Lipstick. Lust. Locked. Lost.

In my fourth decade I decided to get serious about toning and sculpting my body. I’d come to understand a positive attitude to my body – including how it looks – could lead to a happier and more fulfilling life.

Little was I to know how this would lead to an experience that was fun, sexy, perverse and exciting. And it involved: lipstick, lust, locked, lost.

Watching my diet and regular weight training meant my upper body was changing and looking pretty good. However, chest and tummy hairs meant the full extent of these changes were not fully revealed. And … grey hairs peppered throughout gave me a look I didn’t want to embrace, well at least not yet.

When I first shaved my chest and tummy hairs I was astonished – skin I hadn’t seen for about thirty years was uncovered. Beneath my wiry covering I found my skin soft and smooth and a bit sexy. Also, the muscle groups I had been working on – chest and stomach – were much easier to see. The whole effect was very pleasing.

I trimmed my public hairs a little, but didn’t shave ‘down there.’ Seemed like an extreme measure and just not for me.

My back remained an area of patchy, wild growth. So I booked in for a back wax. Very metrosexual, I said to myself as I arrived for the appointment.

The receptionist was about my age and looked at me knowingly. ‘Young Monique will look after you.”

You weren’t that young – about 30 years old, I’d say. But younger than the receptionist and I by at least 15 years.

You led me into the treatment room. Dressed in a tight white dress, you looked stunning. Dark, warm hair gently caressed your shoulders as you walked. Your breasts were full and firm, packed tightly into the white uniform of the beauty salon worker. Black high heels at the end of shapely legs clipped on the tiles as you led me to the treatment room.

The room was bright and warm, the treatment bed in the centre. “Please strip naked and lay face down. I’ll get the equipment.”

“Naked? I thought I could keep my, um, underwear on.”

“No. Naked. It’s essential to how I work.”

Given no choice, I underdressed hurriedly and lay face down as told. I rested my head on my folder arms, looking to one side. The smell of the warm waxing solution filled the air.

From this position I could see you standing close to the wall in front of a small mirror. Again the same lovely view of your legs, bottom, back and dark hair on your shoulders. But your dress seemed a little higher now – like you’d hiked it up. Couldn’t be, I thought. Meant I could just see the delicious curve of the bottom of your buttocks.

Then you made eye contact with me through the mirror. Warm, twinkling green eyes. With just a hint of mischief. All I could see of your face were those gleaming eyes, your nose, your mouth.

From a small table under the mirror you gingerly picked up a tube of something and uncapped it. Without breaking eye contact you brought the tube slowly to your lips. Lipstick.

In long, cool, delicious strokes you applied the greasy lotion to one lip, then the other. Really thick. It formed a rough, uneven surface. Then a second, then a third pass and your lips were coated in a smooth, cherry sheen.

And all the time you maintained that cool, cool lock on my eyes. My cock – pressed into the bed – swelled, ponderously, and throbbed in rhythm with my now thumping heart.

You spun around and quickly pushed a trolley with the waxing equipment to the bedside. Two latex gloves snapped into place.

‘This will hurt, you know,’ you said. ‘And I can control the pain …’

‘Oh,’ I replied, ‘please do that.’

‘What – control the pain up … or down? Your choice.’

And with that you applied the first long, smooth lick of wax to my back. It was hotter, much hotter than I expected. I shuddered, jerked a little and moaned. But not necessarily in pain.

‘Was that all right? I can make it hotter for the next run, if you want.’ You delivered this option in a voice much lower than before. I opened my eyes and found you’d dimmed the lights in the room.

‘Maybe a bit hotter for the next run, yes, please,’ I answered.

The paper to remove the wax (and the hair) was then quickly and expertly laid down on the strip of wax. And RIP!

‘Ouch!!’ Then you laid your cool, latex-covered hands gently onto the now bare skin.

‘Still okay?’ you asked. ‘Shall we continue?’

‘Yes … please … go on. It …feels … goood,’ I mumbled.

