AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am happy y'all are getting a better feel for who Hamish is. He is being revealed little by little. And I return comments in the comments section because I'll post the next chapter and can't go back to make more edits.
COMMENT FROM SCOOTER TITENBUM--- Sent from a padded room, location unknown and under constant suicide watch. Right eye with a constant tic and uncontrolled trembling to the upper body. Jacket very comfortable despite the tight fit and wondering where all the sharp objects have gone.....
Scooter Titenbum says.....Clouseau....I hate you Clouseau (A2W has been removed from the thought process via constant brainwashing, but insert as appropriate)
I would actually like to say what a complete joy it is to work with A2W. To spend hours batting ideas back and forward, umpteen edits and to then be presented with the FINAL version is heartwarming. To then realize the final edit bears little relation to the previous umpteen edits is not quite so heartwarming. "I just had a few little ideas," she chirps away when I Skype her, "and I had to put them in."
WOMEN....God bless their little cotton socks...
PS...Luvs ya really sweetie. (He's been drinking, y'all! lol)
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They took a seat after Gayle gave the receptionist her name. She was surprised it was as modern as it was, but then again Scots no longer live in the Stone Age. But she couldn't help thinking that.
She was Irish on her mother's side and Scottish on her father's, though his DNA indicated Scandinavian was his most recent common ancestor. Ever since she'd gone to a Renaissance Faire she fell in love with the whole romanticism of early life in Great Britain.
Now that she was actually in a city that had history almost a thousand years old, she realized what a naive idiot she was.
"Nervous?" Hamish asked her, scrutinizing her face.
"Of course I am, Sir."
"Good." He looked at her sternly and sighed heavily.
It's obviously clear he isn't pleased about something, which isn't unusual, she added to her thoughts.
His voice quiet, he said, "Shoulders back, chest out, straighten your back."
Sitting up straight, she remembered his comment about not having the appropriate posture and somewhat relaxed. Then it hit her like a lightning bolt.
It had been nipping at the back of her brain since the night before with his sudden, unexplained outburst. Slowly, ever so painfully slowly, it was becoming clear to her that she should embrace what he had given her and be what he wanted her to be. Remembering the information in the booklet she'd received at The Crucible, she was doing the complete opposite of what a submissive should be.
She thought she was being playful when she'd sass him, and maybe subconsciously wanted to defy him for whatever reason. Retain her independence? Her strengths? Her womanhood? It was only for six months. It wouldn't kill her to make a serious attempt. What harm can it do? she asked herself.
"Sir? Are you still angry with me about Bessie?"
"No." He picked up a magazine and fanned the pages, not even reading it.
Trying another tactic, she started, "Sir, it wasn't intentional. I know I haven't been the best ... submissive, but I don't like that I've ... displeased you."
He shook his head then looked at her curiously. What has gotten into her? he wondered. There was no way he was going to explain his behavior -- his jealousy, protectiveness, losing his bollocks. Even if he could find the right words to justify his behavior, there was no way in hell he could ever say them out loud.
"You haven't. Not yet. You'll know when I am."
Is that when you grab the cattail you keep threatening me with, Sir? she asked to herself.
Before she could reply, a thin, blonde woman, dressed in slacks and a white, long cotton jacket, about the same age as Gayle approached.
"Mr. McDougal, Ms. Boyce. I'm Alana. Come on back."
Gayle noticed a brief, odd glance between Alana and Hamish, but she couldn't read exactly what it meant.
As Gayle stood, so did Hamish. Alana told him, "I'll bring her back out in about twenty minutes."
If she wanted to please him, this was her chance. Another test wouldn't hurt. "I'd like to be with her," he said, "if it's alright with Ms. Boyce." He studied her face to see if she would object.
Gayle didn't have a problem with it; as a matter of fact, she preferred him to be in with her. "It's okay, Alana. I don't mind."
Hamish was pleased. She'd passed.
Alana didn't say anything else, so the two followed her towards the back of the salon, where she opened the door to a small room containing a table covered with a white, clean cloth. A soft scent of lavender filled the room, and a soft, melodic instrumental played under the soothing gurgling of a stream; the extra touches instantly setting her at ease.
Hamish sat in a chair by the business end of the table for a front row and center view. Not knowing exactly which position Alana wanted her to lie down in, Gayle leaned against the table.
"So, is this your first waxing, Gayle?"
"It is," she replied nervously.
"What type of waxing are you having today?" Alana asked. Her accent was clearly English; there was no underlying Scottish tone at all.
"Um, bikini wax," she replied, feeling her blushing cheeks.
"You want a landing strip just above the vulva? A triangle?" Alana asked with no shyness at all.
"No," Hamish chimed in. "No hair at all. Hollywood. And make sure you get her upper thighs. There are a few missed spots there as well."
