a brief moment in an elevator

Ah, fiction…

Red leather, with pointed toes, impossibly tall heels, and a strappy mixture of skin and shoe, laced all the way around your feet and to your ankles. And although you didn’t know it this morning when your feet first slipped into them, you wore those for me.

In most elevators, there isn’t much to look at, unless the elevators cling to the sides of the building, giving acrophobic views of the city from ridiculous heights. No, this building was boring; its elevators were shielded and central, shuttling passengers up and down in dimly lit boxes made from sheets of veneer and brushed metal. But today, I had plenty to look at. With a chime, the doors slid open and you stepped in, those shoes bringing in your smooth, long legs, dark navy pencil skirt, white button up blouse, and pretty face, framed by your hair, shielded by your wire-framed glasses.

Right there, I had to have you. And it took every ounce of control I had not to grab your shoulders and spin you around-

In one motion, pinning you against the doors and slamming the stop button. And in the midst of the clanging bell, holding my hand over your mouth and looking right into those wide eyes, my own eyes shining back in the dimness of the overhead spot lights. With my other hand, hurriedly but steadily unbuttoning your blouse, pawing at it, tearing at it, until I reach the waist of your skirt and the last button tucked away beneath it. My eyes on yours, slowly removing my hand from your mouth.

I wonder if I’d see tears in your eyes, or a fiery stare of defiance. With your mouth uncovered, would you say something, anything? It’s your one and only chance before my hands come together at your neck, and hold you firm. If I wanted to hurt you, I would. But my hands don’t stay there, drawn down to your collarbone, down to your chest, to the bra-covered breasts exposed to me through the open shirt. My mind whirrs at what I’d discover - lace, satin, cotton? Does it matter? I want my hands on your flesh, not fabric. So with my hand brushing them away, the blouse slipping to the floor, the straps fall from your shoulders, and allow me to slide in behind the bra, fingers wandering, palms pressing, until I find your nipples. A squeeze? No, a pinch, right between my index finger and thumb, just enough to fire off a sliver of pain. And pleasure.

I raise my arm, hand grabbing your wrist along the way and pinning it above your head. Pressing against you now, you can feel my body up against yours. Again our eyes meet, but only for an instant. My head dives to the side and my tongue is on your ear, licking you, tasting your skin. I’m laying claim to my prize. And as I nuzzle down, tongue in tow, you can feel it leave a hot, wet trail down from your ear, down to your neck, where my mouth clamps on it once, and then to your collarbone. I’m not done yet. My tongue reaches towards your breasts and continues its flicking and licking. Your heavy breathing is all I need to know that I want more.

Pulling you off the doors now, only to spin you around on those pretty little heels and push you over. I want the side of your face pressing against the brushed metal, still warm to the touch. I want you bent over at the waist, and sticking that ass up into the air for me. Your straight legs spread open, your back arched. And I’d finally get to rub my hands all over that ass, fingers outstretched, moving in drunken circles. Finally finding that seam; finally finding that zipper and *zip!* pulling it straight down. Grabbing a fistful of hair, not to yank, but to pull your head up, pull your body straight, so that skirt falls to your feet and around those heels. Step out of them, with those red heels. And then those panties as I tug them down and off your hips, all the way down your legs. Only up for a moment, as I want you right back where you were, legs apart, face back against the doors. My hand moving right between your legs, palm up, flat, against your pussy. My middle finger pressing right into your clit, and palm covering the lips and opening to your pussy, soaking in its heat, burning in the slick juices that I find. And ever so slowly, dragging and pulling up and back until it finally breaks free.

That hot, wet, tight pussy is exactly where I am shoving my cock. Sprung free from my pants and head waiting right at your pussy lips, I am letting you feel it there first. I want you to know, without looking, that my cock is there. And right as you inhale, feel it press up and all the way in, cock head plowing its way into you. Fucking you in the elevator, my hands grabbing your hips, demanding you keep your legs straight, back arched, and face pressed against the doors. My cock pushing in and out, shining slick in the same dim elevator spot lights from above. And all the while, I want those tears to come, to drip and roll down your face, smear against the elevator doors, as my grip on your hips and waist tightens and tightens.