Another lick of hot wax, and it was hotter than the first, across the small of my back. ‘Do you work out?’ you asked as the plastic spatula spread the hot wax over my tender skin.

‘A little,’ I mumbled, struggling to get the words out. ‘Does … does it show?’

‘Mmmm. It certainly does.’ The second strip of paper was laid down. ‘How old are you?’

‘Forty-eight, in two months,’ I answered … not sure if that was my age. Unsure of many things are that moment, wondering what would come next.

RIP!

‘Really – I would have picked you for about thirty-five, if it wasn’t for these grey hairs on your back. But they’ll be all gone as we speak.’

And so it continued. Each new application of wax got hotter and hotter. And reach ripping got more and more forceful.

And in the midst of this: small talk – mostly questions from you. My job? My interests? The weather? A staggering contrast to the erotic pain of the waxing.

And the best bit? When you put your cool, gentle latex-gloved hands on my naked flesh after each rip.

Each lick of hot wax, each rip, and then each cool carcass with your gloves made my cock harder and bigger. I began to worry how I would dress in front of you with a raging hard-on.

You continued with the procedure. Then abruptly, ‘You like the pain?’ You followed this rhetorical question with a small giggle. ‘The wax is as hot as I can make it. And I think you like it like that.’

‘Yes … yes … it's … its making … making my …’

‘Cock hard? I know – I can see it between your legs.’ Sure enough, my erect cock had swelled and lengthened enough to be visible on the bed between my legs. The tip was moist and glistening as a bead of pre-cum flowed out.

And then: ‘That’s it. All done. No more nasty hairs – including pesky grey ones. Just get dressed and pay Marion at reception.’ And with that you left, grabbing the lipstick as you went. But before you left the room you gave me one last cheeky grin over your shoulder.

Back at home that evening I busied myself making dinner. The cool, crisp black shirt I was wearing felt good against the naked flesh of my back. I hadn’t masturbated when I got home. I was still pondering how to unleash the sexual tension the waxing and your lipstick had built up in me.

Then my phone beeped. A text. ‘Did you like that today?’

My reply: ‘Who is this? And “liked” what?’

‘You know who it is. I can finish you off – now – if you want. I’d enjoy that.’

‘Is that Monique … from the beauty salon?’

‘Of course. Duh. Who else? I have keys and I can meet you there now, if you want.’

‘Yes. Give me 15 minutes.’

‘I’ll be there.’

The street was dark and quiet. And the salon appeared locked and deserted. But as I got nearer I saw the front door was held ajar by … a tube of lipstick. A tiny sticky note on the tube said: “Come in, lock the door and meet me in the treatment room. And don’t forget the lipstick.”

The room was dimmed like before. You stood at the treatment table, equipment at the ready. I was still unsure what ‘finish me off’ meant. But I figured I was about to find out.

I handed you the lipstick. As you applied the cherry coating you spoke. “Strip. Naked, please. On your back. With hands above your head.’

In an almost trance state I followed your orders. In a smooth motion first one, then the other of my wrists were attached to the cool metal of the treatment bed above my head. With gleaming, silver handcuffs. Both ankles got the same treatment.

Then a buzzing. A battery powered set of hair clippers. “Now lay still. I just need to trim back your pubic hair a bit before I apply that hot, hot wax …”

Almost speechless, I managed to get out: ‘Is that what you mean by “finishing me off?” I don’t know if I want to …’

You turned the clippers off. ‘Up to you. I thought you’d enjoy it. I would enjoy doing to you.’ With this you hiked your white dress, the salon uniform, a little to reveal you have dispensed with your underwear. You were, of course, shaved very smooth. You stood close to my face. In the dim light I could see the velvety folds of skin and gentle brown and red tones of your vulva.

You took my silence as a tacit ‘yes’ and flicked the clippers back on. A few quick runs and most of my pubic hair – there since puberty – was gone.

‘Now’, you said as you snapped on the latex gloves, ‘let’s finish the job.’ My cock was already hard and throbbing. When the first long, hot licks of wax were spread across my loins it jumped and twitched in unison with my pounding heart.

