Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Master Paul worked with meticulous care. He rinsed the razor in the basin of warm water after each stroke, and in my mind’s eye I could see the fine blonde hair swirling in the water, separating from the blade and drifting. Each pass of the razor, I knew, revealed more of me—the pale, delicate skin of my mound emerging from beneath the foam like something being uncovered, excavated, brought to light.
“Look at this sweet cunt,” Master Paul said, and the word in his mouth, spoken while he shaved me with the tenderness and expertise of a man handling something precious, made my vision blur with fresh tears. “Nice and tight. Look how pretty my girl is under here.”
CHAPTER 24
Anne
Master Paul’s thumb followed the path the razor had just cleared, stroking across the newly bare skin with a slow, testing pressure that made my entire body shudder. The pad of his thumb moved over my mound in a single, proprietary sweep—feeling the smoothness, checking his work, and simultaneously claiming the territory he’d just uncovered.
The sensation was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Without the hair, every nerve ending on that skin seemed to have been switched on for the first time, and the warmth of his thumb against the bare, freshly shaved flesh sent a current of feeling so intense through my hips that they lifted off the towel despite every effort to hold still.
“Smooth,” he said quietly. His thumb traced the outer edge of my left pussy lip, following the crease where the shaved skin met the delicate inner flesh, and I whimpered. “Perfectly smooth. That’s how a girl’s cunt should feel when it belongs to her suitor.”
He rinsed the razor one final time and set it in the basin. He wiped the remaining traces of foam from my skin with a warm, damp cloth, and the gentleness of the motion—the careful, almost tender way he cleaned me—made my eyes sting with a confusion of gratitude and shame and need so tangled I couldn’t have separated the strands if my life depended on it.
Then he stood. He looked down at me—spread open on the white towel, bare between my thighs for the first time in my adult life, my welted bottom throbbing against the tile floor beneath the towel, my face streaked with tears and flushed the color of the lingerie draped over the counter.
His eyes moved from my newly shaved pussy to the red lace.
“Melissa. Darlene.” His voice carried across the set with the unhurried authority of a man who expected the world to arrange itself around his decisions. “Scene change. I’m going to fuck her in the red lingerie, on the bedroom set.”
The words seemed to explode inside my chest. My hands, which had been lying at my sides on the towel, flew to my stomach and pressed there, as if I could hold down the violent lurch of my insides. My freshly bared pussy clenched—I felt it with a vividness that the shaving had made almost unbearable, every micro-contraction registering against bare, hypersensitive skin with nothing to muffle it.
“Oh, hell, yes,” Melissa said from somewhere beyond the lights. Her voice carried the particular fervor of a woman whose creative instincts had just been handed a gift. “Yes, absolutely. Darlene, can you move to the bedroom set in five? We need the bed.”
“I can move in three,” Darlene said. I heard the rapid shuffle of equipment cases and the click of light stands being collapsed. “Get the C-camera on the dolly. I want full coverage.”
Master Paul crouched beside me. His hand found my chin and tilted my face toward his, and the look he gave me—dark, focused, suffused with a hunger that he wasn’t bothering to conceal—made my breath stop in my throat.
“You’re going to put on the lingerie,” he said. “Right here in the bathroom. I’ll be back for you in a few minutes.”
He stood and walked off the bathroom set without looking behind him. I heard his footsteps recede across the studio floor. He spoke to Darlene in a low, efficient murmur about camera angles and lighting adjustments, then there was silence on the white tile around me. I was alone with the lingerie, my hammering heart, and the slick, bare, aching center of myself.
I sat up. The movement made my welted bottom press against the floor through the towel and I hissed, my eyes squeezing shut against the fresh wave of stinging heat. My hands shook as I reached for the red lace on the counter.
I started with the garter belt. The crimson satin was cool against my fingers, the fabric so fine it seemed like it might dissolve at my touch. I wrapped it around my waist and fastened the tiny hooks at the back, my fingers fumbling, missing twice before the clasps caught. The belt sat snug against my hips, the four dangling straps hanging down my bare thighs like thin red lines drawn on my skin.