Dressing

Mark dressed Nikki as if she were a doll or an infant.

He stood her in the middle of the room, her feet hip width apart, her arms hanging at her sides. He stroked her face, gently. “Stay still, girl. Let me see you and prepare you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes communicating her acceptance of his instructions. She was his slave. He had trained her, helped her, taught her, and was now preparing her. She would be willing to follow him and do anything for him. He knew it, and used that knowledge to make her a better slave.

Mark ran his hands up and down her body. Touched her breasts, lifting them, caressing them, making the nipples darken and stand out. “Mmmmm, your breasts are so lovely. I love how reactive they are. Lucky girl.” It was almost as though he was murmuring to himself, but she suspected he was also trying to psych her up for this date, like a coach preparing the team. He knew she responded to his desire. Her confidence grew, she felt more beautiful and more capable, and that made her more beautiful and more capable.

Now his hands were lifting her arms, inspecting her underarms. Then traveling over her hips, caressing the curve of her buttocks. She shifted her weight slightly, pushing her hips out and rotating her femur bones (without moving her feet, she knew better than that!) to open her sex slightly, wanting his touch.

“Steady now girl. We’ll get there.” He was talking in a soothing voice, but he had noticed her desire. Was controlling it, containing it. She was embarrassed, a blush coming to her skin.

“There, there, girl. It’s okay. I like your desire. It’s beautiful. You just need to learn to control yourself a little more.” But now he was crouched down in front of her, she could see the top of his head, and his hands were stroking her legs, verifying that there was no residual stickiness from the wax. Tran had done a perfect job, of course, so Nikki’s legs were smooth, silky, and not at all sticky.

Mark’s face was perfectly level with her pussy. She could feel his breath on her as he slid his had up the inside of her leg. She struggled not to moan out loud, but she felt as if every cell in her body was reaching for him wanting his touch. She felt the surge of wetness as she imagined it. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, as his hand got steadily closer. He paused right before touching. Again, the moan almost escaped from Nikki’s mouth. She could feel an undulation pass through her body, even as she struggled to hold herself steady.

“Yes, girl. Feel it. Fight it. Control it. You want the touch, but you know you must wait for me to decide to give it, it is not for you to ask for it. Good girl.” Mark’s tone was pedagogic, he was, once again, teaching her a lesson.

Even as he praised her for controlling herself, his hand was getting closer. She could almost feel it touching. And then…. Ohhhhhhh…. He did touch. She felt the warmth of his finger sliding between her labia. Felt him entering the warmth and slipping over the slick coating. Felt him caressing her swollen sex.

“Ohhhh…” Her breath came out hard. She didn’t intend to make any noise, but she couldn’t help it. It felt so intensely good to have him touch. Now his fingers were sliding in, two of them. And rotating. She struggled to hold herself steady, to not push her hips forward to slide back and forth on his hand.

“Steady, girl. Breathe deep. We’re not going there now.” Mark’s voice was soothing. Nikki followed his instructions, inhaling deeply into her lungs. Feeling the desire subside, slightly, now like a burning ember. Ready, waiting. But not flaming.

He pulled his fingers out and held them to his nose. “Oh, lovely, girl. You smell delicious, sweet. No sign of that slave boy from this morning. Did Tran clean you out good? You have permission to speak, I want to hear all about it.”

“Yes, Sir. She did.” Nikki hesitated. What did Mark want her to tell him?

“Come on girl. I want details. Tell me what she used, how she used it, how it felt. I want 30 seconds of description, starting now… And talk fast.”

“She cleaned me with a squeeze bottle and a warm solution of vinegar and water. I saw her preparing it. She had me stand with one foot on either side of the toilet, my knees bent, and then she inserted the nozzle of the bottle.” Nikki glanced at the second hand of the clock on the wall. Realized that she had only been talking for about 10 seconds. 20 more to go! “She squeezed to release the water into me. The water was very warm, but she didn’t use too much pressure. I could feel it enter and flow back out of me, splashing into the toilet. She had her other hand on my shoulder to steady me, and it was as warm as the water. But after she was done I felt nice and clean, almost as though I had been polished inside.” That was 28 seconds. She hoped it was enough!

“Good description girl. And I’m glad she used the vinegar. Keep the pH the same, don’t want to be growing any yeast!”

Now Mark was spreading the cheeks of her ass. She wasn’t sure what he was doing, but she was pretty sure it was going to be uncomfortable. Sure enough, he pressed his finger, slick from her pussy, against her anus. “I’m going to check your rectum, see if we need to clean you out again. Relax into my finger, girl. Push.”

Nikki could feel her sphincter muscle. She was getting better at being able to control it, to feel it give way, to allow penetration there. But it was still difficult. She felt him pushing, pressure increasing, and then felt him slide in, with a feeling of relief. She felt the slick warmth, felt full of him, in a way she wasn’t really used to feeling. It felt good.

“Still nice and clean there, girl. You are ready.” Mark was obviously pleased and his pleasure made Nikki beam. Oh, how she loved making him happy. And so simple to do, just being clean inside and out. Being happy to be examined, exposed, penetrated. She was sharing herself, every part of herself. And he was appreciating it. It felt good. Great even.

Mark went and washed his hands, and then she could hear him moving around behind her. He returned with a pair of stockings and pair of incredibly high heels. “Luckily Charles is tall. We can really show you off to advantage.” Mark knelt down and took Nikki’s right foot in his hand, lifting it and forcing her to balance on just her left. He caressed the arch, ran his hands over her foot. Amazing. She felt another surge of wetness in her crotch.

Mark wasn’t paying attention to her arousal. He was concentrated on rolling the stocking up; sliding it over her foot and then smoothing it all the way up. It was one of those thigh high stockings with a lace band. On the inside of the band were silicon strips that would hold the stocking up on its own, although if could also be attached using a garter belt. She could feel the seam running up the back, and could imagine how it looked, a dark line flowing from her foot up the back of her leg.

Once the stocking was in place, he slid her foot into the shoe. Must have been a 4 inch heel, with a flat piece of leather that went up over her arch, and straps that went down on either side of it. Sort of like a t-strap, but with a few extra straps. Mark worked quickly, putting on the second stocking and shoe as well.

The shoes were surprisingly comfortable. Well it shouldn’t have been too surprising, it had been made for her. She remembered that the mold of her foot had been taken and several styles selected. So the curve of the footbed fit her arch perfectly. The toe box was the perfect shape, and the ankle strap perfectly balanced.

The high heels held her shockingly erect, in order to maintain her balance with her feet that high, she had to push out her chest, suck in her stomach, hold her buttocks tight, and slide her shoulder blades down her back. She looked like she was ready to walk down the catwalk in a fashion show! And she was acutely aware of the fact that the stockings ended at her upper thighs, a strip of creamy flesh visible at the top of them. Made her all the much more aware of her naked, hairless, sex.

