Bouffant Shave
Sarah had always known she had trichotillomania. It wasn’t a secret she hid from herself—her fingers often wandered to her scalp, her eyebrows, or lower still, seeking the sharp tug of hair being pulled free. But unlike the stories she’d read online, where people fought against the urge with shame or frustration, Sarah didn’t want to stop. She relished it. The act of pulling out her pubic hair or thinning her eyebrows brought her a strange, intoxicating thrill—a mix of slight pain and deep satisfaction that she couldn’t explain. It was her private ritual, one she’d come to love.
Lying in bed beside her husband, Mark, one evening, she decided it was time to share more of herself with him. The glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across his face as she traced her fingers over his chest, gathering her courage.
“Mark,” she began, her voice low, “you know about my trichotillomania, right?”
He turned his head, his brow creasing with concern. “Yeah. You’ve mentioned it before. I thought it was something that bothered you.”
She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not exactly. I know it’s a condition, but for me, it’s different. I don’t want to stop. I like it—especially when I pull out my pubic hair or my eyebrows. It feels… good. Really good.”
Mark’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “You enjoy it? I thought it was something you couldn’t control.”
“It’s both,” she admitted. “I can’t always stop the urge, but I don’t want to. It’s like a release—a burst of sensation that turns me on in a way I can’t describe. And I’ve been thinking… I want you to be part of it.”
He propped himself up on an elbow, curiosity mingling with uncertainty. “Part of it? How?”
Sarah’s heart raced as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I want you to pluck my hair with your teeth. My pubic hair, my eyebrows—during sex. Please, Mark. I love the ripping feeling so much, and I want you to enjoy it with me.”
Mark blinked, clearly taken aback. “With my teeth? That’s… I don’t know, Sarah. It sounds strange. Are you sure it’s okay?”
“It’s more than okay,” she insisted, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s incredible. The sharp tug, the little sting—it’s like fireworks under my skin. I beg you, just try it. I need you to feel this with me.”
He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” she promised, her hand finding his. “It doesn’t hurt me—it’s pleasure, pure and simple. Please, Mark. Do this for me.”
Mark loved Sarah deeply, and her earnest plea stirred something in him. He nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll try. But if it’s too weird, we stop, okay?”
She grinned, pulling him into a kiss. “Deal.”
Their bodies pressed together as the air between them grew warm and electric. Sarah guided his hand downward, her breath hitching as she spoke. “Start here. Pull a few hairs with your fingers first.”
He complied, his fingers tentative as they grasped a few strands of her pubic hair and tugged gently. The roots gave way, and Sarah gasped, her body arching toward him. “Oh, yes, just like that.”
Her reaction was immediate, raw, and it sparked a flicker of intrigue in Mark. “Now,” she urged, her voice trembling with anticipation, “use your teeth.”
Mark lowered himself, a mix of apprehension and curiosity swirling in his chest. He positioned himself carefully, then took a few hairs between his teeth and pulled. They came free with a soft snap, and Sarah’s moan filled the room—loud, unrestrained, and dripping with pleasure.
“Oh, God, that’s perfect,” she breathed. “Keep going, please, don’t stop.”
Her enthusiasm was contagious. Mark repeated the motion, each pluck drawing a louder response from her. Her skin flushed, her breathing quickened, and he couldn’t deny the heat building in himself as he watched her unravel. There was something primal, intimate, about it—her trust in him, her abandon.
“Now my eyebrows,” she whispered, turning her head to offer him access. “Make them bare. I want to feel smooth.”
He moved upward, his lips brushing her forehead before he carefully took an eyebrow hair between his teeth and pulled. It was meticulous work, but her shivers of delight made it worth every second. One by one, the hairs disappeared, and Sarah’s fingers danced over the newly smooth skin, her smile radiant.
“Mark, thank you,” she murmured, pulling him into a deep, hungry kiss. “That was amazing.”
From that night forward, their lovemaking took on a new rhythm. Mark grew bolder, less reluctant, as he saw how much Sarah craved the sensation. He began to enjoy it too—not just the act itself, but the way it lit her up, the way her pleasure fed his own. Plucking her pubic hair and eyebrows with his teeth became their shared secret, a ritual that deepened their connection.
Weeks turned into months, and Sarah’s pubic area and eyebrows became completely hairless. Each time the hair began to grow back, they’d repeat the process, savoring the intimacy it brought. She’d beg him with that same eager gleam in her eye, and he’d oblige, now just as eager to please her.
