hands. From how healthy it felt, Anna was clearly a natural blonde.

"Okay," said Bob, "how short? Like yours?"

"No, shave it all off. This is a punishment. She's been flaunting it around town," said Mary.

"Please Mary..." said Anna softly.

Knowing that his may be his only chance to have a beautiful woman in his chair, he decided to assist, even if he normally preferred a willing customer. Especially if he could get a lovely souvenir from the experience. He pulled Anna's hair into a ponytail with a spare rubber band that he happened to have lying around. With his best clippers, he sliced it off. Anna's hair fell loose in rough bob. She, however, didn't have that bob for long because he put one hand on her neck as he ran the clippers over her scalp. A former military barber, he decided to give her the full new recruit experience. Within ten minutes, she sported a perfect grade zero buzzcut. He took a moment to brush her off and then asked Mary if she was good with the finished product.

Mary rubbed her hand against Anna's shorn scalp as Anna shut her eyes, tears running down her face. "Can you make her smooth? She will be spending the rest of the night between my legs apologizing. I don't want to feel stubble."

Bob smiled. "Of course, ma'am."

He wrapped a hot towel around Anna's head. She watched nervously, towel around her head, as he sharpened his best straight razor on a leather strap. Once he got it to a good edge, he removed the towel and spread hot lather over her scalp. With an expert's stead head, he shaved her head smooth. He took two passes just for his own pleasure. When he finished the second, he rubbed her head clean and then used a bit of aftershave, which made her wince.

At Mary's request, she took a photo of his hand over Anna's bald head. Then she paid his fee. As they settled things at the cash register, Anna swept up her own fallen hair, looking distraught. Once the bill was settled, Mary left the shop, with her bald, submissive wife following suit.

Bob took a moment to shut his blinds and flip the sign to closed, and then, with Anna's ponytail in his hands, started to pleasure himself.

(To my Ko-Fi friends, this month's story should be sent out tomorrow or Friday. In honor of April 15th (American Tax Day), it's going to be entitled "Paying The Taxman". For everyone else, The Barber On Main Street is on my Amazon Kindle store: The Barber On Main Street - Kindle edition by From Tumblr, whynotshaveme. Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.)

[the-barbers-pole]

Leon finds a new look without really asking.

In a small, classic barbershop on Main Street, a young man named Leon sat down in the barber’s chair, ready for what he thought would be a quick beard trim. He had thick, dark hair and a neatly kept, hipster-style beard that he just wanted to shape up a bit before heading out to meet some friends. Leon was used to his usual, modest style and figured he’d be in and out in no time. The barber, a jovial and somewhat eccentric fellow named Gus, smiled and wrapped Leon in a cape. “So, just a trim, right?” he confirmed with a grin, already surveying Leon’s beard like an artist sizing up a canvas. “Yeah, just a little trim,” Leon said casually, looking at himself in the mirror. But Gus had other ideas. As he began to shape the beard, he decided Leon’s strong jawline was too perfect to keep hidden beneath all that beard. A creative spark caught hold, and soon he found himself trimming more than Leo had bargained for. With quick, confident strokes, Gus sculpted Leon’s generous beard into a slimmer, tighter shape and—without so much as a warning—left only a bold, dramatic mustache behind. When Leon glanced up and saw his beard fading away, his mouth dropped open. “Oh, don’t worry! It’s going to be great,” Gus reassured him, his hands now busy twisting and shaping the remaining mustache. With the utmost care, Gus transformed it into a thick, sweeping handlebar that extended impressively past the edges of Leon’s face. By the time he finished, Leo looked like he’d stepped out of a vintage poster from the early 1900s. “But, uh...I was going for a beard trim...” Leo stammered, uncertain about his new look. Gus winked and said, “Trust me, this handlebar mustache is going to suit you. Besides, it makes a statement! And you’ll have people turning their heads.” Leo thought that was the end of it, but before he could protest further, he felt Gus’s hand rest on his shoulder. “Now, about that hair...” Gus mused, spinning Leon around in the chair. “What about my hair?” Leon asked, his eyes widening as he saw Gus holding clippers in one hand. “Let’s just tidy it up a bit,” Gus replied with a gleam in his eye, clearly relishing this transformation project. And before Leo could object, the clippers buzzed to life, and he felt the cool steel glide over his scalp. Thick, dark strands fell to the floor as Gus methodically shaved his head, leaving only dark stubble behind. After a few minutes, Leon’s hair had disappeared, leaving him bald with only his brand-new pared back beard and impressively large handlebar mustache to balance out his look. When Gus finally spun him back around to the mirror, Leon barely recognized himself. It was a bold style—certainly not what he’d had in mind, but he had to admit, it did give him a certain rugged charm. “Guess I’ll have to get used to this,” Leon said, trying to laugh off the shock not aware how easily he was accepting the change. “That’s the spirit!” Gus clapped him on the back, knowing the kid was putty in his hands when he first came into the shop. His mind control always peaked the day after Halloween. “And don’t worry. You’re now a regular here. We’ll keep that mustache in prime shape, and I’ll have you back every few weeks to keep the look sharp. But I want to finish the job”

Gus began to spread warm lather over his head before removing the remaining stubble with his razor. The finished product was a shiny, smooth hair-free scalp. A polish of some sort was also used with a cloth to buff the bald look into a glossy finish.

“Much better.” Gus said as he glided his hand over the smooth, glass-like surface.

Leon couldn't stop looking in the mirror. This was so extreme wasn't it? Something was telling him he should be angry but it only lasted a moment or two. As he felt the new smooth pate he knew he felt sexier. It was as if he should have shaved his head years ago.

The strange barber Gus ran a very successful Barbershop, forcing hair and beard styles on clients that would require constant visits to his shop for upkeep. He'd always had a special gift for influencing people but today he made the most of the increase in his powers.

Leon left the shop feeling like a new man. And as he walked down the street, people did indeed turn to look, some nodding approvingly, others giving him a curious glance. And deep down, Leon felt a strange sense of pride in his new appearance.

He thought it was all his idea.

[tiptapricot]

Scene req from @guss-other-fin for a trans!MK system scenario in which Marc prefers to be clean shaven because he hates the feeling of facial hair, so Steven doesn’t realize he can grow it until after they’re on more even terms with each other. Marc then teaches Steven how to shave, and it’s just an overall sweet bonding moment with lots of banter, and Steven nicking himself because he couldn’t stop smiling. Also now on ao3!

———

Steven stares at himself in the mirror, brows furrowed intensely, as his fingers poke and prod at his chin and cheeks. The skin is darker than usual and it’s… rough…

A tickle of amusement brushes against his consciousness.

“Marc?” he asks tentatively at the new presence, turning his head to get a better look at the sides of his jaw.

‘What’s up bud?’ Marc’s voice light, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“What’s…” Steven’s mouth twists, his hand moving to gesture oddly at their reflection. “What’s all this here?”

Marc huffs, and Steven swears he can almost feel the puff of air against his ear. ‘That’s facial hair Steven, I forgot to shave.’

Steven’s brows shoot up. “Really?” His fingers once again run over the light stubble dusting his chin, the texture making his skin tingle. But it could almost be a nice feeling now that he thinks about it. Facial hair! “I didn’t think we could grow this stuff,” he says, a bit in awe, “like there was some freak backwards effect of hormones that gave us like… male patterned baldness on our face or something.”

Marc laughs, loud, and Steven glares at his reflection in annoyance. Marc isn’t exactly there, but he knows he’ll see it anyway.

“Well what was I supposed to think when even my bloody peach fuzz disappeared?” he asks incredulously.

Marc’s laughter peters out at that, and Steven feels him twist and shrink a bit, and—oh. He’s embarrassed. He’s bloody embarrassed.

‘I don’t… I don’t like the feel of it,’ he admits. ‘When it started growin’ in I tried to have something with it cause y’know… it was nice to see, kinda, but it just…’ Steven gets a flash of sensation—scratchy hair running over their wrists and poking at their lips—and shivers. ‘Yeah I just… it wasn’t my thing. I usually just stay clean shaven when I can.’

Steven makes a noncommittal hum in response, taking one more second to poke at his stubble, before pushing back from the mirror to look matter of factly at their sink. When he sees nothing but their toothbrush, he crouches down to check one of the little storage cabinets.

‘What are you lookin’ for now Steven?’ Marc asks, his voice light and fond, giving the impression that he’s leaning back with his arms crossed to watch.

“Well I do assume you have a razor,” Steven says, rifling through the mess that’s accumulated, “unless Khonshu was such a stuck up twit that you had to use that little moon staff of his instead or something. That thing did look quite sharp didn’t it?” He pulls out a small box of ibuprofen well past its expiration date and grimaces at it, making a mental note to sort through his storage at some point.

Marc laughs again, the twinge of awkwardness from before gone, and Steven feels a force twitch his hand down to the bottom shelf. ‘Yeah, yeah, I have a razor.’

Taking the hint, Steven pushes aside a few stray items before pulling out a simple, black hand razor from the back. It’s small. Utilitarian. Definitely Marc’s.

‘There should be gel and aftershave in there too.’

Steven hums again, grabbing the bottles he assumes Marc means before straightening up.

“Ok,” he says, staring at the mirror with determination, “how’s this whole thing work then?”

He gets the impression of Marc smiling, before he starts walking him through it, not even questioning Steven’s desire to do it himself.

His directions are easy, and Steven does just as he says, washing their face, before lathering up with the gel and enjoying the smooth feel of it under his fingers. When he’s done, he lets it sit as he washes off his hands, making sure to run the razor under the water as well after a very… noncommittal answer from Marc about its cleaning history.

‘Now, go slow, and don’t push too hard. You go in the direction of the hair, and don’t reverse or anything, just glide it over.’

Steven makes a little noise of acknowledgment in his throat but stays completely still otherwise, barely twitching the razor over his cheek.

‘Here, like this.’ He feels Marc take control of his hand, moving it at an easy pace over the skin. The sudden visual image of him guiding Steven to shave like he’d guide someone to tie a tie nearly makes him burst out laughing, but he catches himself.

‘There, keep going like that,’ Marc says, returning control to Steven.

It’s easier after that, and Steven makes it most of the way down one side of his face before Marc says something else.

‘Ah yeah, and around your mouth and stuff you can puff out your cheeks for an easier shave.’

It makes sense, it really does, but when Steven does it in the mirror he suddenly imagines Marc making the same face, and it’s just too bloody much.

He does laugh this time, lips sputtering and twitching into a smile, and their hand flinches away from their face.

‘Woah woah hey there, that’s how you hurt yourself.’

Steven rolls his eyes and goes back in to keep shaving, jerking control of the hand back from Marc. “I’m not the one who has to think about you doing this all the time you know,” he says very carefully. “Do you know how bonkers we look when we do that?”

‘You look fine Steven. You’re doing great.’ And Marc’s voice is just… fond when he says it. Deeply fond, and it makes Steven’s chest do something all fluttery.

He can’t help but think about Marc learning this himself, then, or maybe having someone he trusted teach him like he’s doing for Steven now. It’s so familiar to him but so alien to Steven, and yet they still get to share this.

This. This body.

It’s a real bang up thing overall. He knows they have a lot of scars, some recent, some older, and he knows a lot are from Marc, from things less than wonderful and less than kind, but he also knows they share the joy here too. The joy in the two scars on their chest, in the deep tambre of their voice, in… shaving. In having to shave because they have facial hair. Gods he still can’t wholly believe that. And it’s not all been aces, yeah, but they have this, and he has this with Marc, and so maybe it really isn’t all bad after all.

Now Steven does smile at that, absentmindedly, just a bit too wide and a bit too weighty, and the blade nicks his skin. He hisses, cringing, and pulls the razor back to clutch at the little welt just below his nose.

“Ah, bollocks.”

‘Told you to be careful.’

“Oh shut up you,” Steven says breathlessly, grabbing a wad of tissue to blot at it for a moment. “I was thinking mushy thoughts, you can’t blame me.”

‘Oh yeah? What about?’ Marc asks, and the affection is still there, a comfortable weight in Steven’s chest.

“Oh you know,” he says, returning to the space around his mouth just a touch more carefully, “just about us, the body, all this.” He leans back to look at his work so far, before starting on the other cheek. “I still can’t believe you hid this from me.”

Marc chuckles. ‘Well clearly you wouldn’t have done it right if I had.’

“Oh shut up.” Steven flicks a little water at the mirror but there’s no venom in it, and Marc laughs louder this time. It’s a warm, easy sound that he rarely makes, and it catches Steven so off guard he has to pause for a moment to reign in his own wild grin, bracing against the sink and smiling at the floor like an idiot.

It’s nearly an hour before they even touch the aftershave, but Steven doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all.

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: A Close Shave 1/1

Summary: Syverson has been looking like a woolly beast lately and You have it all planned out - a sexy shave astride his lap. But damn it,  nothing goes according to plan. And thank goodness for that!

Pairing: Captain ‘Sy’ Syverson x YOU (and your glorious self)

Rating/Warnings: Cock-warming, vanilla and bourbon, attempting to conquer the beast, sex, fluff, silliness, and well... at least you tried :D

Notes: By now you all know how much I like writing fun, sexy times. This is no different. 