I’m grabbing your flesh harder because I am cumming. Cock spurting and splashing, and a groan escapes me. I am cumming because you are cumming. And your pussy twitches and pulls, grips and squeezes around my cock, rippling the orgasm up your back, through your chest, and out as a gasp and ragged moan out those lips. But I am not done fucking you. And I continue to pound myself in and my cock stubbornly stays hard enough to let me do so.

It is only when a pearl of cum flows down the sides of your inner thighs do I stop. It is then that I finally pull out, and use your panties to wipe my cock clean before tossing them back on the ground, flung to your pencil skirt, crumpled and discarded on the floor. Looking at you, folding and fallen against the elevator doors, I know that I’m done with you - but at the same time, not done at all. It all only makes me hunger for more.

In the briefest of moments, I fucked you in that elevator.

The chime politely rang, and signaled that we’d arrived. I held my arm out to keep the door open, a polite formality, and you stepped out. I followed, a smile exchanged between us before you turned left and I turned right. And as your heels carried you down the hall, the staccato steps muffled by the office carpeting, I wonder if we’d see each other on the way down, and if I’d get to see those shoes again. I certainly hope so.

this post is hot

“You’re late,” she said to my back as I quickly closed the door behind me.

She wore nothing but a pair of really high socks that seemed to go on forever, finally ending around her mid-thigh. They were red and white, alternating in wide bands covering her feet, wrapping tightly around her ankles, and strapping their way up her legs. Her blond hair was pulled into a tight, high ponytail, a few strands escaping only to frame her face. Her arms were folded across her chest and her weight now beginning to shift from one leg to the other. Icy blue eyes held mine in a stare.

“There was a long line at Whole Foo-”

I wouldn’t get to finish that sentence. With her arms no longer crossed in front of her, she pressed her hand flat against her sternum, and slid it, fingers pointing down, between her breasts. Her hand continued to snake down her body, over her flat, tight stomach, past her bare hips and mound, and nestled between her thighs. Her eyes closed gently and she let loose a sigh.

It suddenly felt like it was a hundred degrees. It was a combination of the cold weather outside, the jacket I wore still zippered up to my neck, and the hurried steps I took to reach her place, carrying the three large bags from the grocery store. I was flooded with heat, felt it soaking in from the warm apartment air, and bubbling up from within my jacket and clothes.

Oh, and then there’s Swiss Miss standing in front of me, naked, biting her lip gently as her fingers prodded her pussy.

Beads of sweat formed along my forehead, and yet, I was frozen solid.

Her eyes opened up again, and her icy eyes on me once more, she spoke. “Aren’t you going to put some of that away? I don’t think you want to make dinner… right… now… do… you?” Her words in time with her hand, rubbing up and down the length of her pussy.

I shook my head and my leaden feet brought me step by step into the kitchen. The paper bags were placed on the counter and I began to unload them. The kitchen faced the living room, a bar/counter separating the two living spaces in the studio apartment. Swiss Miss had moved to the couch, lying on her back, her legs bent at the knees and using her feet to lift her hips up as she continued to play with herself.

The package of freshly handmade crab cakes went into the fridge, the tendrils of cold slowly leaking out of the open door, fogging, and curling around my face. It was a brief relief. I reached for the lettuce, and caught a glimpse of her using her other hand, kneading her nipple between her fingertips. The lettuce went into the fridge. I faced the counter to grab the other vegetables, broccoli and baby carrots; Swiss Miss was now biting her lower lip, her hips rocking up and down, fingers disappearing down to the second knuckle. The vegetables went into the fridge. The last item needing refrigeration, the bottle of sparkling apple cider (her favorite) was on the counter - and then I saw her whimpering and moaning softly, her hips falling to the couch cushions.

With the groceries put away (for the most part), I walked around the counter and to the couch, starting to unzip my jacket and kick off my shoes, when she hopped back up to her feet.

I wanted to shed my clothes, to grab her, to place my lips on hers and let them trickle down her neck and body, my hands pouring themselves over her curves. I wanted to lick her skin, to taste her flesh, bite on it gently, and lavish it with my tongue and mouth. My hands wanted to feel her wetness, to feel her smoothness, to grab her curvy hips, to stretch her limbs and trace her outline.I wouldn’t have a chance to do any of that. She stepped in my direction, grabbed my shoulders and pulled me first towards her, and then pushed me towards the window.

