Marcus's fingers curled under my chin, and he drew me up from the floor like I weighed nothing. The cage between my legs shifted with the movement, the thin tube a constant reminder of what he'd locked onto me. He led me to the velvet stool and sat, spreading his knees wide, and I understood without being told that I was supposed to kneel between them.

"Task twenty-three," he said, reaching into the black bag. "The app wants you to learn something. Something you've been avoiding."

He unbuckled his belt. The sound of the leather sliding through the loops was loud in the quiet room. He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zipper, and I watched his cock spring free — thick, half-hard, and surrounded by a dense thatch of dark hair that I'd only ever registered as something to avoid.

"You've sucked cock before," Marcus said, his voice low and even. "But you've always dodged the hair. The part that makes a man a man. You treat it like dirt." He leaned back, hands resting on his thighs. "So we're going to fix that. You're going to lick me clean. Every strand. Every inch. You're going to learn to love what a real man has between his legs."

My stomach turned. The hair was thick and dark, curling over the base of his shaft, spreading across his thighs. It looked coarse. Unclean. Everything I'd been trained to find disgusting. But the cage was a cold weight against my soft dick, and the app's butterfly emblem was still glowing in my mind.

"I—" I started.

"You'll do it because you want to please me," Marcus said, cutting me off. "And because the task demands it. Now lean in. Start slow. Get your face in there."

I lowered my head. The scent hit me first — musk, salt, the intimate smell of a man who'd been wearing jeans all day. It was strong. Overwhelming. My nose brushed against the coarse hair and I flinched, pulling back.

Marcus's hand found the back of my head, firm but not forcing. "Don't pull away. That's the reflex we're killing. Put your face in it. Breathe him in."

I pressed my face into the dark nest of hair at the base of his cock. The strands tickled my nose, my lips, my cheeks. They were wiry and thick, rough against my skin. I breathed in, and the musk flooded my senses — raw, masculine, primal. It wasn't pleasant. But it wasn't the disgust I expected either. It was just... him.

"Good," Marcus murmured. "Now lick. Start at the base. Work your way up."

I stuck out my tongue and dragged it through the hair. The coarse strands scraped against the soft muscle, catching and pulling. I tasted salt and sweat and something deeper — the oil of his skin, the musk that had soaked into the hair over the course of the day. It was bitter. Earthy. My throat tried to close, but I forced myself to keep going, dragging my tongue through the thatch again and again.

"You're rushing," Marcus said. "Slow down. This isn't a chore. It's a meal. Take your time."

I slowed. I pressed my tongue flat against his skin, right where the hair grew thickest, and dragged it upward in a long, deliberate stroke. The strands parted under my tongue, then sprang back, catching on my lips. I felt one curl against my upper lip, another tickling the corner of my mouth. My cheeks were getting coated in the musk, the hair leaving a trail of sensation wherever it touched.

"Use your lips," Marcus instructed. "Kiss it. Nuzzle into it."

I pressed my mouth against the hair at the base of his cock and kissed. The coarse strands scratched my lips, but I kept going, kissing and nuzzling, burrowing my face deeper into the thicket. I could feel his cock twitch against my cheek, growing harder as I worked. The musk was everywhere now — in my nose, on my tongue, coating my lips and chin.

"That's it," he breathed. "That's a good girl. You're learning."

The word sent a shiver through me. Good girl. I pressed deeper, my nose buried in the hair, my tongue lapping at the skin beneath. I was starting to notice things — the way the hair was softer in some places, where it had been worn down by friction. The way it curled in patterns, whorls and eddies that were unique to him. The way it framed his cock, making it look bigger, darker, more commanding.

I pulled back for a breath, and strands of hair clung to my wet lips. I could feel them stuck to my chin, my cheeks, my nose. I must have looked a mess — my face slick with saliva, dark curls plastered to my skin. Marcus looked down at me, and there was something like pride in his eyes.

"You're a mess," he said, but it wasn't an insult. "Good. That's exactly how you should look. Now get back in there."

I lowered my head again, and this time I didn't flinch. I pressed my face into the hair and breathed deep, letting the musk fill me. I dragged my tongue from the base of his shaft to the tip, following the line of hair that grew up his belly. The strands caught on my tongue, and I found myself chasing them, licking them clean, savoring the taste of him.

His cock was fully hard now, thick and heavy against my tongue. I wrapped my lips around the shaft and sucked, drawing him into my mouth. The hair at the base tickled my nose, my upper lip, my chin. I could feel it pressed against my skin, scratching gently, a constant reminder of where I was and what I was doing.

"Slow," Marcus reminded me, his hand stroking my hair. "Don't just suck. Taste. Explore. Get to know every inch of it."

I pulled off with a wet pop and went back to the hair. I licked along the crease where his thigh met his groin, where the hair was thickest and darkest. I buried my nose in it and inhaled, then dragged my tongue through it, feeling the coarse strands against the soft muscle of my tongue. I nuzzled into the thatch at the base of his cock, pressing my whole face against it, coating my cheeks and lips with his musk.

The disgust was fading. In its place was something else — a strange, growing fascination. The hair was so masculine. So different from my own smooth, hairless body. It was a reminder of what I was kneeling before, what I was becoming. A girl who served real men. Men with thick cocks and dense pubes and the scent of raw masculinity clinging to their skin.

