Chapter 2

“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.

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