Please consider reblogging, and commenting if you enjoyed it as much as I did. Reblogs and comments are life  :)

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‘Are you ready?’

You waited a moment and from the other side of the master bathroom door, you heard the squeak from the shower taps as he turned them off.

‘C’mon,’ he called and excited, you opened the door.

It was delightfully hot in that blue-green tiled room and the moist air smelt pleasantly of vanilla and bourbon. It was from that distinctive scented soap you’d bought for him, on a whim, years ago, and although you had been unsure if it was even to his taste, to your surprise, he became an ardent fan.

You pushed a low, square, cushion-topped bench against the wall in front of the sink, and quickly kicked shut  the door. Grabbing a fresh towel from the wicker storage basket, you folded and neatly lay it atop  the cushion to protect it from getting wet. 

Then, across the wide sink lip, you unfurled the leather roll-up bag containing his beard grooming kit, which was a neat collection of shiny silver tools. Next to the tools you set a stiff brush, a wooden narrow toothed comb and a bottle of beard conditioning oil. Sy watched you and continued to briskly towel dry before loosely wrapping and knotting the towel about his trim waist.

Pleased with the presentation, you patted the soft seat.

‘Park it,’ you said.

Unsure of your barbering skills, Sy apprehensively rubbed a big hand over his out-of-control facial hair. Sure, it had grown out more than normal, and while he loved you, he didn’t want to be butchered by an eager, yet inexperienced hand.

Nevertheless, he grinned, and pointedly looked you over.

‘I’ve never been to a barber who wore my t-shirt…’

He paused, then leaned in and lifted the hem of the oversized shirt. He grunted as if he’d been expecting that you wore nothing but his  t-shirt.

‘… panties,’ he observed with some disappointment. 

You laughed, delighted and slapped his hand away.

‘Behave and sit down!’

He chewed his lower lip and chuckled in that low, husky way that always sent a thrill through you. Sy swaggered in close, crowded you against the wall, and attempted to slide his hands up beneath the t-shirt. Heat radiated from his skin and the scent of vanilla and bourbon and something deliciously and uniquely his, rose into your senses.

With him that close, that intoxicating, he threatened to thwart all of your plans. You put your hands flat to his hairy chest, in an effort to rein him in, but it didn’t stop him from curving down to mouth hungrily at the bend of your shoulder exposed by the wide shirt neck.  

‘Ok, ok,’ he laughed and with a huff, sat where you directed him.

You took a moment to regain your composure and eyeing him carefully for a moment, you crept your gaze up his heavily muscled thigh to where the partially open towel promised to reveal him. Drinking in your open admiration, he shifted, and rolled his hips,  a clear invitation that nearly brought you to your knees to eagerly swallow that divine mouthful that he offered so willingly.

‘Take off your panties and sit on my lap,’ he said, sliding off his towel and draping it across his lap.

Without protest, you stepped out of your knickers and tossed them aside. 

And with a smile, you said, ‘Well, turnabout is fair play.’

You teased your fingers along the edge of the towel and easing it off his lap, watched his thick cock bob up against his upper thigh. You let out a long breath. He was a thing of beauty and he looked down at himself and then back up at you, with pride and desire shining in his blue eyes.

Sy reached out with both hands and pulled you forward and astride his lap. He was so hot between your legs that you were nearly robbed of coherent thought.

‘Let me,’ you whispered hoarsely and rising to your knees you took him in hand and guided him inside you.

Time went still and the sound of his quick breath mirrored yours. He moaned and gripped your bottom as you eased down the length of him until you could take in no more.

The muscle in his jaw bunched as he clamped down on a groan and you pushed him back against the steam warmed wall behind him. You fought through the need to ride him and squeezed your eyes shut.

‘Fuck, baby… you’re gonna kill me.’

‘Hush. Don’t move. Be a good boy and don’t move.’

He shuddered and took several moments of long breathing before he was able to speak.

‘Ok,’ he said slowly, still breathless and directing his glance at the sink. ‘Fill it up with some hot water and open the lather bar tin.’

The silver tin of hard shaving soap was heavy in your hand, and it opened easily with a twist of the top. You set it aside and filled the sink basin with hot water. You picked up the shaving brush and with a smile, flicked the soft bristles against the tip of his nose. Sy pulled you close.

‘Put some water on the soap and leave the brush in the sink to soak.’

You could feel him watching you as you did what you were told and it was singularly arousing.

‘Wet both your hands and work the water into my beard.’

‘The moment of truth,’ you purred and squeezed his cock with your tight walls.

Sy sucked in a quick breath and colour bloomed across his cheeks. You greedily consumed his expression of  desperation to give into his baser instincts.

‘Baby… baby please,’ he begged.

You ignored his plea and instead rubbed your wet hands together, and massaged your fingers through his bristly facial hair. You took your time with it, looking into his eyes and drinking in his increasingly contented expression as you worked your fingers against his skin.

‘Does that feel good?’

You let your fingers drift from his face to his jaw  and down the back of his neck.

‘Mmmm, yeah. I- I like it.’

Closing his eyes, Sy leaned his head against the wall and eagerly kneaded your bottom.

You smiled and reached for the comb and scissors. When you moved, he tensed and the hot pulse of his cock inside you made it harder to concentrate on the task at hand.

‘Don’t make any sudden moves, or you’re going to end up with a bald patch,’ you warned him and he made a quiet noise of acceptance.

You lifted the scissors to his cheek and then drew away. 

Damn. Focus, girl. 

You took in a breath and lifted the scissors again. Your hands were visibly trembling and your body had started spasming involuntarily much to Sy’s obvious delight. He curved his big hands about your bottom, dragging you in and rocking up into your heat.

He was at his limit.

‘You– you’re not being fair,’ you gasped resisting the urge to bounce.

‘Was I supposed to be fair?’ he teased. ‘Now put down the scissors before one of us gets hurt.’

You tossed them into the sink, wrapped your arms about Sy’s neck, and crashed your mouth down upon his. Syverson growled and stood, lifting you effortlessly to the edge of the sink,  and spreading your thighs so that he could pound hard into you. You had teased him long enough and now he was going to make you pay.

You wrapped yourself around him, encouraging him to ruin your needy cunt and to make you take him so deep that you’ll be unable to walk. Your own orgasm hit hard, taking you by surprised and you howled his name.

Sy gripped your bottom and instantly came hard into your trembling body. He held you until you finally fell still and quiet and drew back to look down at you when you started giggling.

‘That… did not go the way I planned.’

‘S’ok,’ he smiled in response, picked you up from the sink and carried you into the bedroom. ‘Let’s do it planned.’

-the end, you naughty little things. I love you ;D

Tag list:  @lightsidecalling  @omgkatinka @igotkatiepowers @the-soot-sprite  @harrysthiccthighss @little-green-love @foxyjwls007  @angreav @maizyistrash @liquorlaughslove @supernaturallymarvellous @whiskey-cokenstuff @laketaj24 @october505 @inlovewithhisblueeyes @foodieforthoughts @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @singeramg @sapphirescrolls  @emyearns @brandycranby @zealoushound @eldarwen333 @beck07990 @lunedelorient @henrythickcavill @kalesrebellion​ @angrythingstarlight​ 

[atomicwedgienerd]

Flattening the Curve

Chet hadn’t wanted to rent the room but he didn’t really have much of a choice. His lease at his old place was up and his coffeeshop was closed due to the quarantine. If he didn’t find a place soon, he would be out on the street just as everything went into long term shut down. So when he saw the ad for the single bedroom with food included, he jumped at the chance.

Of course, this was not an ideal situation for him. Mr. Gunderson, the man renting the room, was definitely kind of a fuddy duddy. He wore a tie every day and kept his hair in a rigid flat top haircut, the kind of haircut worn by NASA engineers in the 1950s. Dotted around the house were pictures of Mr. Gunderson’s son Gilbert who looked like a miniature version of Mr. Gunderson. Mr. Gunderson, a barber whose shop was now closed due to the quarantine, seemed to keep his son’s hair to the same precise specs as his own and the two had flat tops precise enough to set their watches too. 

Gilbert was now away at MIT studying engineering, stranded in Massachusetts as the state had shut down, so Mr. Gunderson had cleared the remainder of his stuff out of his old bedroom and rented it out. Now it was Chet’s. There was always a look of chagrin on Mr. Gunderson’s face when he caught Chet’s decor through the cracked door. Album covers on the wall, some weird creepy art, the perpetually unmade bed. But the thing that bugged Mr. Gunderson the most was Chet’s grooming. 

His hair fell in long cascading curves of a super hip undercut. It had been dyed slime green though now the roots were well grown out. Chet kept a scraggly beard and wore ripped jeans and band t-shirts. Mr. Gunderson shuddered whenever he heard him practicing his guitar through the door, imagining him bopping along and tossing those green curls around casually. 

The two mostly stuck to themselves outside of Chet occasionally sitting in silence at the dinner table before hurrying back to his room to play guitar. The two couldn’t be more different.

As the quarantine stretched into week four, Chet found himself struggling. Even for his usually disheveled self, he was looking a mess. The hair on the side of his head had grown way out and it looked bad with his dyed hair on top. Mr. Gunderson caught him checking it out in the reflection of the toaster at breakfast one day. 

“You know, if you need a haircut, I’m a barber by trade,” he said. “I’ve been cutting my own hair this whole time.” Chet snorted and looked at the man. His flat top looked as fresh as it did the day Chet had moved in. He clearly had skill. But he couldn’t trust his head of hair to a man who thought that haircut looked good. It was too old fashioned, too severe!

“Thanks but I don’t think I need a flat top,” Chet rebutted.

“Well every boy needs a good flat top,” Mr. Gunderson laughed. “But I can cut other styles too.”

Chet considered it. It would be nice to still look fresh even though he was in lockdown.

“Ok, but just touch up the fade. I definitely like the frazzled, dyed curve on top.”

Mr. Gunderson shuddered. There was nothing he appreciated less than this rebellious hair on an otherwise handsome young man. Chet could look so nice if he just shaved, committed to a nice conservative haircut, and did something about all those ratty old clothes he wore. He was the same size as his son Gilbert and Mr. Gunderson couldn’t stop thinking how nice Chet could look in a nice bowtie and plaid shirt like Gilbert liked to wear. 

“Sure,” said Mr. Gunderson with a wicked grin and his fingers crossed. “I’ll just give you a little touch up.” He grabbed his barber’s cape and draped it over Chet before going to grab his clippers out of the garage. Chet rolled his eyes and waited as the boring tones of Mr. Gunderson’s old Bert Kaempfert record played from the living room. Was he really about to get a haircut from a man this old fashioned? Before he could change his mind, Mr. Gunderson was back and the clippers were whirring. 

Chet sipped from a beer as he felt the clippers cut across the back of his neck. It felt great as the curly neck hairs dropped away and Chet could feel the wind of the ceiling fan brush across his neck. He had missed that feeling. He glanced down at the cape and saw more and more locks of hair drop and slide down the shiny black fabric as Mr. Gunderson did his work. Maybe he really did have what it takes for a modern fade.

Chet sipped on his beer and relaxed when suddenly he felt the clippers graze across the top of his head and saw a shock of green hair fall down the cape. He started to protest but Mr. Gunderson gave him a stern look and Chet fell silent. He couldn’t quite explain it but there was something in Mr. Gunderson’s gaze that just shut him right up. He wanted to fight back, but part of him wanted to comply. Chet felt his rebellious attitude squirm back down into the pit of his stomach as he sat there compliant.

He shook in fear as more and more green hair tumbled down the cape. He should stop him. He should stop Mr. Gunderson right now! But part of him enjoyed the thrill. He hadn’t expected that. Some part of him was honestly relieved that Mr. Gunderson was taking charge. Chet felt a tightness in his skinny jeans as his penis grew to attention. He was enjoying it! A moan of ecstasy escaped his lips as Chet felt a wet spot in his underpants. He was dripping with precum with every swipe Mr. Gunderson was taking. 

Finally Chet felt the clippers run down the top of his head so tightly that he could feel them graze the top of his scalp. He was jelly, shaking in the seat. He wanted to say something but he just heard a tiny squeak come out of his mouth as Mr. Gunderson gripped his shoulder and said “No talking, son.” 

“Yes Sir,” Chet said, at first shocked by his compliance, and then humiliated, and then pleased. It felt good to submit to this man. Chet felt the older man’s strong hands as they began to work a thick paste into his hair. He could feel just how short each bristle of hair had been taken on the sides but the shocker was how short it was on top. Chet couldn’t have more than an inch there now. Mr. Gunderson pulled out the blow dryer and began running the brush over Chet’s shorn locks. 

“I may have taken a little more off than you were expecting,” Mr. Gunderson said with a grin as he handed Chet the mirror. Chet gasped when he saw himself in the mirror. The rebellious green curve of hair he had was completely shorn away. Mr. Gunderson had given him a flat top just like the one he gave himself and his son Gilbert. All that was left was a narrow ring of jet black hair standing at a perfect ninety degree angle to the rest of his head. Chet tilted his head downward and stared at the bald spot Mr. Gunderson had shaved into the top.

