The Gleaming Edge

All submission may be different. But it all has a thread of commonality. The willingness to trust completely that the one to whom you submit will keep you safe, while taking you to your limits and beyond.

She knew this. She had submitted to Him months ago. And He had expanded her horizons. She thought she had submitted to Him completely. But she was wrong.

It had been a terrible week. The kids were unreasonable and annoying. Being couped up was no fun for anyone. And her husband had been around constantly, leaving her no time to be alone. No time to talk to Him. No time to get ready for Him. No time to do anything.

She came over at the prearranged time. Without so much as a hello, He told her to strip. She complied, neatly arranging her clothes as He had taught her. He glanced down her body. She stared at the floor, feeling His disappointment.

"You know you are only allowed to let that grow out if I tell you, right?"

"Yes Sir," she said, as she blushed. She hadn't had the chance to shave in at least 10 days, and she knew she was supposed to be bare for Him. At 44, she had never shaved herself completely bare. But that changed after she met Him. As did so many other things.

He stung her pussy and her dark curlies with the riding crop. Once. Then again. Then a third time. She winced at the pain, but did not cry out. She accepted her punishment, and was prepared to make herself presentable to Him.

"Sir, please let me fix things to your satisfaction. I know what you want," she said with a smile.

He looked at her, but was not smiling. "What makes you think you know what I want?" He pulled her nipple hard, lifting her heavy breast by it. "Did you 'know' I wanted to do that?"

She could not suppress a gasp and a groan. "No, Sir. I didn't mean to presume..." she started to say, but He interrupted.

"But you did. You came here with an unshaven cunt, knowing that was not allowed. Then you presumed you knew what I wanted done about it. Have you forgotten your place?"

She looked down. "No, Sir."

"Come with me," He said, leading her to the master bath. She only recalled being allowed in here once before. The fixtures were all gleaming, and there was a cushioned stool that was in front of a makeup mirror. He placed a clean, thick, fluffy white towel over the cushion.

"Sit," He instructed. She obeyed. And watched as He removed several items from cabinets and drawers. "If you can't manage to handle your own grooming correctly, I will have to do it for you."

She saw Him take out a pottery bowl that looked like it only had the rim glazed. There were two glass bottles of liquid, one colored and clear, the other white and opaque. He had a small brush with thick black hair, a small plastic tub, and a long strip of what looked like leather. Finally, as He opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved a straight razor with mother of pearl scales, the pieces all came together and her eyes widened.

She watched as He turned on the sink and allowed it to fill with steaming hot water. The steam rose from the sink and covered the bathroom mirror. He immersed the bowl in the filling sink, and placed the brush in the bowl. Atop these, He placed a clean white washcloth. All these items were in the sink, along with the steamy water. There was an eerie silence as He turned off the running water.

After what seemed like an eternity, He removed the washcloth from the sink, and lightly removed the excess water. Then He folded it, and placed it right on her pussy. She jumped a little, then got used to the hot washcloth on her softest flesh.

While she sat there and watched, He removed the bowl and the brush. After shaking the water from the brush and pouring it from the bowl, He opened the small tub and coated the bristles in the purple lavender shaving cream. She looked at Him as He lathered up the brush in the pottery bowl. The only sound in the room was the clinking of the brush against the side of the bowl.

The warm washcloth was both conditioning the hair on her mound and also arousing her. She could feel her lips slightly part and a tingle tantalize her small clit. As He finished with the lather, He took the clear liquid and covered His palms. He removed the washcloth and rubbed the conditioning oil onto any hair He found. The sensations were strong, approaching the overwhelming. The aromas of the lavender lather along with the coriander oil were intoxicating.

As He let the conditioning oil seep into the wet hairs and open pores, He picked up the leather strop, and the straight razor. She watched, transfixed, as he opened the razor, and slid it along the leather, back and forth, back and forth. The stropping motion was almost hypnotic, as was the sound of the steel lightly scraping against the leather.

He put a towel over His shoulder and knelt between her thighs. She soon felt the warm lavender lather being applied to her. He rubbed the brush in little circles, covering her completely. As the brush circled her cleft, she moaned as the warm soft bristles stimulated her stiff clit. He continued rubbing in the lather. When her hips started to reflexively move against the brush, He said, "I didn't give you permission to enjoy this." She stopped moving and tried not to succumb to the pleasure building within her.

He reached up and plucked a hair from her head. Her eyes were on the blade that was now in His hand. The cutting area was almost three inches long and the hollow grind was bright in the light of the bathroom. But the half millimeter or so at the very edge was positively gleaming. She watched as He dragged the single hair across the edge of the razor, and she sharply inhaled as she saw the unsupported half of the strand of hair fall to the ground, cut by only its own minuscule weight. In her entire life, she had never seen anything so sharp. In fact, many people lived their entire lives never seeing anything so sharp.

He simply said, "Sit still." She really didn't need to be told that. He knelt back between her legs and passed the razor across her mound in a short stroke, removing every hair it touched. There was the sound of the blade scraping the skin, hair and lather. The was the feeling of the steel against her sensitive skin. There was the smell of the oil, the lather, and her own juices, all mixed together. And there was the sight of the blade in His hand, first crossing her skin, and then being wiped on the towel. The shaving cream and hairs were wiped clean, and the gleaming edge returned.

Stroke after stroke followed. She dared not move given the sharpness of the razor. The sensations were overwhelming. He never had this much control. She never had submitted to this degree. As He continued, He used his fingers to stretch her skin so it could be shaved. And as much as she tried to ignore His touch, it was far too arousing and her efforts were futile. She was breathing faster. Her heart was racing. There was danger, exhilaration, and pleasure as all of her senses were assaulted and overwhelmed at once.

When He finished, He removed the remaining lather with the warm washcloth, and dried her with the fluffy towel. Then He opened the other bottle, and she saw him put lotion on His hands. She felt Him rubbing the cool lotion onto her most sensitive skin made even the more sensitive from the shaving. As she felt the cool lotion, her pleasure was unstoppable.

She cried out, "Sir! I can't stop it...I can't..."

He looked into her eyes and said, "it's ok, go ahead." With that, her eyes closed, her head went back, and she cried out in orgasmic pleasure. It went on for what seemed like an eternity. When her mind returned to her body there in the bedroom, He was there, holding her. When she opened her eyes, He said, "Go. Wait for Me."

She silently rose, and went to her place. As she knelt, waiting, she let her fingertips touch the skin around her now hairless cunt. She was awed at the smoothness. No newborn babe's butt could ever have been this smooth. She knew she was not allowed to touch herself while she was waiting, but she couldn't help exploring the new sensation. She quickly removed her hand as she heard the door open. Her eyes were down, but in her peripheral vision she could see the riding crop in His hand again. She thought about how that would feel against her freshly shaven skin, and she closed her eyes. In her mind, all she could see at that moment was the gleaming edge of the razor. And all she could feel was unbridled anticipation of the night to come.