The Esthetician Who Gave Me Much More Than Waxing

The beauty salon was right across from my building, no more than four meters away if I crossed the street diagonally. It was one of those conveniences that end up changing your life without your realizing it. I’d been getting waxed there forever, even though it hurt and I never quite got used to it, because it lasted so much longer than shaving and I hated the feeling of a razor.

The girl who looked after me was called Marina. And Marina was, quite simply, smoking hot.

It wasn’t just her body, though that too. It was the way she moved around that small room, confident, unhurried, as if every gesture had a purpose. I had never considered myself a lesbian, not even bisexual, but with her something inside me lit up that I had never felt with any other woman. And I think she noticed.

There had always been a strange tension between us. We talked about everything while she pulled the wax off me, and somehow the conversation always ended up drifting toward sex. She told me what she did with her boyfriend, I told her about mine, and we laughed with a complicity that was not entirely innocent. I’d leave there horny, and more than once, when I got home, I’d touch myself thinking about her hands.

One day I had an appointment due, so I called her.

“I’ve got a free slot tomorrow in the middle of the afternoon,” she told me. “Come then—I won’t have anyone after. We’ll be more relaxed.”

I didn’t give it much importance.

Or I wanted not to.

***

The next day I crossed the street with that mix of nerves and curiosity I couldn’t quite explain to myself. Marina showed me straight to the back room, closed the door, and explained that the previous client had canceled, so we had an hour and a half to ourselves.

“Do I do the usual?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered, and then I worked up the nerve. “But if you have time, wouldn’t you give me a massage too? I’ll pay you the same, my back is wrecked.”

Marina smiled in a way I hadn’t seen before.

“For the same price,” she said. “But get completely undressed, I work with oil and I don’t want to get your clothes dirty.”

I took everything off without thinking too much about it, though I felt her gaze run over me a second too long as I left my clothes on the chair.

***

She started with the wax. Lying down, with her bent over me, the tension in the room was so thick you could almost touch it. Every time her fingers stretched my skin to pull the strip away, I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t give myself away. I was wet, and she couldn’t have failed to see it. But nothing happened. She finished, cleaned off the residue with a warm cotton pad, and asked me to turn over onto my stomach.

The massage began softly, professionally. Shoulders, neck, the upper back. She had firm hands that knew exactly where to press. She worked her way down slowly, vertebra by vertebra, to my waist, and from there to my legs. She went back up along my thighs. And when she reached the edge of my ass, she stopped.

“Shall I keep going upward?” she asked in a low voice.

I stayed quiet for a few seconds. My heart was pounding.

“Yes,” I said at last. “Do whatever you want. I’m really stressed.”

We both knew I wasn’t talking about stress.

***

She began to touch my ass little by little, carefully, as if testing how far she was allowed to go. I let myself go. Her hands grew surer, kneading, parting me just slightly, and I liked that far too much. She didn’t go higher. She stayed there, working that same spot, and little by little a finger drifted lower, brushing me exactly where I wanted to be touched.

I could feel it. I could feel that she wanted more and was only waiting for the signal. Without saying a word, I spread my legs a little, letting her in.

That was all she needed. She started to caress me over the fabric, just barely a caress, still pretending it was part of the massage. I didn’t say a word; on the contrary, I buried my face in the table and let out a sigh. When she saw I wasn’t stopping her, she stopped pretending. Her fingers slid between my folds, slowly, and suddenly I felt one go inside.

“Do you like that?” she whispered.

“Yes,” I panted. “Don’t stop.”

She pushed in a second finger. Then I turned my head, looked for her face, and found it flushed, breathing hard just like me.

“No, not like that,” I told her. “Turn around so I can see you. I’m loving this.”

***

I rolled onto my back. Marina took off her robe without being asked and kept going, now with three fingers, which slid in effortlessly from how wet I was and the oil still on my skin. I was moaning without holding back, gripping the edge of the table.

“Do you want to come?” she asked.

“Of course I do,” I answered. “But I want your tongue too. Here.”

She didn’t protest. Without pulling her fingers out, she lowered her head and started licking my clit while she filled me with another finger. I felt her tongue moving in circles, pressing exactly where I needed it, and the combination dragged me under almost at once. With her other hand she squeezed one breast, pinching the nipple, and between that and her mouth I came once, and almost without a pause a second time, trembling all over the table.

Only then did she pull her fingers out and bring them to her mouth, looking me in the eyes as she sucked them.

***

I couldn’t stay still. I sat up and launched myself at her mouth. I kissed her hard, with an urgency I had never felt before, and my taste was still on her lips. It was the first time in my life I had kissed a woman, and I discovered I liked tasting myself in her even more. We stayed like that for a long time, devouring each other, not breaking apart.

When I finally pulled back, I stripped her completely. I loved her body: she had breasts similar to mine, but with bigger nipples, dark and hard, and seeing them like that made me even hotter. I started sucking them while gently pushing her down until she lay on the table.

“Now I’m the one giving the massage,” I whispered in her ear. “But with my tongue.”

Marina let out a broken sigh and opened her legs.

***

I went down slowly, leaving a trail of kisses over her stomach, and began to work over her again and again with my tongue, unhurried, listening to her breathing grow faster. After a while she asked me to finger her. I slid in two fingers, then three, going in and out faster and faster while I kept my mouth on her. I could feel her tightening around me.

“I’m coming,” she gasped. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

I obeyed. I quickened the pace, sucked hard, and she came apart with moans, arching up, telling me dirty things in my ear that only turned me on more. When she went still, I pulled my fingers out and brought them to my mouth. The taste of another woman was different, intense, and I liked it much more than I’d expected.

***

I thought that was the end of it, but Marina got up, went to her bag, and came back with a double dildo, long, one of those made for two. She showed it to me with a half smile.

“Want to try it together?” she asked.

By then I didn’t care about anything. I was so turned on I would have done anything with her. I took one end, she took the other, and we moved closer until our cunts were a handspan apart, joined by that thing that filled both of us at once.

We started moving, scissoring in a rhythm we found immediately, and it was a sensation I had never experienced before, not with any man. Every thrust from her reached me, every movement I made made her moan. We held each other’s gaze, panting, calling each other names under our breath as a game, until we both came almost at the same time, clinging to each other.

***

We pulled the dildo out and each of us cleaned our half with our mouths, laughing like a pair of kids. We still didn’t have enough. We lay down again, went into sixty-nine, me underneath and her on top, and feeling her breasts against mine and her cunt so close to my mouth set me on fire all over again. I fingered her again even though she only asked for my tongue; she did the same to me. We kept going like that until we came again, by then completely losing count.

I figure we were at it for close to an hour. She was the one who stopped, glancing at the wall clock.

“I’ve got to get everything ready,” she said, still breathing hard. “The next client won’t be long.”

While we dressed, she confessed she hadn’t expected things to go like that, that she’d loved it, and that she wanted to repeat it.

“Next time I won’t charge you,” she added.

“Gladly,” I told her. “But find yourself a quiet slot. My boyfriend comes home without warning, and I still don’t dare tell him anything.”

Marina smiled and pushed a lock of hair out of my face.

“The day it’s time for your wax, we’ll take it slow,” she promised.

We saw each other again. But that’s another story, and I’ll tell it another time.