Extreme shaving of an enormous black dick
Title: “Extreme Mirror Shave: The Tantric Ritual of Smooth Completion”
In the dimly lit, candle-lit chamber of her boudoir, Ashanti, the voluptuous chocolate-skinned goddess, reclined upon the silk sheets of her king-sized mattress. Her physique glistened with the sheen of scented coconut oil, a sensual sheen that made her ebony pores and skin shimmer within the flickering candlelight. She lounged able of tantric embrace, legs and arms unfold extensive, inviting the attentive gaze of the viewer to discover every tantalizing curve of her nubile kind.
Ashanti’s eyes have been shrouded behind a black lace eye masks, her full, shiny lips curled right into a coquettish smile. In her manicured palms, she held a pointy, gleaming straight razor – an-carved implement of beautiful precision. She ran her tongue alongside the blade, a teasing trace of what was to come back.
It was time for what Ashanti referred to as her “Extreme Mirror Shave.” This was no unusual grooming ritual, however a sensual, hedonistic ritual of smoothing and renewal – a follow she engaged in to maintain her pores and skin as {smooth} because the shiny raven hair that cascaded over her shoulders.
Ashanti picked up a handheld mirror and angled it so she might gaze upon the article of her devotions – the chiseled ebony fascinations that lay between her thighs. A thatch of thick, springy black curls peaked out from the apex of her plush pink lips…however that would not do. Not for Ashanti, who demanded baby-smooth expanses of flesh in each intimate crevice.
With a devilish grin, Ashanti parted her thighs wider and lifted her hips, angling the razor towards the primary tuft of her pubic hair. Slowly, as if savoring the feeling, she drew the razor upwards. With a fragile flick of her wrist, a springy lock of hair fell away, abandoning a {smooth} expanse of cocoa hue. Ashanti sighed on the sensuality of the feeling, tracing a fragile hand over the newly uncovered pores and skin.
Ashanti continued her ritual, soaking the blade in a bowl of heat coconut oil between every delicate stroke. She methodically trimmed away every springy curl, revealing inch after inch of modern flesh. The scent of the scented oil and her personal musk started to fill the candle-lit chamber, including to the all-consuming sensuality.
As Ashanti reached the bottom of her shaft, she paused to hint delicate fingers over her sacred napes. Circling the delicate flesh with a feather-light contact, her hips undulated, misplaced within the depths of arousal. She was changing into intoxicated by the scent of her personal arousal – pheromones that appeared to scream “come hither…” to anybody with a functioning sense of scent.
With shaking palms, Ashanti guided the razor alongside the bottom of her shaft, painstakingly trimming every stray hair in painstakingly meticulous sweeps. Her black pores and skin gleamed within the candlelight, a backdrop to the rising pink pleasure at her apex.
Just when the ultimate curl was drawn away, Ashanti uttered an exultant scream of satisfaction. She was now utterly, completely, devastatingly {smooth}. Ashanti reclined on her silk sheets, eyes shut, tracing delicate fingers over each newly uncovered inch of her physique, savoring the baby-softness of her pores and skin. This ritual, this hedonistic act of pampering and smoothing, had left her aching with want.
As Ashanti toyed with herself, stroking shuddering fingertips over her slick, {smooth} folds, she realized that this ritual – this “Extreme Mirror Shave”…solely served to extend her starvation. Only heightened her want for somebody to mount her, to sheathe themselves inside her clenching warmth and indulge the passions that ran molten by means of her physique.
She not felt the necessity to hold her eyes hidden behind her lacy masks. It had grow to be superfluous. With trembling palms, Ashanti drew again the masks, revealing glittering ebony eyes, half-lidded with arousal.
“Whoever you are, watching me…come and claim your prize,” Ashanti purred, mountain climbing one silk-stockinged leg excessive over her head, her swollen, dripping petals laid naked for any would-be lover. “I am…fine-tuned. And desperate…to feel a hot, hard body against my own.”
Ashanti’s voice was low and husky, nearly a purr. The engaging lassitude in her voice, the promise of carnal delight…all of it mixed to stripes down Ashanti to base, primal, hedonistic need. Her again arched, sending her superb breasts bouncing seductively as she writhed upon the silk sheets, aching for contact with one other particular person.
“Don’t keep me waiting,” Ashanti whispered breathily, sending invitation and provocation to any courageous sufficient to indulge her flesh. “Not when I’m like this…smooth and desperate…and in need of your touch…”
