In the shower

The water was already running when I stepped in.

Warm, gentle, almost too soft against skin that still felt stretched and used. My thighs trembled slightly as I adjusted to the heat, but it felt good—cleansing, grounding. I tilted my head back and let the spray run through my hair, over my shoulders, down my back. I wasn’t thinking about sex anymore. Not exactly.

I was thinking about how I felt.

Used, yes. But in the way I loved. Softened. Owned. Obedient. My body still held the echo of his grip, his voice, the way he spoke to me like I was his. I didn’t feel degraded—I felt kept. Like he’d claimed me without question, and I had given in with every breath.

As I lathered soap into my skin, I started noticing the little things. The stubble along my thighs. The faint line of hair down my stomach. I had always been somewhat smooth, but never entirely. And suddenly, I wanted to be.

I wanted to feel bare. Soft everywhere.

I rinsed off quickly and stepped out of the shower, toweling off only enough to not drip across the floor. Then I reached under the sink and grabbed my razor.

I started with my legs.

Long, slow strokes. The sensation was oddly soothing. Each pass made my skin feel cleaner, more exposed. Then my arms. My stomach. My chest. I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror—wet curls falling into my eyes, face flushed, focused. My breathing was steady, and yet every now and then, my thighs would clench faintly. Not from arousal. Just from awareness. Presence.

By the time I got to the finer areas—my underarms, the backs of my thighs—I had settled into a rhythm. It felt like shedding. Like I was letting go of something. Like I was turning myself into a blank canvas, smooth and soft and ready to be touched however he wanted.

The final step was my ass. I knelt on a towel, one knee propped, taking my time, careful and slow. I wanted it to be perfect for him. I wanted to feel as silky as possible when he next ran his fingers across me.

When I finished, I stood and looked at myself in the mirror.

Every inch of me was smooth. Pale skin glowing slightly from the warmth of the shower. No hair. Just soft, **** skin from the neck down. I looked younger, somehow. Smaller. More like his.

The door creaked open.

I didn’t move.

He stepped in, hoodie still on, barefoot. His eyes dropped immediately to my body.

“You shaved?”

I nodded, barely breathing.

He stepped closer, eyes dragging over me slowly.

“Let me see.”

I turned around.

I felt him come up behind me, his hand sliding lightly down my back, over my hip, across the curve of my ass. He hummed quietly.

“So soft,” he said. "Perfect."

I closed my eyes and exhaled.

I didn’t need him to do anything else.

Just that touch. That voice.

That word.

Perfect.