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King and Pup Part 3: Sunday by Shaggy Boy
Thank you to those who have made it this far. This is the final chapter of my brief trilogy. I sincerely hoped you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed experiencing it, and re-experiencing it in writing.
Part 3: Sunday
Sunday had finally arrived. I worked my early morning shift at the café and was home by noon. The house was expectedly empty with both of my roommates at work for the day. King would have just gotten out of bed, having worked a late shift. We text the normal sweet good mornings, a thick layer of sexual tension lying beneath them. Finally, I was notified that I had a half hour until he would be there and to shower off the days work. I was sure to be as fresh as possible.
All of the equipment was kept in my room: whip, binds, blindfold, clippers, cape etc. I had no idea which he would use. But I had accepted my fate, even if he intended to flog me to welts and bruises or use my body in ways he never had before. The later felt most likely, given his warning.
A knock on the door and King was there, smiling his sexy smile. His chin strap looked fresh and his grown out cut had some product in it, cute little messy spikes. He looked like some punk out of the 90’s. I was entranced. We embraced, kissing hard in the doorway. His breath was full of spearmint. I offered him coffee, then tea, the water, contrary to his good breath. He declined all three. He kicked off his shoes and took off his jacket. He nudged his head toward the stairs, toward my room in the basement. I obeyed his unspoken command and we went to my bedroom.
Downstairs, I had a 3-wick candle lit, a warm nutty scent. The bed was made neatly, the pillows fluffed for maximum comfort. My adrenaline was pumping, my heart beating in my chest. I wanted to pounce on him, but the rules were different down here. I kept my hands to myself awaiting orders. I was stripped of my clothes, only my blue jock strap was left on. He stayed in his loose tank top and underwear. I was told to lay my hands flat on the bed. My bed was well equipped with bars and places for ties as it was once a double sized bunk bed, the top part removed leaving the metal framework for far less innocent usage.
My hands were flat on the bed. I knew what this meant: the sadomasochism part of BDSM. It came in the form of a harsh whip of eleven tails, the leather coils alternating deep red and black. He let the chill tendrils dangle over my exposed back, teasing the flesh. Crack. A hard lash across the back. My knees buckled. Crack. Another, lighter this time but painful, a sweet pain. I let my head dangle a bit.
"Look straight ahead."
"Yes King." My head was back up, looking at the wall behind the bed.
There was a delay, and no movement from King. I could feel my heart beating in my chest, listening for the sound of his arm retracting. Crack. A hard lashing, then another, and another. I held firm, feeling the blood rising to my back. Then his firm hands were on me, rubbing my body with affection. The lashing was brief and held no explicit purpose. I was not being punished for anything. It was the simple pleasure that drove the act, mutually riveting. And it was just the warm-up.
I was soon laying in the bed, my hands drawn above me and locked tight in iron police cuffs around one of the metal bars. My head rested on a soft pillow in a crimson pillow case. The sound of metal on metal rang as I squirmed trying to get comfortable. It was a futile effort. The metal cuffs dug into my wrists, but I would not dare complain. It was a softer choice for the ankles, leather cuffs held together with a chain. He got on top of me, kissing me passionately, running his hands along my exposed body.
He stopped, studying my torso. I am mostly hairless, with the exception of my pubic area and a happy trail, which was shaved off then at his command. My skin tone is pale and easily marked. King had made a habit of maintaining certain love bites on my body, mainly on my chest, hip and upper thigh. Sometimes my neck as well. But they were healed, as he observed. He went to work, sucking right above my nipple, I could feel his teeth massaging the skin rather harshly. I moaned. He moved on, my body more sensitive the further down he went. He repeated. I moaned louder, trying to contain myself. His tongue went over the tormented spots, now bumps of red and purple. I was marked once again as his.
Following other precarious activities, he got up and went over to the box of toys. I saw him remove the blindfold. He covered my eyes, my sight gone as the metal cuffs further dug into my wrists. I had been in this position before, and I thought I could expect what was next: the slow stimulation of sensory manipulation. In the past it had been hot wax, ice, leather and his cool breath.
"Stay put Pup, while I set up," he said.
Set up what? I squirmed a little, producing that clinking metal sound again. I heard things moving about at the foot of the bed. The sound of fabric being shaken was evident, and things being moved and taken out of plastic containers. I knew what he was up to. I felt him near me again, the keys unlocking one of the cuffs. The slight relief was cut short as he sat me up and bent my arm behind my back, locking my wrists together again. He guided me to my feet and away from the bed. I shuffled slowly as my ankles were still detained and I couldn’t see. I felt the carpet in my toes change to linen, as I was led onto a sheet spread out on the ground. He placed me on my knees and removed the blindfold.
I looked straight on and saw myself, my mirror having been removed from the wall and placed at my level. It was thrilling. My body had several of his bite marks on it, and a very light gleam of sweat. My hair was messy, slightly grown out from the last cut, hanging thick over the middle of my forehead. I was put in the center of a sheet laid out over the carpet. It was soft on my knees. On a small fold out table I saw it, the maroon and silver Oster 76, its wire uncoiled and plugged into the wall. The various clipper guards remained in a small bag on the table next to the neatly folded haircut cape. I felt a lump form in my throat. I straightened my posture, deciding on resolve. I would accept anything my master gave me.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes King." His fingers ran delicately through my hair.