“What the fuck is this!?” he groaned. With a crack, Mr. Gunderson slapped him across the face. 

“I won’t have that kind of language in my home, do you understand me?” he barked at Chet. 

“Yes,” said Chet, a little shocked. Mr. Gunderson slapped him across the face once more.

“Yes WHAT?”

“Yes, S-s-s-sir!” Chet stammered, taken aback by how forceful Mr. Gunderson had become, but also shocked at how his body was reacting. He could feel himself shrinking from the older man, but also his erection was raging beneath the cape. He liked being treated this way! It was so humiliating, but also felt so right.

“A boy like you should have been given a cut like this a long time ago. We’re going to make this a weekly habit of yours. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Chet, before quickly adding “SIR!”

“Now lay back, it’s time we did something about that terrible beard of yours.”

“But...” began Chet before feeling Mr. Gunderson’s sharp gaze on him. “I mean, thank you Sir.” Chet felt humiliated. All this time he had spent playing in a rock band, rebelling against norms, being a total queer freak... and here he was erotically thrilled to be dominated by this forceful man who was making him into a clean-cut little conformist. 

Mr. Gunderson began slathering the hot lather on Chet’s face. Chet whimpered as Mr. Gunderson dragged the straight razor across his neck and cheeks, wincing as he saw the sheer amount of beard coming off in each swoop. After a few minutes, Mr. Gunderson wiped off the remaining shaving cream and splashed Chet’s face with an excessive amount of Old Spice. The sting shocked Chet and he gasped before the overwhelming stench of the aftershave overtook his senses. It was so powerful and reminded Chet of all the old-fashioned men he had known growing up. This was not the way that queer hipsters smelled! But the odor made him feel warm and contented, and extremely horny. 

“You’ll be using this every day,” Mr. Gunderson said as he handed Chet a large bottle of the stuff. “This is the same thing I use and the only thing my son Gilbert has ever used.” He pulled the cape off Chet and sent the remaining scatters of slime green hair falling to the floor. He handed Chet a broom and dustpan. “I expect this floor to be spotless.” Chet just uttered a meek “Yes Sir” and immediately got to sweeping as Mr. Gunderson retired to the living room to flip his record.

Chet finished sweeping and retired to his room. He ran his hands over the humiliatingly short and conservative haircut and felt himself rise to attention again. The landing strip on top was particularly humiliating but Chet couldn’t stop thinking about how powerless he had been in Mr. Gunderson’s chair and how much he enjoyed that. He would have done whatever the old man had asked of him. He started at himself in the mirror, at the clean cut boy he had become, and beat off furiously as he rubbed the sharp sides of his flat top and the smooth landing strip. He had never cum that hard in his life and he sprayed all over his fresh cut hair. The humiliation overtook Chet again and he realized he was powerless to stop it. He belonged to Mr. Gunderson now.

A week later when Mr. Gunderson demanded Chet sit down for his next haircut, there was something warmer about the man. He praised Chet for how well he was maintaining his clean cut face and how he could definitely smell the Old Spice he was using.

“There’s just one problem, son,” he said.

“What’s that, Sir?” Chet stammered out. 

“I won’t have someone in my home that dresses like they pulled their clothes out of the dumpster. My son Gilbert left a few of his outfits behind. After we’re done here, you’re going to bring me all of your clothes and we will throw them out and replace them with respectable clothing.”

“No w--” Chet stammered before hesitating. He saw the mean look in Mr. Gunderson’s eyes and immediately become aroused. Mr. Gunderson was going to completely tailor Chet’s appearance and he knew there was no way to fight it. What would he do? Leave? He couldn’t! And besides, he was already leaking precum just thinking about how embarrassed he would feel in Gilbert’s conservative clothing.

Chet went back up to his room, freshly flattened and his hair standing to perfection and brought all his clothes down in a trash bag so Mr. Gunderson could throw them out. Soon after, Mr. Gunderson came down from the attic with some old boxes of Gilbert’s and began showing Chet his new wardrobe: plaid shirts, high rise pants, bow ties, suspenders, even a few old pocket protectors. Mr. Gunderson patiently taught Chet how to tie a bow tie and by the end of the evening, he was dressed exactly the way that Gilbert was in all the family photos. 

Chet gulped when he saw himself in the mirror. All rebellion and individuality had been removed from his appearance. He looked like a nice clean cut nerd from the 1960s and he could barely recognize himself. The bow tie was tied nice and chokingly-tight as the starched collar of the plaid shirt scratched his neck. His pants were held above his belly button with a pair of vintage suspenders. A pair of white slouchy socks peeked out from below the hem as Mr. Gunderson slipped a pair of Gilbert’s brown suede Hush Puppies on to Chet’s feet. With the exception of the glasses, Chet looked just like a dark haired version of Gilbert. But luckily he had his contacts so he didn’t need glasses.

“Take them out,” Mr. Gunderson said almost reading his mind.

“Sorry Sir?” asked Chet hesistantly.

“Take out your contacts,” he demanded. Chet gulped and ran to the bathroom where he pulled the contacts out of his eyes and put them in the case. He hurried back to Mr. Gunderson, stumbling a few times as he bumped into an end table in the hallway. Mr. Gunderson snatched the contacts out of his hand and threw them in the garbage.

“Here, try these on.” He handed Chet a clunky pair of frames. The prescription wasn’t quite the same but he could see well enough. Now from head to toe, he looked like a retro cleancut nerd. Chet had always been embarrassed of his bad vision but now being embarrassed was a perk. The thick lenses made his eyes look tiny and the retro frames made him look so old fashioned. They were black plastic with a clear bridge, the kinds of glasses people didn’t wear anymore. They were retro nerd glasses.

“You look perfect, Chester,” Mr. Gunderson said.

“My name is Chet,” Chet said. 

“I’ve seen the lease you signed,” Mr. Gunderson said. “You and I both know that Chet is short for Chester, your real name. It’s disrespectful to not use the real name your father gave you, isn’t it, Chester?”

Chet was overwhelmed with humiliation. He hadn’t been called Chester since he was a child. But he knew he couldn’t say no to Mr. Gunderson.

“Yes Sir,” Chester said. “My name is Chester.”

Mr. Gunderson smiled. “That’s right, Chester. Now it’s almost 9pm. Don’t you think you should be getting ready for bed?”

Chester just gulped. Going to bed at 9pm was humiliating but what else could he do?

“Yes Sir,” he said as he headed up and got ready. When he arrived in his bedroom, he found a stack of freshly folded tighty whiteys on his twin bed. On the back waistband of each pair Mr. Gunderson has stitched in a tag that read “CHESTER.” Chester knew he’d be wearing these every day from here on out. 

The next morning, Mr. Gunderson was up nice and early and he made Chester hand over all his decor. He redecorated the room with Gilbert’s old furniture. Chester’s queen sized bed was replaced with a modest twin bed and all the weird art and albums on the walls were replaced with science posters and signed Star Trek pictures. Chester felt a twinge of humiliation as he saw Mr. Gunderson take his possessions out to the curb but the need to submit to the man was more powerful. He barely even put up a fight as Mr. Gunderson took his guitar away.

“A good boy like you shouldn’t be playing a guitar anyways,” Mr. Gunderson said as he snapped the neck of the instrument. He unlatched a large box that he had brought down from the attic and revealed a shiny red enameled accordion. “You’re going to learn how to play a more respectable instrument. This is one of Gilbert’s spare accordions. Since he has so much time off right now, he’s even agreed to teach you how to play over Zoom so I’ve arranged for him to give you lessons every morning from 8am until 10am.” Chester’s boner raged from the humiliation and it took all his energy to muster out a meek “Thank you Sir.”

Chester was humiliated during his first lesson as he was tutored by the equally nerdy and meek Gilbert. Just hearing someone as nerdy as Gilbert correct him and call him Chester was overwhelming. Every time Gilbert would tell him “Gee whiz, Chester, you’re sounding better and better,” Chester would respond with a geeky “Thanks friendarino” as his erection dripped with precum. He couldn’t get enough of it! Soon, the lessons had taken on a more familiar tone as it was clear Gilbert had a crush on Chester. Chester could barely handle it. Just a few months back he had been making out with all kinds of hot skeezy punks at the bar. Now he was getting hit on by a four eyed nerd in a bow tie. And when Gilbert asked him if they could be internet boyfriends, Chester couldn’t help but say yes. Now he was a huge nerd dating another huge nerd over the internet.

Eventually Chester became an expert accordionist and the pandemic became a thing of the past. Gilbert finished his engineering degree and moved back home. Mr. Gunderson wouldn’t let the two share a room so they did the only logical thing and made things official. Mr. Gunderson called a local Episcopalian priest and he swung by to marry the two nerdy boys. Chester couldn’t believe it. Gilbert and Chester Gunderson were two married nerds! They wore their bowties and pocket protectors and matching glasses every day and even though they were married, Mr. Gunderson made them sleep in separate twin beds in the same room. Each one would play the accordion during their weekly appointments where Mr. Gunderson, whom they both now called “Dad” gave them identical flat tops before sending them back to their shared room for more practice and a fun night of chess. There was nothing cool or hip or modern anymore about Chester. His every moment was one of abject humiliation, and he couldn’t be happier. 

It’s time to sacrifice your modern hipness and become a retro nerd. Join other nerds at the nerdification discord. 

[bald-tales]

The Mohawk - by Titan

The kid was obviously drunk but the barman wasn't worried. The two regulars in front of him had promised they'd get his drunken arse home. Besides, the kid had been so full of himself when he first arrived at the bar - rabbiting on about turning 21 and finally being legal,he thought the kid deserved to be taught a lesson..  He was certainly a looker alright. Thick, blonde, perfectly style wavy hair with a decent amount of whiskers forming a goatee. 

The kid had been celebrating all night. But in the last hour his friends had tired of his obnoxious outburst and called it a night. What they hadn't realised was their bar hopping had brought them finally into a leather bar where the kid was definitely standing out.  The kid's name was Kelly and he was totally oblivious to the sexual orientation of his new found drinking buddies at the bar.  At just over 6 feet and carrying the muscle tone of a top athlete the men at the bar couldn't take their eyes off the prize trophy before them. 

Ren and Clive were friends of twenty years. They couldn't wait to teach this 'jock' a lesson, especially seeing the kid was fascinated by their hair.  He asked Ren what had happened to his hair with a snicker. Ren was totally bald. Not a shadow of hair on his head. He made up for it with a thick, dark goatee. Of course the drunken Kelly pointed out to all around that Ren's hair had migrated to his face. Then he turned to Clive and asked him if he was in the marines. He wore his hair in a tight, shaved flat-top. Then again he blurted out how with a mustache the size of Clive's wasn't very military.  He didn't notice the powder being added to his drinks. 

One of Clive´s and Ren´s good friends came over to the bar.  "Now what sort of haircut do you call that 'bro'?" yelled Kelly as he downed his laced drink.  "Who's your new friend?" asked the startled newcomer.  "This is Kelly and he is celebrating his 21st." Ren answered."Kelly this is Caleb and his haircut is called a mo-hawk.. The're pretty popular around here you know."  "Well you wouldn't catch me dead looking like that......"Kelly stuttered before he passed out.  As they picked up there new-found friend Clive asked Caleb if he wanted to help them teach Kelly some manners?  "When do we start?" was all Caleb could answer.  "Why not right away." Clive answered. 

Kelly was driven to a nearby barbershop owned by Ren. He loved his craft and he was about to make Kelly over. Jocks with smart mouths was a specialty. Caleb brought in a small bag that contained his tools of craft. "what are you going to do?" asked Caleb as he watched the now naked Kelly asleep in the barber's oversized chair.  "What about a headshave to get rid of all his pretty hair." Caleb offered.  "No! I have a better idea. I think he took a real shinning to your hairstyle." Ren snickered as he fired up his balding clippers. "He needs to look a little more cutting edge." 

The heavy duty teeth of the clippers quickly attacked the thick, blonde hair, with each pass of the clipper, more scalp visible.  Soon Kelly's head was bald except for a 1 inch strip down the centre only extending to the crown. It was reduced further to a mere half inch in thickness before it was treated with a hair dye. Soon the blonde mo-hawke was jet black.  His decent beard growth was also coloured black before the edging clippers started to attack the kid's impressive whiskers.  The goatee was reduced to a thick line from the bottom lip to the chin while the mustache was reduced to sit just above the top lip, again being less then a half inch wide.  Lather was applied to Kelly's face and head before Ren expertly ran the razor over the blonde stubble. As the razor revealed more smooth skin Clive and Caleb couldn't believe the change in Kelly's appearance. 

