Date: Wed, 5 Apr 2017 23:59:21 +0000
From: Bastian Ward <meetingfrogs@outlook.com>
Subject: Southern Cross Station

This story is a work of fiction.  It is a gay authoritarian fantasy, no
part of which is based on real life.  Any resemblance therefore to anyone
living or dead is purely accidental.  This story depicts male on male
sexual practices, if you are offended by this then stop reading now.

All characters depicted in this story are willing participants in all the
scenes they appear in.  No one was coerced or paid to appear in this story.

The practices and themes depicted in this story, in no way reflect the
author's beliefs or sexual practices.  If you chose to act out scenes from
this story, please do it responsibly.  Always practice safe sex; you owe it
not only to yourself but to your sexual partners.  If you think you have
injured yourself or think you have contracted a sexual disease, or have any
other health concerns.  Please consult with a health professional.

Don't contact the author with commercial requests or advertising, I can
find enough of that on the internet to fill my every want, need, or desire.
Do contact me if you want to talk about the story, ask questions, send
messages, or give feedback.  Feel free to make suggestions but I do not
guarantee that any of them will be used, particularly if they require any
of the characters to act outside of parameters of the story or their bio.

If you liked this chapter, or would like to find out what happens to the
rest of the males in the household.  Please donate to Nifty, so they can
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SOUTHERN CROSS STATION



He strode through Southern Cross Station like he owned it.  He's 210cm
tall, clad only in a t-shirt and a pair of skimpy running shorts; that did
almost nothing to cover the meaty globes of his enormous bubble butt.  The
straps of his jock were plainly visible to anyone who cared to look.  Fuck,
let's face it.  They were just as clearly visible to those who didn't want
to look, as well.  The pouch of his jock could be clearly seen hanging
bellow the bottom of his shorts, as the material tried valiantly to stretch
over and cover his pendulous cock and balls.  It was quite plain to
everyone that he wasn't circumcised.

Each of his thighs was the size of a small person.  His calves are the size
of an enormous leg of ham that has comfortably fed a gathering of 30-40
people and still had some meat left on the bone.  Apparently, the man spent
a lot of time running up and down ladders and stairs.  His boots had all
but given up hope of trying to encase his enormous feet.  It even looked as
though his toes were pulling his steel caps out of shape.

The band of his shorts, and jock, which was clearly visible over the band
of his shorts, had given up any hope of ever coming in contact with the
base of his washboard stomach.  So much so that anyone who cared to look
saw nothing but his incredibly thick bush of jet black pubic hair.  Nestled
nicely over the lily-white root of his pendulous cock.  The overworked band
of his shorts came barely to the tops of his hips.  His t-shirt didn't have
a hope in hell of ever meeting the overworked band of his shorts and jock.
So, his treasure trail, leading from his very thick pubic bush up to his
navel, was permanently on show.  His navel looked so deep that the end of
it seemed to be lost in permanent shadow.

The bottom row of his eight pack was also permanently on show, as it just
met the hem of his hopelessly overstretched t-shirt.  The rest of his eight
pack was clearly on show, as his t-shirt was stretched so tightly over his
taught washboard stomach that it was almost like a second layer of skin.
As he moved the muscles in his back could clearly be seen flowing under
their covering of skin and t-shirt material.  While the two dimples at the
base of his spine were permanently on display, as his shorts and t-shirt
didn't even try to cover them.

His treasure trail and eight pack, only served to draw your eyes even
further up his body, as his torso opened up into the perfect `V' formation;
that guys spend years in the gym trying to perfect and maintain.  His chest
was topped off by two perfectly formed sets of pectoral muscles.  With his
pecs, the size of fifty cent pieces could be seen as depressions in his
pectoral muscles under the strained t-shirt material.  His shoulders are
almost impossibly broad; they have to be at least twice the width of his
hips.  With his enormous arms hanging from them.  The sleeves of his
t-shirt were barely covering the tops of his shoulders.  His arms with his
enormous biceps hang loosely by his side and gently swing in time with his
footsteps.