“I’m going to add a garter belt. Just to be confident you don’t lose a stocking someplace when you can’t pull it back up. Your hands may not be your own…” Mark winked at her. The garter belt was a wide style, that compressed her waist slightly and held her stomach in even more. Mark laced it behind her, pushing against her hip with one hand while he pulled the laces with the other. She felt her breasts shake. But when he was done, she felt held, contained, attached.

“Oh, you look wonderful, girl.” Mark stepped back, obviously happy with his work.

Then he went to fetch something else. He came back with a leather box. He stood in front of Nikki.

“Look, girl. I want you to see this.” He opened the box. Nestled in a velvet indentation was the most beautiful thing Nikki had ever seen. It was a gold collar. Two solid vertical bands of gold made the bottom and top of the circumference, and between them was a filigreed latticework of gold, inset with gems, that sparkled like a crown. Each gem was set into its setting in the modern style, making the whole piece look contemporary, even though it somehow looked regal as well. It was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.

Mark slipped the collar out of it’s nest and, placing the box down, stepped to Nikki and placed it around her neck. It closed with a definitive “snap” sound.

“You can’t remove it yourself, my dear. It is very cleverly designed so that you have to have your thumbs on the top and fingers on the bottom in a particular configuration to make it impossible for the wearer to remove, but easy enough for somebody else.” Mark getting out a second box. “Come look at yourself in the mirror. I want you to see this transformation.”

Mark brought her over to the mirror on the wall. She looked at herself. She saw her elegant hair do, and the beautiful collar. She looked like royalty. The collar could have been worn by anyone, it just looked like a lovely piece of jewelry.

Then Mark opened the other box, and Nikki saw a gold chain with a leather leash handle. It was clearly and distinctively a leash. No question. He reached up and attached it to a small loop at the front of the collar. He had said transformation, and he wasn’t kidding. Suddenly this jewelry, that looked like it could be worn by anyone, was clearly a slave collar. The leash chain hung down between her breasts.

Nikki’s eyes widened. How was she going to walk through the hotel lobby like this. She took a sharp breath, in shock. Her position and status came back to her. What if she saw somebody she knew? What if they saw somebody Charles knew? How was this going to work? The questions were racing though her mind.

“Don’t worry little girl. I will bring you in on the leash. If we see somebody you know, well, that doesn’t matter. They probably won’t recognize you. But even if they do, you won’t be permitted to speak to them. And you are a slave now. Later, Charles will remove the leash to walk you through the lobby, just in case.” As usual, Mark had anticipated her questions, making her feel, yet again, that he could read her mind. “For now, just use it to remember what you are.”

How could Nikki forget? She was wearing nothing but a slave collar, stockings, and the highest pair of high heels she had ever worn!

“I invited Tammy over to do your make-up. I think she’s waiting outside.” Mark strode over to the door, opened it, and sure enough, there was Tammy. Tammy was another slave, she’d been at the facility longer than Nikki, but she’d been a make-up artist before, and she was often in demand for special events such as this one. She was a little younger than Nikki, maybe 25 or 26, full figured, with rosy skin and blonde hair. Nikki could tell she was a natural blonde, because what hair there was on her pubis was blonde as well.

It was still shocking to Nikki to see other naked slaves, particularly when they were interacting with her as if this were normal. It totally did not feel normal!

Tammy looked Nikki up and down. “Why she looks lovely already, Sir. She’s positively glowing!”

Mark smiled. “You are right of course. But she needs a little mascara, and something to make her eyes look a little wider. And if you can do anything about the dark circles – she always seems to have them no matter what we do! She’s gotten enough sleep lately.”

Tammy smiled back. “It will be a pleasure to work with a slave so lovely.” Tammy reached out her hand to Nikki’s breast, “ May I?” she looked inquisitively at Mark.

“Of course, feel free to touch her in whatever way you would like, as long as you don’t run the stockings or mess up her hair!”

“Oh thank you, Sir.” Tammy reached over and caressed Nikki’s breasts, hefting them and tweaking the nipples. She ran her hands along the garter belt. Touched the remaining hair on Nikki’s pussy. “Oh, she’s so lovely, Sir. So wonderful.”

Nikki felt even more objectified. And surprised as her arousal built. It didn’t seem to matter who touched her, any touch reawakened the feelings Mark had built in her. What an incredible effect.

“I’ll get to work though, Sir.” Tammy took out the make-up and brushes and had Nikki kneel on a cushion and tilt her face up. Tammy’s touches as she applied concealer, eye shadow, base, blush, lipcream, all felt like caresses. She applied three coats of mascara.

“This is not waterproof. It will run when you cry. Most of the time people think that enhances the look of the slave, but it depends on the slave and on the mood of the Master. The good news is that if Charles doesn’t like it, it’s also really easy to remove with just a wet washcloth. So you should be prepared to offer him that you remove it before he does anything that makes you want to cry!!”

Tammy finished up with pencil and lipgloss, and then helped Nikki to her feet. “Oh, honey!” Tammy put her left hand on Nikki’s right hip, her right hand under Nikki’s left breast. “You look so great, I wish I could kiss you but I don’t want to mess up your beautiful mouth.”

Mark thanked Tammy with a deep kiss, and a swat on the butt, before sending her on her way.

“Now, my dear, it is time for your dress. I’m going to help you step into it so it doesn’t mess up your hair.” Mark carefully arranged the dress on the floor and helped Nikki step into the circle formed by the skirt. Then he pulled it up over her hips and breasts. The dress was of black silk chiffon. The skirt wide, pleated, falling to below her knee. Then there was a gathered area between her waist and right under her breasts, it looked almost like a cummerbund, her breasts were held in two triangular pieces of fabric that diminished to spaghetti straps running over her shoulders and down to attach at her mid back. There was something very 40s looking in the style, and very Marilyn Monroe.

Nikki felt even more like a princess. The garter belt was holding her waist in even smaller than usual, and holding her stomach flat. The shoes were making her stand up straight. The built in cups in the dress held her breasts up, making a spectacular cleavage. And the collar topped it off.

“Oh, I almost forgot! There are matching wrist cuffs.” Mark got another box and had Nikki hold out her wrists one at a time as he snapped the cuffs onto them. Nikki felt almost in a trance. The cuffs fit her wrists perfectly. Had the same type of mechanism that meant she couldn’t open them. But in addition they had a slip lock that made it so that they could be joined together, as Mark now did in front of her body, and she could not detach them.

Nikki gasped. She hadn’t meant to, but the combination of all these sensations was too much. The silk on her naked buttocks. The feeling of the garter straps running down her thighs, the leash hanging from her collar, the constraint of her wrists joined together in front of her body. She felt helpless. And beautiful. She felt like a slave.

Background research

Mark took Nikki to the oak paneled library. He had picked her up from Tran’s salon, her skin smooth and glistening, her body clean inside and out, her hair elegant in a classic chignon pulled back off her forehead and up off her neck. He had helped select the final dress she was to wear from three choices Tran offered up to him, had picked out her shoes, a special collar, and some make up. All of it had been sent ahead to his quarters to adorn her right before she was to leave for the date.

