Frankie, the girl who waxed Mistress Vixen so beautifully had no idea of Vixen's profession. She saw a striking, powerful woman who dressed simply and elegantly and assumed that she was some sort of corporate executive. Like a number of similar, if not quite so formidable looking women, who looked after their bodies, Vixen used a lot of the spa's services. Some of them also chose to have a Brazilian wax. There was no reason to think that this quiet, relaxed client was particularly out of the ordinary.
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I didn't know how best to describe my desires as I grew older, at least I never truly acknowledged them from fear of judgment until I met Him.
January. Two weeks ago.
I was rushing to class when I first saw Him. He was chatting with a good friend of mine, dressed in a black shirt and blue jeans.
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You have me tied down to the bed, my limbs stretched and tightly secured with the silk scarves to each of the bedposts. A fifth scarf is wrapped around my head, covering my eyes, completely blocking out all light. The faint scent of jasmine incense is in the air, combined with the smell of hot melting wax.
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He was going to kill me.
Not merely an idle thought, but quite possibly a fact considering what I was about to do. I was treading not only the very distinct line of our abstract relationship this afternoon, but perhaps straddling the damn thing, erasing the permanent marker with the lacy tops of Chinese silk stockings, fraying the edges on the constitution of our very own sexual etiquette.
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She knew she shouldn't be out. It was late, nearly midnight already. The full moon glowed high in the sky, illuminating the path in front of her in the hazy shades of silver and blue~fae light she'd always heard it called. She sighed and moved gracefully along the path. She knew it so well now, traveled it as often as she could, as often as nature allowed.
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I got dressed as provocatively and with the sluttiest make-up that I could manage without looking like a transsexual, slipped on my heels and tottered my way to the interview. They had been so secretive, and I amused myself by twiddling with my cellphone and imagining things they would give me to do.
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She knelt down by the door of the bathroom, completely naked, her hands clasped in her lap, her head bowed. The short copper hair was tussled, but her overall appearance was neat. She couldn't wait to see what he had in store for her today.
He stepped out of the shower, completely naked. He chuckled. "My my, someone doesn't like clothes very much," he noted, very pleased with his slave. She was in position, didn't bother with frilly knick knacks, and was ready to serve him.
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3:55pm
I'm starting to shut down the office when I hear the "blip" on my computer that signals Yahoo! just received a message for me.
4:01pm
I put the office phone on night ring, close the blinds and turn off the lights. I sit down at my desk and get ready to log my computer off when I remember that I have to check emails. Damn!
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Jamie sat in his kitchen, studying the woman across from him. He squinted through the smoke from his pipe and, for a moment, saw her as she had been when they met. He smiled at the memory. She had been 19, he 35. Neither had believed the other could be interested in themselves. Yet they were. Then she had been young, pretty and immature.
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Standing in the doorway, she watched the sweat drip down the gardener's chest. The tall, muscular man, had stopped beside the mower and wiped his brow off with a well-tanned arm. She waited restlessly for him to notice that she was standing at the door in a cropped T-shirt and a pair of tiny white underwear. She had been trying to get the man's attention all day.
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