When I look into the mirror, I see a new woman. Beautiful, exposed. I stare at myself in a soft wonder, memorizing my new surface. I reach down my hands to explore the skin, smooth in ways I never anticipated. When I awoke this morning, I never planned to be as I am this evening.
I never expected it. Not really. Oh sure, sometimes I had thought about it in a curious sort of fashion, but I never actually anticipated the reality. I should have expected it–of course I should have. I know how things are. I know my part in all this. I should know to always expect the unexpected.
I received my instructions this morning, left as a brief email, and being the responsible, loyal soul that I am, I carried them out to the letter. I wore a long flowing skirt with a subtle black and white floral pattern. My sweater was of the short, white button-down variety. My black pantyhose and black suede heels complemented the design of my skirt. I wore my dark hair down, with the ends slightly curled under. I arranged for a longer lunch hour and ate my lunch quickly at my desk before I went out. I wore, as the letter dictated, certain, specified adornments.
He met me at the corner near the parking garage. He wore khaki trousers and a long sleeved blue shirt. He smiled as I neared and for a minute I lost myself as I drank the sight of him in. I have always loved to look at him; his almond shaped brown eyes, the laugh lines, his smile and even the slight receding of his hairline. He took my hand and pulled me close, burying his face in my hair. I felt his lips brush my cheek before he pulled away, drawing me gently forward.
After we had walked a few paces, he asked me, “Are you wearing my adornments?” I nodded my head, a slight blush warming on my cheeks. I thought about the lightweight black and silver chain that hung between my breasts. The chain attached to thin silken loops that I had earlier placed around my taut nipples. The loops were very tight and the sensation of my nipples rubbing against the satin of my bra produced sudden waves of heat that rose between my legs. I was thankful that we were in public–the sensitivity was such that I could not have endured him pulling on the chain or tweaking my nipples. He didn’t say anything, just nodded his head.
His instructions to me had been clear. In anticipation of the six or so blocks we would be walking, I wore my most comfortable heels. I tried to ask him where we were headed, but he would only shake his head, smile and squeeze my hand. My questions about our destination would go unheeded. He instead asked me of work, told me about the woman taxi-driver who hit on him earlier this morning, and complimented me on the way I wore my hair, on my new skirt and my smile.
As we walked, he held my hand. When we were in a crowd, he walked behind me, placing his hand at the small of my back as he maneuvered me through the people, all the while whispering in my ear, “I am pleased that you are wearing my adornments. Your submission pleases me.” He asked me how tight I had fastened the loops. He asked if they made my nipples more sensitive, if the rubbing of my bra was unbearable, if I could feel the wetness that gathered at that space between my legs. When we escaped the crowds, he would resume his calm, talkative and jovial manner, quite aware of how he had disconcerted me. Eventually, we settled into a long, comfortable silence. The air between us was as it always is–comfortably charged with an intense sexual energy. I love being with him like we were this afternoon. I feel so alive, so full of the world. It is almost as though there I have a greater understanding of life, the workings of the earth and everything around me. Above all, he has taught me to revel in these things, to appreciate myself and where I am in my life. These silences are more significant sometimes than any words that might pass between us.
Ten minutes from the corner where he collected me, I found us in front of a bank. He held the door and I walked in before him, marveling at the exquisite architecture. It was an old bank, centered downtown in the midst of newer, tall skyscrapers. I have walked by that building on many occasions but never had a reason to go inside that particular bank. I was awed by the high domed ceiling which was decorated in a light-colored fresco pattern. I followed him blindly to the back of the bank; I was too distracted by the magnificence of that turn-of-the-century treasure. Four grand chandeliers hung from lower sections of the dome. Large dark cherry wood desks with busy bank employees were nestled amongst several tall marble support columns. Along the far wall were the teller desks. I was amazed to see that there was no bullet-proof glass separating the tellers from the customers.
He was presenting his identification to the pretty woman behind a desk to the side of the teller windows. The plaque on the desk read, “Safety Deposit Boxes.” That piqued my curiosity and I went to stand next to him.
I watched him sign the necessary paperwork and then followed as the woman led us into the bank vault. The woman was tall with hair similar to mine, long, dark and flowing, curling softly around her shoulders. She had pulled her long bangs back with a solid gold clip. I admit, I stared at her as she walked in front of us. The woman had amazing legs, tall with firm calves and perfect thighs. The skirt that she wore, while professional, was still tight. I watched the sway of her ass, savoring how each cheek lifted slightly as she walked. I couldn’t help it. I was already in such an excited state and she was very attractive. I wondered briefly if she had looked at me and found me attractive.
