The Esthetician’s Table Changed Everything

Camila had planned the trip with her friends for months. Five days on the coast, no work, no schedules, nothing but the sun and the sound of the sea. With a week left before they left, she got an idea stuck in her head: for the first time, she wanted a full wax, the kind done in a serious place, not with lukewarm drugstore wax and a crooked mirror in her apartment bathroom.

She searched online until she found a salon right downtown with good reviews and photos of an interior that looked more like a spa house than an ordinary beauty parlor. She booked an appointment for Thursday in the middle of the afternoon, when the city starts to slow down.

The place smelled of eucalyptus and something sweet she couldn’t quite identify. She was greeted by a woman with black hair, so dark it flashed blue under the light, and green eyes that held on her a second longer than necessary.

—Hi, I’m Renata —she said, extending her hand—. You must be the five o’clock appointment.

—Camila —she replied, and felt Renata’s hand, firm and warm, around hers.

Renata was in her early thirties. She was slim, with slow, assured movements, like someone who was never in a hurry for anything. She had an air of calm that Camila found strangely magnetic, almost unsettling, as if the woman knew something she didn’t yet.

—It’s my first time doing something like this —Camila confessed as she followed her down a hallway with sand-colored walls—. The full wax, I mean. I’m a little nervous.

—That’s normal —Renata said without turning around—. Most people come in tense and leave floating. Trust me.

The private room was small and warm. A waxing table in the center, a low lamp, a shelf with jars of wax and oils. Renata closed the door with a soft gesture and asked her to take off her clothes from the waist down and lie back, saying she’d cover her with a towel.

Camila did as told. She lay on her back, her heart pounding harder than the situation justified. Renata returned, washed her hands, and sat on a small stool at one side.

—Ready? —she asked.

—Ready.

***

The first contact was professional, precise. Renata applied the warm wax to her leg with a spatula, pressed on the cloth strip, and yanked it off in one clean pull. Camila held back a groan more from surprise than pain.

—Too much? —Renata asked.

—No, it’s fine. I thought it would be worse.

—Almost everything we imagine ends up being worse in our heads than in reality —Renata said, and something in the way she said it made Camila look at her.

They kept talking as the work went on. They discovered they’d studied at the same university, two years apart. That they’d both had the same unbearable Literature professor. That they liked the same books, the kind you don’t admit out loud that you read. The conversation flowed with an ease that left Camila defenseless.

—I’ll confess something —Renata said while running a cold cotton pad over the freshly waxed skin—. I’ve always thought this, done properly, can be one of the most sensual things there is.

Camila swallowed.

—Really?

—The skin gets so awake… —Renata slid two fingers along Camila’s thigh, right where she’d just worked—. Feel that? Every nerve ending is on edge.

Camila did feel it. She felt the path of those fingers like a current climbing up her leg and settling in her belly, exactly between her legs, where she was already getting wet without permission. She should have said something, set a boundary, remembered she was there for a routine appointment before a trip. She said nothing.

—Show me —she asked, and her voice came out lower than she meant.

Renata smiled. It was a slow, unhurried smile, the same smile as someone who never rushes anything.

***

Renata’s hands changed professions without warning. What had been a technical massage became a caress. Her palms went up and down Camila’s legs, spreading toward the inner thighs, stopping just before the place where Camila wanted them most.

—Tell me if you want me to stop —Renata murmured.

—Don’t stop.

Renata leaned in and placed a kiss on the taut skin of Camila’s thigh. Barely a touch of lips, warm, which made Camila arch her back. Then another, a little higher. And another. Each kiss was a question and each silence from Camila was the answer.

The towel slid to the floor. Neither of them picked it up.

Camila opened her legs without thinking, offering herself completely. Her freshly waxed thighs gleamed under the low light, and her cunt showed swollen, the lips already parted and a sheen of moisture running in a bright thread down to the crease of her ass. Renata let out a rough sigh at the sight.

—Look at you —she whispered—. So soaked.

And she ran the tip of one finger along the whole cleft, from bottom to top, very slowly, gathering that wetness and carrying it to the clit. Camila moaned so loudly that even she was surprised. Renata did it again, and again, drawing tight circles right on the swollen tip, until Camila began moving her hips against that hand, searching for it.

—Please —Camila panted.

—Please what?

—Bite me, suck me, do something, don’t leave me like this.

Renata sank down between her legs and drove her mouth into Camila’s cunt without preamble. Her tongue came in flat, broad, licking her from the entrance to the clit in one long sweep that tore a choked cry out of Camila. Then the tip of the tongue focused on the clit, circling quickly, tightly, while two fingers sank into her with a wet, shameless sound.

—God, yes, like that —Camila babbled, burying her fingers in the woman’s black hair—. Don’t stop, don’t stop.

Renata fingered her with a firm rhythm, curling them upward, searching for that spot Camila barely knew. Each thrust brought a filthy squelch that filled the room. The tongue never left the clit for a second, sucking it, pressing it between her lips, releasing it, coming back. Camila felt her legs melting, the inner skin of her thighs trembling out of control.

—I’m about to come —she warned through clenched teeth—. Renata, I’m about to come in your mouth.

Renata moaned against her cunt, and that vibration was the last push. Camila felt her whole body gathering into a single point, a pressure that kept building until there was no way to hold it any longer. The orgasm tore through her long and deep, in waves that jolted her pelvis against Renata’s face, and she bit her arm to keep from screaming in that thin-walled private room. She felt the fingers inside her clenching with her own contractions, and Renata sucking everything that came out of her, not letting go, swallowing.

When she opened her eyes, Renata was looking up at her with those lit green eyes, mouth shining, chin wet.

