Snatch

We were just getting ready to do it when Eliot’s boss called. I could tell it was Roger by the ring tone: Darth Vadar’s theme song.

Eliot paused, one hand on my breast, the other between my legs. “Shit. I’m sorry, Brianna. I told him he could call after eleven if there was a problem with the new build.”

He reached over me to pick up his cell, apparently oblivious that his fingers were slick with my juices. I pressed my cheek into the pillow to hide my disappointment. We’d already had sex once this morning—great sex—and it didn’t seem wise to come across as an insatiable nympho so early in a promising relationship.

“Yeah, okay. I can come in to the office. No problem.” He looked over at me, his handsome face crumpled in apology. “I feel awful about this, especially since it’s Saturday. But those bozos can’t seem to do a thing without me.”

“That’s okay. I have some stuff to do at home anyway.”

“Could you stay? I’ll have them on track in less than an hour. And I’ll make it up to you when I get back. I’ll lick your delicious pussy for hours until you come ten times.”

I laughed at his boast, but actually, given Eliot’s skill with his tongue, it was more of a guarantee.

“I guess I could stay. Can I check my email while I’m waiting?”

“Absolutely. My laptop’s in the dining room. I’ll log you in before I go.”

As for what happened next, well, in my defense, I started out fully intending to be a polite guest and a trustworthy girlfriend. It was actually Eliot’s fault for having his browsing history open, irresistibly, in the upper corner of the screen. There, beneath the web sites I’d visited—G-mail, Facebook and Amazon—glittered a column of intriguing folder icons marked Yesterday, 2 Days Ago… all the way down to One Week Ago.

Which was, in fact, the very day Eliot had whispered that he thought he was falling in love with me. Unfortunately, he told me this as we were basking in the afterglow of another round of sizzling copulation. And I’d heard that line too often in exactly the same circumstances. When you moan and squirm in bed like I do, guys tend toward a premature ejaculation of the “L” word when they really just mean they like the sex. So I laughed—a warm, encouraging laugh because I liked Eliot a lot—and asked how he could love me if he didn’t really know me yet. “I want to know everything about you,” he replied. It was probably then that I started falling a little bit in love myself.

This meant, of course, that I wanted to know everything about him, too. Such as, for example, where he’d been surfing the Internet four days ago, when we’d spent the night apart.

Before my conscience could weigh in with any principled protests, I’d already clicked on the folder, my eyes racing down the column. Foreign Cinema? Eliot had been trying to get us a reservation at that restaurant—very sweet of him. ESPN? Raidernews.com? He was an Oakland Raiders’ fan even though they’d sucked for years—but I liked loyalty in a man. Christina After Hours? That one stopped me for a moment. Amber Bares All? I was starting to catch on. Shaved Snatch? My chest tightened.

I could easily guess what kind of images my wonderful new boyfriend had been drooling over as he wanked his weenie on Tuesday night. There was no need to click on the link at all.

I did anyway.

I braced myself for the worst as the site loaded onto the screen. Garish close-ups of female genitals with Brazilian wax jobs, trashy-looking blondes grimacing in ersatz ecstasy. Sometimes it was possible to know too much about a person. Once glance at this sleazy stuff and I’d lose all respect for Eliot, even though he was the nicest guy and the best fuck I’d met in quite some time. But there was no turning back now.

Because suddenly there it was before me: Shaved Snatch in all its glory.

I let out a bark of a laugh. The site was nothing but a list of links to other porn sites. New for This Month: Brunette Shows Off Her Shaved Slit. Pigtailed Teen Dildos Tight Trimmed Pussy.

There was a kind of skanky poetry to it, but I was sharp enough to figure out it was merely the gateway to the evening’s real entertainment. Amber Bares All was more what I was expecting: an amateurish photo gallery of a dark-haired “coed” in a cheerleader outfit, stripping off her sweater to show off perky breasts, lifting her skirt to reveal her bald mons. For the grand finale, she fingered herself, glaring into the camera with the stupidest expression I’d ever seen.

I realized, with a pang, that Amber actually looked a lot like me. Except for the stupid expression. Still, I should be flattered, right?

By now the adrenaline had kicked in, and I felt just the barest twinge of guilt as I clicked on Christina’s site. Eliot had presumably gone for the tissues while appreciating her clean-shaven charms, if not her requisite goofy come-on look.