She led us through one vault and into another–this time a room lined in safety deposit boxes. I watched as he produced a key and handed it to the woman. She inserted both keys into a box close to the door. She slid the box from its place, handed the box to him and turned to lead us out of the vault.
I didn’t stare at the woman so intently that time. I was too concerned about what was in that ominous box. I couldn’t figure out why he had brought me there. I kept wondering what was so important that he would keep it secured at the bank. Was it a gift for me? Papers for me to sign?
The carpet beneath our feet was a high pile plush in a deep plum color. I love carpets like that; they have always reminded me of the house where I grew up. When my father built the house, he had plush lime green carpet installed in the room I shared with my sister. During the first week we lived there, my little sister and I used to walk around in our bare feet, feeling the squish of the new carpet, breathing in the slightly plastic aroma and hearing the slight squeak as it was crushed by our tiny feet. The carpet at the bank, although it had no smell or squeak, gave me a sense of recognition and the comfort that went with that feeling.
The woman stopped at a tall door. She led us into the room, pausing briefly to light a floor lamp in the corner of the room. The table and two matching chairs that dominated the center of the room were constructed in the same dark cherry wood as other furniture I had seen as I walked through the bank. The woman laid the box on the table, told us to take our time, then left, flipping a small switch next to the door.
I felt the door shut behind me with a slight whoosh of air against my ankles. The look on my face gave me away. I stood near the door, unsure of what was expected of me. He gave me a slow smile and said, “No one will disturb us. I see you are wondering about the switch near the door. It turns on the occupied light. We have an indefinite period of time to conduct our business. This privacy is highly respected by the bank officials. We won’t be disturbed.”
He motioned me to the table where the ominous box lay. My heart was pounding slightly as I sat down in one of the chairs. He pulled the other chair around the table until he could sit on the same side of the table, but facing me. He reached down and lifted my left leg off the floor, removing the shoe and setting it down underneath the table. He put my foot down and repeated the motion with my right leg in order to remove my other shoe.
“Stand,” he said softly, breaking the silence. I did and he reached beneath my skirt until his fingers slid beneath the waistline of my pantyhose. He slid the thin fabric off of my hips, brushing against my sex as he moved downward. I stepped out of the hose obediently. He folded the pantyhose and placed them on the corner of the table. I was confused. Why would he want me to undress? What was in the box? A whip? Some device that he would place inside me?
He reached toward me again, this time his hands focusing on the short side zipper. He unzipped the skirt and I felt it begin to fall away from me. He gathered the material as it fell, and bade me once again to step out of the clothing. He folded the skirt and placed it with the pantyhose. My white sweater hung loose, covering just the top of my black satin panties.
For a third time, he slid black fabric over my hips and legs, folded the panties and placed them at the top of the pile. The room was warm but I could still feel a chill across the tops of my thighs. I was very nervous about being naked there in the bank regardless of how private he said things were.
He looked at me for a short time, admiring the dark velvet triangle between my legs. He motioned me forward and I complied until I stood about an inch from his knees. He ran his fingers across the fur, softly, barely brushing his fingertips across the curls. I waited to feel his touch against the folds of my lips, perhaps inserting a finger to test my wetness. He, of course, did not do what I expected. He simply teased and combed my pubic hair with his fingers. I stood still, longing to thrust my hips forward. My burning nipples, held by their adornments, only added to my desire. I was thankful when he pulled his hand away.
“Go stand against the wall, your head turned away from me.” He waited until I was standing away from him, my body pressed against the wall, my bare ass exposed to his view. “I said that I wanted you *against* the wall. I want your breasts pressed against the paneling. I want you to be very aware of my adornments on your nipples. Do it. Now. Against the wall!”
I struggled to comply, pressing myself against the cool dark wood paneling. My nipples screamed in protest and I could feel the instant reaction between my legs. The wall was cold against my cheek, my palms and my thighs. I had a deep fear that someone, probably that beautiful woman, would knock, or worse, open the door, finding me in this unlikely position.
The room was silent for a short while. I thought that he must be admiring me. I felt the wetness between my legs increase.
Finally, I heard the box open. The box! My heart skipped a beat. What did he have in that damn box? My body was trembling as I heard him lifting things out of the box. First, the sound of metal hitting metal, then the tinny sound of an object being set on the table or perhaps one of the chairs, after which I could water sloshing against the sides of a container. Water? He had water in a safety deposit box?
