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“We’re going to do waxing first,” she murmurs. “Have you ever done that before?” Jane asks, undoing my gown to look down at my private parts. “Maybe not, hmmm?”
My cheeks grow red and I manage some incoherent answer.
“Just lay back and relax,” she soothes. “This’ll be over in a jiff.”
I’ve never had my body waxed before, so when the warm liquid touches my body, it’s stimulating until she places a thin white strip of paper down and rips the hair from my skin before I can prepare myself for it. Holy shit! I’ve never felt pain like that in my life. Jane sooths me as she moves on to the next patch. There are tears in my eyes, it’s so painful. But by the time she reaches between my legs, I’ve grown a bit accustomed to what’s happening. Nonetheless, nothing could’ve prepared me for the blinding pain I feel when she yanks the short hairs from my puffy lips.
“Ow!” I scream. “Ow ow ow!”
“It’s okay,” Jane soothes, pressing a cotton swab soaked in aloe on my private parts. “You’re gonna be just fine.”
Tears smart in my eyes but after Jane leaves to let me recover, I touch myself hesitantly. I’m a bit taken aback by how smooth I am down there. My fingers slide through my soft slit, the skin tender and aroused. I can feel the swelling in my clit, overly sensitive without its normal protective layer.
But the blonde isn’t done yet. She bustles back in, all business.
“Next, we’re going into hair and makeup, but don’t worry, this is your last step.”
My face must reveal my confusion, but there’s no time to ask questions because the woman has already left the room. With hesitant steps I follow, going down the hall to a full-scale salon. I wonder how many different businesses they own. Is this a modeling agency of some sorts?
But thankfully, the pampering eases my nerves. Settling into the white leather chair, it takes the staff another hour to wash and style my hair before powdering my face and adding mascara, eyeshadow, and eyeliner to decorate my ordinary brown eyes.
Jane beams at me. “Yep, I think she’s ready,” she declares, smiling proudly like a mother hen.
“Good luck!” The hair stylist looks over her shoulder while packing up her tools.
“Now, you can just slip this on and meet me out front.” Jane hands me a hanger with a gold handkerchief on it.
“Um, excuse me?” I venture. “I need a dress? Or something? A robe? This is just a pocket square.”
But Jane just shrugs her shoulders.
“No honey, it’s a dress. Put it on, you’ll see,” she says meaningfully. “And put those on too lease,” she points at a pair of stilettos I hadn’t even noticed standing in the corner which heels must be at least four inches.
What in the world is going on? I can’t possibly wear the scrap of nothing dangling from my hands. And heels, much less skyscraper heels? I’m more of a jeans and sneakers type of girl, so this is all foreign.
But the voice in my head speaks then. Just do it, it urges. Do it for Mickey and Nana. So with trembling fingers, I pull the golden dress over my head with little effort, the fabric easily stretching and melting into my skin. With three faulty steps, I make my way to the full-length mirror, so shocked by my reflection that I do a double take.
Wow. That’s me?
For the first time, I see what men like about my breasts. They’re full and tantalizing the way they’re poking out of the barely-there cups of the dress. My waist has always been pretty small, leading to my full hips and generous, round ass, which is barely covered by the gold fabric.
My brown curls have been cut into soft layers and coaxed into waves that cascade down my back, resting at the curve in my back. As I step forward, I feel my sex clench so deliciously that I reach for the wall to steady myself. Something just sparked within me, but I can’t focus on that right now.
The pampering and this sexy dress might be stimulating, but this is a job interview and it’s important that I remember and stay focused. Like Nana said, they can sense desperation, although at this point, I’m not even sure who they is.
With my shoulders back and my head held high, I walk into the waiting room where Jane waits. From the look on her face, she likes my appearance as much as I do.
“This is perfect! You look amazing, Trina,” she says before turning towards another door.
“B-but …” I stammer. It’s too late. Jane’s already moving on. Together, we walk through another maze again, turning left before then taking a right, over and over until I’m hopelessly confused. There’s no way in hell I’d be able to find my way back outside—I’m resigned to possibly being kidnapped and nobody ever finding my body.
