Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Well, I thought as I stripped them down as quickly as I could, he still PM’d me, didn’t he? So they can’t be that unattractive.
The thought stirred up another recollection, of something Mary the photographer had said: how platinum-level sponsors liked to see girls just starting out in SA with their pubic hair. My mouth twisted to the side as I pondered it. Did they—men like Christian G—feel the same way about unattractive panties?
Before and after. Another story, or maybe another aspect of the same story. A sponsor wanted to take an innocent young woman in hand… under his protection… under his wing, maybe.
No… not under his wing. Under his cock.
Frowning at the naughty thought, I dropped my panties on the chair in the corner, atop the romper. I started to clamber onto the table.
Under his cock. Under his firm hand. Under his pounding hips.
Did Christian G mean to tell his own version of my mortifying story—how a wealthy alpha claimed the virginity and the innocence of a hot, naughty girl? How he punished her and used her for his pleasure?
Or… how he took care of her and gave her everything she’d always wanted…
I could see only the ceiling tiles above me, but I had to shut my eyes as if I could somehow keep my imagination from picturing the scenes, alternately too embarrassing to think about and too rosy to believe in.
A knock sounded at the door and Patty opened it. I propped myself up on my elbows with a start and I had to suppress the urge to cover my pussy with my hands, as if I had stripped for no reason and the aesthetician would reprimand me for my shockingly inappropriate lack of decorum.
She pushed her cart in with a reassuring little smile, though, and quickly closed the door behind her.
“You have a date tonight, Leah?” she asked, her attention focused downward on the little pot that must have the hot wax inside it, stirring it with a wooden spatula.
CHAPTER 9
Leah
“Yes,” I said, my eyes fixed on the rather hypnotic motion of the spatula.
“First one here in LA?” Patty followed up. She glanced up at me. “Go ahead and lie back. This won’t take long, I promise—and it won’t even hurt that much.”
Like Mary the photographer, Patty the aesthetician displayed a lot of skill in her job: her easy, conversational tone, which I knew she intended as a way to put me at ease, really did make me feel a sense of familiarity. Despite the newness of the process—and despite its inherently mortifying nature, which I thought I would probably never get over completely—my muscles relaxed enough for me to do as she had said. I lay back and felt relatively comfortable for a moment, looking up at the ceiling tiles once again.
That changed when I felt Patty put a warm, wet washcloth between my legs. I let out an ambiguous little whimper, partly out of surprise and embarrassment and partly out of involuntary pleasure at the sensation. I pushed myself up a little bit, to see her start to rub my pussy with the cloth.
“I’m just going to get your skin nice and clean and warm,” she explained in a gentle voice. “It’s good to get the follicles ready for the waxing and exfoliate your skin a bit. Just relax.”
I lay back again, as much because I didn’t want Patty to see the frown of helpless arousal on my face as because I felt reassured. Once again, though, her voice soothed me, as she continued her flow of light conversation.
“It’s your first date here, right?” she asked, as the washcloth worked its way downward, too close to my clit for me to feel completely calm.
“That’s right,” I said, my voice sounding hesitant and uncertain to my ears.
“Go ahead and spread your legs for me, Leah,” Patty said in the same easy tone. “Raise your knees, too, and hold them apart. Good-looking guy? You’re platinum level, right?”
I bit my lip and swallowed hard. For a moment I couldn’t move, but then I let Patty’s obvious comfort with the humiliating situation take me over. I pulled my knees up and put my hands behind them. I felt terribly exposed, thinking about what the aesthetician could see—even more than the intimate pictures showed.
The washcloth moved downward. It felt much, much too good, and just as in the photo session the shame and the arousal seemed to feed off one another in an unwelcome cycle of sexual need. I had to open my lips wide so that my ragged breathing wouldn’t make itself completely obvious.
“It’s okay to feel a little aroused,” Patty told me matter-of-factly. “It happens to a lot of my clients, especially the ones from SA. Seems like platinum-level girls most of all. Okay, you can put your legs down.”