Then, there was a whooshing sound that at first I could not identify. I stood, pressed against the wall, dying of curiosity. At length, I determined that he must be inflating an item. But what? A plastic ball? Not an air mattress, surely–they take much too long to inflate. I was by then, thoroughly confused. When the sounds had stopped, he spoke.
“My dear, come here.”
Anxiously, I turned away from the wall and back to the table. He sat in one of the chairs at the far end of the table and closest to the door. He had moved the other chair so it rested next to him and it was there that I assumed the box rested beyond my field of vision. On the table was the subject of my earlier curiosity–a small inflatable pillow. At the opposite end of the table, closest to where he sat, a fluffy white towel had been carefully laid out.
“On the table. I want your head on the pillow which I so thoughtfully provided for you. You will lay here, with your knees over the edge and your legs apart.”
I climbed onto the table, feeling very strange about my half-dressed state. I lay down with my head on the pillow and extended my legs over the edge of the table. I was glad for the towel to shield me from the coldness of the table.
He moved around until he stood near my head, bringing the box up so that it rested next to me. Bending over, he lifted my head and pulled my hair out from beneath, spreading it across the table to let it cascade over the edge. He ran his fingers through my hair for a bit before wrapping his hand around its thickness, pulling firmly until my chin jutted slightly upward. My heart was pounding–I was excited and at the same time, paranoid that the woman would return, open the door and see me, lying with my legs spread wide open, my moist cunt completely open and exposed.
He kept me like that, staring into my eyes until I became increasingly excited and even more unsettled. He held me with his eyes and opened the box with his free hand. I couldn’t see the box, such was his hold on my hair and his gaze that burned into my soul. I wanted to see the box. He removed an item from the box, placed it on the table, and in doing so, I heard that same sharp, tinny sound that I had heard earlier. He moved again, never taking his eyes off me. This time, it was water that I heard. Water that was being poured into a metal pan. Then he pulled something else from the box.
I recognized the sharp sound of scissors as he brought the object closer to my face. He opened and closed the blades near me a few times then brought the closed pair of scissors to my cheek, letting me feel the steely cold against my skin. They were long hairdressers scissors with a slight curled tip on one handle. He ran the scissors across my face, down my neck and finally let them rest upon the soft skin of my belly, right below the ending of my sweater and right above the mound of pubic hair between my legs.
When he spoke, I know my cheeks flushed red. “My dear, I am going to shave you, carefully and completely. First I will trim the hair down very close to your skin. Then, after you have been sufficiently creamed and prepared, I will take the razor to your cunt and shave you until you are smooth beneath my fingers. I suggest that you do not squirm–I will be holding this razor near very delicate areas that I do not think you would want harmed. Until I decide otherwise, you will shave for me every other day. On occasion, I will perform this ritual for you but you must always be sure that you remain bare for me. It will please me to see your cunt bare.”
He then kissed me very chastely, with just the slight pressing of his closed lips against mine. It was a kiss that I knew I should not return, but accept from him with the obedience that dictated my every move. He stroked my forehead very softly for a minute and then he left my side, going to sit on that chair that waited at the end of the table between my widespread legs.
I didn’t expect it at all, but when I was lying there exposed in such a manner, I knew I was not surprised. It was a logical step in the journey that I am taking with this man. At every twist and turn of the trail we have been on he has given something new, brought me to some part of me I didn’t know I had. The significance of this act is profound–it has nothing to do with making me childlike, but rather, in the submission of myself to him. I let him take a blade to my most sensitive parts in an act of complete trust. The act was a symbol of his ownership and I made the sacrifice gladly, nervous as I was on that table.
I gasped when he first began to trim my hair. He would hold a small section between his fingers and then lightly snip, snip, snip. Occasionally, I would feel his fingertips brushing my pubis or my inner thigh. He was very gentle, and he managed to trim me down without pulling much at all. Having his hands there was very arousing. It was worse when he finished with the scissors and he turned them around to hold them by the handle. I couldn’t see anything, but I understood quickly what he was doing when he slid the handle with its metal curl into the folds of my cunt. It was difficult to keep still and quiet when he touched against my clitoris, rubbing there gently for a moment before moving on toward my opening. I bit back a low moan as he inserted one handle just barely inside my very wet cunt.
“Very good, my dear,” he said as he pulled the scissors away.
