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Waxing Eloquent
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Waxing Eloquent Ah, summer weather. Time for beach blankets, bikinis, and boobs. Well, and that painful ritual of waxing. Getting a Brazilian, as we euphemistically say. Our local spa/salon is run by a family of Thai ancestry and the entire Asian-like ambiance is very relaxing. Each muscle in my body starts to release as soon as I enter the door. There is an entrance foyer so the street noise and the coming and going of others does not intrude on whatever spa experience the customer has come for. A small fountain, water cascading over smooth stones, soothes as well. This oasis is the place I come to for my summer preparations. D, on the front desk, greets me and tells me J will be ready for me shortly. She is preparing the room, tidying up and so forth after her last . Beautifully proportioned and petite, of course, D must be no older than her mid-thirties but she is, I think, the matriarch of the salon. The other women who work there seem to defer to her, and she keeps things so smoothly running that the "business" of this business does not intrude on the experience of the , something this appreciates very much. She wears street clothes, whereas the others wear a sort of uniform, and has her dark black chin length hair is glossed with red highlights. She receives an indication that the room is ready, and opens the door between the foyer and the hallway for me. I know where to go, J uses the same room each time I am there, and what to expect, at least I hope I do. The door to J's room is open, the lights dim, an atomizer releasing the pleasant scent of white tea and ginger, and a quiet piece of music that seems to be primarily made up of different tones of a chiming temple bell greets me. J ushers me in, welcoming me in a way that makes me feel I am a familiar friend, not just a . "A waxing today?" she confirms, and I agree that that is what I have come for. "Please disrobe then," she gestures to the rice paper screen that is there for modest to use if they wish, but I am not one of those and a slight smile hovers at the corners of her lips, for she knows me very well. My black tee shirt is the first to come off, and I fold it on the woven chair beside the massage/waxing table. My bra next, and it feels so good to have my large breasts free of the confinement that, after I place it too on the chair, I can't help myself. I cup my breasts with my hands and stroke underneath while I lift them up. Out of the corner of her eyes, I can see J is watching me, a sparkle showing me she appreciates the "show". I can already feel the trickle of juice between my labia; my anticipation of J's pre and post waxing ministrations are worth the pain of being pube free and I enjoy the exhibitionism of undressing in front of her. Knowing that I have an attentive audience, I take time with unbuttoning and unzipping my tight black jeans, then wiggling my hips to help them slide down more easily. I step out of my jeans and place them too, on the chair, and then hook my fingers under the elastic of my lace panties. Again, I can see by the tilt of her head, her stilled body language, that she is watching, and slowly I pull down first one side, then the other, of my panties until they are down far enough that I can let go and they drop from my legs. I raise one foot, panties hooked on it, and know that I am exposing my hairy bush for J's eyes only. It escalates my erotic anticipation and my body responds accordingly. When I am fully naked, J turns to me, gestures, and murmurs that I am to get onto the table, which I do, the cool white sheets a blissful sensation against my summer heated skin. I can see that J has heated the wax she will use to strip the hair from my pussy so that it is as clean and open as that of a very young girl. She comes over to the side of the massage table, puts down the bowl of hot wax, the brush leaning against it in a small saucer, and then takes my hand. "We will work on relaxing you first," her voice runs like honey over the surface of my skin, and, bending, she begins to kiss my breasts. Small, delicate brushes with her lips that simultaneously tingle and soothe. I sigh. She picks up her energy and the kisses are firmer, ending with a lick of her tongue or an inward suck of her cheeks. "MMMM," my voice seems to crack with the moan and I can feel the sweet engorgement of my labia as my entire body responds to the eroticism of her touch. She continues to increase the firmness and the strength of her kisses until at last she is firmly sucking on my nipples. As usual, I am dripping with my own natural lubrication at the point, and she smiles as she sees the glistening drops. J picks up the bowl of wax and her brush again. While she was loosening me up, so to speak, she had placed it on a warming element and I could see a slight wavering in the air above the bowl as the heat rose from it, carrying the sweet scent of the honey from the beeswax. "I will be as gentle as possible," J assured me, and I knew there would be pain but that her touch would attempt to ameliorate it. 