Now she was to learn about the mysterious Charles Tilton. She would be expected to make intelligent conversation, ask probing questions, comment knowledgably, and all of that required preparation.

Mark handed Nikki a stack of materials and set her up at a low table by the window. The table was the height of a Japanese dining table, just right for her to use kneeling on a small cushion. She immediately assumed the position she had been taught, knees wide, ankles below her ass, back straight, sex hanging open.

“Tran did a lovely job, girl. The redness should die down in a couple of hours, and you look so nice and polished. Excellent!”

Nikki was embarrassed. Mark was talking about her pussy, commenting the way one might ordinarily talk about a nice haircut or an attractive outfit. He was her trainer, and therefore he had the right to talk about her most intimate areas. But it was still a shock to her.

“Charles is an important guy, Nikki, I don’t think I can emphasize that enough. He is used to being with people who are familiar with who he is and what he does. He likes girls who are smart, worldly, knowledgeable, and I know you can impress him. I’m going to give you every advantage possible, provide you with all the backgound you need.”

Mark put a stack of documents on the table, “I’m giving you 5 years of annual reports for all the companies where Charles sits on the board.”

He added a three ring binder, “Here are the press clippings covering his social appearances and his family background.”

He put a set of glossy photos on top, “his family and close friends, each photo is labeled on the back – be sure to pay special attention to these, he’s been known to bring photos from recent vacations on dates and you can impress him by knowing who the people are.”

He followed the photos with manila folder. “in here you’ll find a summary of his likes and dislikes. It includes favorite foods, books, movies, leisure interests, travel destinations, hotels, and his pet peeves. By the way, he has a particular aversion to people calling the toilet the little boys room or little girls room – if you do that, he will black ball you from the sale. I know you won’t but be careful! And memorize this list.”

Finally, Mark handed her a 11x17 sheet with boxes and names. “Start with this, it’s his biography, family tree and corporate organization chart – these are the key people he’s likely to talk about at dinner, it will help you a lot to know who they are as you try to follow his conversation.”

It was a lot of material. The stack had to be 18” tall. But Nikki was used to plowing through dossiers bigger than this. In her old life, she had researched people, synthesized hundreds of documents, learned the likes and dislikes of the executives in her clients’ organizations. Nikki was ready. This was what she was best at.

“I know you will do well. But you need to do exceptionally. The more you can learn this afternoon, the better of an impression you will make and the better the likelihood of a positive review for your portfolio. You can really distinguish yourself here. Make me proud! I will be back in two hours.”

Nikki started to examine the documents. The family tree, biography, and org chart were pretty straightforward. Charles had been married for 42 years to the mother of his three daughters. He lived in Atlanta. He had attended West Point and the Harvard Business School. Had served in the Navy in the Pacific during the post-Korea era.

He was a retired from his role as an executive at a company that made parts for lawn mowers and tractors. He had served on the board of directors of his daughter’s school, the art museum, and a major hospital. He was currently on the board of four companies; the one he had retired from, a company that made coated films used in safety glass, a company that made equipment for corporate call centers, and a company that made label printing equipment. All basic manufacturing.

Charles’ three daughters were grown. One lived in Malaysia, with her husband and two children, working in public health. The second lived in New York, was single, and worked as a textile designer. The third lived in Atlanta, near her parents, with her own family, and did not have a “job outside the home” as they say. There were six grandchildren, two with the oldest and four with the youngest. Nikki had a moment contemplating the fact that Charles’ daughters were older than she was, and his oldest grandchild almost ready for college! But she was starting to get used to the idea that he was old.

She turned her attention to the annual reports, working her way up from the bottom of the stack. All of his businesses were relatively small, under $500 million in revenue. They were business-to-business companies whose primary customers were other businesses rather than consumers. And they had all grown by acquiring other businesses in the same market, kind of a roll-up strategy.

She looked at the financials in more detail. There were some good signs, strong cash positions, good earnings per share, consistent dividend payouts. But there were some issues as well. Revenue was stagnant; what growth there was, was coming from acquisitions not organic growth. Charles had obviously made a pile of money with these companies. The future was less clear. These were all traditional industries, and probably threatened by international competition.

As Nikki worked through the stack of materials she felt like two sides of her brain were fighting with each other – one side, a professional, an executive, knowledgeable, intelligent, decisive, capable; the other side, a slave, pure sex, obedient, submissive, without responsibility. Here she was, using her skills, her knowledge of business, of people, of financial markets, of strategy, but to be a better slave. She would review a P&L statement, look at cash flows, stock price history, and she would lose herself in the data for a moment, forgetting that she was in fact a slave. But then it would come rushing back at her… she had given herself over to this.

Nikki felt her submission, maybe more acutely now than ever before. This reminder of her old life, what she used to be valued for, was almost shocking. She felt it like a warm fist in her core, deep up in her. Now her value wasn’t about how much money she could make for a company, it wasn’t about her acumen or her insight, wasn’t about her negotiation skills. She would be valued for her intelligence, yes, and her knowledge. This task was evidence of that. But it would be mostly about her obedience. Her ability to give herself over. Her ability to follow.

It was incredibly erotic. Inexplicably erotic. Sure, it was the relaxation of it, the removal of responsibility. It was the removal of all anxiety. But there was something more about it. Something that made her wet, warm, open. Just thinking about it, realizing it, yet again, she felt her desire surge. Felt the rush of warmth in her crotch. Felt the blood on the surface of her skin. Felt like her brain was expanding in her head. And knew that her pleasure was just below the surface. That it would take almost nothing to push her over the edge. Incredible.

Nikki turned her attention back to the task, trying to focus her brain despite the arousal. She blinked, twice. Looking now at the photos and press clippings. He was a prominent member of Atlanta society and there were quite a few photos. They showed a trim, fit looking older gentleman, distinguished. Lovely looking family. There were pictures of him with his wife, with his daughters, with the extended family. Pictures of him at fund raisers and with local politicians.

It was hard to believe that he was a slave owner. He seemed so “normal”. Seemed just like hundreds of men she had met during the course of her career. But he liked to buy and sell women, command them, make them do his bidding. He liked to gag them, tie them, maybe even beat them. He liked to be able to touch them where ever and whenever he wanted. And he was allowed to do that in this special place were Nikki was. He would be able to do all that with her.

She looked at the photos again, trying to imagine it. Trying to imagine this man, this father, this husband, this businessman, trying to imagine him touching her. Trying to think about what it would be like to be on the date with him. She paged through the photos of his grandchildren, his house by the beach in South Carolina, his ski vacation out west. She read all the captions. But her mind was racing. What was he going to want from her? She couldn’t read anything in his face.

Nikki was so absorbed in her work and her thoughts that she didn’t hear Mark coming up behind her, until he had grabbed her leash and given a sharp yank to her collar.

“So, my slave, have you finished reviewing it?” Mark’s voice was serious, but she could see the pride and confidence in his eyes. She knew he knew she was done. She knew he knew she had learned it all, memorized the names, figured out the financials, drawn conclusions about his business philosophy, his politics, and his interests.