Caleb was next to work his magic on Kelly. Opening up his leather satchel he brought out an assortment of metal jewellery.  "The kid needs some metal don't you think Ren?"  "Yeah Caleb, but don't overdo it. I know what you're like when you start piercing new guy's." Ren answered as he spread a thick cream over the newly shaved side and back of Kelly's head.  "What's that stuff?" asked Caleb as he began to pierce each of Kelly's ear lobes.  "Something to keep the mohawk just in case he changes his mind." Ren said as he rubbed the cream in. "He may start growing some hair back but I doubt it. Just as well he is out of it otherwise he'd feel the burning as his hair follicles die."  "Well he is going to flip when he sees these thick, gold, rings dangling from each ear, and to make sure he can't take them out I'll use some of my special glue on the joins." The bright gold of the rings stood out against the shiny,smooth head.  Caleb didn't stop there as he went for the nipples, using a similar gauge ring to match his ears. 

Caleb plunged a syringe into each of Kelly's nipples causing them to lengthen as collagen was injected. He watched their size increase as he emptied the contents.  He would later pierce them with heavy, gauge rings which would make the nipples hang under their weight.  No more T-shirts for this guy. A septum ring was added falling across his upper lip adding to the new look.  Finally a pair of headphones were placed over his ears. The messages he would start to hear in his subconscious would be his love for man on man sex and how he was going to be a slut from now on.

Finally, after two hours,Kelly was brought around and as his eyes opened he seemed to be looking at some punk guy. When he moved the figure in the mirror did the same.  As his hand reached up to feel his head he could feel the smooth skin. All he could do was stare in silence.

[zanesgirlfriend]

Overtone | Jeff Wittek

Description: The reader is a guest on an episode of Jeff’s Barber Shop

Requested?: yes by anonymous : Hi if ur taking request I’d love one with Jeff where he and the reader are dating and they make a cute video of him dying her hair pink or somethin

A/N: I love this idea thank you for the request bby :)

_____

“Babe, have you ever even dyed hair?” She let out a worried giggled as she sat in her boyfriends barber chair.

“No, but I’ve also never cut a girls hair.” He told her as he started spraying her hair with water. Her eyes almost popped out of her head.

“Jeff! I don’t want you to fuck up my hair!” She twirled around and looked at him.

“If I do fuck it up I could always just shave your head.” He looked at the camera with a deadpan. His camera man smiled, but y/n didn’t find his joke very funny.

“You’re the one that has to look at my bald head every night. Remember that.” She crossed her arms over her chest and turned back towards the cameras as he started to cut her hair.

“That’s a fair point.” He started snipping away, using a picture of Natalie’s hair for length and style reference. Her heart was beating faster as she started to panic.

“Jeff, baby, you’re cutting off a lot and it’s really stressing me out.” Her voice was calm but the tone was serious. He laughed and looked at the little snippets of split ends on the floor.

“I’m not cuttin’ off as much as you think, trust me, I don’t think baldness suits you.” He continued evening her hair out before adding the Overtone to it.

“What color are you dying my hair?” She asked as the smell of it wafted through the air. Jeff smiled at the camera as his friend held up a cue card with a script.

“That question brings us to today’s sponsor, Overtone.” He continued talking about the product, pausing in the middle to curse at himself for his lack of reading skills. Y/n giggled and helped him out with the big words.

“That didn’t answer my question.” She laughed when he was finished.

“What was your question?” He asked, knowing full well what her question was.

“What color are you making my hair?” She bounced a little in her seat as she contemplated turning around to look.

“It’s a surprise.” He grabbed her head and forced it to stay straight. He continued to lather the product in her hair.They filmed some stupid skits for his video while they waited for the dye to set. Y/n guessed every color of the rainbow, to which Jeff replied ‘no’. 

“It’s time to wash it out!” She exclaimed as the timer on her phone went off. The cameras followed the couple into Jeff’‘s bathroom so the could wash it out.

“I’m gonna need you to wear a blindfold so you don’t see the color.” He handed her a shirt to hold over her eyes as he rinsed.

“I thought we only did that in the bedroom.” She smirked at him, obviously joking for the camera.

“Hey!” He grabbed her and playfully bent her over the tub. “I would fuck you right now if all these people weren’t here.” He whispered the last part in her ear. “Now hold this over your eyes.” He gave her the blindfold once again.

“Okay, Daddy.” She laughed as she covered her eyes. He smacked her ass and turned the water on. Once her hair was rinsed he led her back to the chair so he could blow dry and style it.

“Are you ready to see it.” He asked as he turned the flat iron off.

“Yes, yes, hurry up. I wanna make sure you didn’t botch it.” She tapped her feet as he grabbed the handheld mirror.

“Okay, three, two, one.” He flipped the mirror and she looked at herself.

“Jeff.” She took in her hair color and cut.

“Do you like it?” He started to feel nervous that she hated it.

“No.” She said seriously before smiling. “I love it, what the fuck? Jeff, How did you do this?” Y/n ran a hand through her hair, noticing how smooth the ombre from her natural color to the light yet rosy pink color.

“It wasn’t me, it was Overtone.” He looked dramatically back up to the camera and smiled. “You really like it though?” He looked his girlfriend in the eyes and smiled. She was radiating happiness.

“Yes, babe, I really do.” She smiled up at him and grabbed his head, bringing him down for a kiss.

“All right! I can do girls’ hair now!” He screamed and pumped his fist in excitement.

[jaydcstories]

Read this and other stories on my blog: JOHN DEE COOPER'S ALL-MALE SLAVERY STORIES

PAULO by John Dee Cooper © 2020

Chapter 5 “Closer!”

Luis crept forward, nervously conscious of his naked body, until he was standing midway between the Señor’s outspread legs.

“On your knees!”

He knelt down. With his back to me I wasn’t able to see everything that was going on, but it looked as if the Señor was giving him a thorough looking over, testing the strength of his neck and shoulders, grabbing hold of his thick curly hair, checking behind his ears, looking inside his mouth — all the while Miguel standing there writing notes down in a little book.

“Up!”

Luis got back onto his feet, still facing the Señor who’s attention now was on his chest and tummy — and, so it seemed, his private parts. Luis winced a few times, and when he was told to turn around so that the Señor could look at his back, it was clear from the expression on the boy’s face that he didn’t like what was going on.

Luis’s body was slim and muscular with a smooth golden tan. He was agile. A handsome, healthy sixteen-year old. But with  the Señor’s fat fingers crawling all over him he looked tense and vulnerable, and I couldn’t help noticing that his cock, which was already quite thick and heavy, had begun to stir.

“Touch your toes!”

Luis did as he was told while the Señor used a torch to explore between his buttocks and this time I could clearly see him reaching through to take hold of Luis’s balls, giving them a tug and making poor Luis squeal.

“On your knees.”

Down he went and I could see how scared he was as the Señor grabbed his wrists and bound them together behind his back.

What happened next took us all by surprise, not least poor Luis. The Señor took some electric shears and shaved off the boy’s thick flock of curly black hair. Every bit of it. There was nothing subtle about the way he did it. No warning. He just ploughed through it all without any thought for Miguel’s feelings.  We watched it fall in great clumps onto the floor in front of Miguel who cursed and swore. When he tried to wriggle out of reach of the shears he got a hard slap across the back of his head.

Within seconds Miguel was completely transformed. He stared up at us like a frightened animal. He was as bald as a new born baby and there were tears in his eyes.

We were all stunned. Rico swore under his breath. Adolpho stomped his feet and made angry noises from behind his gag. Tomas and I just gasped. The Señor had his hands full, but we could see from the look in his eyes that he’d taken full note of this outburst. The Keeper, who was watching from the door, cracked his whip and that quietened everyone down.

“Up and face me.”

Trembling with fear and humiliation, Miguel got up and turned towards the Señor. We could see now that it was his thumbs that had been bound together with thin plastic zip tags, not his wrists.   The shears buzzed away again, this time smoothing away the hairs on his tummy and around his genitals. The Señor took a moment to admire his handiwork, then keeping a firm grip on Luis’s neck dragged him over to the shower.

Luis threw me a glance as he staggered past. We hardly knew each other but I could see from the shame and anger in his face that he wasn’t the same boy any more. He was like some kind of shivering alien and his bald scalp and hairless body made him look more naked than ever.

Before the Señor had a chance to turn the shower on, a phone rang and he vanished leaving us under the eagle eye of the Keeper. Tomas looked up at me and I thought he was going to whisper something but I gave him a nudge to stop him. We couldn’t take any risks. When I was sure the Keeper wasn’t looking, I gave his arm a gentle squeeze to reassure him that there was nothing to worry about. I don’t think he believed me.

We could hear the Señor talking on the phone. There was something about an English ship leaving early in the morning and about getting his cargo aboard before midnight. He called Miguel over for a quick word then asked the Slave Keeper to lend him a hand.

All this time poor Luis had been hovering nervously by the shower, looking more miserable than ever and trying to get used to having no hair. When the Keeper came striding towards him, his heavy boots scraping the floor and the instruments of pain jingling from his belt, I had to look away. I was sure Luis was going to get a beating. But it seems the Keeper was just there to hold him steady and stop him squirming about — because of what was about to happen next.

The Señor was busying himself with a large needle, some thread and a metal tag. He wrote something on the tag with a special kind of pen and then took it and the needle over to a small gas fixture in the wall. He put on a thick glove, lit the gas and held the needle over the flame until it was red hot.

The keeper had his arm round Luis’s neck to keep him still while the Señor pushed his head to one side and forced the red hot needle through his earlobe.

Luis screamed — as much in shock as in pain. The Keeper had the devil of a job keeping him still while the Señor dragged the thread through the hole he’d made in his ear. When it was secure he tied the metal tag to it.   They were close enough for me to get a good look at the tag when the Señor stepped away. There were some numbers written on it and what I assumed to be the Señor’s sign or logo. It hung there like a weird sort of price tag with a dribble of blood oozing from the wound.

Next the Señor reached down and grabbed Luis’s balls between his fingers and thumb, wound a leather strip around the stem of the ball sac and knotted it tight. When he let go, Luis’s balls hung low in a neat round bundle.

While all this was going on things were getting jumpy up on the platform. The Keeper had left the door open and, despite being bound and gagged, Adolpho decided to make a dash for it. Luis’s screams must have sent him crazy. The idiot. He was never going to get ver far.

I kept as still as I could and made sure Tomas did the same, but I could see that Rico was thinking about it. He had one foot off the platform when the Keeper shouted, “FREEZE!” so loudly it made my blood curdle. Rico’s foot shot back onto the platform and in his panic, Adolpho slipped and fell with a nasty bang on the tiled floor.

The speed and efficiency of what happened next was terrifying. The Keeper dropped Luis and grabbed Adolpho by the hair, hoisted him onto his feet and marched him over to a corner where there was some kind of pulley fixed to the ceiling. He tied ropes round Adolpho’s ankles and hauled him up till he was dangling with his head inches from the ground.

“Give him twenty strokes,” shouted the Señor. “Twenty more if we have any more disturbances. And keep it clean. No permanent marks.” The Keeper rolled his shoulders and flexed his biceps, tested his cane with a few practice swipes, then whacked the boy’s trembling buttocks. Adolpho, who still had tape over his mouth, could only let out a muffled scream but he jerked about so much it looked as if he was going to shake himself free and come crashing down onto the tiled floor. But the ropes held and we watched in horror as the Keeper administered the full compliment of strokes, only pausing once to catch his breath. Adolpho’s piteous strangled cries reverberated round the room  and turned our stomach’s to jelly.    

“If any more of you annoy me or step out of line,” warned the Señor, “your friend there will get twenty more strokes on your behalf — and you might even join him.” This was my first experience of slave punishment and it was unlike anything I had witnessed at the Orphanage. Things could get pretty brutal there, but this — this was something else. Adolpho was strung up like a piece of meat. He hardly looked human anymore. The Keeper showed no compassion. He was simply doing what had to be done.

While we were all being taught this terrifying lesson, the Señor finished Luis’s preparation, pushed him into the shower and turned on the cold water. It was Miguel’s job to keep him in there while he lathered him all over with soap. There was a frenzy of squealing and cursing until eventually the smooth motion of Miguel’s soapy fingers seemed to calm Luis down and he surrendered to the icy cold torrent. Perhaps remembering what the Señor had said earlier, I noticed he was also gulping down as much of the water as he could manage.

The shower was turned off and Luis was sent back to his place on the platform. There was no towel. He had to scamper across the tiled floor dripping like a drowned puppy, his smooth skin glistening and his stiff cock and neatly tethered balls bouncing around like an angry fist.

“Now, where had we got to?” murmured the Señor once Luis was back in place and Adolpho’s shrieks had subsided. “Oh yes, the young fellow here.”

He grabbed the terrified Tomas and pulled him off the platform.

“Now it’s your turn.”

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 41

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 8. Go to previous. Go to next. In a wasteland survival fic, does this chapter constitute schmoop?

________________________________

Locked up in his head as they walked along the modular concrete hallways of the Research and Development wing, ‘Choly had just shared with Angel what Olivia had described of the base, and their plans for the next day. He wanted to avoid this building as much as possible.

