The shaver - sex stories

The shaver


I parked my 98 Volvo in the garage, using the little remote control gadget
clipped to the sun visor to open the door. The car had run us nearly thirty
thousand dollars. The house I parked it in had run us nearly three hundred
and thirty thousand dollars. It is a two-story, five bedroom with a swimming
pool (which we were able to use about six hours out of any given year, this
is SEATTLE for Christ's sake), a hot tub and redwood deck. The house is
located in one of the most exclusive suburbs of Seattle and I suppose my
mother is proud of how far I've come in life. She'd taught me well after
all.

I'm attractive and I know it. Ever since I'd begun to develop breasts at
thirteen guys have been fawning all over me. My hair is honey blonde and
always fashionably styled. My waist is trim, my legs nothing short of
fantastic, and my breasts firm and much envied. I get my looks from my
mother who was once a contestant in the Miss Washington contest. Mom married
a doctor, a brilliant, nerdy cardiologist she'd met her first year as a young
nurse just out of school. You can bet your ass that she didn't work as a
nurse for a second year. I grew up in these suburbs, attending private
schools all of my life and eventually enrolling in WSU as an English major.
I worked part- time during these years as a receptionist at a prestigious law
school. I didn't need the money of course. Mom and Dad paid for all of my
expenses, including my apartment and my car. Mom had secured me the position
through a friend of hers figuring that it was a good place to meet a
"marriageable" man. She was right. It was there that I'd met David, a fourth
year student who was about to graduate near the top of his class.

Though David is certainly not the most attractive man that has ever walked
the earth, he's actually kind of dumpy and constantly struggling with his
weight, he was certainly the suitor with the biggest potential that had
crossed my path. It had been drilled into my head practically since birth to
marry rich. Back then I measured a man's worth by his present or future
earnings, not by how I felt about him. I put on my charms and David was
putty in my hands. By the time he'd entered his first year of practice as a
corporate lawyer, we were married and I'd dropped out of college to become a
full time housewife and attractive ornament for my husband.

I play my part well. I keep our house nice and neat in case David's
colleagues decide to stop by when they're not working eighty-hour weeks. I
keep my body trim and attractive by working out at an exclusive gym with a
personal trainer three times a week. I play gracious host whenever it's my
turn to host a party at our house. I flirt lightly with his superiors,
making them envious of the "good woman" their pet lawyer managed to bag.
David expects to make partner in another five years or so, a promotion that
will allow us to move into a more exclusive suburb and buy more expensive
cars.

It's probably just as well that David spends so much time away from the
house. You see, though I love my house and my neighborhood, and though I love
the two children this marriage has produced with all of my heart, I simply
don't love David. I never have I suppose. There was a time when I thought I
did but some simple self-examination has revealed that it was his money and
earnings that I loved. David himself is difficult to talk to. I don't
believe I've ever had a meaningful conversation with him. His attitude is
condescending towards me, as if I'm simply a dumb blonde incapable of
grasping whatever it is that he is discussing. The most conversation I get
out of him is when he wants some sex, something that has died out
considerably since my last pregnancy. Even then he is a disappointment. Sex
with David usually takes all of ten minutes from initial foreplay to his
contented snores. In our entire courtship and marriage my own hand has
produced the only orgasms I've had.

At times I've considered having an affair. My personal trainer for one, an
exquisitely fit twenty-five year old whose body is comparable to anything
Michaelangelo ever carved has sent me vibes from the first day I'd met him
that he would be partial to a little extra-marital activity with me. I
instinctively know that he would be good in bed but something keeps me from
taking that step. Perhaps it's his personality. Vick is as dumb as a post,
dumber perhaps. He knows nothing except what body parts are best enhanced by
which exercises. Conversing with him is about as stimulating as watching a
city council meeting on cable television.

