My Bulies - Chapter Twenty-One

Ethan woke up to sunlight filtering through his blinds, body heavy and aching. His cock was still half-hard from the night before, the marker "Caleb’s Property" smudged but legible on his inner thigh. He showered quickly, the hot water doing nothing to ease the persistent throb. No underwear today—not after Caleb kept his briefs. He pulled on jeans and a hoodie, the denim chafing against his bare skin with every step. The marker felt like a secret brand, burning under his clothes.

School was a haze. Hallways crowded, classes droning, but Ethan's mind was elsewhere—on the burner post, the group chat, Caleb's taste lingering in his throat. He avoided eye contact with anyone, paranoia creeping in: did that guy in math class glance at him funny? Had the video spread?

At lunch, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A DM from Caleb: Locker room. Now. Alone.

Ethan's stomach flipped. He slipped out of the cafeteria, heart pounding, and headed to the boys' locker room. It was empty during lunch—practice over, no one around. He pushed open the door.

They were waiting.

Caleb leaned against a locker, arms crossed, that slow smile on his face. Mason and Tyler flanked him, smirks wide. Diego stood a bit back, phone in hand.

"Strip," Caleb said without preamble.

Ethan froze. "Here? But—"

Mason lunged first, grabbing Ethan's hoodie and yanking it over his head. Tyler joined in, shoving him against the bench, hands rough as they unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down. Ethan struggled instinctively—arms pinned, legs kicking—but it was futile. Diego stepped in, wrapping a towel around Ethan's wrists like makeshift restraints, tying them behind his back.

Naked. Again. Cock already twitching to life under their stares.

They restrained him between them—Mason and Tyler holding his arms, Diego pressing a knee against his back to keep him bent over the bench. Ethan was spread, ass up, hole exposed to the cool air.

Caleb knelt in front of him, pulling a small bag from his backpack. He produced a can of shaving cream and a safety razor.

"Time to make you smoother," Caleb said, voice low. "More like the sissy slut you are."

Ethan's eyes widened. "Wait—please—"

Caleb ignored him. He shook the can, sprayed a thick dollop of cream onto his palm, and started with Ethan's pubes—smearing the cool foam over the coarse hair above his cock, working it in thoroughly. The razor followed—slow, careful strokes, stripping the hair away in neat lines. Ethan's cock hardened fully under the attention, pre-cum beading at the tip as Caleb's fingers brushed too close.

"Look at him getting hard from this," Tyler laughed, gripping Ethan's arm tighter.

Caleb finished the front, wiping the bare skin clean with a towel. Then he moved behind—spreading Ethan's ass cheeks wide, cream coating the fuzzy hair there, even dabbing it carefully around his hole. The razor glided over the cheeks first, then closer—delicate, intimate strokes that made Ethan whimper and clench.

"Such a pretty little sissy now," Caleb murmured, rinsing the razor under the sink before one final pass. "Smooth for us. Ready to be used."

They released him when it was done, Ethan slumping against the bench, skin tingling, hole and pubes completely bare. He felt exposed, vulnerable, more slutty than ever.

Caleb pocketed the razor. "Good boy. See you soon."

They left him there to dress, laughing as they went.

Ethan pulled his jeans up over his smooth, sensitive skin, the fabric feeling foreign now. His cock throbbed against the zipper, denied again.