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She paused to watch the first curls surrender to the humming blades of the clippers. There was something about the experience, this early summer ritual, that proved inescapably erotic year after year. All she had to do was say to him, “It’s summer and time,” and the flush began.

The first time she’d suggested he surrender to being bare, he hesitated, but she manipulated him into the transformation. Not that it was hard. Since then, since the aftermath of that first time, he’d been reliably compliant, despite the obvious reasons for hesitation.

So as the sun went down, she lit the candles, focused the soft lighting just so, and beckoned him to get into position, securing each ankle and each wrist with old ties, firmly. There would be no second thoughts. There was no chance of that, of course. But the anxiety heightened the pleasure. She was in control of her boy.

She worked the clippers slowly through the hair, slicing it away, enjoying the swaths of smooth white skin that emerged as she did. The vibrations of the clippers were both powerful and erotic, an echo of the toys they often used in play. She made sure to rest the clippers against his skin, watching his reaction . He feigned calm, but his hardness betrayed him. 

She smiled slyly to herself, enjoying, knowing the end of the story here in the middle, and then she plunged the clippers gently back into his curls, stripping his already naked body even more. Occasionally, she ran her long nails over the newly exposed skin, watching as he stifled a deep breath, his arousal growing. She was careful around the curves, but also cognizant of her power and the power of the vibrations against his skin. When she finished, silencing the clippers with a click, she couldn’t resist teasing him unmercifully, bending over to blow away a few shorn curls.

She brushed away the rest with the back of her hand, again raking her nails over the newly exposed skin, watching his back arch in pleasure against the restraints. She moved the bowl of warm water closer, and then lovingly lathered him, slowly massaging the warm gel into whitecaps of foam. He moaned slightly, looking at her out of the corner of one eye. Yes, he trusted her with this — for the most part.

With the blade angled just so, she began stroking away the stubble left by the clippers. He froze, not that he could move that much. Three strokes, warm, water rinse, three strokes, warm water rinse. Occasionally she pulled the skin tight to get every last bit of hair. She loved him smooth. The shaving took time and she noticed his arousal never wavered. 

When she’d finally finished, she rinsed him, then patted him down with a towel warmed for the occasion. She ran her fingers over his warm, white skin, then teased him with her nails. Perfect. Smooth. Clean.

Then she slid down and slowly ran her tongue over his bare balls, up the bottom of his cock to the tip and down again to the base. Mmmm. She loved her man smooth, the feeling of him so naked and exposed, both during and after the transformation.

Cupping his balls, she pulled her head back so she could take him in her mouth ever so slowly. She knew. She knew how the sensation of her warm mouth and his smooth skin drove him to the edge. His breath quickened. She tilted her head as she sucked to watch his nipples grow hard, his legs and arms arching against the bondage. 

She went up and down his shaft a few times, then took it in hand as she moved up to his chest. He was splayed on his back, helpless, tied to the posts. Her man. She tongued one nipple as she stroked him, eliciting an inhaled gasp. She thought about putting him out of his ecstasy, but then decided against it. 

She slid her bare breast against his side as she snaked her tongue off his nipple and along his shoulder blade, around his mouth and to his nape. “The barber shop tomorrow,” she whispered. “I want this shaved smooth.” 

His body shivered with the pleasure, the overload. She smiled. Time.

She kissed him hard, burying her tongue in his mouth, then swiftly moved down to take him in her mouth one more time, stroking with her hand as she did. Then she eased off his hip and looked him in the eye as she began stroking him. “I want to watch,” she said.

Fast, then slow, then fast again, playing with him just a little more. She knew well enough when she saw the expression on his face. Still, the power surprised her, five pulses, streams up across his chest.

She relaxed, letting him finish, enjoy the moment and take stock. 

“What a mess,” she teased. 

She ran her tongue along the side of his hip and up to his chest, tasting him, then kissing him hard, the salty tang shared between them. 

Then she mounted him, rubbing her bare crotch on the slickness of his abs, fingering herself just a bit, slowly sliding up towards his head, his wrists and ankles still bound to the four posts of the bed. 

As she drew closer to his head, she reached down and released first one wrist, then the other. He lifted his head just a little to meet her slick, shaved pussy, stopping just short. His hands reached behind her, one on each cheek. Now, he was bound, but in control. He held her just there and circled his tongue above her clit, using just the tip to trace down along the outline of her lips. She arched her back. Ever since that first night, she’d been amazed by his tongue, that talented tongue, and the way he read her desires, an attention to caring and detail that filtered through their romance, making the mundane bits of daily life interesting. 

She was waiting for….that, there, that first little flick at the hood. Heaven. Then, he backed off, enjoying the smoothness he’d given her two days earlier, his tongue slipping along the side, tracing lines along her newly shaven mound, pausing, a flick here and there, a lascivious lick, before flattening against her lips headed back to…her hard, begging clit. 

She pushed up against him now, driving her clit into his mouth. He reached up with his left hand and pinched her hard right nipple. That was it. She was grinding against him, riding his face hard, out of control.

When she finished, she collapsed on him, kissed him gently, and slid down into the curve of his arm. 

“Ahhhhh, summer is here,” she said, the iced bottle of Prosecco next to the bed awaiting the first toast of the season.

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