I nearly jumped off the table when he poured the water over me. It was warm, but the sudden sensation was a surprise. He merely placed his hand on that space between my belly and my cunt and held me to the table. When I had settled back down, I heard the airy sound of the shaving cream can as he applied a dollop into his hand. He smoothed the cream into my skin and I had to struggle to keep from writhing beneath his fingers. They moved deftly across the long stubbled skin, massaging me. He was purposely trying to arouse me and I knew it. I did moan then, softly. My eyes were closed and I let him rub me firmly. When I could feel the first tickling sensation rising to the surface of my cunt, he pulled his hands away. Bastard. Sometimes I wonder if he has telepathy.
The razor was a shock. It pulled just a bit at first, but he had done well and chosen a good razor with an aloe strip above the blade. He began at the top, using short strokes, but being careful not to go over the area too often. I was very apprehensive. If he slipped…if he ran the blade along my skin too hard…the pain would be unbearable. I thought my heart was going to leap out of my throat, I was so nervous.
At one point, after he had shaved the top half of my mound, I heard a loud crash outside the door. I jumped and sat upright, positive that the woman was going to open the door at any time. He pushed me back down, giving me a stern look. “I would be more careful if I were you. You wouldn’t have wanted to make that jump if the razor was still at your cunt. You won’t bleed as a result of me, but I suggest, for your safety, that you control yourself. Lay down and hold still.”
As my head touched the pillow, he began his motions once more, talking softly. “Besides, if anyone did open that door, I guarantee that you would not be going anywhere. I would let them stand behind me. I would let them watch as I drag this razor across the skin of your cunt. I would part your lips so that they could see your wetness, and yes, I know that you are very wet. I imagine that you can feel the moisture as it threatens to slide down toward your ass. Yes, I think that I would let them watch. Perhaps I would let them take the razor and assist me in this shaving.” I must have shuddered slightly at the thought, as he responded saying, “That makes you very nervous, doesn’t it? The thought of that beautiful teller watching, standing behind me, perhaps holding the razor here at your cunt. It excites you too…” He broke off, parting the folds of my lips so that he could slide one finger deep into my opening. I gasped and pushed my hips off the table toward him. He extracted the finger, knowing that would frustrate me all the more. He took up the razor again and began the task of removing the hair at the bottom of my mound, toward that space between my openings. He was silent then and I could only hear the scrape of the razor against my skin.
It took everything I had to hold still when he finally reached the area on the edges of my pussy lips. Such a delicate area; not quite inside, but not quite outside. My heart was pounding and I prayed that there would be no interruptions. It was the most delicate part of the ritual and one slip could…God, I don’t even like to think about it now. I held my breath as he slid the razor across the last few hairs that remained.
I was relieved when he was finished. He took a small towel and wiped me clean. He rinsed my skin with more of the water in the container. It felt good, soothing across my flesh. It was a bit cold, but only in contrast with the heat emanating from the depths of my womanhood. He dried me off and began to apply a very cold cream or lotion of some sort. He had thought this through and for that I was grateful. Having razor burn on my pussy would not be fun. He did not spend time to admire or to pleasure me.
I heard him washing off the razor and returning the dirtied water from the tin back to the container. He capped it and replaced the items in the safety deposit box. When the lid was once more on the box, he came around the table until he could stand at my head.
“My dear, my task here is finished. You are as I desire you. You held remarkably still and your submission pleases me. Is there anything that you wish from me?” He stroked my forehead softly.
The bastard. He knew what I wanted. He knew exactly what I wanted. Of course he would make me ask. He loves to make me ask, to voice my feelings and desires. He knows the difficulty and he has always enjoyed seeing me squirm, hesitant to ask although my desire might be raging through me.
“Please, would you let me come?” My voice felt disembodied. It seemed to hover in the room while he decided. I pleaded with my eyes.
He moved slightly, just enough so that he could reach between my legs. He slid his fingers between my clean shaven folds and found my clitoris. He rubbed softly, teasing me.
“Of course you want to come. It wouldn’t take me long, I know. Just a bit more rubbing on this little spot…” He rubbed a bit harder, circling my clit with his fingers. I moaned and writhed on the table. My nipples burned, sensitive with my arousal as well as the loops that bound them.
“But that will come later. ” He removed his hand and my cry of abandonment only made him smile. He moved back down to the space between my legs. He lifted the top off the box once more and removed something that I could not see. He replaced the lid and moved closer, reaching forward to stroke my shaven skin with one hand. “You are very beautiful this way. Very beautiful. I want to fill you now. I want to make sure that you are very aware of your ownership.”
