When I shave I have perhaps an hour of smooth legs, two if I’m very lucky and it’s been awhile since I shaved.
Mr Texas has commented numerous times that he wants me to shave my legs more, doesn’t want me to grow out my winter coat.
So I bought an epilator and thought I’d give it a try. One test area to my leg after thoroughly researching how to use it and I decided I hated it and that I just couldn’t do that to myself.
So when Mr Texas decided to request three items be placed on the bed, my way of requesting a scene and what kind I wanted, I decided to stick the epilator there with nipple clamps and a vibrator for a pleasure.
“This doesn’t count,” he protested, “find something else.”
“It does too! It’s an instrument of pain and torture, and something I’ll need aftercare from.”
“Find something else.”
So I pouted and deliberated and pick out a knife for the pleasure sensation too – no other painful instrument was to touch me the same night as that epilator.
I laid on the bed naked and hugged a huge fluffy pillow against me; it covered most of my torso and as soon as that demonic device touched my leg and moved, I cried and hit the pillow, my nails trying to pierce the softness and rip it to shreds – luckily the pillow withstood the onslaught.
My legs didn’t feel as though they could survive, around the shin wasn’t as bad but the calf was horrific, I couldn’t lay still and Mr Texas was half exasperated and half laughing at my hysterics.
“I’m definitely a sadist,” I heard him murmur in between a chuckle when I howled at a sensitive bit.
After one leg, he removed the pillow and laid on top of me, his body weight and warmth reassuring as he made hushing and reassuring noises alongside my neck. He kissed and distracted me a bit as I held onto him for all I was worth.
“You are going to need aftercare,” he decided.
“I know,” I wailed pitifully against his neck. “And you’ve still a whole other leg to do.”