David knew well the sound of the running tap, even from the den downstairs. It was slow, steady, rhythmic, and it was unchanged in 10 minutes. He smiled and lifted himself from his chair and began the climb, up three flights of stairs.
He knew where he would find Sarah: she would be reclined in their oversized tub, her long legs stretched up and spread over the porcelain rim, her body positioned precisely so the gentle flow of warm water would be falling high inside her thighs. Her right arm would be loose and idle, hanging over the edge of the tub; her left would be trailing across her abdomen, two fingers gingerly fanning her folds apart as the water drummed its heavenly, relentless massage.
David long had a fascination with what Sarah kept neat on her mound, a small thatch of closely shorn black hair. But he long had fantasized of seeing her bare, clean shaven, of having an uninterrupted path of creamy, smooth skin to lick and kiss from her succulent nipples to her tender pussy. The idea overwhelmed him on the second flight, the sound of the water growing louder with his every step.
He pushed the door slightly open to find her exactly as the picture had formed in his mind. Sarah’s head was back, her green eyes closed, her mouth slightly open as she moved her hips ever so slightly, directing the flow into her pink, butter-soft folds. Goodness, what a sight she was.
“Hi, baby... want some company?” David broke Sarah’s trance with a quiet, needless question.
Her wordless smile suggested she did.
He shrugged free of his silk shirt and stepped from his tight jeans, pulling his boxers to his ankles, his eyes never leaving hers. David needed not look down to witness his complete arousal. It felt as though every drop of his blood was coursing to his groin, flooding into the pronounced veins of his engorging cock.
Sarah spread her legs a little wider to accommodate him, and David slipped into the tub, no more than a few inches of water pooled in it. He crawled over her body to lock his lips with hers, his hands exploring her with a soft caress, then butterflied kisses down her flesh, licking the velvet petals which she spread to his mouth.
“Honey, I need you bare for me,” David said, his eyes imploring. “I need to feel you smooth to my touch.”
Sarah’s eyes widened, bright in agreement.
“Then shave me, baby,” she replied softly. “Make me smooth for ... us.”
David smiled gratefully, then moved to gather his tools. His father had taught him to shave, and now he too used a straight razor. The closest shave in the world, he often told Sarah, and she could not disagree when they nuzzled in the evening, his cheeks still smooth on hers, or on her tender thighs, many hours later.
Sarah watched David's routine every morning, and she never knew how he didn’t slice himself to ribbons with the unprotected steel blade. It was almost a primitive instrument, but she loved it as a connection to his past. She would trust his steady hand now... if only she could stop trembling.
Her eyes followed David to the vanity, from where he lifted his razor and the heavy mug of shaving soap. He was semi-erect as he settled back down, and she draped her legs over his thighs. The water was running gently, enough to keep them both wet in an inch of warm water, and playfully she gave his cock a loving, loose-fisted stroke, but only one.
He shivered, then stirred the badger-bristle brush in the mug, whisking up a sandalwood foam. He leaned down and kissed her knee.
“Trust me,” he whispered to her, over her shortening breath. “Have I ever drawn my own blood?”
Sarah smiled weakly, allowing her body to go limp, her knees falling open a little wider, a moan escaping her lips as she closed her eyes. No other sense would distract her, at least for now.
She didn’t expect David's brush between her swollen lips, not right away, and she shuddered at its first touch. Slowly, tantalizingly he drew it from deep between her thighs upward, then back down, spreading a generous dollop of creamy foam over her pussy. The scent of sandalwood, candles and her own womanly arousal enveloped them like a thick, coastal fog.
He moved up further and now his brush tickled the thin mat of black hair she groomed in a shapely V, as though an arrow of direction for his wanting mouth and his eager cock. David's hand swirled masterfully; feathering a soapy brush was second nature to him.
Sarah’s eyes batted half-open and she saw the dim light glimmering on the razor in David's left hand. He opened it to 45 degrees and ran the shiny, exposed blade beneath the tap, turning his wrist over and back. He handled it like a surgeon his scalpel, a conductor his baton. The razor rested in his palm, guided by his thumb and pinkie, and she sighed, then held her breath.
The contrast was nearly as sharp as the blade when she felt the steel come to rest low on her abdomen, David smoothing some foam off her mound with two fingers.
“Are you OK, baby?”
She thought she had heard his voice, but she wasn’t certain. She nodded, in case she had.
