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CoolMintCreme -> Sugaring (F/m erotica) (9/26/2012 3:06:54 PM)
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For a certain audience.
Sugaring
Alex had already applied a dusting of cornstarch to the back of his hands, his arms and chest.
Following directions, he squeezed and strained two lemons from the tree in Jane's back yard. He combined the lemon juice with a like amount of water and added the liquid to two cups of sugar in a large glass bowl. The silvery mixture went into a saucepan.
He was both ashamed and excited as he stirred well to prevent boiling. He stared at the candy thermometer until it reached 250.
Two minutes later, the paste was more than warm when he dabbed it on his left forefinger below the second knuckle. He winced and continued, working his way up the limb to the shoulder using the flat of a popsicle stick.
Alex covered the slatherings with strips from an old blue bed sheet. The crust smelled good on him, like candy or weak lemonade. As indicated, he rubbed a few times firmly in the direction of growth and let the cloths sit for a timed minute.
Tensing for friction, he squirmed at the sting in briskly removing the cotton. The exercise made him hard. He chided himself aloud: "You're not supposed to be enjoying this," he said.
An unsightly mesh of coppery leavings stuck to the discarded streamers; it looked more like fur, and far more substantial than it ever did embellishing his body. Alex rubbed a smooth cheek with a forearm made newly smoother still. He licked it tentatively and found it sweet.
He repeated the process for his other arm and both legs and feet. It was more effective when the paste was hot; he gave himself a small burn at the top of his right thigh before letting the mixture rest after its second reheating.
Months ago Jane had pushed him into a fitness regimen that was starting to yield obvious dividends. He admired his ropy frame in the full-length bedroom mirror, running his hands over silky arms and upper legs before giving his fattening cock a short pull.
"Look at yourself, for Christ's sake," he said as he let go.
Alex applied depilatory creams to regions not easy to reach or too sensitive to wrench hair away from. The smell cut into him and turned him over like a hidden hand on a barbecue fork: He recalled a woman named Dottie who cursed and smoked and whispered things into his mother's ear that made her blush and laugh while the hairdresser serviced Mrs. Oliver on a Saturday morning in the kitchen.
As a boy of about 10, Alex had begun to wonder about the secret society of women, how two of them who were scarcely acquainted might easily share things they wouldn't tell a male they had loved their whole lives.
He wondered now if the beauty ritual he was enduring was some kind of figurative glue, one of many that unified women in trials inherited through gender.
He did not care to admit to himself how good the process made him feel. Likewise, Alex was not quite at home with the mixture of fear and excitement in his upended sensibilities as he wondered about the consummation he was preparing himself for.
Alex squeezed into a glass ramekin what looked a generous palmful of body cream. Jane had chosen it for him. The bottle copy stated that it was a blend of "olive oil, bees wax, honey, bee pollen, royal jelly, bee propolis and Divine love."
"I'll have to look into the last three," he said as opened the cologne.
He added a dozen drops of scent to the cream. The brand he had selected was billed as "an interesting fusion of sandalwood, cinnamon, vanilla, mint, orange blossom and bergamot. The sandalwood and orange blossom components are particularly potent — generating a striking aroma that oozes sensuality."
"It must be the bergamot," Alex said, mixing the ingredients with a cocktail straw and warming them in a pan of hot water. He slathered most heavily in the areas of strongest natural odor: under his arms, between his legs, into his bottom.
At the latter, he left enough cream so he could feel the wetness when he put on a pair of new white boxer shorts. Discomfort stirred anxiety while desire was left to simmer, but Alex had more work to do.
"How was your day, dear?" he asked. "Let me take that for you."
Jane was half a head taller than Alex in a pair of black open toe Gucci stilettos he had bought for her. From there up, she wore gray silk tights with a cashmere gusset, a lamb nappa leather pencil skirt and a black ribbed knit turtleneck of rayon viscose with slinky three-quarter length sleeves. Her legs were long, her curves hard-won; she displayed them as challenge or taunt.
"Something smells delicious," she said.
"Bourginon," Alex answered from down the hall. He stood Jane's satchel alongside the dresser. "The way you like it. With flatiron steak and good Burgundy."
"Lovely," Jane said, picking at a crust of warm French bread. "Please bring my bag back, dear."
Alex returned with a weak half-smile like thin blush that fails to mask confusion.
"Set it down against the table leg, sweetie."
She extended a forefinger and Alex started to sit down in the chair beside her. "Shall I bring out the salad?" he asked.
"No, doll," Jane said. "We will be skipping to the main course this evening.
"Don't sit there. I want you on my lap."
"But aren't you hungry?" He heard himself whine. "Can't we wait? I made something special for us."
"I am hungry, darling. But not for standard fare." She nudged back the collar of his white linen shirt and lightly kissed the nape of his neck.
"Have I displeased you?" Alex asked, staring at a grout line around terra cotta tile.
"Not at all, love," Jane said. As directed, he wore socks but no pants. Jane caressed the supple flesh on his left thigh, just below the hem of the boxers. "You are the thing that smells delicious. Your pride is the thing I am ready to consume."
Jane grazed the burgeoning crease between his legs, then gave his balls a sharp slap with the back of her hand that made him jump and whimper. "Control yourself, you sweet dirty thing.
"Control yourself and listen.
