The Waxing That Changed Everything with My Esthetician

It was eight o’clock when I pushed open the studio’s glass door. The air inside smelled of almond oil and warm wax, that same scent I’d been associating for months with a tingling at the nape of my neck every time I stepped into the place. Soft piano music through the speakers, low light, the curtains half drawn. All too calm for an eight o’clock client.

Soledad was behind the counter, her white robe buttoned all the way up to her neck and her hair pulled into a high ponytail. She looked up from the tablet and gave me that crooked smile she’d been doling out to me in tiny doses for months.

—Hi, Romina —she said, almost in a whisper—. Ready?

—Ready for whatever —I answered, and immediately regretted the tone. Or not.

I was back from Cartagena with my skin still golden after three weeks of sun, salt, and catamaran rides. She noticed before I’d even finished closing the door. She came closer at a slow pace, looked me up and down, and let out a low whistle.

—What a beautiful tan you’ve brought back, woman.

Her fingers brushed my forearm, climbed to my shoulder, supposedly comparing my tone with hers. Her nails sent an electric tingle from my elbow to my collarbone. She moved a lock of hair aside with the back of her hand and didn’t even bother pretending otherwise.

—You look radiant.

—It’s been weeks of excess —I laughed, trying to keep my voice from breaking.

She led me to the back room. My floral dress followed behind her like a whisper. The treatment bed was ready, with the freshly ironed white sheet and the small pillow at the end. On the chair, the disposable panty wrapped in plastic. I looked at it, left it where it was, and turned my head toward her.

—No panty today —I told her.

She arched a brow.

—Oh, no?

—Full today.

She held my gaze a second longer than was reasonable and turned to prepare the jars. I undressed slowly, too slowly, knowing that in the mirror at the back she was following every movement. First the sandals, then the dress over my head, then the bra. When I removed the last piece, the air conditioning raised goosebumps on my skin and my nipples tightened before she even turned back around.

I lay down on my back, arms at my sides, trying not to let my breathing give anything away. Soledad moved the lamp aside, adjusted the light, and for a moment I felt her simply looking. Not touching yet.

—We’ll start with the eyebrows —she said at last, in a professional voice. Her voice was a little hoarser than usual.

She leaned over me. Her robe parted an inch at the neckline and I caught sight, between the fabric, of the heavy curve of one of her breasts. I closed my eyes, not from pain, from concentration.

—How was your summer? —I asked, just to say something.

—Quiet —she replied, with the tweezers already at my left brow—. Too quiet. I broke up with Damián at the end of June.

I opened my eyes for a second.

—I had no idea.

—I’d been coming for a while. I just needed to make up my mind. —She paused, plucked the last hair, blew on it—. And now I’m discovering I needed more fun than I thought.

I felt heat rise from my belly to my face. My nipples, already taut, hardened even more. She noticed. Of course she noticed.

—You’re cold, woman —she said, playfully, as she moved on to my underarms.

—A little —I lied.

I lifted my arm behind my head so she could work on my right underarm. My breast was fully exposed, offered up, and her eyes made no pretense of a professional route. They dropped to my nipple, traced it, returned upward. The tweezers took a second longer to start moving.

When she finished, she rubbed warm oil on with her thumb and slid her hand along the line of my side, almost brushing the outline of my breast. Each pass of her finger was slower than the last.

—You’ve got two hairs on your nipple —she murmured.

—Yeah?

—Let me.

The first pull wasn’t nearly as gentle as it should have been. I let out a small, hoarse moan that couldn’t pass for surprise. Soledad smiled slightly, without looking up.

—Sorry —she said, sounding not sorry at all—. Let me soothe it for you.

Her fingers closed around my nipple between thumb and forefinger and massaged it in slow circles. Then she spread her palm and covered the whole breast, squeezed it, let it go, squeezed it again. By the time she moved to the other side, there was no excuse left. I didn’t ask for one either.

—Let’s continue with the legs —she said, as if nothing had happened.

But her voice had cracked.

***

The wax ran down my thighs with its usual speed, that efficiency that under any other circumstances would have made me embarrassed to interrupt. Today I wanted her to take her time. And she, without saying it, did. Every pull was followed by a longer, deeper massage. Her thumbs climbed the inside of my thigh and stopped a finger’s width from my crotch, lingering there, pressing, before retreating.

—Turn over, pretty thing —she said softly.

I rolled onto my stomach, elbows pressed into the pillow, knees spread more than necessary. I knew perfectly well what she could see from her position. I didn’t care. I cared that she saw it.

Her hands parted my buttocks with a softness that was almost an insult. The cold air from the machine hit me between the thighs and my whole body broke out in gooseflesh. I felt her finger trace the contour of my back entrance, slowly, as if drawing a circle. It barely pressed. It only traced.

—You’re going to feel heat —she warned.

