Greaser Boy (hypno)
by magister
My master let me drive the car into town that morning. In fact, I almost always drove the car, but never without getting express permission. And seeing that I wasn't allowed to carry a wallet or any other personal belongings, I could only drive the car with him there to provide my driver's lisence should the need arise.
I liked the license, because it had a photo of myself and the name 'Greaser Boy' typed neatly next to it. I may have had another name once, but I couldn't remember being anything else but Greaser Boy. Actually, I could only remember the past five years - everything before that was a blank, but it didn't worry me. My life begins when the master found me and decided to train me to be his personal slave.
During my early training, he took me in to get a tattoo on my left bicep that said 'Greaser Boy', and I was so proud of this mark that I tried twice as hard to please my master. I could see the tatto now when I turn my head. Even though the top is down on the car, and it is cold, master picked out a tanktop for me to wear today. He said it showed off my muscles, and I always wear what he picks for me. I have on my denim jeans, and like all my other pants, there is no fly closure. My cock sticks straight out of the gap, where my master can look at it and touch it if he so desires. Of course, I cannot touch my own cock.
When I stand up in public, the denim holds together, hiding my dick if my master so desires. Sometimes he has me keep it erect so others can inspect it. He says it saves me the trouble of continually dropping my pants (although I still do that when my master wants access to my arse).
As we drive along, there are a few strange glances from passing motorists. The stare at my muscled body clad in this tight singlet, and at the erection I have resting against the steering wheel. But I no longer care what others think - only my master's pleasure. Today we were going to the Barber shop so I could be trimmed to please my master. I vaguely remember my hair being shorter, once, but my master has shown me the pleasures of greasers and rockers. My fringe now reaches past my lips, but I always have it combed up and greased into a large D.A. My master has me dye it black, so it shines in the light. It is like a large loaf of bread on my head, and takes almost an hour every morning to sculpt into some semblance of order. My master likes my hair, and has spent many hours running his fingers through it and watching me comb it back into order.
There is so much grease in my hair that the wind doesn't move it. The front is combed in a deep wave that hangs comfortably on my forehead, like a frozen breaker made of black plastic. We arrive at the shop, and I park around the side. My master does not tell me to lower my erection, so when we emerge onto the sidewalk, it stills stands proudly at attention. We enter, and I see that the place is empty except for Joe, who is always there to cut my hair. He is somewhat over forty, and his hair is short, although it too is oiled, but he has a crisp clean part on the left. He walks up to greet my master, and pays no attention to my rigid cock. Joe has seen it many times, and my master lets me pay for my haircuts by giving Joe a blow job.
Before we get too far, though, a young greaser pushes in and past my master, shoving him out of the way. I start to move forward, but my master lays a hand on my arm to restrain me. The boy walks to the barber chair and seats himself, while Joe explains he must wait. My master moves forward, and says to Joe that it's okay, the greaser is obviously in a hurry. I look at this boy who would touch my master without permission, and see that he has a large greased pompdour, about two inches high at the front and swept up at the sides. He is wearing a leather jacket, khaki pants and white t-shirt, black motorcycle boots and assorted metal jewellery.
My master puts a hand on his shoulder and continues to talk. I have seen him do this many times, but it still amazes me. He has the power to force his will onto others, and I have seen him make even the toughest biker grovel at his feet. It makes me feel proud to serve such a powerful man, and that of all the people he could have chosen, he has selected me. I stand taller and straighter, in case he looks. Of course, I cannot sit in his presence without permission, so I stand 'at ease', and watch my reflection in the mirror. The exercises my master makes me do have developed large muscles, and they stand out under the tight cotton of my singlet. Because of the cold, my nipples are large and solid, although they are big anyway from the ministrations of my master.
He is talking to this rude boy, telling him that he ought to be ashamed to push in like that, and that he didn't deserve to have such nice hair. He told him that, in fact, hair was a privilege that needed to be earned. He suggested that the boy have it all cut off to show how sorry he was for being rude. Of course, the boy had no choice. A suggestion from my master was like the word of God - you wanted to please him, and nothing was too much if it made him happy.
