Page 15 of Under His Heel

Five minutes was absolute torture. Alex’s stomach already felt weird with the hunger pangs, and now these unnatural cramps overrode everything. He clenched hard, shaking all over, wondering why this was affecting him so badly.

A timer dinged. Singh came back and strapped a cool container under his ass, and Tracht got an arm under him to force him somewhat upright.

“You can let go now,” Tracht murmured into his ear, all while pushing down on Alex’s belly.

There was no conscious thought involved at all. Alex released, and it was such a relief, mixed in with this overwhelming sense of shame that he didn’t understand. It was Tracht. It wasn’t him. Tracht was the pervert. Tracht was–

Tracht brushed a tear out of Alex’s eye. “Good boy.”

Alex shuddered hard.

The bucket of filth got emptied into the vacuum trash collector, and then Singh was back, wiping his hole and ass. She ended up poking a latex-covered finger into him, and when she pulled out she said, “I guess he’s clean enough for me to proceed.”

There was more? Alex squeezed his eyes shut and leaned towards Tracht’s hand.

“Do his hair first,” Tracht said, gently stroking along Alex’s scar.

“All right. How much of it? And how would you like me to do it?”

“Use the epilator,” Tracht said. “Shaving would be fun but I can’t be bothered to maintain that. For now, I just want his armpits, chest, stomach, and pubic area cleared.”

Hair would be easy in comparison to what he’d just lived through, Alex thought. Hair was external. Hair could grow back. He took deep breaths and managed to turned his head away from Tracht, which got an amused snort from the man. Just hair.

What Alex hadn’t expected was the sudden sharp pain on his chest as a patch of hair was ripped out. He yelped and jerked, though Tracht quickly pushed down on his shoulders.

“Wh-what the– the heck is that?” Alex looked downwards, cringing internally at how shaky his voice sounded. Singh stood opposite of Tracht, rolling a strange device down his chest, each movement accompanied by the sharp pain.

“Don’t move.” Tracht let go of his shoulders and went back to the confusing as hell gentle face-stroking. “That, dear Alex, is an epilator. It pulls hair out by the root. Much longer lasting than shaving.”

For some reason Alex had thought it would be that laser shit the last chick he’d hooked up with had sworn by. Lasers he could do. This, on the other hand...

This would hurt like hell on his armpits and balls. He whimpered. “Can’t we- can’t we do something else? I’ll look dumb without body hair anyway.”

“You already look dumb, Alex,” Tracht said with a smile. “Now sit still, or things will get a lot worse.”

He breathed through the chest and stomach hair removal. It was doable, nowhere near the pain he’d endured for any of his scars. But then Singh tried to get him to lift his arms, and he just– he just couldn’t.

“Alex,” Tracht warned.

It shouldn’t have been this hard. He’d had his skin burned, his face cut, his tooth ripped out. This was nothing in comparison. Women did it all the fucking time.

“Can’t we just shave it? I’ll keep myself shaved. All over. Please? I—” Alex had to stop babbling to breathe, and then he hated himself all over for being reduced to this pathetic, blubbering mess.

Tracht sighed loudly, though there was a smile on his lips and– yeah, his slacks were tenting really obviously. “Lift those arms, Alex, if you want to eat in the near future.”

Alex sobbed, and then slowly, he brought his arms up. Tracht clasped one of this hands, maybe to keep it in place, maybe to ‘comfort’ him or something.

If not for Tracht’s hand, he probably would have brought his arm down right with the first pass of the epilator. Fuck, that stung so hard, and Alex was so shaken up already that he couldn’t steel himself against it. He screamed, hating himself so hard for showing this much emotion over a little bit of pain.

Then Singh walked around the bed to repeat it all with his other armpit. Alex’s mouth kept saying words, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to know what he was saying—probably pathetic begging.

And right when his second armpit was free of hair, when he had enough reprieve to breathe properly, a knock echoed in the exam room.

Tracht and Singh both looked at each other. Not a planned interruption, then.

“Yes?” Singh called out, and the door slowly opened.

Parsons peered inside. “Uh, I heard screaming. Is– is everything okay?”

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