My Husband Shaves It For Me--or Has Someone Else Do It...
Sorry it’s a little long—hope nobody minds…
Honestly, I don’t care about shaving my *****, one way or the other. And if you want to shave, I say go for it. But one way or the other, please—I don’t particularly want whisker burn! (And that goes for men AND ladies!)
Now my husband doesn’t usually care either, but sometimes he’s in the mood to have me be clean-shaven for him. Then he gets so picky about it that he’s decided that he’d rather do the whole job himself rather than ‘have to clean up after me.’ Needless to say, I don’t mind in the least if he is a bit obsessive about this particular task.
Well, not too, too long ago. My husband’s friend, Michael (name changed to protect the guilty), was over to watch some sporting event or other on TV (not my idea of a great time, but boys will be boys). I had been over at a friend’s place for a few days and came home to find them in the living room, enjoying the game. They were so involved in the game they barely noticed me when I came in and, well, I decided that I should do something about that...
After I put away my things, I went over to behind where my husband was sitting on the sofa, put my arms around his neck and kissed him on the ear. He was slightly surprised and turned toward me which was perfect for the nice, slow kiss I had in mind. Now Michael has spent enough time with us to know that we like to have fun with our friends, but he had never gotten the full treatment—and he was also sufficiently engrossed in the game that it took him a minute to realize that my hands had slid down my husband’s chest to his lap during our kiss. After a moment he noticed that my guy wasn’t paying ANY attention to whatever the hell had just happened on TV…and once he realized that the game had lost one viewer, I think he found that he didn’t have nearly as much interest in the game as he’d thought he’d had.
But I was in a bit of a teasing mood so, after successfully getting my husband’s attention away from the TV, I just said, “Enjoy the game, boys!” and left them to stew in their own juices for a bit.
When I came back into the room several minutes later, the TV volume had been lowered and the guys were talking about sex (surprise, surprise). I puttered around in the kitchen for a while, obviously eavesdropping, and heard the conversation turn to whether they liked hairy, trimmed, or shaved beaver best. My husband gave his opinions on all three to Michael who then confessed that he’d never tried shaved *****. He’d wanted to try it with his girlfriend, but he didn’t know how to approach the subject. My husband then stated—in a slightly raised voice, so I know he wanted me to hear—that Michael should probably taste shaved ***** for himself first, before making his girlfriend shave. After all, did Michael want his girlfriend to be uncomfortable growing it out if he didn’t like it??? Michael agreed that that would be the best way to handle the situation, but did my husband have any suggestions for someone who might let him try?
At this, my husband got up, came into the kitchen, took my hand and led me into the living room. He put his hands on my shoulders and told Michael, “My wife will not only let you taste her *****, she’ll let you learn to shave her too, so you can do it right for your girlfriend.”
(Now THIS was more like it!!!)
Michael’s face clearly showed that he was hoping the conversation would take just exactly this turn. My husband then handed me over to Michael and told him to bring me along to the bathroom. On the way, my husband explained to Michael that shaving a ***** is a delicate undertaking that requires a bit of preparation for his true enjoyment afterwards. He said that my ***** was a perfect example since he hadn’t given it any such attention in weeks, so there would be a nice little bush to practice on.
When we got to our master bathroom, he told Michael that he should take off all my clothes so that they could prepare his practice area properly, while my husband started to run a nice, hot bath in our whirlpool bathtub. Michael undressed me slowly, obviously enjoying the moment, and my husband sat patiently to watch our progress. After I was jaybird naked in front of them both, my husband told Michael that he should always check first to make sure that the area really needed shaving. At this, Michael put his hand between my thighs and told me to ‘open up’ for him and, after I’d complied, he gently stroked my ***** thoroughly before confirming to my husband that I did, indeed, need shaving.
My husband then explained to Michael that the ***** hair needs to be trimmed very short so that the razor doesn’t get dull in the middle of the process. He handed Michael the clippers he uses when he has a beard and indicated that our bed would be the best place for this procedure. Michael brought a towel from the bathroom and instructed me to lie back on it. He took his time positioning my body exactly the way he wanted (I could’ve pointed out that it really wasn’t strictly necessary for my nipples to be pointing exactly straight up at the ceiling, but he was having such a good time…) and then sat down on the stool my husband had brought from the bathroom. Our bed is somewhat elevated—I need a step to climb in—so he had a perfect eye-level view for this task.
