by Ashe Barker
Out of excuses I shrug, and slide onto the table, bum first then swing my legs up. I position myself carefully on my back, as instructed, on the towels. I arrange the cushions under my head and make myself comfortable. I wish.
Nathan glances at me and puts the bowl on the trolley, striding off into the bedroom. He comes back moments later with two pillows. “Sorry, I forgot about the head end. These are for under your bum. Lift up.”
I oblige, thrusting my hips upwards and he pushes both bulky pillows under me, raising my bottom a good foot off the table top.
“You can keep the bathrobe on if you like.” I nod, hugging it closer across my breasts. “Just hitch up the bottom. Push it up above your waist, and lie back.”
I do as I’m told, lifting the robe to expose my body, naked from the waist down. I shouldn’t be self-conscious by now but I am, and I move to push a corner back, just enough to cover my groin. He smiles, shakes his head, and gets on with the matter in hand.
“Right up above your waist, Miss Byrne, please.”
Resigned, I do as he asks and close my eyes, waiting.
“I’m going to remove all the hair this first time. Miss Byrne. Maybe later, when it grows back, we’ll leave this bit, just keep it short perhaps, because it is a truly lovely shade of red.” He is casually combing his fingers through the golden ginger curls covering my pubic bone. “Open your legs.”
I do, and he slips his hand between, gently tugging the wispy strands of hair around my vagina. “This all goes. And stays gone.” Lifting my knee with one hand he reaches lower, his fingers circling my now exposed anus and reaching between the cheeks of my bum. I close my eyes, mortified, not least as I didn’t even realise I had hair there. I do. I definitely do. I feel the light tug as he draws it between his fingers. “This too, definitely.”
I feel desperately vulnerable, exposed, lying on the table, my legs spread wide open while he examines me critically, his fingers cool and businesslike. I instinctively tense when he picks up a small pair of scissors.
“Keep still, Miss Byrne. We don’t want any accidents.” He repositions the lamp at the opposite end of the table to shine directly between my legs. He turns so his back is to me as he leans over to pay close attention to my groin, and he starts to snip at the hair.
I lie there, silent, aware of every touch, every slight pull as he eases the hair taut then clips it, dropping the discarded bits into a small pile beside me. He quickly trims the hair at the front then, lifting my right leg and bending it at the knee he shoves it outwards. My left leg is lying straight. He leans over a little more, adjusts the lamp, and continues to clip the hair. I feel his fingers parting the lips of my vagina to reach every strand, gently nudging around my clitoris. He pushes my bent leg down and repeats the action with the left one opening the other side of my most private place for his detailed scrutiny and intimate examination. With his finger he again eases my vagina open, dispassionately stroking my labia as he clips and tidies, preparing me for the ultimate humiliation.
I am beyond mortified. I close my eyes, will myself to lie still, to take it, and I just wish it was over.
It seems to take ages, but in reality must have only been a couple of minutes before he straightens, and glances back at me. “You okay, Miss Byrne? Quite comfortable?”
“No. I hate this. Please, just hurry up. Get it over with.”
“Happy to oblige, as ever, Miss Byrne. Lift your leg, bend it at the knee and let it drop to the side, nice and wide for me, please.” And I do as I am told, dutifully lifting and bending my right leg to expose my groin.
Facing me this time, he takes the bowl from the trolley. Using one of the wooden spatulas, he scoops out a blob of wax, smoothing it quickly along one side of my vulva. It feels very warm, hot, just short of painful. He then takes a strip of fabric and presses it into the hot wax, and I stiffen, waiting for the pain as he tears it off. I am not to be disappointed.
“Christ!” I scream as, with a sharp ripping sound, the fabric, wax and hairs are torn viciously from my body. My sensitive skin is smarting, burning. Only his right arm, flung across my stomach and holding me firmly in place stops me from leaping from the table. Keeping me pinned in place with his arm he uses his right hand to pull the skin and delicate folds around my vagina taut and his left hand to mercilessly repeat the action. He works down and around my most sensitive skin, opening the delicate lips and sharply, ruthlessly, painfully removing all and every stray hair.