“Now, sit,” she ordered, and I found myself sitting on the radiator, the heat quickly soaking through my pants, my ass a million degrees and rising.

“I wore my favorite socks for you,” she said, turning around and giving me a view of her ass as she bent over and held onto the coffee table for support. Forgive me, but the socks weren’t the first thing I was thinking about as she swayed her ass in front of me, her hips making circles and loops in the air.

I finally got my jacket off my shoulders and arms, and I quickly flung it to the side. I was still fully clothed, and sweating profusely now, the collar of my knit half-zip sweater soaked. My undershirt clung to my body beneath the sweater, and my lower body boiling beneath that.

My arms reached out, to touch the dancing curves just out of the reach of my fingertips. She turned around quickly and swatted my hand away. I tried to get up but she came up to me, closer, standing between my legs and kept me planted on the radiator. She held my hand by the wrist, and brought it to her breasts, my fingers pouncing on the opportunity to roll her nipple between the tips. Her eyes closed and she let loose a “mmmnh” - which was very kind of her, but I was wondering when I’d get off this inferno of a radiator.

Her other hand went down the rough knit yarn of my sweater, under the hem, and tore at my pants. I helped her, our hands tearing open the belt, button, and fly. Quickly she reached in and found my cock, warm, large, and stiffening under her touch. She drew it out of my pants, peeking out of the fly of my boxer shorts, and tugged at it. Her hand grasped it at the base tightly and began stroking it, not gently and tenderly, but hard and fast, pumping up and down.

“Don’t move,” she spat out, turning on her feet and her ass back on me. She reached behind and found my cock, holding it steady as she backed herself up and onto me.

I was hot. Sweat poured down my face and neck, I could feel heat everywhere. And still, her pussy lowering on my cock was even hotter.

We both exhaled loudly as she lowered herself completely onto my lap, pinning me to the radiator. I found myself wishing for superhuman strength, to bear the heat, the hellish temperature I was bound to. That thought quickly evaporated as Swiss Miss began to rock herself up and down, bobbing her ass on my cock, her back arched in beautifully sweeping concave curves, with her hands at her head, arms bent at the elbows and out, as if she was dancing away to some invisible music. It was a lot like getting a lap dance. You know, if I could ignore the searing heat for more than a second, burning into my ass.

My hands went for her hips, to hold onto her, to feel her bucking and riding me. But her hands reached back and swatted mine away as she continued to rock her ass up and down on my cock. I was to sit and watch (and sweat) as she fucked my cock, her movements gathering steam and speed, her pussy clenching and tightening, pulsing and gripping me harder.

She spat out a yell, which, in turn, prompted my own low growl - her pussy cumming and squeezing, my cock twitching and firing deep within her.

My head was soaked. My clothes were soaked. I was a sweaty mess, and the unrelenting heat continued to radiate into my body. She still had me pinned to the radiator, my cock still within her, now reaching back with her arm, holding the side of my head as she leaned back, and turned her head to kiss me. She had worked up a sweat, too, our skin slick and cold and hot and warm and wet at the same time. My hands found their way around to the front of her body and cupped her breasts gently, holding her body against mine.

“I’m hungry,” she said, the beads of sweat finally gathering speed and rolling down her neck and back, the sides of her face, her hair now matted, damp, and clinging to her.

“Me too,” I managed to say, my voice weak and thin, coming from my parched throat. There were crabcakes in the fridge, a salad waiting to be made, and some sweet sparkling apple cider to be poured. A pretty good meal, if I say so myself.

tidbits

Two things, before I forget:

1. The answer to the riddle was best worded by Penny:

   “Do you care, sweet prince, to caress a princess?”

   But silly her, she forgot the last word that also fits the riddle, which is “bra” (”bras,” and “brass”). Silly, since she just had some adventures in lingerie herself.

2. I’ve been just recently told that I have an amazing ass. This makes me feel slightly sea-sick, but in a very good way.

this post is cold

“They’ve really got you busting your balls,” Bunny Slippers said, her hips finding their way into my peripheral vision, her legs lifting them onto the surface of the desk.