The hair on top of his head is just as jet black as his pubes, and almost
as tightly curled.  He keeps it cropped close to his skull, for many and
varied reasons.  He has a dusting of jet black stubble on his cheeks and
chin, with a rugged square jawline and deep cleft in his chin, just to
finish the picture.  He takes in the world through a pair of piercing blue
eyes.

Because of his size and strength, he is in great demand on any building
site he works on.  Being a labourer, he is a `Jack-of-all-Trades'; he can
run up ten flights of stairs just as easily with a bag of cement under each
arm, as he can with a steel girder or a lump of wood over his shoulder.

Both men and women lust after him equally.  Guys wanting to go where the
centre seam of his shorts disappear to.  Which just happens to make him
look like he has a permanent wedgy, although, there's not a person alive
who would ever try to give him one.  While women fantasize about the pain,
he'd cause them trying to stuff his mammoth cock up their wet swollen
pussies.  Guys worry about ever being able to accommodate his cock in
either end.

His bosses love him on the building sites, apart from his strength, for
such a mountain of a man, he is surprisingly quick on his feet.
Consequently, he spends his days running around the site from the minute he
signs on, to the minute he finishes his shift.  Stopping only for his
breaks, or toilet stops.  When he enters a Port-a-Pot, his co-workers
always have bets to see if it can contain all of him or not.  But, because
he never closes the door, no one ever gets to collect on the bets.

No one knows of his life outside of work.  He doesn't go to the pub after
work with his co-workers.  Nor does he go to their places for meals or
anything, and he doesn't extend invites for them to visit him.  Their
knowledge of him starts and finishes at the worksite.

All of his co-workers would be surprised to know that he frequents the
Laird in Collingwood a couple of nights a week if he is feeling
sufficiently submissive to be a bottom boy for some top who doesn't realise
that he is in way over his head.

The rest of the time he can be found at Porter St in Prahran where they
hold wrestling matches most night, but because no one wants to get in the
ring with him on their own.  He lets them tag team, I mean what does he
care if he forces his mammoth cock up one arse or two.  At the end of the
match, he'd just lines the mushroom head of his cock with their arsehole
and listen to the pussies' whimper as he forces the head of his cock into
their waiting arses, as his prize for winning the fights, along with any
money he has made from the bets.

He had a flat installed under the house and had it soundproofed, and it is
here that he's set up his fully equipped dungeon.  He doesn't bother with
any of the tops at the Laird who, as far as he's concerned, only play at
bondage.  No, he trolls the `dating sites' on the dark web.  He'd find a
top who caters for his particular tastes.  He'd invite them over on a
Friday night, and, generally, they didn't leave until Sunday, and he would
be kept in bondage the whole time.  He stayed `faithful' to his current top
until they stopped meeting his needs.  Then he'd move onto the next one.

That was how he liked his life.  It met most of his needs, that he knew
about, anyway.  Until the night he met `Sir'!

There was nothing on Sir's advert but a challenge not to email unless you
were man enough, and a contract that had to be signed before Sir would even
look at you.  Never before had he come across anyone's add with a contract
attached to it in the first place.  He thought about it for all of 60
seconds; it did help him to decide when he felt his cock twitch when he saw
there was a contract attached.  He downloaded all ten pages of the
contract, and he read over it carefully.  The upshot was that he would be
signing away his rights as a person, and he would become Sir's property for
a long as he amused Sir.  He had to sign everything over to Sir. He would
no longer own anything, not even the clothes on his back.  Until such time
as Sir grew tired of him and gave him back what was left of his life, his
possessions, and more importantly anything that was left of his money.
There was space provided in the contract for the totals of all his
accounts, as well as a form making Sir a co-signatory on all of his
financial accounts.  As well as another form giving Sir Enduring Power of
Attorney over him and all of his assets.  Failure to comply with any of the
demands in the contract would simply mean they'd never meet.

He was so turned on by the idea of the contract and what it represented to
him, that he met all the demands and sent his reply with all the required
paperwork back to Sir.  He received an email back asking for pictures of
his house and yards, as well as photos of himself both naked and dressed.
With a full erection and a picture of how much cum he could produce.

