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I lay back again, as much because I didn’t want Patty to see the frown of helpless arousal on my face as because I felt reassured. Once again, though, her voice soothed me, as she continued her flow of light conversation.
“It’s your first date here, right?” she asked, as the washcloth worked its way downward, too close to my clit for me to feel completely calm.
“That’s right,” I said, my voice sounding hesitant and uncertain to my ears.
“Go ahead and spread your legs for me, Leah,” Patty said in the same easy tone. “Raise your knees, too, and hold them apart. Good-looking guy? You’re platinum level, right?”
I bit my lip and swallowed hard. For a moment I couldn’t move, but then I let Patty’s obvious comfort with the humiliating situation take me over. I pulled my knees up and put my hands behind them. I felt terribly exposed, thinking about what the aesthetician could see—even more than the intimate pictures showed.
The washcloth moved downward. It felt much, much too good, and just as in the photo session the shame and the arousal seemed to feed off one another in an unwelcome cycle of sexual need. I had to open my lips wide so that my ragged breathing wouldn’t make itself completely obvious.
“It’s okay to feel a little aroused,” Patty told me matter-of-factly. “It happens to a lot of my clients, especially the ones from SA. Seems like platinum-level girls most of all. Okay, you can put your legs down.”
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 hadagreed 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.
