Skin-Deep - Shorn and Shown Pt. 02

'So, you are offering this to me, the act of shaving you. I want you to know that I would have gotten down on my knees and begged you, if you would have required this.'

'Great then, Vita. But I won't have you beg for it. You have been down on your knees already. Glad you accept. I would have been thrown if you hadn't. But why so serious? Let's have some fun together. Peter, get us a fine, sharp pair of scissors, hot water, shaving cream and a couple of new razors. Vita, let's involve our audience.'

She turns around, looking at each of our friends, as she faces him of her. Then she faces me again and says,

'What shall we do? We can undress them all and inspect them too. Or just the women, and let Alfred be his male clothed self. Or let everyone decide whether he or she wants to take his or her kit off.'

I offer, 'My vote is to leave them to it. We two, we are bonded at the moment. To me, the intimacy you and I have now is precious and should not be diluted. But let them get naked as and when they are moved to strip.'

'I agree. So, folks, you have heard Vita. You are on your own. Invited to watch us and do what you please. Play with yourself or yourselves.'

Meanwhile Peter has fetched the cutting and shaving stuff and hands it to me. I get started and kneel down at her feet. I have to take a few deep breaths, so as to concentrate on the task in hand. Not because I have any reservations, quite the opposite, but because I just want to lose my wits and disappear in what I see, hear, feel, smell. Can't afford to do that! 'Go, Vita,' I mutter to myself.

I look up at Xandra with a shy smile. She has heard me and nods in encouragement. I buckle up and go ahead and soap up both of her feet. Elegant feet, slightly bony, if anything. The soles are callous, showing she frequently goes barefoot. The feet are already hairless as far as I can see, but we will not cut corners. The journey is as important as the result. In other words, the feeling of the shaving or being shaved counts for something too! I am careful with the toes, the space between the toes, careful, yet striving for perfection. Can't fully avoid nicking the skin at a toe joint and produce a speck of blood. It always happens, but it is a bad start. Can't keep going at this rate! Take care at the bony bits, Vita. Xandra merely flinches in reflex, but makes no noise. She is tough. It won't happen again.

I soap her left leg up from the ankle, right up to the groin, her hairy mound. Can't wait for removing that patch, that forest of hair. Patience, Vita, that will come! I hold her by the knee when I do the lower leg, and by the buttock - o, that great soft buttock - when I do the thigh. Again, not sure if I remove any hair, but I love performing this act, we both do. It is a kind of meditation, sensual meditation. I dry her leg with a fresh towel and then lightly oil it.

When I soap up the right leg up to the groin, I see Mina suddenly get up and Alfred, surprised, follow her with his gaze. I stop what I am doing, freeze in my movement and, like all of the others, look at Mina to see what is coming. It is not clear whether she is aware of us looking at her. She looks like she is in a trance - the alcohol or the occasion, or both? She is shedding the complex purple leather attire she has on, undoing the straps here and there, tugging and pulling so as to loosen them, unzipping the zipper at her back and taking off the dress part first, to reveal her ample, ample breasts, complete with D-ring piercings, followed by the bondage trousers, to reveal an elaborate tattoo peeking out of the tiny black panties she is wearing. Taking these off as well, the tattoo is seen to cover her entire abdomen. Snakes and roses can be made out. Extreme! The leather collar she does not take off. Perhaps she forgets it, perhaps someone else has the key. Naked, she does not sit down again, but remains spellbound and looks at the pair of Xandra and myself. I see Alfred is rubbing his cock through his suit pants, with no apparent reservation. He doesn't care what we think. Fine!

I resume my shaving duties and complete the right leg by drying and oiling it. Peter has taken care of a fresh bowl of hot water. Her pubes... Vita, the pubic hair we have to leave until later! I soap up her back - the back with that lovely, faint and subtle piercing corset tattoo - and shave it. I love people's backs, starting at the ass, narrowing at the waste and culminating at the shoulders. Xandra is slender, but has a firm set of shoulders, no doubt helped by working out. Then her torso, soaping it up, including her soft breasts, shaving the upper body whilst still avoiding the pubic area, lifting the breasts one by one to shave the sagging side. I remove one or two stray hairs on her areolas. Funny. Finally, before the grand finale of her mound, I soap up and shave her face and neck. I am touched by her calm, clear eyes looking out from between the mass of shaving soap. By her lips pouting forward.

