The clock had just given up buzzing in my tiny room, not too long ago. I finally forced
myself to look at it and cursed – late for work. With a really quick shower and a timely
bus, it might just be possible to arrive on time. Quickly sprinting to the bathroom I saw
that Liz, my obnoxious church-lady housemate, was trailing me to the door by a fraction of
a second.
Oh, well, she’d had the same chance as I did. Now she’d have to wait. Our other three
housemates had long since left for work.
As I locked the bathroom door behind me she shrieked, and shouted at me through the door
-- she seemed to believe that I’d deliberately waited until the last minute just to make
her late for work. As I said, she was unusually obnoxious.
Amazingly, she continued shouting and pounding on the door, sermonizing (she’s a Baptist
and a great sermonizer) about my extreme inconsideration. She was yelling at me like I was
a naughty child. “This is very rude of you. You must be feeling very small now. Simon.
SIMON! Simon, I expect this misbehavior to stop right now. Aren’t you feeling small,
acting this way?”
This was really getting annoying. I could hardly hear her through the shower, and yet
she wouldn’t stop. Pound and shout. Shriek and pound. And the word “small” kept recurring,
almost like an obsession of hers. Was this a sexual challenge?
I’d been considering for weeks what this misplaced missionary deserved. This girl was a
real winner, one you really hoped you wouldn’t find living in your house. Her dinner talk
was about how Baptists were the only true Christians, and Christianity was the only true
religion.
She also loved to rave about her Bible Study friends and her family, and how wonderful
the parties were she was throwing for them, which she couldn’t invite non-Baptists to.
This included even her housemates. She expected us to “go the extra mile” and help prepare
for the parties and clean up after them, though.
She preached constantly the virtues that she herself had none of, with constant recourse
to parables, biblical quotes, and churchy clichés. Meanwhile, she was a horrific
slob of a housemate, making messes and leaving them for others to clean, while turning
every discussion about it into one on religion. Maddening. I wondered if I could make her
see this, now that I had a captive audience.
I’d even gone so far as to purchase a couple of toys that might help teach her such a
lesson, but I had never thought of a good way to begin. But now I thought I knew.
And she had just called me “small” once too often.
Without turning off the shower, I padded naked and silent over to the door; she was
unbelievably continuing to pound on it, challenging my manhood still.
I mentally rehearsed the motions for a moment, then quickly opened the door, grabbed Liz
by the front of her bathrobe, pulled her by the robe’s lapels into the bathroom, then
yanked them over her shoulders and down halfway, pinning her arms behind her back in the
sleeves. “Don’t move!!” I shouted loudly, startling her briefly into immobility.
I grabbed her wrists behind her back and towed her behind me, stumbling as she walked
backwards, back to my bedroom. I held her wrists tightly in one hand while with the other
I opened my bottom drawer and fetched 5 pairs of handcuffs, a ball gag, a few other toys,
and a key on a bracelet. She tried to squirm loose, with a firm “All right, enough’s
enough. Let me go now.”
I squeezed her wrists together tighter, and coldly said, “You really don’t want to piss
me off any more than you just have. Shut up, and don’t move.” She looked shocked and
stopped squirming.
Then I dragged her back into the bathroom. I turned her to face me, and let her hands
go. She brought her arms back in front and as she did I cuffed her wrists together just
above the now crumpled sleeves. While she was trying to react to that, I reached down and
did the same to her ankles.
She reached down, too late, to stop me cuffing her ankles, and the robe dropped to the
floor. As she tried to pick it up, I used cuff pair number three to connect her ankle
chain to her wrist chain. Now she couldn’t straighten up, reach her face, or do much else
for that matter. I regarded Liz naked for the first time.
Well, nearly the first -- I had once walked in on Liz in her bedroom by accident, but
that was a short glimpse. That was when I had realized that her body was actually quite
nice, even for a 20-year-old university girl.
Slender, blonde, shapely and taut, with slim legs, full hips, small waist and pert,
conical B-cup breasts, her body was begging for recognition. And the full-length mirror I
had caught her posing before, that first time, told me that she was aware of her appeal
too.
In fact, even her face wasn’t all that bad. Her mouth was a bit too wide, her lips a bit
too thin, perhaps a little underbite on her. Not supermodel material, but not bad. I had
honestly thought her hot, when I’d first met her. But knowing her better I knew that she
was ugly inside, and her face had lost its appeal for me.
Finally she was catching her breath, and Liz opened her mouth to shout at me. As she
did, I used her wide-open mouth to pop in a large ball gag.
As she tried to take it out and realized she couldn’t reach, I efficiently strapped the
gag in and locked it behind her head. It stretched her jaw quite wide. I didn’t see
any need for her to contribute to the conversation, and her usual talk of Jesus was even
more tiresome than her belittling insults.
I intended to be nice to her now, to make up for the brief violence, and it would be a
lot easier if she didn’t talk.
Her heavy breathing continued for a while, snot bubbling through her nose and spattering
her reddened face. “Poor thing,” I said; gently I wiped her face with a Kleenex, then
helped her blow her nose on a second.