I didn’t look up yet. She was right though, it had been a hell of a time, a two-week sprint to draft, plan, and complete an entire project determined to bring our company back into financial profitability. I was tired, worn, beat-up, and in little mood to play games. I haven’t been home before seven in those two weeks, and it just felt the hands of the clock sunk lower and lower; like six thirty was rolling around again. Just a little more and I could go home…

“I don’t know why they had to put you on this project,” she spoke, more to herself than to me.

I know why - but I’m going to resist spouting vitriol on the fits of incompetence my boss will subject me to. I managed a grunt, a half “uh-huh” and “hmm.” It was an “uh-hmm.”

“But it’s like we need to do something because the market’s been so terrible lately.”

I didn’t respond. I was trying to finish a thought - and my mind scratched at my memory, the meeting held at ten, now seemingly years ago. The only thing I could remember was that I caught a glimpse of something I shouldn’t have; picking up my dropped pen, I caught a sneak peek of the managing consultant, a young MBA-type in a short skirt-suit, with her hand buried between her legs under the conference room table - and now, just like then, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.

“Oh! And then I was overhearing Meredith talking to Alison about how they were running the numbers for our earnings report, but they started talking about Greg - and how Alison was so drunk at the client party last weekend…”

I hate gossip. And Bunny Slippers knows that.

“So later on Alison stopped by and she and I started talking about how Meredith really had a thing for Greg so it was weird, and…”

My eyes looked up at her.

“I give up,” I said, my voice betraying any shred of surrender.

The office was empty. The lights were off in the main hallways, the offices lining the windows were all closed and dark. Bunny Slippers sat against the edge of my desk, holding a manilla envelope, its contents bulky.

“And what’s in there?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. Then, after a second, “it is for you, though.”

She’d worn a white turtleneck tucked neatly into a pair of tan slim pants, and it hung from her shoulders the same way it did this morning. My eyes traced the doubled over fabric covering her neck, down the single strand of large pearls on her oversized necklace which hung low, swooping to her midsection, past her… breasts. Which now hung differently.

“Are you two still here?”

We looked over to our left, the aforementioned Alison gathering up her coat, gym bag, and purse, a tangle of arms and straps. She gave us a glance, but really was wrapped up in her own struggling grasp of her things.

“Gosh, why don’t the two of you just get a room?” she joked, giggling as she made her way to the elevators.

“Thanks for the suggestion!” I shouted back, loud enough for her to hear me.

Bunny Slippers’ eyes widened. I stood up and snatched the envelope out of her hands and tossed it onto my desk, with a little too much force. It slid off and took some papers with it. I didn’t see it; I only heard it. My eyes were locked in a gaze with hers, my hand reaching out for her wrist, and the two of us in quick, hurried steps to a spare office.

The door was shut behind us, and the blinds to the main office area were already closed. The motion-sensing lights were coming on and I quickly hit the switch to extinguish them. She was expecting a kiss and an embrace. I gave her a shove and a turn.

She landed against the floor-to-ceiling window with a thud, her palms on the glass. I quickly moved behind her, meeting her body with mine. In a flash, my hands were at the waist of her pants, tugging the tucked in turtleneck out from the front, enough so my hands could feel her smooth skin. I got what I wanted and my fingertips moved up her body until they rested under her breasts. She was breathing hard, sucking in air as fast as she could.

I took my hands back and out from under her shirt while keeping her pinned with my lower body. My hands free, I grabbed her hips and pulled her ass one step away from the window, keeping the contact with my now-hardened cock. And then I used one hand against her back, pressing her upper body against the window.

She struggled, her arms holding her up, but I persisted. Trembling, she gave in, her face turning to the side, her chest pushing into the cold glass; her turtleneck’s fabric was thin, the pearls clacked and rolled, gathering in a twisted strand between her flattened breasts. She gasped as she stood pinned to the window, her breath fogging up a cloudy mist by her mouth.

I held her still while my other hand tore at her pants, the belt buckle undone, the clasp next, then the zipper. I reached in and felt nothing but skin. Her panties were in the envelope, too. I began to pull her pants down, inching them down her hips, revealing her bare ass - I pushed her legs together so they dropped down to her ankles. She stepped out of her pants, and I spread her legs wider again.