It was two weeks before he noticed any changes.  The first was the text
message he received to `meet' Sir at the Peel Hotel in Collingwood.  It
wasn't a pub he'd ever been to before, and for the first time in his life,
he felt a little self-conscious.  When Sir had texted him about the
meeting, he was told to wear only his work gear, which gave him an
interesting problem in that he had no pockets.  So, he wore a bum bag to
keep his wallet, keys, and new phone in.  As he knew Sir required absolute
obedience, he did, in fact, wear his work gear to the pub.  He sat at the
bar.  Then he waited.

He'd been there for about an hour, drinking nothing but water or juice, as
per Sir's instructions, when his phone buzzed to let him know he had a
message.  He knew it could only be from Sir because he'd had to buy a new
phone with a number only Sir or his bosses knew.  It read, `stand up with
your back to the bar.'  He complied instantly, standing with his back to
the bar.  He received his next message, `Don't slouch!  Stand up straight
with your feet shoulder-width apart.'  He stood up straight with his feet
shoulder width apart and smirked to himself thinking that this way he would
be able to find out who `Sir' was.  His next message told him to stop
smirking, or this could all finish now if that was what he wanted.

He didn't, so he wiped the smirk off his face and stared straight ahead
while surreptitiously scanning the crowd trying to discover who Sir was.
His next message told him to place his left hip against the bar, and to
stop his cock from leaking precum.  Didn't he realise that his body now
belonged to Sir?  Surprised, he turned, placing his left hip against the
bar and tried to think of a way to stop his cock from leaking.

The next message told him to turn and put his right hip against the bar,
and he complied instantly.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't work
out who was sending him the messages.  Everyone in the fuckin' bar had a
mobile phone, and they were all doing stuff on them.  His next message
identified a man who was sitting at one of the tables in the back corner of
the pub.  He was told to empty out the contents of his bum bag and leave it
all on the bar.  He was then told to crawl through the pub and under the
man's table.  He had to get the mans' cock out and suck him dry, and he had
6 minutes in which to complete his tasks.  So, dumping everything out of
his bum bag, he got on all fours and crawled through the pub, much to the
delight of patrons and Staff alike, to the designated table and disappeared
underneath it.  Then, to the surprise of the old man sitting alone at the
table, who could feel someone fumbling with the zip of his pants.  He
looked down to see that the young stud who'd just crawled across the pub
was trying to undo his zip.

He tried valiantly to get him to stop, much to the anguished protestations
of the younger man.  With a lot of `please Sir I don't have a lot of
time....' and `just hold still, Sir.  Please, Sir...', until, in the end,
the young man caught both of the older mans' hands in one of his.  While
with the other hand he finally got the old man's' pants undone enough to
fish his cock out.  He swallowed it right down to the root and started to
suck it for all he was worth.  Meanwhile, the old man gave up. I mean, who
was he to argue if some young stud of a man wanted to suck his cock in
public, and if truth be told, it had been a very long time since anyone had
wanted to suck his cock that much that he fought him for it.  So, he made
himself comfortable and did his best to ignore the gathering crowd, and
left the young man to it.

Just as he felt the old guy shoot his load down his throat, he heard
something hit the floor just near his left hand, and he then heard his
phone chime to let him know he had another message. `Very good.  You have
passed so far.  Now your last test is that you have to be home in an hour
and I will meet you there.  If you are not there in an hour, I will walk
away.'

He looked up at the old man, "so you're not Sir?" he asked.  "Um, well I am
a sir..."

He extradited himself from out of the mans' crotch and out from under the
table.  He went back to the bar thinking he would have another drink or two
before he drove home, only to discover all of his things were gone.  He
questioned the bar staff to see if anyone had seen who had taken his
things, but unfortunately, like everyone else in the bar, they were too
interested in the floor show to notice anything else.

His phone chimed again.  He looked at it, `Tick Tock' was all it said.
With no other option, he ran out of the pub and ran all the way home.  Like
most people, he didn't wear a watch as he relied on his phone to tell him
the time.  But because he was running, literally for his life, as he really
wanted to meet his new Master.