“Shall we do a little quiz?” Mark was teasing now.

“Yes, Sir, if you wish, Sir.” Nikki was looking forward to showing off.

And sure enough, he rattled off question after question and each one, she had on the tip of her tongue. The names of his kids and grandkids, his last three vacations, the names of his companies, the political candidates he had supported. She got every one right.

“Oh, Nikki. I’m so proud!” Mark genuinely sounded happy. “I knew you would do great on this.”

Mark leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the lips. “You know you make me so proud. What a brilliant slave you are.” He caressed her shoulder.

It felt great. She basked in his approval. He had so much power; fed her, clothed her (when he felt like it), gave her pleasure or pain, whatever his desire. So making him proud, feeling his happiness, was even more wonderful. More wonderful than anything she had felt in her life. She smiled up at him.

“Now lets go get you ready. It’s almost time.” Mark pulled on her leash, and she fell into step right behind him. Happy to be his girl, happy to have completed this last task. Not knowing what came next, but ready for it, wet and open, her arousal just below the surface.

Waxing

Nikki woke to the feeling of Tran and her assistant peeling the blankets off. For a moment she wasn’t sure where she was. She had been in a deep sleep, warmed by the heavy blankets, her body cradled by the contoured table on which she was lying. She struggled to put together the pieces. Oh yes -- oh – the tightness around her neck was her slave collar. The tingly/sore feeling in her ass was from the beating she had just gotten. The wetness in her cunt a constant presence, but definitely exacerbated by the cum that had been pumped into her by the slave in the hallway, Oliver.

She was a sex slave. Her status and position established; as she moved back into consciousness from her slumber, the awareness of her powerlessness rushed back in. She was here to be cared for, yes, but as a pet or a prized possession would be cared for. Her value would be enhanced by better grooming, so she was being groomed. It was not for her enjoyment. And if she enjoyed it, that enjoyment was for the pleasure of her owner, not for her.

She felt a sense of calm, of peace, that she had hardly ever, if ever, felt in her prior life, her life before becoming a slave. She felt at ease. She could imagine the future, but was powerless to affect it. So all the anxiety she normally felt – should I be doing this, or this, or that? Should I be worried about him or her? Should I consider this? Should I….All that anxiety was gone. There was no should. All she needed to do was be here.

It was all Mark’s responsibility. He would get the credit for a good sale, or the blame for a bad one. He would give her everything she needed. Have her do what she needed to do. She didn’t have to worry about the choices she was making or the mistakes either. She could just be.

It wasn’t just Mark either. Tran could make decisions for her. Tran would decide what was the best way to present Nikki. Tran knew the plan for Nikki’s night, she knew Charles Tilton’s tastes, she knew the atmosphere of the restaurant. She would make Nikki look the best she could look. Nikki’s mind flashed back to Tran yelling at her – obviously Tran could also take responsibility for other aspects of Nikki, her behavior, or even her sexuality. Nikki could still taste the flavor of Tran’s cum on her teeth.

Apparently the task of making Nikki look the best possible was to start right now. Tran was smoothing Nikki’s eyebrows, looking at the shape of her face. The feel of Tran’s fingers on her was soothing, Nikki felt infused with warmth as Tran combed down her brows and then started to snip the longer hairs with a pair of small scissors. The scissors tugged at her brow hairs slightly, the sensation traveling down along her scalp and down the back of her neck. Nikki could feel the contours of the table pressing up into the small of her back, behind her knees, comfortable, enveloping.

Then Tran dusted Nikki’s eyebrows with a powder puff, and reached over to the vat of hot wax, dipping a long thin flat stick into the wax. Tran held the wax covered stick up to her face, leaned forward, and blew on it. Then, Nikki felt the wax hit her brow, hot, almost scalding. She felt Tran spreading it carefully, exactly where she wanted to remove the hair. As it cooled she could feel it shrinking, tightening. It felt almost like a massage of some kind, some kind of a wrinkle treatment. It was smoothing the worry lines out of Nikki’s brow. Very nice. Tran took a small rectangle of tan muslin and rubbed it gently but firmly under Nikki’s brow. The combination of the heat, the tight feeling, and the rubbing was delicious. But the anticipation of what was to come diminished the pleasure.

Sure enough, Tran grasped the end of the cloth firmly with one hand, and pressed down on the center of Nikki’s forehead with the other. In one rapid ripping motion, Tran pulled the wax away from Nikki’s face. Nikki could feel each eyebrow hair being ripped out, the root being lifted out of it’s natural home. Each eyebrow a center of pain, and literally dozens being ripped out simultaneously. The pain was intense! Tears welled in Nikki’s eyes. She could feel the blood flowing to her forehead – could feel how red it was even without seeing it. Her mind immediately went to what was going to come; if this is how it felt to have her eyebrows done, how was it going to feel down THERE?

The eyebrows weren’t done yet. Tran worked carefully and efficiently to remove the hair below and above. She even carefully put wax between Nikki’s eyebrows and pulled out the hair between them. After she removed all the hair, she smoothed mineral oil on Nikki’s brows, removing all the excess wax, rubbing it into the skin and making Nikki feel even more cared for. When she was done with the brows, Tran carefully looked at the rest of Nikki’s face, poking, prodding, smoothing, making sure there were no stray hairs.

Nikki was used to being shown the finished product. This was similar enough, so far, to how it felt to have her eyebrows waxed back when she was just a normal woman; executive, homeowner, wife. But now the woman waxing her wasn’t going to get the little mirror and show her how it looked. Wasn’t going to ask her opinion of whether it should be narrower at the end, or more tapered towards the middle. Tran didn’t care what Nikki thought. The sense of helplessness filled Nikki with a surprising warmth. Although by now, she ought to be getting used to it!

Nikki’s underarms were next. Tran didn’t ask. Didn’t talk to her at all. Just grabbed her right wrist and lifted her hand over her head. Put the powder on first. There wasn’t much hair, she had been waxed recently, but Tran applied the hot wax evenly, smoothing it over the skin, and then rubbed the cloth on it to make it adhere to the wax. There was something incredibly trusting and intimate about letting Tran rub her armpits like this. Made Nikki feel vulnerable, made it clear to her that she had handed herself over to this woman that she was owned.

Tran did the other armpit. Again she rubbed oil into the recently waxed skin. She moved firmly and rapidly. It skirted the edge of being ticklish, and it was only the speed with which she moved which kept it from being intolerable.

Nikki knew what was coming. Nevertheless, it was shocking. As it was every time. Tran pushed Nikki’s legs apart. She lifted her under her knees, bending her legs, and then opened them like an accordion or a fan. Nikki’s feet were together, heel to heel, ball of the foot to ball of the foot. Her knees were flat to the table. Her thighs open, and her sex exposed. Nikki felt the lips part. Knew Tran could see right inside. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold herself still, to be perfectly compliant.

