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This story is a fun one. It’s based somewhat loosely on story a friend of mine told about the trouble she had one night whilst grappling with both intimate grooming and the laws of physics. It absolutely tickled me, and because it was both funny and sexy, I thought it was a great jumping off point for a naughty little story.

* * * * *

“You okay in there?”

She laughed, watching the bottles and bits of loofah handle bob around in the oily water. “I’m fine,” she said, laying back and sighing. “I put too much fucking bath oil in here and now I’m too slippery to get out.”

A note of amusement crept into his voice. She could hear it. “You want a hand?”

“Yes.”

He came in and she looked at the bemused grin on his face. “Be careful. The floor is slippery…”

“Jesus Cornholing Christ,” he said, as his sock made contact with the cold oily slick on the floor. He grabbed a towel and soaked up the mess and tossed it and his wet socks into the laundry pile. He took a sip of her drink and handed it to her. “You know,” he pointed out as she drained the glass, “you shouldn’t get tanked up and…what the hell were you doing in here?” He looked at the trimmer on the edge of the tub. “What’s that for?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She sighed and giggled, a bit tipsy, and warm from the bath. “I was trying to surprise you, but I got stuck.”

He smiled and picked it up. He hit the switch and made it buzz. “Nice,” he said. “But in your state you could do some serious damage with this thing. Maybe I better give you a hand.”

Amy blushed and giggled again.

He helped her out of the tub and put a towel down on the closed toilet lid while she dried off. “Sit,” he said.

Amy perched on the edge and jumped as her warm back made contact with the cold toilet tank. He knelt down on the damp floor and spread her knees, making her snicker again. “You’re very giggly tonight,” he said, running his finger through her damp curls and tickling her slightly. He parted her lips gently and ran his finger over her clit.

She stopped giggling and bit her lower lip.

He flicked the switch again and deftly ran the trimmer through her soft nest of curls. She watched as he carefully ran the sharp blades through her fur-covered nether region, brushing the little clumps of hair away and studying the results like some sort of world-renowned pubic hair stylist.

“Put your foot up here,” he said, sliding his hand up her leg and putting it over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” she said, feeling exposed in the bright light of the bathroom.

“Shh,” he said. “I’m concentrating down here.”

He ran the buzzing trimmer all over her pussy, holding her legs apart and carefully taking her natural growth of lady fuzz down to a short stubble. She looked down over her soft tummy and checked out his progress. “It looks like I’m smuggling a marine in my crotch,” she said.

“Not when I’m done it won’t,” he said, parting her labia and making her gasp. He stroked her clit again, and she moaned slightly.

“There’s no hair there,” she said, as he ran two of his strong fingers inside her lips and dipped them gently into her warm center.

“Just being thorough,” he said, smiling, stroking his fingers in and out of her. “Now comes the tricky part,” he said, taking his fingers out of her and making her look up with surprise.

“Why are you stopping?”

“I’m not. I’m not finished with your trim,” he said. “Patience, lady. I’m an artist.”

She leaned her head back and sighed, fighting the urge to continue without him, but knowing she could never let him see her double-click her own mouse.

Gently, he ran a warm facecloth over her pussy and then squirted a big dollop of shaving cream onto his fingers. He smeared it around, getting all the corners and nooks and crannies of her nether regions. He turned the trimmer over and flipped the plastic cover off with his thumb, exposing the triple bladed razor.

“Shit,” she said as the razor made contact with her mons. “You better be careful with that thing. One wrong move I could lose my clit.”

“Ye of little faith,” he said, smiling up at her. “I promise, not so much as a nick.”

The razor slid easily across her skin, making the occasional scritching sound as he took the hair down as short as it would go. He moved slowly and carefully, pressing and pulling on the tender skin and exposing every surface of it to the sharp blades.

His hands and fingers were all over her and she could feel herself getting wetter as he touched her. His face was tantalizingly close and she wondered if he could feel her heat. When she felt the warm, wet facecloth again, her clit was throbbing uncomfortably and begging to be touched.

“Not bad,” he said, cocking his head and admiring his handiwork. “Oh, I know what’s missing.” He hopped up and grabbed her moisturizer from the sink. “We don’t want bumps.” He squirted a bit into his hand and leaning down, rubbed into into her smooth vulva. She moaned, leaning back and spreading her legs wide as he stroked every part of her, rubbing the gentle lotion over the silky skin and making her squirm.

He stood up. “Check it out,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel.

She looked up at him, panting. “Seriously, dude. You’re killing me here.”

“Just feel it,” he said, gesturing with a nod to her open pussy.

Amy hesitated. His eyes were boring into her and she felt terribly self-conscious, but she was curious. She’d never had a peeled peach before and did wonder how it felt. Hesitantly, she put her hand down and felt the soft, smooth, slightly slippery mound. “Oh,” she said, her hands slipping further down, touching the edges of her lips. “Oh, my.” She looked up at him and saw a smile on his face, and an unmistakable look in his eyes. Her eyes wandered south, past his well-washed “Mustache Rides” t-shirt to the crotch of his jeans. His cock was hard, and goddamn it, she wanted to feel it inside her bare cunt.

* * * * *

“Amy’s Beaver” is published in its entirety in the collection of short stories, Seven Nights. It’s available for Kindle, Nook, and in Paperback.

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