“the sound of an epilator should make any girl wet” ~ Jenna Davis (Domme)

My freespirited hippie mother led me to believe that shaving was “unnatural,” and I believed it at the time because I only ever witnessed her shave her pits or legs on a few very rare occasions during my entire childhood. My very first female lover, however, had a different viewpoint on women and shaving. Christina was a somewhat older woman, in her mid-twenties. She explained to me early in our relationship that dominant women should at all times have pubic hair while submissive women should at all times be clean shaven for their owners… at least that was the lesbian mindset in my hometown when I entered the lifestyle in the early nineteen-nineties.

Miss Christina worked with my mother at the local textile mill, and we often met at our family backyard gatherings or at workplace picnics. My mother was much older than her by a large number of years, and I think she looked at the red-haired woman more as a younger sister than her equal peer, but they seemed to get along well, despite their age difference. Never once did I think that I would end up in Miss Christina’s basement, tied to a table, fully naked and exposed. Yet, here we are just a few years later, days away from my nineteenth birthday with my arms now pulled back (revealing my unshaven pits), my legs raised and spread, fastened to bolts with quick release clamps to chains dangling from her basement rafters.

“I am glad you finally made up your mind… raise your hips, dear.”

Using the chains as a support and pushing downwards on them with my bound ankles, I attempt to raise my hips quickly, wanting to be as obedient and compliant as I could be. As I struggle in the restraint to keep my hips raised, Christina starts to manoeuvre a large, custom-made leather pillow underneath the arch of my back. My unkempt and hairy cunt and ass are now fully raised, no longer allowing my bum cheeks to touch the wooden table top. With the pillow in place and my hips elevated, Miss Christina starts fiddling with the chains and leather straps. She reaches down below the table and brings up a spreading bar, which she skillfully inserts between the chains. The leather around my ankles feels tighter now with the bar in place, and the sexy black mule heels that she bought me as a birthday present the year before have now been removed from my feet and dropped to the floor.

As my last stitch of clothing was being removed, it made the basement feel even colder… I became aware of my nipples hardening… I’m not sure if it was the noise of those heels hitting the floor or viewing my exposed feet in chains with Christina standing in front of me, but I could feel a small tingling sensation starting to happen deep inside my cunt, my tiny butthole started to pucker, and saliva was building in my mouth. I noticed I was swallowing more often, and I started to tremble a little bit (I wanted to move to hide the trembling, but I could not). I am sure it was not the cold that made me tremble, but more the realisation that my life from this point forward was gonna be entirely different. My older lover’s mood seemed to have changed and become more serious today. My mind started to wander to the day that we met and how I got myself here.

Christina ran her hand down the back of my suspended leg as she moved from the back of the table towards the front. The only word as she gazed down on my bound body was “open”, and my mind snapped back to my current situation. She now held a thick, six-inch-long piece of a wooden dowel that was being presented over my face. I opened my mouth wide (in the way I was taught to present that hole), sort of hoping that, in that quick second, she would spit or drip her salvia into my opened mouth, but instead the dowel was gently placed into it and I was told to “bite down”. I could hear movement behind me and things being placed on a small metal television table that I had seen when I first entered the room, near the area where I was told to undress and place my clothes… I could only imagine what those items were, clink, clink, clink, they sounded heavy… I could hear another drawer being opened, then items being shuffled around and moved side to side, and then Chris mumbling something to herself. Another set of drawers opens, with a shuffling of items and then an “ah ha, there you are”. My owner returns with a handful of thin boot styled leather laces. She attached one end to the dowel and then pushed the other end below my neck and over to the left side, where she finished tying the dowel in place. She fixes my hair, hanging it all off the table, and she then moves once again towards the back of the room.

A large amount of time seemed to go by where Christina did not speak or make any noise. I could hear the grandmother clock upstairs ticking in the background.

tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, ding-dong, ding-dong

I was startled when the doorbell rang. My body jerked. “Oh sh*t,” I wondered to myself… The bell rang for the second time.

ding-dong

Mistress’s heels clicked on the cement floor as she walked over to me. “Good girl, it’s ok. Jenna Davis has finally arrived”. My legs tugged on the chains instinctively, wanting to get off the table. “Oh God, not Miss Davis,” was all that went through my mind. I tried to pull my arms forward, but I could not. “Settle” was all that my lover said, smiling while calmly placing her hand on my stomach, her fingers then quickly moved down and playfully scratched at my unshaven, thick, black, unkempt bush, before turning towards the stairwell.

Jenna Davis was a large breasted natural blonde salon owner who had a slightly stocky and boyish create. She wore a shorter, more “up and coming” hair style than the rest of the women in our small rural town, which made her sort of out of place and more “big city”. The men in our local area all found her attractive (and funny), but I believe that was more because of the type of clothing she wore than her actual personality. In the salon, she often wore even lower-cut tops than those that I had seen her wear in public, and she at all times had a tendency to inappropriately place those large boobs against the back of your head. They were natural boobs, soft and squishy. You at all times knew when those boobs were gonna touch the side of your face because Miss Davis would put a hand on your shoulder, (and with the tiniest bit of force, she would hold you back into the chair to keep you in place as she leaned in for her boobs to brush your face. It seemed to me that Miss Davis also had a tendency to reach over a lot to pick up anything from a brush to some other mundane item from the far side of the counter whenever I was in her chair. At college, some of the other girls told similar stories, and my mind started to wander…

ding-dong

The door bell rang again… “Coming” was the call as Mistress’ heels quickly clicked up the wooden stairs towards the back door.

To be continued…