Bouffant Shave
Lila was thirty-six, a woman who thrived in the quiet intimacy of her nightly routine with her husband, Daniel. Their evenings were a sacred ritual, a private symphony that began when the world outside grew still. For Lila, it all started with a bath—a deliberate, sensual preparation that set her heart racing.
She filled the tub with steaming water, the air thick with the scent of lavender soap as she lit a candle and placed it on the porcelain edge. Slipping out of her clothes, she folded them with care and eased into the heat, letting it envelop her. The bath was her sanctuary, and the razor her tool of transformation. She started with her forearms, dipping the blade into the water before dragging it slowly across her skin. The fine hairs fell away in soft clumps, leaving her arms sleek and bare, the sensation of smoothness igniting a subtle thrill. Next came her eyebrows—she tilted her head, peering into a small handheld mirror, and shaved them down to nothing, her face taking on a stark, striking clarity she adored.
Then she turned her attention lower. Lifting one leg onto the tub’s edge, she lathered her pubic area with a thick layer of shaving cream, the cool foam a contrast to the warm water. She worked the razor with precision, tracing the contours of her vagina, removing every trace of hair until the skin was satin-smooth. She didn’t stop there—reaching back, she spread her cheeks gently and shaved around her anus, the blade gliding over the sensitive skin with a tenderness that made her pulse quicken. The act was meticulous, intimate, a labor of love that left her feeling pristine and ready.
But the bath held a deeper pleasure, one she craved as much as what followed. Beneath the sink, she kept an enema bag, its rubbery surface worn from use. She filled it with hot, soapy water—almost too hot, just the way she liked it—until it bulged, heavy with promise. Hanging it from the towel rack, she grabbed a tube of lubricant from the counter. Squeezing a generous dollop onto her fingers, she reached back, coating her anus with slow, deliberate circles. The slickness felt luxurious, her fingers slipping easily as she prepared herself. She took the nozzle next, a smooth, tapered tip, and smeared it with more lube, ensuring it would glide effortlessly.
Settling back in the tub, she parted her legs and inserted the nozzle, the coolness of it giving way to the rush of hot water as she released the clamp. The flow was strong, filling her with a deep, stretching warmth that made her gasp. She loved the largeness of it—two quarts, sometimes more—relishing the pressure, the heat, the way it cleansed her completely. She lay there, eyes half-closed, letting the sensation build, a pleasure so intense it rivaled anything else she knew.
When the bag was empty, she lingered a moment, savoring the fullness before the inevitable. Rising from the tub, she wrapped a towel around herself and shuffled to the toilet, her movements careful. Sitting down, she released it all—a torrent of water and soap rushing out of her, the sound echoing in the small room. It was a messy, primal act, and she reveled in it, the relief as satisfying as the buildup. Sometimes, though, it didn’t all come at once. On those nights, she’d reach for a thick adult diaper she kept in the cabinet, slipping it on with a practiced ease. The soft crinkle of it against her skin was a comfort, a safeguard against leaks as she made her way to bed, her body still humming from the experience.
In the bedroom, Daniel waited, his presence steady and knowing. She shed the towel—and the diaper, if she’d worn one—and climbed onto the bed, her freshly shaved skin glowing in the dim light. When he guided her onto her stomach, his hands firm yet gentle, she felt a surge of excitement. The sodomy that followed was a crescendo, a raw, electric connection that thrilled her to her core. She loved the stretch, the intensity, the way it echoed the enema’s fullness in a different, deeper way. Daniel moved with her, their rhythm unspoken, and she surrendered to the pleasure, her body alive with every touch.
Afterward, they lay together, her head on his chest, the diaper sometimes back in place if she felt the need. The night settled around them, and Lila smiled, already dreaming of the next evening—her bath, her razor, her enema, her husband. It was her world, her bliss, and she cherished every moment.