He got to his front gate and whipped his phone out of his bum bag, only to
discover it had automatically set its' timer going and it looked as though
he had 2 minutes left.  So, he stood panting at his front gate, until he
noticed there were some things left on his doorstep, and his outside light
was on which he hadn't turned on when he left for the pub.  He was sure of
it.

He walked up the front steps and crossed his front porch and found some
handcuffs, leg irons and a spreader bar on his front stoop, along with a
note.  The note told him to strip and fold all of Sirs' clothing very
carefully and leave them on the stoop.  He then had to manacle his ankles
together, put the spreader bar between his knees, and then to handcuff
himself.  He then had to kneel up on his knees with his hands on his head
facing the street.

He had to stop and think about this last instruction because the front door
was only a little over 2 metres from his front gate.  Which meant that he
would be in full view of anyone who happened to walk past on either side of
the street.  He would also be clearly visible to his neighbours from across
the street and found himself asking the question, again, if this is really
what he wanted.  But without realising it, he had started to strip and to
fold up Sirs' clothes very carefully and placing them on Sirs' front stoop.
When he had stripped naked, he took the leg irons and locked his ankles
together.  When they were securely locked in place, he picked up the
spreader bar and attached it between his knees, which made him look
bowlegged.  He very carefully lowered himself to his knees in front of
Sirs' front door, facing away from the door.  So now his cock and balls
were clearly on display to anyone who cared to have a look, and as there
were no keys left for any of the locks, he was now totally at Sirs' mercy.
For Sir to do anything he wanted with him, and he was powerless to stop
him.  But even as that realisation hit home with him, he locked the
handcuffs around his wrists and put his hands on top of his head, and tried
valiantly to stop his cock from leaking precum that was pooling on the
tiles beneath his cock.

He didn't know how long he had been kneeling there for when he felt the
door behind him open.  A hand reached around his head and held his nose
closed until he had to open his mouth to breathe.  With that first breath,
something was shoved into his mouth, and he started to suckle on it because
his nose was still being held close he had to open his mouth again.  This
time the thing in his mouth was removed and held in front of his mouth
instead, he thought he knew what was being asked of him and he stuck his
tongue out and the object was rubbed against his willing tongue.  When it
was decided that it was wet enough he felt a hand pushing him between his
shoulder blades, so he leant forwards until his face was almost on the
tiles of Sirs' porch, which consequently raised his arse in the air.

He felt a finger probing his arse, which eventually was joined by three
more fingers, one after the other until he had a total of four fingers up
his arse.  The fingers were removed, and he felt the blunt tip of a butt
plug being forced into his waiting arse, but it was bigger than anything
he'd ever had up there before.  In fact, he thought his arse lips were
going to be torn to shreds before he could accommodate the whole plug, he
vaguely wondered if this was how his `conquests' felt at his wrestling
matches.  Eventually, Sir worked the whole butt plug up his very sore arse.
Now he had something pushing permanently on his prostrate quite hard;
consequently, his cock was now ramrod straight, and the precum was running
out of his cock.  Like water out of a hose with the tap turned on full.

Sir grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him upright again,
until he was kneeling upright on his knees, and told him to lock his hands
behind his neck.  With his fingers interlocked.  "This is kneeling
display," Sir told him.  Still holding the hair at the nape of his neck,
Sir continued to pull him back until he was resting on his heels, "this is
kneeling rest," Sir told him.  He then felt the door close at his back.  So
now he was kneeling naked as the day he was born, with a spreader bar
clearly visible between his knees; that's if anyone even wanted to look at
his knees.  When he was kneeling there completely naked, with his cock
rock-hard, pointing straight at the street before him with precum pouring
out of the end of it.

Now.  He was beginning to wonder if he wasn't in fact, in over his head,
but how was he going to call anyone, even if he wanted to?  He was locked
out of Sirs' house without a stitch on.  He had no phone, and he couldn't
use it anyway because his hands were still handcuffed, and he didn't have
the key.  So, he had no other choice, but to wait Sir out and see what
happened.

