My Punishment Essay
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Lola's Punishment Essay #5 - My Shaving Suit free porn video
My Shaving Suit
One of the things that E's had me work on these past few years has been
keeping my body smooth and feminine, and shaving has become a common
ritual in our household. Although I go for laser and wax treatments
every few months, we still shave 3 or 4 times a week. It isn't a chore
for us. In fact, for me, the shaving routine is a kind of blessed relief
from my confinement in the sort of modest and feminine outfits that E
likes to see me in. Well, almost.
On the one hand it's great to be the object of E's attention. She
evidently takes pleasure in removing the hair from my body and making my
skin smooth. She likes to tell me how soft and feminine my skin is
becoming, as she shaves my legs smooth. The sensuality of the shave -
the hot water, the lather, and the careful use of the blade to nick off
the hair just at the level of the skin - followed by the liberal
application of floral scented lotion is relaxing. And I am not the only
one who gets a shave out of it. I've learned to give as good as I get,
and while E shaves me maybe half the time, I shave her every time she
needs it.
But as usual, there are strings attached. While the shaving is a
sensual experience that invites deep feelings of arousal, with Ellen,
there are always issues of control or denial. The way Ellen sees it,
I'm a girl now even though that's not really the case. Yes, my
appearance is feminine, my mode of dress, my skin, my hair and so on.
Through diet I've become slender, and through shapewear I have a
somewhat defined waist. I have been taking propecia, which is doing
wonders for my hair, but is also an androgen blocker. I've also been
taking herbal supplements for breast development which may be placebos,
but I do have some results to show for it. Small results, but results
nonetheless.
Still, I was born male and maintain certain male libidinal desires. In
order for our relationship to work, these desires must be controlled and
denied, indeed, it is the essence of our relationship. In her wisdom,
Ellen came up with an ingenious way to suppress my masculinity during
shaving.
One lazy weekend morning, a couple years ago as my feminization program
was just beginning, Ellen knocked on the bathroom door as I was getting
out of the shower. I knew that she didn't like to see me naked, so I
answered without opening the door. She was, she said, leaving something
hanging on the doorknob on the outside for me to put on, and to call her
when I had done so. I patted myself dry and opened the door. She had
left a vintage bathing suit with a skirt and a back zipper.
My new garment was a green and white gingham checked suit that would
hardly have been of any use for athletic swimming. It basically looked
like a very short dress with a pleated skirt and little matching panties
below. It had formed cups for my breasts, which didn't quite fill them
up, and two halter straps that were meant to be tied in a bow behind the
neck. I stepped into the suit and tucked myself back the way I knew
Ellen preferred, but could only get the zipper a part of the way up. So
I called for Ellen, who stepped behind me and pulled the zipper up to
the middle of my back, and secured the hook and eye at the top, giving a
small sigh of satisfaction as she did so. Unlike modern garments, the
suit had little give or stretch to it except for some elastic around the
leg openings, some smocking at the sides of the bodice, and a stretch
panel in the tummy. It was not the most comfortable fit, but it held me
firmly, just the way my shapewear did so that I could continue to
present the flat feminine front that Ellen wanted me to have.
"Lola, you look just darling in your new shaving suit!" she said,
reaching around and running her hands down from my breasts and out over
the suit's extremely short skirt. "Why don't you take a walk down to
the end of the hall and back, and I'll explain what I've got in mind for
us." I did as I was told, and walked to the end of the hall. I felt
sure that the bottoms of the panties would be exposed in the suit. I had
never worn anything so short before, and to be bare above the tops of my
breasts felt practically like being naked.
"So here's the deal with your shaving suit," she said as I walked, "When
you wear it, we'll be able to shave you, and you will get to stay all
girly with your modesty intact, which is a kind of win-win, isn't it my
little bitch? Let's try it out! If it works, maybe we can shave every
day to keep you super smooth!"
I nodded yes, still a little overwhelmed, and we went back into the
bathroom. While Ellen did have concerns about my modesty, she had no
such concerns for herself, and she stepped out of her robe, now
completely naked (as one does when one bathes) and turned the shower on.
We got in, and she proceeded to lather me up. Then with quick, soft,
sure strokes, she shaved away every bit of hair on my body that was not
covered up by the shaving suit - my chest, my back, under my arms, and
of course my legs, all the way up to the panty of my suit. Then she
shaved her legs and underarms and we got out and patted one another dry.
There is nothing like being lotioned up after a good shave - Ellen's
technique was quick, soft, and gentle and my entire body felt aglow. I
tried to return the favor, but my technique was stronger, and maybe a
bit rough. She didn't care for it, and I have since been trained to
apply Ellen's lotion more gently. It may not seem like much, but in
these moments, we truly do feel like a couple. An odd couple for sure,
but mated, matched, meant to be.
As I said, we've kept up this ritual now for a couple of years, and in
addition to becoming an expert applier of lotion, I have also become
expert at shaving her legs and under her arms. Now I do most of the
shaving, both herself and me. I have several "shaving suits" that are
similar in design and feel to that first suit so I never have to put on
a damp suit.
I've often wondered what it would be like to have a beach day in one of
these suits. It might be fun to be carefree, with the sun on my
shoulders and bare feet in the sand, wading into the sea to feel the
strength of the tide's pull. But that is not the way it goes around
here. As Ellen explained to me once: "it's a shaving suit, not a
bathing suit." After getting shaved and lotioned up with Ellen, I must
put on one of the modest dresses she chooses for me, over my shapewear,
pantyhose, and slip. As Ellen finishes closing the back zipper, she
steps around in front of me and puts her hands on my waist. "All covered
up," she says, running her hands lightly over my hips and down the skirt
of my dress, "Shaved smooth and all covered up."
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