Wax

"Back so soon for a full leg and bikini?" Tanya asked as I peeled off my shorts.

"It grows faster in summer," I said, settling on the narrow table in my tank top and thong. I lay back and watched as she turned away to dial up the heat on the wax pot. Her tight black skirt rode up the back of her toned and hairless brown thighs. No panty line, and no thong silhouette, either. Tanya must be going au naturel, I thought. Lucky girl.

I'm a bit of a naturalist myself. I'd let my leg hair grow, but I'm a swimmer, and the hippie look doesn't fit with the bronze body-consciousness of a racing suit. I'm not much for underthings, either. My bras and panties are lace-free, utilitarian affairs in primary colors, and whenever possible, I go without. Still, waxing etiquette demands a layer of fabric between an esthetician and her client, and a thong gives Tanya room to trace the tan line of my high-cut swimsuit, leaving me with a narrow triangle of fair hair to match the below-the-shoulders mop on my head.

Tanya must be working out, I thought. The sinews of her thighs and ass strained against the flimsy fabric. Between the straps of her camisole, a phoenix rose toward the bob of brown curls that teased the nape of her neck. The tattoo's orange flames seemed to dance as she stirred the heated potion. I couldn't stop staring at the bird's eyes. They seemed to track mine as her muscles rippled.

"Your hair's so blond, how can you see it?" she asked. She turned back, bent over me and positioned a spotlight over my thigh. She grabbed a lab coat from a hook and buttoned it closed, then snapped a pair of latex gloves on her hands. It was as if the Tanya of a moment ago had disappeared, and a starched clinician stood in her place.

Tanya sprinkled talc on my legs, then grasped an ankle firmly in each hand and pushed upward, rubbing the powder in as she moved. She fanned out along the curve of my thighs and pulled her hands away. I started to breathe deeply, as if I were relaxing for a massage rather than preparing to have molten liquid painted on my legs and the hair ripped out, root by root.

"You've been swimming, haven't you?" Tanya asked.

"How can you tell?"

"Well, I know you're a swimmer. But look." She traced a finger along the fold of my thigh. "Your legs are deep brown, for one thing, and the hairs have bleached white." She rubbed a sure hand along my quad. "Your muscles have fantastic definition. You must have a strong kick." Then she reached under and touched the back of my neck where the skin stayed white under my suit back. I shivered. "And I noticed the tan line on your back before you lay down." She removed her hand and dipped a wooden tongue blade into the wax. "So you see, it doesn't take a detective to know you've been swimming."

Tanya spread a wide line of wax along my lower leg. She picked up a strip of linen, lay it on top of the wax the way she might smooth a sheet, and, as if she were pulling a rip-cord, yanked if off my leg. I inhaled, and she slapped, quick and sharp, the place that rang with pain.

"I never get used to this," I said. "Normally, a slap like that would sting. But this has the opposite affect. It softens the pain."

"Funny how that works, isn't it?" Tanya said. We loped into an easy chat as she removed parallel rows of hair from first one lower leg, then the other, as if I were a lawn and she the mower. Tanya and I had the classic salon relationship. We met monthly, assumed the familiar position, then chatted like old friends about work, family, lovers. Then I forgot about her until the hair on my legs grew visible and it was time for another appointment. Even in the busy summer months, she squeezed me in before I felt desperate enough to take a tweezers to my follicles myself. And I always tipped very well.

"Bend your knees and spread your legs a little," Tanya said. I complied. She focused on the curvy area around the joint, painfully close to bone and difficult to maneuver. With her head so close to my midsection and the lamp warming the air molecules above her, I inhaled the patchouli she must have sprinkled on that morning. I closed my eyes, breathing in the earthy and mysterious scent.

"Ouch!" I yelped, opening my eyes suddenly. Tanya was yanking individual hairs out of my knees with tweezers. She grasped me more firmly. I flushed, embarrassed. After all this time, I should be able to take the discomfort, well, like a woman.

"Sorry, but you know how hard it is to see these fine hairs, especially when they've lightened in the sun. The spot's so bright they seem to disappear. I'm nearly done here."

I closed my eyes and breathed in, then out, adjusting to the pain. I felt Tanya move away. When she didn't move back, I opened my eyes. She looked at me, a hand on a hip, as if she wanted to ask me a question but didn't know how.