Then Tran had taken a handful of powder and was spreading it over Nikki’s pubic area. The intimacy of it! So business like, purposeful, but still her pussy. Tran was moving with the same efficiency and professionalism that she had used while waxing Nikki’s eyebrows and armpits. But this was her sex! She was touching Nikki’s labia, the curve of her ass. Nikki could feel the fleshy part of her mons moving from side to side as Tran moved her hand spreading the powder, the flesh reverberating and quivering, soft and warm.

Tran was examining her closely, looking at the hair, but seeing everything. The redness of the vaginal opening, slightly sore from Nikki’s recent sexual activity. The labia minor, darker red flaring out from the opening. The labia major, slightly lighter, but still engorged with blood. Nikki’s clit, small, with the little fold of flesh on top of it. And the whole area glistening, the deep recesses of her vagina oozing with arousal. All of it visible to Tran in this position. Tran spread her wider, holding her thigh away from the flesh of her labia, and rubbing her hand across, ostensibly to spread the powder, but having the effect of opening Nikki’s vagina wider.

Nikki felt so exposed. Lying on her back. Legs spread. Helpless, vulnerable. This wasn’t sex, but she HAD just given this woman an orgasm. This was a procedure. Done for some future benefit. But so intimate. So raw. Nikki was embarrassed, aroused, embarrassed by her arousal, the feelings flooding her, filling her, confusing her. She might just be waxed, or Tran might decide to dip her head down and press her mouth to Nikki’s cunt. She might put her fingers in, or the stick from the wax. She had the right to do whatever she wanted. Nikki’s mind reeled.

Tran was continuing on. She didn’t care what was going on in Nikki’s head. She had taken a stickfull of wax and was applying it to the area just above where Nikki’s inner thigh met her pubis. Tran was spreading the wax from there up towards the middle. Judging from what she had done in the past, she wasn’t going to make Nikki totally bald, just leave a small strip of hair down the middle.

Again the sensation of wax was pleasurable, but the pleasure muted by the anticipation of the pain. Tran rubbed the cloth into the wax. Nikki’s whole body shook with the feeling of it, each movement of Trans hand rocking her whole body, rubbing her head against the pillow, her legs shaking, almost the way they would if she was being fucked. Nikki relaxed into the sensation.

Then Tran held one hand on Nikki’s inner thigh, holding her open, and then with the other hand violently ripped the cloth off. AAAGGHHHH! The pain was intense. Shooting deep into Nikki. Each hair being ripped by the root. Feeling like it was being ripped out of her uterus. Nikki could feel the sweat break out behind her neck. The temptation to slam her legs shut and double over overwhelming. But knowing that she was not permitted this. That she needed to be a good girl. To let Tran do her work.

Tran was moving on. Applying more wax. Holding Nikki’s legs apart while she rubbed the cloth deep into the wax to make it adhere and then RIPPING it out. Tran carefully moved her way through the whole area. Systematically covering Nikki and removing all the hair. Nikki’s head was filled with the pain.

Oooooo… now Tran was holding Nikki’s labia open. Examining her more closely. Nikki could feel the wax being applied in a small line to the very edge of her inner labia. The wax so hot. The area so tender. Nikki knew that Tran knew what she was doing. Trusted her. Despite that, it was scary. What if the wax burned her? It was so hot. And now Tran was going to have to remove it. Tran was rubbing the cloth onto Nikki’s labia, her fingers so close to Nikki’s vagina.

Tran put her left hand up, applying pressure directly to Nikki’s clit as she ripped the hairs off of her vulva. OOOO. The combination of sensations was intense. Nikki felt her eyes widen, she was holding her breath. The pain shot through her. This was her cunt. And this woman was abusing it. Well, not abusing it, but grooming it to the point of pain!

Tran did the other side as well. Nikki had a sensation of feeling the contours of her sex in a way she wasn’t used to feeling it. She could feel every edge, every curve, every fold, every millimeter of flesh. Such a strange sensation.

Tran was pushing her labia from side to side, opening her, examining her. Rubbing her hand over Nikki’s open sex, looking for hairs. It was incredibly intimate. Incredibly sexual. Yet not sexual. It was grooming, it was about making Nikki beautiful for her date – her date with this stranger who would be evaluating her for the auction. The whole thing was bizarre; sexually charged, arousing, and very very strange.

Tran pushed up the little flap of flesh at the top of Nikki’s slit, above her clitoris, not the hood of the clitoris, but the little fleshy area that was the base of the triangle of her mons pubis. Found a few hairs there and put more hot wax on that spot. So close to her clit, so tender. Tran once again applied pressure directly to Nikki’s clit as she rubbed the cloth into this spot and ripped the hairs out. The tears welled up in Nikki’s eyes, the pain so intense.

Then Tran was moving down the table, lifting Nikki’s left knee and spreading her wider to see more of her. She was spreading Nikki’s ass. What was she going to do? She was leaning in, looking, touching, spreading. Tran was examining the flesh next to her anus and finding more hair there. She held Nikki’s cheeks open as she applied the hot wax next to Nikki’s anus. Rubbed the cloth in to the wax, and ripped the hairs out. The rhythm familiar now, but the exposure of it shocking. Nikki was thankful, once again, about how thorough Mark’s cleaning of her had been. At least she could be confident that Tran was not seeing or smelling excrement as she was working next to Nikki’s asshole.

The waves of humiliation traveled over Nikki. Spread on the table, legs open, vulnerable, exposed, unable to defend herself from the pain. She was a slave. Just a slave. The realization was powerful and Nikki felt warm with it. She felt the arousal building, and was acutely aware of the fact that it was visible to Tran, knew that her moisture was glistening, that Tran could probably smell her too. And Tran could do whatever she wanted.

Now Tran was making one final inspection, looking her over for stray hairs or lingering pieces of wax. Her hands were brisk, professional, as she opened Nikki looking in all the folds, cracks, crevices of Nikki’s sex. Oooo, the exposure!

Finally Tran was taking the oil and rubbing it over the irritated skin Nikki knew this was just a normal part of the process, Tran had done it for her eyebrows, her armpits. But still! To be caressed with the warm oil, her flesh shaking, her arousal building. Feeling her body jiggle, aware of every part of her sex. Knowing Tran could see her arousal.

Tran ignored Nikki’s arousal, closing her legs and bustling around. Nikki was relieved and disappointed at the same time, pleased that Tran was satisfied with her work, but left with the niggling feeling of arousal.

Tran moved on to wax her shins, her calves, her knees and even her toes. When Tran was completely finished with her work, Nikki felt smooth and clean like a baby. Preened and beautiful. Ready.

Grooming

Mark delivered Nikki to the spa to be groomed, prepared for her date. It was a full service salon, and they would take care of everything from her toenails to her hair. Nikki was used to this kind of preparation from her former life – she used to attend company functions, charity balls, or social functions at some of the nicest hotels and restaurants in the world. And she always liked to have her hair and her nails done before hand. And she used to have a favorite salon where she would get her legs waxed, or during the summer, a bikini wax. This was different. Here, the care was somehow less about her and more about what she was; a slave.