He wasn't sure how long he had spent on his knees in bondage on Sirs' front
porch, but it had to be longer than an hour, he has been rock-hard the
entire time.  As well as leaking precum the entire time as well.  He didn't
think anyone could produce so much precum.  There was quite a pool of it
between his aching knees.

He felt the front door open again, "Umm..Sir..." he stammered, only to feel
the door slam at his back.  This time he waited for what seemed like
forever before the door opened again, so he tried to speak to Sir again.
"Um, Sir I just..."  Again the door slammed at his back.  This time he was
there so long he thought Sir must have forgotten all about him, so when the
door eventually opened again, he didn't make a sound. This time he heard a
`tsk tsk' the only reason could have been for all the precum pooling at his
knees.  "Well", was the only other thing he heard.  So, he very carefully
moved away from the puddle of precum.  Then leaning forward very carefully
he licked up all of his own precum from off the tiles of Sirs' front porch
and rocked back onto his haunches.

"Eyes down," he heard before he had a chance to even have a glance at Sir.
So, all he could see were a pair of 12" red stitched lace up boots topped
off with, what looked like, some tight leather pants.  He did open his
mouth to ask a question but closed it instantly as he didn't want to spend
any more time on Sirs' front porch on his knees "since you have finally
learnt your lesson.  Come."  Was his next command, and the boots turned and
disappeared from view, and he was met with his next with his next problem.
How to get up the half step to be able to get inside Sirs' house.  He got
as close to the step as he was able to, then leaning all the way over to
his right, he was able to just get his left knee up onto the step.  He then
threw himself as hard as he could to the left while also trying to throw
himself forwards onto Sirs' stoop and just managed to get himself onto
Sirs' stoop.  Holding himself very erect he swung first one knee forwards,
followed by his other knee.  This way he was able to `walk' down the
passage, and by the time he reached the end of the passage, he was sweating
profusely.

He'd made it to Sirs' loungeroom when he heard the front door being closed.
He must have missed `walking' past Sir without noticing him because he was
concentrating on `walking' without falling flat on his face.  "Kneeling
display," was all that he heard, so he remained upright on his poor sore
knees.

Sir came and stood in front of him, and he remembered to keep his eyes
downcast. So, could still only see Sirs' red stitched boots and the lower
part of Sirs' leather pants.  "I must confess, I'm very disappointed.  I
only advertise on the dark web to attract responses from slaves who have
had some training, but you seem to have had none.  When I saw your set up
downstairs, I thought you were a serious bondage bottom, but I can clearly
see I was wrong.  I will reimburse myself for my outlay up to this point,
and then I think we will call it quits.  I would suggest, strongly, that if
you aren't ready to play with the big boys, that you stay off the dark web.

Is this acceptable to you?"

He wisely didn't reply, he just waited.  "Speak," was the one-word command
he was given.  "No, Sir," he replied, "you could teach me to be your boy.
Couldn't you Sir?" He said as tears sprung, unbidden to his eyes.  "This is
all I have ever wanted.  To find someone who could teach me to be his boy,
Sir."

"Well.  You do seem to be teachable.  I'll give you that," Sir replied,
"but I just don't know if I want to start all over again."  Sir was quiet
for a while.  Sir sighed, "Ok.  I will give you the rest of the weekend.
If, by Sunday night, I don't think you have improved enough.  Then I'm just
going to have to recoup my losses and leave.  But, you really shouldn't be
fucking around on the dark web if you don't know what you're doing.  The
outcome could prove disastrous for you.  Oh well, let's see..."

Sir stepped out of his line of sight.  He heard Sir pick something up and
felt Sir move behind him and felt Sir unlock the handcuffs, spreader bar,
and leg irons, but he didn't dare change his position.  All he got for his
trouble was a pat on the head.  But to him, it was almost as if god himself
had just smiled on him, and he couldn't help but beam, and bask in the
pleasure of doing something right for his Master.

"Now," said Sir, "stand up."

Which he did on very wobbly legs.  "Now stand with your feet shoulder-width
apart, and your hands interlocked behind your neck with your fingers
interlocked."