There I was, on my knees, wrists and ankles bound, in complete obedience, and truly the most excited I had ever been. King grabbed the cape and let it flow over my body. It was a nice nylon barber’s cape with gold and white stripes. He double fastened it tight around my neck. It draped down to the floor around me. It was time.
"Here is how I am going to do this. See that bag?" Standing over me, he directed my attention to the bag of clipper guards. "I’m just going to pick one out at random and buzz your whole head with it, clear?" His crystal blues eyes went wide, demanding a response.
"Yes King," was all I could muster.
This was it then, where I would lose my hair, or most of it. A buzz is a buzz. Long or short, I knew it would claim most of my hair. And the guards ran short, as the Oster 76 had a 000-blade attached to it. There was even a #0 guard he could pull from the bag, buzzing me down to stubble. I had never been that short before and really had never considered it a possibility until that moment. In fact, I hadn’t really had my hair short in years, let alone a buzz cut. There was hope for me. The largest guard, and certainly the most space consuming and easy to pull was a #10. That’s 1 ¼ in. If he pulled that, I would have enough to style. I could still leave this session with a piece of me.
He picked up the bag in such a casual manner. His genuine lack of concern for what would happen to me was fixed in his posture. His sexy body towered over me. Lifting the bag, one could hear the clinking noise of the hard-plastic guards. My eyes were fixed on his hands as they dug into the bag, wiggling through the top layer. Out came a piece of rigged black plastic. I judged its size. Not a #10. Not a #8 either, or a #7.
"Six," he said, showing me the clipper guard.
Six. 6/8 of an inch. Less given the base guard. It wasn’t my saving grace, the 10 guard, but I wouldn’t be buzzed to stubble either. However, most of my hair would be gone soon, if he was seriously going to do it. A tinge of hope came to me that he was bluffing to arouse me, that he would let me up any minute. The guard clicked onto the clipper, a sweet and dangerous sound. An even more dangerous sound followed. He turned them on, the loud engine of an Oster 76 humming to life. They have a particular smell too, one that can only be described as arousing. Vulnerable, horny and my senses engulfed, King stepped up to me, looking down into my eyes.
He ran his free hand through my hair again, grabbing and moving my head where he willed it. He stepped behind me, clearing my view of the mirror. He positioned my head so I could watch as he placed the clippers at my forehead. He did not tease me, or even look at me in the mirror, he just ran the clippers across my head, front to back. I gasped. The clipper was powerful, easily taking an entire strip from the top left of my head, where my part was. Not anymore. My eyes narrowed in in the super short part of my fringe, barely a sprout of hair now. Long strands fell to my shoulder and slid down the cape in front of me. I could hear the weight of it sliding on the nylon. A slight grin was on King’s face as he positioned the clippers in the middle now and ran them back again. There was a change in the clipper’s hum as the largest section of my fringe was cut down, a massive swathe of hair buzzed of and falling before me.
In the mirror, I noticed my face open up after just two passes of the clipper. A third pass and the fringe was gone, my forehead completely exposed. The expression in my eyebrows immediately became more evident. King continued his work, running the loud Oster back and forth across my head, cutting down every piece on top and that sprang from the crown. The sides were a slightly grown out 0 fade from before. They blended nicely on their own into the newly buzzed top. He wouldn’t need to touch them. I was ready to explode. I glanced down at the pile of light brown hair that had fallen before me.
The clipper sounded off. He ran his hand over the fuzz for the first time. Small, loose hairs went flying off. It was sensational. I could feel how short it was on his touch alone. King took the guard off the clipper, pushing my head forward, again the pile of hair staring back at me. Was he about to run the 000 up my head?! No. He cleaned the neck fuzz and lined the back. He was taking care to be clean and precise. The heavy clippers made a loud clunk as they were set to the table. I looked at myself again. I was completely different. King inched closer, rubbing my head with both hands.
"I love it," he said calmly.
Ready to burst, he unlocked my hand so I could relive myself of the unbearable build up. After the brief clean up of rolling up the sheet on the floor, King herded me into the shower, lathering me in steamy hot water and washing the loose hairs off of me. He ran shampoo through what little hair was left, massaging my scalp. Our lips locked and perhaps a half hour passed before we were done, maybe more.
To my surprise, the towel alone nearly instantly dried my hair. I looked at myself again in the steamy mirror, whipping away the condensation. I stood nude, my body bitten, my wrists slightly bruised. My floppy hair had been buzzed down, and my King stood behind me, wrapping his arms around me.
As usual, our time apart was longer than our time together. A week later he made me buzz my own hair down with a #4, which resulted in a trip to the barber to get the sides cleaned and blended properly, again with a 0. That would be his last involvement with my hair. Everything else going on around this more delightful circumstance was less than ideal. A combination of the distance, time and lack of compatibility lead to a cordial but bitter end to our relationship. Regardless of the unhappy ending, the experience was genuine and fulfilling.