"the sound of an epilator should make any girl wet" ~ Jenna Davis (Domme)
My freespirited hippie mother led me to believe that shaving was "unnatural," and I believed it at the time because I only ever witnessed her shave her pits or legs on a few very rare occasions during my entire childhood. My very first female lover, however, had a different viewpoint on women and shaving. Christina was a somewhat older woman, in her mid-twenties. She explained to me early in our relationship that dominant women should always have pubic hair while submissive women should always be clean shaven for their owners... at least that was the lesbian mindset in my hometown when I entered the lifestyle in the early nineteen-nineties.
Miss Christina worked with my mother at the local textile mill, and we often met at our family backyard gatherings or at workplace picnics. My mother was much older than her by a large number of years, and I think she looked at the red-haired woman more as a younger sister than her equal peer, but they seemed to get along well, despite their age difference. Never once did I think that I would end up in Miss Christina's basement, tied to a table, fully naked and exposed. Yet, here we are just a few years later, days away from my nineteenth birthday with my arms now pulled back (revealing my unshaven pits), my legs raised and spread, fastened to bolts with quick release clamps to chains dangling from her basement rafters.
"I am glad you finally made up your mind... raise your hips, dear."
Using the chains as a support and pushing downwards on them with my bound ankles, I attempt to raise my hips quickly, wanting to be as obedient and compliant as I could be. As I struggle in the restraint to keep my hips raised, Christina starts to manoeuvre a large, custom-made leather pillow underneath the arch of my back. My unkempt and hairy cunt and ass are now fully raised, no longer allowing my bum cheeks to touch the wooden table top. With the pillow in place and my hips elevated, Miss Christina starts fiddling with the chains and leather straps. She reaches down below the table and brings up a spreading bar, which she skillfully inserts between the chains. The leather around my ankles feels tighter now with the bar in place, and the sexy black mule heels that she bought me as a birthday present the year before have now been removed from my feet and dropped to the floor.
