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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.

“Green, Mistress. The wax feels warm and comforting—almost like a hug is wrapping around my body.”

She hums her approval, fingers exploring the curve of my back, the gentle skin under the slope of my neck. “That pleases me greatly. I want to bring you to a place where you are comfortable letting go of everything holding you back, of a place where you are willing to let go of every emotion bottled up inside of your body. But to be able to do that, you have to trust me. Do you think that is something you can do? Trust me?”

My head is nodding slowly before she even finishes. “Yes, Mistress.”

And it is true.

Because somehow, I already know that I do trust her more than I have ever trusted anyone before.

Stepping away from the table, Mistress busies herself, filling several cups and containers with different wax. She returns, setting them on the table next to me. “Look at me, toy.”

I do as she asks, my head snapping to where she stands.

Short red nails come up to pull the zipper-front of Mistress's corset down. I watch as the fabric falls away, leaving Mistress bare from the waist up. Her breasts make me salivate, and Mistress's salacious smile proves that she knows the exact power she holds over my silly, little self.

Mistress holds one of the vessels of wax up for me to see. A pretty pale orange wax that makes me think of fresh, ripe peaches gently sloshes from side to side. Mistress’s steady hand holds the wax above my back where she pours three, four, five small circles.

Surprising me, Mistress climbs on the table with ease instead of continuing to pour.

From my position on my stomach, I cannot see her. Still it doesn't stop me from feeling her strong thighs clad in leather pants and thigh-high boots as she straddles my ass with one of her legs on either side of my body.

Picking up another container, Mistress drips smaller circles around the larger circles. “Flowers blooming across your back, just as the heat from the wax blossoms across your skin.” She bends down, pressing her bare chest against my wax-covered body, spreading the heat between our skin before it cools, teasing me with its brief existence.

Between our bodies, the wax melts, the paraffin creating a sensual, slick feeling as it coats our skin. Mistress mixes the colors of the wax, smudging the flowers into a mess of color and pattern on our bodies, and it is all I can do to wish that they would stay on my body permanently as a reminder of the very moment my mind finally begins to quiet.

“You're so messy,” Mistress says, her voice thick and full of desire.

Her skilled hands trace over my body, dipping between my legs for the briefest of moments. “I bet your cunt is equally as messy, isn't it? Tell me, pet, are you already soaked just from the thought of what's to come?”

She's right on the money, yet I dare not speak.

From her perch above me, Mistress continues her ministrations. She pours wax onto my skin, layering fresh, warm wax over already cooled pools. Lazily, she drags paintbrushes over my skin, tickling my sides and causing me to squirm underneath her solid body.

A sudden burst of ice flashes across my skin, causing me to jolt and breaking the laughter that was bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

“Ah ha, I didn't say you could move, did I?

”

When I don't immediately answer, the same sensation rips across my back again. “Answer me, pet. Did I say you could move?”

I pull in a shaky breath, steadying my racing heart. “I'm sorry, Mistress. I was not given permission to move. It was not my intention to break your rule.”

Mistress catches my eye, holding up a rose quartz roller to the dim overhead light. Mostly used during high-priced facials at upscale salons, Mistress instead chose to freeze hers and my brain quickly works to put two and two together as the sensation of fire and ice colliding replays in my mind.

“I'll forgive you just this once. After all, I suppose I should have warmed you up to the idea a bit first.”

“It was the very opposite of warming me up, Mistress.”

I know it wasn't my place to speak and I immediately regret my words, but when I hear the slight chuckle from Mistress, I know my bratty quip was worth the risk. The sound is both familiar and strange and I long to hear it again the second it stops.

“Still feeling okay?” Mistress traces fingers up and down the backs of my arms. One hand tangles into the strands of my hair that have slowly begun to escape my hair clip. Mistress grasps the strands, applying pressure to my scalp that is enough to have a lust-drunk moan slipping from my lips.

“Yes, Mistress. I feel more than okay. I feel content, loose. Relaxed .”

Mistress bends over my body, her chest pressing against my back. The table is sturdy, not as much as protesting with a groan under our combined weight. I wish we could meld together in this position, a statue of sensuality to be found in the next lifetime by excavators searching for proof of existence beyond their own.

