The Wager 17

"You don't have to be such an insufferable winner!"

"Me, insufferable? Sounds like someone is a bad loser."

"No, I'll pay up. But believe me, I WILL get even."

"You lost fair and square -- get naked, woman!"

She was still full of angst, so she made no show of shedding her clothes. He was already turned on, what was the point of doing a bump and grind? She kicked off her shoes, tugged the sweater over her head and stepped out of her slacks. She stood there a moment in her underwear, a pale vision of loveliness.

"Everything, sweetie, then get on the table."

She shot him the stink-eye but reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. It fell to the floor. He was rewarded with the sight of her exceptionally light areolas and chance pink nipples. She was easily the fairest skinned girl he had ever met. The panties came off revealing her abundant bush, midnight black like the cascade of flowing anthracite on her head. The ink would show up beautifully on her skin. He turned on the needle.

"I HATE tattoos!" she whined.

"And yet you've been dating a tattoo artist for the last six months with that incredible blank canvas just beckoning to me."

"I'll give you ANYTHING Greg, only PLEASE don't mark me."

"Our wager was pretty specific, honey."

"Please!"

"An artist should sign his work. I'll make it small and tasteful. You'll love it."

"No. I'll hate it and by extension, I will come to hate you!"

He studied her alabaster form reclining on the table. He had had so many dreams about that skin. The reds would look like flames, the blue like the heavens, the green like a forest, and the blacks ...

He hefted the needle. Her face screwed up in horror. He saw the anger in her face and instantly knew it was not the sort of anger that would pass with time. If he claimed his prize, he'd lose in the long run. His eyes toured her form once more. It was a study in black and white. He had won. He had to have something...

He set the needle down. "All right, my angel, instead of giving you something, I'm going to take something away. And I won't let you have it back. Not for a very long time anyway."

She looked at him, a mix of relief and puzzlement upon her face. He was looking intently at her bush.

"Oh no, Greg!" she cried as she covered her intimate thatch with her hands.

"Either that or the tattoo. You have to pay up one way or another."

"FINE!" she said hotly as she lifted her hands and allowed them to fall to her sides.

He had everything in the shop. People got tattoos everywhere. Women were wont to get their vulvas adorned. He'd shaved many a fair maiden, but never one as beautiful as this or one who meant so much to him. It would grow back. He'd make her stay bare for quite a while as repayment for being such a whiny loser. He knew it would sting. In so many ways, she was still the sheltered church-going girl from the country. If her mother ever found out ...

He took up his trimmer with the attached bag. She bit her lower lip as he began to clear-cut her ebony forest. In short order, he had her down to millimeter high stumps.

She sighed but was otherwise silent as he smoothed the shaving cream over her mound. The foam was only a bit paler than her skin. He returned from the sink with a basin of water and a fresh razor. Savoring the experience, he took his sweet time in running the blade over her nether regions. She had a lovely pussy buried under all that wool. Grinning widely, he wiped away every trace of foam and carefully ran his experienced fingers over her sex, seeking any stray follicles he may have missed. There were none. With her legs now slightly parted her inner pinkness was visible. He could see it moisten. Despite her protests, the shave had obviously been stimulating to her as well. He smiled widely and then leaned in to taste his handiwork. God did she feel and taste divine! She began bucking under him and then went limp as she filled his abandoned shop with a most unchristian cry of "OH, GOD!"

"See, just as I said, you'll love this game."