I wanted to be sympathetic but it was difficult. This woman was as close to evil as I’d
ever met. (Of course, I was young.) In addition to her hypocrisy and pettiness, she
was constantly trying to convert me from my religion to hers, despite my repeated requests
to leave it alone. She didn’t just do it to me -- she did it to everyone. Very
invasively. I couldn’t wait to show her just how invasively.
As she recovered, she began trying to harangue me through the gag.
“MMM-mm-MMMM! MMM-mm-MMMM!” Over and over. Probably “let me go,” in her most commanding
tones. Oh yes, Liz was also a ‘voice of command’ type. She expected people to obey her
because she shouted. Well, it wasn’t working.
I picked her up under the knees and back, carried her over to the bath/shower, and
placed her in it, sitting down at the back, facing the faucet. The shower was still
running, so I went back in myself, in front of her, and continued shampooing my hair.
Shampoo got in her eyes, and she couldn’t wipe it out. I waited a bit and watched her
clamp her eyes shut, whimpering, and then said “I’ll get that.”
I carefully rinsed my hands and wiped her eyes for her, until she could open them again.
Then I went back to shampooing. She was looking at me, trying to shout again, her
commanding tone changing occasionally to pleading, then back.
I washed myself thoroughly, taking special care with my own naughty bits, and ignored
her for a while. (My cock had obviously registered her nearby decent body, but I pretended
not to.) When I was all clean, I began on her. I redirected the shower toward her head,
and she winced as the spray hit her face directly.
I soaked and shampooed her hair, and then carefully rinsed it clean. Washed the shampoo
from her eyes again and wiped them clean and dry. Then I used the soap, and carefully
sudsed up her shoulders, arms, chest, and belly. Her breasts felt quite firm and
slippery. Mmm. Nice body; too bad about the soul.
I washed her back, then rinsed it all off. Then I lifted her by the hipbones and flipped
her over onto her hands and knees. Since her hands were unable to move far from her
ankles, this put her butt high in the air, with her weight on her shoulders and her head
on one side on the tub. I checked that she could breathe okay.
Then I cleaned her butt and legs. And crotch. Non invasively, just as she would probably
do it to herself; like a nurse might. Let her wonder. Hmmm -- blond pubes. Never seen
those before. Felt very soft and straight. She protested as I stroked them curiously. The
pubes were not trimmed, running up onto her legs, since she was a slob.
Her ass was still in the air. She tried to tip herself over a couple times while I was
washing her, but I tipped her back up until she stopped. She had stopped “talking” for a
while.
Okay, time for a little sermon of my own. I spoke to her ass, mostly, glancing down at
her face once in a while for confirmation.
“Liz, you’ve just been very impolite.”
She snorted something obscene through the gag.
“Let’s not discuss that, then. Let’s discuss your religious fervor instead. You have to
realize that most other people think of their religion as a private thing. If they don’t
ask you to discuss it with them, it’s because they want to keep it to themselves. And in
general, they’d like you to keep yours to yourself, too. Do you understand?”
She tried to speak, but I didn’t think she understood yet.
“It’s just like everyone takes showers, but you were pounding on the door of mine.
That’s obnoxious, too. Showers are also private. Maybe I could explain with an analogy.
These here are your private parts.”
I placed my hand on her. She grunted a sharp protest.
“You normally don’t go waving them around in public. Here’s mine.”
I moved my hips forward, showing off my now very erect cock.
“You don’t expect me to show mine in public either. And you certainly don’t expect me to
force you to accept mine.”
I paused to let her wonder if I was going to demonstrate. She looked at me silently,
hatefully.
“In fact, having someone else forcing their religion on you feels much like having Jesus
shoved up your ass.”
I used a bit of hair conditioner on my finger and swirled it around her anus. She shook
her head and protested through the gag, but I thrust my finger inside her anyway. Her anus
was tighter then I expected. She clamped down on my finger and I slowly removed it. She
whimpered, which made my cock harder.
“That was only my finger.”
I reached behind me and picked up the Jesus figurine that she’d left by the sink. Yes,
she was a Jesus figurine fan. She had left others in the kitchen and living room too.
The figurine was about 6 inches tall, a little plastic sculpture of an adult white Jesus
with sad features, standing on a wide base.
“See this? This is Jesus.” I showed it to her. “And this is Jesus up your ass.”
Out of her sight, I brought Jesus around behind her still-raised ass, swapped him out
for a nice medium-sized butt plug, and popped it in, hard. Even though the conditioner had
lubed her opening, she squealed. It wasn’t a big plug, but in her presumably virgin ass,
she probably believed she’d taken the whole figurine.
I let her continue to think so. I liked the idea of owning that bit of her mind, too. I
was altering her reality a bit.
“Now do you understand?”
She nodded vigorously, and protested loudly, probably demanding that I take Jesus out.
Her eyes showed discomfort, and shock, and she was using that commanding tone again. She
was squirming, trying to tip onto one side, but I wouldn’t let her.