I have my routine. I get up each morning, shower, and drink a few cups of
coffee to jerk my brain into gear. By this time David is always off to work.
I get my children dressed in their designer, name-brand clothes and drive
them to the private academy where they go to school, where they've already
started their long road in learning to be like their mother or their father.
I chat for a while with the other mothers, some of whom are David's
colleague's wives. When I return home I eat a little breakfast, usually
something like cottage cheese or a bagel with fat-free cream cheese on it.
Can't have any unsightly fat clinging to me, can we? I do my housework and,
if it's one of those three days, I go for my workout. Afterwards I have
lunch, some fat-free soup or some mayonnaise-free tuna. I've been known to
sip a glass or two or three of white wine during this part of the day. Oh
hell, let's be honest here, I drink a lot of wine every day during this
period, always becoming strongly buzzed and requiring an afternoon nap.
After the nap I pick up the kids and start preparing dinner. As often as
not, David is not with us for dinner. At least half the time he doesn't come
home until well after the kids are in bed. If David is not home by the kids'
bedtime I will read a few chapters out of some steamy romance novels I keep
hidden for just such occasions and then rub my pussy until I have a sharp,
faintly satisfying orgasm. Such is my life. The next day the whole thing
starts over.

It's certainly not the fairy-tale existence the characters in my novels live
but it's tolerable. We're well into the upper-middle-class. My husband is a
respected lawyer on his way up the ladder. Our family is in good standing in
the community. This is everything I'd ever dreamed about, right?

When I walked into the house, still wearing the spandex from my Monday
workout, the phone was ringing. I ignored it, heading towards my bedroom so
I could change out of my sweaty clothes and take a nice, refreshing bath
before lunch. I was feeling extremely horny that day, a result of watching
the bulge in Vic's extra tight shorts for the last two hours, and wanted
nothing more than to strategically place my pussy next to one of the powerful
jets in our bathtub Jacuzzi attachment while I rubbed my clit. This was an
activity that I'd recently discovered and it was quickly becoming my favorite
masturbation technique.

As I turned on the water in the tub and prepared to strip out of my workout
clothes the answering machine kicked into operation.

"Hello," Came my voice from the speaker next to my bed. "You've reached the
Brentlings' residence. We're unable to come to the phone right now but if you
leave your name and number at the beep, we'll get back to you just as soon as
we can."

"BEEP" said the machine.

I gave my wet pussy a quick stroke through my shorts while I went through
which fantasy I should indulge in today. The kind, considerate, respectful
Mel Gibson? The articulate and caring Brad Pitt? The deep and insightful
Dennis Quaid?

"Hi Jen," Came the voice of my sister-in-law, Charlene from the answering
machine's speaker. "It's Charlie," She said, using the nickname that her
parents and David refused to use. Brentlings did not HAVE nicknames I'd
learned. I was always Jennifer. Charlie was always Charlene. "I wanted to know
if I could..."

I took two steps to the nightstand and picked up the phone, pleased. I'd
always liked Charlie, David's younger sister, and the baby of that particular
family. She was most definitely not carved from the same mold as the rest of
that clan. Charlie was twenty-three on that day. To her family's horror and
disbelief, she'd dropped out of college four years ago, without even having
met a marriageable man, and had enrolled in a paramedic school. She was
still single and worked as a paramedic in the City of Seattle, a profession
that brought frequently told shame to the rest of the family. She was still
single at twenty-three! She was still WORKING for a living at twenty-three!
She was only making civil service wages at her job!

I liked her immensely because she was the most independent and bright female
I'd ever met. She scoffed at the lifestyle she was supposed to have been
indoctrinated into, choosing a profession and a life that she enjoyed instead
of tagging along in the footsteps of her family. She always seemed happy when
I talked to her, contented. How I envied her happiness, how I longed to look
forward to each day like she did.

David of course was distant with her. He was friendly with her but kept
contact to a minimum. Charlie was the proverbial black sheep of the family
and they were incapable of supporting her in her strange (to them) pursuits.
At family get-togethers such as Christmas and Easter, Charlie was hounded
constantly by her parents and two older siblings about when she was going to
get this "paramedic phase" out of her life and start looking for the "proper
man". "Your looks won't last forever you know" her mother always advised
her. Charlie took these rebuffs well, never yelling or screaming, never
offering any assurances, but always leaving as soon as she could get away
with.

Of course I agreed with my husband when he ranted about her, after all, I'm
the obedient, faithful wife, but inside I respected her more than any other
member of either her family or mine. Charlie was a REAL person, someone
who'd carved herself a niche in this world all by herself.