Relief mingled with my excitement. He was going to fuck me, like I always wanted him to when I was in his presence. Here, in the bank, behind an unlocked door. Even now I could hear people talking in the hallway. I closed my eyes, waiting to feel him against me.
He parted my lips again, pulling them aside. He bent down and kissed me very softly, taking my clitoris between his lips. He sucked very softly, his tongue brushing against the hardness. I gripped the edges of the table and tried to keep my moans quiet. Suddenly, he was gone and there was an object being thrust deep into my cunt. I opened my eyes and realized that he was simply standing there. He had not unzipped his trousers. He was not going to fuck me.
“I said, my dear, that I wanted you filled, not that I was going to fuck you. It will please me to have you walk back to work with your cunt clean shaven and filled. You will be aware of my ownership of you with every step you take.” He smiled and pushed my legs together.
My disappointment was evident, but he said nothing. The dildo filled me completely but did not protrude beyond my opening. I would have to apply pressure from my inner muscles in order to remove it. I should have known. I should have known that my pleasure would not come so easy. It would come, later that evening, but at the time, I should have known better than to hope. He often chose the path that was contrary to my wishes.
He brought my panties to me and guided my legs into them. He pulled them up and I raised my hips from the table in assistance. He followed suit with my pantyhose, being very careful of their delicate nature. Then, he made me sit up and he carefully lifted me off the table. He continued to dress me, sliding on my skirt and arranging my shoes so that I could step right into them. He didn’t talk until I was completely dressed once more.
“Go stand against the wall as you were before. This time you don’t need to be so pressed against it, but I want your cheek against the paneling.” I went to the wall to comply with his wishes. I pressed my cheek against the paneling, listening intently to hear what he was doing behind me.
There was silence for a brief period which he ended by coming behind me and sliding his hands beneath my sweater. He reached around until he could cup my breasts lightly. My taut, bound nipples screamed beneath his warm palms. He teased them with my fingers and gently pulled on the chain as he whispered in my ear. “Do you like your new shaven cunt?” I nodded. “Does it excite you?” I moaned in response. “Tell me how it excites you, ” he whispered.
I gasped as he pulled on the chain a bit harder. “It makes me hungrier. It makes me want to feel your tongue running across my cunt, across the smooth skin.” I was in such a high state of arousal that it was difficult to talk. “It makes me proud,” I continued truthfully. “It makes me proud to wear this mark of your ownership.”
“I do own you,” he whispered, suddenly pinching both nipples firmly. “You will not forget it soon.”
He pulled away and I imagine that he went to the door. I heard a slight buzz and realized that he had summoned the teller. I began to turn toward him and he reprimanded me, commanding me to remain where I was.
I heard the door open and he told the teller that we were quite finished now and that we would like to replace the box. My face flushed scarlet with the knowledge that the woman must be looking at me, with my face pressed against the wall in such a strange fashion. She had to be wondering about me–what I was doing there like that. Wondering what he had to have been doing to me before she walked in. I jumped slightly when he came to take my hand.
He turned me away from the wall and led me out of the room. We followed the teller and I was too embarrassed to watch her walk this time. The dildo moved back and forth within me in a smooth rocking motion as we moved through the bank. We replaced the box, he recovered his key and he led me out of the bank.
When we stood once more on the sidewalk, he turned to me.
“I’m not going to walk you back to work as I must be somewhere soon. Enjoy the time you have walking back to work, feeling my dildo as it fills you. It must remain there until I come to you this evening. Enjoy your shaven cunt, enjoy the feel of it. When you arrive home from work, I command you to go stand in front of the mirror, finger yourself and think of me. Do NOT let yourself come. I will come to you when I can.” He turned and left me there. I walked back in such a state of arousal that it was difficult to concentrate the remainder of the afternoon.
The mirror is kind to me this evening. I can see a part of me that has been hidden for years. I feel beautiful. Alive. I like to look at myself this way. I like to feel the silky moisture beneath the now smooth folds. I am proud of this submission.
The doorbell…
This is an original creative work by Salty Vixen. This story/article, including its characters, plot, and descriptive content, is protected by copyright law. Unauthorized copying, sharing, reposting, or reproduction in any format is strictly prohibited. This content may not be used for AI training, data scraping, machine learning, or any form of artificial intelligence development without explicit written permission from Salty Vixen Publishing LLC. Violators will be pursued to the fullest extent of the law.