My body pressed against hers, and I leaned in.

“Is the glass cold?” I asked into her ear.

“Y-yes,” her answer fogging up the window some more.

“Good.” I answered, before rolling down her back, dropping to my knees, and planting my face between her ass cheeks. She moaned as I cupped her ass with both hands, my tongue flicking out of my mouth and quickly swabbing against the bottom tip of her pussy. My nose pressed into her asshole and she started to push herself off the window.

“Don’t move!” I quietly shouted, my fierce command freezing her in mid-motion.

She pressed herself back against the window for me. Only then did I resume licking. Only then did I spread her ass wide and mash my face against her wet sex. Only then did I find her clit with my tongue and gently brush it back and forth, causing her body to shake and shudder.

I slid down further, and turned around under and between her legs; I was seated against the window, my back now against the cold glass. With a better, more traditional angle, I thrust two fingers into her wet pussy, her shocked breath and shallow moans above fogging up the window. My tongue lay on her clit and pressed against it in flat circles. The fingers in her pussy beginning to slosh up and down, and I knew she could hear the lewd sounds of her own arousal.

She was close, her moans louder, her pussy wetter - and I had reached down and undid my pants. With a quick tug, her knees buckled and she came crashing down on me, her cold body like a splash of ice water on my chest. Her nipples were crystalline, her face frozen, her hands searingly cold as she reached behind and under her, grabbing my cock and positioning it at the entrance of her pussy. I felt enveloped in a cold embrace one second, and then thrust into her hottightwetslickclench of a pussy. Her hands went for my head, her fingers like tracts of ice running through my hair. My face went to her chest and my mouth took in one of her frozen nipples through the shirt as her chilled pearls bounced and bashed into me.

Like a cold wind, she came howling and fast, whistling through the branches of naked trees and over snow-covered fields.

* * * * * *

We had gathered ourselves and our things, and headed to the elevators. It was about seven-twenty; I had definitely missed Jeopardy! tonight. I should get a TiVo or something.

As the chime sounded, and the doors opened, we stepped in, holding hands. My fingers were interlocked in hers. From the distorted and barely visible reflection in the brushed metal finish of the closing doors, I could see her turning her head down and away from me.

I spoke softly. I asked her what was wrong.

“I’ve just missed you so much,” she said, her eyes full of frozen tears that refused to gather themselves and roll down her cheeks.

something trivial

I apologize. There is absolutely no erotica, smut, porn, sex, naughty writing, or debauchery in this post. I’ll make up for it, I promise.

In college, I was forced (as in, it was a requirement) to take a class on writing. My university had this “Freshman Writing Seminar” - and while I had some AP credit to take care of that, I still had to take one semester (instead of two, thankfully).

The only useful things to come out of that class (as it was intensely boring and taught by a teaching assistant who was drier than the Atacama Desert) were the two reference books I had purchased - William Strunk Jr.’s The Elements of Style and Diana Hacker’s A Writer’s Reference.

Granted, I break all or nearly all of their rules repeatedly. But nonetheless, those two books have survived many things, including floods in dorm rooms, a roommate’s crazy girlfriend (my laptop did not survive her rage or inclination to throw things out the window of a three story house), and a few fits of “let’s sell everything I own because I can’t afford books/rent/tuition/food/beer.”

Anyway, on to today’s “I am a dork” moment:

There is a word, that if you add an “s” to it, it can be plural. If you add another “s” to it, it becomes singular again.

Interesting, right? I have the answer if anyone is at all interested. It’s quite possible no one cares though, because I am a dork.

a variation on a meme (of shaving)

While Swiss Miss was in Zurich (actually, I’m wrong, it was Geneva), we kept in touch with IM, email, and phone calls. Pretty standard, really, despite the discovery of the ridiculous rate of overseas calls on my cell phone (and the subsequent discovery that AT&T had some kind of discounted international plan so the purchase of a prepaid phone card was worthless, but that’s an entirely different matter). Of course, we spoke of holidays, family, differences in the two cities, airports, and exactly what we’d do to make each other to cum if the thirty-eight-hundred-ish miles weren’t between us.