"Charlie?" I said quickly, cutting her off in mid-message.

"Hey Jen." She said happily. "Glad you're home. I hate leaving messages on
goddamn answering machines."

Like always, she said exactly what was on her mind, another trait I respected.
"What's up?" I asked.

"Well," She said cheerfully, "Its April 12 you know, three days before that
magic day."

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

"Tax day." She explained.

"Ohhhh." I knew about April 15 only from literature and news programs. My
family and David's family always had their taxes done by CPAs long before the
deadline. If money was owed it was sent out by the same CPAs on the deadline
day. If money was due it was sent out as soon as the taxes were done. None
of this had ever been a concern of mine.

"Anyway," Charlie continued. "As is my usual routine, I haven't even looked at
my W-2 until today. In any case I need to do my taxes."

"You want to use our CPA?" I asked, giving the only answer that could come to
my brain. I didn't know how much our CPA charged but I was sure it was more
than Charlie, with her meager income, could afford.

She laughed. "No," She answered. "I was just wondering if I could use your
computer for an hour or so. I'll do the taxes myself."

Do the taxes herself? Was such a thing even possible? "Uh, sure." I finally
answered. "You can do them on our computer?"

"Goddamn right I can." She answered. "I bought a program that does them for
thirty bucks but I don't have a computer to use it on. So what do you say?
You gonna be home today?"

"Yes." I answered, wondering if she was pulling my leg or not. A computer
program that did your taxes for thirty dollars? If such a thing existed, why
did David spend hundreds to have a CPA do them? "Come over any time."

"How 'bout right now?" She asked.

I looked at the filling bathtub with envy for a moment, silently saying
goodbye to my rub session. Oh well, maybe later. "Sure." I said. "I'll be
home until I have to pick up the kids."

"I'll be over in about a half hour." She told me.

Instead of rubbing my cunt to the image of Mel or Brad, I picked up the slight
mess in the house instead. When the doorbell chimed thirty minutes later the
house was spotless (as I'd been trained to have it when guests were coming
over) but I was still wearing my sweaty spandex.

"Charlie." I greeted her with genuine friendliness. "Good to see you."

We exchanged a friendly hug. "How you doin' Jen?" She asked, taking in my
apparel. "Workout today?"

I nodded. "You know how it is." I said.

"Oh yeah," She answered, coming into the formal living room and closing the
door behind her. "I have to run and do sit-ups every day too. Keeps me in
shape for my job. We do a lot of heavy lifting you know."

I nodded, unable to even conceive of doing lifting, light or heavy.

Charlie was dressed in a pair of tight blue jeans and a sweater. Her jeans
showed off her trim body well, a body that any dentist, doctor, lawyer, or
corporate accountant would propose to in an instant. Her dark hair was
ragged however. Windblown from exposure to the outside and slightly damp
from the light rain that was falling (in Seattle, light rain was always
falling, if it wasn't, then it was heavy rain). Her face was pretty, even
without make-up. I wondered if she had any idea how attractive she was
capable of making herself if she took the time to apply a little cosmetics
and fix her long hair a bit. Her eyes were dark blue, the color of the sea
and stared around the room with a worldly cynicism that I was incapable of
even imagining. She carried two bags in her hands, one of paper and one of
white plastic and marked with the logo of a local computer supply store. I
could see a box inside of the latter.

"Davie at work?" She asked as I led her across the bottom floor to the office
where the computer was kept.

I nodded. "Where else?"

She chuckled. "Just as well I suppose. I'm not his favorite person in the
world."

I started to make a token protest but she cut me off. "Please." She said. "I
have no illusions about the opinions my family holds for me. I'll just get my
taxes done and head out before brother-dear gets home from work."

I went up to take a shower while she was working on her taxes. I thought
about rubbing myself off but simply couldn't concentrate on a fantasy long
enough. Eventually I toweled off and began the long procedure of putting my
make-up and clothes on so I could look respectable when I picked the kids up
later.

When I came back downstairs Charlie was still working in the computer room.
I didn't want to drink my normal allotment of wine while she was there but I
couldn't keep myself from having at least a glass of it. As I poured, I
called out to her, "Charlie, do you want a glass of wine?"

