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Tyler laughed and ruffled his hair. “Aw, poor Alexander. You have no idea what you’ve let yourself in for. Let’s see how long it takes. Okay, we’re done.” He nodded at Fatso. “Take him back downstairs.”

As he walked out of the door, Alex heard Harper give a throaty growl of pleasure as he climaxed .

He was returned to the suite, where he told Solange what had happened.

“You should have just done as he asked,” she said. “Just sucked him off, there and then – you could have closed your eyes and pretended he was Hudson Brink.”

“I couldn’t do it. He repulses me. I’d have gagged if I’d tried. Don’t worry, Solange – he isn’t going to make you pay for it. He said something about finding a more permanent solution and a load of crap about breaking me.”

“Do you know what he has in mind?” she asked anxiously.

“No, but I figure he can’t do too much to me physically if he still wants me to be attractive to his guests. I can stand anything else he does.”

A few hours later, Lorenzo arrived in the suite, carrying a box. He took Alex into the bedroom and laid some towels on the bed.

“What’s happening?” Alex asked.

“Take off your clothes, sweetie. We have some waxing to do,” Lorenzo announced brightly.

“Waxing?” Alex began stripping off his jeans and tee-shirt.

“Orders from Mr Tyler. Apparently, he thinks you’ll be more appealing to his guests if you are completely without hair save for on your head.”

It wasn’t nice to have every single hair below the neck forcibly pulled out by the root, but if Tyler thought this was going to do him any great psychological harm, he had another think coming.

Alex endured it while Lorenzo kept up a constant stream of jokes that at least distracted him from the discomfort.

It was humiliating to have all his pubic hair removed, leaving his crotch completely denuded, but he just rolled his eyes at the smartwall that was recording it.

Tyler was going to have to try harder than this.

Lorenzo stripped every inch of him. Then he rubbed in aloe vera lotion, soothing all the areas of irritation. “Any redness should be gone by morning, sweetie,” he said. “And then you’re good to go.”

“Go where?” Alex asked.

“That I don’t know. You do look mighty fine, though. Like a porn star.” He surveyed Alex’s naked body critically .

Alex looked down – bereft of hair, his cock seemed longer, and his balls looked as if they hung lower.

“It’s pretty. Cleaner. Your cock is all pink and sweet like that,” Lorenzo observed.

“I feel like a prat.”

“Well, get used to it. My orders are to wax you every few weeks from now on, so that you’re permanently hairless.”

Lorenzo returned first thing the next day, carrying a small suitcase.

“What’s this?” Alex asked as the stylist placed it on the bed.

“I was given some rather special orders, so I had to go through my storage wardrobe to find something that would work for today,” Lorenzo said, with a tight smile that implied Alex wasn’t going to like it.

He was right. After Alex had showered and been shaved, Lorenzo styled his hair with copious amounts of product, making it look artfully tousled, as if he’d been fucked all night. Then he opened a little bag he’d brought with him.

“Eyeliner and mascara,” he said.

“Really?” Alex sighed, although in his clubbing days he’d rocked a Goth look occasionally, so it didn’t bother him.

When Lorenzo finished, he stepped back with a smile. “Gorgeous!” He turned Alex around, so he could look in the mirror.

Alex stared at himself in disbelief. The mascara and eyeliner had been slathered on, giving him a heavy-lidded, sultry look, while his lips were shimmering from copious applications of a pale, shiny lip gloss.

“It might work in a dark club when everyone’s off their heads on drugs and booze, but stone-cold sober and in broad daylight? ” He grimaced.

“It’s beautiful. Smoky, smouldering, sexy.” Lorenzo blew a kiss at him. “Now, let’s get you dressed.”

He opened up the suitcase and took out a pair of tiny black leather shorts, and a black top made of loose, see-through mesh. There was a little satiny pouch of a thong, and a pair of diamante-encrusted high-heel shoes.

Alex stared at the ensemble. “No way. ”

“Sorry, darling – these are my orders,” Lorenzo said, with an empathetic look that implied he agreed.

“So, what – Tyler is going to make me stand on a street corner touting for passing trade? These are hooker clothes, Lorenzo.”

“And I’m sure you’ll look beautiful in them,” Lorenzo told him firmly, in his “making the best of a bad job” tone. “One more thing…” He took a little jewellery box from the suitcase and opened it to reveal two starbursts connected by a chain.

“What the hell are they?”