Nikki had her own “groomer” – for the last six weeks this woman had taken care of Nikki’s body, washed her hair, smoothed her skin, primped her. The groomer was an ageless Asian woman; she could have been 40 or she could have been 60, it was impossible to know. She never smiled, but her neat compact appearance reflected the perfectionism of her approach to her work. Nikki had never been formally introduced to her, after all, this wasn’t about Nikki as a person, it was about what Mark wanted for his property. But it seemed that her name was Tran. Some of the other women in the salon called her Tranni. Mark called her Tran.

Mark smiled warmly at Tran and then launched into her language -- Nikki couldn’t understand it at all. The harsh vowels and nasal consonants sounded like Vietnamese or Cambodian. But the only things Nikki could understand were the occasional English word interjected. She heard “Charles Tilton” and “Four Seasons” and “Cocktail Dress”. It never failed to amaze her when Mark spoke in other languages, he had to speak at least 10, it was incredible.

She kneeled at Mark’s side, listening to the two of them talk, knowing they were discussing her; her needs, her appearance, what he wanted done to her, but not being able to understand it at all. She felt child like, objectified, a puppet or a doll. Important, but not sentient. Her goals, thoughts, opinions, were immaterial, between the two of them, Mark and Tran would make all the decisions for her. Tran would take care of her, but not for her, for Mark and for whoever this man was, Charles Tilton, the man she was going to meet tonight.

Mark leaned over and stroked her head. “I’m leaving now, my girl. You be good and obey Tran. I’ll be back for you later.” Nikki felt his words penetrate her, opening her, warm – she was his girl, she knew it. And she knew she would be good. That she would obey. And she would make him proud. She felt his command of her deep in her sex, like a warm presence inside her, Felt her body respond, her back arch slightly as she moved into his hand on her head, she looked up at him, knowing he could read her desire, see her love. “Yes, my girl. Feel it. You are owned.” She felt the words, tingles traveling up her legs. “Now I must go.”

Nikki watched Mark leave. Yearning for him, wishing she could just follow on her knees, content to be led by her leash. But knowing he wanted her to stay and she was satisfying his desire. She would do what he wanted her to do.

Suddenly she felt a sharp tug at her neck and realized that Tran had yanked her chain. She needed to focus, needed to pay attention. Tran required that she be fully present in the moment, that much she had learned, so she needed to get her mind off Mark and back in the here and now. Even though Tran was there to groom Nikki, she was “above” Nikki. She could do what she wanted to Nikki and Nikki had to obey.

They were alone, the two of them, in the middle of the large room that served as the reception area and waiting room. There were small treatment rooms off this room, and it was relatively unique for them to be alone here.

Tran had grabbed Nikki’s right hand, and was placing a thick nylon strap around her right wrist. And now she was putting another one on Nikki’s left. As she felt the straps go taught, Nikki realized they were attached to a pulley system on the ceiling and she was being hoisted to her feet. Her hands were pulled up over her head. And Tran was holding her ankles apart, inserting a long stick with two curved pieces of wood at each end, one for each ankle, preventing her from closing her legs. Her body was spread like on a cross, but her weight still resting on her feet. She felt her spine get longer, her stomach tighten in, her breasts shaking.

Tran was talking to her, in Vietnamese or Cambodian or whatever language it was. Soothing words, like you would say to a small animal you were trying to coax into a cage. But Nikki knew this was an inspection. Tran looked at her face. Smoothed down her eyebrows. Inspected her ears. Felt the glands under her chin. Moved her head back and forth between her hands, testing flexibility. Tran called out, loud and kind of harsh, and another woman came in. They talked for a moment, again, Nikki felt the strange sensation of being discussed in a language she didn’t understand. Childlike. Objectified. She felt the other woman’s eyes on her.

Now Tran was looking at her arms, her underarms. Rubbing her thumbs against the tender flesh of Nikki’s armpits. Nikki felt the touch deep inside her, as if Tran’s thumbs had traveled into her body and were massaging her uterus. Tran was pulling at the hairs under Nikki’s arms – it was strangely embarrassing – certainly normal functioning of her body, hair growing, doing what it was supposed to, but still embarrassing. Oh! And now Tran was examining Nikki’s breasts. She had her left hand under Nikki’s right breast, lifting it, cupping it, and her right hand was examining the nipple.

Nikki struggled to stay perfectly still. Not try to pull away. Not resist this. It was Tran’s right to probe and touch. This would NEVER have happened in Nikki’s old life. Ha! When she went to have spa services performed, to be groomed, they were performed respectfully and with deference. But now this woman had every liberty. She could touch Nikki however she wanted. And touch she did. Tran squeezed Nikki’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Nikki could feel her body react, her arousal build. A moan escaping from her lips.

“Shhhhh” Tran hushed Nikki, putting her finger to her own lips. And then squeezing Nikki’s lips shut. It was clear Nikki was supposed to be silent. Nikki was humiliated. Not only was this woman, this Asian salon worker, touching her, she was making Nikki aroused. and she was correcting Nikki for being too overt in her reaction. She, a woman who didn’t even speak English, was correcting Nikki. And Nikki realized that that was how it should be. Everything she had done in her old life, all her snobby behavior, her sense of superiority because of her education, her job, her money, it was all irrelevant here. Here she was just a slave, and the lowest person on the ranking. The bottom. All she had to do was be.

Now Tran had captured Nikki’s other breast. Was teasing the nipple. She was inspecting it closely, looking for hairs, or dry skin, or discoloration. But she was also playing a little. Nikki could tell. Testing Nikki. Seeing what her reaction was going to be. Now she was rhythmically squeezing the nipple, making it longer, longer still. Squeezing, squeezing. Nikki’s struggled to keep her hips still, feeling the moisture surge, and feeling the desire to rub herself against something, anything.

Tran lifted Nikki’s chin, and looked Nikki in the eye. At the same time she continued to squeeze Nikki’s nipple, stroking her hip and her ass with the other hand. Nikki’s struggled to focus her eyes. To keep control of her self. To acknowledge Tran’s gaze and look respectful. But now Tran was continuing her inspection. Feeling the texture of Nikki’s skin. Looking at the dark spots, Making little approving noises ass she felt the muscles in Nikki’s back, her ass. Then she was spreading the cheeks of Nikki’s ass.

Ohhh! Nikki felt even more humiliated. Acutely aware of her status as a slave. Unable to prevent even this most intimate of examinations. She felt Tran’s fingers spreading her. And then, gasp, entering her! Tran made an approving noise, finding her clean, and Nikki was glad for Mark’s early morning attention to her rectum. She was strangely proud that Tran was finding her clean, and was pleased. Proud that she had made this woman approve of her.

But now Tran was looking at Nikki’s pussy. And making “tsk, tsk, tsk” – disapproving noises. Oh, she must be able to see, to smell, the cum still oozing from her – the remainder of the slave boy from the hallway. She must know. She had dipped her fingers into the slimy ooze and was holding them to her nose. Making a little disgusted noise. She knew what a wonton, undisciplined slave Nikki was. Knew that Nikki had been used, and recently. Tran was talking to the other woman, and she giggled.