"Yeah." She said hungrily. "Bring it on!"

I brought her a glass of wine and then sat down on the leather couch in the
room to watch her while she worked. Our computer, which was a mystery to me,
was allegedly the latest, greatest model available. We upgraded it once a
year. It was contained within a solid oak roll-top desk that had cost up
nearly three thousand dollars. The surface of the desk currently had a
scattering of official looking paperwork on it, the monitor filled with a maze
of financial figures. Charlie took the glass absently and sipped out it while
punching in figures that she was reading off of the forms before her.

We didn't talk much but simply sat there, her hard at work, me sipping out of
my rapidly diminishing glass of wine. The alcohol was going straight to my
head and I slipped out twice to refill my glass before Charlie even made it
halfway through her first. She made no comment on this.

"Fuckin' cool!" She finally screamed, startling me.

"What?" I asked.

"I get six hundred and twelve bucks back from those fuckers." She proclaimed
happily. "Thank God. I thought I'd owe 'em this year."

To me six hundred and twelve dollars was a pittance. I'd paid more the week
before for a dress to go out to one of my husband's firm's parties. But
Charlie was obviously excited about it.

"Well good for you." I told her. "What are you going to spend it on?"

"Bills." She said sadly. "What the hell else?"

Bills? I did not even have a concept of that. We sat in silence again while
she executed some commands on the computer and the laser printer in the corner
of the desk began churning out forms. While this was happening she began
moving the mouse around on the pad and the computer screen changed over to the
opening display. She moved it across something and a menu popped up. Just as
she was about to move on she paused, her eyes widening.

"Well what have we got here?" She said more to herself than me.

"What's that?" I asked out of politeness than anything else.

"Shaved jay-peg?" She said, as if reciting. "Barepuss jay-peg? Cindy jay-peg?
Baldy jay-peg?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, not having the slightest idea.

"Somebody," She said knowingly, "Left a lot of jay-pegs in the personal
history folder."

"What's a jay-peg?" I asked. "What's a personal history folder?"

She gave me a pitying glance. "Pictures." She answered. "Usually of the
pornographic variety if they're on the computer. Looks like Dave's been doin'
a little more than his books on this thing."

"Pictures?" I asked, still not getting it.

"Digital images that are downloaded from the Internet." Charlie explained.
"There's a shitload of them out there." She smiled sweetly. "Shall we take a
little look?"

"David downloading porno pictures?" I asked. "You must be mistaken."

"Oh yeah?" She asked. She moved the mouse and clicked it two times. The
screen lit up with a picture of a young brunette woman lying naked on a bed.
Her pussy was shaved bald, displaying her pouting vaginal lips for the world
to see.

I gasped. "Where did that come from?" I was shocked.

"There's more." Charlie told me. She began clicking with the mouse and
different pictures began appearing on the screen. Some were blonde, some
brunette, some redheads, a few were even black. They were in a variety of
poses and positions. But all had their pubic regions neatly shaved.

"Looks like brother-dear is into shaved pussies." She commented, clearing the
last picture away.

"This is unbelievable!" I cried, flabbergasted. It had never occurred to me
that my husband possessed such pictures. I'd thought he was completely
disinterested in sex.

To my astonishment Charlie slid out of the chair and knelt on the floor. She
ran her hand over the Berber carpet beneath the desk. "Uh huh." She said
slyly.

"What?" I demanded.

"Come here." She told me, beckoning for me to kneel beside her. I did so and
she took my hand in hers, rubbing it across the fabric of the carpet. There
were several rough spots in the generally smooth floor covering. "You feel
that?" She asked.

"What is it?" I asked, confused.

"It's come." She told me.

I jerked my hand away as if it had been burned, disgusted with the mental
image that had come into my brain.

"He sits here quite often," Charlie said, "Looking at pictures of shaved
women and pumping his python. What you got here is your basic accumulation
of dried come from multiple sessions." She grinned. "I had a boyfriend once
that did the same thing. Only he was into pictures of pregnant chicks." She
shook her head sadly. "It's amazing how little guys think we know about
computers. David didn't even try to hide these, they're right there in the
documents folder, same place I found Mark's collection."

