first time, strangely enough, I seriously question what I am doing. Sinclair, from the sound of it, means to take me deep into his dark desires, crossing limits and boundaries en route. Am I psychologically robust enough to handle this? Or will he crush me in the process?
I give him a tremulous-neophyte look, which seems to turn him on to the extent that he swoops around the table, takes me by the wrist and impels me along to the bedroom again. After kissing me until I have so little breath I feel like a fish flapping its gills on a slab he unrolls me from the towel and places it in the centre of the bed.
“Lie down, Beth, with your bottom on the towel please.”
“Oh. Right.” I do so and he leaves the room, reappearing with a bowl of warm water, a can of foam and a razor.
I sit up. “You aren’t going to…”
“I’ll do the honours,” he drawls, placing his accessories beside my hip on the bed.
“But why?” I wail. I’m not comfortable with this at all.
“It’s my personal preference,” he says unbendingly.
“Must you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you threatened by adult women?”
“Of course not, you silly girl. I just like to see clearly what I ’m getting into, so to speak.” Rude bastard! I gasp at him. He smirks.
“It makes me feel like a child,” I object. “I don’t like it.”
“Get used to it.”
“I…”
“Do you think it’s wise to argue with a man who is wielding a razorblade right next to your intimate parts, Beth?”
“ What? ”
He rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Joke,” he sighs.
“Not funny.”
“The issue is closed, Beth,” he says firmly. “I prefer you shaved, so shaved you will be and will remain. I expect this to be maintained on a daily basis, or you will be punished. Is that clear?”
Again the lurch of dread; the inner cry of What am I getting into? But I lie back and let him loose on me nonetheless.
I stare at the ceiling as he lathers my pubes up into creamy peaks, then I screw up my eyes against the cold steel of the razor, feeling a ticklish feathering as he scrapes the trian gle in downward strokes. I clench my fists when he descends into the dangerous territory of my labia and heed his advice to keep very, very still. One false move…it doesn’t bear thinking about.
“Perhaps you would prefer to wax,” he murmurs, “or use some kind of depilation cream. Sharp blades are not for beginners.” One final careful inward sweep at the base of my buttocks and he declares himself finished.
He rinses off the foam and surveys his han diwork with detached approval. “Much better,” he opines. He leans down and breathes on it, making my skin pucker into goosepimples. “Now you cannot hide from me.” He prises my thighs wider with his hands and continues to drift warm breath over the area, until I can’t avoid squirming and trying to close my thighs. But his hands are firm and there is no chance of that. He uses his thumbs to spread the newly-nude lips and his face is coming closer, closer until the tip of his rather long nose is almost touching the glistening pink insides, and now his breath is hot and intrusive, inescapable, and I have to let loose a shuddering giggle. He takes a theatrically deep breath and then…aaaah….his tongue, so delicately, so teasingly, maps the nooks and crannies of my hidden valley. It curls up and down, hither and thither, gently over my clitoris, which he slips in between his lips and hums on…oh CHRIST!...
“This is all new to you, isn’t it?” he murmurs, preparing to dust his tongue across its supersensitive surface again and al l I can do is ‘aaah’ brokenly. He laps and licks as if presented with an unending banquet of his favourite foods and I can feel my clit swelling and stiffening until it must be about twice its usual size, whereupon he begins to suck on it, his fingers massaging the surrounding area in sympathy and I lose the plot, lose my head, lose consciousness of everything except
I give him a tremulous-neophyte look, which seems to turn him on to the extent that he swoops around the table, takes me by the wrist and impels me along to the bedroom again. After kissing me until I have so little breath I feel like a fish flapping its gills on a slab he unrolls me from the towel and places it in the centre of the bed.
“Lie down, Beth, with your bottom on the towel please.”
“Oh. Right.” I do so and he leaves the room, reappearing with a bowl of warm water, a can of foam and a razor.
I sit up. “You aren’t going to…”
“I’ll do the honours,” he drawls, placing his accessories beside my hip on the bed.
“But why?” I wail. I’m not comfortable with this at all.
“It’s my personal preference,” he says unbendingly.
“Must you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you threatened by adult women?”
“Of course not, you silly girl. I just like to see clearly what I ’m getting into, so to speak.” Rude bastard! I gasp at him. He smirks.
“It makes me feel like a child,” I object. “I don’t like it.”
“Get used to it.”
“I…”
“Do you think it’s wise to argue with a man who is wielding a razorblade right next to your intimate parts, Beth?”
“ What? ”
He rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Joke,” he sighs.
“Not funny.”
“The issue is closed, Beth,” he says firmly. “I prefer you shaved, so shaved you will be and will remain. I expect this to be maintained on a daily basis, or you will be punished. Is that clear?”
Again the lurch of dread; the inner cry of What am I getting into? But I lie back and let him loose on me nonetheless.
I stare at the ceiling as he lathers my pubes up into creamy peaks, then I screw up my eyes against the cold steel of the razor, feeling a ticklish feathering as he scrapes the trian gle in downward strokes. I clench my fists when he descends into the dangerous territory of my labia and heed his advice to keep very, very still. One false move…it doesn’t bear thinking about.
“Perhaps you would prefer to wax,” he murmurs, “or use some kind of depilation cream. Sharp blades are not for beginners.” One final careful inward sweep at the base of my buttocks and he declares himself finished.
He rinses off the foam and surveys his han diwork with detached approval. “Much better,” he opines. He leans down and breathes on it, making my skin pucker into goosepimples. “Now you cannot hide from me.” He prises my thighs wider with his hands and continues to drift warm breath over the area, until I can’t avoid squirming and trying to close my thighs. But his hands are firm and there is no chance of that. He uses his thumbs to spread the newly-nude lips and his face is coming closer, closer until the tip of his rather long nose is almost touching the glistening pink insides, and now his breath is hot and intrusive, inescapable, and I have to let loose a shuddering giggle. He takes a theatrically deep breath and then…aaaah….his tongue, so delicately, so teasingly, maps the nooks and crannies of my hidden valley. It curls up and down, hither and thither, gently over my clitoris, which he slips in between his lips and hums on…oh CHRIST!...
“This is all new to you, isn’t it?” he murmurs, preparing to dust his tongue across its supersensitive surface again and al l I can do is ‘aaah’ brokenly. He laps and licks as if presented with an unending banquet of his favourite foods and I can feel my clit swelling and stiffening until it must be about twice its usual size, whereupon he begins to suck on it, his fingers massaging the surrounding area in sympathy and I lose the plot, lose my head, lose consciousness of everything except
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