Bathtub Noir

Bathtub Noir    
   
     My lanky ole self is sunk in bathtub noir. The black walls circle me like hawks. My naked body is to be the playground for Gothic sisters in coal gowns. They slip their Coven cotton off to bare their leather strap bodices.  
     Two of them hold my legs apart by the knees. Another one drains the water from the tub until only my derriere and feet are immersed. The third one brandishes a shaving razor. But before she begins she spreads shaving cream upon my pubic hair with my penis and balls surrounded by the creamy white. The menthol cream feels cool against my bath warmed skin.    
     She tells me to stay still while she works the sharp edge on my curls while taking the utmost care to skirt my genitals. “This is to teach you trust. You can face the cutting edge safe in the knowledge that you won’t be hurt.”
     She holds my penis up while working her way around it. The sensation of her grasp on me is accentuated by her lifting my balls to shear my perineum hair. My fleece falls into the warm water like feathers from a bird. Each swipe of the blade sends shudders down my spine until the reality dawns that no harm will come to me in her hands.  
     She carefully shaves around my delicate maleness careful not to cut my scrotum.  I clasp my hands around the back of my head, lie back, close my eyes, and smile with a look of contentment.  I feel a bit edgy but comforted by the warm sensation of her hand on my cock.  When she finishes, she cups bath water in her hands and pours it over my clean-shaven security zone whose need for protection is relaxed by their knowing hands working in unison.  
     Finally, she sponges away the shaving foam. Having melted in the waters of the bath, I am led by them like a pony toward the bedroom. I gaze upon their upturned derrieres as they fondle an art piece. Their skin is silver in steel grey light.  
     Streams of water trace their way across my body only to pool at my feet. The Goth princess of my dreams towels me off taking special care with my genitals in the folds of the cotton towel. My cock feels the embrace of softness like the touch of a woman in the witching hour.  
     My manhood struggles to rise until slipping into her snug grasp which welcomes me into the golden fire of heaven. With each stroke, my masculinity strengthens into a steeple of love which points higher.  
     Finally, she polishes me into the reddened fire of an erect knight in his prime. My prick does a deal with her hand as she works me deeper into her grasp. Her coconspirator cups my eggs to complete the bondage of my masculinity. Our heated exchange brokers no quarrel as I am in accord with their actions.  
     Then she wraps the cloth around my buttocks and works it until my derriere is warm from the unexpected gift of welcome friction. Each roll upon my posterior takes me into a warmer sphere of love energy where her feminine embraces my masculine for sparks to fly freely.  
     The queen of the Venusian tribe bursts in. Her words leave the women shaking in their boots. “I rule with plenary pacifism,” she proclaims. “This realm is the heart of the planetary peace where foreign-born males dare not trespass. Now release your fledgling pet and send him to his people. This
violates all the laws of our kingdom.”  
     I say, “But your majesty, surely this is a pardonable activity which brings no disgrace to your nobility. It could hardly be considered an offense. Chalk it up to the naïveté of your femmes and let love be given its play. ”  
     The queen replies, “Shall prudency be my guide or is wisdom better served by dispensation? Since the frolic is near fruition it is not my place to stymie the festivities.” The girls circle me with their fingers aflutter on my feverish skin. My moans of gratitude for her clemency tumble like wings in a storm.