And now she wears lacy red lingerie for her older husband.
The robe felt soft and warm. I thanked everything for its cover as I started to pull my simple cotton panties down, bending a little to tug them over my knees. I drew a sharp little breath at the movement of the elastic waistband over the bruises Rick had left on my upper thighs. I had my panties down to my ankles, visible to the other women in the room.
I tried to push all awareness away as I stooped to take my underwear off completely. The sudden pain from my sore bottom as I bent over, though, drew a little whimper from my lips.
It all came crashing into my mind: my whipping, my submission, my husband taking me completely in hand and making his supreme authority over me clear. His belt across my bottom and his cock in my needy pussy, my naughty mouth. His declaration that he wanted me bare and smooth between my legs.
To my horror, I felt the need start to well up inside me, as if the discomfort Rick had left in my backside as a reminder to behave myself also had the terrible power to awaken the dark desires I had wished away that morning. As if his dominance had that power not just in bed, where I had resolved I would resign myself to marital lovemaking and where I had almost played with myself thinking about it—that seemed to me comprehensible. No, I realized with a hot flush that went all over my body, my husband had so awakened that shameful part of me that I could feel it here in this horrid day spa.
I froze at the warmth that had suddenly flooded into my pussy. I felt sure Reba or April would notice something, would ask if I felt alright. I couldn’t look over there; I forced myself to finish the humiliating task of removing my panties. I balled them in my fist, managing to keep myself from even touching the gusset but blushing at the suspicion it might be damp. I fastened the belt of the robe in a loose knot.
I snuck a glance to my right, and I saw that April had sat down on the faux leather upholstered seat of her chair and Reba was guiding my new friend’s knees into the stirrups. They were paying me no attention at all.
“Just hop up into the other chair, Mrs. Williams,” Reba told me, glancing over and pointing to the seat on the right. “I know it probably seems strange that we use these kinds of chairs for waxing, but it makes things easier—especially for new brides like you.”
The sight of April with her legs spread wide made me feel a little faint, though I had a difficult time figuring out why—I wanted to watch, and I wanted to turn away, to see my new friend’s private parts and not to see them.
Above all, though, I suddenly felt a terrible need to cover my confusion; somehow, I had to get some control back. I looked at the chair on the right and I set my face into a neutral mask. I took the two steps that brought me to the platform. If I didn’t do this, the security guard would come back. He would come back, and he would see.
I turned and sat. I winced at the flash of pain from my sore backside despite the softness of the robe’s terrycloth.
You have no choice, the good girl part of me said. As mechanically as I could, trying not to think about it at all, I pushed further back into the chair, until I felt my tailbone come up against the reclining surface of the chair’s back.
I noticed the mirror, then. On the opposite wall, I could see Reba finishing up with getting April settled. I saw her move away, rolling on her stool toward me, revealing, in the glass, all of April’s most intimate places. It took every bit of will I had not to give a little gasp at the lewd sight of my new friend’s pretty pussy. I couldn’t see any hair there at all, thanks—I guessed—to her regular trips here to New You. The very sight of that bareness, down there, on a young wife—a girl older than I was—made my heart race in a terribly ambiguous way. April’s pale outer lips, the hint of the pink inner ones, the wrinkly hood of her clit, and the tiny, rosy ring of her anus all confronted me, a thrillingly visible sign of her submission to her older husband.
I felt desperate to turn my eyes away. I managed to raise them a little, to April’s face in the mirror, in hope she hadn’t seen me looking there. To my distress, April smiled back at me.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You do get used to it, but… well, you neverreallyget used to it.”
Reba said, from right in front of me, “Go ahead and raise this knee for me.” I shuddered at her touch on my bare right knee, underneath to guide it upward.
The thought that Aprilhadn’treally gotten used to it… that she would in a few moments see me the same way I had seen her, made me frown deeply as I helped Reba put my knee in the right stirrup.
April kept talking, as if to reassure me.
“So the thing you probably need to know, first of all, is that the New Modesty… well, they pretty much know everything.”
The distractions around me seemed calculated to make it impossible to pay attention to April’s words. The sensation of Reba raising my knee and easing it into the strange-feeling confinement of the stirrup… the sight of April’s pussy and bottom spread open in the mirror… the humiliating knowledge that my body had once again begun to betray me with its response to my husband’s authority, even with him far away and unreachable… they all seemed likely to keep me from following my new friend’s unexpected words.
Yet despite all of it—or maybe even because of it, because my mind needed so desperately to find a way to escape from it—I found myself paying rapt attention to April’s voice. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see the mirror and carry on the impossible battle to stay focused on April’s face rather than her intimate secrets, or, worse, the sight of Reba spreadingmeopen the very same, terribly shameful way.
“Don’t ask me how, exactly. I mean, obviously because Selecta has, like, all the data in the world… and Scott tells me that the corporate laws pretty much let them do whatever they want with it.”
I felt Reba fasten something around my knee. My eyes flew open.
“What…?” I started. “What are…? Why?”
Reba looked back at me with a little smile, as her hands finished fastening the Velcro of the webbing strap just above the bent kneecap. I shuddered violently, but she seemed not to notice, or not to care.
“For your first time, Mrs. Williams,” the aesthetician said. “That’s the way we do it here, even when we don’t have to put you in the chair.”
“But—” I tried.
“To hold you still,” April said. “It makes it a lot easier for Reba to make sure you’re as smooth as she can get you when you’re not squirming.”
Butterflies filled my tummy. My whole body trembled, but Reba simply took gentle hold of my other knee and started to raise it toward the left stirrup.
April kept talking, though, as if I hadn’t interrupted with my foolish protest over being strapped into the chair, integrating her last remark into the flow of her story about Rocky Falls and the New Modesty.