Gayle could have died from embarrassment. She had no idea what a Hollywood waxing was so she was afraid to ask. She didn't have a say in the matter anyway, apparently.
Alana looked at Gayle as if looking for confirmation from her. When she didn't answer, Alana said, looking at Hamish, "I wouldn't suggest a Hollywood with it being her first time. It's perfectly fine to shave that area around the anus. Maybe after a few treatments, but not now."
Hamish nodded. "Is that something you can take care of?"
"Certainly." Turning to Gayle, she said, "Remove your skirt and panties and lie on your back; keep your bum at the edge of the table. The main thing to do is relax."
While Alana stirred the small pot of wax, Gayle turned away from the esthetician and was faced with Hamish watching her. Something in his eyes made her keep eye contact with him as she lowered the skirt down past her hips to the floor. As she bent to pick it up, the material of the blouse rubbed against her nipples, forcing them to perk right up. Shit. She was starting to become aroused. Hanging the skirt on the hook on the back of the chair, she jumped up on the table and stared up at the ceiling, then said a silent prayer to the Esthetician Goddesses.
"Right," Alana said as she put the wax pot and small cloth squares on a moveable tray at the foot of the table then pulled out a short shelf under the top of the bed. "Keep the bottom of your feet on the edge of this, knees apart as far as you can make them."
Scooting down a little, she was beginning to get tired of taking orders for positions that she knew would cause nothing but pain or embarrassment. Grabbing the sides of the table, she held on tight and closed her eyes.
A second later, the room rumbled with the movement of a chair's wheels on the tile floor before the paper sheet she was lying on crinkled just above her head. Huge hands grasped both cheeks, gently tilting her head up so she was looking right under his chin.
"Ms. Boyce, look at me," Hamish ordered.
She was also beginning to hate hearing those three words: Look at me. When she finally did, she was struck at how soft his expression was as he peered down on her.
"Breathe with me." His voice matched the softness of his face.
She looked at him like he was out of his mind. You try having your ball hairs waxed and see how well you're able to breathe! she thought, trying not to laugh. Once she got that out of her system, she noticed he was exaggerating breathing through his nose then exhaling out of his mouth. Watching him do it several times, she finally matched his technique.
It was a simple yet brilliant instruction, and it worked ... until Alana said, "Now, the wax will be quite hot but it won't burn your skin. Then I'll lay the patch on it and rub it a few times. When I count down from three, I'll pull the cloth right after I say one. That way you can prepare yourself."
"Alana?" Hamish interrupted. "May I speak with you a moment outside before you begin?"
No! Gayle wanted to scream. Tell me first! All she could do was hope he only wanted to tell the woman to be easy on her and make it as painless as possible.
She waited impatiently for their return, and when they finally did come back she didn't like the expression on Hamish's face, nor did she appreciate the slight grin on Alana's lips.
Alana stood between her feet while Hamish took the same stance as before, his hands gently kneading her shoulders to relax her. "Control your breathing." His words were soft; there was no malice to them at all.
Taking one long, deep breath, she held it before exhaling.
"Right. Ready?" Alana asked.
"No," Gayle whined jokingly, but began to breath deeply again.
Hamish promptly placed his palms on the sides of her face and lightly tapped her cheeks with the lengths of his fingers. Whispering in her ear, he reminded her, "I don't expect you not to groan or cry out, and you may close your eyes. Make me proud, little fawn."
She wasn't sure if it was the nickname that he'd said more than once or the calmness and reassurance in his voice, but she mentally prepared herself for the onslaught of unbearable pain. Closing her eyes, she continued to breath in sync with his.
"Here's the wax," Alana announced as she spread the hot, thick blob on an area.
She was right: the heat wasn't too bad, but she moaned from the back of her throat nonetheless. The cloth was placed over the wax then Alana started to count, rubbing her fingers over every part of the square.
"Three ... two ..."
The strip was pulled briskly from her skin, the sound of ripped off flesh reverberated in the small room. An intense, sharp pain shot from her waist to the tips of her fingers to her toes then back to her crotch.
Gayle yelped in pain, grabbing the edges of the table so tight she thought the bones of her fingers would split apart. "Holy fuuuuu ..." she gasped, trying desperately to catch her breath, tears brimming in her eyes. "What happened with one?" she groaned.
"You need not worry. You are in good hands," Hamish comforted her.
If they were good hands it wouldn't have hurt like fucking hell, Hamish! she chastised him mentally. Then it dawned on her that Alana had said she'd pull on one, not two. That damned Hamish! she cursed him. That's what they were talking about outside! I'm putting a laxative in your chicken soup, Mr. McDougal!
Heat returned to her pubic area where new wax was placed. Continuing her thoughts ... Here I was just thinking I'd try to be good and --