“Sir, allow me to take you across grounds,” Angel insisted alongside him. “You just installed these handles and footrests on me, and you should--”

“--I’m fhhine,” he slurred, waving a hand at the Handy. “Just trying to draft the order of... how to go about settling back in. How to cover the least distance. Optimize the path to a bed, if I can.”

“You don’t seem fine, but I won’t press it... Perhaps you’d like to start with the enlisted barracks, and work your way over to the officers’ barracks? You could... start things off with a nice, hot shower? Hm-hm?”

He stuttered awe under his breath in Russian, and tried to ignore any suggestion that he looked as inebriated as he felt.

“They have hot water?” he mouthed at Angel.

“Deenwood hosts so many things! Come along now. It’s already past nineteenth hour, and you’ve told Miss Olivia that we’ll rejoin at sixth tomorrow. We must get you washed and dressed and fed.” It chortled anxiously. “Thank you, for at least letting me escort you.”

“There’s just something about being on base again that’s making me feel... right,” he defended, implicitly begging that it let him enjoy the moment. “You’re more than just my mobility, Angel. So much more.”

Halfway across the courtyard, a Mister Gutsy intercepted them.

“Captain,” it grunted in affirmative. “I’ve been tasked with running errands for you tonight. Give the order.”

“Ah, yes... Green Three?” he fielded, gauging by the white lettering on its dull green side. He’d never really noticed non-personnel G.A. robots went by designations, but it made sense. “I... I suppose it’s gauche for me to be on base in anything but uniform, all things considered. Could you outfit me fresh?”

“Yes, Sir!” G-3′s triplicate golden ocular lenses scrutinized his form before stiffening in place. “Measurements taken.”

“That’s all for now. Angel and I are headed to the showers at the enlisted barracks.”

“Deliver the uniform to Mister Handy nicknamed Angel, at the enlisted barracks’ baths. Roger.” It sped off toward the storage building which stood between the R&D wing they’d just exited and the Robotics wing--the only three hangar-like concrete structures on the property.

The two of them arrived at the enlisted barracks at the North end of the property. To the left lay the soldiers’ quarters, while to the right lay the community showers. The enlisted mess hall stood separate from this building behind it. Without hesitation he turned right, then right again into the men’s side, and handed Angel his cane so that he could disrobe. He deposited his Pip-Boy, visor, orthotics, hairpins, and clothing on a bench in the changing area. The notion of a working shower possessed him, carrying one step in front of the last, and before he knew it, he was turning the handle and standing directly under the water without even testing the temperature first, or checking that he was, in fact, all alone with Angel keeping watch.

Soon both the water and his relieved bliss ran hot down his cheeks. He shut his trembling eyes and lifted his face to the apparent water pressure. He left his mouth open a moment to trap water, which he squirted out for effect. After some time his head dipped, to let the hot water stream down his aching neck and back. Angel eventually interrupted his detachment from reality. Being handed his toiletries got him crying like at a wedding.

Lathering his hair, ‘Choly thought to his initial impression to encountering Olivia again like this. Her smart style with one side shaved that apparently compensated for a balding patch, her thick phlegmatic voice, her exposed turbinates, her... her... He really was attracted to ghouls now, wasn’t he? He remembered his promise to Angel--use Rad-X--and ribald notions of both Olivia and Hawthorne alike melted him apart where he stood.

He stood. Angel was right. He didn’t remember standing this much in a day, in months. His blood pressure didn’t feel like it had dipped or spiked. His posture didn’t feel especially infirm. He still ached, and the cane still made the going easier... but he didn’t quite feel himself.

I should be crumpled over by now, bathing on a folding chair, he reasoned. I spent my morning repairing Bogey. It told me about the Rust Devils. I blew an hour on a bucket of golf balls. I traveled nearly two hours atop Angel without stopping, and avoided a Rust Devil attack right when we got to Chelmsford. I found out one of my coworkers survived and is still alive, and we got drunk... “And now I’m standing in the first hot shower I’ve had in two hundred years, waiting for the water to run cold and slap me in the face so I wake up. Too much for one day. Too much in so many ways.”

When he finally turned the water off, he dried himself and sat on the bench in the changing area. The Gutsy had brought a folded khaki uniform and a set of skivvies to match, combat boots in his size, and also a navy bathrobe. He slipped on the tee, underwear, and robe once his skin was dry enough, but didn’t tie the waist. His eyes widened as he toweled at his hair.

“Or maybe the problem is, I feel exactly like myself.”

He favored the ankle stability of a boot, over low quarters like his oxfords. Lacking confirmation that any living persons but Olivia and himself existed on this base, he remained in the bathrobe for the rest of the night. As he put his Pip-Boy back on, he noticed his orthotics, Vault Suit, and Pharm Corps coat had gone missing, only because his nameplate and bars lay on the bench atop the folded fresh uniform.

“Did G-3 take my effects, Angel?” he called.

“G-3 said that it waited until you had a convenient time to change clothes, to take them. It boasted that it knew a thing or two about getting out blood stains. As do I ! I tried to tell it that I could operate laundry equipment with my sensors disabled, but it insisted that I stay by you, as your escort.” Angel reentered the baths to hover before him. “My word, Sir. I... I have to say how good it is to be back at Deenwood. We robots might have our exceptions with one another, but we were a complex and thriving network of chums. Just as you befriended your colleagues.”

‘Choly stared at the rectangular brooch of metal and brightly dyed embroidered ribbon, signifying ten years of stripes and pips mounted together. What did he really have to show for his decade of service? His throat caught at length, until he pinned his nameplate and bars to the robe in lieu of his coat.

“I... didn’t have friends,” he finally said in passing, starting toward the front door. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Finally hungry enough to do something about it. Shall we see if the officers’ mess hall’s furnished?”

They crossed South to the officers’ side of the property in the brisk night air. Entering the mess hall, he encountered a modestly cozy arrangement of vinyl-upholstered chrome chairs in sets of four at eight round tables. Large fake potted plants tucked themselves to each corner, and beside each support column. To one side of the space, he’d have found the beverage offerings, while to the other, he found an à la carte window winged by a pair of Eat-O-Tronic machines. In one, he found MREs, and in the other, he would have found desserts. After his experience with the pharmacy break room, it relieved him to find no moldy remains in the vending slots; in the same stroke, he praised the base’s stockpile of perfectly preserved rations. He eagerly selected the beef tips and mashed potatoes package, but before he could get it open, the Mister Handy at the window hemmed and held out a pincer.

“Monsieur, if I could get that for you,” it began, in a French accent.

“...Yes, of course.” He handed it over dumbly. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure!” In a flash, it produced a tray with the now-heated contents of the MRE on a plate, including the instant cocoa packet. “Bon appetit!”

“...I could have... Oh, no matter.” Angel zipped over to at least pull the chair for ‘Choly. “Sir, while you dine, I’d love the chance to catch up with Louis, if I may. I’ll be within earshot.” It didn’t await confirmation before darting behind the swinging door in the far corner.

The potatoes couldn’t help tasting like cardboard two hundred years later, but the beef tendered up like it had never been preserved in a jerky-like state, and the gravy had him lolling back in the chair to savor it. The soy-based cocoa struck him as an innocent indulgence amid the options he’d had in prior months. The hot mug in his hands comforted him, and he couldn’t help but smile dopily at hearing the two Mister Handies in the kitchen chatting and laughing unintelligibly.

Angel’s not lonely here.

'Choly took his tray back to the window once he was done, and he and Angel thanked Louis and bid it goodnight. The walk from the mess hall was short, but was incumbent of the most anticipated part of the night for him. The officers’ residential block was a set of three identical rows of twelve two-story rowhouses apiece. Habitually, he walked up the three steps of the second row’s third door, like always, and opened the front door on bated breath. Standing in the entryway, he flicked on the light switch to find the electricity worked, and he smiled in distraction as he took in the thick layer of dust on every surface. The dark green velour couch and armchair were still there, as were the hanging floor lamp, the coffee table, and the kitchen table and chairs.

“I have my work cut out for me,” Angel beamed. It shut the door behind them and immediately set to dusting off the living room.

Compulsion seized him again, and he mounted the creaking stairs at a persistent, lurching pace until he stood in the doorway of what had once been his bedroom. The queen size mattress lay bare before him, in tact. His throat caught again, aghast, and he slumped against the door frame to gawk. It took a few tries before he successfully swallowed. Angel came up behind him after a spell.

“Oh Sir, are you all right?”

He looked to it with a haunted desperation.

“Nothing has felt this right since I thawed.”

He sniffed, and leveraged with his cane to stand fully again. He requested a canister of water, his toothbrush and toothpaste, mouthwash, and hairbrush, which Angel obliged, and he vanished into the upstairs bathroom closing the door behind him.

As he brushed his teeth, he stared at himself in the hoary glass mounted on the wall. A single crack ran from one corner to the other, right through the middle, but for the most part, the mirror functioned like a mirror. He nearly felt like the whole base had been transfigured by some perverse stasis just like he had, all but sheltered from the end of the world and here awaiting him all this time. He shivered and cinched his robe, then spat and moved on to the mouthwash.

Simple hygiene really is a luxury now, isn’t it? he thought to himself as he rinsed his face.

He came out of the bathroom to find that Angel had made his bed with the hospital blanket and pillows before vanishing back downstairs. He sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots and socks, and brushed out his hair which had finally dried by then. The brush went to the nightstand, and he hung the robe on the hook on the bathroom door. He turned out the lights, and passed out face-down in anticipation of the first quality sleep he’d gotten in two hundred years.

Go to Next »»»

[luckydoogs]

Dog care : PARASITES , Poisoning & Weather ...

From fleas and ticks to worms and Giardia, all dogs are susceptible to various parasites throughout their lifetime. Here’s an overview. 

External Parasites: Fleas and Ticks

The notorious enemy of all dogs, fleas have long caused serious problems for both animals and humans alike. (They are responsible for the plague!) Fleas are wingless insects that jump from host to host and feed on them. They can cause problems for dogs such as anemia, tapeworm (when a flea carrying tapeworm eggs is ingested), and allergic reactions. If your dog gets fleas—some signs including excessive scratching or biting of the skin, hair loss, hot spots, and flea dirt, which looks like specks of dirt but is flea droppings—first call your vet to determine an immediate treatment plan for your dog. Treatment might include a special shampoo or topical liquid that will kill the fleas and their eggs. Then contact a local exterminator to discuss options for banishing the pests from your yard; these experts can also tell you other ways to eliminate the fleas from your home, based on how bad the infestation is. For instance, the first steps could be washing all bedding in hot water and vacuuming every carpet and then disposing of the vacuum bag. Ticks, on the other hand, are arachnids. Like fleas, they will suck the blood out of their host, which can lead to anemia; they also transmit very dangerous illnesses such as Lyme disease, Rocky Mountain spotted fever and Ehrlichia. If you notice a tick on your dog, put on a pair of disposable gloves, wipe the area with rubbing alcohol and carefully remove the tick with a pair of tweezers. Make sure you pull the tick straight out (don’t twist it!) and check that you don’t leave any part of the critter behind. You should preserve the tick in a closed container with rubbing alcohol so if your dog does fall ill in the coming weeks, your vet can know which type of tick was the culprit. Wash the site where the tick was on your dog thoroughly and call your vet to discuss a further course of action. For both fleas and ticks, yearly prevention is your best bet—there are topical medications and oral pills, many of which are a two-for-one combo that prevents both parasites. Also, keep your dog’s bedding and living area clean and check here regularly for fleas and ticks, especially if you live in a humid or woody area.

Internal Parasites: Worms, Giardia, and Coccidia

  Unfortunately, in addition to being susceptible to external parasites, all dogs are also susceptible to internal parasites that can lead to a whole slew of health problems. The key is to work closely with your doctor to prevent these parasites if possible or treat them as soon as you notice any symptoms.

Here’s a breakdown: 

HEARTWORM

These are parasitic roundworms that live in the arteries and heart of an animal; they can grow as long as twelve inches and live up to seven years. The worm spreads from animal to animal via mosquito bites and can include symptoms such as weight loss, coughing, and difficulty breathing; it can eventually lead to heart failure, lung disease, even death. While heartworms are most prevalent in areas prone to mosquitos—such as along the Gulf of Mexico, the Atlantic Ocean coastline, and along the Mississippi River—it has been reported in all fifty states. According to the Food and Drug Administration (FDA), there are two drugs approved to treat heartworm disease; however, both are very costly and can be toxic for dogs. Instead, year-round prevention is the best medicine. The FDA has approved several products for safe, effective prevention of heartworm disease: such products are available as a topical liquid, oral tablets, or an injectable. Talk to your vet about which type is best for your dog.

OTHER WORMS

Roundworms, tapeworms, hookworms, and whipworms all live in the intestines of dogs, and they can cause serious issues ranging from weight loss and diarrhea to life-threatening anemia and lethargy. Roundworms and hookworms are also zoonotic, which means that they can be transmitted from an animal to a human. Notify your vet if your dog has diarrhea, a change in her appetite or coat, or excessive coughing. You may also notice the worms in your dog’s stool or under her tail. While the deworming that your dog probably got as a puppy will get her off to a good start, it’s still important to take further steps to protect your dog. For instance, tapeworms are passed to dogs from infected fleas, so a flea prevention regimen is key. The medicine you give your dog for heartworm prevention will likely also protect against most worms. What about protecting you and the other people in your family? Good hygiene, such as washing your hands as needed, will help ensure that if your dog ever does have worms, she won’t pass them on to you. 