My eyes are watering, the pain sharp and cruel, and I cry out with every tearing pull. Undeterred, ignoring my struggles, he continues, occasionally glancing up at me, warning me to keep still if I can. I can’t, so he holds me down, offering to tie my hands behind my back if that might help…
Realising I’m beaten I concentrate on getting through it, and actually, the pain does seem to lessen as he continues. Either he’s getting more skilled or I’m just becoming numbed by the relentless, repeated assaults. Or maybe those bloody painkillers are doing their job at last. He straightens, lowers my bent knee back to the table and, gesturing, indicates that I should open the other side for him. Biting my lip, I do as I’m told. He bends once more to his task, and I scream again as a new wave of pain hits me.
Carefully, he repeats the treatment. The sound is savage, almost as dreadful as the pain. Almost. I can only guess at how this might have felt without the paracetamol earlier. I grit my teeth, close my eyes and concentrate on trying to keep still.
Once the lips of my vagina are suitably hairless, to his apparent satisfaction, he moves forward to concentrate on the delicate folds shielding my clitoris. Again he opens them, spreading the sensitive lips wide to cover them in the wax. “Please, not there,” I beg, suddenly terrified at the prospect of what might be coming next, and writhing under his hands as I anticipate the agony of having the wax torn from my clitoris itself.
“No, sweetheart, not there,” he murmurs gently, and I relax again. Slightly.
The pain is sharp, but bearable now, and I breathe slowly, riding it as he finishes and at last my groin area is smooth and hairless. He runs his fingers over my sensitive, tender, inflamed flesh, through the folds, around the entrance to my vagina, around my clitoris, the light from his lamp exposing every corner as he searches for any stray hairs. He finds one, close to my vagina on the left side and swiftly removes it with tweezers.
“This stuff is tougher, and tends to be a bit more painful. I’ll be really quick, though.” He is spreading wax over the trimmed hair at the apex of my thighs, and quickly presses on the fabric. I hold my breath as the wax cools and sticks, and let it out in an agonised scream as he tears the first strip away. The fabric is full of hairs, ripped out at the roots. He repeats the action twice more, still holding me firmly in place as, grimly determined, he finishes his task. As quickly as he began, it seems he is finished, running the backs of his fingers over my newly smooth body.
“So far so good. Sit up, Miss Byrne, see what you think of your new look?”
“Have you done?” I struggle up onto my elbows, looking down to survey the damage. Oddly, much to my surprise, I find I like it. I am smooth, soft and sleek. Nathan squirts a blob of baby lotion onto his fingers and gently smears it over my stinging flesh, cooling, soothing and comforting. I wince, but find myself willingly opening my legs to let him reach all of me.
I smile, my face split into a beaming grin as I examine myself critically. I look…lovely. I hadn’t ever given a thought to my pubic hair before, it was just—there, sort of red and springy like the rest of my thatch. Now it isn’t and I like my new look. Clean, sexy and begging to be touched.
“Hey, that looks fantastic. I should have done this ages ago…” I grin at him cheekily as he shakes his head wryly.
“No beauty salon would have put up with all the fuss you made, love. All that screaming would be bad for business.”
A thought occurs suddenly, an uncomfortable, disturbing thought. “I look like a little girl. A child…”
He continues to massage the cool lotion into my delicate skin, easing his fingers gently between the folds and the lips of my vagina. He glances up at me, an amused smile across his handsome face.
“Well, you’re certainly female, Miss Byrne, and I grant you are a little on the small side, but a little girl? Never. Oh no. You are most definitely a woman, and a seriously lovely woman at that. Hot. Responsive.” He slides two fingers inside me, then swiftly out again to caress my clitoris, to emphasis his point, and I arch in response.
“Okay, turn over. Just the last little bit of hair to deal with.”
“What, I thought you’d finished. What now?” I glare at him in frustration.
“We’re nearly done. Turn over, Eva. Now, please.” That stern Dom voice again.
I know better than to argue with him in Dom mode and roll onto my stomach, eying him warily over my shoulder. Deftly he pushes both my knees up so I find myself in a squat, my face resting on the cushions and my bum in the air. Talk about exposed and vulnerable… And with him in this mood. Christ!
However, his hands are gentle as he eases my buttocks apart to examine the skin around my anus.
I shudder, wishing I was anywhere else but here right now. Almost.
