Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Gratefully I obeyed. “Why?”
“Hmm?” Patty asked.
I felt the wooden spatula start to spread wax over the top of my pussy. It seemed a lot cooler than I had thought it would be, and a little of my courage returned—enough so that I could ask the burning question the aesthetician’s words had aroused in my mind.
“Why platinum most?” I asked, thinking my voice sounded a little steadier.
“Oh,” Patty said, and then she ripped off the first strip of wax, on the right side of my vulva. I gave a little cry, but it hurt a good deal less than I had expected. The spatula and the warm wax returned, on the other side, and suddenly the little bit of arousal had gotten much bigger, and I had to chew the inside of my cheek to keep from whimpering.
Patty continued speaking, though, and her soothing voice helped—for a moment. Her words’ actual meaning, unfortunately, made the problem much worse.
“Who knows how Selecta does their algorithm thing, but…” She ripped off another strip of wax, and I tried to keep my response to an ambiguous grunt, rather than the unmistakable sob of arousal that threatened to emerge from my chest. “You’re doing great, Leah. Just two more up here.”
The warm wax went onto the remaining line of hair to the right of my clit and the cleft of my private lips. I bit the inside of my cheek, desperately pushing away the picture that kept creeping into my mind’s eye, of Christian G watching my intimate photoshoot… watching this humiliating ‘beauty’ treatment… seeing how shamefully aroused I had gotten at the idea, and the sensation, of being made smooth for him between my thighs.
“But the platinum girls all seem to be a bit more, you know, submissive. I mean you’d have to be…”
Patty pulled the wax strip off with a quick, expert movement that brought another grunt from me; that one had hurt more than the previous two, since it had happened so close to my most sensitive place. To my horror, that meant that as the sharpness of the sting faded, the arousal there grew. When Patty began to spread the wax on the other side, I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that I could taste blood. That nonsexual pain helped a little, but what the aesthetician said next took away any benefit.
“…to agree to getting punished down here, right? I mean, no offense but…”
I cried out as she ripped the final strip off. My thoughts whirled inside my head. What did she mean? Spanking? No—Patty seemed to be talking about something else.
“Go ahead and spread your knees for me. Same way as before.”
She paused, and for a moment I almost resolved not to comply, to stop this whole thing. But if I didn’t expose myself for the continuation of this embarrassing procedure, Patty wouldn’t keep telling me what she meant, and I had to know. As dreadful a thing as I felt sure I would learn—more, that I would learn I had agreed to—I felt like I couldn’t live another second without knowing it.
I lifted my knees and got their backs into my hands. I felt my face pucker into a desperate frown as Patty immediately began to spread the next line of wax down, way down, almost to where my bottom-cheeks started. The feeling of being made to expose myself, of Patty the aesthetician doing the will of Christian G where my pussy was concerned, sent such a wave of warmth to the whole area that I worried my wetness might actually seep out and demonstrate… what?
That I was submissive?
I bit my lip, and I felt my pussy clench. Scalding heat lit up my face like a blazing fire.
Patty made—involuntarily, I felt sure, which made it worse—a little clucking sound with her tongue. Just the tiniest hint of what I couldn’t help thinking sounded like disapproval. Instantly it happened again. Then, to my horror, I let out a tiny whimper.
The aesthetician ripped away the line of wax, and I grunted, trying to cover over the humiliating noise I had made a moment before. Patty seemed to have lost the thread of her easy flow of conversation at the sight of my shameless bodily response to this intimate procedure.
“Wh-what…” I started, then tried, desperately, to finish, “what did you mean about… about…”
Patty started to apply another line of wax. As if recovering her composure, or perhaps trying as hard as I was to get past the hideously embarrassing moment, she started to talk again.
“About the punishment? Well, I’m sure this guy won’t be into it, so don’t worry.”
Into what? my mind demanded. But I shouldn’t have felt such eagerness, I realized as Patty continued, spreading what I thought had to be the final stripe of wax, to the left of the wayward place, the aching, still-virginal tunnel, that had developed a mortifying will of its own.