Then RIP. And wax. And RIP. And wax. And RIP.

And after each rip, the soothing relief of your gently, cool hands on my flesh.

Throughout we maintained eye contact. When we were not looking into each other’s eyes, I looked at your lips. They shined like some erotic reef fish in the dim light of the treatment room.

The pain was mouth-watering and at times almost unbearable. Towards the end I thought I was going to black out. Then I was brought back from the edge. Your cool gloved hands worked soothing oil into my loins and scrotum. Your hands ventured up onto my hard, hard cock. Ecstasy.

‘All done. I really, really enjoyed that,’ you cooed. “But … that’s all, I’m afraid. I can’t, you know, give you the other “finishing off” you probably want right now. Perhaps, another time.’

I was left panting. Confused. But started to make sense of situation. I had just had an experience I could never forget. And the door was open for the future. I could forgo an orgasm now. Easy.

‘Now let’s get you unlocked.’ You madly rummaged in your handbag. Then stopped. ‘I am not sure how to tell you this – but the keys … I left them at home. I’ll ring my girlfriend. She can bring them down.’

Naked, shaved, hand cuffed to a treatment bed late at night in a beauty salon. Just go with it, I said to myself.

You returned from the next room where you’d made the call. ‘I couldn’t get her – so I left a voicemail. She shouldn’t be too far …’

‘How long?’ I asked.

‘Five minutes? Maybe thirty? Who knows? I suppose we could use this situation to our advantage.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This whole thing tonight has made my nipples pulsate and my pussy warm and wet and it … aches a bit …’

As you spoke these works you slowly undid the gold buttons that held the front of your dress shut, giving me my first view of your breast, trapped inside a tight black bra.

Without another word you climbed onto the table and put one foot on either side of my head. And gradually lowered your pussy into my face. It was open and warm and smelt earthy and sweet. My tongue searched desperately for your clitoris. And you swivelled you hips, your clitoris search out my tongue, too.

Gripping my hair, you smothered my face, riding me until my nose and lips and chin were covered in your moisture. I looked up to see you pinching one nipple then the other – over and over again – through the black bra.

You then slid off my face, sliding your wet pussy down my smooth chest. Finally our faces meet. We kiss, you licking your moisture off my lips.

‘I want to come. And I don’t cum getting fucked,’ you moaned breathlessly. ‘I want to ride your cock and use a vibe on my clitoris. I love cumming with a cock inside me. Ok … is that ok with you?’

I nodded. Sounded great.

From a drawer under the treatment table you drew out a large vibrator – a Hitachi magic wand. It was plugged in the mains power, ready to go.

First you sat on my stomach, leg spread and ran the wand up and down your sex. I was helpless – hands still cuffed to the bed. But the view was wonderful – like nothing I’d experienced before. And then, you positioned yourself over my cock. One hand held the wand. The other gripped the base of my very stiff cock and slipped it in.

You slid right on, taking the whole length. The build up meant you were very wet. My stiff cock fitted perfectly, deep in your body. Then you gradually crumpled forward, your head fitting into the crook of my neck. Breasts – still trapped in the black bra – pressed hard against my chest. The magic wand now on your clitoris and also pressed hard onto my public bone. The wand sandwiched between us.

‘Suck my nipples. It will make me cum,’ you said, half ordering, half pleading. You peeled back your bra and put one nipple in my mouth. I sucked greedily. I began thrust my cock up. The sensation of being pinned under your breasts took me over the edge. I came deep in your body, still with a mouth full of your nipple.

You came, too. Gyrating hard into the wand. Shuddering. You pulled your nipple out of my mouth and bit me hard on my shoulder. You moaned, sounding almost pained. Like the sounds I'd made when the wax was the hottest. Then a calming, and stillness ... akin to when you gently stroked my naked flesh with those cool, smooth latex gloves.

You flicked the switch to turn it off and threw to the ground. Panting we laid together. Smooth skin on smooth skin.

And then, a woman’s voice: “Marion – I’m here. Where are you? And tell me: what are you doing in the salon with our handcuffs, anyway?”