Shave and an Heircut, Part 2

“So what is it you wanted done, that you came in after we closed to get it?” I asked, trying not to sound cross at the broad, big bellied bull standing in front of me. I was sweeping up the last of the last customer’s trimmings, a cheeky poodle that had wanted EVERYthing done JUUUUST right. 

“I need a clean, smooth shave, under the hood.” The bull said, gruffly. Was that a bit of red in his cheeks?

“Under the hood?” I drew out his request, leaning against my broom. “You mean...” I nodded downwards.

“Yeah. My balls are all hairy, and my... my partner says I gotta come home nice and smooth or I ain’t gonna get none tonight.”

I almost fell off the broom. “Completely smooth.”

“Yeah.” He glanced around, then began unfiddling his pants. “You can do that, right? I mean, I heard you were the one to go to for this.”

“You been down at Mackie’s Bar?” I asked, moving around the bull, to the door. I flipped the sign to closed, and flipped off the outside lights.

“Yeah. Heh, how’d you know?”

“Coyote bartender, Russen, he likes to send me customers now and then. Yeah, sure, I can get you nice and smooth in no time. Only-” I gestured to the various barber chairs, all covered with cloth. “I’ve already cleaned and sanitized my chairs, so we’re gonna use one of the stools.”

“Uh. Sure. Whatever.” he said, undoing his pants. He was a big guy, like, really big. Not so much tall, he was probably not even as tall as me, but broad. Thick.  Meaty. I guess that’s part of being a fox, but whenever I see a bull like him, the only word that comes to mind is “Steak”. Thick, meaty steak. Beefy. He had a broad frame, and strong, powerful arms, and a big belly, and he was just the kind of forty something DILF that almost never got to come into my barber shop. 

And boy was he packing. He pushed down his baggy old jeans, and out flopped just a massive mouth-watering package of thick, salted bull meat. My tongue went dry at that warm hose of a cock, that pudgy foreskin just a little thicker at the tip, and those massive calf-stones flopping out from behind.

Where the hell do bulls keep their junk? I mean, I know they have their own special underwear and stuff, to kind of tuck things back, or something, but Great Grapes, these things were just.. huge! Thank goodness for thigh gaps, or he’d have crushed them into pudding years ago!

“I...see.” I said. I think I said that. I tried to say that, and my lips moved, but all I was doing was staring at the dude’s giant nuts.

He hefted them up, flopping his limp cock to the side, showing them to me. One hand underneath, spread wide to prop them up, the other tracing fingers down the single stripe of a black furry thatch that ran down between the two smooth-skinned testicles. It went all the way under, and continued above his sheath, crossing up the thick, short shaggy red fur or his belly, but I couldn’t look up further than that. Way too distracted.

“It’s really just this. That can’t take long, can it? I mean. I really appreciate you doing it, but at the same time - they’re at home, waitin’ for me.” The bull gave some low groan kind of sound, kind of like a sigh crossed with a wistful moan, and I saw his dick lengthen an extra inch or two.

Fucking bulls and their giant nuts, they were placid most of the time, but once they started getting riled up, it was impossible to stop them.

Still. I could work with that.

“Yeah,” I said to the dark red bull, patting at the stool. “Drop your pants, and hop on over here. Now, it’s a smaller stool but you should be able to fit okay on it.”

It was the most uncomfortable stool in the salon. Just a disc of plastic with some cheap vinyl over top, and his asscheeks bulged out on either side of it, the same way his nuts bulged out on either side of his hand as he held them up. 

“You just get comfortable,” I said, and donned a fresh pair of gloves. It didn’t take long to get my glass of alcohol and a straight razor ready, and I found myself kneeling between his legs, lifting up one length of loose bull hose and flopping it over his thigh. He had to lean back a good bit, putting one arm on the stool behind, and another reaching over to the little mantle we use to keep our extra supplies. 