One evening, as they lay tangled in the sheets, Sarah ran her fingers over her smooth brows and laughed softly. “Look at me—completely bare. I love it.”
Mark grinned, kissing the top of her head. “And I love doing it for you.”
They were happy—truly, deeply happy. What had started as her private pleasure had become theirs, a unique thread woven into the fabric of their marriage. As her hair disappeared, their bond only grew stronger, rooted in trust, love, and a sensation all their own.
A New Frontier
Years had passed since Sarah and Mark first wove her trichotillomania into the tapestry of their intimacy. Her eyebrows and pubic hair were long gone, the skin left smooth and bare, a testament to their shared ritual. At first, the scarcity of hair had been a triumph—Sarah would run her fingers over the bald patches with a contented sigh, and Mark would revel in her delight. But as time wore on, the thrill began to fade. The hairs that once sprouted back, offering fresh opportunities for plucking, grew rarer and finer until they barely appeared at all. Sarah missed it—the sharp, electric rip, the rush that followed. She missed it more than she’d expected.
One night, restless and aching for that lost sensation, Sarah lay face down in their bed. The sheets were cool against her skin, and the familiar weight of a jeweled butt plug, slick with lube, rested snugly in her rear—a signal to Mark that she craved something intense. Usually, this was her cue for him to take her in a way that matched her unspoken need. But tonight, her mind was elsewhere.
As Mark approached, his footsteps soft on the hardwood floor, Sarah’s hands moved instinctively. She smoothed her hair upward, gathering the strands from the nape of her neck to the crown of her head, then paused just past her nape. The hair there was thick, untouched—a dark cascade she’d never considered before. She turned her head slightly, her voice a low, teasing murmur. “Mark, I’m tired of all this nape hair. Is there anything you and those powerful teeth can do?”
Mark paused, a slow smile spreading across his face. He knelt beside her, running a hand over the exposed skin of her back. “That’s a lot of hair,” he said, his tone playful but intrigued. “We’ll see.”
He leaned in, his breath warm against her neck, and Sarah shivered with anticipation. This was new territory—her nape hair was longer, denser than the sparse patches they’d conquered before. Mark hesitated for a moment, brushing his lips against the base of her skull as if testing the waters. Then, with a gentle but firm grip, he took a small section of hair between his teeth and tugged.
The sensation was different—sharper, deeper, as the thicker roots resisted before giving way with a satisfying pop. Sarah gasped, her body jolting forward slightly, the jeweled plug shifting inside her and amplifying the wave of pleasure that crashed through her. “Oh, yes,” she breathed, her fingers digging into the sheets. “More, please.”
Mark chuckled softly, emboldened by her response. “You really do love this, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, diving back in with renewed focus. Strand by strand, he worked his way across her nape, his teeth pulling free the hair she’d grown tired of carrying. Each rip sent a shiver down her spine, her moans growing louder, more desperate. The combination of the plug’s pressure and the rhythmic plucking was intoxicating, reigniting the fire she’d thought was lost.
It wasn’t easy—there was far more hair here than her eyebrows or pubic area had ever offered. Mark’s jaw ached slightly as he went, but Sarah’s reactions kept him going. Her arousal was palpable, her body trembling beneath him, and he found himself caught up in it too. The act was messy, intimate, a reclaiming of their old game in a new form. Hair littered the sheets around them, dark strands against white cotton, and Sarah laughed—a wild, joyful sound—as she felt the weight lift from her neck.
“Keep going,” she begged, her voice thick with need. “I want it all gone.”
Mark grinned, his reluctance a distant memory. “You’re insatiable,” he teased, but he obliged, moving methodically until the nape of her neck was as bare as the rest of her favored spots. When he finally pulled back, breathing heavily, Sarah rolled onto her side, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She reached up, tracing the newly smooth skin with her fingertips, and sighed.
“It’s perfect,” she murmured, pulling him down for a kiss. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this.”
Mark brushed a stray hair from her cheek, his smile warm. “Neither did I. Guess we’ve got a new project now.”
Sarah laughed, her body still humming with the aftershocks of their play. The nape of her neck felt light, exposed, and the absence of hair brought her that old, familiar rush. They lay there together, tangled and content, knowing they’d found a way to keep their spark alive. For Sarah, the plucking was back, sharper and sweeter than ever. For Mark, it was another chapter in their strange, beautiful dance—one he was happy to keep writing with.