I stared at her, my mind whirring with conflicting emotions. Finally I came
to a decision. "I need another glass of wine." I said.

Charlie chuckled and followed me to the kitchen where I retrieved a fresh
bottle out of our top-of-the-line Whirlpool. I poured us each a glass and we
took them into the family room, sitting down on the couches.

"Don't sweat it too much." Charlie advised me. "It's just guys for you.
They're always thinking about what they don't got. I bet that the freakin'
pope even has a computer that he whacks off to. Sure as shit every guy I ever
dated was into porno." She shrugged. "It's no big deal."

I was appalled. "Didn't you leave the guy you were dating when you found out
what he was doing?"

"Hell no." She said. "I left him eventually because he was an asshole, but
not for that. Shit, I had him show me how to do it." She gave me a sly
look. "There's pictures of guys on there too. You oughtta check the 'Latino'
newsgroup. Fuck me, talk about some serious crank handling."

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation." I proclaimed to the air. It
was bad enough to find out that my husband was downloading porn but to find
out that his sister did it too?

"Don't be such a prude." Charlie told me. "You ever try shavin' yourself to
see if he likes it?"

"No!" I yelled. "Why would I do that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" She countered. "It's a common fantasy among guys. The
bare beaver. I've shaved for boyfriends before and they always go apeshit
over it. I've gotten the best pussy eatings of my life after shaving. They
like to dive right into a baldy."

"Really?" I asked, starting to become more interested now. The only time
David had ever put his mouth to my vagina had been when we were still dating
and he had been very drunk. Even then he'd spent less than a minute down
there. Sometimes I yearned for a skillful tongue between my legs. If I
shaved myself would he maybe go down on me? Would he maybe even give me an
orgasm for the first time in our relationship? Would this maybe improve our
relationship a little, providing the spice that was needed? I became
intrigued.

"Sure." Charlie told me, taking a large gulp out of her wine. "I bet if you
shaved old Davie would be so turned on that he'd give you a munching fit for a
queen. Fuck the shit out of you too. Try it." She encouraged.

"Okay." I blurted, the wine fueling my decision. "I will." A thought occurred
to me. "But how do I do it? Do I just use a razor or what?"

She laughed. "Girl, it's a good thing I'm here. If you just go running a
razor through your crotch you're gonna have one sore, bleeding pussy."

"Well what do I do?"

"You need to," She paused. "The first thing is to..." She shook her head.
"How 'bout I just help you do it?"

"You mean...?"

"C'mon Jen," She said, standing up and polishing off her wine. "We're both
girls and we both have the same equipment. I'll help you so you don't hurt
yourself."

"Well," I hesitated and then agreed. "Okay."

She took me upstairs to the master bathroom. She had me gather up the razor I
used to shave my legs with, a pair of scissors, a can of shaving cream that
David kept in the back of the linen closet for those times when his electric
razor was broken, a couple of washcloths, a large towel, and a bottle of baby
lotion. She ran some hot water in the sink and set the towel on the edge of
the bathtub. She pulled the wicker wastebasket next to the edge of the towel.
The rest of the supplies she neatly arranged on the sink cabinet.

"Okay." She told me, sitting on the floor before the tub. "Bare that beaver
and lets take off the fur."

I was struck with a major attack of modesty right then. It was a combination
of her crude term and the fact that she was kneeling on the floor before the
spot that I was about to sit with my privates revealed. "I need another
glass of wine first." I told her, dashing from the bathroom, hearing her
chuckle as I departed.

I was already quite buzzed but I needed to be a little more so for this. I
took a huge swig directly from the wine bottle, the Chardonnay burning as it
traveled down my gullet. I took the time to wonder what my mother would
think if she'd seen me do that. I took another quick swig and then filled up
my glass, carrying it back upstairs with me. Only then did I feel I could
disrobe without dying of embarrassment.

Charlie remained silent as I unsnapped my pants and pushed them down. I
stripped off my panties and tossed them on top of the pants. I then sat down
on the edge of the tub, on the towel she'd put there.

"Jen," She said, "For Christ sake, how am I supposed to shave you when your
legs are crossed?"