I wet the blade, opening it and showing it to him. “I got this from my grandfather. I come from a long line of barbers.” Of course, back in my grandfather’s days, the town barber was usually also the town veterinarian, too. It’s all about having hand eye coordination, of course. Still, I doubt he wanted a history lesson.

His eyes were already glazed over, and he shifted, grunting.

It was a nice razor blade - the blade had been sharpened so many times that it was almost more of a stiletto than a razor, just a smooth curved edge, and oh so sharp. I cupped up under the bull’s nuts, lifting them, pulling them down tautly to stretch that neck of his sack over the smooth, firm edge of the seat he was sitting on. 

The fur was oily to the touch - not dripping, but smooth, kind of greasy, and this close there was no way not to notice the sharp, hoppy crust of his musk. Beer drinker, maybe? Or was that just the way bulls smelled?

The blade moved, and I leaned in and to the left, pressing my shoulder in against the side of his left thigh, just nudging it a bit out of the way. His cock rested in the crease between it and his belly, and I kept an eye on it as my fingers did the work.

I could have watched myself shaving his balls - but I Didn’t need to. I knew exactly what I was doing. Fingers gripped, lifted, adjusted to make sure that the knife only slid along smooth, gleaming sack skin - not a wrinkle or crease to worry about - and I nimbly glided it over curve and crevasse alike. A swatch of thick ball fur flapped damply to the ground, and I dipped my blade, rinsing it.

“This is going well - but try not to squirm too much, I don’t want to cut you.” Ha, I was an excellent liar. 

He frowned, going still, but I could see his leg already flexing, wanting to shift to hold himself up better. Sometimes being a big bully bull had it’s disadvantages. Sometimes being a bull, all alone by yourself in a predator’s barber shop after closing, had it’s disadvantages, too.

“And now we’ll do the other side. You’re doing great. Your ‘partner’ is gonna love the smooth look, promise.”

“Oh, good. Never, uhh... never had my balls shaved before. It tickles. Can I -” He reached down to rub at the shorn space in the front of his balls, but I hissed at him.

“No. Not until I clean them with antiseptic. Just put your hand behind you and let me do my job.”

I was glad it tickled. The alcohol did that, sometimes, dried out the newly shorn flesh, made it burn or itch - or tickle. Just enough to be stimulating. I glanced over - his cock was pudging up. Good.

“It won’t take long. You’re almost completely smooth already.” Another tuft fell to the ground, and I pressed against his thigh a little longer. I could hear the stool creak as his weight shifted, and he did that low mooing moan sound again. I made to drag the blade just a little too hard against his naked scrotum - not enough to draw blood, but enough to scrape and tease and tickle the thick leathery skin, making his balls twist and roll in their sack.

All I could think of was those supermarket packages of ground meat, pressed against the saran wrap, sold cheaply by the pound. My guiding hand, underneath them, stroked against the bull’s balls, and yes they were much warmer, and heavier, and certainly they weren’t nearly as processed as those hamburger packs, but they were rich and decadent, and how the HELL had he managed to hold onto them for so long?! 

I tickled the edge of the knife underneath his pouch, where the back and the front met, and I had to pull them down a little lower, really stretching those nuts down so that the wrinkly little ‘tag’ at the bottom of the scrotum was fleshed out and stretched tautly. I smoothed it up, and  bit my lower lip. His scrotum was completely hairless, that thick oily ‘treasure trail’ laying in pieces at the base of the stool. I grinned, though.

“Almost done. I just missed one spot.” 

I leaned in, his balls still stretched down low, his scrotum drawn tightly over the edge of the seat, so heavy, so decadently fleshed. I moved my blade up, and pressed in against his thigh, stretching it just a little too far, making the nerves where his thigh connected his groin ache.

I touched the straight edge to the neck of his sack, just an inch or so below it’s start, as he shifted, lifting that leg up a little bit to avoid the tension.

His cock shifted, a thick, meaty club, and it rolled forward, flopping heavily, half-hard out from the crease and down  between his legs. 

