Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Hair Today, finished.

It is true, what I said earlier about not wanting to move when being shaved with a straight razor. No sooner do I begin to take the lather from the bone china shaving cup and begin to lather her thighs, she freezes in place. Not a freeze of fear, well maybe a little, but more calming as the bristles of my shaving brush float across the summit of her shin bones. Of course, a boars' hair bristle brush against her legs will illicit a giggle. Said giggle is quickly replaced with a sudden gasp as I place the blade of my razor against her skin and draw it, slowly, along the length of her long, firm legs.

The first thing I fell in love with about shaving with a straight razor? The sound the blade makes as it makes its way across taught skin. Press too hard and you can slice clean to the bone. Too Soft and your blade slips ineffectively past your target. Rather, there is a sweet spot, where your blade rests at the proper angle against the skin and the tension in your hand is firm, yet graceful. The sound of the blade as it effortlessly removes anything in it's path is a humming to the harmony of each strand of hair it removes. You will hear when you have your stroke down before you can see it.

Legs smooth and shimmering, I move to the nest under her arms. Her jaw clinches and I can see the outline of her jugular vein begin to throb as I prepare the area. The curve and shape of the armpit requires me to draw in close, inches from her skin I can smell the mix of sweat and shaving soap on her skin as, with a few percise strokes of the blade render her bare. Sweat forms between her breasts and gathers down the line of her flat stomach, pooling in ht well of her navel. All the while she remains, motionless, save for the rise and fall of her stomach as she breathes deep.

Stepping back to admire my work, I can't help but grin my huge, lopsided grin. Wiping the mixure of sweat, lather and hair from my hands and blade, I ask "ready for the main event?"
With out saying a word, she opens her legs to me. Exposing her most intimate self, a thick curly nest of fragrant black curls, hair that run in a thin line from her navel to a rich, sweet expanse of damp coils that almost, but not quite, hide her deep pink sex.

Soon, this too will be laid bare to me, exposed by my blade.

Making small circlies with my shaving brush, a small moan escapes her lips as I follow the whisper thin trail of hair on her taught tummy and work my way down. Where the thick lather of my shaving soap ends and the desire begins is lost as I carefully spread her skin flt and begin with my blade.

In this moment, my focus is complete, inches from her sex, one hand resting on her body while the other holds my blade like a concert violinist would hold his bow. Fingers firm, locked on the handle less it slips from the steamy damp, consciously relaxing the rest of my arm so that my movements are fluid, percise and free of any nervous energy. Here, shining blade mere milimiters from her clit, a nervous twitch or a moment's hesitation could spell disaster. Here I am so close to her body, here all mystery is stripped away as I pull apart her folds in order to gently take those few wisps of hair from inside her.

Stroke by stroke the thick sweet smelling curls are replaced with pale, sensitive skin. She gasps as I run my sticky fingertips along the now bare crest of her pelvis to inspect my work.

"Almost done," I tell her, "turn over please."
"Why?" she asks nervously then eyes growing wide with fear as she realizes what is next.
"just one small bit let"

Knees tucked under her body, she bends and offers herself up to me once again. This time it is her ass, soft and round that is exposed to me. Once again, I have to smile and do a little dance of evil glee at the sheer beauty of the site.

While I am not a fan of breath control play, I know I best work fast save that she pass out from holding her breath as my blade makes those few last strokes along the inner curves of her ass and thighs. Ok, maybe I linger just a wee bit longer than needed, but what sort of sadist would I be if I didn't enjoy the moment?

Done, she collapses on the table. Heaving for air and coverd in a mix of sweat, shave soap and fragments of hair.
"ya know," I say opening a Mexican beer, "the best way to get all that off is nice, warm shower..."