“What are you doing, Nathan? God, this is awful. Talk about humiliating. If you even think about picking up a cane I’m out of here.” He needs telling.
He just chuckles. “No cane. For now, anyway. But later, definitely.” He picks up the bowl of wax again, and I brace myself for what’s coming. “Almost done. Just hold still, love.” The endearment, so rare from Nathan the Dom, calms me. I let him smooth the hot wax onto my delicate skin, stiffening as he presses the fabric strips in and stands back, waiting for it to harden. Holding my buttocks apart, he stretches my skin tight with one hand and rips the first strip away. I gasp, but manage not to scream and hold myself still for him to repeat the process. Three more times I have to bite back my screams, clutching at the cushions, my knuckles white.
At last he puts the wax bowl back onto the trolley, and now I feel his fingers gently probing my inflamed genitals. He angles the light, looking for any remaining hairs that may have escaped his attention, finding just a couple, which he deals with quickly with his tweezers. Then I feel something cool, blissfully, wonderfully cool, and his palm brushing over me as he smears the soothing lotion all over my exposed, throbbing, sorely abused anal area. “Just some more baby lotion, to get rid of any wax that’s still there and to take the sting out. I’m guessing you like this bit, Miss Byrne. You’ve stopped screaming. At last. Now, don’t move.”
His hands drop away and I moan in frustration.
“Lift your bum up a little more, please, Miss Byrne, and open your legs as wide as you can.”
Quivering, I do as I am told. The last thing I expect is to hear the quiet, whirring hum of a camera.
“Hey, what the…? I never said you could photograph me!” I whirl round, ready to do battle for the camera, lurid visions of my genitals being plastered all over YouTube clamouring through my mind.
“Whoah, Eva,” he laughs, holding the mobile phone way up out of my reach as I hop up and down, still kneeling on the table and trying to grab it from him. “Calm down. You can delete the pictures soon. We’ll keep them just for now, though. I’ll show you why.” And with that he shoves the phone back in the pocket of his jeans and grabs me around the waist, hauling me up into his arms, still a bundle of near-naked, spitting fury. He turns and makes for the bedroom, grabbing the bottle of baby lotion.
“Here, you take this—” And I find it shoved into my hands.
Still minded to brain him with the bloody baby lotion I am dumped unceremoniously on the brown leather settee in his bedroom, the scene of my unfortunate mishap of yesterday morning. I am struck by how far I’ve come since then. Maybe. I hope…
“Take the robe off now, kneel on the seat and lean over the back,” he says curtly. “And spread your legs. Wide.”
“Not bloody likely! For you to take more porno shots?” I sit mutinously, enveloped in the navy blue robe, my knees hugged against my chest, glowering at him.
He takes the phone from his pocket and hands it to me.
“There, Miss Byrne. You’ve got the phone and I promise no more pictures without warning you first. So, drop the robe. I want you naked for this. And assume the position.” At my continuing hesitation his eyes narrow, glinting coldly. “Don’t make me wait, Eva.”
“Are you going to tie me up again? And how come you’re never bloody naked for this stuff?” My voice is shaky. I start to shiver, remembering the last time I was here. And he’s so angry now, cruel and intimidating as he stands in front of me, his eyes hard, his voice cold.
“No, I’m not going to tie you up. Well, not yet anyway. Unless I need to, to make you do as you’re told. And I explained before why I like you naked. Don’t make this difficult, Eva. You won’t like the consequences.”
He gestures with his hand that I need to bend over and present my backside, no doubt for a seriously hard spanking to teach me something about the consequences of belligerence. There’s no other realistic alternative for me now, so, shaking, I do as I’m told. At last.
Nathan takes the baby lotion from me as I turn to face the back of the settee, the bottle still clutched in one hand, the phone in the other. “Thanks. We haven’t finished with this yet. I expect you’d appreciate some more, would you? To take the sting away. Open your legs then, Miss Byrne.”
I do, but not enough it would seem.
“Wider, please, and lean farther over to lift your bum up. Show me what you’ve got there.”
