Things changed when I made my slave shave his pubic hair.
My husband and I don’t always live as Mistress and slave. Before we married we mostly played at D/s. Since moving in together, we’ve had more chance to explore long-term chastity and servitude, and we tend to have a few weeks at a time of serious Mistress/slave play before taking a break. J has made it clear to me that he wants to be my slave all the time, but he’s afraid. Maybe to some Mistresses that wouldn’t matter, and they would know how to simply take command and demand their due at all times. However, I am growing into my role as Mistress because my husband wants it. I find it more and more attractive as time goes on, and I’m certainly not doing something I don’t want to do…but I did not read BDSM erotica throughout my teen years as my husband did. I don’t always know how it’s supposed to work. The idea that he wants to be controlled or hurt or humiliated started out pretty foreign to me, and I’ve had to get used to it, moving slowly to be sure I’m not crossing his real boundaries. This is a theme you will see often in my stories.
Three weeks ago, quite unexpectedly, my husband suddenly became very submissive (not unusual, certainly; it happens periodically) and suggested that Mistress might want him to shave himself. Does slave want to shave himself? I asked, needing more explicit guidance, as I often do. Slave wishes to please Mistress, he answered predictably. If Mistress wants him to shave, he will.
I understood this to mean that, yes, this was part of some fantasy of his, that I wouldn’t truly be hurting him by making him shave, and that he wanted to be commanded to do it. At the time, I didn’t fully understand why. I thought it might make giving head a little easier, but I wasn’t sure I’d like it—what if he didn’t seem as manly without the hair?
If you are more experienced than I was, you may have already realized: That was the point.
I came home from work that night and found him naked and waiting for my examination.
I looked at his bald pelvic area for a long while. I fondled his bare cock and balls, feeling the smoothness left by body lotion and the small prickly patches that weren’t fully clear of hair. Did I like it? I still wasn’t sure, but I did know that my eyes kept returning to it. As we stood in the kitchen or sat talking on the sofa, I stared. My gaze would move up to his magnificent, broad, hairy chest, and then back down to that nude little penis, and my hand would idly reach over to stroke lightly all around it, enjoying a texture I had never felt on a man before.
Eventually the truth crystallized in my mind. I was hesitant to say it at first, because it sounded selfish, almost vindictive, and perhaps humiliating to him. Yet something inside me hinted that maybe this was his goal…so I said it aloud.
It’s bare like a woman’s pussy. I like it…because you had to do what I have to do all the time. You had to feel the irritation of the razor, you had to spend extra time in the shower, you had to painstakingly move a blade across your most sensitive areas, and you had to do it just so that your sex would appeal to the sexual, objectifying gaze of your lover. You had to do what society automatically demands from a woman. And I made you do it. I like it.
I had read similar sentiments before in books about being a Mistress—books my husband gave me to read in hopes they would help me internalize the fully dominant mindset. Women are superior, they suggested. Make your man do the things society demands of you. Make him do chores, make him indulge your sexual desires before his own, make him cater to your demands out of bed as he should by right. I agreed with these suggestions to some extent, but I had not quite taken them to heart. After all, I am the woman. As liberated as America has become, most of the people around me—in-laws, friends, even my own parents—truly would have these latent expectations of me as the woman. Of course I needed to cook and clean up for my husband if he was going through a troublesome time and had little time at home. Of course I should provide him the comfort of sexual release and sexual intimacy when he’d had a hard day. Surely that was my job, not as a woman but as a lover. Yet those other mistresses whose books I’d read said otherwise. And my husband—my slave—wanted me to think otherwise.
This is a complex issue I will undoubtedly turn over and over in my head over the years. Later, I will tell you how this simple command to shave quickly turned into our first clear encounter with sissification, how it led to my slave wearing pink satin panties under his clothing right now, and how we’re learning to incorporate this into our usual chastity and bondage play.
Except, next time, I think I’ll make him wax.
Mistress K
