Vanishing Point Ch. 01 page 3

"Please drink it all. I will refill your cup in a moment. It will be a few minutes before we will be ready for you."

"All right," Jean said as she sank back into the love seat. "It is so quiet here… So relaxing. But where are the others?"

"The others?" the Oriental girl asked.

"Yes. Other clients. Customers. You know,"

"We do not take many new clients, Jean Bujold. We like to make sure that we devote our full attention to each and every one. You were selected after a careful search."

"Really? Why is that?" Jean asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Because of who you are, Jean Bujold. And because of who you can be."

The girl's enigmatic answer didn't really help, but Jean let it pass. She drained the last of her tea. "I'll have another cup, please," she asked. "It really is very relaxing."

The girl rose up from her knees and took Jean's cup in her small, delicate hands. As she leaned forward to lift it off the table, Jean saw that the girl wore an ornate silver collar with a dragon embossed on it, and that she had matching silver bracelets on her small wrists. But what truly drew her attention was the outline of a pair of large, round rings on the front of her dress, at the apex of the small, soft mounds of breastflesh that highlighted the girl's delicate, feminine, doll-like appearance.

"I love your jewelry," Jean said, as she reached to touch the girl's bracelet. Her eyes were riveted on the girl's rings as she spoke, though.

"Thank you," the girl answered, as Jean lifted her eyes to meet hers. It somehow didn't feel embarrassing at all to meet this girl's tranquil gaze after staring at her nipple rings and with her knowing that Jean had been looking at her with such frank admiration.

"We have a jeweler on staff," the girl added. "You may have an opportunity to have a set made for you, too."

"I think I'd like that," Jean said, though she'd never worn anything nearly so exotic before.

Then the girl was gone to refill Jean's teacup.

Jean exhaled a long, slow breath and tilted her head back. She closed her eyes and licked her lips. She still saw the corseted and kneeling woman nibbling at the other woman's flower bouquet. But now she was there in the photograph. She was the one standing there – and kneeling, too. How could that be? It didn't matter, though. All she could think about was being there, in that picture.

"Here's your tea."

"Thank you."

The girl returned to her straight-backed chair behind her little glass desk and composed herself into the same position she was in when Jean had entered Fantasia, head bowed, back straight, and with her hands folded in her lap.

Jean sipped her tea and felt the soothing warmth flood through her body. As she sank deeper into the cushions, she studied the girl behind the desk. She was simply and undeniably beautiful; the kind of gorgeous creature who graced magazine covers and lived a magical life. As Jean's eyes moved down the girl's body, she could tell that she was completely bare beneath her silken sheath. There was not even a hint of a line to mar the smooth, soft curves of her body.

But as Jean watched, she saw the girl's hands begin to move slightly. She was masturbating. Her fingertips stroked her clit through the sheer red silk that covered her lap. Slowly and rhythmically, the girl fingered herself. Jean was both amazed and aroused by what she saw. Her own hand found its way beneath her trademark black skirt. Fantasia was far more sensual and elegant than she had dreamed. If the receptionist could masturbate so openly and unabashedly in front of a client - as if Jean weren't even there – the rest of the salon must be beyond words. Even if she never got an offer to work here, this would be a most memorable day.

The moment Jean drained her second cup of tea and set the empty cup down on the table, the girl at the desk opened her eyes and smiled at her. "They are ready for you now," she said. "Please come with me."

Stripping Away The Past

The girl rose from behind her little desk and came to take Jean by the hand. Jean floated to her feet and followed the girl behind the screen. They walked down a deeply carpeted hallway lit with glass sconces on the walls – were those really Lalique? – and past a series of closed doors on either side towards a dark green door at the end of the hallway.

When they arrived at the door, the girl smiled and said, "First, you must be cleansed. Then we will begin to transform you." She opened the door and led Jean into a sumptuously appointed bath, all done in gleaming while tile with black accents. She pointed to a tall stool in the center of the room. "You will disrobe now. Put your clothes over there."

Jean looked at where the girl pointed. A row of empty hooks hung along one wall.

"When you are bare, you will wait here," her petite escort said. She patted the seat of the stool. "Have a lovely day, Jean Bujold. I will see you again, later."

There was no robe or wrap to be found anywhere in the room. She was going to be completely naked, and unable to mask her excitement from this point forward. A delicious thrill ran down her spine, birthing a flare of goose bumps on her arms.

After the receptionist had left, Jean looked around the room as she kicked off her shoes and peeled off her skirt and shirt, and then her bra and panties. There was a deep soaking tub already filled with lavender-scented water that sent tendrils of steam into the moist air; and on the other side, a shower area. Oddly, there was a barre made of metal, somewhat like one would find in a ballet studio, dividing the two sides of the room, suspended from the ceiling at waist-height.

"Good morning, Jean Bujold. I will prepare you now."

Jean turned to see who had entered the room so quietly. A tall, svelte blonde woman with her hair tied up in a chignon stood behind her. She wore what seemed like a painted-on yellow latex rubber dress that left her just-barely decent. Other than the dress, she was as bare as Jean was. No, wait – she wore the same bracelets and collar as the Oriental girl.

"I don't understand. What do you mean, prepare me?" Jean asked, dreamily. She did nothing to hide her nudity or turn away from the woman's frank and overt assessment of her body.

