She sauntered comfortably in her knee-high stiletto boots, in spite of only wearing them on special occasions. She entered the stage from behind the curtain and didn't expect it to be as cool as it was. Her nipples stiffened from the fresh air, yet there was no discomfort. That can happen when you wear nothing else, she thought. She looked around the small theater to the audience, their faces showing their enthusiasm. The attention they gave her made her clit stiffen from behind the thick muff she proudly showed off.
In one hand she carried a small satchel that held only the most intimate of mysteries. In her other hand, she held a leash which was attached to her husband's cockring. Being on his knees, and his arms tied behind his back; he struggled to keep his balance, as well as her pace. He managed a quick glance at the audience as his knees struck the hardwood floor. Seeing people see him being shamed only increased the tension in his cockring as his cock began to swell.
She then led him to a 6 foot wall at center stage, where she directed him to sit up against it. Upside down. Head on the floor, hips against the wall. Legs spread eagle. His clean shaven manhole winking at the front row.
She looked back at the audience to see their amazement, approval, and on some faces, boredom. One person actually yawned. Her eyes met with that particular person. Just you wait, she thought. Just you wait.
She went back to her satchel and took out a thin leather rope of about a foot long. She tied one end into a neatly taut bow around his cock just under the head. She quickly pulled the loops tightly which made him slightly jump. They exchanged a glance. She smiled winked at him. He let out a subsiding breath, but he knew this respite wouldn't last long. She then fed the other end of the rope through a carabiner hanging near the top of the wall. She pulled the rope down, which hoisted his cock to point towards the ceiling, then tied that end to the carabiner.
She turned towards the crowd once more and saw that she was awarded more of the audience's interest. Reaching for her satchel again, she produced a can of shaving cream and a towel, and spackled his midsection completely white. After wiping her hands clean with the towel, she flung it over her shoulder. Then she took out the folding razor that measured a good 6 inches in length. "Cut it off!" someone yelled from the crowd. She wasn't quick enough to identify the caller, but she faced the audience for a brief exchange of communal laughter.
She looked back at her husband. He blinked with recognition and awaited her next action. She angled the blade against his skin and slowly swiped a patch of hair and shaving cream right off his body, then wiped the blade clean on the towel; a series of actions that repeated about a dozen times. The sound of the blade scraping along his skin was so palpable, it reached to the farthest corners of the theater. She continued ever so slowly, careful not to cut him. The end result was a smooth eggshell surface. Its not much different than shaving his beard every two or three days, she said to herself.