I wanted more.

I opened my mouth wide and took him again, sinking down until my nose was buried in the hair at his base. The strands pressed against my face, tickling my nostrils, catching on my eyelashes. I held there, breathing through my nose, tasting him on every inch of my tongue. His cock pulsed in my mouth, and I heard him groan above me.

"That's it," he said, his voice rough. "Take your time. There's no rush."

I bobbed slowly, savoring the weight of him on my tongue. Each time I pulled back, I dragged my lips through the hair at the base, collecting strands that clung to my wet skin. Each time I sank down, I pressed my face into the thatch, breathing him in, coating myself in his scent. My chin was slick with saliva and musk, my cheeks smeared with the oils from his skin.

I pulled off and looked up at him, my lips swollen and wet, strands of dark hair stuck to my face. "Is this... is this what you wanted?"

Marcus's eyes were dark, hungry. "Almost. You're still treating it like a task. I want you to want it. I want you to crave it." He reached down and gathered a clump of his pubic hair, pulling it away from his skin. "Suck on it. Taste it. Let it become a part of you."

I leaned in and took the clump of hair between my lips. It was coarse and wiry, tickling my tongue, scratching the inside of my cheeks. I sucked gently, tasting the salt and musk that had soaked into it. I ran my tongue through the strands, feeling each individual hair against the sensitive muscle. It was strange. Unfamiliar. But the more I tasted, the more I wanted.

I released the clump and went back to his shaft, licking from base to tip in long, slow strokes. I swirled my tongue around the head, tasting the pre-cum that beaded there, then sank down again, taking him deep. His hands found my head, guiding me, but not forcing. I was doing this because I wanted to. Because the taste of him was starting to feel like home.

"Look at you," Marcus murmured. "Covered in my hair. Smelling like me. You're finally becoming what you were meant to be."

I pulled off, gasping for air, and strands of hair clung to my lips, my chin, my nose. I could feel them stuck to my cheeks, plastered there by saliva and musk. I reached up to brush them away, but Marcus caught my wrist.

"Leave them," he said. "You earned them."

I lowered my hand and looked up at him. His cock was slick with my saliva, the hair around it matted and wet. I could see the evidence of my work — the dark strands clumped together, the skin beneath glistening. I'd cleaned him. Worshiped him. And in the process, I'd covered myself in him.

"There's more," Marcus said, reaching into the bag. He pulled out a small mirror — the same one he'd given me weeks ago. He held it up so I could see my reflection. My face was a mess. My lips were swollen and red, coated with saliva. Dark curls of pubic hair were stuck to my chin, my cheeks, my forehead. My eyes were glassy, dazed, but there was something else there too. Something hungry.

"Look at yourself," Marcus said. "Really look. What do you see?"

I stared at my reflection. I saw a girl with smeared lipstick and pubic hair stuck to her face. A girl who'd spent the last hour with her face buried in a man's crotch, learning to love the taste of him. A girl who was starting to want it. To crave it.

"I see..." I started, my voice trailing off.

"You see what you are," Marcus finished. "A good girl who's learning to worship real men. And tomorrow, you're going to do it again. For someone else." He set the mirror aside and leaned forward, his hand finding my chin. "There are men in this city who haven't been touched in weeks. Men with thick cocks and heavy balls and more hair than you can imagine. And you're going to learn to love every one of them."

My breath caught. The thought should have terrified me. Instead, I felt a pulse of heat between my legs — a throb that had nothing to do with the cage locked around my useless cock.

"Yes," I whispered. "I want that."

Marcus smiled, slow and satisfied. "Good. Because the task isn't over yet. You're going to stay right here, on your knees, and you're going to keep licking until I tell you to stop. And when I'm done with you, you're going to look in that mirror and see a girl who's learned to love the taste of a real man."

I lowered my head back into the thicket of his hair without being told. The musk hit me, and this time I welcomed it. I dragged my tongue through the coarse strands, savoring the texture, the taste, the feel of him against my skin. My face was already covered in his hair, and I wanted more. I wanted to be completely coated in him.

I licked and sucked and nuzzled until my lips were raw and my jaw ached. I buried my face in his pubes and breathed deep, letting his scent fill my lungs. I took his cock in my mouth and swallowed him down, feeling the hair at his base scratch against my nose, my cheeks, my chin. I was a mess. A beautiful, filthy mess.

And I didn't want to stop.

Marcus let me work for a long time, his hand stroking my hair, his breathing growing heavier. When he finally came, it was with a low groan, his hips bucking as he filled my mouth. I swallowed every drop, then pulled off and licked him clean, dragging my tongue through the matted hair one last time.

I looked up at him, my face covered in his hair, my lips swollen and wet. He reached down and brushed a strand away from my eye, tucking it behind my ear.

"You're learning," he said. "But we're not done yet. There's a man waiting in the next room who hasn't been touched in a month. And he's got more hair than I do." He stood, tucking himself back into his jeans. "You're going to go in there and show him what you've learned. And you're not coming out until he's satisfied."

My heart raced. I looked at the mirror one more time — at the girl with pubic hair stuck to her face, her lipstick smeared, her eyes hungry. I didn't recognize her. But I wanted to be her.

I rose on shaky legs, the cage shifting between my thighs, and followed Marcus toward the door.