Things just got really kinky at the beauty spa where I have been doing electrolysis

Transgender pre-op kink and the weird twilight zone of emerging female sexual function

It used to be that when I went to get a full body wax, including a “Hollywood”, which involves waxing everything ‘down there’ too, that I would have to concentrate on serious subjects such as God or other things to keep from becoming hard.  And I might lose the battle, so it was a constant fight.  But I have been so dead down there until recently that when the technician is down there holding my penis as she does her painful and painstaking work, zapping out one hair at a time, or spending way too much time and attention as she massages in soothing cream after the fact, and not getting any reaction, that I have begun to regard my ex-penis as just some spare skin, not as the instrument of pleasure it once was.

That’s why I was also totally confident to distract myself with my cell phone and doomscroll as she went about her painful business.  There was a Domme I admire greatly in my DM’s and I was leafing through her content wondering about seeing her, and well, you know that even without evident physical desire, there is physical desire which you cannot see.  The gift of oestrogen has also amped up a thousandfold my levels of spiritual and emotional desire.  What I hadn’t considered was that my recent “orgasmic awakening” through meditation and kinky massage, had also unleashed the beast.

I became intensely aroused.

What else.  Our conversation, normally very free and wide ranging, was even freer and more wide ranging than ever.  We talked a lot about food, health, and nutrition.  We talked about being a witch and seeing and feeling things that others don’t/can’t.  I had a similar discussion with Star Child later, one of whose siblings has the ‘gift’.

I expected this particular electrolysis session to be my last.  I have an important consult with my intended surgeon in 6 weeks time, and in order for that to go well, my nether regions need to be permanently hair free in a prescribed area.  Never mind that the beautician who does my electrolysis has decided along the way that I should no longer have any hair down there at all, effectively making me look like pre-pubescent down there.  Even on this occasion, she reiterated this goal to which I acquiesced.  After all, we take domination where it comes, as it comes.

I put on more numbing cream than ever, wrapping my nether region in plastic wrap for an hour before, and then topping it up before we started.  It helps a bit, but not much.  We had allowed a growth cycle to take hold, so there were quite a few hairs to deal with, so I was under the zapping needle for an excruciatingly long period of time.

On previous occasions I had told her that I wouldn’t do laser any more, as it was too painful.  Today, she decided that I would do laser again, not just once, but twice, and on a higher level (so more pain).  

“But I don’t want to,” I said.

“You will,” she said, and explained again why it was necessary for the elimination of my hair.  “I know you’re not a masochist,” she sighed, “it would be helpful if you were.”

“I’ve never liked pain.”

“But you will obey.”

“Yes.”

So she prepped me, sprinkling talc on my genital area.  For any of you that are adult babies, you might know that the very specific feeling of having talc sprinkled on that part of your body has an incredible Pavlovian effect.  In me, it produces almost instant and guaranteed sub-space, total passivity, and intense arousal.  At least it used to.  Well, this time it kicked in big time.  And I was suddenly worried as she was rubbing it in, and then squirting on and rubbing the gel she uses to improve the laser contact with the hair follicles, that I would have an embarrassing erection.  I wondered, ‘will I have to think about something unpleasant, or God, in order to prevent this?’  But I looked down, and despite feeling intensely aroused, and having the imagined feeling of an erection, there was nothing happening down there that was visible to the eye!  ‘How strange’ I thought to myself, and so I surrendered to the feeling, opened my legs wide for her, covered my face with a towel, and submitted to the most painful laser session on my privates I have ever experienced.

“Does it hurt?” asked the self-avowed sadist as she saw me arching all the way off of the treatment table.

“Oh my God, more than ever.”

“That’s good,” she said, “that means its working.  You want it to work don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s right.  Are you ready for me to do it again?”

“Yes.”

“Ask me.”

“Please start,” I said, and experienced an extended period of pain which had me feeling as if I had leapt like a cartoon cat onto the ceiling and had dug in with my claws.

“Turn over,” she said.  I relished the calm without pain and turned slowly.  I was completely naked.  She opened my butt cheeks and then asked me to hold them open for, and then to arch my ass up so that she could get my front, and now also my rosebud with ease.

“I have to get it from both directions,” she said.

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Do you know many people use laser to make their anus’s look prettier, to lighten the colour.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’m sure that will be an added benefit for you.”

She spent an inordinate amount of time massing the gel onto my perineum, but butt cheeks and directly onto my rosebud.  She was there, back and forth with her gloved hands over and over, and for a really long time.  I might have moaned in pleasure if she hadn’t stopped.  And then she was at it with the laser, its big, hard knob going up and down in that space, periodically zapping me and other times just feeling good, and it was wild, and weird, and very triggering of submission in me.

When she was done she wiped me off and then put a soothing lavender oil on me, with a gentle touch that felt very motherly.  She bade me turn again, and I did, looking down, amazed to see that I wasn’t hard even though I felt it.  After she oiled me up with this soothing oil, she pulled the towel I had been laying on up between my legs like a diaper, and just left it there.  She has no idea, but it was very triggering for me.  I was in that weird passive, acquiescent state that comes with deep sub space.

For the next hour she waxed and plucked very hair off of my body.  And we talked.  I came out of where I had been, but somewhere along the line I told her that I am a slave.  I was mostly naked, though I still had the small towel between my legs and something covering my breasts.  Her very attractive assistant, who never comes into the room with me, because she doesn’t do “men” and doesn’t do intimate waxing, kept coming in over and over and looking at me, always with an excuse that she needed something or other.  She had never done this before over almost a year of sessions.  But here she was.

And since I can’t help but flirt with a pretty woman, when she walked in I pointed my toes as I am learning in ballet and raised my leg and blinked my eyes at her, and asked her when she was going to teach me about makeup…and then she was on it.  I told them how I need to look pretty for a ball that I am going to soon, and I could see a kind of predatory lust in her gaze that had not been there before as she too, began to tell me what I will be doing.

For the first time, when I left the salon, it was with an appointment for next time and a not quite vague idea of how she is going to “play with me” and teach me how to make myself pretty.

There was something else.  For the first time since I have been going there, and despite having always been considerate about my gender, all four of the people working there were correcting my language, starting with gender (in Italian everything is gendered) in relation to myself, but also with all of my language, correcting words and sentences as you do with a child.

I left the salon feeling as if I had been fussed over, cared for, but also dominated for several hours, and you know what?  It was almost as good as a session with a pro-Domme.

Wild.  The best part?  I was so aroused, and I didn’t even show it.  Plausible deniability.