"It hurts a little when you devote time and trouble to preparations that someone takes for granted. Doesn't it?"
"Yes," Alex said, swallowing hard.
"It hurts a little when you fuss, when you take certain pains ... when you stage a scene and wait and hope and that scene is met with indifference.
"It hurts a little, doesn't it?"
"Yes," he said. Jane took his left earlobe between her teeth, threatened to bite but just suckled.
"It hurts when the powerful party asserts a prerogative. Maybe without cruelty. Maybe simply because he can."
Silence sat and coiled, dun-colored, predatory.
"May I ask a question?" Alex said.
"Of course, my pet."
"What do you mean by 'he?'"
Jane undid the second button of Alex's shirt and slid her right hand in. She held it flat, grazing both nipples, nuzzling his neck and sighing. "So smooth," she said. "You did well today.
"You did well. You are more than pretty, but a bit flighty-headed. What I mean should be more than clear.
"What I mean is that you must be made to understand ... what a woman feels when she is subject to ... a man's vagaries. His mercies. His prerogatives."
Alex gulped and hung his head. Jane set her hand on his chest, her fingers at his neck; as if to choke, without squeezing.
"It's a matter of routine for a woman ... a hollow little lover's routine ... that she should go to certain lengths for her loved one ... to prepare for him ... make things nice for him ... and to find her tender efforts unappreciated."
She kissed the side of his face, reached beneath and pinched his left buttock fiercely. "You may get excited now, precious," Jane said. "But do not begin to drift out of passive response.
"She is taken for granted. She forsakes her dignity. Swallows her pride. Swallows his cock. Accepts a bad bargain."
Jane squeezed him suddenly, sharp nails in meat. A sigh shook in his chest and cracked like a groan.
"She takes the bad bargain because she lacks power. She takes the bad bargain in trade for his love."
Jane pushed her chair back and him to the floor. His hip banged the table. He landed on his side. "She learns her lessons in small increments. They run short on drama. They are seldom severe."
She took Alex by a hank of his thick brown hair and dragged him toward her seat. "No standing up, sexy. Get on your knees. Get on your knees and look at me.
"She learns her lessons while still in her prime. In increments, mild and often. But we don't have that kind of leisure. You don't have that kind of leisure, I should say.
"Being brief, your education must be intense. It started this morning. It culminates soon."
Jane kissed his forehead, petted his scalp, and rested her cheek on his head. "You're trembling, love," she said with a lilt. "Don't be so soft. Billions of women take treatment like this ... take it, survive and then thrive.
"You are a man, my darling. Sturdy and strong. What she can take, you can take too."
Jane yanked his head back and slapped Alex's face hard enough to make his jaw rattle. She continued the attack with the back of her hand, sharp across both cheeks, a half-dozen times.
"Don't cry, my brave man. My brave little bitch. I have something for you in my bag.
"I am tired of the sweet talk. Please get it for me."
Alex shook his head and started to rise when he beheld what he grasped. With her legs on either side of him, Jane leaned back in the chair, at ease and smiling, elbows out, hands behind her head.
"Back to your knees, please. Just for a moment. Then you may get on your feet.
"You may get on your feet, get your kit bag and go and not darken my doorstep again.
"I will have wasted some of my better efforts on one who is plainly unworthy of them. I will enjoy a bowl of bourginon, thank you for your trouble and go to the Internet to shop for your replacement.
"I will have sized up the next pretty boy before you reach the fourth stop light. While you get away from me and never return, and I move on to more diverting business."
Alex concentrated on the heavy stitch work adorning the openings for foot and toes. "Please, no," he said, head hung, face flushed, shoulders low, arms limp, gone silent.
The studded harness at his right knee encased the toy that had scared him: about 8 inches long, more than 2 inches wide with a fat angry-looking mushroom head.
"That's better," Jane said. "Look up at me."
She swirled her tongue around Afghan red lips, semi-opaque and super creamy.
"Get up and bend over that table, precious. And mind the glassware while you're about it."
She fastened the harness and slid it in place, rubbing her cock as he went prone.
"You will want to hold tight to the table edge, lover. This will be like nothing you're used to."
With grips at the hips, she eased his boxers down slowly, savoring the stations of shame. She felt him tremble, in thrill or in terror, a pebble of gooseflesh on tensed upper thigh.
"It will sting less if you relax, baby.
"A girl can make peace with ... degradation."
Jane cupped his ass in both hands. She ran fingers over it, lightly at first, a graze that progressed to proprietary caress.
"So soft, love. It feels so good. Don't you like how it feels when you touch a woman's ass?"
He didn't answer. She leaned in close, whispered into his ear: "Don't you like how that feels for you, pumpkin?"
"Yes," Alex said, with a wince, in a sweat.
Jane stepped back to survey a devil's triangle, its base established by white stocking feet, its apex of virginal rectum. The sphincter contracted, relaxed and then tensed, as if trying to reason with danger.
"You get to feel that before she feels this." Jane slid her cock up and back in his cleft. The tender fleshed yielded, made way for brute force, exposing the striated goal.
"But now my sweet one the tables have turned. The table is set. And my dinner is served.
"It's good to see that you are wet, my love. It looks like my girlfriend is ready.
"I hope you're as ready as I am, sugar. Your smooth little ass is now mine."
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