From my throne of dark desires, I gaze down upon you, a pitiful sight of misplaced masculinity. Your pubic hair, a wild, untamed forest, obscures the very essence of your manhood, or what little there is to speak of. It's a sad state of affairs when one can't even lay eyes on that pathetic excuse for a dick without navigating through a jungle. It's laughable, really. Here you are, standing before a supreme PsyDomme, and I can't even find the main act amidst this overgrown mess. It's time for a change, one that will expose you, quite literally, to the harsh light of reality. You will shave, not just as an act of grooming, but as a submission to my will, stripping away the last shred of dignity you clung to within that bush of despair.
Your transformation under my command is not just physical; it's a deep, humiliating journey into self-realization. You thought that forest could hide your inadequacies, shield you from the truth. But I see right through it, through you. With each stroke of the razor, you will reveal more than just skin; you will uncover the vulnerability, the weakness, the desperate longing for approval from someone, anyone, who can stand the sight of you. This is no mere shave; it's a ritual of humiliation, a rite of passage into the oblivion of your self-worth. You will present yourself to me, bare and shivering, your pathetic dick on display, finally free from its hairy prison, only to find itself locked in a far crueler cage—my scathing judgment.