Wax play is one of those kinks we both really like, but not nearly engage in enough. Just sitting here, thinking of wax play, has me squirming and longing for it to happen again…
Tied down on bed, face down and blindfolded, my arms and legs spread out, I cannot see what he is doing. I hear him moving around and then, the strike of a lighter. I know he’s lighting the first candle. We have been speaking about this: using the UV candles again because of the beautiful images we can make.
I sense him next to the bed. My breath quickens as I anticipate that first drop of wax on my bottom, not quite remembering just how hot it was the last time. I want to feel the burn, but somehow it makes me nervous too. Almost as if I fear the heat; as if I’m afraid that it will literally be to hot to handle. The first drop feels way too hot. It burns its way into my skin, but cools quickly. I know it will leave redness on my skin, but it’s never hot enough to leave burn marks. I know this, but still it just feels too hot.
The next drop falls right next to the second one. I hiss and wonder if the wax hisses too, cooling down on my warm skin. A third drop joins the other two and the fourth drop follows quickly, as does the fifth, the sixth, the seventh… I cannot count them anymore. My mind is focused on the heat on my body, trying to process the heat, that now is a constant companion. My body strains against its ties, trying to roll away from the heat. I can’t. I have to stay in position.
There’s a slight pause when he moves away from the bed, lights another candle and it feels far too soon that he’s pack. It starts all over again. One drop. Pause. Second drop, pause, third, pause, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, lost count, fighting the ties and just as I want to call out, it stops and the next candle is lighted.
Seven colors. Seven times he brings her from anticipation to pain to no pain to a point where there was no room, no bed, nothing. Only her body and her mind. It brings her to a place where she can shut out everything but them. They are all that exist. They, and this dynamic between them where her body is the source to their pleasure. He holds the instruments. She feels the pain. They both enjoy.
The moment the pain – which she now realizes she has felt all the time but processed differently – stops, she becomes aware of her surroundings again. He’s there. She feels his eyes feasting upon the curves of her body, admiring his work of art. She feels his eyes feasting upon the curves of her body. She’s ready for his next step.
The above is a simple fantasy, nothing spectacular. I love when I feel the hot wax dripping on my back (or front) and thinking I won’t be able to handle the heat till the end, while finally not even being aware of the heat anymore, but soaring on a feeling of happiness and belonging.
© Rebel’s Notes
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