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Her lips spread into a gentle smile and I know I have pleased her with my answer of not requiring a softer play surface for our cautiously plotted scene. And that’s truly what I want more than anything else in this world—to please Mistress. Yes, I am but a plaything—a body to be used as a canvas in whatever way Mistress feels fit. But knowing that I am succeeding in even the simple job of bringing her pleasure is enough for her small crumbs of praise to feel like giant boulders of affirmations. I so greatly yearn to hear this praise peppered between the naughty, often demeaning things that come along with our shared type of play.

Tonight, the rest of the room is free of plush surfaces which could be easily flammable. Not quite medical in style, but surely sterile and clean. The lights can be adjusted to include everything from harsh, translucent overhead lighting to blacklight, making for a spectacle of sight and vivid colors. And though tonight there is no open flame, a fire extinguisher stands nearby as well as a bucket of warm water, always ready as added layers of protection for anyone brave enough to use the play space.

Mistress sets out paraffin wax warmers and fills them with various colored wax as I dutifully position myself on the table, presenting my back as her first canvas to use as she sees fit.

The anticipation begins to build.

But truly, it has been building for much longer.

Since the idea of hot wax sluicing down the sides of my body first entered my mind. Since the first time I pushed my finger into a still-lit candle that sat upon the family coffee table, earning the disapproved words and glances of family. Since I found that the only time in the world that my mind settles enough to quiet the demons in my head is when I’m being used as a canvas for an unnamed stranger I’ve never met before and will never meet again.

“I'm going to place my hand on your back.”

Of course, I know it's coming. I know that Mistress is about to touch my skin. Yet when her cool, steady hand gently caresses my bare back, I feel nothing but an electric current as it courses through every inch of my entire body.

“Tonight, you are not to speak unless I ask you a direct question. Is that clear?”

I nod my head where it rests on the table, nearly afraid to speak but knowing this is one of the few times I will be allowed to use my voice. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good girl. Now tell me, what is our safe word system for tonight?”

“We will use the stop light system, Mistress. Green if everything is okay, yellow if I need you to slow down or check in, and red to bring everything to an immediate stop.”

Mistress's hands massage my skin. She takes the time to brush hair off of my neck, securing the strands into a clip to keep them away from what will certainly soon be a very messy scene. “As agreed upon, we will be playing with and exploring several sensations tonight. I'll be using a number of brushes and implements on top of the wax itself. If at any time something feels too intense, I need you to speak up. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mistress.” My voice is already but a whisper of need. A taut thread ready to snap with the barest of pressure. “I understand that if I am uncomfortable at any time, I need tospeak up. That you are not a mind-reader and that I am aware of the risks associated with what we are about to do together.”

One hand kneads at my hip, Mistress close to grabbing a handful of my ass while maintaining a modicum of decorum that I wish she wouldn't. “And are you still comfortable with the boundaries we discussed regarding sex, kink, and the separation between the two?”

I know she needs to ask these questions, and that she already knows my answers, but goddamn, how I wish she could hurry the fuck up. My body aches for her hands. For her paint brushes and tools, for her heat and warmth. For her soul that she is about to pour onto and into mine.

“I am comfortable with all the boundaries we discussed, Mistress. You may touch me as you see fit.”

My eyes are closed, but I swear I can hear a smile in her voice when she responds. “You're already so very pliable and we've barely gotten started. Truly, I don't know if this will be more of a treat for you or for me tonight.”

And with that, Mistress dips a glass measuring cup into a pool of purple wax before coating a paintbrush with the moisturizing paraffin. “Shall we find out?”

two

. . .

The Scene

With my eyes on Mistress,I watch as she dips a single finger into the wax. Holding the finger less than three inches from her skin, the paraffin drips as she tests the temperature on herself. Satisfied that she will bring me to the place I need while not causing me any permanent harm, Mistress hums to herself before dipping into the wax with the paintbrush once again.

This time, there is no teasing. No warmup of Mistress's hands against my skin. Instead, the firm bristles of the brush skate across my skin leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

My body chases the heat, unhappy with how fast it cooled. Unhappy with how the moment of peace lasted for no longer than a split second before the endless chatter returned.

Mistress knows that I want more. She can see it in how my body writhes for her touch. In how my lungs release whimpers and moans that my body holds no control over.

“I'm only getting started, sweetheart.” Hot wax straight from the measuring cup drips across my shoulders from nearly ten inches above. It stings, pooling on my skin before Mistress runs her paintbrush through the rapidly cooling wax.

Placing her brush down on the tarp-covered table, she then presses a firm hand into the wax on my back. I can barely turn my head enough from where I lay in position on my stomach to see Mistress where she stands at my side. Yet, I can see a small smile as it plays on her lips. Small pools of warm wax bubble from between her fingers, reigniting the heat as she rubs against my skin.

“Tell me how it feels. What is your level of comfort right now?”

Mistress moves her fingers from the wax, lightly trailing over untouched skin as she waits for my answer.