Allow him to continue.

The Flesh Artist's voice cuts through the tense silence as he declares, as though you were not even there, that you must be shaved. A sense of vulnerability washes over you as one of his freaks is sent to fetch lather and a straight razor. You feel a sense of dread and uncertainty cloud your mind, but you **** yourself to remain still, trying to push aside the fear that threatens to overwhelm you.

In a **** attempt to distract yourself from the impending task at hand, you muster the courage to ask The Flesh Artist his real name. With a hint of amusement in his eyes, he declares that he is simply The Flesh Artist, a name that holds power and mystery within the walls of his domain. He boldly proclaims that before all the other living works of art, he is his own greatest creation, a statement that sends a chill down your spine as you realize the extent of his arrogance and narcissism.

You shiver as the freak returns with a terrifyingly wicked straight razor and lather brush in hand. The Flesh Artist's eyes gleam with anticipation as he uses the razor to cruelly cut away your bikini bottom, leaving you exposed and ****. Your heart races as he gently spreads your legs and begins to lather you with the brush, the sensation warm and calming. You hold your breath as The Flesh Artist brings the razor towards your most intimate area, the fear of what he may do with it making your skin crawl.

"I could remove your clit with but a flick of my wrist," he casually mentions, holding the blade of the straight razor against it. However, to your relief, he skillfully and precisely removes all the unwanted hair in that area with the razor, leaving you feeling exposed, and as bare as a prepubescent girl, but relieved when he is done. The act of being at the mercy of The Flesh Artist and his freaks fills you with a strange mix of fear and fascination. As he admires his work and declares it complete, you can't help but feel a sense of gratitude that he didn't follow through with his more gruesome ideas.

As you lay on the table, the chilling gaze of The Flesh Artist turns to the exposed place between your legs, now bare and ****. With no clothing or hair to shield you, you feel a wave of fear and anxiety wash over you, wondering what twisted ideas are running through his mind. The look in his eye makes you shiver, as if he is mentally calculating all the terrible things he could do to you in that moment.

Despite the terror that grips you, there is a strange, unsettling arousal that lingers within you. A part of you almost hopes that he will touch you, that he will do something that will make you feel alive in the most twisted way. But instead, he abruptly turns on his heel and leaves without another word, his dark intentions left unfulfilled.

Left alone on the cold table, you struggle to compose yourself and gather your thoughts. The intensity of the experience with The Flesh Artist leaves you shaken and unsure of what to do next. With a deep breath, you slowly rise from the table, feeling exposed and **** in a way you never thought possible. As you make your way back to your room, the memory of The Flesh Artist's chilling gaze lingers, leaving you haunted and unsettled.