In The Backroom With The Estheticia

My sister wrote in her journal about her perverted waxing experience. Who is so stupid to blab day and night about Ryan Gosling and then make it the password? WTF! So, I'm posting her most intimate story here for the ultimate humiliation. Go see what your colleagues at the Penny Design Agency think about you now.

See after we finished school, we moved in together to save money. Now, she is on an intervention crusade with me. All I have to say is: Never ever fuck with my Xbox again!

Saturday, August 24th

I watched the ferry crossing the plane of dark water in front of Blake Island. The sky was already dark from the clouds of fall drifting in from the Pacific Ocean. The little wave tops were whipped by gusts. A chill crossed my soul only looking outside. The room was warm from the heating. The heating was working only a little. However, it already dried the air presaging how dry and irritating the heater air would become in the midst of winter. That's when I knew I needed a little summer on my inside.

An hour later, I was walking down Pike street. The walking crowd was wrapped up in coats. Knit beanies and statement coats were going strong this fall. With all the pastel colored brown and black coats, I stood out like a sore thumb. I was wearing a white dress with red stencils. The light summer fabric flapped in the gusty wind. To keep the chill out, I had put a winter strength leather jacket over me. I looked like a hoodlum with the contrast of summer dress and winter jacket.

There was a reason to keep any possible clothes friction away. Ha, I'm such a bad ass going for a Brazilian wax. Lissie, in the office, had swooned over how smooth it made her and how crazy the boys go over it. So, I put up with cold gusts cutting into my thighs. The whole area above my brown over-the-knee-boots and below the leather jacket was hurting from the cold. A little sweat dripped down my spine from the hot leather jacket.

Phew, after twenty mintes of walking, I closed the glass door of the beauty salon behind me. My brother hates this place. He complains about the tacky Christmas lights. He frowns upon the old ladies that come her to have three Asian workers massage them, while a fourth works the pedicure. He says that it is all pretend-belief. The whole thing is simply for show to parade around to the other customer what a royal treatment they are getting. The massage girls only use their pointy fingers in the nape of the neck. It's nothing like getting a full body massage from a skilled therapist.

Well, they have the cheapest deals. It's only $20 for a full Brazilian with a coupon. Take that brother: Who is the financially smart one?

A flamboyantly gay Asian man welcomed me at the reception. He snapped his hands as only gays do. His hair was styled in a giant pompadour hair cut with shiny hairspray. His shirt was based on a cubist painting. He batted his Mascara style eye lashes at me.

"Poor child, you finally made it out of that nasty weather. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like a Brazilian wax. I got the coupon right here."

"Jasmine, you have a customer."

A big Asian woman in her forties got up. From the get-go, I knew that she was in charge. She was heavy. Her face looked angry. All the young girls had cute fingernails and flairs in their hair. Jasmine was wearing non-descript green scrubs. Her hair was cut to neck length. It was thick and plain.

"You go to backroom now," she bellowed.

"I have to freshen up in the restroom first."

"Restroom is in the back, too. Opposite to treatment room."

I walked to the back past the parade of green plastic "thrones," the high chairs with the water tubs for the feet. An esthetician chair was in front of the tubs. There was one customer, an old woman with blond hair that was partially wrapped in aluminum foil. There was another customer, a young girl with her jeans rolled up her calves getting her feet exfoliated. Three working girls were eating lunch out of Rubbermaid boxes.

The restroom had cardboard boxes of towels stock piled. There was lots of green plastic. Big, yellow light bulbs lined the mirror. A cheery, "you are a star" banner hung over the mirror. A colorful Asian doll was there for good luck. My long amber colored hair flowed nicely down and over my leather jacket in the mirror image. I popped the two Ibuprofen pills for the pain. I got a moist wipe out of my blue Forever 21 purse and wiped my private parts clean. You don't want any fumes making the esthetician uncomfortable about her work.

"You go in now." Jasmine had been waiting for me in front of the restroom. I was a little startled with how close she stood to the door. I guess the back area was a little crammed.

The treatment room was a small room. A lot of colorful jars stood on the counter. There was an overhead cabinet hiding towels and utensils. The tart smell of wax was heavy in the air. Scrubs of workers were hanging on one wall. I took my jacket off and hung it from a hook.

The door clicked shut behind Jasmine. I slid backward onto the vinyl cushioned treatment table. I slipped out of my over-the-knee boots. I slipped my black Maxi panties down, folded them, and stored them in my purse. My downtown area would be too sensitive to wear them again right after the treatment. I pulled my dress up to my belly. It's always so strange being half naked in front of a stranger.

Her blue-gloved fingers pulled on my skin without hesitation. She felt how taut my skin was. My labia was folded open to see how far the hair growth looped around to the inside of the outer lips. I looked sideways at the counter of jars to disassociate. There was a tea candle light flickering. The flame was licking up into the air with eager and rush flicks. Most of them were white jars with industrial printing. One was colorful with a high-end photography shot of smooth legs and bold colors. That one was my favorite.

"You skin is young and strong. Can use a lot of hard wax. You'll be very smooth."

She had big, strong arms. She stirred a jar of green and a jar of red wax. I felt very stiff and awkward on the table with my knees folded open like a butterfly. My back was tense with anticipation of the pain. Then, the wooden stick spread the first application of wax on the right side. The warm thick paste felt relaxing. I knew it was a false relaxing, a betrayal.