Again he surprised me. Instead of cheesy snapshots taken in someone’s badly-decorated living room, Christina’s show was a classy production: black and white film, soft focus. A pretty platinum blonde in nothing but a policeman’s cap and leather jacket lounged against some fluffy cushions, gazing down at her splayed, smooth labia with whimsical self-reflection. Next came a close-up of her backside, the pussy lips pouting below her ass cleft—perfectly smooth, swollen, touchable.

I had to admit he showed good taste in masturbation materials with this one. I also had to admit I was getting sort of, well, turned on. Hell, that “take me from behind now” picture even made me want to fuck her.

My musings were rudely interrupted by the trill of my cell phone. I jumped guiltily and reached for my purse to answer it.

“Hey, Brianna, it’s me. This is going to take longer than I thought. I am so sorry. You’re probably really pissed at me.”

“Oh, no, I understand,” I said sweetly. My own lapse in good behavior had put me in a forgiving mood.

“Listen, a reservation has opened up at Foreign Cinema at seven. Will you meet me down at work this evening?”

“Sure. It sounds like fun. Besides, it turns out I have something important to do on my own this afternoon anyway.”

It wasn’t a lie either. As soon as we hung up, I deleted the most recent entries—my entries--from the history and logged out. Then I went into Eliot’s bathroom where I’d left my travel kit.

My hand trembling slightly, I unzipped the bag and pulled out my razor.

I knew my shaving project would have its dangers. Razor nicks or careless slips of the hand, for example. But I had no idea a bare pussy would be a driving hazard. I didn’t figure that out until I was sitting in my car with no underwear on, my secret flesh tingling at the new sensations. God, I’m so turned on, is this leaving a wet spot on my clothes? What will Eliot do when he sees me? Will he guess where I got the idea? Call me a lousy snoop and kick me out on my bald booty? So many crazy thoughts were swirling through my mind, I almost sailed straight through two red lights.

The truth was I’d been highly aroused for hours, from the moment I put that razor to my lathered-up mons. I was used to doing my bikini line, but it was very different to shave it all off, each stroke revealing a new strip of satiny white skin, and finally, my tender, pink cleft. Then I had to spread my legs wide to tidy up the labia, which were already swollen and tingly from all the action I’d been getting with Eliot. I couldn’t help gazing down at myself, so totally naked and exposed, until I realized, with a pang of guilt, that I was copying Christina’s pose exactly.

It took all my self-control not to masturbate, but I figured it’d be worth it to save myself for the man who’d inspired me.

Eliot met me at the door of his office building with a big smile and a hungry kiss. “Come upstairs with me for a minute. I have one quick thing to do before we go to the restaurant. Then I’m your love slave for the rest of the weekend.”

I rolled my eyes, but was secretly pleased. I had something to do before we went to the restaurant, too.

I lounged on the extra chair in his office, twirling around in circles like a kid. Did he notice I wasn’t wearing pantyhose? Could he smell me—the spicy, fresh-bread scent of a horny female without any underpants on?

In fact, he did stop typing at his computer and smile. “You look especially beautiful right now.”

“You’re just suffering from sex deprivation.”

He laughed. “So did you have a good afternoon on your own?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘good.’ To be honest, I did something rather… naughty. I hope you’re not mad when you find out what it is.” I gave him a flirty sidelong look, which, it struck me then, was probably a lot like Amber’s idiotic expression.

“I won’t mind.” His eyes twinkled. “As long as you tell me all about it. In detail.”

“I think it’s better to show you.”

Eliot’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced toward the door, although, in fact the building did seem otherwise dark and deserted.

“It probably is a good idea to close the door. And lock it,” I added.

I could see it all in his face—the inner struggle between proper etiquette in the work place and raw sexual curiosity. The next thing I knew he was standing, easing the door closed, turning the lock button in the knob. Obviously his thirst for knowledge had won out over good manners. I admired that in a person.

I stood and faced him like a gunslinger in a Western. It was time for the Shaved Pussy Showdown. Hiking my skirt up, inch by teasing inch, I watched his jaw drop.

The silence in the room was thick enough to slice with a razor blade.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like the new me?”

Eliot let out a sound--half sigh, half moan--that made me think he’d forgotten to breathe for quite some time. “Yes, I mean, no, I mean…wow.”

I dropped my skirt with feigned nonchalance. “So, now you know what I did this afternoon. I guess we’d better leave now if we want to make that reservation.”

“No, not yet, please.” Eliot hurried over and fell to his knees before me. “May I…touch it?”

He’d asked so nicely, what could I do but nod and lift my skirt again?