Then her face is done. I dry it off and oil it. Xandra smiles, but does not say a word. There is work to be done. The hair on her mound and her scalp remain, plus her eyebrows and eyelashes.

Her mound then... I am about to reveal her vulva. Very curious as to what it looks like when in the clear! Peter hands me a small hair clipper. I check that it is set at the number 1 setting, leaving the shortest stubble. More importantly, as I don't want to nick her, again, it leaves me the minimum margin of error. I will shave her smooth with a safety razor later.

I carefully buzz off the first track of hair, holding out my other hand to catch it.

The following may appeal to the fans of BDSM, which I count myself to, off and on. It didn't actually happen, unlike the rest of this story, but it might have. Xandra might have told me, as I snipped away at her pubic hair, to stick each pluck of hair in the mouths of Peter and John, commanding them to eat it, their mouths getting fuller and fuller, as they would be incapable of swallowing the ever increasing mass of Xandra's less than totally fresh pubic hair. Back to what did happen.

Careful I bare track after track. I instruct her to widen her stance, lift one leg, or the other. I ask her to bend forward, to pull her labia one way or the other, all in the service of good workmanship! When we are done buzzing, we can already see what Xandra's hidden flower of flesh looks like. I pause for a minute to consider it. People and their bodies are unique, their faces and body shapes are, as is every attribute that can be identified, hands, feet, eyes, but also cocks or vulvas. Xandra's outer labia are fat and fleshy and you have to look well if you want to see the minora. Her state of arousal, such as it is, will of course have modified the visual appearance.

Now I have to proceed, if I am ever to finish. Time for the final stage, the work with the razor. I soap her up and very carefully shave her clean, again having her bend and spread and pull so as to foster perfection. It is great to be in a position to be so close to another's sex. Being close to a person's face is special, but relatively normal. Hence, this is more of a privilege. Finally, I dry and oil her.

All of those present come and have a look. Xandra stays calm and collected. She is not coquettish or coy, but rather matter-of-fact, in control, not teasing or challenging any one of us. She may be conscious of her power, but is going anything but overboard exercising that power.

Mina, the third naked woman, slowly, as in a trance, looks Xandra over on all sides. I on my part take the opportunity to look Mina over. Compared to Xandra's wiry body, her figure is ample. Oh, those breasts! And that crazy tattoo. The cluster of snakes and roses extends down through between her legs to her buttocks. Impressive!

Alfred, pretty intoxicated by now, is not satisfied and sees fit to shout out, 'Shave the head, Vita. Xandra, you have got to let her shave your head. You will carry it off too, you have the clout. I know you want to.'

Xandra looks at him, puts her hands on her hips and sighs. 'I will not let myself be forced into things like that. I don't need you to generate the desire to be radical and bald. And, yes, I know I can carry it off. I will make the promise that I will do it once in my life, not for you, but for myself, and I promise I will do it in public too. If you pay me, I may even do it at your gallery, if that space is big enough to satisfy the overwhelming demand for tickets, ha! But I will do it on my terms, when I want to, in the manner I want. Chances are that I will ask you, Vita, to do it for me, so stay tuned. But not now.' My heart skips a beat at this exciting prospect!

Alfred grunts, but does not give in completely. 'Alright, Xandra, I know better than to keep urging you. But let Vita do your eyebrows at least. It's radical, alien, in a way that suits you, my dear. And if you regret the action, the brows will grow back soon enough and before they do, you can paint them on, which quite suits you too! You can only win, can't you?' He sways, his hands on his hips too, and looks at her defiantly and laughs. He can be persuasive.

Xandra doesn't fall for it. She laughs with him, turns squarely to him, in a supremely confident pose, naked but all but vulnerable. 'Alfred, Alfred, you are pushy, aren't you? You have pursued me for years now, I have endured it, now I have let you see me naked, which is as far as you can ever hope to go, and you know it. Still you want more. Holding the hand, you want an extra finger. Tut, tut! What do you think, Vita?'