Before he started, he asked my husband whether it would be better to comb my ***** first, to make sure there were no tangles. My husband told him there was no reason why not and brought him my comb from the dresser. Very slowly and gently and with my husband watching over his shoulder, Michael combed my ***** hair in a way that made me feel very well pampered. He was diligent in his work, making sure that every hair got his full attention—even instructing me to open wider so that he could work his way toward my anus. The light strokes of his fingers and the teeth of the comb were delightfully ticklish and he had to tell me more than once, very sternly, that I had to lie still so that he could learn to take care of his girlfriend properly. My husband came up onto the bed and held my shoulders, telling me that if I couldn’t behave myself, I was just going to have to let Michael practice again and again, until he got it right.
“Michael is my friend and we’re here to help him in any way we can. That means you’ll have to do as you’re told, exactly as you’re told, so he can learn how to attend ***** the right way. If he doesn’t learn how to care for ***** properly, he and his girlfriend will both have to suffer—so behave yourself and do what Michael says.”
After a few minutes of this delicious experience, my husband told Michael that he should move on to the clippers so that the bath didn’t get cold. Michael put the comb down with obvious reluctance (we were definitely on the same page) and picked up the clippers. Before he turned them on, my husband reached over and demonstrated how to pull my (now very wet) labia taut so that the clippers could shave my pretty ***** as close as possible. Michael paid close attention, and then turned on the clippers.
Mmmmmm….he was every bit as thorough as he had been with the comb. After every stroke of the clippers, he would run his finger over the ***** he’d just shaved, allowing the base of the clippers to rest very, very near my **** as he did so. The vibration of the clippers was heavenly and the job was finished much, MUCH too soon, to suit me. I groaned when he turned the clippers off and my husband said to Michael, “Are you going to allow her to run this show, or are you going to do it?”
Michael certainly didn’t want to be guilty of letting a woman tell him how to do things, so he told me to stand up and be quick about it. I wasn’t very quick and he told me that he would have to have 10 strokes of my wooden-handled hairbrush on my ***—5 for my ‘cheek’ when he’d finished trimming and 5 more for not moving quickly enough when I was told.
I’m happy to report that Michael was just as diligent about correcting my misbehaviour as he had been about trimming my now-swollen *****. He put me over his knee, telling me to hold on to the edge of the bed with my breasts dangling for his viewing pleasure while my legs dangled over the other side of his lap. He was about to start when my husband ordered me to spread my legs and take my spanking like a big girl—I was causing all this trouble and it was only right that I be punished. I spread my legs as he directed, but not wide enough—my husband came over and pulled my legs apart rather roughly so that my ***** was very much exposed for the hairbrush that was ready in Michaels hand for the first swat.
Michael slowly lifted the brush up and smacked by bottom sharply, making me gasp. He then stroked my ***** lips carefully, “To make sure that all my hard work hasn’t been ruined by your bad behaviour.” Swat and stroke, swat and stroke…the full ten times…my *** and my ***** were both on fire!
After several minutes, the spanking was done and my husband was reminding Michael that the bath was waiting. Michael led me to the bathtub and helped me get into the still very warm water. My husband now explained to Michael that it was very important for my ***** to be thoroughly hydrated before using the razor and that the best way was for me to soak in a nice, warm bath. I also needed to be scrupulously clean and Michael should consider getting into the tub with me and help me bathe. Michael was a bit reluctant to get undressed “just to bathe a woman”, but my husband stated that I rarely met his standards when he performed this task and had long ago decided that a man just had to do what a man had to do. At that clear directive from my husband that everything was okay, Michael ******** down to his birthday suit and climbed into the tub with me. I couldn’t help but be interested in his already-stiff **** standing at attention. (Hmmm…I wonder if he would like to be shaved?)
Michael was directed by my husband to wash every inch of me, and to not be too gentle. “She wasn’t paying you the proper respect—you need to let her know who’s in charge here.” Strong hands soaped and scrubbed every inch of my body while I twisted, turned and stretched on command. Though my husband didn’t direct Michael to do it, Michael decided that I needed to be clean inside as well as outside and slipped his finger into my now-pulsating ***** while my husband observed the action with a look of pure satisfaction from his perch on the side of the tub. Then Michael instructed me to turn over so that he could examine his results from a different angle, urging me to lift my *** higher and higher until he was satisfied with my bare, wet bottom well above the level of the water. He slowly soaped up his long fingers and thoroughly cleaned by ***, sliding one of his fingers in—he said he had to scrub me good and clean—making me moan and grind my **** against his other hand that was between my legs, helping support me. My husband warned me about my impertinent behaviour and asked Michael if he thought I needed another spanking.
