Hotel, imagined (3): Razor’s edge.

I imagine it happens shortly after we have showered and I have washed you. In my fantasy it is a cutthroat razor. I lie on my back on the bed, propped up on my elbows while you sharpen it on the leather strop with a practised wristy flick.

To keep me still you have strapped me to a spreader bar. It doesn’t really help my position but it does make me feel more vulnerable.

As directed, I drop my legs over the end of the bed. I watch you work up the lather, starting to get aroused, which will actually help the process.

You have a boar’s bristle shaving brush. Perfect for the sandpaper skin of a man’s face, but it feels like sandpaper itself down there.

Scooping the lather, you carefully splodge and circle it all around my groin and balls with the brush in artistic sweeps. You are enjoying this – the act and my apprehension, occasional winces caused by the poke of a bristle. And then you are ready.

Your face is so close I can feel your breath on my skin as you concentrate. My swelling cock surges as the cold steel starts to scrape the inside of my thighs.

Carefully cradling my ball sac, you lift and drag the razor across my kid-soft perineum and under the sac itself, letting it gently fall off the blade as you stroke up.

You work around the balls, up the base of the cock where there are still a few hairs. And you just rest the blade on my tumescence. It is pulsing, straining against the steel and you are looking into my eyes with intent. I am so aroused at your power, I want to throw myself at your feet.

Instead you put down the razor and hoist the spreader, tipping my legs back over my head. My ass is completely at your mercy.

I can’t see anything any more but just have to rely on touch. And the blade feels cold slipped between my ass cheeks, right up to the rim. My cock shrinks a bit, instinctively, but it feels so tingly as you scrape at the skin between my ass cheeks, I’m soon hard again. From my curled position, it hangs like a sword of Damocles, twitching in my line of sight.

You pause. You look at me and whisper: “you can touch it if you like”.

And I gratefully stroke my yearning cock as you shave the rest of my ass and upper legs. I have to move so agonisingly slowly because don’t want to nudge you and cut me.

When you are done, you take the brush and rub it between my balls and ass hole. Its roughness is like a savage tongue.

You then start to tap my exposed asshole with the brush, stinging the fresh pink flesh. I then watch with delicious helplessness as you suck the slim handle end before starting to insert it in my ass.

“Keep stroking, little one” you coo, “open up for me, good boy”.

And it’s in. I grip it.

You tip it so it presses on and off my prostate.

And then slowly take my balls in your mouth.

You suck and hum and the warmth and vibration and the brush and my stroking and I am so close.

You say, mouth half full, “not until I release you”.

And you are sucking so hard now and I’m begging for release. Pleading as I furiously stroke my cock, ridged with veins and swollen with purpose.

And finally as you open your mouth, you utter the words “come, baby” letting the balls fall from your mouth. And you press hard on the brush as I shoot hot cum all over my own face and chest.

So clean underneath, so dirty up top.

My ass, shaved and gleaming. And my face covered in cum, smeared in by your fingers. “Open up, baby” and you scrape the cum off your fingers against my teeth, letting it pool in the back of my throat.

“Good boy. I want you to stay like that while I read”.


2 thoughts on “Hotel, imagined (3): Razor’s edge.

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