I looked down seeing that I'd indeed crossed my legs, hiding the object that
we were attempting to do work upon. Smiling modestly, more embarrassed than
I'd probably ever been in my life, I spread them revealing my crotch to her
gaze. It was strange. I'd never been modest about my private parts before.
I knew my bush and pussy looked good and was something that men were
constantly fantasizing about and dying to get into. But Charlie wasn't a man
and she was kneeling at face level right in front of me. I felt exposed
before her like I'd never felt before, not even in the gynecologist's office.

"You don't need to be embarrassed." Charlie told me, picking up the scissors.
"You have a beautiful pussy and you should be proud of it. You oughtta see
some of the shit I have to look at at work."

"You have to look at.... vaginas at work?" I asked as she pushed my thighs
further apart, spreading me wider.

She hissed air between her teeth. "Shit," She told me. "All the freakin' time.
Women call us for vaginal bleeds, miscarriages, childbirth, venereal disease
problems. Shit, you name it. And every time they complain of some vaginal
problem I have to take a look at it. Believe me when I say that not every one
in the world is into personal hygiene. I've almost barfed a few times."

"You mean, they don't clean themselves?" I asked while she grabbed a pinch of
my blonde pubic hair and began snipping at it with the scissors. My hair fell
softly onto the towel beneath me.

"Jen, let me tell you something about where I work." She said, continuing to
snip away at me, making the pile of blonde hair grow. "Most of our business
is in neighborhoods that you and Dave would never dream of entering. Those
people have an entirely different set of standards than we do. I've managed
to hold onto my sanity after doing this job only by continually telling
myself that they are a different species than me. Sometimes it seems that
they are completely incapable of self-disgust. How else can you let a yeast
infection ferment until your pussy is actually bleeding from it? How else
can you..."

"I think I've heard enough about the pussies that you deal with." I
interrupted desperately, not wanting to hear any more about it. The comment
about her almost barfing had already given me more of a mental image than I
thought I could handle.

"Sorry." She said, grinning and obviously anything but sorry.

As she clipped and snipped my pubic hair as close to the skin as she could
get it I became aware of her hands between my legs. They flitted here and
there, rhythmically pulling a pinch away from the skin and cutting it. She
would then brush it downward where it would join the pile accumulating on the
towel. As she trimmed close to my lips themselves I felt her fingers brush
against them several times and I marveled that she was able to do something
like this to another woman. She was humming under her breath as she worked
on me.

"Okay, part two." She said when as much of my hair as was feasible was
trimmed away. She picked up the washcloth and dipped it into the hot water
in the sink.

I looked down at my crotch while she did this. Already it looked vastly
different than what I was used to. My thick growth of hair was a pile on the
towel, leaving only blonde fuzz less than an eight of an inch or so. My lips,
I saw, were already more pronounced. Would David really like this? Would he
eat me to orgasm when he saw it? If he did it would be well worth the
embarrassment I was now experiencing.

Charlie laid the hot, steamy washcloth over my crotch, wetting it thoroughly.
I couldn't help but feel a strong tinge of sexual arousal at the contact. I
did not associate this feeling with Charlie, only with the sensation of heat
and wetness on my most sensitive part. I WAS still horny from earlier, still
awaiting relief. I vowed that the instant Charlie left I would give myself a
long, soothing rub to release the tension.

She set the washcloth aside and picked up the can of shaving cream. She
squirted some into the palm of her hand and then, with the fingers of her
other hand, began smearing it all over my crotch, covering all of the fuzz
that remained. Her fingers rubbed softly on me, working the cream in and, as
she neared the portions closest to my vaginal lips, I felt my horniness kick
up considerably. I wasn't becoming aroused by the feel of her fingers down
there was I? Of course not, I assured myself. I'm just horny from earlier
and anticipating future sexual episodes as a result of what my sister-in-law
was doing.

When my crotch was completely covered with white foam, which I noted, gave
off a considerable heat of its own, she rinsed off her hands in the sink and
picked up the razor.

"Let's start with the top." She said, reaching forward.

