Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 73013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I felt desperate to turn my eyes away. I managed to raise them a little, to April’s face in the mirror, in hope she hadn’t seen me looking there. To my distress, April smiled back at me.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You do get used to it, but… well, you never really get used to it.”
Reba said, from right in front of me, “Go ahead and raise this knee for me.” I shuddered at her touch on my bare right knee, underneath to guide it upward.
The thought that April hadn’t really gotten used to it… that she would in a few moments see me the same way I had seen her, made me frown deeply as I helped Reba put my knee in the right stirrup.
April kept talking, as if to reassure me.
“So the thing you probably need to know, first of all, is that the New Modesty… well, they pretty much know everything.”
The distractions around me seemed calculated to make it impossible to pay attention to April’s words. The sensation of Reba raising my knee and easing it into the strange-feeling confinement of the stirrup… the sight of April’s pussy and bottom spread open in the mirror… the humiliating knowledge that my body had once again begun to betray me with its response to my husband’s authority, even with him far away and unreachable… they all seemed likely to keep me from following my new friend’s unexpected words.
Yet despite all of it—or maybe even because of it, because my mind needed so desperately to find a way to escape from it—I found myself paying rapt attention to April’s voice. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see the mirror and carry on the impossible battle to stay focused on April’s face rather than her intimate secrets, or, worse, the sight of Reba spreading me open the very same, terribly shameful way.
“Don’t ask me how, exactly. I mean, obviously because Selecta has, like, all the data in the world… and Scott tells me that the corporate laws pretty much let them do whatever they want with it.”
I felt Reba fasten something around my knee. My eyes flew open.
“What…?” I started. “What are…? Why?”
Reba looked back at me with a little smile, as her hands finished fastening the Velcro of the webbing strap just above the bent kneecap. I shuddered violently, but she seemed not to notice, or not to care.
“For your first time, Mrs. Williams,” the aesthetician said. “That’s the way we do it here, even when we don’t have to put you in the chair.”
“But—” I tried.
“To hold you still,” April said. “It makes it a lot easier for Reba to make sure you’re as smooth as she can get you when you’re not squirming.”
Butterflies filled my tummy. My whole body trembled, but Reba simply took gentle hold of my other knee and started to raise it toward the left stirrup.
April kept talking, though, as if I hadn’t interrupted with my foolish protest over being strapped into the chair, integrating her last remark into the flow of her story about Rocky Falls and the New Modesty.
“So, like, maybe Selecta knows, from, like, all their data about social networks and salons and day spas and whatever… they know that young brides having their first Brazilians will squirm a lot, and they know that makes it harder… so they tell New You, which is obviously part of Selecta just like the New Modesty itself is…”
I hadn’t closed my eyes. I couldn’t. I watched Reba fasten the strap around my left knee. In the mirror, I could see her back in the blue aesthetician’s uniform apron thing. In front of me, I could see the pleasant-faced woman herself, just past where the terrycloth robe still managed to cover me. The fabric had ridden high up onto my thigh but the loosely knotted belt around my waist had kept the robe from opening completely and showing everything to Reba, April, and—worst of all, it suddenly seemed to me—the mirror.
Reba rose from her stool, her hands reaching to either side of me. I felt my eyes go wide in confusion. Instinctively—and absurdly—my body tried to escape, my backside pushing against the chair to attempt to stand up despite the fact that my knees were going nowhere. Reba took the two straps to either side of my waist and brought them across my belly.
“Just sit back and relax, Mrs. Williams,” she said, and fastened the stout straps with enough force to enforce the command to sit back, if not the one to relax.
“Anyway,” April continued, as if her new friend hadn’t just been strapped down to have her pussy bared for her husband’s pleasure, “they know us—Scott says they know us, like, you and me, better than anyone else.”
“What?” I asked, letting April’s story provide an apparently sane point of focus for my reeling mind. “Who?”