Mistress kisses me where my neck and shoulder meet before sinking her teeth into my flesh. “Let's take you from relaxed to soaring, pet. I want to watch you fly.”

I miss her heat the moment she pushes away from my body, but it is only gone for a millisecond before the sensation is replaced with searing pain. Mistress drags her short nails down my back, peeling back layer upon layer of wax as she does.

If I didn't know better—didn't know that Mistress truly had my best interest in her hands, I would believe she was tearing flesh from my bone, as well as the wax that is undoubtedly caked beneath her otherwise pristine fingernails. I scream out from the sensation, knowing that no one can hear me. Knowing that even if someone could hear my screams of pain and lust, that no one would do a damn thing about them.

I wouldn't want anyone to stop Mistress from treating me like her toy anyway.

Because this is just as much for her as it is for me.

“Crying already?”

Taking stock of my body, I realize Mistress is right. At some point, tears have started to flow.

In a different place and time, I might be embarrassed by the scene I am creating.

But right now, with Mistress's nails digging into my skin and her hot breath tickling the shell of my ear, I'm content to be her toy. Content to be her messy, pathetic plaything.

“Where are you?”

I smile, despite already feeling intoxicated by Mistress's overwhelming power. “Green, Mistress.”

With the same ease in which she first mounted the table, Mistress sets her boot clad feet upon the cement floor. “Turn over, pet.”

Obeying her commands is easy, the smallest bit of praise she rewards me with enough to have me sliding my thighs together, searching for the barest hint of friction. And when Mistress notices, she doesn't chastise me this time, simply laughs a wicked, sinister sound that sends shivers down my spine against the cold table beneath me.

Mistress takes her time, slowly eyeing my body.

And though she uses nothing but her eyes, I swear that I can feel the phantom touch of her hands as she boldly looks her fill.

“You make the most beautiful canvas, pet.”

Slowly, Mistress removes her boots and pants, discarding them on a chair strategically placed within tossing distance of the table.

She keeps on her simple, gray cotton panties, and while most women would find them utilitarian more than aesthetic, I can't help but admire the way in which they frame her body.

She notices my gawking, and as any equally bratty top would, chuckles as I try to avert my gaze in embarrassment. “You don't have to be ashamed, sweetheart. And you are permitted to look as much as you would like. It is only touching that you must ask first.”

With her permission, I take in her body, admiring the way her chest rises and falls with each steady breath she takes. I watch as her hands flex against the table, each muscle and tendon moving together in a way I itch to feel against my skin.

Mistress steps away from the table for a moment. Never truly leaving me alone, she continues to talk to me in low, soothing tones as she refills her canisters and containers. “Lie all the way back for me. Show me all that stunning skin I have to play with.”

Her confidence makes it easy to comply and I find that I'm thankful our scene has me on my back while on top of a table because I would otherwise certainly have sunk to my knees, desperate to please Mistress however she saw fit.

Repeating the process she started with on my back, Mistress tests out the temperature of wax before painting me with an artist's brush. Hot wax pools in my navel, making me hiss in pain before giggling as the sensation of the wax hardening happens before my eyes.

Wax pours over my breasts, the pain sending lightning bolts of lust straight to my cunt. My back bows off the table as Mistress runs a cube of ice over my skin, its cool liquid leaving a trail in its wake. And when she trails the same ice cube between my thighs, circling my clit with the torturously cold cube, I lose control, screaming into the otherwise quiet room.

And the entire fucking time, she smiles.

“Goddamn fucking sadist.”

Fingers close around one of my nipples, Mistress inflicting pain on me worse than any wax she could ever pour across my skin. “I bet you didn't think that you said that out loud, did you, pathetic, little pet?”

My eyes go wide, and that laugh is back, equal parts turning me on while terrifying me just the same.

Mistress drizzles wax over the sensitive skin of my thighs before dragging her fingers through the mess. She rubs the wax into my skin and it's only then that I realize she is wearing black latex gloves.

Again and again she pours wax onto my body, never keeping up a predictable pattern. When I think Mistress is about to pour wax on my leg, she surprises me, drizzling it on my stomach. When I expect a warm sensation to bloom across my stomach, it hits my chest, flooding my cunt with the desire to be filled as the wax seeps across my flesh, trickling down to the plastic tarp beneath us.