'I would say, Xandra, do whatever you are comfortable with, Alfred or no Alfred, if comfortable is the word. Alfred or no Alfred, I will do whatever you decide. Sorry, Alfred. And Xandra, I agree with you that if you are getting your head shaved, you should make an occasion of it. It is a moment of a lifetime, in my book, I know, as I have done it, and the anticipation is half the kick. Therefore, you should not do it now. The eyebrows, I agree with Alfred that shaving these small strips of hair makes a dramatic difference. You have beautifully arched, well-defined eyebrows, so shaving them is no trifle. But Alfred is right. They will grow back soon enough; in a month you have some eyebrows again and in a couple of months they will be back to where you started. In the meantime, you can draw or paint them on any way you like, or indeed go bare for a bit of shock value. Scores of women remove them, you know, shaved or even lasered, because they don't like their natural way. You don't seem to be the kind of woman that cares about what others think of you, but if you were, this would not hurt you. Shaving the head is another matter, but I gave you my advice already. All in all, don't shave your head now, but feel free about the eyebrows.'

'Wow, Vita, quite an essay, that. You sum up the choices quite well. Now, I hate to give Alfred something,' and she casts an ironic look his way, 'but I feel quite reckless at the moment and I don't have this kind of audience every day. So, Vita... What shall I do? Let me think...' She spreads her arms like a priestess, turns around to face her entire flock, and says, 'I will give all of you my eyebrows, and on top of that Vita will buzz my scalp short, eighth of an inch, I'd say. That is my decision.

'Vita, before I change my mind... do it!'

Peter rushes off to get some fresh hot water. Alfred sits and drunkenly gloats. Martha sits back with her eyes closed. Naked Mina has laid down next to her, legs wide open, with her head on Martha's lap, like a girl. She is uninhibited, innocently shameless, like a girl, and her eyes are shamelessly attentive. Martha keeps her eyes closed while stroking Mina's side and chest. Mina's hand finds its way to her tattooed crotch to do the stroking there, very lightly, almost as if unaware.

Xandra repeats, in a whisper, 'Do it, Vita...' And I buzz her eyebrows, the left before the right, soap them up, and carefully shave them. They are firm brows that do take some work to remove. I am aware of Xandra's piercing unfazed gaze throughout. I rinse the blank spaces, dry and oil them and stand back to admire my handiwork. Again, again, I cannot stop being amazed what a difference their absence makes. Like buttresses they strengthen the eyes. When gone, the eyes are nude and helpless. Xandra's gaze is weakened without them, but she is strong and can suffer the loss. I hear Mina moan in the background. She is here and not here.

For the final act, Peter hands me the clipper again. 'Are you sure, Xandra?' 'Sure, Vita. After the eyebrows, this is nothing. And I want to be bare. Go on!'

She is right, to a point. Because with her dense, 1-inch-long hair, her head has more volume and the skull cannot be seen. As I buzz the hair down to that one-eighth of an inch, she loses that volume and the naked skin of the skull shines through.

Over an hour has passed since we started playing and Xandra has been transformed from a well-dressed, elegant, commanding woman to a practically hairless, denuded one. She is commanding still, but this command is well challenged by the vulnerable vulva, scalp and the defenceless eyes - or more aptly put, these eyes have to defend themselves by the strength of their gaze.

Xandra takes me to the walk-in closet area of the loft, semi-separate from the main space, which houses a majestic full-size mirror in an ornate frame. She inspects her mirror image with concentration.

'I am not sure this is me still, but I like what I see. Strange me. I should go naked more often. I am sure you understand. The shorn head, eyebrows and vulva go together well.

'Thank you, dear Vita. Glad to have met you today. I propose we stay in touch, as we have something mutual to offer.' And she pulls my naked shape to her own in a tight hug, which I answer by putting my own hands in the small of her back, and then we kiss. A full-on, intense kiss.

We return to the rest of the lot. 'Now, before I kick all of you out, let us close the evening and dance a little while.'

She gestures to Peter, who puts some 60s or 70s soul music, starting with mid-tempo stuff. It plays pretty loud. It is the women that do the dancing. The three naked ones, tattooed Mina, the artist with the full figure, the tall and bare Xandra, bare of eyebrows and with ultra-short scalp, and myself, an older woman, with slicked-back hair and heavy make-up. And Martha, fully dressed in her black evening suit and pink silk shirt. Alfred has remained seated. John and Peter stay in the background, looking at us.