"Oh," I said, stretching my legs out. I knew it was time for her to do the bikini, and I clenched in anticipation. I've never adjusted to the burn of the wax on the fold of my thigh and against my lips, followed by the pull of hair, as if someone were grabbing at my crotch and pulling my entire bush out at once. And I always wondered what it was like for Tanya, leaning close enough to my pussy that I could feel her breath through my panties. Under the heated lamp, even I could smell my scent rising.

I tried my breathing exercises again, waiting, but Tanya didn't move. I raised an eyebrow like a question mark.

"I'd like to try something different," Tanya said, running a finger under the hip strap of my thong. "Do you trust me?"

"Sure," I said. "Besides, if I don't like it, it will grow back, right?" I laughed. Tanya didn't answer. Then she nodded her head slightly, as if she'd made a decision.

"Ok. Take off your panties and spread your legs wide," she said. No panties and spread-eagle? Talk about exposure. But Tanya was a professional and I was in her hands. I hopped off the table, slithered out of my thong, climbed back on and did as I was told.

"I'm going to wax your lower lips until you're smooth as a baby." I gasped. Tanya rubbed my upper thigh as if she were calming a nervous child. "It's ok. It's going to hurt. But I have some tricks to make it easier. Just do what I tell you. Keep up your deep breathing. You'll love it in the end." I remembered her breath through my panties. I'd gone that far with her. Why not a step further?

I heard Tanya dip the blade in the wax and drip the excess into the pot. With a quick move, she placed her hand firmly on my outer lips, as if she were holding them in place. I felt an urge to push my full weight against her hand, but I tried to hold still. The pressure on my lips strengthened. Had she increased it, or had I?

With swift expertise, Tanya covered a small patch with wax then laid the linen in place. I stifled a moan. I felt a burn on the tender outer folds, which seemed to rush to meet the lava filling my inner lips and clit. I wanted to lift my pelvis, to feel my lips open, to liberate the wetness that was now pulsing and let it flow freely with the sizzling wax.

"Now!" Tanya whispered, and I felt a sharp pain as she pulled. I shuddered, and Tanya slapped my pussy with her hand, hard, then left her hand there. I strained against her, willing her to open me, even as I strained against myself to keep from opening. I bit my lower lip, tears stinging my eyes, and stiffened my legs to keep still.

"Is that it?" I said, my voice husky.

"No, sweetheart. I have to do these curves one little patch at a time. But I promise the pain will be worth it."

Tanya moved along my outer lips, inch by inch, in a continuous cycle of searing heat, followed by the cool respite of her hand against the linen, followed by a sting that set my pussy afire, and topped off with a single spank. I could swear Tanya spanked me harder as she progressed, but the slaps were the antithesis of pain. With each one, my pussy grew wetter and my legs spread as if of their own free will. I was sure my clit was exposed and that my inner lips lay, open and glistening. But I had entered an almost meditative space of tension, pain and arousal and I didn't care.

I felt a tickle in my ear. "You did very well," Tanya whispered. "We're done." I moaned, though from relief or disappointment, I wasn't sure. I looked up at her face, inches above mine. She pulled off her gloves and began unbuttoning her lab coat. "Did it hurt badly?" she asked. I nodded. She came closer, and I thought she was going to kiss my cheek. Instead, she plunged her tongue in my mouth.

Tanya moved to the foot of the table and laid her palm on my waxed lips. "Feel how smooth that is?" she asked. "You look like a partially peeled peach, the kind that, when you take a bite, spurts down your chin." She rocked her palm over my lips, back and forth, increasing pressure on my clit. Please, let me be your peach, I thought.

With a single motion, Tanya opened me and inserted what felt like all of her fingers. I jutted my pelvis skyward and groaned. I was so wet that when she slid in and out, in and out, I felt as if my pussy existed for nothing other than to accommodate her. I rocked, and as I let her fuck me, time seemed to stretch and pull.

Suddenly the thrusting stopped, and I felt something familiar. It was Tanya's breath over my mound, only now there was no thong between her mouth and my pussy. She reached her hands under my ass and lifted. I rose to join her, and as I did, her mouth clamped down on my open lips.