—I told you to trust me —she said, and ran her thumb over her lower lip.

Camila pushed herself up on her elbows, still breathless, and looked at her with new clarity.

—I want more. I want to taste you.

***

Renata stood up and, without breaking eye contact, unfastened her apron and let it fall. Underneath she wore almost nothing: a black bra holding in a pair of small tits with dark nipples, and matching panties already stained at the crotch. She took everything off with the same deliberate slowness as everything else she did, revealing a slender body, pale skin, a narrow waist, and a shaved cunt that matched hers. Camila watched without hiding it, surprised by the direct desire that seeing another woman like that awakened in her, so raw, so available.

—Make room —Renata said, and climbed onto the table.

They lay on their sides facing each other, and for a moment they only looked. Then Camila kissed her. It was a kiss unlike any she knew, without the clumsy urgency of other times, a mouth that knew how to wait and that still tasted of herself, of her own release. Their tongues sought each other slowly while their hands began to explore new territory.

Camila dared. She lowered her mouth to Renata’s breast and trapped one nipple between her lips, sucking hungrily. Renata let out a deep moan and pushed Camila’s head so she wouldn’t let go. Camila switched to the other one, bit it lightly, rolled it with her tongue, and moved down the flat belly leaving a trail of kisses, nips, saliva.

—Open your legs —she asked, and didn’t recognize the voice that came out of her.

Renata obeyed. She settled onto her back, bent her knees, and let them fall outward, offering her open, pink, shining cunt. Camila stared at it for a second, memorizing it, then leaned in and ran her entire tongue from bottom to top, just as Renata had done to her. The taste surprised her: salty, thick, very alive. She liked it so much she licked her again, and again, going deeper each time, until she pressed her tongue into the entrance and felt it tighten.

—Suck my clit —Renata panted from above—. Hard, don’t be afraid.

Camila did. She enclosed the small bud between her lips and sucked it, while her hand went up and shoved two fingers inside in one thrust. Renata arched her back and swore. Camila moved her fingers the same way they’d been moved on her a little while ago, curling them, searching for that spongy spot inside, while her tongue never left the clit.

—Like that, like that, don’t stop, faster —Renata murmured, grabbing Camila’s hair with both hands, forcing her face deeper.

Camila learned fast. She learned to read the broken breathing, the way Renata’s hips searched for her mouth, the moment to speed up and the moment to hold steady. She slipped in a third finger and felt her open around them, dripping, getting her whole hand wet. Renata started moving against her in a desperate rhythm, her tits rising and falling, her belly tight.

—I’m coming, Camila, I’m coming, keep going, keep going —she moaned, and dug her nails into Camila’s shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

When it hit, it came with a deep moan that Camila felt vibrate against her own face. Renata’s cunt clenched around her fingers in long spasms, soaking her chin, her neck, even her tits. Camila didn’t let go until she felt the body beneath hers go completely slack.

She crawled up Renata’s body and kissed her, mixing her own taste into her mouth. They stayed still for a moment, tangled together, breathing as one.

—I don’t usually do this with clients —Renata said, with a faintly guilty smile, still breathless.

—No? —Camila arched an eyebrow.

—Almost never. —She brushed a strand of hair from Camila’s forehead—. But there are people who walk through the door and you just know.

***

It didn’t end there. They found each other again on the narrow table, with less fear and more hunger. Renata turned her face down and bit one ass cheek, then the other, and opened her cunt with both hands to run her tongue the whole way from there back to Camila’s cunt. Camila clutched the edges of the table and buried her face in the disposable paper, moaning softly, feeling the tongue entering from behind and the fingers filling her again from the front.

After that they arranged themselves in scissors, each with one leg over the other’s, both cunts pressed together, wet, grinding. Camila discovered that friction as if someone were showing her something new about the world: clit against clit, two wetnesses mixing, a sticky sound every time they moved. They pushed against each other, first slowly and then harder and harder, searching for the angle, gripping each other’s thighs to pull the other closer.

—Look at us —Renata panted—. Look how we’re both dripping.

Camila looked and almost came from that alone: the two soaked crotches rubbing shamelessly together, the lips open, the cunts swollen. She pushed harder. Renata pushed back. They found a rhythm they hadn’t discussed, foreheads pressed together, their names turning into whispers and then into choked cries.

The second orgasm found them almost at the same time, and this time neither bothered to stay quiet. They came against each other, trembling, thighs shaking and the table creaking under their combined weight.

Afterward they lay there for a long while in silence, embraced, with the lamp’s low light casting shadows on the sand-colored walls and the smell of sex mixed with eucalyptus.

—I have to finish the wax —Renata said at last, and they both laughed like girls.

She did. She finished the job with her usual calm, as if nothing had happened, except that every now and then her fingers lingered a second too long on Camila’s skin, and Camila felt that all of her remained awake, on the edge of every nerve ending, exactly as she’d been promised. When the time came to wax her cunt, Renata parted her with two fingers, blew on the wax to cool it, and pulled out the last hairs with a precision that made Camila tremble again. At the end, she spread a warm oil with the flat of her palm, and lingered just a little longer than necessary over the now-clean clit, smiling.

When Camila stepped out into the hallway, dressed again, Renata handed her a card.

—In case you want to repeat the experience —she said—. The waxing, I mean.

Camila tucked the card into the back pocket of her pants.

—I’ll be back in a week, as soon as I get off the plane —she replied.

She went out onto the street with her skin burning, her panties stuck to a cunt that was still throbbing, and a smile that didn’t leave her face all night. Her friends were going to notice something different about her during the trip, she was sure of it. But that, what had happened that afternoon on the table, she wasn’t planning to tell anyone.