Tales From Master Ovid #2: Skylar by Lavro

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Dear Reader,

allow me to extend a hand towards you, and rub the short stubble on top of your head as I tell you another tale from my Dungeon, one that will keep you on the edge of the barberchair!

I am talking about the unfortunate story of Sklyar, the brat who struggled to accept his fate, to embrace change. I remember when he came into my service, dreaming his military fantasies, eager to submit to one who would see his imagination made real - me, Master Ovid.

He came under my care mere months after Achilles had, who was only at the very start of his journey to be transformed into a god. Skylar had a different path. He sweated while I made him into a new recruit. His jock charm, chin strap beard, and perfectly quaffed hair was reduced to stubble and thrown in the trash before he put on his camouflage and completed his acts of service to me. But he panicked. What would his friends say? How would he explain what happened to his family? Did he have to keep it short? I reminded him how he purred, how much he enjoyed it, but my persuasion was no match for his vanity. He was, after all, a very pretty man.

Too pretty, I have to confess. He was tall, with lean muscle, and very straight teeth. He was a wrestler at his university, and had light body hair on his chest. He was from a dream, and I wanted to train him. To break him. To keep him. I clippered him down again when he came back to me, but this time he showed discomfort. Although taking his hair was my greatest pleasure, rubbing the stubble and seeing all of his dashing features completely exposed, I was not able to give him comfort in his military transformation.

"Please let me grow my hair back, Master Ovid," he begged.

"Earn it," I demanded reluctantly.

He did earn it, slowly, in ways I cannot fathom telling here. In deep, intimate ways that proved without a doubt that his wishes were sincere. And so he began to grow his hair again. The next week, I didn't buzz his growth off. Or even the next few months. Once he could quiff it again, he showed his perfect teeth more. I could see his chest swell in terror when I sat him in the chair to clean the hair off of his neck and ears, fearful of what else I might do.

"I'll take it all if I want it, right Skylar?"

"Yes, Master Ovid." He didn't mean it. I feigned putting the clippers to his hairline, and felt him tense and lean away.

Another month passed, then another, until his quiff was overgrown again, and his ears were covered again. I decided he would not get any clean ups. That he would have to live with his decision. Everything else we did, he continued with the same fervor. He did his recruit exercises. Wore his chains well. I noticed his chest muscles growing, and he never tired of pleasing me. It was nearly enough.

The months saw his hair grow longer, past his eyebrows, over his ears, brown and mostly straight but for the flared up ends. Skylar would occasionally ask for a trim, the answer always "no." It was to my undeniable shock when Skylar came to me one day with his hair trimmed off of his ears, giving him a strikingly handsome modern mullet look, complete with his long fringe and hair flaring up at his neck. He was not blind to my dissatisfaction with his attractive, but unauthorized haircut.

At that time, Achilles was a permanent addition to the family, and Will began to sit obediently for his weekly clipper shaves. You remember Will and Achilles right? Achilles was near the Greek masterpiece I wanted to transform him into. Near enough that I was willing to risk him to prove my point.

"Do you think you could beat Achilles in a wrestling match?" I asked the cocky man with the mullet.

"Yes," Skylar answered. "Achilles is strong. But I can wrestle."

His confidence made my mouth water. "You know I am not happy with your hair."

"I'm sorry Master Ovid… I wasn't thinking when I did it."

"Here is your choice" I gave a threatening glare. "Risk it against Achilles, or leave here and never come back." My tone was sincere.

"I'll wrestle him," he did not hesitate. "I'll do it. And I'll beat him."

"Good… good. If you lose though, no more resistance."

"Anything you desire, Master Ovid," Skylar did not feign being nervous for me. "But I'm not going to lose."

I already knew Achilles would do anything I asked. I was pleased with Skylar’s confidence. In fact, it made me worry for Achilles, who would be at risk of losing his long golden hair. A risk I was willing to take.

I decided the contest would happen immediately, to Skylar’s surprise. It was easy to arrange. I told Achilles what was at stake, and he obediently readied himself to compete against Skylar, who was admittedly not as muscular as the divine Achilles, but certainly more trained in wrestling. If swift footed Achilles was worried, he did not show it. He simply began to stretch his exposed body in preparation. There was no mat, just the carpeted area of the Dungeon and ample space. That, and a pair of cordless clippers that was placed on the floor at one end of the room, and a pair of metal handcuffs at the other end.

"The rules are simple," I began. "Your goal is to subdue your opponent, using the clippers to buzz the other to stubble.One of you will have your hair cut to your scalp by your opponent. The winner keeps their hair. Are you ready?"

Achilles and Skylar were naked, athletic, pulsing with the intensity of the looming battle. Achilles was of near perfect physique, the fruit of his intense labor under my guidance. Skylar was muscular, and a university level wrestler. I desperately hoped Achilles would defeat him, but knew his physique was not going to grant him the advantage over Skylar’s training.

"Begin," I said firmly.

Skylar sprang for Achilles with high velocity, grabbing his legs and making to lift him. Achilles planted his feet firmly on the ground, bending over forward and grabbing Sklyar around his waist. He lowered himself with force, putting his weight onto Skylar and working him to the ground, breaking the grip on his legs. Their skin began to blush with heat.

Skylar, the veteran wrestler, broke Achilles’ grasp, quickly slipping from his subdued hold, grabbing his wrist, and dragging him forward, breaking his balance. Almost unknowingly, Achilles arm and head were locked, as I watched Skylar forcefully lower him and began sprawling out on the floor, reaching with his long legs and feet for the clippers behind him. They were just out of reach, so he began to drag the struggling Achilles, inch by inch.