She quickly scraped off the largest accumulation of hair and shaving cream
with a few gentle but practiced strokes of the razor, leaving the skin
beneath smooth and slightly reddened from the friction. When the top was
done she began working on the sides, moving from the outside in. After every
two or three swipes she would dip the razor in the water, cleaning it. As
she got closer to my slit she was forced to grasp each lip between two
fingers to pull it tight enough to shave. Her fingertips were slightly rough
but they were pleasingly gentle. Too pleasingly. Tingles emanated through
my crotch and I felt myself getting wet. I could no longer tell myself that
this was simply anticipation of later events. Her hands were turning me on!

Strange emotions flitted through my head as I realized this. Charlie was a
woman! Never in my life had I been attracted to women. Never once had I
considered that I might like having a woman touch me between my legs. But I
could feel myself becoming wetter by the second as her fingers tugged and
pulled at my lips, from left to right, from bottom to top, scraping the hair
away with my razor. Did Charlie know what she was doing to me? I wondered
with fresh horror.

I was only able to convince myself that she was unaware of the effect she was
having on me for a minute or so. By then my secretions had made my lips so
slippery that she had trouble keeping her grip on them. Several times they
slipped out of her grasp, making her put more pressure on them to keep hold
and increasing my arousal due to the increase in touch. Twice her fingers
slipped inside of me as she struggled to get a good grip and each time I had
to stifle a gasp of surprised delight at the sensation. I was able to smell
myself now, the fresh, willing odor of pheromones drifting up from my crotch.
If I could smell myself, I knew, there was no way that Charlie, whose face
was only six inches away from the source, could not. What would she think of
me? Would she think me a lesbian? Was I one?

Her face remained impassive as she finished up the last of the shaving, giving
me no clue to what she was thinking or feeling. Was it disgust? Pity? Would
she suddenly pull her hands back and denounce me as a perverted woman?

As she carefully removed the fuzz around the bottom of my pussy she had to
insert her index finger a centimeter or so inside in order to pull that area
tight. Again she had trouble with her grip since I was now drooling
secretions. My clit was poking out of its hood like a ground squirrel
looking out of its hole. It was pink and swollen and I wanted nothing more
than to put my fingers to it and start rubbing. The smell of me was thick in
the air at this point. Once her knuckle brushed quickly over the top of my
clit, making me jump and sending a brief wave of pleasure shooting through my
stomach.

"Sorry." Charlie said absently. "Hope I didn't hurt you."

"No." I said, shaking my head. I felt myself licking my lips and forced
myself to stop before Charlie got the wrong idea. My hands were clenched
tightly into fists and my body seemed to be breaking out in gooseflesh.

Finally she was finished with the razor. She rinsed it in the water and set
it aside. She picked up the washcloth once more and, using slow, firm
strokes, she wiped away all of the residual shaving cream and hair fragments
that remained. As she stroked me with the cloth my arousal increased to a
higher level as the rough cotton slipped over my lips, my pubis, my clit. My
hips involuntarily jerked a few times, actions that Charlie seemed not to
notice. She set the cloth in the sink when she was done.

"Viola." She said, leaning back a little. "What do you think?"

I looked down at myself and saw a smooth, unmarred crotch. It was weird. I
was so used to seeing hair down there that it was a little like looking at
someone else's pussy. I now looked like one of the women in David's porno
pictures. My lips were very swollen and my clit was as erect as I'd ever seen
it before. I was immensely horny now, part of me actually saddened that
Charlie was finished, part of me glad that she was. But she wasn't.

"We need to put some baby lotion on it." She said, picking up that bottle.
"Or it'll itch and burn."

Now I have to admit that a big part of me must have WANTED what happened
next. If that wasn't the case, I would have taken the bottle from her hands,
thanked her for her help, and put the lotion on myself. But I didn't. I
simply nodded wisely and kept my hands at my sides.

Charlie brought the bottle to my crotch and tipped it upside down, squirting
the clear liquid on my pubis. It was cold and slimy. It dribbled downward
with gravity, running over my clit and my lips and finally to the towel
beneath me. It felt absolutely divine.

