Mistress's

Chapter One

I peeled my eyes open, feeling groggy. I lifted my arms up to yawn, and arch my back, but found I could do neither. I shivered, feeling goosebumps traipse up and down my arms and legs and spine.

My upper arms had been restrained by metal clamp things holding me against a metal slab that was upright; my wrists and ankles had been treated the same way. There was also a large, thick clamp that was right underneath my armpits, and was holding my chest in place. Tightly. My boobs, however, were too big for it, and were therefore being squished as a result.

I shivered again, feeling no fabric from the middle of my back down to my feet. I strained my neck to look past my boobs, my chin length hair falling from behind my ear in my way. I quickly flipped it back with a jerk of my neck, and saw that my shirt had been rolled up, and I was naked from there on down.

I ignored the feeling of being self conscious and noticed I was in some sort of lab room that was about the size of a living room. There were no windows, and the only light came from the overhead lights spread across the ceiling.

Directly in front of me on the ground was a folding chair, and diagonally to my right was a tall woman with long, waist-length wavy brown hair. She wore a dark brown leather jacket with a white shirt hem poking out underneath, and ripped up dark-wash jeans. She looked like a super model in street clothes.

In front of her was a cart. It had a metal table top, and a shelf directly below it. The woman's body was blocking my view of whatever she was doing. It apparently included a lot of clanking around.

Poking out from the shelf was what looked my black yoga pants and my pink underwear!

A moment later, she turned around and brought the cart with her to sit in the folding chair.

I watched her warily with wide eyes. She was intimidatingly stunning. The kind of stunning that looked photoshopped unless you saw them in person. Her makeup was perfect, complete with perfectly winged eyeliner, sparkly gold eyeshadow, dark maroon lipstick, perfect contouring highlights, and to top it off, she had mesmerizing hazel eyes with gold flecks.

She looked up at me and winked, a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She looked young. Probably only around twenty-four.

She reached up to the cart, and pulled out an electric razor. My eyes grew as wide as saucers as she unrolled the cord, and plugged into the wall. Then she picked up a small, black remote covered in buttons and a switch or two. She pressed one, and I felt the metal slab condense until my knees were bent diagonally, and to the sides, displaying my pelvic area to the super model woman.

Every muscle in my body was tense with anticipation and fear. She turned it on, and it hummed to life. She brought it closer to my bush, and I quivered. My pelvic muscle quivered in fear, and suddenly I didn't care that I was cold. The fear took hold of every nerve in my being.

"Must be hairless," the woman muttered, never looking back up at me as she adjusted the razor. She had an English accent, I noticed.

She rested a cold hand on my inner thigh, raising the goosebumps even higher. The cold plastic touched down, and she moved all around, taking out the hair. I squeezed my eyes shut, and silently waited for it to be over.

It was less than five minutes when the razor stopped. I let out the small breath I'd been holding, and slowly opened my eyes, looking down at her again. She reached up to the cart again, and this time she brought down a manual razor most people use for their legs.

She meticulously shaved, and I anxiously waited to feel the sting when my skin was nicked, but again, five minutes later, and nothing was nicked. I let that puff of breath out as well.