GIARDIA AND COCCIDIA

When swallowed, these highly contagious, zoonotic, single-celled parasites can damage your dog’s intestinal lining and limit the number of nutrients she gets from food; they can also cause diarrhea. Fortunately, when detected, they can be eliminated with medication. 

Helping the Medicine Go Down

“My dog hates taking medicine. Any tips on how to get her to take a pill?”

Just like humans, some dogs take pills and other forms of medicine without a fight. Others seem to have a lot of difficulty with it. While there’s not a surefire “spoonful of sugar” technique that will work across the board, there are some tricks that can help. First, ask your vet if she has a chewable version of the medication. If not, hide the pill in a bit of wet dog food or inside a piece of soft meat, peanut butter, or cheese. You can also try using a special treat designed specifically to hide pills. However, plenty of clever dogs will catch on pretty quickly—they may somehow eat all their food and purposely avoid the pill, or they’ll chew up the treat and spit the pill back out. If that’s the case, gently open your dog’s mouth, put the pill at the base of her tongue, close her mouth and tilt it back until she swallows. If you think your dog might bite you, ask your vet for alternatives.

Poisoning

“My dogs just got into my trash and ate the remainder of the chocolate cake we threw out. I’ve heard chocolate is toxic for dogs. What should I do?”

Call your nearest poison control center or the ASPCA Animal Poison Control (888-426-4435), and get to your vet right away. I know some people might want to take a wait-and-see approach, but even a small amount of chocolate can be toxic to a dog, and it’s difficult for medical experts to determine how your dog is doing over the phone. The same goes for other toxins, ranging from raisins and houseplants to prescription meds and common household cleaners.  Getting your dog help immediately can also mean a better prognosis for her. Do not try to self-treat your dog or induce vomiting unless your vet or poison expert specifically tells you do to so. However, when you do get to the vet, it can be helpful if you can bring a sample and/or packaging of whatever item your dog ingested. 

Hot Weather

“I live in a state where it’s hot and humid all summer long. How do I help my dog handle the heat?”

I understand this question—I live in New Orleans, where the summer weather can be downright sweltering and stifling. Just as you take measures to protect yourself from the elements, it’s important to do the same for your dog. Here’s what to do:

Make sure your dog has an unlimited supply of water and, if she has to spend any time outside, plenty of shade.

 Your dog’s exercise needs don’t suddenly dwindle during hot spells. However, you’ll probably need to make modifications. For instance, play fetch or go for long walks first thing in the morning or at dusk when temperatures maybe a little cooler. Also, if your dog is, say, used to going for a five-mile run with you in the morning, you might want to scale back on that a bit until you’re sure she’s accustomed to the weather. Of course, always bring lots of extra water with you. 

I always advise against leaving your dog in a car unattended. However, that recommendation is especially crucial during summer months when the temperature in the car can rapidly skyrocket and feel like an oven. Don’t underestimate how quickly that can happen: According to the American Veterinary Medical Association, the temperature in your car can rise twenty degrees in only ten minutes, thirty degrees in twenty minutes, and so on. Even if it’s a comfortable eighty degrees outside, after thirty minutes it can be 114 degrees in the car.  In such temperatures, dogs can become severely dehydrated; some suffer brain damage, and many die. Cracking the window, even a few inches, doesn’t help. Just don’t leave your dog in the car alone. If you have to go somewhere and you can’t bring your dog inside with you, then leave her at home.

Whenever possible, walk your dog in the shade or on the grass. Asphalt, metal, and other substances can burn the pads on her paws. 

Make sure your dog has a fresh haircut, but don’t shave her—a dog’s fur can help protect her from the heat and sunburns.

Don’t forget about sunscreen! If your dog has any bald patches or little hair, make sure you lather her with protective lotion before you head out. Dogs’ noses and ears are also susceptible to sunburn. Talk to your vet about the best kind of sunscreen for your dog. 

Cold Weather

“I live in an area where winters are bitterly cold. Any tips on protecting my dog that time of year?”

Just as with excessively hot weather, cold weather climates come with their own set of potential dangers for dogs. Of course, how much your dog can tolerate will depend on her coat, size, age, amount of body fat, and overall health. Here are some safety precautions you can take: 

Know the dangers of antifreeze: it’s a sweet substance that dogs may find tasty, but even a tiny amount can poison your pet. Clean up any spills immediately.

If you live in an area where it snows, there will likely be salt on the sidewalks. Wipe your dog’s paws whenever you come into the house —the salt can irritate the pads of her feet and make her sick if she licks it. She may also have antifreeze or other chemicals on her paws that you need to remove. 

Don’t let your dog eat the snow—again, it can contain chemicals that could be toxic to her.

Always keep your pet on a leash, especially during a snowstorm, and make sure she’s wearing her ID tags at all times. More dogs are lost in winter than in any other season.9

If your dog has short hair and will tolerate clothing, consider getting her a coat or sweater that will keep her extra warm. Booties can help keep her paws toasty, too. 

Make sure your dog still gets plenty of exercise in cold weather (always keeping her safety in mind, of course). Many dogs love the snow, so bundle up and get outside. What if you or your dog just can’t handle the cold? The good news is that there are plenty of indoor classes for dogs.

Losing Teeth 

“I’m always finding my puppy’s little teeth around the house—I even found her chewing on one the other day. Is this normal?”

Yes, it’s normal. Dogs start developing twenty-eight baby teeth (also known as deciduous) at around three weeks of life. However, by four months these super-sharp tiny teeth start falling out to make room for forty-two permanent adult teeth. Whereas a child will take years to lose all her baby teeth, a dog will go through the process in a matter of months. You might find the teeth throughout the house, but chances are you never will. Many dogs swallow them, and that’s okay. Of course, call your vet if your dog loses a permanent tooth for any reason or if you notice that she has any retained teeth—that is, a baby tooth that stays in place even after the permanent tooth has erupted. These retained teeth can force the permanent teeth to grow at abnormal angles and can also lead to tooth decay, so your vet may have to extract them. 

Fear of the Vet 

“My dog starts shaking and whimpering anytime I get near the vet’s office. What should I do to make her more comfortable on visits?”

Think about it from your dog’s perspective. Imagine if every time you went to a particular place you got poked and probed and possibly had to endure multiple injections. Now imagine that you didn’t understand that the people doing this to you were only trying to keep you healthy. Well, that’s how it is for dogs (just as it is for very young children), and it’s no wonder many of them seem to downright despise vet visits. Some get anxious beforehand and may tremble or cry. Others have to be carried into the office because otherwise, they wouldn’t set one paw through the door. I’m not going to promise you that you can help any dog love her visits to the vet. However, you can take steps to make them a little easier for her:

First, make sure you choose a vet who has a good bedside manner. An extra gentle touch or soothing voice can help calm your dog.

Take your dog on trips to your vet’s office at times when she doesn’t have an appointment. Ask your vet and the other staff members to shower your dog with lots of affection and treats. By doing this, your dog won’t always have a negative association with going to the vet. It’s as though she starts to realize, “Hey, this place can be kind of fun!”

If your dog seems truly anxious or fearful about her vet visits—some signs include trembling, growling, snapping, or panting—talk to your vet about what else you can do to help settle her nerves. 

[divagonzo]

Hair (Romione, George, Hinny)

I blame @blvnk-art for this fic. I was thinking on it this morning, especially Hermione deciding to shave her head and my muse smiled on me, threw a gallon of glitter on my head, and voila! The story poured out.

Rated T for bad language, some lime innuendo (it’s very light and Ace safe) and adult situations.

Hermione slipped out of the bed she shared with Ron and padded softly to the boy’s bathroom. She still felt grotty from yesterday, even after a scalding hot bath for an hour. While lying in the bed with Ron, his arm a comfort across her hip but sleep escaping her once again, she came to a pragmatic decision.

She closed the heavy door and picked up the brush she brought with her out of the beaded bag that was her lifeline. Her hair, the one thing on her that stayed when she wasted away, was officially a lost cause. She dropped the brush into the sink and pulled back her hair, trying to talk herself out of the decision made.

She had no logical argument to keep her hair, not when it had grown nappy, knotted, kinked beyond any ability of magic or potions. Exhaustion and pragmatic consideration made it an easy choice when she was standing in the boy’s bathroom of Gryffindor tower and Harry’s razor sitting in front of her.  One casting from the wand she hated with all of her soul sharpened the blade on the muggle safety razor and she went to work, with the wand in her hand and then the razor in the other.

It took an hour to shed the old hair, and the old Hermione, with the wand she hated with all of her soul. Each slash on her head dropped inches of burned hair onto the floor. It took another hour, with some well-timed shaving soap and the razor to get most of the stubble left on her head.

She was reaching for a spot that she couldn’t quite reach when amazing hands touched hers, wrapping her into a warm, loving embrace.

“Do you want me to get it?” a half-asleep voice rattled in the tiled lavatory.

“Yes, please,” She replied with her battered voice before bending her head down for his tender hands.

Each scrape of the blade through the soap and stubble felt like shedding everything that had happened. Each touch from his hands healed some little spot in her soul that was crying in agony.

“There, I think that’s all of it.”

She lifted her head and stopped. “Would you check?”

Ron nodded and touched her cheek, wiping away a stray mote of soot. His deft fingers worked their way around her head, from over her ears to the base of her neck, to the tender spot at her temple where a spell grazed her sometime in the fighting.

“I think you got it all.” He reached over for the aftershave, which seemed entirely silly to have in a bathroom of boys who wished they had a use for it in enticing the girls. “But I know you need this, at least this morning, even if it smells like shite.”

Hermione exploded in laughter, echoing around the room. Tears were streaming down her face and Ron joined her.

“God, it feels so good to hear you laughing.”

“We’re alive, I’ve shaved my head bald, with your help, and nothing makes sense or seems real. Laughing seems about the only response I can muster to everything being mental and utterly sideways.”

Ron splashed some of the grotty aftershave into the palm of his hand and splashed it on her scalp. She hissed for a moment. “Damn, that stings.”

“It’s necessary if you scraped skin and drew blood. Now since it’s bloody fuck thirty, do you think you can now sleep?”

“I think so but only if you’re there with me.”

Ron led the way back to his bed, finding the next one empty of Harry. They shared a look and shrugged, crawling back into his bed and closing the curtains. Within moments, they were fast asleep, letting the world pass them by.

George wanted to scream bloody murder. The nightmare haunted him everywhere. He couldn’t escape, no matter how much he wished and prayed he’d wake from it. But no, each reflective surface in the house taunted him, abused him, made him see Fred everywhere. But that was impossible. The family laid Fred to rest under the enormous oak tree on the edge of the orchard, across from the pond.

That was, if his memories weren’t lying to him, a flickering candle in the moments before his brain shut down for good and he put the wand to his temple and joined Fred permanently.

He ran from his bedroom to the loo, barely making it before he emptied the contents from the Firewhiskey bottle from his stomach into the toilet.  He didn’t remember drinking a fifth’s worth of it yesterday or today.

George wiped the back of his mouth, smelling like shit and praying he’d wake.

He stood up and went to the sink to wash the grotty taste of rancid alcohol from his mouth and pray again he’d wake from the living nightmare he was trapped in. He looked down and saw the shaving soap and straight razor in front of him, next to the taps, laid out precisely. Fucking Percy. He should have died instead of Fred.

“Tosser, wankstain, pisspot,” he heard the echo of a voice inside his head. He looked up and saw Fred in the mirror in front of his face. “You know you love that asshole prat as much as I do.”

“He left, the fuckstrumpet. I hate him. He’s here and you’re not.”

“Oh I’m here and thinking you’re a pathetic mourner. Look at you, stinking of Firewhiskey and wondering why I’m even here talking with you.”

“Asshole,” George replied. “You can’t even leave me to have a fucking pity party like I deserve.”

“Who said anything about deserving it? I should be the one having it. I died and no one set off fireworks or even crackers. What kind of send-off was that?”

“Mum wouldn’t hear of it. She said that we should honor you, not fucking celebrate you were dead, asshole.”

“Yeah, well, mum always got what she wanted.”

Knock, Knock, Knock.

George looked back to the mirror and saw his own reflection. Argh, damn it and reached for the razor.

Ron battered the door with his shoulder until it gave way under his efforts. He found George looking in the mirror, half of his head already shaved, tears streaming down his face.

“The hell, George?”

“I can’t stand to see him taunting me.”

“You look nothing like him.”

“I don’t now.” He tried to move the razor to his wrist and Ron caught him.

Ron didn’t budge while holding George’s wrist. “Sit on the toilet.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry, no can do. Now sit.”

George collapsed and did as Ron said, sitting on the toilet and feeling miserable.