Nikki couldn’t tell what they were saying, but she knew they were talking about her. About her sex. She felt another wave of realization of her status, her position. She was pure sex. Nothing but sex. Valued for this, yes, but reduced to it, too. And she was offered up, offered to everyone. From this mysterious man she was having dinner with, to this impenetrable woman, here to provide service, but still able to touch her, talk about her, do to her whatever she wanted. Nikki felt powerless, low, humbled. And it felt good to her. Relaxing. Certainly, there was no ambiguity about what was expected of her.

Trans hands continued to touch and probe. Nikki let the sensations wash over her as Tran looked at the hair on her legs, her pussy, her feet. Touched her thighs, her calves. Separated her labia. Looked everywhere. And noticed everything. Noticed the effect that her touch had on Nikki. Noticed the arousal. The flush on Nikki’s skin. The fresh wetness between her legs.

And then it was over. Tran was letting her down. Pushing her to her hands and knees. Arranging her. And then patting her on the head. It was a clear “stay” command – like you would give to a dog. Even without language, Nikki could obey.

“Hungry, girl?” Tran’s accent made the question sound like “hungly” not “hungry” but it was clear.

Nikki looked up. “Yes, Ma’am” She tried to answer in the most respectful voice she could muster. And actually, she realized, she hadn’t eaten since the scraps from Mark’s dinner the night before. Her last real meal had been while she was preparing dinner for Mark, it must have been 16 hours ago. Her stomach rumbled.

Tran said something to her assistant. And in a moment she was back with a large shallow bowl that she put on the floor.

Nikki eagerly moved forward and leaned towards the bowl. It was filled with a kind of beige gruel, it was hard to see what was in it. There was clearly some oatmeal. And it looked like soy protein nuggets. And maybe pieces of tofu. Nikki was so hungry she didn’t really care. At least it was probably really healthy. She reached her hand forward to pick the bowl up, and Tran was on her in a second. Screaming at her in Vietnamese. Nikki couldn’t understand the words, but the meaning was clear. She wasn’t to use her hands.

She moved her face down into the bowl, hungry enough to eat like an animal on the floor. Whatever it took. She pushed her face closer to the food and opened her mouth. Got a mouthful. It was cold. From the refrigerator cold. And the base was definitely olive oil. Oooh. It was kind of gross. Well more than kind of. Slimy, cold, congealed, soggy. Gross. But Nikki knew she had to eat it. And eat it all. It was all she was going to get. And it would make Mark happy if she was good and did everything as she was asked. So she moved her face closer and took another bite and another.

Suddenly her head was being ripped up. Tran screaming at her again. A wall of sound coming at her, high pitched and violent. Tran was furious, and the words were like blows raining down on her. And this time she didn’t know what it was about. Didn’t know what she had done wrong. She had obeyed. Wasn’t eating with her hands. Had put her face into the bowl, had stuck her ass up in the air. Had acted like the little animal she was. What was wrong?

Tran was pulling her hair, yelling right into her face.

“Bad girl! Bad!” Well, that much she could tell from the Vietnamese. Tran didn’t need to try English if that was going to be what she was going to say. Nikki tried to look as contrite and obedient as she could while she waited to find out what was wrong. She called on all the skills she had gained in the business world – when senior managers were upset, stay calm. So she stayed calm, even as this woman, the kind of woman she might have yelled at herself in her old life, yelled at her.

“Girl eat with mouth! Not face! Dirty! Dirty girl!” Now Tran was pulling Nikki across the floor, half dragging her, half pushing. “Look!” It sounded like “rook” But Nikki gazed at her reflection in the big mirror. She saw herself and was overcome with the shock – this wasn’t Nikki the professional. Nikki the educated, worldly woman. This was Nikki the slave. Naked. Collared. Leash hanging down. Breasts shaking with each breath. Eyes wide, open, ready, a little scared. Posture submissive in every detail. She could see her desire to please. The food from the bowl on her face. Her submission so obvious, so lovely, but amazing. Submitting to Tran, to the slave in the hallway, to the men Mark presented her to. Submitting to any and all.

“Look!” Tran took a towel from a nearby shelf and wiped Nikki’s face. She showed Nikki the towel, pieces of food stuck too it. “Look!” Tran’s small body was vibrating with anger. “You dirty girl!” She took a hair brush from the same shelf. And she pushed Nikki’s head down to the floor.

Nikki felt her ass up in the air. Knew what it looked like, her sex hanging down, her thighs spread. Her ass cheeks round, taut. And she heard the hairbrush before she felt it. Then she felt it. Hard. Slamming down into her ass. The resounding “crack” as the plastic met her flesh. She felt the sharp point of impact, but then felt the heat of the blood rushing in, but before that feeling was complete, there was a second “crack” and the brush hit a second time, slightly lower. Now a third, a forth, a fifth, sixth, seventh. The pain wasn’t terrible, the brush wasn’t that long or that big, but Tran was surprisingly strong and the blows just kept coming. She could feel the heat. And now Tran was moving to do the other side. One hand on the base of her back, the other slamming the brush down again and again.

Tran deposited 10 blows on each cheek before she stopped. Nikki kept her head low. Her ass high. She breathed deeply and tried to keep from sobbing. It wasn’t the pain. The pain really wasn’t overwhelming. It was more of a glow than anything else. She could feel the blood flowing to the spot where each blow had landed. Could feel the center of the pain and the swelling radiating from that. But not too bad. It was the surprise and the humiliation. The fact that she had done something wrong, something that deserved such punishment. She really wanted to be good, tried to be good. And she had failed. She had been judged wanting by this woman, this salon worker. Now her ass was an emblem of that failure.

Her ass felt huge. She knew it must be red, too. Could easily imagine the way it looked, the center of each blow almost white, and then dark red around the edges. The blows overlapping, the entire ass red, flaming. Anybody who saw her would know she had been punished.

“What you say, girl?” Tran’s voice was insistent as she pulled Nikki up to kneel facing her.

Nikki stammered “Thank you Ma’am. I will do better Ma’am. Please!” Nikki looked the older woman in the eye and tried to communicate her honest contrition. Her shame. Her desperate desire to please. Tried to communicate her acknowledgement of her lowly position.

“You stay clean.” Tran left Nikki in the center of the room as she went to a cabinet and pulled out a small square of light blue silk. It had a hole in the middle and Tran put it over Nikki’s face, attaching it with elastics that had alligator clips on each end. Even the smallest touch of food would make a huge stain on the silk. Nikki was going to have to be incredibly careful not to get the silk wet or dirty. Tran took Nikki’s hands and clasped them behind her back. Pushed her hands together so that Nikki was holding them behind her back herself.

Oh, this was going to be hard! Not even having her hands for support. Tran led Nikki back to the bowl and Nikki leaned over, her stomach muscles straining to suspend her face right over the food, not too close, but close enough that she could reach her tongue out and get a small glob of food on the end of it. This was going to take forever. Nikki could feel all her muscles working as she licked up the food, like a cat lapping milk. All this effort and the food was disgusting to boot! But there was nothing else to do. She had to continue.