After years of their cherished ritual, Sarah found herself missing the plucking more than ever. Her eyebrows and pubic area had long been stripped bare, the once-frequent tug of hairs becoming a rare occurrence. That sharp, satisfying sting—she craved it, its absence leaving an ache in her that nothing else could fill. One night, she lay face down on their bed, her usual signal to Mark that she was ready for him to sodomize her. A jeweled butt plug, slick with lube, was already nestled in her rear, its cool weight a familiar comfort as she waited.
As Mark approached, Sarah reached up with both hands and smoothed her hair from her nape to her crown, gathering it carefully and stopping just past her nape. The motion exposed the soft, untouched hair at the back of her neck, a new frontier in their intimate game. “Mark,” she said, her voice low and thick with longing, “I’m tired of all this nape hair. Is there anything you and those powerful teeth can do?”
Mark paused, a slow smile curling his lips. “That’s a lot of hair,” he teased, his tone playful yet laced with promise. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
He climbed onto the bed, settling beside her, his presence warm and steady. His fingers brushed lightly over her nape, tracing the delicate skin before he leaned in close. Sarah held her breath as his warm exhale grazed her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Then, with careful precision, he took a small cluster of hairs between his teeth and pulled.
The first tug was gentle, a test. The hairs resisted for a heartbeat before giving way with a faint snap. Sarah gasped, her body jolting as the sensation—sharp and electric—flooded through her. It was different here, more intense on the tender skin of her nape, and she moaned, pressing her hips into the mattress. The butt plug shifted slightly, amplifying her arousal.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling with delight. “More, Mark. Please.”
Encouraged, Mark grew more confident. He selected another small group of hairs, his teeth closing around them with practiced care. This time, he pulled a bit harder, and the sting shot through her like a spark, making her toes curl. Her skin prickled with goosebumps, the blend of pain and pleasure setting her nerves alight. She could feel the wetness growing between her thighs, her body responding eagerly to the slow, deliberate torment.
He continued, plucking each hair with meticulous attention. Each tug was a jolt, a tiny explosion of sensation that built the fire inside her. Sarah’s breathing grew ragged, her fingers clutching the sheets as she squirmed beneath him. The butt plug added a deep, constant pressure, making every movement more intense, every pluck more exquisite.
Mark was captivated, too. The sight of her nape, gradually bared by his efforts, stirred something deep within him. Her soft whimpers, the way she trembled under his touch—it was intoxicating. What had once been a hesitant act had become a shared passion, and now, exploring this new territory, he reveled in the trust she placed in him.
After what felt like an eternity of delicious agony, Sarah’s nape was smooth, the skin tingling with the aftermath. She turned her head slightly, her eyes dark and glassy with desire. “Mark,” she whispered, “take me now. I need you.”
He didn’t hesitate. Positioning himself behind her, he gripped her hips and gently removed the butt plug, setting it aside. Sarah whimpered at the sudden emptiness, but it was fleeting—replaced almost instantly by the thick, steady pressure of him entering her. She moaned, the fresh sting of her nape mingling with the deep rhythm of his thrusts, overwhelming her senses.
“You feel so good,” Mark growled, his voice rough with need. His hands roamed her back, fingers brushing the newly bare skin of her nape, sending fresh shivers through her. “So smooth, so perfect.”
Sarah’s response was a breathless cry as she pushed back against him, matching his pace. The plucking had left her hypersensitive, every touch amplified. Her climax built quickly, a tight coil of pleasure that snapped with sudden, blinding force. She screamed his name, her body shuddering as waves of ecstasy crashed over her. Mark followed moments later, driven over the edge by her unraveling beneath him.
They collapsed together, breathless and sated, their bodies tangled in the afterglow. Sarah’s fingers drifted to her nape, tracing the smooth, hairless skin with a contented sigh. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft and warm. “That was exactly what I needed.”
Mark pressed a tender kiss to her shoulder, his lips lingering. “Anything for you, love,” he replied, his tone full of affection. “Anything.”
Their ritual had found new life, evolving once more to deepen their bond. As Sarah drifted toward sleep, her body still humming with satisfaction, she smiled, knowing this was just the start of another chapter in their shared journey.
For a couple of blissful years, Sarah’s nape had been their playground, supplying endless nights of intense intimacy. The plucking sessions grew more fervent as Mark’s teeth worked their way upward, the nape line advancing with each encounter. The thick, untouched hair at the back of her neck had dwindled, replaced by smooth, sensitive skin that Sarah adored running her fingers over. Each tug had been a spark, igniting their passion in ways that kept their connection electric and alive. But like all good things, the supply of hair began to thin as they neared the crown of her head.