“Hey!” I cried out, in alarm! But it was too late! His thick cock slapped right into the handle of my straight edge, and the weight of it was like a hammer, slamming it down. The blade cleaved through his sack cleanly, just as easily as if I had meant for it to happen, and the bull grunted dully, feeling the burn.

“Dude, your cock!” I was already explaining, as my other hand shifted, letting the balls go - they slid down, severed, and I managed to snag them by their neck before they thudded onto the dirty floor. Their weight dangled from MY fingers now, not his groin. They were Mine. I just had to keep them from him. Fortunately, he was a bull, and bulls were not known for being clever bargainers. Unfortunately, they were also very well known for being good “horn through your facers”.

“Agh! What the hell was that?!” He said, still not comprehending, not yet, though he was lifting up his leg, reaching for his sack.

I stood, my knife in one hand, his balls hanging from the other. I shrugged apologetically, putting on my meekest smile. “Uhh... dude, your giant cock flopped over and smacked my knife! You castrated yourself!”

The bull’s eyes boggled, and then narrowed in rage. “Are you fucking kidding me?! Those my balls!?”

“I wish I could say I was kidding!” And you would fall for it and go home and not realize I kept your nuts! But the cat’s out of the bag, now, isn’t it? “I mean, your partner DID say they wanted you smooth, right?! Now you’re SUPER smooth! A super smooth steer!”

Don’t back away, do not run away. Bulls always chased, it was their instinct. He still floundered on the stool, as if getting in a comfortable position would fix anything.

“Oh God! I’ve been neutered! I’m a steer!! This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my weekend!!”

“Oh, stop your whining!” I moved closer, and pressed them up against his nose. “Why don’t you take a second, and really just enjoy how nice and smooth your ball-sack is. That’s what we SHOULD be focusing on, isn’t it?!”

“Ugh! It’s starting to hurt, now. Shit, there has to be a way to fix them, right? I mean, they can-”

“Reattach them? Of course! I know exactly what to do. I’ll call you a cab to the hospital - and I’ll fill your bag with ice, to keep them in a good state so that they don’t degrade. I’m REALLY sorry about this!” I lied. I was so good at lying.

He nodded, still in shock maybe, though his cock hadn’t softened at all. It was jutting out from his groin - harder than it had been when it had thudded my blade. I’d heard down at Machie’s that bulls always got hard when you nutted them. I guess I could confirm that, now.

Though I may need to run more tests.

I peeked out through the door before I closed it as he stood there, examining himself in the mirror. There was an employee fridge , and the little mini freezer compartment had a full tray of ice cubes. I took it out, and then, glancing back to the door to make sure he hadn’t gotten any closer, I started working to make sure he could go to the hospital with a nice full sack again.

“Here,” I said, going back out to the parlor and stuffing the brimming bag into the bull’s hands. It was cold, an ice cube peeking out of the neck of the sack, and you could see the rectangular impressions of more cubes pushing out from inside, all the way down to the two big rounded lumps at the bottom, where his balls laid.
“That should work, just be careful, if you try to open it up or something, the ice cubes will spill out, and you can’t put dirty ice cubes in there. Again, I’m really sorry - consider this a free of charge visit!” I said, ushering the clumsy, neutered steer out of the parlor. I slapped his pants and shirt over his shoulder, leaving him out there in just his socks, holding onto his ballsack like some kind of goldfish prize from the carnival.

“Don’t let any of the ice spill out!” I reassured him, before closing and locking my door. Whew! 

Well, not getting gored was important. Even if he got his sack reattached, I could tell Russen I had neutered a bull, which was enough for a free drink or two.

I grinned, walking back to the employee area, where two two monster mangoes were sitting on the sink. I nudged them, sending them into the sink, slithering around like giddy penguins, bumping and spinning against each other. 

He’d be able to reattach his sack, sure. But I was keeping his balls. Diane wouldn’t mind that I gave away two of her apples, when I told her this story! And with the proof? Russen would probably close out my tab from last month!

Thank goodness for *that*. I was getting desperate! It was nice how things worked out, sometimes!