Whether subconsciously or not, I found myself going over the topic of shaving.

Swiss Miss had an exquisitely shaved vagina. The skin was always smooth, soft, and hairless. While I spoke to her, describing how much I enjoyed letting my tongue drag from her navel down past her hips, over the crest of her pubic bone and into the warm, wet folds of her pussy, I confessed to her that I loved her bare, smooth pussy. There was never a hint of stubble, never a missed hair. I wanted to know how she did it. Was she following methods I had already read and practiced? Would she let me watch? Would she let me shave her, perhaps? (And if so, I had some ideas in my head already…)

She paused, as if to think about what I had said. Her answer came slowly and deliberately.

“Well, the best thing to do would be if I showed you. I’ll shave you, and then you can see how it’s done.”

* * * * * *

For the record, I hate Newark Liberty International Airport.

The signs are tiny and illegible. The parking areas are cramped and claustrophobia-inducing. The terminal is labyrinthine and entirely forgettable. And yet, none of that mattered. Swiss Miss strode past the final gate and confidently cut her path through the mess of weary-eyed travelers. She quickened her pace as our eyes met, and she let go of her luggage on the last step, jumping into my arms - all that was missing was the slow motion and music. She kissed me full on the lips, a slight hint of alcohol on her breath to go with her escaping accent.

“Can we please get the fuck out of here, Lieben?”

I barely remember the drive home; or if we had attempted to stop at her place (which we didn’t). Her luggage was thrown somewhere in the living room, by the sofa. Her clothes were in a pile by the bathroom door, in the hallway. My clothes were flung around in the bedroom. Arms, legs, bodies, lips, hands, touches, grasps, breathless - we tore at each other. It had been two weeks of chatting, writing emails, calling each other, random video IMs, phone sex… two weeks of distance, that melted away in an instant.

I had no idea I had missed her that much.

* * * * * *

Her head lay on my chest, her body clung to mine, our legs intertwined. Her hand lazily scratched my shoulder… then down lower… then at my abdomen… then my hips… then nestled below, her fingers wrapped around my cock.

“I didn’t forget,” she said.

“Forget what?” It was obvious I had.

“Don’t be silly, [six]. Let me get my razor.”

She led me into the bathroom, both of us naked. She pushed away the shower curtain, placing a towel on the edge of the tub, motioning for me to get in. The warm water soon filled the tub halfway, as she left and came back with a small pink bag. She took another towel off the rack and laid it out of her as she knelt down on the rug, laying out the contents.

I was surprised to see that she not only had a standard (pink) ladies’ razor, but the sharp, gleaming straight edge of a barber’s safety razor. She also had a matching barber’s shaving brush, the ebony handle looking heavy and menacing. She methodically placed them in front of her, then stood up carrying the towel like a tray, repositioned herself, and stepped into the tub. Her tools were now resting on the edge of the tub, well within reach.

I was half-lying, half-sitting on my back, the water barely covering my hips as I felt the warm water envelop me. She knelt between my legs and rubbed my cock under the water. Her fingers felt around, rubbing the skin, gauging what needed to be done. I keep the hair trimmed and under control, not shaved clean, the hair about a quarter of an inch. She was planning.

“We have to get it nice and hard,” she explained, looking right at me as her hand began to move itself up and down, squeezing gently. I didn’t need much encouragement, but I wasn’t going to stop her. “See, if the skin is loose, it might get cut it by accident.”

With my cock stiff and standing up straight out of the water, she spoke again, reaching for the shaving cream. “Skin wet… check. Water warm… check. We’ll just drain the tub a little bit…” her hand on the drain lever, lowering the level of the water a few inches. My skin, exposed, felt cold. I shivered involuntarily, goosebumps forming on my thighs and arms. “Now for the cream,” she said, placing a small amount of cream on the brush, then tapping it against her hand, the cream foaming up quickly. The can of shaving cream placed back down, she grabbed my cock and pulled it straight up as she swabbed me with the brush. She moved around my cock first, making her way around the entire base and then down to my balls. The brush was placed balancing on its handle. She reached for the pink razor.