Tanya circled my clit with her tongue, slowly at first, then increased the speed in a continuous, unyielding ring. I threw my head back and stiffened my legs to still myself, the better not to miss a single circuitous lap. Then, just as suddenly as she had entered me with her hand, she probed her tongue into my pussy and left it there. I gasped. She pulled out, then darted in and out, in and out, until I felt as if a wild animal had been let loose. I tried matching her rhythm with the hips I could no longer still, but then she changed her timing and started licking me in long, vertical strokes. She started at my ass, moved upward and into my open lips and licked my clit clean. Then she started again. I undulated to meet her but she changed her stroke again and landed firmly on my clit, which she sucked, hard, until I wondered if she would ever stop.

Tanya lifted her head and I met her gaze. She smiled, a sheen glistening on her chin. Then she hopped onto the table, her ass facing my head. I recalled the absent panty line as she lowered herself onto my face. I pushed her skirt up to her waist, grabbed her ass and pulled her toward me. Her lips and clit were completely exposed as I took her, all of her, into my waiting mouth.

Tanya laid her mouth back on my pussy and we latched onto each other as if nothing could pry us apart. I licked at her lips and clit, and she started rocking against my tongue, fast, until it was all I could do to keep up with her. Then I started rocking the same way. It was as if our pussies and mouths were connected in one continuous circuit, licking and sucking, rocking and undulating, our pussies dripping, our mouths receiving the juice.

I could no longer make out what Tanya was doing with her mouth and tongue. I was only aware of the continuous sensation of lapping and sucking: Tanya lapping me, me sucking Tanya, and the slurping sounds that filled the air above our heads. I felt Tanya's moan deep in my pussy before I heard it, and the vibration of her voice made my walls begin to contract. Then I felt myself moan, a sound buried in Tanya's lips, and she started to shake. Tanya cupped my ass with her hands and I grabbed onto her thighs. I had the sensation of being on a roller coaster: if I didn't hang on tight, I might be propelled off the ride.

Tanya and I shook each other with our tongues, moaning louder now, each contraction of her pussy egging my pussy on to match it. We humped faster and faster, louder and louder, a buzz growing in my ears. I was writhing with such force I was certain I would fly off the table, but Tanya hung on, and I hung on with her. Fast and wet, loud and powerful, we moved and heaved, sucked and wailed, louder and faster, harder and harder, until, screaming, I began to cum, grasping so firmly on Tanya's thighs I was sure I would leave bruises, shouting and writhing, and I heard a yell start inside my pussy and work its way out, rocking and sucking, as we, lapping and licking, rocked in a drawn-out series of electrified contractions and Tanya landed on me, legs splayed, in the wreckage.

Tanya popped off the table and I groaned at the absence of her weight. Then she sprung back on, head to head, and joined my lips in a luscious kiss. She moved her head away.

"Your wax looks divine. Are you satisfied?"

I smiled. "It's the best wax I ever had," I said. "I can't wait to come back." We untangled ourselves and stood. I smoothed Tanya's skirt, then kissed her, long and deep. She scooped my panties off the floor and held them open, and I touched her shoulders for balance as I placed first one foot in, then the other. She slid them up my legs, positioned the straps on my hips, then squatted and helped me step into my shorts. I wrote her a check and burrowed in my wallet for the cash that would be her tip. She pushed my hand away, kissed me gently on the cheek, and opened the door. I stepped out of the salon and felt the hot summer air on my hairless legs. I had an urge to feel that air on my hairless pussy.

Tanya and I have a standing monthly appointment. Usually she waxes my legs and bikini line but when she wants to try something new, I comply. When I have a sudden urge for a mid-month tune-up, she fits me in. I try to tip, but she won't let me.

Tanya referred me to a new hair stylist, Paulette. She has an old fashioned barber's chair, deep, soft, worn leather, in a private cubicle. When I arrived for my first appointment, she handed me a smock, black and satiny and open in the front, its only closure a waist tie, so when she, before my shampoo, massaged my neck and shoulders, it fell back to reveal the pale space between my unclad breasts. As she led me to the sink, I watched her hips move in their tight jeans, a tight cropped T floating above her nude abdomen. She took my long hair in her hand, draped it over the porcelain and sprayed my scalp with water that was a little too hot. I gasped.

"Does that hurt?" Paulette asked, leaning against me until I felt her nipple graze my cheek.

"Yes."

"Good," she said, rubbing her thumbs in circles on my temples.