Alfred is pleasantly intoxicated. More so or less so than the rest of us? I feel Xandra and I are in full command of our functions, in spite of what we drank, and because of the adrenaline. Mina is just very, very tired. So is Martha. I have talked to her just a little after we got here. She is awe-struck, tired, yet satisfied, more than satisfied by the evening's events. Mina and Martha dance with eyes closed, in half-tempo, in slow-motion. Xandra and I manage some vigorous strutting. We waltz around the living room and are enjoying ourselves. Her legs, her arms, her head, her whole body participates in the dance. Her long legs smooth, endless and shiny in their freshly shaved guise. Her arms, thin, with hands and fingers the last word in grace. Her body, arching, stretching; her proud breasts showing the way.

As time progresses, Peter chooses to play more up-tempo tracks. The music becomes ever louder, the rhythms ever faster. Xandra changes character accordingly, becomes less ethereal, earthier. As she becomes worked up and warm. She is a go-go girl now; she struts her stuff with vigour. She shakes her bottom; she sways her breasts. I can see it in her eyes: her mind moves from the here and now and starts to lose its sense of the present.

When hardcore disco music is accompanying her, she is an animal. Sweat pours off her brow. Her whole body is glistening. I follow her movement and dance with her as her mirror image now, as if in a contest, challenging the other half, seeing which one falls down in exhaustion first. I look straight into her eyes as she looks into mine. I am so close to her. Her hands pass her every part of her body, kneading her breasts, slapping her buttocks. Her hands moving along the inside of her thighs. She squats down, legs wide open, unaware of anything but her own body. She leans back and is now supported on all fours, front up. She faces the ceiling. Her opening is in full view as she bobs up and down. Up and down, up and down, until exhaustion has drained the last drop of energy from her. Peter understands and does not put another track on. The music has stopped. She embraces me, covered in sweat, like me, kisses me on the mouth. She manages a warm smile and says, 'Vita, I love you. We'll meet again.' Without any more ado, she repairs to the bedroom and is gone.

John has called Martha and me a cab, ushers us along when it has arrived and we are gone too.

The night at Martha's

In the cab with Martha we muse on the evening's events. With me, she deems the evening a great success, a big turn-on. She has enjoyed her role as the instigator. I was not sure whether she envied me my hitting it off so well with Xandra. But she says, 'It was me that involved you and her, remember? I assumed that she would volunteer to inspect you, was not absolutely sure, but considered it quite likely. When she did, I was very happy, because I knew she would create something under the sun. Naturally, I selected her and the rest is history. You'll meet again, which is great. She has a lot to offer and has a network at least the size of mine, with some overlap of course. I don't mind your fun with her. Just don't go solo and forget me.' I reassure her, we embrace and that is that.

I have remained naked underneath my raincoat and carry my dress and remaining attire in my overnight bag. My coat is half open, as before. The taxi driver is discrete. During the 10 min trip, I see his eyes looking at me in his rear-view mirror, but he behaves. Fine by me. Look at me he can. Martha dealt with him when we got in, and does it again when arrive at her place.

We enter her hallway and she offers to take my coat. I hand it to her and am naked once again, the third venue I find myself in like so within 6, 7 hours. We quickly conclude we have no appetite for more drinking and merriment. Time for bed. We stand around for a moment looking at each other. Martha cuts it short and says, 'I have prepared the guestroom for you, but I don't think there is any question of that. I want us to sleep together in my bed. I need that release after sharing you so much.' 'I am game, Martha. We both need that release.' 'Great, Vita, let's go. But first, let me get equal with you. Watch me.'

Before describing the action, I am conscious of not having described her in any detail yet, beyond what she wore. Well, she is some 5 years younger than I, at least... Artsy type. I have indicated she wore a black evening suit, an elegant women's cut, with a loose-fitting pink silk blouse. Her hair is naturally silver-blond, wavy, cut short of shoulder length. Naturally blond, but I guess assisted by a blond rinse of some kind. Her shoulders are on the slender side, compared to her hips, which lean towards heaviness, but not by much. The shoulder pads in the jacket did the right thing for her. Her muscles are toned and she looks fine. She sports a mild all-over tan - lingering from the summer? Her skin is better than mine; that is where her youth speaks.

She does not exactly perform a striptease for me, or ask me to undress her. But she said, 'watch me,' and I do follow her request keenly, taking two armlengths of distance. Keen, as I have never seen her naked before. She faces me.