“I won’t have you looking like a deranged muggle.” Ron lathered the soap and checked the edge on the razor before finishing the job George started. It took a while and he waited a few times for George to quit sobbing so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt his older brother.

“Now, feel that and see what you think?”

George ran a hand over his scalp, finding him shaved down to nothing. “I have to see,” he muttered. He pushed Ron out of the way and looked in the mirror and saw… himself.

“Damn.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty fucking ugly.”

“Asshole.”

“Sometimes. Now,” Ron handed George the blade. “Shave mine.”

“Why? Your hair is fine.”

“Rubbish. It’s too fucking long and needs a cut.”

“Use your wand, tosser.”

Ron handed over his wand. “Make mine just like yours.”

“It’ll look like shit,” George put his shaking hand behind his back.

“Nonsense. Cut it.”

“Fine. Don’t complain to me when Hermione says you look like the nasty underside of a troll’s ass.”

George went to work, cutting the overgrowth of hair on his younger brother’s head then setting out to shave him down to nothing. It took a while, considering that it appeared Ron hadn’t had a haircut in over a year.

“Mum put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“Nope. She’s not noticed. I want a change. This seemed fitting.”

George kept working, trying to miss the freckles that might be turning into moles on Ron’s neck. He tried to ignore the scars that wound up onto his neck, white ones that were even more pale than his skin.

“Done, git.”

Ron got up from the toilet seat and went to the mirror, smiling at the job George did.

“You like it?”

“I certainly do,” Hermione said from the doorway.

Both of the men looked at her. Ron smiled and George, gobsmacked. “Where the fuck is your hair?”

“I left it in the loo at Hogwarts. It was too damaged to save it. Feels nice, doesn’t it?” She rubbed her head that had almost no stubble. “You’ll learn to like it in a day or two.” Ron left with Hermione.

George looked in the mirror and saw he was George, not Fred. Maybe the next hour wouldn’t be as surreal or sublime.

“You’re not considering being like those berks, are you?” Ginny asked from the doorway.

“No, but not for the reasons you think.” Harry was trimming his beard that he’d let grow. He liked looking in the mirror and seeing someone he barely recognized. “If I did cut my hair, it’d grow back in a night and be just as untamable as it always is. So why bother?”

“Well thank Merlin for that. I was going spare seeing three bald people in the house, wondering if I was stuck in a lunatic asylum. But then when it’s those three, I have to question their sanity, too.”

“Not me. I actually like this look. It’s low maintenance and people don’t immediately recognize me.” He turned and saw her staring. “What about you? You going around the twist and cutting it?”

“I’m thinking about it. But not right now. Seeing them bald is a sight enough. Mum would be mental if I cut my hair.”

“And you?”

“I might in the future. But for now, I’m keeping it.”

“You think I should trim mine down?” The look on his face was inscrutable.

Ginny looked at Harry for the first time, really looked at him. He’d changed so much in the months since they were gone, changed so much that she wondered if he was the same sweet person under it all. Then again, she wasn’t the same person since the wedding back in July of last year. A year’s worth of insomnia, torment, incessant worry, and anxiety had tempered her too.

“Maybe the beard some, so it looks presentable. But the hair? No keep it. It seems to suit you now. But you might want to pull it up sometimes.” She budged over to him and pushed his shoulders down some, forcing him to kneel in front of the mirror with her standing behind him. Deft fingers worked to pull his long hair up some into what looked like the start of a ponytail she wore often. “Ginny, this – “

“Rubbish. Sit still so I can do it right.”

She manipulated the hair in such a way that it stayed tucked into a neat ball on the back of his head. “I got the idea from Mum, who puts her hair up when she’s baking all day.” Ginny stepped back and let Harry see that she’d twisted it just right and formed it into a ball on the back of his head, securing it with one of her hair bands.  

“So I don’t look like a ponce with this?”

“Nope. You look like Bill on a hot day.”

“I take it that’s a compliment.”

Ginny shrugged. “Take it how you will.” She left the small bathroom and Harry looking in the mirror.

In the future

“I have to do something with this mess.”

Hermione looked up from her Ancient Runes book. “So now it’s a mess?”

“Well, yeah. My hairbands didn’t hold it out of my face enough in the Hufflepuff match yesterday. I dropped the Quaffle twice because I couldn’t see well enough.”

“I don’t seem to have that problem anymore,” Hermione ran her head over her bald scalp. She shaved it daily and claimed it was soothing for her anxiety. “But I doubt that you want to go so far to the extreme that I have.”

“No, I don’t think I have a head that would look pretty without hair.”

“So get it cut then and be done with it.”

Ginny lifted her long hair, well past her shoulders and almost to the middle of her back. “It’s a drastic change, I reckon, if I do it.”

“And so was going from bushy hair to none in one cut. But if anyone has the nerve, you do.”

“I don’t want to be bald.”

“So get a pixie cut. It’s short but also feminine and can be quite cute.”

“Do you know how to cut it like that?”

“Nope. I only know how to go from expansive to none.”

“Luna?” Ginny asked. Hermione thought for a moment. “You can ask her. She is knowledgeable about many things.”

“You know, I think I will.”

Ginny pulled her wand from the waistband of her pyjama bottoms and conjured her Patronus, seeing the massive  horse erupt from her wand. “Luna dear, can you pop up to the Prefect’s Loo shortly. I need a haircut and Hermione says you might be smart about it.” The steed galloped at the closest wall and disappeared.

“Want me to come with?” Hermione asked, putting down her book.

“If you want. I doubt it will take all that long.” Ginny went to their en suite and picked up her shower tote. “I figure a dip while in there would be fun.”

Hermione went to get a change of clothes from her bureau. “I think I will. I could use a long soak in the bath to forget Ron tonight.” Ginny snickered at Hermione’s quandary.

The two ladies made their way to the Prefect’s bath, letting themselves in with the password Haggis. They found Luna already inside, lazing at the edge of the bath with her feet in it. “You should do this. The bubbles tickle the kelpies.” She looked up at the other two people. “So you want me to cut your hair?”

“Well, Hermione seems to think you could cut it and make it look smarter than she could manage.” Ginny sat down at one of the sinks and pulled the brush from her shower bag. “Let me do this one more time before you take a wand to it.”

Luna moved Ginny’s hair to the side. “So you want something cut on the top and short in the back? Like a Pixie cut and not the banshee one you have right now?”

“Yeah, a pixie cut will be great.”

“Don’t take too much off of the top, Luna. We do want her looking a little feminine.”

Ginny gave Hermione a rude gesture and Luna a smile. She closed her eyes. “I trust Luna completely.”

Luna lifted her wand and went to work, cutting the expanse of hair she had put into a hairband then worked around to the top. She took off hair above Ginny’s ears and cut the front to where it wasn’t long but also wasn’t cut so short to look like bangs.

“You can look now, if you want.”

Ginny opened her eyes and saw Hermione standing with Luna behind her. Luna appeared pleased while Hermione was apprehensive. “Well, what do you think?”

Ginny ran her hands through the short hair on her head and through the longer locks on top. One eye was slightly obscured with the hair but a headband could fix that for Quidditch. “I like it. It’s cute.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, and besides,” Ginny turned to smile at her friends, “I’d not tell Luna she did a bad job when she didn’t. I like it. I really like it.”

“Well, I think you’re cute.” Luna leaned down and kissed Ginny on the cheek. “I’m going to the bath.”

Hermione offered Ginny a hug and joined Luna in the bath. Sighs erupted every now and then while Ginny evaluated her new haircut.

“Bet Harry will love it,” Ginny said to herself.

“He’d love you if you were bald,” Hermione cheeked back.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Ginny said. “And Harry is nothing like my brother.” Ginny didn’t mention that she appreciated Harry pulling her hair at Christmas.

Yes, there was just enough up top for Harry’s appreciation.

[whynotshaveme]

The Appointment

By whynotshaveme

I arrive fifteen minutes before my scheduled appointment. Their office is in the same building as about a dozen others. Due to the nature of their business, they kept their doors locked and only buzzed in the expected.

As I fill in my paperwork, the receptionist seizes a lock of my long and very straight black hair between her fingers. With a wicked grin, she says me, "We get so few women here. It's always a treat to see you." Blushing, I go stand in the corner to wait for my appointment. There are no chairs for comfort.

Eventually, a woman all in white comes for me. She brings me to an all white room with only a gyno chair where she took my clothing and my purse. There is not even a thin paper gown for my modesty. She straps me into the chair spread eagle. Then she leaves the room. I am to wait, my body tense in anticipation, for what I came here for.

Eventually, another woman in white comes in pushing a tray of hair tools. She picks up a comb and then starts brushing my hair. When she felt satisfied, she uses a common rubber band to tie my hair into a ponytail.

She gives the ponytail a tug. "Like we discussed last time, you are not special. You are a slave to your desire for submission just like all the perverts that we see. So, since you're not special, let's finally give you the required welcome shave."

With firm hands, she forces my legs open even wider. Then she spreads warm lather on my sparse pubic hair. I start to breathe heavier as she uses a BIC to shave my lips down there smooth. She even wipes it clean and gives it a second once over.

Once she finishes with my privates, she grabs my ponytail again, holding it taunt. Without hesitation, she uses a large pair of clippers to sever almost ten years of hair growth from my body. Tears start to leak from my eyes as she holds up my ponytail.

"Oh, sweetie," she says, plunging the clippers in my remaining hair, "You did have lovely hair, but now there will be no question about what a lowly creature you are. People will pity you on the streets."

And, with that, she buzzes my hair down to a grade zero. Then she runs the clippers across my perfect and professionally done eyebrows. I am not finished yet though. She lathers up my scalp and where my eyebrows used to be. A professional, she wipes down my scalp and then uses a vacuum to suck up on the severed hair. (She does take a moment to use the vacuum to tease my at attention nipples.)

Once I'm freed from the chair and given my clothing back, I go back to reception to make my next appointment. The receptionist is delighted by my bald head and insists on rubbing it.

"I don't want to feel stubble next week!" she says.

I reply, "Yes, ma'am."

[reesebird]

New Post has been published on https://reesebird.com/2019/04/02/shaving-the-pubic-hair-for-women/

Shaving The Pubic Hair (For Women)

Shaving The Pubic Hair (For Women)

The proper word is “Vulva” but I prefer to call it “Vagina” so I won’t confuse too many people. “Vagina” is the word of choice for a woman’s private part, never heard anyone including my OB/GYN refer it as Vulva… I wonder why “we” are afraid to say “Vulva”..?? Anyways, this article will discuss the proper way to shave the “Vagina” in order to prevent those nasty razor bumps & minimize ingrown hairs. I have heard many women talk about getting nasty razor bumps a day or two after shaving, so I’m here to show you a good way to prevent or minimize your chance of getting it. I experiment with my body a lot so this is a shaving routine that works for me each time, and I hope it works for you too!

Things You Will Need

(a) Brand new shaving razor… a cheap disposable razor is a No-No. (Make sure you invest in a good quality razor; the ones with multiple blades and pivot heads are the best because they give a smoother close shave)… Example of good brands are Venus Embrace, Schick Quattro, etc.

(b) Pure Silk shaving cream for women..Make sure it says for “Sensitive Skin”…

(c) AYATE washcloth… This will be used for exfoliating dead skin cells..

(d) Shaving oil

(e) EQUATE Unscented baby oil (hypoallergenic)..make sure it contains Vitamin E

(f) Clean towel

Step-By-Step

(A) Trim your pubic hair (if it is too hairy)..This will make shaving easier and minimize irritation down there.

(B) Take a “Warm” shower or bath for at least 15mins.

(C) Use an Ayate washcloth and unscented bathing soap to wash your private part. This will exfoliate the dead skin cells.

(D) Apply some shaving oil on your private part… The razor will glide easier and your skin will remain moisturized throughout the shaving process..Very important!

(E) Apply a generous amount of shaving cream… A rich lather will protect your skin from nasty nicks & cuts. (Before applying the shaving cream, make sure your private part is Damp, Not soaking wet)… Big difference!

(F) Using a sharp razor, shave in downward motion. Make sure you rinse the razor every few strokes… Allowing the razor to clog up will cause a disaster on your private part.

(G) When you are done shaving, rinse your private part thoroughly. Pat dry with a clean towel.

(H) Make sure you moisturize the shaved area right after patting dry. I use Equate unscented baby oil for this purpose. Yes, you will be oily. Better oily than itchy, right? ******Avoid applying scented lotions, this will irritate your skin thereby causing those nasty bumpy bumps****. Apply on the external part Only!!!

A friend of mine suggested “Flawless Ingrown Hair Serum” & “Bikini Zone Anti-bump Shave Gel” for fighting ingrown hairs & bumps. Keep it handy in case you need it.

(I) Avoid wearing panties for at least an hour. Also, avoid wearing tight fitted clothes (especially jeans) right after shaving… (I often shave on my day off so I just wear a skirt or loose fitting shorts with no underwear for the rest of day). Whenever your private part starts to feel dry, apply more baby oil on the External parts only. Dry private part = Itchy private part.