“For your nipples, darling. They aren’t clamps – don’t worry,” Lorenzo added hurriedly. “They nip a bit when they go on, as they have to hug in order to stay there, but you’ll soon forget you’re wearing them. Now, come here, and let’s get you dressed.”

He beckoned, and for a second Alex baulked. “You know he’s doing this to humiliate me, don’t you?”

“Oh, sweetie – he’s your houder. He can clothe you any way he likes; if he wants you dressed like this it’s his choice, which reflects only on him, not on you.”

That sounded reasonable enough, but Alex wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold on to that thought while wearing this ridiculous outfit. “I look like a twink,” he said.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I happen to like twinks.” Lorenzo winked. “Look, there’s nothing to be done but go with it, sweetheart, so come here and let me dress you.”

Alex considered rebellion, but he liked Lorenzo and didn’t want to get him into trouble. There was also Solange’s safety to consider. He knew he was being deliberately humiliated, but he thought he could stand that better than another dose of Harper’s belt.

He walked sullenly over and stood still while Lorenzo nestled his hairless cock and balls inside the satin pouch. The fabric was sensual against his bare skin, caressing it, and he knew it had been chosen deliberately to remind him that he was Tyler’s whore.

The shorts were worse. They were tight, hugging his bottom obscenely and clearly showing the outline of the pouch.

They reached only a few inches down his thighs, leaving his slim, smooth legs exposed.

When he turned around and glanced over his shoulder, he could see how the tiny garment hugged his arse, clinging tightly to his crease, accentuating it.

Next, Lorenzo knelt down and helped him into the shoes. He’d never tried heels before and stumbled when he walked in them.

“Sashay, darling,” Lorenzo instructed. “You’ll get the hang of it, with practice.”

But it was impossible without his bum jerking up and down. “I look like I’m saying, ‘Here, fuck my arse,’ to the whole bloody world,” he observed miserably.

“Well, that’s how it’s supposed to look, sweetie,” Lorenzo said apologetically.

“Now for the nipples.” He opened the catch on the left nipple decoration, placed it against Alex’s chest, and then fastened it.

It pinched, but Lorenzo was right, the sensation soon receded.

The stylist fastened the second one, then linked the silver chain between the two.

Alex looked at himself in the mirror – there was now a silver starburst attached to each of his nipples, covering each areola completely, with the pink tip of each nipple poking through.

“Now the top.” Lorenzo threw it over his head and tugged it down, then arranged it to his satisfaction.

The mesh top was sleeveless, displaying his waxed armpits.

It was also see-through, and the weave was large enough that his decorated nipples were clearly visible, the linking chain swinging when he moved.

“Please tell me he’s taking me clubbing,” Alex groaned.

His rebellion the previous day had centred on his joyless performance and refusal to willingly fuck his houder; this was clearly a punishment to fit the crime.

He was suddenly worried that Tyler was going to take him to some kind of vile party and play a game of “hump the indie” with the guests.

The timing didn’t support that, though – who held that kind of a party during the day?

“I don’t know where he’s taking you. I just know he wanted you looking… like this.” Lorenzo waved a hand. “He was very specific.”

“Rent boy chic?” Alex gazed at himself pathetically in the mirror.

“Something like that. I think his actual words were that you had to look like ‘a whore who’s just been fucked and is desperate for more cock’. ”

“Congratulations on being so good at your job,” Alex said morosely.

He looked in the mirror, trying to find Alex Lytton under the heavy eye makeup, hair product, and hypersexualised clothing.

He couldn’t lose himself now, because that was precisely what Tyler wanted.

He had to find the essence of who he was and hold on to it tightly, or Tyler would win.

His lips curled in disgust as he thought of his houder – and he found himself again in that gesture of mute rebellion.

He wasn’t this exotic, hairless creature in the mirror, with his jangling nipple jewellery, high heels, and tiny tight shorts.

He was Alexander Lytton, and he’d survive whatever George Tyler threw at him.

Tottering out of his bedroom, he found Fatso waiting for him. The guard was usually an impassive presence, but this time he looked Alex up and down, several times, and then his face broke into a lewd grin. He stepped back to get a better view, then let out a long wolf whistle.

“Looks like you’ve done your job properly,” Alex remarked bitterly to Lorenzo.

Fatso gestured that Alex should follow him, so he teetered along the hallway after him. The shoes were his size and fitted properly, but the high heels made his feet ache after only a few steps. He hoped he wouldn’t have to walk far in them.