The boy turned to Joe and asked him to cut all that hair off, that wonderful pompadour. Joe got out the clippers and started work. He had to stop every now and then to clean some of the greased hair from where it had plugged up the blades, but it certainly didn't take long. At first the boy was left with short blond hairs all over his head, but after a second lot of passes, his scalp showed through, clean and white. But then Joe got out the shaving soap and razor, and made sure there was not a single stray hair left. The boy sat through it all, looking up at my master in adoration.
Of course my dick was hard, but I no longer knew whether it was because of the scene, or simply because my master required it. The same was true of my hair. I kept it this way because he ordered it so. If he wanted me to be shaved like the boy, I would do it in an instant to please him. When Joe was finished, my master ran his hand over the boy's scalp, pleased with the effect. Then he had him stand up and take off all his clothes. I was cold, but at least partially dressed and used to being naked in all weathers for my master. The boy was shivering as he stood naked before us all. He had an erection as well, but with a few words from my master, it went away. My master didn't like people to have pleasure they hadn't earned.
Now he called me forward to sit in the chair. I settled myself and waited patiently while my master explained what he wanted Joe to do for me. He said that the D.A. at the back was too bulky, and could he tighten it up, and could he get rid of the jelly roll at the front and just sweep it up as high as the boy's was, or higher. Joe said he could, and got to work. I thought my master would amuse himself with the naked boy, but instead had him get down on all fours and suck at my cock. I was pleased, because it meant my master was pleased with me. The boy had obviously never had a man's rod in his mouth before, but he soon got the hang of it. My cock throbbed with pleasure, but I knew I wouldn't come without the right word from my master. There were times when he had had men sucking on my cock for hours, and it stayed rigid for him, but at his slightest word, it collapsed. My dick truly belonged to him, as did every part of me.
After cutting and styling for about twenty minutes, Joe had trimmed a lot off the back and some off the front and sides. Locks of black, shiny hair had stuck to the boy's head on the way down, standing out starkly against the white skin. Joe walked over to a counter at the back of the shop, and place a pot on a small hotplate he had there. He scooped some hard substance into it, and waited 'til it had warmed through and softened. He brought the pot over to the chair and proceeded to apply it to my head. I didn't say anything, as it was none of my business, but my master asked, and Joe explained it was a new wax he was trying. As the warm substance eased through my hair, my master came over and started talking in my ear. I don't know what he was saying, but I felt my cock growing even bigger as I looked at myself in the mirror. It was as if the most amazing thing was happening to my head. I felt every muscle in my body quiver as Joe combed my hair up and back, rising like a cliff from my forehead.
The balance of my head changed, as I went from a heavy D.A. at the back and a roll on my forehead, to this new ebony mountain, held up with wax and left over grease. Upon another whispered command from my master, I felt my balls churning and I exploded into the boy's throat. He was caught by surprise, and almost choked but managed to swallow the lot. I had not come for a while, and I rejoiced in the feeling of release. Finally the haircut and the orgasm were over, and I stood up and barked out a 'Thank you, sir!' to my master. The boy stood there with a bemused look on his face. It was time to leave, and I turned and knelt down to give Joe his reward. As I was opening my mouth, though, my master called me back. He wanted to give the boy a chance to apologise to Joe, and what better way was there than offering his arse for some pleasure. A few words to the boy had him aching to be fucked by the barber, and anyone else who wandered by in the next few hours.
As we were about to leave, my master picked up the boy's leather jacket and gave it to me to put on. I was overwhelmed by the gift. I proceeded to get on the floor and kiss my master's leather boots, but he stopped me and said there would be time enough later to show my appreciation. I was eager to do anything, and with my rigid cock throbbing with anticipation, I followed my master from the shop, ready to place my entire being at his disposal.