Slowly, reverently, he reached up to trace the exposed groove of my flesh with his fingertip.

Now I was the one having trouble breathing. The whole scene suddenly seemed so strange. Eliot kneeling before me as if in worship, my own lower regions as smooth and white as marble. It was just like some ancient fertility ritual except I wasn’t a stone goddess. I was flesh and blood, my pulse throbbing deep inside my belly like a voice. Touch it again.

As if in a trance, Eliot nudged me back onto the chair and parted my thighs. He swallowed loudly. Drool. “May I…taste it?”

My face was on fire and my throat so tight, I could barely croak out the words. “Yes… please.”

At the first touch of his tongue, I almost leaped out of the chair. I clenched my teeth to stifle a moan. If someone else were still in the building, my cries might send him running to aid a female in distress. But with Eliot lapping me right where the pale white of my outer lips deepened to a dusky rose, I wasn’t exactly in distress. It was more like heaven. Yet suddenly I wanted more from him than sensation.

“Eliot?” I whispered. “Do you like it?”

He pulled away, lips glistening. “What do you think?”

I was glad he approved of at least part of my afternoon’s activities, but I needed still more. I did want to know everything about him. “Why do you like it?”

“Why?” He smiled. “I guess I like licking smooth things. It’s like ice cream, but warm. And sweeter.”

“You like looking at it, too, don’t you?”

His eyes fell to my pussy, spread wide before him. Brunette Shows Her Shaved Slit. Except this time it was real. “Yeah. It’s so pink and beautiful, it’s like….” He faltered into awed silence.

I almost blew it then and finished for him, “…like the girls on the Internet. Amber and Christina.”

Fortunately he was back to lapping my parts again and all that came from my lips was a whimper. He was doing all his usual tricks. Flicking my clit lightly. Making little circles around it with the tip of his tongue. But even with a dedicated muff diver like Eliot, it usually takes me a little while to get into the zone. This time my thighs were shaking and my ass was slipping around on the chair seat like skates on a frozen pond within moments flat. Everything was so exquisitely sensitive down there, as if my razor had stripped each nerve bare as well. I was teetering on the verge of a bone-crushing car-wreck of an orgasm, when Eliot pulled away again.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

He started stroking me again, circling and teasing, not just the pink parts, but the swollen and silky outer lips. “You seem turned on all right. By the way, how’d you get the idea to do this anyway?”

My secret muscles clenched and fluttered, lust tinged with guilt. “El, I’d love to chat, but if you keep touching me like that I’m gonna come,” I panted, clutching the edge of the chair, “and I’d rather do it with your tongue on my clit and two of those long, thick fingers shoved inside.”

I wasn’t exactly lying, but my request had just the effect I was hoping for—Eliot stopped asking tricky questions and put his tongue right back where I wanted it. He dutifully pushed two fingers inside me with a soft slurp and pressed up against my G spot, just the way I like it.

With that sweet pressure on my insides and that hot swirling tongue outside, it took only two licks, maybe three, and suddenly I was sailing straight through every red light on the planet, then lifting off, up, up into the sky. I tried to be quiet, but I was thrashing and shaking so much as I came on his mouth, I couldn’t restrain a long, guttural moan.

Fortunately, there were no knocks at the door to disturb us—watcha doing in there Eliot, strangling a wild animal?--as my very hot, very wet boyfriend pulled me down to the floor and took me in his arms. We kissed and I sucked my juices from his lips greedily. He was right. I did taste sweet.

“Brianna? Can I ask you a question? Be honest with me.” Eliot’s face was suddenly grave.
I braced myself for the real Shaved Snatch Showdown. This time it would be harder to wiggle out of an explanation.

“I know it’s almost impossible to get reservations on Saturday,” he continued, “but do you mind if we skip Foreign Cinema tonight and…eat in?”

“Hey, I was thinking exactly the same thing. I’m sort of hankering after some tube steak myself.”

“I guess great minds do think alike,” he said.

I smiled and looked into his eyes, so warm and trusting. That’s when I decided I would tell him the truth about how I was inspired to shave down there. I’d apologize and promise to never do it again. The nosing around his computer that is, the shaving would be on the menu for a long time to come. He might be a little mad at first, but he couldn’t deny the benefits. Wasn’t it worth a little snooping for me to get this enlightening little snatch of his inner life?

Besides, after what we’d just done in his office, I’m sure he’d have to agree—sometimes good things can come from bad behavior.