Michael told me to look at him. “Do you need another spanking?” he asked.
“No. I’ll be a good girl.” I promised.
Michael told my husband that he thought I’d behave, but he’d give me another spanking if I was rude again—a much longer one, and not just on my *** (my nipples hardened almost painfully when he looked at them as he said this).My husband said it was Michael’s call and that if he thought my ***** was clean and soft enough, that it was time for the razor.
He explained that a safety razor is the best thing to use for this task.
“Who wants to lick nicks and cuts, right?
You want a nice, smooth finish—it’s about your pleasure, after all.
That’s the most important thing here.”
He gave Michael the razor and a can of shaving cream, instructing him to thoroughly coat the area before starting.
Again, I was led to the bed and positioned for Michael’s pleasure.
He positioned himself between my thighs again and, with his now-expected diligence, covered every inch of my ***** with the shaving cream, making sure every hair was ready and waiting.
Then, after waiting and watching me long enough that I was almost naughty again, he picked up the razor and, with long, smooth strokes he removed every hair from the area.
My husband again watched over his shoulder, reminding him only a few times to examine his work carefully and also to examine those hidden areas as well, to make sure the blade didn’t do any unnoticed damage.
Michaels was a good student and my husband was a great teacher—generously praising Michael with every stroke while he stroked my left nipple with his cool fingers.
“That was a good, smooth stroke, Michael…now make sure that the next one overlaps it by about half—you’ll want to go over every surface at least twice for the smoothest results…don’t be afraid to use your fingers, or even your lips and tongue, liberally to check your work…get all the way down in there…that’s right—examine every inch…”Finally, Michael had removed every hair from my ***** and sat back a bit to enjoy his sweet success for a moment.
I started to sit up (knowing I wasn’t really done, yet) and my husband pushed my shoulders back down firmly.
“Have you forgotten that the point of this whole exercise was for Michael to taste your ***** after he’d shaved it?”“Yes.
I’m sorry, I forgot.”“Michael, it’s up to you—do you think she should be punished for being so forgetful?”“Honestly, I’m willing to let it go for now,” Michael replied.
“I just can’t wait to see what that shaved ***** tastes like.
"I can always punish her later if I feel like she deserves it—right?”
“Any time, my man. Any time. And since your pleasure is the most important thing here, you go ahead and do what you want.”
My husband went to get a warm, wet wash cloth and instructed Michael to carefully clean every inch of my baby-bare *****. Then he brought over a bottle of body oil I use and asked Michael, “Do you want to apply the oil, or do you want to make her to do it while you watch?”
Michael’s eyes lit up and he replied, “I think she should do it—like an extra chore for being forgetful.” “Sit up,” he directed me. He poured a little oil onto my fingers. “Rub it in—slowly and thoroughly.”
I did as he directed, making sure to cover every inch of my freshly shaved skin. Michael and my husband watched every stroke carefully, not taking their eyes off my fingers. Every so often, Michael would give me direction to pay more attention to a different area—usually when my fingers were drifting too close to my ****. My husband always nodded his approval when Michael did this. “Good--it’s not her job to pleasure herself unless you let her,” he stated.
“Of course, I’ll be sure to remember that.” Michael agreed.
“Ready for that taste?” my husband asked.
"You know, I think I am,” Michael responded. “Lie back,” he commanded me. I did as I was told.
Michael slowly closed in on my now hyper-sensitive *****, letting his breath on my skin excite me for a moment, teasing me mercilessly.
He slowly bent down and started kissing and licking me, carefully staying away from my **** (which was burning in anticipation), but tasting every inch of my ***** lips, in and out.
After several minutes (hours? days?) of this, he slowly spread my swollen ***** lips apart so that he had clear access to my ****.
He lowered his mouth onto my **** and slowly grazed it with first his lips, then gently with his teeth.
At the first touch of his teeth, I exploded—I couldn’t help it, it felt soooo wonderful!
When I was done, I was anticipating a reprimand for not waiting—my husband always insists that, after he has taken care of me this way, it’s my duty to allow him to *** first and as many times as he wants before I ***—but Michael just said, “Thank you—a *****-load of ***, all for me!” and he dove in, getting every drop.
My husband sat watching us, smiling at our enjoyment and rubbing his **** slowly through his now-opened zipper. “Michael, I know I only mentioned that you should taste shaved ***** before you make your girlfriend shave, but you really should also try sliding your **** into a shaved *****—just to make sure you like it…”