A Frivolous Remark

It was nothing more than a frivolous remark; an off-the-cuff, throwaway attempt at humour: she was tired, she said, bone-weary, needing to sleep like old Rip Van Winkle.

Just a throwaway remark to highlight my disappointment:

"I guess I'll put off shaving my legs until tomorrow then!" followed by a gentle laugh to soften the blow.

We bantered and riffed on it with jokey references to the itch of regrowth and scented moisturiser and a date was made for tomorrow night: dress up, worship and the looming presence of her favourite 10 inch dildo which would need all of my attention if it were to cleave her wet pudenda and fill her ever aching need.

"Why not do it now, if you're bathing anyway? And everywhere else too, it's all coming back in. I'll give you an hour and come in to see you've done a good job. You may want me for the more awkward parts."

Just a frivolous line...except...

...now that I'm in the bath it's all I can think about. Not just the shaving but everything that comes afterwards -- which in this case will (sadly) be tomorrow night -- For when I'm free of body hair our play becomes extra special.

Of course there's the whole heightened sensitivity thing where the act of putting on my panties or stockings, nightie or bra, becomes an exercise in erotic self-control but before ever getting to that point we create my female scent from a mixture of moisturiser and perfume, I trim, shave and moisturise her pubic area which becomes increasingly slick from my ministrations, clean and wash her rosebud so I can worship it safely when she demands and, if she is feeling patient, I get to put on my full make-up (if not I am allowed lipstick).

Then, and only then, am I allowed see what part I am to play; what clothes she has left out for me. I hesitate to use the word frisson when describing my excitement at this early point of the evening but it is an accurate description of how I feel as she unveils my wardrobe. I am, literally and physically, all a-quiver as her choice of outfit informs me as to whether I am to play an innocent, a slut, a co-worker etc.

It also tells me whether the night will focus entirely on her, whether I shall be punished or whether I can expect her touch, her mouth or her strap-on.

And right now I'm in the bath feeling that mixture of excitement and disappointment because I know that tonight will be chaste and innocent when my body craves anything but that yet I shave anyway, as I have been instructed, luxuriating in the gliding of the razor over my oiled thighs and the slightly unnerving sensation of the hair removal cream on the stubble between my cheeks and on my balls.

When finished I sink back under the surface to wash it all away and drift in the haze of warmth to a world where I am pretty and innocent, dressed demurely and ripe for the plucking.

In this world I shyly greet a parade of naked men under the watchful eye of my Mistress. With my head bowed and turned away I pretend not to look at their hard cocks and hairy bodies but, in truth, I study them intently from the corner of my eye and blush to hear my Mistress comment on their length and girth and balls and stiffness.

I place my hands over the front of my skirt and press gently against my clitty which is already threatening to spill into my panties from anticipation. I desperately want to hide it from these men for fear of their reaction but I know my Mistress likes them to see and so, to please her I use my hands to smooth my skirt tight across my hips to reveal my little secret to them all.

I raise my eyes to peer timidly at their faces from under my long lashes; one or two of them look kind but most seem to regard me as a toy, giving me eager looks as they stroke their formidable erections.

I blush and hide my face again, and the blush deepens as they laugh at my predictable reaction. They know, and I know, that those whom my Mistress chooses shall be given laissez-faire to use me however they desire.

My knees are quaking so much I'm surprised they can't hear them knocking. I'm surprised I haven't fallen to my knees already, so weak am I from anticipation. I already know which of these men I would choose. In my most erotic moments I would be taken tenderly by kind, beautiful, thoughtful men with raging erections that I willingly service. In my most erotic moments those men are passive allowing me to set the pace and rhythm of our copulations.

In my fantasies, however, there is no lovemaking; the men are dominant and masculine in the extreme -- they lift and move me aggressively into position, they pull my panties to the side without a word, their large cocks penetrate my mouth and pussy without a thought for my comfort and they fuck me mercilessly, their only thought: to cum; to finish inside my ass and my throat; to soak my face, my clitty, my cheeks and my lingerie in their cum; to leave me lying, used, in a pool of their ejaculate.

I know which of these men I would choose.

Please Mistress, not the men with kind faces...