'Please, open up," she encouraged, and I angled my knees away from each other, feet pressed together, sole to sole. Her hands were cool as the first gentle nudge of her fingers stretched out the skin of my pussy slightly and then the brush, loaded with hot wax, softly stroked me. It was delicious. The<b> silky </font></b>strands of the brush coated with hot honey-scented wax, a gentle stroke back and forth as she made sure she had enough wax on my skin to do the job, and then a few taps with her fingers ensuring the wax had ensnared my pubic hair, and a sudden searing wrench as she tore the wax from my skin, ripping hair follicles and leaving the skin of my pussy screaming, momentarily, in agony. Prepared, as always, J quickly covered my "on fire" skin with a cool clothe, and that did help me recover, somewhat, but even better were the fingers of her other hand as they parted my labia and began stroking my wet clit. "There, there," J crooned, "I know it hurts, but I will try to make you forget about the pain and focus on the pleasure." I nodded, I knew that the throbbing pain of the waxing would recede only slightly, reduced but not replaced with the delicious throbbing of her fingers stroking my cunt. Of course it took many strips of wax to remove my pussy entirely of its hair, each strip of wax followed by her fingers playing with my clit, and, when she was done, she encouraged me to look down. There I was with a gleaming, slightly reddened mound, with the delicate lips parted to reveal the tip of my engorged clitoris peeking out. You might think that that was it: I had been waxed, I had been kissed, I had been stroked, I had been played with, what more could I want, what more could J give? Well, she could, and did give a final set of ministrations to my tender, bare, waxed pussy. Her tongue pointed out between the delicate lips of her enchanting mouth, and, once again her eyes sparkled as she waggled her tongue up and down. "Shall we finish you off?" she questioned. And of course I agreed, yes, finish me off, please, here, now, quickly! I arched my head back and thrust my pelvis up slightly to meet her tongue as she stood between my legs and bent over my cunt. She began by flicking at me with quick firm strokes so that my clit bounced back and forth with each thrust of her tongue. I moaned again, and she tenderly parted my labia with her fingers, and began to lap up and down like a at a bowl of water. I was ecstatic with the sensations of her strong wet tongue on my vagina. Lapping and sucking, lapping and sucking; I could not get enough of the sweet engorgement in my cunt, my nerves - still super sensitive from the waxing - hyper aware of sensation of her lips and tongue on me. And then she began, delicately but enthusiastically, to flick her finger in and out of just the entryway to my vagina where that sensitive bundle of nerves was that sent me over the edge. And her touch did just that. Firmly, she placed her elbows on my crooked legs so I could not clench closed as was the instinct and she rode out the spasm after spasm of my orgasm with her lips caressing my labia, her tongue toying with my clit, and her finger flexing in the repeated clench of my vagina so that, at last, a squirt of liquid gushed from me. Each of us, I believe, sighed with satisfaction when I was done, the last drops spouting from my pussy and J turned away to slowly begin the process of tidying the room and herself in preparation for the next . "No rush," she assured me, knowing that recovering enough from the waxing and the squirting orgasm to sit up, climb off the massage table, and put my clothes back on would take a effort of will, never mind a recouping of physical strength. She busied herself, but not in a rushed way, and, slowly, I regained my composure and began to put my clothes back on. When I was done, I noticed she had opened her little tablet computer and had loaded my profile onto the desktop. "So," she was concluding our appointment, "I will book you in again for, let's say, 6 weeks from today?" J looked to me for agreement. "MMMM," I thought aloud, "I am not sure that is soon enough." Again I saw that slightly mischievous sparkle in the corner of her eye as she looked up at me. "You want to come again, sooner?" "Yes," I stated, "make that a month from today if you have the space open." J checked her calendar, "Yes, that will be just fine. One month from today it is" and she noted this both on her computer and on a little business card she handed me. "Thank you, J" and I opened the door to the room to depart. "Not at all," she replied. "I will look forward to your next visit . . . in 4 weeks . . . when you 'cum' again." And we both smiled at each other as I left, fully understanding and anticipating the double entendre of her words.  |
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