Jasmine stood back waving her hand over the wax to cool it. I could feel the air draft all over my groin. My whole business was folded open for her: thighs, outer lips, inner lips, and my deepest pink. The first one is the worst, I kept telling myself.

"You exhale now."

"No," I stammered in perfect synchronicity with her hand flicking up. Schwizppppp, the strip went high into the air. Sharp pain flew wide open. "Ah," I whimpered quietly.

Her hand pressed down right on my vajayjay. It was a strangely erotic feeling of arousal that was awaken by that. None of the other esthetician had ever touched me like that.

After letting the pain subdue for a few seconds, she lathered on the next line of warm, relaxing wax. The old patch was still throbbing and distracting me from building up anxiety about yank numero dos.

Schwizppppp, that layer of hardened wax was stripped off as well. Her hand pressed down again on my sex. Being emotionally worn from the pain, I surrendered to the erotic feeling of her hand. It felt like tree roots growing from her hand to the painful places.

Right before the third yank, I felt myself longing for the moment, when her hand would press on my vagina to make me feel good.

My head was in a somewhat disembodied state. I no longer thought about my daily life. I no longer composed myself to be a good, well-mannered girl. Pain and sensations were roiling through my head. Everything was overwhelming. I tried to steady my breathing from the pain. Deep breathing helps. My inner thighs were being stretched. I simply surrendered to being handled and containing all the pain, sensation, and arousal silently inside of myself.

The next strip went in a new angle to capture the leftover hair with a different growth angle. "Hard wax now," Jasmine warned me. The liquid wax hardened to a stiff shape that was stimulating my skin, like a snugly fitting jeans or bra. I kind of like that feeling of tug on my skin. Unstoppably, the sting of the yank followed.

This time, when Jasmine's hand touched my sex to soothe the pain, I accidently let out this deep grunt. I was startled myself for shattering the world that I was keeping in to having made a sound. "Good. You start relaxing now," Jasmine said as if she had been waiting for this sign. This time, her hand with heavy pressure rubbed the sensual spot between my clitoris and my cave. I felt inappropriately turned on.

I got lost in a haze of pain and erotic stimulation from Jasmine. There was just this humming in my body. My eyes were closed. Lights were flashing across my eyes. I was breathing deeply – struggling to keep breathing during the painful yanks – struggling to keep breathing smoothly, when her fingers aroused me, and my lungs wanted to pant. I felt so sweaty. Pearls of sweat were collecting around my nose. My cave a sliver away from starting to drip.

Jasmine's fingers were wandering all over my vagina. Her fingers were pulling my right lips across the left lips to stretch the skin taut for a yank. She pushed down on the skin above my clitoris to get a strip in there. I thought about the last boy who had been playing with my downtown area. He had been so soft.

I started loving the pain. My brain was numbed to the high pain spikes. Each yank felt, yes intense, though rather more like making me more aware. And I got so addicted to Jasmine's fingers pressing down on me. I think amid all the heavy breathing and her orders to take a deep breath, my whimpers of pain and sighs of pleasure rolled out of me easier. I was like this constantly huffing, puffing, and sounding girl under her bossy orders.

When the last strip was yanked, I almost begged for more waxing. I felt on the inside like I had left from the last boy at a heavy make out at the bar, who didn't take me home. My whole inner engine was roiled up and running. And there was no release. I was left with that throb in my womb.

"You want back waxed, too? Five bucks extra."

"Oh, yes please!" I gushed. My voice totally betrayed me. I was in this weird state of loss of self-control with the pain and arousal.

"Get on your knees," she bellowed.

I got on my knees. Her firm hand pushed my back down until my chest was hugging the treatment table and my ass was high in the air, like a dog during an invitation to play.

"Spread your behind," she barked. I had to take both hands away from supporting the weight of my chest to pull my ass cheeks apart. My left cheek was pushed against the treatment table to carry the weight of my top. I must have looked like a dork.

Her fingers were pushing against my anal sphincter to ply the medium hard wax. I had been the only person to touch that area so far. Oh, and my childhood doctor put a thermometer there once. One of her hands reached between my thighs. She pinched skin together to grip my clitoris without touching it directly. She used that grip to pull my skin forward. Her other fingers softly needing around my hole to feel the wax setting.

Schwizppppp, I will never forget that sound. Her fingers were gently rubbing my clitoris underneath the two skin folds that she had gathered. Lines were definitely crossed there. This was not necessary. This was no longer a secret, guilty indulgence and innocent touch with side effect. She didn't have the air of a dyke at all. This was her secret trick hidden away in the privacy of the backroom to make customer crazy and addicted. I was too far gone from the pain and pleasure to complain or raise a fuzz. She had carefully worked her innocent touches to be increasingly blatant. I felt like a wrung out wet towel. I just put me over the clothing line to let me dry over a few hours.

When I got on my feet, my knees felt drowsy. After focusing so much attention on my vagina, my vagina was looming larger than real life. I was walking bow legged and all I could think about was how my vagina felt and how warm, dripping, and smooth it was.

"You so beautiful with that flush on your cheeks," said the gay receptionist guy with a charming over the top smile.

"Yeah, I guess I got worked over."

"Yes, Jasmine does excellent work."

I got home and took a long bath with my waterproof pocket rocket. I used up the batteries. Then, I stole the batteries out of my brother's Xbox 360 controller. Hihi, I'm such a badass. All his nagging over dinner was totally worth it. I told him, he needed to go more outside and interact with real people. He was so mad. He looks so cute, when he is mad.