Nikki lapped and lapped, her muscles screaming, wanting to let go of her hands, wanting to just stick her face in it, but making slow progress. Lapping. Feeling her red ass in the air. Hearing the two Vietnamese women chatting, incomprehensibly. Feeling her thighs and her ass, her stomach working. Lapping. Tasting the cold congealed food. Feeling it slide down into her belly. Feeling her position as a slave. Feeling her submission.

Finally she cleaned the bowl, completely. Ran her tongue around one more time to make sure that she had left nothing. And then sat back on her heels, her hands still clasped (now painfully) behind her back. Tran came over to her, unclipped the cloth and examined it. It was pristine. She held it to the light. But there wasn’t a spot on it. Nikki felt the pride swell in her chest. She had done it!

“Good girl! Clean!” Tran praised her. And the praise washed over her, warm and wonderful. She had been given a difficult task and she had done it!! Tran was talking to her now in Vietnamese, softly, obviously pleased with her. Was stroking her hair. She felt so successful. Amazing really. Something so basic and so simple, but it appealed to her at a very elemental level, a challenge made and met. She couldn’t believe how pleased she was to have pleased Tran. How much joy it gave her to complete this task.

Tran held a large cup of water to Nikki’s lips, letting her drink. She held it there until it was empty, Nikki swallowing steadily as the older woman poured the water into her mouth. Nikki felt like a baby being fed from a bottle, warm and cared for, but without choice.

Now Tran was pulling her by the leash. And Nikki followed. It didn’t matter where they were going, it was her job to follow.

Tran took Nikki into one of the treatment rooms. There was a long examination table, and an armchair. Nikki looked expectantly at the table, but was all the more surprised when Tran started to remove her own pants. This was new. But now Tran was naked from the waist, and was sitting in the chair, pulling Nikki by the leash to her open legs.

It was clear what Tran expected. She didn’t need to speak. She just took Nikki’s head in her hands and guided Nikki’s face to her crotch. And Nikki knew she had no choice. She was a slave. She was there to serve everyone, even a woman who’s job it was to serve her needs, to clean her to groom her. Even such a woman as that could demand that Nikki service her. And was demanding it. Nikki felt her submission, felt her position, and felt her pride in being a good slave. She was going to do a good job. She knew she was.

And it wasn’t too difficult. The Asian woman’s legs were like alabaster. So smooth and pale. Petite. Firm. Lovely really. And her pussy! Oh my! Totally bare, not a single hair on it. Smooth, plump, rounded. But now that the labia were parted, and it was open, the pink delicate insides were visible. It looked soft and pretty, glistening slightly with moisture.

The smell hit Nikki all at once. Strong. Exotic. So womanly. It was an earthy smell, musky, dank. Different than Nikki’s own smell, it had a kind of spicy overtone to it. Compelling. It definitely made Nikki want to bury her head in it. Tran’s hands were guiding her head toward the exposed sex anyway, she didn’t have a choice. She had to do what she wanted to do anyway. Ahh, the benefits of being a slave.

The first touch of her tongue to the soft, warm, moist sex was electric. The taste even more intense than the smell. Sweet/salty, with a hint of musk, slippery mucousy texture. Nikki took a long swipe with her tongue, flat, starting at the bottom, close to Tran’s anus, but then traveling up along the plump lips to the little nubbin of her clitoris. She felt Tran’s response, her legs opening wider, hands pressing against the back of Nikki’s head.

Then Nikki started to really explore the sex in front of her. She ran her tongue back down and around the opening of Tran’s vagina, traced the edges of the lips, moved her head from side to side to get in deeper. She used her hands to support her body, putting one hand on either side of Tran’s ass. The taste seemed to fill her, floating up into her sinuses, connecting to her own arousal. She felt her body moving with each stroke of her tongue; her head, neck, back, hips, thighs, all connected to her tongue and connected to Tran’s sex. She opened her mouth as wide as she could to envelope Tran’s sex with the warmth of her mouth. She rubbed her tongue back and forth over Tran’s clit.

Nikki could hear Tran’s voice, her moans quiet but continuous. Tran was moving her hips, grinding her sex into Nikki’s mouth. She was rotating now, pushing and moaning. Nikki could feel the intensity growing. She made her tongue as hard and pointy as possible and thrust it deep into Tran’s vagina. Started to thrust rhythmically in time to Tran’s movements. The taste was now part of her, moisture all over her mouth, chin, nose, cheeks. She felt Tran’s juices coating her. And her tongue was touching deep and then sliding back over the slick tissues.

Nikki moved her head up and sucked Trans’s clit into her mouth. Pulling hard from the back of her throat, and moving her tongue to really build the sensation for Tran. She felt the blood pulsing in Tran’s clit, the flesh engorged and full. She could hear Tran’s breathing change and knew she was close. She wanted to show Tran what she could do, wanted to give her pleasure. Nikki moved her right hand over and pushed two fingers into Tran’s vagina as she continued to rub her tongue on Tran’s clit.

Nikki could feel Tran’s cunt convulse as she went over the edge. Tran pushed her hips up and cried out. Nikki felt a spasm and then a wet rush as a flood of cum flowed from deep inside Tran. Nikki lapped and licked to take it all, carefully and gently cleaning all the folds aware of how sensitive the nerves were after orgasm. The flavor was rich and deep, delicious, female, and oh, so, sexy.

Tran slowly pushed Nikki’s head back, smiling down on her. “Good girl.” The words were softly spoken, but they meant so much to Nikki. She was so happy to please. She felt a soft warmth infuse her. She was good at this, a good slave. A pleaser. Always willing, eager, happy.

Tran was getting dressed again. She pulled Nikki’s leash to indicate she should get up on the table.

Nikki lay on the table, feeling the contours of it pressing comfortably against the backs of her knees, the small of her back, her neck, supporting her, cradling her. Her legs were slightly spread, her arms at her sides, she could feel her breasts spread, gravity working on them, she could feel her body relax into the table, could feel her muscles, sore from holding herself still to lap up her breakfast, lap at Tran’s sex, and from the scene in the hallway too.

Nikki heard Tran moving around and then felt a warm blanket spread over her. Mmmmm, felt so good. Tran was standing over her, smoothing the hair back from her face. Cleaning the pussy juice from her with a cotton ball and cleanser. Smoothing down her eyebrows, Tracing the contours of her cheek bones. Tran laid warm a warm washcloth over Nikki’s face. Nikki could feel the steam and warmth penetrating the pores. It was like returning to the womb, dark, warm, wet, and very maternal. She felt cared for in an elemental way.

Nikki must have drifted off. She woke to the feeling of Tran and her assistant peeling the blankets off, and rubbing her skin with powder. Rubbing her legs, then spreading them and rubbing the talcum between her legs, all over her pubis, then under her arms, and even a little on her face, her eyebrows, and above her lip.

Then it was time for waxing. No words were spoken but the two women worked in perfect harmony.