You’re so Smooth

You are still on the bed where she left you, legs spread, the measuring tape and empty ice cup discarded on the nightstand. The Nair bottle is already in her hand. She shakes it once, the creamy liquid sloshing, and gives you that familiar smile that means the real humiliation is only beginning.

“Entire body,” she says cheerfully. “Not just the usual. I want every hair gone. Chest, stomach, legs, arms, ass crack—everything. When those tights go on there should be nothing left to distract from the main attraction.”

She starts at your chest. The cold cream spreads in thick white streaks across your skin as her hands work in slow, thorough circles. She coats every inch, moving down over your stomach, then lower. When she reaches your groin she is especially careful, spreading the Nair across the soft skin around your already-shrunken cock, under your balls, and back into the cleft of your ass. Her fingers slide between your cheeks without hesitation, coating the sensitive skin there until the entire area is slick and white.

“Lift,” she orders. You raise your hips and she works the cream deeper, making sure every hidden hair is covered. The chemical scent fills the bedroom. She moves on to your legs, your arms, even the backs of your hands, until you are coated from neck to ankles in the thick white layer.

“Ten minutes,” she says, setting a timer on her phone. “Don’t move. I want it to work everywhere.”

You lie still while the cream begins to tingle and burn faintly. She uses the time to lay out the ice bath in the master bathroom—filling the tub with cold water and dumping in bag after bag of ice until the surface is crowded with floating cubes. Steam does not rise. The water looks brutal.

When the timer ends she leads you into the bathroom by the wrist. The air is already colder near the tub. She tests the water with a thermometer and shows you the reading.

“Thirty-four degrees. Perfect.”

She helps you step over the edge. The shock is immediate and total. The freezing water closes around your calves, then your thighs, then your hips as she pushes you down. You gasp, body seizing, every muscle trying to climb back out. She keeps a firm hand on your shoulder and forces you to sit until the water reaches your chest.

“Scrub,” she orders, handing you a rough washcloth. “Everywhere the Nair is. Get every hair off. I want you smooth as a boy.”

You obey, teeth chattering, hands moving over your own body under the ice-cold water. The cream and loosened hair rinse away in pale clouds. You scrub your chest, your stomach, your arms and legs. When you reach your groin the cold has already done its worst. Your cock has retreated so completely that there is almost nothing left to wash. You still work the cloth over the soft, folded skin and back into your ass crack, rinsing away the last of the Nair while the freezing water continues to shrink everything it touches.

She watches the entire time, arms crossed, eyes bright.

“Keep going. Get it all.”

After several long, shivering minutes she finally lets you stand. Water sheets off your newly smooth skin. You step out onto the bath mat, body pink from the cold, completely hairless from the neck down. She hands you a towel only long enough to blot the worst of the water, then turns you toward the full-length mirror on the bathroom door.

What you see makes your stomach drop.

Your cock has vanished.

The cold and the Nair together have reduced it to a wrinkled, pale nub completely folded inside the foreskin. There is no shaft visible. No head. Just a tiny, soft, wrinkled protrusion of skin shorter than the first knuckle of her pinky finger. Beneath it your balls have drawn up so tightly against your body that they look almost nonexistent—two small, smooth bumps barely distinguishable from the surrounding hairless skin. The entire package sits there looking smaller than it ever has, exposed and ridiculous against the newly smooth canvas of your body.

Your wife stares for a full three seconds. Then she throws her head back and cackles—loud, delighted, utterly without mercy.

“Oh my god. I thought ridding you of body hair should make your baby dick look bigger, but I think it made it look even smaller!”

She drops to her knees in front of you, still laughing, and pinches the tiny wrinkled nub between her thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently. The whole thing fits easily between those two fingers with room to spare. She tugs the foreskin back just enough to reveal the even smaller, soft head hidden inside, then lets it snap closed again.

“Look at it. It’s gone. Completely folded up inside itself. I’ve seen clits bigger than this. And your balls—where did they even go? They’re just… gone. Two little bumps. That’s all that’s left.”

She stands, still holding the tiny nub, and turns you so the mirror shows both of you. Her free hand traces the smooth, hairless skin of your stomach and thighs, then returns to the almost-nonexistent cock.

“This is perfect. When the tights go on there won’t be a single hair to break up the view. Just smooth skin and this sad little folded-up thing trying to hide. Everyone at the party is going to see exactly how small you are. No distractions. No excuses. Just pure, hairless, ice-shrunk baby dick.”

She gives the wrinkled nub one more affectionate pinch, then releases it. It sits there against your body, still shorter than her pinky knuckle, still completely soft, still looking like it might disappear entirely if the air gets any colder.

“Stay right there,” she says, already reaching for the skin-tight green elf pants. “I’m putting these on you while you’re still this small. I want the fabric to hug every nonexistent inch. And if it tries to grow even a little on the way to the party, we’ll find more ice.”

She kneels again, gathers the tiny pants, and begins working them up your smooth, hairless legs, still laughing under her breath at the ridiculous, shrunken state of the cock that is about to be put on public display.