Achilles noticed his game, countering by pulling in the opposite direction, towards the cuffs, which he dared search for blindly with his foot. Achilles strength was greater, and Skylar lost ground quickly. The rattle of the cuffs against Achilles' toes alarmed him. Achilles had the cuffs, dragging them up with his foot and taking hold of them, even while Sklyar held the dominant position. I watched his body swell and contort as Achilles dragged his foot up to retrieve the cuffs with his free hand.

The clicking of the cuffs threatened Sklyar, who then broke his hold and pushed hard against Achilles, pushing him onto his back and disorienting him. I saw the panic in his eyes as Skylar straddled him, grappling with the cuffs in his strong hands. Achilles struggled, but Skylar had the upper hand, bearing his weight down and forcing a cuff to clasp around one of Achilles wrists with the characteristic rattle of locking cuffs. Trying to resist, pushing up, Skylar gave way so that Achilles would twist and he bore down again, trapping Achilles’ free hand between his hip and the floor.

"Noooo," Achilles strained as Skylar pulled Achilles’ free arm to the floor by the cuff, sharp pain cutting through his hand, locking it around the trapped wrist. A dirty move.

Achilles was now fully cuffed with his hands bound in front of him, and he was worn out from trying to resist. I sighed in irritation. Skylar rose to his feet, watching the bound Achilles struggle to his knees. Skylar was quick to grab the clippers then rush back into the battle. But Achilles evaded, driving his shoulder into Skylar! Still, the veteran wrestler was prepared, grappling Achilles under his arm and tightly constricting him from behind with his legs, one free hand grasping the clippers that suddenly hummed to life. Achilles' eyes went wide, his arms fixed upward in a half-Nelson, snared.

He started to thrash as Skylar brought the clippers down, but it was no use. Achilles let out a frustrated scream when he felt the clipper blade fall on the back of his head, cutting through a swath of his long golden hair and letting them fall to the ground. His breath was rapid, irregular, wild, panicked, as he planted his feet on the ground and pushed. There was a smug smile on Skylar’s face that irritated me, as he struggled to bring the clippers down again for the fatal blow.

The clippers hovered above the struggling Achilles, getting closer to a devastating swipe. Suddenly, Achilles bent his elbows, allowing his hand to grab the clipper-holding wrist of Skylar, his strength waning. Achilles’ other hand grabbed the clippers, the half-Nelson breaking, and Achilles twisting to push Skylar to his back.

With absolute speed, Achilles was on top of him, his knees pressing hard into Skylar’s biceps, flattening his arms on the ground, Achilles’ manhood hovering above the struggling, mulleted foe. Skylar kicked at the air, arched his back, and did everything he could. Achilles just watched him smiling, knowing Skylar was trapped under his mighty presence.

Even with bound hands, Achilles wielded the clippers, bringing them down towards Skylar’s head, who was seized by panic. His freshly cut, handsome mullet was moments away from being ruined. Destroyed. Not only was his nice haircut At risk, but he knew if he lost, I would never let him grow it back.

"No, noooo," he grunted, trying to lift Achilles off of him, with no avail. His arms were pinned.

Achilles at last let the bare clipper blade press into the top of Skylar’s forehead, cutting through a large chunk of his floppy fringe, right below his hairline. He continued to struggle helplessly until he felt Achilles push the clippers along the top of his head, leaving behind a white strip of stubble.

Skylar let out a gasp and allowed his engaged muscles to relax. All but one, the one that took pleasure in his forced submission. Achilles held his position, quick swipe after quick swipe, taking all the hair from the top of Skylar’s head, letting it pile around him. Achilles had won.

"That's enough Achilles," I said, relieved. "Good work." I approached him, examining the clippered patch on the back of his head, and looking at the felled locks of his golden hair. "Your hair is salvageable too. I'm glad. Let him up."

Achilles rose to his feet, always staring down at his defeated opponent. Skylar sat up with a wince, glazed in sweat, long locks of his hair sticking to his shoulders. His eyes met mine in shame. The hair on the back of his head still flared out, even with the top cut down completely.

"Come with me," I ordered him. "To my chair." He might have been about to cry. "Come watch, Achilles."

Back in my throne room, I sat the nude Skylar down, his head hung in shame. He had not sat in the barber chair for a long time. That was going to change. He lost, and now he would submit his hair to me completely, as he should have from the beginning.

I left him uncapped this time. His muscles still pumped with blood and adrenaline. Then, using a devastatingly short T-blade trimmer, I slowly removed the longer hair at the back of his head, dumping it onto his lap, the mullet disappearing. The trimmer cut noticeably shorter than the clippers that had destroyed his hair on top, so I made sure to take the top down too. Whatever shadow of stubble he had before turned to pale white scalp. The whole time, he didn't say a word. That was until he felt me begin to lather his head with shaving cream.

"Master, I lost, ok? I learned my lesson," he pleaded.

"Achilles," I ignored Skylar, flashing the Greek god a straight razor. "Do you want to finish your victory?"

Achilles nodded with reserved excitement, walking his perfect body towards me, towards the shamed Skylar. He took the razor with gentle hands. He knew how to use it. I taught him. One piece at a time, he dragged the razor of Skylar’s foamed head, leaving behind glistening, bare skin.

I watched, enjoying myself throughout the slow process. Each slow swipe smoothed out more of Skylar’s head, revealing his beautiful head shape that made his handsome features stark, his eyes bursting, his lips full. Just like he was supposed to be. How did I let this get away from me? How did I allow him to grow that mullet without imposing my will more sternly? Never again. My mouth watered at the sight of him, my body swelled. He was shaved smooth. And he would stay that way.

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