It’s not so much about the pain
as it is about the anticipation.
That’s what hurts the most.
waxplay
Recently, the Redhead, Craftsmate and I were at an event with some readily available candles. We were all sort of goofing around about it, but we each wound up taking some afterwards for “personal use”. The shifty glances the three of us were giving each other were kind of priceless.
As the evening wound down, I shoved a bunch into Craftsmate’s shoulderbag.
“Did you take any for yourself?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t have my backpack, where would I put them?”
He smirked, “I have a few ideas where you can put them.”
Currently, they reside in the top lefthand drawer of my desk.
This.
This I would like to try.
It’s been almost a year now since the last time I tried waxplay.
The last time, I had to perform it on myself while the thief watched. There’s something a lot more daunting about doing it that way. You would think that being in relative control of the candle would make the experience a little less intimidating, but you tend to actually have a lot less control over the candle when your hand is shaking than you’d like.
We started with it over my breasts, on my nipples. I shivered when started to drip onto my thighs. I protested when he suggested I put it on my clit. I had never done that before or had anyone put the wax there. When I finally agreed, I swear I saw white the moment the wax made contact with my clit. I cried out, my body shook, and I wound up spilling more wax on my thigh and over my slit.
“I’m proud,” the thief said, “and, damn, that looks awesome.” He gestured to the wax that covered my body. I blushed and chuckled.
I think I am way overdue for another experience like that.
“I’ll be anything you want,” she said, “so long as I’m useful.”
She hated when people like them got over the top. She hated the pushcarts and the pony play and the ornate arrangements of flesh made to be something of use. She wanted to be used simply, to be reduced to function and not form.
And so he turned off the fuse box and blamed the storm. And she went to get a book of matches.
Just was alerted that I got a new email. It was from a certain tumblrer who I admire very, very much. And who clearly knows me very, very well.
©2011 The Dirty Gentleman (#251)
Cool weather means more candle rights?