He complied instantly.  For which he received another pat on his head.
"Good boy.  This is `standing display'.  Now.  Stand with your feet closer
together, and your hands by your side."  Again, he complied with Sirs'
instructions.  And again, it solicited a pat on the head.  "Good boy.  This
is standing rest.

Now. Let's see if you remembered what you've been taught.  Kneeling rest."

Instantly he dropped to his knees.  Spreading his knees as wide as he could
with his hands behind his neck with his fingers interlocked, with his bare
arse resting on his heels.  "Kneeling display."  Instantly he rose up on
his knees.  He watched as Sir lifted his right foot slightly off the floor.
He watched as Sir moved his foot behind himself, and before he realised
what Sir was going to do.  He watched as Sirs booted foot swung towards
him, but still he didn't react until Sirs' booted foot connected with his
totally exposed nuts and cock.  The force of the kick was strong enough to
knock him over backwards.  He rolled onto his side clutching his throbbing
groin, with his knees drawn up to his chest while he tried desperately to
breathe.

"Kneeling display," Sir barked the order at him.

Reluctantly, and somewhat shakily he slowly rose up to `kneeling display'.
"Good.  I see your cocks' gone down.  Don't make me do it again.
Understand!  Speak"

"No.  Sir," he gasped.

"Standing display," Sir barked at him.

Again, somewhat unsteadily he got to his feet.  He spread his feet shoulder
width apart and locked his fingers behind his neck.

"Standing rest," Sir barked.

He moved his feet closer together and dropped his hands to his side.

Sir left the room with him standing there.  He almost sighed a sigh of
relief but wasn't sure if Sir was within earshot or not.  He could still
feel the butt plug pressing cruelly on his prostrate.  Still with the same
amount of force, but thankfully his traitorous cock stayed down this time.
Or was it, in fact, coming back to life?  He instantly tried to think of
something else, anything else but the pain in his arse and his thickening
cock.  But, try as he might he couldn't stop thinking of that butt plug in
his arse and how he felt fuller with it in than he ever had in his entire
life.  Which, of course, made him think about his cock that much more.
Because it was being thought about, no matter how hard he tried to think of
something else, it was creeping back to life and was now almost at
half-mast.

"Standing display!"  Instantly he spread his feet shoulder width apart and
locked his hands behind his head.  "I thought too that might be the case,"
Sir said as he walked towards him with his hands behind his back.  When Sir
was standing in front of him, he brought his hands out from behind his
back.  He was almost afraid that Sir might have some other torture device
for his poor sore cock and balls, but he was relieved to see it was nothing
but a tea towel.  Sir scoped his cock and balls up in the tea towel and
tied it off.

When Sir pulled the ends of the tea towel tight, he discovered that it was
full of ice.  He almost jumped and cried out, when his genitalia made
contact with the ice, but he remembered what the last time he spoke out of
turn and kept as quiet as he could.

"Good!  Hold," Sir said.  He instantly dropped one hand and held the tea
towel and ice in place, when all he really wanted to do was throw it to the
floor and go and have a good cry on his bed.  Sir took the belt from his
shoulder, which he hadn't noticed when Sir had walked in, which was
understandable as he still had his eyes locked on the floor.  Sir cinched
it around his waist and used it to hold the tea towel in place.

"Standing display."  Instantly he complied.

"Ok," Sir began, "you've had a big introduction tonight into what real
bondage feels like.  You still have to, as do I have to decide if this
arrangement is what we both want.  Now, what are you called outside of this
house?  Speak."

"Um.  My name is Eric.  Sir."

"Well then, Eric, outside of this house you will still answer to, Eric, but
inside this house, if I call you anything, it will be `boy.'  But I expect
you to come if I whistle or click my fingers.  Is that understood?  Speak."

"Yes.  Sir."

"Good now there is only one other thing we have to do tonight."  With that
Sir turned around to get something he had left on the table behind him, and
Eric realised that standing, with his eyes downcast he actually got to see
Sirs' cock.  Even though it was encased in the tight leather of his pants,
and Eric was very glad that his cock was still encased in ice because he
would have got a boner instantly.  It would have to be the biggest soft
cock he had ever seen, other than his own of course.  But he thought that
Sirs' soft cock was bigger than his, and he couldn't wait until he got to
try and service Sirs' cock.