The wax tore a little moan from me. Before she finished, she blew on the center, a long, slow breath, her mouth too close to the skin. When she pulled the strip away, my body arched on its own. She blew again. Massaged again. Her thumb slid along the crease, lingered a second longer than necessary, and continued.

—Very good, pretty thing —she murmured—. Just like that, very good.

I couldn’t hide anything anymore. My face was buried in the pillow so I wouldn’t release the moan building in my throat. My thighs were shining. She could see it. She had to be seeing it.

When she turned me over again, her eyes went straight to my sex. The smile she gave me no longer had anything professional about it.

—Let’s see that beautiful body —she whispered.

Her finger parted my lips with a delicacy that made me bite my own. It brushed my already swollen clit and I let out the moan I’d been holding back for half an hour.

—You like that —it wasn’t a question.

—It’s just that when you touch me like this… —I stammered—. I’m not made of stone.

—Neither am I.

And she unbuttoned her robe.

The fabric fell to the floor without either of us looking at it. Soledad was naked in front of me, her breasts heavy, her nipples dark and hard, her hips wide, a fine strip of hair leading down to a shiny vulva. I sat up on the bed, took her face in both hands, and kissed her.

The kiss had been waiting for months. It came with teeth, with tongue, with saliva sliding. We devoured each other’s mouths as if we owed one another something. Our breasts flattened together in the middle, nipples brushing, slipping with the sweat already gleaming on our skin. I ran my hands down her back, grabbed her ass, squeezed it, let one finger slip between her cheeks and brush her opening. She moaned against my mouth and bit my lower lip.

—Lie down —I ordered her.

—You do it first —she answered.

I pushed her against the padded chair in the corner and got her on all fours. Her ass pointed toward me, her sex between her thighs, open, wet. I grabbed her buttocks with both hands, spread them, squeezed them, let them bounce. Then I lowered my face and ran my tongue from her clit to the entrance at the back, one slow pass, not skipping a thing.

She buried her face in the chair pillow and let out a long moan.

—Don’t stop —she begged.

I didn’t stop. I licked her whole, slowly. I drank her wetness like I’d gone months without water. When I slid the first finger inside her, she took it all. A second and then a third followed. She moved her hips to meet me, clamping down on them with each thrust. I kept my tongue working above, sucking, letting go, sucking again.

—I’m coming —she warned, her voice broken.

Her orgasm soaked my mouth and fingers at the same time. She trembled all over, her legs went weak, and she collapsed against the pillow with a moan she didn’t care was loud.

***

She grabbed my arm, still panting, and dragged me back to the bed. She shoved me upward with a firm motion and opened my legs. She climbed onto one of my thighs, swung one leg over mine, and lowered her sex against mine. I felt her hot, wet, still throbbing from the previous orgasm. The friction tore a moan from both of us at the same time.

—Look at me —she asked.

I looked at her. We started moving slowly, with our clits meeting on each sway. Every rub shook us. Every thrust of hers pinned me harder against the bed. Our nipples brushed whenever she leaned over me, both pairs equally hard, equally sensitive. Flesh against flesh, wet, noisy, shameless.

—Like this, Romina —she whispered—. Look at me, look at me, look at me.

The orgasm hit me with my back arched and a cry I swallowed halfway through. She came on top of me seconds later, spilling over my stomach, leaving a sticky heat that ran down my side.

We stayed like that for a moment, breathing like two animals that had just been fucked raw. Then she sat up, ran a hand over her forehead, and gave a low laugh.

—We’ve got the last part left.

It took me a second to understand.

—You’re kidding.

—No, I’m not kidding. —She went to the little side table, prepared the wax, still naked—. You paid for a full waxing.

I lay back down. Legs open, breathing still ragged, sex shining and sensitive. When she applied the first layer of wax to my pubis, I flinched. Every pull was accompanied by a kiss on my thigh, a soft bite, a slow lick that soothed the burn.

When she finished, she didn’t settle for the cream. She parted my lips with her fingers and lowered her head again. Her tongue circled my freshly freed clit, sucked it hard, then dropped to the entrance and came back up. She alternated quick sucks with long strokes until she had me panting, fists clenched in the sheet.

—Just like that, pretty thing, just like that.

The second orgasm tore through me more violently than the first. I grabbed her hair with both hands and pulled her against me, hips lifted, legs trembling. She didn’t stop. She drank every last drop, until I let myself fall back as if emptied out.

She gave my waxed cunt a slow kiss and straightened up.

—Now that’s it. Full.

I got down from the bed with my legs still weak. While we dressed, neither of us spoke. The air was too thick with ragged breaths. Before leaving, I stepped closer, took her face, kissed her with tongue, and squeezed one ass cheek over her robe.

—Next appointment you’re the one booking it —I told her.

Soledad smiled slightly, her eyes still dark.

—I’ll be waiting here for you, pretty thing.

I went out into the street with weak legs, skin burning, and the certainty that “full waxing” was going to mean something very different every time I walked through that glass door.