One morning, after a particularly wonderful night, Sarah and Mark sat at the breakfast table, sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. Their nighttime rituals rarely spilled into daylight conversation—it was their unspoken rule, a sacred boundary that kept their intimacy private and potent. But today, as Mark sipped his coffee, he broke the silence with a casual observation.
“We’re near your crown now,” he said, nodding toward her head. “Looks like you’re almost done.”
Sarah paused, her fork hovering over her plate of scrambled eggs. She reached up, feeling the sparse patches where her nape met the crown, and a slow, mischievous grin spread across her face. “Well,” she replied, her tone light but edged with excitement, “time for me to find some nice wigs today. But you’re not done, Mark. Time to de-crown me! Plenty of sides too! I want you to rip and chew me bald!”
Mark nearly choked on his coffee, setting the mug down as a laugh escaped him. “Bald?” he echoed, his eyes widening with a mix of amusement and intrigue. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” she said, leaning forward, her voice dropping to that husky whisper he knew so well. “I’ve loved every second of this—every rip, every sting. Why stop now? Take it all. Make me smooth from crown to sides. I want to feel you tear it all away.”
He studied her for a moment, seeing the familiar spark in her eyes—the same one that had drawn him into this wild journey years ago. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and though the idea of stripping her head bare was daunting, he couldn’t deny the thrill it stirred in him. “Alright,” he said finally, a grin tugging at his lips. “But we’re doing this my way—slow and thorough.”
That night, they settled into their bedroom, the air thick with anticipation. Sarah lay face down again, her body relaxed but buzzing with excitement. The jeweled butt plug was back in place, its presence a comforting constant as she smoothed her remaining hair upward, exposing the crown and the untouched sides. Mark knelt beside her, his breath warm against her scalp as he surveyed the territory.
“Let’s start here,” he murmured, his fingers brushing the thinning line where her nape met her crown. He took a small cluster of hairs between his teeth and pulled, the familiar snap sending a jolt through Sarah’s body. She moaned softly, her hips shifting as the sensation reignited her senses.
“Yes,” she breathed, “keep going. Higher.”
Mark obliged, working his way up her crown with deliberate care. The hair here was finer, more delicate, but each tug still carried that sharp sting she craved. He moved in a slow arc, plucking strand by strand, watching as her scalp emerged smooth and bare beneath his efforts. Sarah’s breathing grew ragged, her fingers clutching the sheets as the pleasure built, amplified by the plug’s steady pressure.
“Don’t forget the sides,” she urged, turning her head slightly to offer him access. “Rip it all out, Mark. Chew me bald.”
He chuckled, a low, throaty sound, and shifted his focus to the sides of her head. The hair there was thicker, more resistant, and he had to work harder, his teeth gripping and pulling with more force. Each successful pluck drew a louder moan from Sarah, her body trembling with delight. The act was messy—strands scattered across the pillow, sticking to his lips—but neither cared. It was raw, intimate, theirs.
Hours passed, the room filled with the sounds of her gasps and his quiet grunts of effort. By the time he finished, Sarah’s head was a smooth expanse, not a single hair remaining from crown to sides. She reached up, her fingers exploring the bare skin, and laughed—a wild, euphoric sound. “Oh, Mark,” she said, rolling onto her back to face him, “it’s perfect. I feel so free.”
He leaned down, kissing her deeply, tasting the faint salt of her skin. “You look incredible,” he murmured against her lips. “Completely bald, just like you wanted.”
She pulled him closer, her eyes gleaming with desire. “Now take me,” she whispered, her voice thick with need. “Make it complete.”
Their lovemaking that night was fierce, primal, fueled by the intensity of what they’d just done. Sarah’s newly bare scalp was hypersensitive, every brush of his hands or lips sending shivers through her. The absence of hair heightened everything—the plug, his touch, the rhythm of their bodies moving together. When she came, it was with a cry that echoed through the house, her body shaking as waves of pleasure consumed her. Mark followed, lost in her abandon, their connection deeper than ever.
The next day, true to her word, Sarah went shopping for wigs. She returned with a collection—vibrant reds, sleek blacks, playful blondes—each one a new persona to play with. But at night, when the wigs came off, she and Mark reveled in her baldness, the smooth canvas of her scalp a testament to their shared passion. What had started as a quirk had become their bond, and as they lay together, tracing the lines of her bare head, they knew they’d never tire of exploring it.
