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She’s naked, except for high shoes which click gently against the wooden floor as she moves around the room. Her hair is swept up and clipped firmly but always there are a few escaped wisps trailing her slender neck and slim collar. Her body is comfortable unclothed, her skin refreshed by the unhindered air flowing over and around it. I sit quietly in the centre of the room and watch her graceful movements, her elegant poise fascinates me, eases my soul. The curves and arcs of her body form patterns of unending delight as, with fluid motions, she prepares. She is beautiful and more beautiful with each passing day.

She turns and smiles at me with her whole being, this is the smile I live for, the smile that is mine alone. She walks slowly over to where I sit straight backed on a wooden chair, giving me ample time to fill my senses with her full frontal nudity. Her nakedness contrasts heavily with the everyday comfort of the living room making it more vivid and alive. Leaning forward she loosens my tie, unfastens the top button of my shirt and parts the stiff collar. She takes a soft towel from the table and from behind drapes it across my chest, pulling it almost tight around my neck. She rubs the back of my head, ruffling the very short hairs and encouraging them to stand to her attention, it’s a gesture that melts my heart and makes me weak.

On the table is a bowl of faintly steaming water, she soaks a cloth and wrings it out while I observe the intricate movements of her back and shoulder muscles. She comes close again, lowers herself astride my legs, her breasts almost brushing my cheek and their tantalising closeness making my mouth water. She massages the hot cloth over my upper lip, my jaw and neck, painstakingly covering every inch with hot dampness. I’m tempted to free my hands from under the towel, grab her hips and pull her down onto my cock where it strains against the seam of my trousers. Take her bottom in my hands to pull her roughly forward so I can catch an erect and delicious nipple between my teeth. She knows this; she knows me and teases my building desire by settling herself briefly but firmly on my lap. Then she stands, returns the cloth to the bowl with a flick of her wrist, before taking a second bowl from the table and sweeps the brush into her palm.

I allow myself to soak up the sounds of her movements behind me letting my imagination fill what my eyes can’t see. I remain still and immobile in my chair until her fingers find their way to the top of my head, her hand is tender as she tugs the short strands encouraging my neck to bend and my head to rest back. I am so absorbed by the scent of her naked flesh that the first touch of the shaving cream takes me by surprise. It is cold against my flushed face, its faint scent drifting lazily towards my nostrils as she applies it liberally over the lower half of my face. The soft bristles of the brush tickle on my upper lip then wander over cheeks, chin and neck, the sensation mixing pleasantly with the texture of the cream and the enchantment of her bareness. She steps back to admire her handiwork when she has me fully lathered, her glowing smile tells me she is satisfied.

She places the bowl with brush on the table and picks up the razor, it is old but in perfect condition and I wonder how many other necks its grazed. She folds the blade out from its home in the fine dark handle revealing a sharpness that glints as it catches the light. I know it’s recently been tended by her and I’m ready to submit to its cold touch in her sure hands. I lean my head back without her encouragement this time and out of the corner of my eye witness the blade approach my skin. The first touch is steady and smooth, she draws the blade over my skin with perfect accuracy, neither too hard or too soft. I close my eyes and sink into the experience, barely breathing, movement restricted by the threat of the keen blade being wielded with such concentration.

The razor does its work as she rhythmically holds taut my skin, cleans away the shaving cream and rinses the blade to start again. It’s both calming and exciting, fascinating and thrilling, it clears my mind of everything but her and her welcome administrations. All too soon she delivers the finishing stroke, gives the blade its final rinse and folds it carefully away. She returns the now cold cloth to my face lovingly removing the last traces of the shaving cream while I gaze up at her radiant loveliness.

She kisses me softly at first then harder with more urgency and still wrapped in the towel I make no attempt to free my arms. She kneels between my legs, grasps my belt, unbuckles it and trails her fingers over my covered cock. My breathing is quicker, deeper as she unbuttons and unzips before pushing her hand inside my trousers to grasp my cock with her fine hands. She squeezes and strokes, tormenting me until I think I groan and then I assist her by lifting my hips so she can pull trousers down and finally release my building need. Now its time to free my arms so I can guide her, pull her down astride me so my cock can fill her to the core.