Her hands were quick; skilled. She made quick strokes, the razor making short work of the trimmed hair. It went as much as I had imagined, although yes, it’s very different from shaving facial hair. It almost felt like she was rushing, moving too fast. Swiss Miss rinsed the blade in the water, splashing gently. She then reached for the brush again.

“Oh, that’s not it?” I asked - I knew she wouldn’t have taken out the other razor just for show.

“I didn’t say we were done,” she answered.

Another layer of foam was applied. She picked up the safety razor. And then, I got scared.

The first swipe was fast. Faster than I thought, Swiss Miss holding the head of my cock and pointing it down as she shaved at the base, the single blade cutting a path of bare skin through the shaving cream. I could almost feel and hear each hair pop as the gleaming metal flashed; she was shaving against the grain. Another swipe, her hands moving fast, the blade floating and scraping at the same time. Deftly she moved my cock to the side, up, around, the blade erasing any hint of hair.

“It’s much faster than when I do myself,” she said to herself quietly, splashing the water as she rinsed off the blade.

She placed the razor back on the towel, and used her hands to scoop up water onto me - there really was no need; she had shaved away all the shaving cream. My skin felt extra sensitive, her palms like fire, her fingers like electricity as she felt the results of her work.

“Mmmm, now that’s smooth,” she said, her eyes not looking up at me, but instead at her handiwork. “Now you touch it.” Her voice was as sharp as the razor.

I reached down and felt my skin incredibly soft and smooth. No stubble. It was the closest shave I had ever gotten.

She had turned the lever for the drain, the water now emptying out of the tub. She placed the towel with the razors back on the rug on the bathroom floor, closing the shower curtain. She held onto the pink razor and brush, motioning for me to stand. Back on my feet, I realized how hard I’d become, my cock sticking straight out in front of me, lewdly bumping against her. She grabbed it with one hand and turned on the shower with the other.

The water falling on our bodies was warm, and she began to stroke at me gently.

“I’m not done yet,” she said, touching my leg, making me lift it up onto the recessed soap dish on the tiled wall. “I need to shave around your asshole too,” she said, matter-of-factly, on her knees, swabbing the brush under my balls, reaching back past the perineum and circling my ass.

I was surprised.

It must have shown on my face because she looked up, the water falling on her back and shoulders, her hair getting wet, asking me, “So no one’s ever done this to you, then?” I shook my head. She cocked her head and let a “Hmm” out. She took the razor and shaved underneath my balls, the head of the razor moving back, under, and finally around my asshole.

It tickled. It felt weird. I’m still not sure I felt uncomfortable.

But I am sure I felt something else. Warm, and wet, very familiar.

Her mouth was around my cock, and she slid down to the base, her lips meeting the soft skin.  The razor and brush fell and rolled down toward the drain.  One hand reached around and grabbed my ass, the other nestled under my balls cupping me, her finger pressing gently on my asshole.  I was leaning back, my arms holding on to the bar/handle in the shower as she continued to work her mouth up and down my cock.  Her grip on my ass tightened as she felt me reposition myself.  Pulling back, she looked up at me, pleased at what she had accomplished.

She continued to stare at me with her eyes, her tongue parting her lips and making contact with my cock.  First, at the head, and then down the shaft, the flat of her tongue finally landing on the skin she had shaved.

“So smooth,” she said, barely audible over the falling shower water.

She kissed the skin.  And then pressed harder with her fingertip.

It was the warm water.  Or her mouth back on my aching cock, but I felt myself loosen, her finger steadily yet gently pressing in until it finally entered.  Her eyes widened but no other reaction as she sucked me hard and fast, her tongue swirling in her mouth.   I gasped, the simultaneous combination of the sensation (and the realization) of her finger penetrating my ass causing me to become unsteady.

Swiss Miss continued to suck, her finger moving slowly but continuously.  Her mouth felt like it got a lot tighter, or my cock felt like it got a lot bigger.  A few more strokes with her lips, the suction from her mouth, and her tongue rubbing against the underside of my cock was all it took.

I shuddered and groaned, my cock twitching as the first spurt hit the back of her throat.  And then I felt my ass clenching around her finger, almost in time with the spasming of my cock.  Her grip turned into a caress, and she looked back up at me.

And there was only one dirty thought running through my head.