Mrs. Lovett stood in front of the hot stove, makng the next batch of pies for tomorrow. She was sweating profusely from the heat, her skin shiny, slick, and supple. She was just getting irritated at the bead of sweat sliding down her neck and tickling her when suddenly she felt a hand on her nape. Startled, she turned around and yelped, "Ack!" then, recognizing the source of her alarm, she said, "So it's you, dear. You nearly made me catch my death of fright."

Oh, it was him, all right. Sweeney smiled that dark, knowing smirk of his and gave her the once-over with his eyes. It always felt as if he were undressing her with them when he did that. He'd have to stop if he wasn't going to give it up soon, the bastard.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Lovett," he said in that velvety voice he used when he was trying to wheedle a body into doing something it shouldn't, "but would you come upstairs for a moment? I've got something..." and here a gleam came into his eye, "...to show you."

"Alright dear. Just let me finish with the pies first." she bent at the waist and retrieved the finished pies out of the oven. "Burnt again." as she turned back around, she saw Sweeney with his hand on the blade of the razor he always had on him, almost caressing it.

"Come with me, Mrs. Lovett," he purred as he took his hand away from the razor and gripped hers. His hand...so warm, so firm, socommanding, led her up the stairs and into his room.

"Would you have a seat?" he grinned as he indicated the barber's chair in the middle of the room.

"What? Why would you want me to do that?" but before she had even fully uttered the words, he had grabbed her and forced her into the chair, his eyes rolling back in ecstacy. Her breast began to heave as he knelt at her feet. "Why Mr. Todd! I had no idea..." at this he rose and stood behind her, covering her mouth and breathing into her ear, "Quiet, bitch. You've wanted this for a long time. I know it because I've been reading your diary." At this she tried to speak, but his hand wouldn't let her. He put the blade to her throat and said, "Is this what you want, cunt?"

It was too much. She started trying to moan, and he slid down to his knees again, that same knowing smirk on his face. He spread her legs, teasing her by running his fingers up and down them, causing her cavern to become a very geyser of wetness. He started to shave her legs. So slowly. It seemed an eternity before he finally came to the delicate skin of her inner thigh. He directed his warm breath toward it, and then after this torture, caressed the skin before making one long, deep cut in the smooth pale whiteness there. With this, Mrs. Lovett's racing mind was suddenly distracted from contemplating the monthly budget. Pleasure welled up in her, and she moaned loudly as blood gushed from the wound. She heard Sweeney breathing heavily, and saw his raging boner as he made more cuts, some deep, some shallow, until finally the exquisite pain was too much. She came, the wetness of the liquid arising between her thighs mingling with the red blood that surrounded her.

After taking a few seconds to catch her breath, she sat up, looked around her, and saw the wet spot on the front of Sweeney's trousers that wasn't blood. He licked all the red off the razorblade and left the room, never looking her in the eyes.

"Well," Mrs. Lovett said, observing her own blood covering the floor as well as the blood that was still welling from the cuts on her legs, "looks like a slaughterhouse in here. Best clean it up before company arrives." with this, she got up to get ready for the dinner crowd to arrive, and wondered when-and how-she might repay Sweeney for the marvelous shave.

She would bleed all through dinner, and as she served the patrons, every red trail she left reminded her of him and the liquid joy of those special moments they spent together just a few hours before. And when the patrons complained, she would only smile--knowingly.