Picking up the lathered brush, he coated the hair on my p***y with the cool soap. "Why are you doing this?" I asked.
His eyes were focused on his task. "I want to be able to taste you without this hair in my way. I want you slick and smooth. I want to be able to see your pretty pussy." He looked at me and grinned, then picked up the straight razor. "Hold still now."
I barely breathed, afraid he'd nick me. Staring at the ceiling, I felt his hands on me there, the smooth strokes of the razor, his fingers running over my most intimate flesh. As he finished, he wiped the area with a clean cloth.
"Ah, such a pretty sight. Now I can see your pretty p***y. Are you sore?" he asked. "Your lips here are all red and swollen."
"That's because you f****d me just a few minutes ago."
He grinned wick