At that moment, Sir turned around and told him to go into kneeling display.
Eric heard Sir turn on the clippers seconds before he felt it eat into the
hair on the head, but again he reminded himself that he was the one who had
contacted Sir, and not the other way around.  He wanted this, so
consequently, he submitted to Sir shaving his head.  When he had shaved his
head bald, Sir told him to hold his arms out to the sides, and Sir
proceeded to shave his arms.  Followed by his pits, and his chest and back
hair.

Sir told him to stand in standing display, which Eric did instantly, while
Sir got a stool and told Eric to turn around.  He shaved all the hair from
his arse cheeks and pushed him in his lower back until he was bent over at
the waist exposing his hole, with the cruel butt plug in situ, to Sir.  Sir
proceeded to shave all the hair he could find in Eric's crack.  Moving the
butt plug out of the way while he shaved around Eric's hole, all while the
plug remained in his arse.  He told Eric to stand up and turn around.  With
Eric facing him, Sir removed the belt and tea towel full of ice and
proceeded to shave his treasure trail and pubic bush.  Pulling on Eric's
cock and balls to keep them out of his way.  He continued down Eric's legs
until he was totally denuded of hair.

Finally, Sir turned the clippers off, and Eric thought that was going to be
the worst of it.  But when Sir turned back he had a wicked looking straight
razor in his hands.  He told Eric to kneel in front of him, and he covered
him in shaving crème and proceeded to shave him all over again.
Eric could feel Sir dragging the straight razor over his scalp, and he
prayed that Sir wouldn't nick him.  Sir moved down and shaved Eric's face,
so, now he was clean shaven for the first time in years.  By the time his
head was clean shaven, Eric started to relax and trusted that Sir knew what
he was doing.  Sir continued and shaved his arms, pits, and back.  Sir then
turned his attention to Eric's chest.  Eric thought it was a good thing
that his paps were slightly indented into his pecs.  Because while he was
learning to trust his Master, he wasn't totally there yet.

He stood in standing display, while Sir shaved his abdomen and pubic area.
Pulling on his cock and balls to move them out of the way, and to ensure he
shaved every single hair.  Eric sweated it while Sir shaved his sack.  He
turned around so Sir could shave his arse.  He bent over to give Sir
unfettered access to his crack and hole.  Again, Sir left the butt plug in
situ while he shaved around it.  While Eric was bent over, Sir shaved his
perineum.  Eric then stood upright while Sir finished shaving his legs.

When Sir had finished, there wasn't a single hair left on Eric's body other
than his eyebrows and eyelashes.  He ordered Eric into the bathroom, and
after setting the temperature of the water, he ordered Eric to wash, while
Sir stood there and watched.  When Eric got into the shower, he found that
it was stone cold, but he had suspected that that was going to happen.  He
washed all the shaving crème and remaining hair off his body so that
when he got out of the shower, he was as bald as the day he was born.

Sir threw an old towel at him, and Eric dried himself off as best he could.
Sir had Eric clean all his hair up off the floor in the lounge.  He then
told Eric it was time to go to bed, as he thought Eric might have had
enough for one night.  Mentally Eric agreed and couldn't wait to get
upstairs to his king size bed.  To stretch out and have a good sleep.  Sir
bade him follow him, which Eric did.  Sir led him out the back door and
over to the clothes line.  Sir pulled a collar from his back pocket and
laid it around Eric's neck.  From Sir's other back pocket, he pulled out a
length of chain, and from one of his front pockets, he removed a padlock.
He closed the collar closed around Eric's neck and locked it closed, with
the padlock that also locked the chain in place attached to the collar.
Sir removed another padlock from his other front pocket and locked the
other end of the chain around the base of the clothesline.

When he had finished, he turned and went back inside, turning off the light
and leaving Eric there for the night.  Eric laid down and got as
comfortable as he could on the cold concrete and tried to get some sleep.



Let me know what you think Bastian meetingfrogs@outlook.com