She began rubbing the lotion into my recently shaved skin, making tight
circles with her fingers, massaging and kneading it. There were no more
accidental insertions. Her fingers slipped deliciously over my lips, rubbed
them and then slid deeply inside of me, all the way past her second knuckle.
I gasped with pure pleasure at the contact. Not since college and Rick
Hackmeyer's skillful sex had I felt anything close to what Charlie was doing
to me. She slid in and out, the edge of her finger sliding over the
sensitive top of my vaginal entrance. I moaned a little and my hips began
undulating, pushing towards her fingers, my vaginal muscles involuntarily
grasping and trying to pull them in deeper. What was happening to me?
Charlie was a woman!

Suddenly she leaned forward and her mouth was upon me, her fingers retreating.
Her tongue slid between my slippery lips, probing towards my cervix. I looked
down in astonishment and lust, seeing her dark-haired head resting firmly
between my legs. I knew I should stop her from doing this, that this was
perverted, that I would regret this later, but I couldn't. Her tongue felt
better than anything I'd ever experienced before.

She licked up and down, gliding with just the right amount of pleasure. I
moaned and panted, running my fingers through her silky hair. She began to
make little stabs at my clit, each one making me grind my crotch into her
face, making me long for more contact.

When she took my clit between her lips and began sucking upon it my legs came
around her back, pulling her tightly to me. Her hands felt my legs, my
thighs while she sucked on me. Waves of intense pleasure filled my stomach.
This was nothing like masturbating. Masturbation was a pitiful substitute
compared to this.

The orgasm built rapidly as she continued to apply suction to my most
sensitive part. My hips jerked up and down and she had to forcibly hold onto
me to keep me in place. I heard a high pitched whine coming from my mouth
and suddenly the orgasm was upon me, having its way with me. I believe I
screamed in pure pleasure as Charlie grunted out encouragement from between
my legs.

When it was over she lifted her face from my crotch and smiled up at me. I
was panting and sweaty, trying to recover from the most powerful and
pleasurable orgasm of my entire life. I was trying to deal with the fact
that my sister-in- law, a woman, had been the one to give it to me. Would
she now expect me to do the same in return? I didn't think I could do it.
The thought of putting my face into her crotch and licking her.... Well, I
figured. It wouldn't actually....

But she asked for no such thing in return. Her own face was dripping with my
secretions. She had a strange smile on her face as she stood up.

"All done." She proclaimed. "I think Dave's gonna like it." She gave it a
long glance (my legs were still widely spread). "Yep, I really think he's
going to." She took a deep breath. "I'll let you get dressed while I go
gather up my tax stuff. I'd better get going soon."

"Charlie?" I started, confused, nearly delirious, not sure what I was going to
say.

"He'll love it Jen." She proclaimed, heading out the door. "Trust me."

Ten minutes later she was gone. Neither one of us mentioned what had just
happened but she told me to call her and let her know how David reacted to my
new look. I promised her that I would.

David LOVED my shaved pussy when I showed it to him later that night. By
then I had put what had happened between his sister and I in perspective. I
classified it as simple lesbian experimentation, something that I'd read
teenaged girls often do. Charlie and I had just done it a little later in
life. What was the harm? It hadn't been like I'd cheated or anything, had
it?

My husband dove on my pussy with his mouth when he got a gander of it. He
licked and sucked it for nearly twenty minutes, making contented grunting
noises all the time. But he never touched my clit unless it was accidental.
When he tired of licking it he climbed on top of me and fucked me brutally for
about ninety seconds before his seed was shooting up into me. Five minutes
after that, he was asleep.

As he snored away I crept out of bed and into the living room, wearing nothing
but my short robe. His semen dribbled out of me as I lay on the couch. My
clit was still throbbing from arousal so I put my hand between my legs and
started rubbing. The image that came into my brain was of Charlie rubbing me
with baby oil and finally eating me. The orgasm was nearly as powerful as the
one she'd given me.

For the next three nights David licked and fucked me the moment he got home.
Each time he failed to make me come and I had to rub myself off thinking
about Charlie. The fourth night he went to bed as he usually did. The
fifth, sixth, seventh, and eight nights were the same.

By then the hair was starting to grow back and I itched all of the time. I
wondered if maybe I should call Charlie and see if she could come over to trim
me down again.





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