The white paper crinkled beneath me as I brought my knees toward my chest, my legs parting easily. I wasn’t sure what was more humiliating—the position, or the way my body settled into it.
She handled me the way she had handled countless others, spreading warmth over my sensitive skin. To her this was routine.
To me, it was foreplay.
I knew embarrassment would be the furthest thing from my mind when she pressed the strip of cotton against the warm smear. And together, we waited.
“Okay hun. Deep breath in.”
The wax cooled. My chest was too tight, but not from fear. I was bracing for the inevitable.
She lifted the tab, just enough to tease the sting.
I breathed in.
“Good, and out.”
I exhaled. She yanked.
It was bright, electric—a clean slice of pain that made my toes curl. My eyes bulged a little.
Your words circled like vultures over my last shred of dignity.
“You know—you’ll have me doing anything, right?”
Anything.
The word settled low in my gut.
She pressed another strip to the other side, smoothing it firmly, spreading me open like it was just another appointment.
There was something obscene about how routine it was.
“Deep breath.”
Fuck. Fuck.
I exhaled hard through my teeth. My pulse jumped straight between my legs. The sting lingered, and beneath that, a slow traitorous throb bloomed.
Oh fuck… that hurt just right.
You’d like this. Not the pain, but the vulnerability. The way I stayed open, and refused to say stop.
When warmth was smeared down the crack of my ass, I couldn’t see her, but I felt the drag of the stick. Then the slow, deliberate press of cotton.
I bit my lip, and tried to find my breath again. Inhaled, and then…
Rip.
“Fuck,” I hissed between my teeth.
It slipped out before I could stop it. She didn’t react.
But in my head, you do.
You chuckle and press a kiss against my thigh as you spread my slick along the length of me. Then you drag your thumb slowly over my clit, just to see how long I can hold still before I start to beg. Before my body starts asking for me.
How long before I whimper?
When I do—if you’re feeling generous—you’ll give my throb a taste.
But you never stop at just one.
The sting amplifies everything. My skin is stripped bare, and every pulse feels louder. Sharper.
You lick me again as your finger sinks into my heat, eyes on me to watch how quickly I break.
“You cum so beautifully.”
I know you love to listen to how I moan for you. The only question is: will it be your name, or “yesss, daddy…”
Just like that babe. Right there.
The slick was beginning to drip, and there was nothing in that room that should make me wet. Nothing except the way I imagined you telling me to keep my legs open for you.
I’m not on that waxing table anymore. Not in high butterfly, knees pulled up to my chest, legs spread for this perfect stranger while she works between them.
I’m on my back on our bed, legs hooked over your shoulders. You push my knees wider, taking your time. Your mouth drags over freshly bare skin, tasting the heat.
“Still okay?” she asked.
I nodded.
She pressed another strip down.
I barely felt the next rip.
My thighs are pressed to your ears. One hand on the back of your head, holding your mouth right where I need it, the other twisted in the sheets. Your fingers have replaced the pain. Two of them, slow at first. Long strokes sinking knuckle deep, testing how quickly I lose control.
She shifted me into low butterfly. I was still bare, and half bald now. She worked on the bikini line while I was lost somewhere between fucking your face and fingers.
Your tongue flicks against my clit. Once. Twice.
I rolled my hips before I could stop myself.
She paused.
“You good?”
“Mm-hmm.”
And then you suck me between your teeth, and press the flat of your tongue against my swollen button, holding me there until my thighs quiver. I bite back the moan.
It came as a long, generous sigh while she smeared almond oil over the sting.
I sat up slowly, dressed in a daze. My panties slid over freshly bare skin, and the sensation made my core tighten with want. The drip of my wet settled into the fabric like proof.
“No sex for twenty-four hours,” she reminded me.
I smiled, nodded. She didn’t say anything about fingers. Didn’t say anything about your mouth.
I wonder if I taste more like almonds, or pussy.
“See you in four weeks?” She asked from behind the front desk.
I grinned, a bit too wickedly.
“Absolutely.”
