Last night I waxed her fou-fou. Not for the removal of hair – she’s quite well disciplined in matters depilatory – but for my pleasure. Mind you, when it comes to hair I think this experience has probably taught her to pay more attention to those that grow in the folds around her cunt.
“I’m going to wax your fanny” I said. “OK” quoth she, and shuffled off to pop on her wrist and ankle cuffs and her collar.
I spread a blue tarpaulin on the sofa and the floor (wax gets everywhere) and lit two candles. I use Spa’s cheapest – after many years I find them the best – not only the lowest melting temperature but also when it cools the wax is quite brittle – making it ideal to peel away, mould-like, if one wants a memento (and I did), but also by far the easiest to brush off carpets and furniture. It also clings like a limpet to hairs, as she was to find out.
Low temperature candles are good for accuracy too – you can hold them quite close to the victim without the screams becoming unendurable.
She positioned herself , thrusting outwards and stretching everything for me as I attached my longest spreader bar between her ankles and a second, slightly shorter, to her collar and then her wrists. At first I fastened it behind her neck but she whinged and I relented, re-fastening it in front. After all, it was not my purpose that she should not be comfy – just that she should not be capable of interfering.
She closed her eyes. I dribbled a little wax on the inside of her thigh. She seethed. I let the dribble move closer until a steady two or three drips per second (these Spa candles burn fast – another advantage in my book) was dripping onto the top of her business end and dribbling down a little further before it solidified, creamy white. At this point she was roaring and I was ignoring it.
For twenty minutes or so I dribbled the pool of first one candle, then it’s twin, onto my darling’s lotus until the whole thing was covered by a carapace of wax, around 5mm thick. We’d used more than half of both candles.
I took pains to make sure I did not just create another layer, but always covered some fresh flesh too: we didn’t want the bellowing to stop, did we?
But, I could see her becoming more uncomfortable (more from the bondage than the wax) than I desired, so I let her blow out the tormenting flames and released her legs and arms. And took a gentle finger to lady jane. She moaned – but quite differently to the angry hippo bellows drawn from her by streams of hot wax.
“Is that nice?” I asked. Fervent nods. Sighs through half-parted lips. “would you like to try?”. “Yesssss”.
She took three fingers and began to rub the wax back to a state of warm translucency. I gently bent away two of the fingers, reminding her that this was a spectator sport and not for her satisfaction, and let her carry on for just a little while.
Then we started to strip the wax. Most came away in a single chunk – a sort of plug (I think, someday, she may be taken out in this condition: It would amuse me greatly). And I got my memento – the wax cap clasping her clitty came away easily and now resides in my treasure box, along with two nipple moulds from an earlier session.
Some of the bits running along each side of her slit refused to budge though, caught on unshaved hairs. I volunteered to deal with them and just pulled hard (and fast – most unsubtle). The bellows were the evening’s best.
We cuddled, we talked. She obviously wanted to play with her clitty again. “Was it strange? I asked, “when it was covered with wax”.
“Uh-huh: It didn’t feel like it was me doing it, not quite – it felt like we’d been separated. It was good. Different – but good”.
“Would you like to do it again?”. Vehement nods. “Now?” “Mmm – err, yes” she said, quietly and unsure whether she’d be allowed the privilege. I re-lit a candle.
Originally posted on Informed Consent, May 09.
A dominant and submissive life 