My entire body is radiating warmth, a smile stretching over my sleepy face.

And when Mistress crawls over me, massaging my body with her own, I truly sink into another world where the only responsibility I hold is to experience the pleasure Mistress helps me to achieve when we work together toward my release.

I watch dreamily as Mistress removes her latex gloves, her motives becoming clear. And when recognition dawns on my face, she laughs again, and part of me secretly wishes I could capture Mistress in this moment forever at the intersection of where she brings me both exquisite pain and pleasure while commanding my body.

One hand delves into the space between us, quickly finding a place untouched by wax. My thighs spread and I swear to Christ I can feel my arousal as it drips from between my lips. “You made such beautiful noises for me while I was dripping wax over your body. Will you sound just as pretty while I'm making you come?”

God yes, I want to scream, needing relief or release or some reprieve from the assault of sensation placed upon my body by Mistress.

It might have been a quiet mind I was searching for tonight, but at the mercy of Mistress's hands, I found so much more.

Two long, slim fingers easily slide inside my body, my hips chasing the sensation as greedily as my lungs searching for their next breath.

My back stays pressed against the table, eyes slammed shut as Mistress fucks me with long, steady thrusts.

“Open your eyes, pet. Don't hide from your Mistress.”

I do as she says, eager to please, and am rewarded by the feeling of warm wax as it coats my arm. “Atta girl, look how beautiful you look. Like a gorgeous, lust-drunk bottom that deserves to be worshipped and fucked into oblivion.”

Mistress crawls back over my body, never breaking connection with where she is buried deep inside me with her deft fingers. I want to touch her, to feel her skin against my fingertips, but she stops me before I can even get started, insisting that tonight is about me—that tonight is for me.

“I need to start removing some of this wax from your body, pet.”

Though I know to expect it, my breath still catches when Mistress slides the blade of a sharp knife against my skin. With the tip of the knife, she gently loosens wax, allowing it to be safely and efficiently removed from my body. And when she draws the blade across my chest, slowly pumping away inside of me with her left hand while trailing the blade around my areola with her right, Mistress has the audacity to laugh at me when my pussy flutters around her fingers, pulling her deeper inside my cunt.

“God, I love when you're this desperate for me. This desperate to come, this desperate to chase your pleasure. Go ahead, pet, take what you need from your Mistress while I hold my blade against your flesh.”

I can't stay quiet a second longer, only praying she'll take mercy on my soul and my poor, desperate pussy that wants more of her than I have ever wanted from anyone before.

And as instructed, like the good, desperate fucking bottom I am, I take from Mistress, fucking myself on her hand as shards of wax continue to break off of our bodies, falling to the table and floor around us like a cast shattering around a priceless piece of artwork, finally ready to be revealed to the light for the first time in hundreds of years.

With a strength I'll never possess, Mistress pulls me toward her body, one of my legs bracketing either side of her torso. Mere inches separate the heat of her mouth and the warmth of my cunt and I wish, I wish, I wish she would lean down, close the space between us with her lips, and taste the arousal she created with her dirty fucking talk and fuck-me leather boots that I would gladly give my life for.

Skillfully and as safely as possible, Mistress's blade works against my skin, alternating between removing wax and teasing me with the blade. At the same time, I use her left hand for my own pleasure, grinding and sliding and fucking like the desperate pet she believes me to be. And though our time together has been short, I know in my soul that Mistress would never intentionally put me in harm's way whether that be by knife, or wax, or her own commanding hand.

“More, please.” It's all I can manage to pant out, but I'm desperate for it. Desperate for her .

Two more fingers join the two already inside my cunt, my body easily opening to accommodate the size of Mistress's fingers. “That's it, sweet pet. Give me something to remember you by, baby. Give me that sweet, sweet release.”

I couldn't stop the onslaught of tears if my life depended on it, the sob leaving my body as my orgasm rockets through me, nearly blinding in intensity.

I shake, chanting a chorus of Mistress and thank you and I am not worthy of you as I soak her hand in a way that should be embarrassing but instead makes me smile, knowing that no one has ever been able to pull such a reaction from my body in the past while silently mourning that it may never again happen in the future.