Trim

Trim

By Oleander Plume

 

“I want you to shave it off,” Max says. “Every hair.”

“What?” I swallow hard. “Why?”

“I grew it for her, Liz, and she left me. Fuck it, get at me with a straight razor, or a weed whacker, I don’t care, just get rid of it.”

“Taffy left?”

“Yeah, Taffy left. She took the fucking cat, too.”

“She took Larry? What a bitch!” I groan and shake my head. “Sorry, Max, that was rude.” The cape billows before floating down to cover his wide chest. I lift his ponytail to fasten the neck closure and catch a hint of cologne – undertones of citrus – I want to bite his neck. “True, but rude.”

“No worries, Lizzy, suddenly everyone I know is confessing how much they hated Taffy. Would have been nice to know the common opinion before she ripped out my heart.”

“You wouldn’t have listened, Max, you were blinded by love. Or tits.” I tug on his beard. “Can I talk you out of shaving?” Max’s beard is luxurious, I always wished I could shrink myself down and take a nap in it. Naked.

He huffs. “Chicks who dig beards are a rarity, anyway.”

“I like beards.”

“You do?”

“How long have you been coming to my salon, six, seven years? Are you telling me I’ve never told you how turned on I am by facial hair?” I lean his chair back and take the clippers from the stand but before I can proceed, Max rests one finger on my wrist.

“Does my beard turn you on?” His voice turns to warm caramel.

I set the clippers down and slide my wheelie stool over. “Especially yours. I’ve had fantasies about you and that heavenly scruff.” Taking a seat, my face is at his ear level. “Sorry, too soon?”

Max shakes his head, a flummoxed expression on his face. “Would you consider me a pervert if I asked you to tell me about them?” He licks his lips. “Your fantasies, I mean.”

From the other rooms, I can hear the sounds of hair dryers and inane conversation, but in my section, it’s just me and the man I’ve craved for years. Am I going to blow this opportunity? Not on your life. I dig my fingers into the thick section over his chin.

“First, you rub it between my shoulder blades, it tickles, but I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper. “You kiss my neck, leaving a scratchy trail on your way to my mouth. We kiss, fuck, those lips of yours are sweet and wet, I don’t want you to move them, but you do – down to my tits. My pink nipple disappears in your mouth while my breast is crushed against your beard. The contrast of pale skin against dark facial hair is mesmerizing, I can’t take my eyes away.”

Max’s breathing is heavy and his gaze wanders to my cleavage. He teases open my cardigan, mammoth hands gentle as a whisper. “Please, tell me more,” he says before pushing my bra aside.

“You suck both nipples until they’re red and the skin on my breasts is bright pink from friction. But you cool the sting with your tongue.”

Cupping my breast, he asks me to sit up straighter and I do. My story comes to life in his mouth. Pert nipple surrounded by brunette scruff. He stops long enough to plead, “More.”

“After tugging off my jeans, you put my legs over your shoulders.” I grind my cunt against the stool, more turned on than I’ve been in months. “When you put your face against my pussy, it looks as though I need another Brazilian wax.”

Max pulls away from my tit and chuckles. “You’ve convinced me, Liz, I’m keeping the beard. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You come home with me right now and so we can act out the rest of this scenario.”

(read part II here)

 

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This Post Has 25 Comments

  1. This is timely, I just started dating a man with the most luxurious beards I have ever seen. It is taking me a bit to get used to it.

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