“This is an important lesson, so I need you to remember it. Every time you try to force
Jesus on someone, please remember what it feels like. Do you think you can remember this?”
Again she nodded vigorously and vocalized.
“Good. Now let’s talk.” I turned off the rapidly cooling shower and knelt down behind
her, straddling her bound legs and arms, one hand on her butt. I changed the cuffs
running from her wrists down to the ankle cuffs, clipped the bottom cuff directly to her
left ankle, and removed the ankle hobbles entirely. Her right leg was free, but supporting
her.
I kneeled between her legs, forcing them wide apart. Her upper body still rested on her
head and shoulders, her arms uselessly bound to her left ankle below.
I ran the bathtub faucet behind me, put a little shaving cream in my left hand, and took
a disposable razor in the right. Facing her from behind, I spread her legs a bit further
with my knees, and lathered her. She jumped as I began to shave her pussy lips and inner
thighs.
“Hold still, and cooperate. You don’t want any shaving nicks on these parts.” She
stopped squirming.
“You’ll need to remember this lesson for some time, so I’m giving you a gentle reminder
of our meeting today, which should last a few days. I’m just going to shave you nice and
smooth, so you will always feel a little different. This should remind you of the
important lesson.
“The lesson itself, just you and me together, will be here in the bathtub, for just the
rest of today.” She squealed and wriggled, but I’d anticipated this and lifted the razor
away for a bit.
“What, you don’t want to stay here with me and Jesus all day?” She made it clear this
would be bad. I kept shaving until her lips and legs were bare from behind.
Then I put down the razor, tipped her over, and helped her up to a sitting position. She
had to draw her left knee up because of her hands attached to the ankle. I pushed her
chest backward, and she grunted with pain from the weight on the butt plug. She had to
lean back further, pulling her tethered leg back, to ease it.
I forced her free right leg down and sat on it, leaving her legs far apart and scissored
open. With more shaving cream, I trimmed her blond pubic hair away from where her legs
joined her torso. She whimpered.
I knew what she was thinking. “I guess you’re worried about your job, right?” She
nodded.
“So you’d like to go to work right away, right?” She nodded again, faster.
“But the lesson’s not done yet.” I got off her right leg and she drew it up
automatically. I cuffed it to her wrists and removed the cuff from her left leg; I sat on
that one instead, letting me shave the other side.
“This lesson will take you several hours to learn. Nobody changes their behavior in just
a few minutes. Can you?”
She paused, then lied by nodding her head. I didn’t believe her and said so.
“But I’ll give you another option. Either you stay here with me for the rest of the day,
while I teach you sensitivity to other people’s religions, or...” By this time I’d trimmed
her triangle to a neater but largish triangular patch in front, not reaching her legs or
belly.
“...or I can let you go now, and you can come to me in my room for sex and sensitivity
training, every night at 10:30, for the next two weeks.”
She glared at me from her awkward position, lying back, holding one leg. I didn’t think
she had a boyfriend, here in this strange city, so she shouldn’t have had any trouble
making such a promise. I knew she went to the weekly pubs, and she wasn’t there for the
alcohol. And with the disconnect between her religion and her actions, she couldn’t
possibly be a virgin. I’d have bet on that.
Of all the five housemates, I was the only one with a private room (since mine was too
small for two.) So this could work. Besides getting laid regularly, I’d have the
opportunity to bring her into line, control her properly. My own tame God Squad member. I
grinned at the thought.
She was either desperate to get to work, or to get Jesus out of her ass, or actually
interested in the deal -- she was nodding, trying to get my attention back.
I noticed I was having trouble finishing the shaving job -- I couldn’t reach properly
between her legs. I lifted her free left leg and pushed her carefully over onto her back.
Her right leg came with her arms, rising in the air, then hovering, bent, over her body as
she displayed her mostly-shaved, slightly open genitals for me. She tried to hold her legs
together, retain some vestige of dignity, but I placed my torso between them as I worked.
I finished between her legs, and pulled her stray left leg down again beneath me,
leaving her on her back with one leg up.
“Here’s how it will work.” As I spoke, I used a new razor to shave a large letter “S,”
Superman-style, into her newly neat pubic triangle. I also carefully trimmed the bottom of
the triangle, holding her labia down as I shaved them, leaving her lips and hood entirely
bare. At last, her body was visibly mine.
“Every night at 10:30, sharp, you will be in my room, naked. You will not speak. You’ll
simply show up and wait for me to tell you what to do. After we have sex, I might wish to
sleep with you, but I might instead tell you to return to your room. You will do as I say.
This will go on for 14 days.
“I may also wish to test you on your memory of this lesson. The letter “S” you see in
the mirror should remind you of me. It stands for “Sensitivity,” and “Silence,” and of
course it’s my initial too. So you know you’re mine. It stands for “Slave” too.
“Part of your job over the next two weeks is to keep the shaving job neat, and the “S”
clearly visible. Do you understand?”
She nodded, bumping her head on the tub.
“Do you prefer this deal to staying here with me for the rest of the day?”
She nodded again, more carefully.
“Do you agree to all the terms?” I asked, carefully.
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