Final Note: Ladies, if you want to go completely bald down there I suggest you get a Brazillian Wax. Trying to shave off the pubic hairs completely can be dangerous because you might cut your inner Vulva. Brazilian Wax also keeps you bald for some weeks and you don’t have to worry about razor bumps either.

A Quick Recap: I’m not in anyway claiming that this method will prevent bumps and ingrown hairs in everyone. This is just a shaving method that works for me so I decided to share it with everyone with hope that it will help someone else. Cheers!

[valarhalla]

Bare and Wanting

*I wrote actual filthy smut, gasp gasp!

Ahem. Anyway, your typical fic of Sauron making imprisoned Maedhros as miserable as elf-ly possible, definitely explicit. Shoutout to Markedasinfernal’s marvellous works, which provided the inspiration for this work and for aspects of the writing style here, go check them out if you haven’t.  Rape, non con, shaving kink, abuse, humiliation, master/pet, heed the tags. 

Roughly, the Orcs had dragged him from his cell; down Angband’s multitudes of halls and corridors they had led him, to a room where what Maedhros recognised as Sauron’s highest ranked personal servant was waiting for him. Brutally there, they stripped him; they forced him down upon a stone table, pulled his legs far apart enough to make his hips ache, and chained down his wrists and ankles.

As though he were examining a piece of meat, the Maia’s servant distastefully jammed a finger into his hip.

“Shave this,” he told the lesser Orcs, boredly “You can leave his eyelashes, but take everything else off. There will be consequences if my master finds even one missed hair on him later. You have two hours,” he said, and then departed.

Bound and exposed, Maedhros braced himself for what was coming. He could bear them shaving his head, just, though only because it was not the first time they had done it; the first time they had shaved his head in Angband, he had fought so hard they ended up having to sedate him to finish the job, and he had vomited in the aftermath when he saw himself. Before that, he had never seen a bald person in his life and the very concept had never truly occurred to him. If they left him alone and he avoided touching his head or looking at his reflection in water, he could just about deny it. But they had never before ordered that his entire body be subjected to such a treatment, and the novelty alone was petrifying. Novelty was never a good thing in Angband.

“Soap him up and then we’ll draw lots!” shouted one of the orcs.

A bucket of oily soap was splashed across him from head to foot; the orcs set about lathering it over every inch of his body, in every crevice, and under their broad and eager hands his impulses to fight fizzled and corroded into nothingness. When he looked as though he had been entirely painted white, the Orcs left and took up a noisy gambling game in the corner with dice one of them produced from a pouch at its belt. He lay utterly still, exposed and shivering and watched with dread from the corner of his vision as the orcs gambled and diced in the corner, contesting loudly every outcome of the game. When they had determined first, second and third place, they set to work upon him; the loser at his legs with rags and a pot of wax, the runner up in the game roughly attacking his head with soap and scissors before moving onto razors, and the winner taking on his groin, running a cruel straight razor up down his lathered shaft, balls and thighs. They might have been stripping paint from a fence, debarking logs for the mechanical way they proceeded; they leered and joked, they exchanged everyday gossip as they eventually grew bored with their assignment and reached, as they said, “the duller bits of him”. Demarcated into pieces under their hands, Maedhros felt himself die yet another death as he forced his eyes shut and bit down upon the rag they had gagged him with. True to the Maia’s instructions, no inch of him was spared; when they finally finished and untied him, they bound his wrists and having searched his back for stray hairs, they mortifyingly forced him to bend over so they could shave the crease of his arse.

They took turns tossing a bucket of freezing water over him to wash away the soap; the feeling of cold water dripping uninhibited down his bare head and scalp was too much, unbearable, shot dead any hopes of pretending that particular violation had never been carried out. Finally, they tossed him a ragged shirt and ancient pair of trousers and when he was dressed, they blindfolded him and led him away to what he knew would be the Maia’s apartments.

Morgoth’s lieutenant continued was scribbling letters at its desk when the orcs removed his blindfold, and he continued doing so without ever looking up as they bowed and departed, locking the door behind them. For a time after that, the Maia ignored Maedhros entirely, flicking droplets of ink with each dramatic flourish; Maedhros stood awkwardly at the door in growing terror, until finally it set its quill in the inkwell, crossed its fingers, looked him in the eyes and said:

“Naked. Completely. Now.”

Miserably Maedhros turned his back on the Maia and began to comply, unbuttoned first the ragged shirt and set it aside, then shamefully began to remove his trousers with a knot of despair in his throat at what was coming as he fumbled with the ties. The Maia had expressly forbidden him from covering himself in its presence in previous torture sessions, and Maedhros knew better than to disobey, but as his trousers fell around his ankles and he braced himself to turn around, he simply couldn’t bear it. The nip of cold air around his buttocks and between his legs, awful exposure of his sheared groin to the elements; it was all too much, he knew it was against the the Maia’s rules, he knew he would be punished for it, but against the weight of having to turn and face the Maia clad in nothing but his skin, against the suffocating tide of viscous humiliation and vulnerability running upwards in each and every one of his veins the way the black poison that killed the Two Trees had run down; in the face of all that, none of it mattered and against all rationality, wretchedly he pressed his fingers between his legs as he turned around to face the lieutenant.

Something twisted in the Maia’s expression, in the stern press of its lips, as it watched him. Something alien flickered at him in those slitted irises, a stillness like a hawk regarding its prey, something fey and ancient and unwavering; but then a hazy gleam passed in front its features as though Maedhros were watching the Maia through the blurring crest of a fire, and when his captor emerged, that face had swifted back into something terrifyingly human once more. It chewed on its bottom lip as it sauntered over, then it laid its claw-like fingers upon his collarbones.

The Maia’s perfectly manicured nails, edged like razors in gleaming crescent half-moons ran down his chest in dangerous little circles; they traced down his sternum, the bare base of his stomach, and suggestively the Maia bit his lip as his thumbs and forefingers came to rest in rings around Maedhros’ own bruised little wrists held protectively between his legs, where they paused momentarily.

“Feeling shy, little slave?,” it said. “Why I could almost-”

The Maia’s sharp nails dug suddenly into the soft undersides of his wrists as fake tenderness wrenched itself in an instant into orchestrated malice; his hands were yanked away from the object of their defense, and his right arm was twisted fiercely around behind his back, forcing him to his knees on the rough and freezing stone flags below and the plying the breath from his lungs all in one furious instant. There the Maia held him down by his twisted arm and dug a knee into his back, pinning him with such force his legs were driven apart and he could feel the freezing marble of the floor against his most sensitive parts.

“You traitorous little pig!” it screamed at him. “You fucking little whore!”

For what felt like an eternity, it held him there, arm twisted to breaking point as he fought against the pain and gut-wrenching chill of the marble between his legs until, at last, it released his arm and sent him toppling over onto his front and side. Before he could collect himself and gasp for breath, clutch his injured arm against his chest, it dragged him to his feet by his wrist, dropped it, and then struck him hard across the cheek, its nails leaving sharp little lines of blood in their wake.

“How dare you disobey me!”

The Maia’s now bloody fingers clamped around his chin and jaw and miserably he shivered under their grasp as Sauron forced his chin upwards.

“Listen here, Feanor’s little brat” he said, his thumb pressing upwards and back into the sensitive hollow under his chin. “Your body is mine. And that means whatever’s between your legs is mine. You hold no claim to it, and you have no more right to object to what I do with it than this rug under our feet has a right to protest my standing upon it. The next time you keep my property from me like that, I’ll have your insubordination punished as theft. Do you know how we punish theft in Angband?”

“No my lord,” he squeaked, struggling under the Maia’s wrench-like grip and blinking desperately to stop the hot humiliated tears running down his cheeks. An errant tear dripped down onto the Maia’s fingers; with a look of revulsion, the Maia wiped his damp fingers across Maedhros’ chest to dry them before taking his cheeks between his palms with jarring false tenderness.

“Hush, hush. What are these tears for? They don’t become your pretty little face, when have I ever done you wrong or hurt you? It’s you who hurt me, don’t you understand that? You wretched little brat?”

“Yes my lord, I’m sorry my lord…”

“You know what it’s like to have someone keep something precious of yours just out of reach, don’t you? To have something beautiful snatched away? Do you remember how angry it made you? When my master wore your father’s jewels while he fucked you, keeping them just out of reach? Now do you understand how you made me feel when you disobeyed me?”

“Yes, my lord…”

Miserably Maedhros stared at his feet, his hands hanging limply at his sides. With that, the Maia wrapped both hands around his shaft and gleefully tugged him the the little distance to up against the Maia’s chest and at that wretched violating force he could only gasp and sputter. The Maia pressed him up against his own clothed chest, and in spite of everything, he could not help but push into the desperately needed warmth, take in the merest, stingiest scrap of pleasure in the softness of the Maia’s silken shirt against his bruised cheek and burn inside to think that he had ever taken such a sensation for granted. And in his desperation for the burnt scrapings of kindness, for one feeble instant he imagined that his tear-stained cheek was pressed against the shoulder of a loved one, that the hands on his scarred back were meant in comfort. But then the hands slid down to cup his buttocks with the pinch of sharpened nails and the illusion shattered like an improperly shaped sculpture in a kiln that burst and took out every piece of beauty around it in inglorious death.

“So pretty, so pretty, shh…”

The Maia’s hand reached downward between the crush of their bodies, cupped him opportunistically between the legs before grabbing and tugging his shaft upwards between the two of them and rubbing the tip between his thumb and forefinger. With a look of vicious glee, the Maia stared at him as he flicked the tip of his cock with his index finger and it was all Maedhros could do not to come utterly undone under the weight of that violation. A hand stroked delicately across his scalp and he flinched.

“You are so very beautiful without hair, all bare and pink and wanting. Neither Eldar nor Orc to look at, my very own creation laid bare before me…”

A sob broke from Maedhros’ throat and though he tried to stifle it, his whole body shook; the lieutenant’s eyes glittered as brightly as his pointed little teeth, and his thumb pressed down hard on the exposed tip of Maedhros’ cock, around which his fingers were tightly wrapped.

“Tell me, slave, what is your name?” he grinned.

Maedhros gulped, his hands grasping helplessly at the empty air against the sides of his thighs; he knew what was coming, he knew answer the Maia wanted, he knew; he could have used one of his other names, he could have delayed what was coming, but what would even be the point, and so miserably bowing his head he choked out:

“Russandol.”

“Coppertop? Red hair? What a strange, strange thing for them to call you! Because i can’t seem to find a single…” the Maia’s pointed finger slid down his scalp to his collarbone, “solitary…”, down the line of his sternum, “one.” With the last word, the Maia’s finger pressed into the innermost juncture of his legs, up against the sensitive pubic bone and he swallowed another sob.

The Maia continued.

“Why on earth are you still crying? Isn't this what you always wanted, Coppertop?” said the Maia, his irises tinged red with malice. “I knew you back then, I know how much you used to look yourself in the glass, what a show-off you used to be! Didn’t you used to want this? Didn’t you think to yourself it would be easier if beauty was all that was expected of you? Didn’t you wish sometimes surrounded by your more talented brothers that you had nothing to do but be beautiful and all the praise in the world for doing it?”

He choked back a sob.

“Answer me, wretch,” the Maia boredly snapped. His thumb and forefinger continued absently kneading Maedhros’ tip.

“Yes my lord,” he stammered, blinking back hot tears.

“All that I offered you, out of the kindness of my heart, and you threw it all away and hid the best part of yourself from me beneath your ugly little fingers, and for what?”

“Nothing my lord… oh…”

A faint little cry of despair came from Maedhros’ lips as he felt the rush of blood between his legs, the sudden tightness in his balls as his body betrayed him at last. His cock weighed heavily against the Maia’s palm and fingers as it began to swell, and it was all he could do not to try and pull himself away from the awful wrap of the Maia’s fingers about his shaft. Burning with shame, he gulped and bit his lips bloody as he waited for the telltale glitter in the Maia’s eyes when it noticed. He did not have long to wait.

“My, my, my, what have we here?” said the Maia, unwrapping its fingers and placing its palm flat beneath his cock. “Enjoying yourself a little too much, Coppertop?” it said.

The Maia’s honeyed tone was vile; against all rationality begging him to stand still and get it over with, Maedhros’ hips squirmed as the Maia flicked its index finger first against his arse. A soft mewl of despair forced its way between his lips, and he began to cry in earnest as the Maia bent down, and then flicked his rising hardness in the same manner.

“Isn’t this a pretty show you’ve put on for me, my my my. We’ll have to do something about it, won’t we?” it said, looking up.

The Maia’s eyes gleamed as he placed his hands on Maedhros’ hips. In growing despair, Maedhros swallowed and stammered:

“Yes my lord.”

“Now then,” he said, looking up. “My master will be coming down in a minute to admire you... “ he glanced quickly downwards, “all of you. Are you going to obey me this time, pet? Are you?”

“Yes my lord.”

“Good,” he said.

“In that case,” he said, “We’ll fit in one more session of obedience training before my master arrives,” and leant in to place his lips around the head of Maedhros’ cock.