Clutching the phone in my hand I lean forward, lifting up my bum, and I wait. And wait. Tense, expecting the sharp slap of his palm or maybe worse to land on my perfectly positioned bottom at any moment. He moves to stand behind me and I flinch. But Nathan is in no hurry—he knows the effect this agony of waiting is having on me and is milking it. I know he’s looking at me, looking at my genitals presented there for him in all their naked glory. The humiliation, the fear, the tension are nearly overwhelming as the seconds tick by, becoming minutes.
I scream in shock as he feathers one gentle finger lightly along my clit, jerking involuntarily.
“Did I hurt you?” His voice is soft, quiet, barely a whisper.
“No. It was just… I just…” I never used to stammer like this, and I clench my fist around his phone as I force myself to remain still, in this exposed position, waiting for the next touch.
The next touch comes, and it is cool, moist, as he spreads a liberal squirt of baby lotion around my clitoris. And then more of the soothing lotion, quickly, efficiently smoothing it all over my exposed sex and drawing upwards towards my anus. He gently works it into every fold, every secret place—not that I have any secrets left it seems to me. Except one, and he’s on it now. He pulls my buttocks apart and he squirts the lotion directly onto my anus. It feels cool, and so wickedly good.
I sigh, pushing any embarrassment aside to savour the intimate caresses as he continues to probe and stroke my over-sensitised genitals, paying more attention than perhaps strictly necessary to my tight little virgin arse. I gasp as he slowly eases his little finger through the sphincter, turning it slowly to smear the cooling lotion inside as well as around the outer rim.
“So sweet, Eva, so sweet. Your gorgeous arse is crying out for some serious attention.”
Maybe. And it’s getting it too. I feel his finger probing again, pressing into that last secret place, that forbidden, private place. At first just the tip, then more as his finger gently, slowly, eases inside. Right inside, the whole length. He leaves it there for a few moments, gently circling to widen, open my tight entrance, sliding back out only to slip back in, penetrating me fully again. I groan, but not with pain. Not yet pleasure either. The sensation is…familiar, but oh so strange.
“Are you okay?” He leans over me to whisper the question into my ear.
&nbs
p; I murmur back, “Yes. I’m okay. It feels so weird, though.”
“You’re doing really well, angel. Relax. You can do this. You can let me do this.” He withdraws his finger and I feel something cool and wet—baby lotion no doubt, dribbling into my now looser arse, through the entrance and down into my back passage. Then his finger again, but not the little one this time. This time it’s bigger, longer, and it pushes harder, more insistently as my body suddenly surrenders. I give up any hope of keeping him out and allow my muscles to relax, accepting this invasion. He strokes the cheeks of my bottom gently as he takes full advantage of my surrender, working another finger into my arse alongside the first. It feels full, stretched tight, wickedly tight. I am gasping now, moaning as the pleasure kicks in. He works his fingers in and out a few more times, a few deep strokes to make sure I really am conquered before he reaches his other hand down between my legs to stroke my clit.
The effect is instantaneous—I go off like a rocket. This orgasm is powerful, punching through me, brutal and exquisite, exploding out through my fingers and toes as I rock back against his hand, begging for more, for harder, for faster. His fingers on my clit and inside me are slick and skilful, and the moment is drawn out, dragged to the extreme as I convulse helplessly. I may have screamed. Probably. I am certainly gasping for air as the pulsing eventually subsides and I return to reality. The reality of his fingers still deep in my butt and my hips gyrating, asking wordlessly for more.
“Stay there, Eva. Don’t move.” He gently withdraws his fingers and I moan, settling my face over my folded arms along the back of the settee to wait. He gently prises the phone from my grip, and I release it without argument, willing to let him have anything he wants at that moment.
“One more quick picture, love, okay?”
“Mmmm. What?” I mutter, still dazed from my orgasm, then I hear the tell-tale whirr of the camera again. I start to push myself up, but he is quicker. Sweeping me into his arms he carries me effortlessly to the bed and lays me on my back, lying beside me. Before I can protest about more pictures he is kissing me, deeply, sensuously, his tongue deep in my mouth, tangling with mine. Stopping only long enough to pull the phone from his pocket and toss it onto the pillow, he unzips his jeans and kicks them off. Then he is above me, his knees between mine, easing my legs apart. I take no persuading, and he slips inside me, his huge erection stretching me deliciously, filling me.