"First we shall cleanse you, and then soften your skin." She motioned towards the steaming pool of water on the other side of the room. "Place your hands on the barre, Jean Bujold. So you may steady yourself. The tea and the heat sometimes combine to induce faintness."

Jean did as she was told without further questions. While it seemed a bit odd, she complied without more than a moment's hesitation. She was still floating, like a lily pad on a tranquil pond, from the effects of the tea.

"What is that for?" she asked, staring curiously at her left wrist as the woman in the yellow rubber dress reached around her body and lashed it to the barre with a short length of soft, white rope. It was as if she was watching someone else's arm being secured.

"To help keep you steady, and in position. Like I said, because of the probability of faintness."

"Oh, I see…." Of course. That makes sense. Silly me.

The woman bound Jean's other wrist to the barre with a few quick turns of the rope.

"There. Now we are almost ready." The woman walked over to the wall and pressed a button.

Cool. I'm going to open my wings and fly now… Jean's arms were raised up over her head as the softly whirring motor above her lifted the barre past her face and above her head. It stopped when her arms were stretched out as far as they would go without lifting her feet from the white-tiled floor. Jean closed her eyes and swayed gently back and forth. "Mmmm, so nice. I'm soaring…"

"This makes it easier to cleanse you," the woman explained. Your body is more accessible this way." The way she spoke the word 'accessible' sent a flutter through Jean's stomach, despite the calming effects of the two cups of tea and the hypnotic sensation of floating among the clouds like Peter Pan.

Jean relaxed and let the ropes on her wrists do all the work of keeping her upright. It is so much easier this way… We should get one of these for Anything Goes. And then a soft rain of warm water began to cascade down over her body from the ceiling above her. The fine mist of water droplets fell onto her upturned face and ran down her body in a thousand sensuous little streams. So nice… She opened her mouth and let the rain fall onto her tongue. And it tastes so good…

Then the woman began to lather Jean's skin with a creamy, lavender-scented liquid soap. She started with Jean's face and hair, and then moved to her arms. She detailed every finger, one by one and she massaged the slippery-soft foam into Jean's skin with strong, well-practiced fingers.

Jean sighed when the woman's hands started down her body. She lavished the soap on her breasts, lifting them and holding them one after the other, and taking extra care to bring her nipples to a throbbing hardness as she worked. And Jean moaned and cooed as the woman worked her way farther down her body, soaping her belly and back and then her ass and down her legs.

Please wash my pussy… it's so very dirty. I'm such a dirty girl –I need to be cleansed there, too.

Jean tried to twist and turn her pussy in the direction of the woman's hands, but she easily avoided Jean's attempts. The woman worked her way down Jean's legs, and she gave each of her toes the same careful attention she had devoted to her fingers. Only when she had scoured every other inch of her body did the woman return to Jean's pussy and ass.

She soaped Jean's slit and spread her labia and rubbed the soapy liquid over her clit. Her fingers explored deep inside Jean's pussy while her other hand soaped Jean's asshole and then worked a pair of fingers inside her rear entrance.

"Ahhh, yes. That feels so good… So good…. Yes, mmmm," Jean murmured as the woman lathered and rinsed her fuckholes. "I like being clean." The fact that she was being fingerfucked by the woman and that she was moving up and down on the woman's hands like they were a pair of cocks was a thought that didn't even enter her mind. Everything seemed so natural, and so right and so perfect. She was soaring amidst the clouds… and she was clean. For the first time in her life, from the moment she had been born, she was again truly clean and fresh and new.

When the woman was done, she stepped back and turned the misting rain into a hammering deluge. The water pummeled Jean's body like she was standing under Niagara Falls as it sluiced the last of the soap bubbles from her fresh, new skin. And when it stopped, she was able to count each and every drop of water as it dripped from her arms and tits and her cunt, and swam down her legs to the floor. She only opened her eyes again when the barre was lowered and the woman untied her wrists.

"You will soak in the water now, Jean Bujold. So you can drink through the pores in your new skin and begin to grow into what you will be."

The woman led Jean by the hand to the tub and steadied her as she sank down into the steaming water. "It's so hot…" Jean gasped.

"It must be hot, to open your pores, Jean Bujold. So you can drink…"

Jean slowly slid down into the tub until she was completely submerged except for the small oval of her face, and the tips of her nipples that broke the surface as she breathed in and out. She floated and dreamed and soared and listened to the sound of her own breathing echoing through the water that filled her ears. Her mind slowed and drifted - and she thought of Tai, and of wanting her lover here to share this moment with her.

The sensation of the water lapping over her lips and across the nippled peaks of her breasts as she floated in the steaming pool lulled Jean deeper and deeper into the fog that wrapped around her like a cloak. She could almost count the pores in her skin as they relaxed and opened to receive the gift of the water.

Yes, I am thirsty, so very thirsty…

Jean trembled and gasped, and her eyes fluttered open. She lifted her head from the water to see a pair of large, sterling silver clothespins sticking straight up from her nipples.

How did those get there? They hurt… but, oh god, I like the way they look. And the hurting feels so good, too. I'm throbbing… I can feel them all the way to my toes…

"To help you breathe, Jean Bujold," the woman answered, to Jean's unspoken question. "The water opens your pores. The pins help to open your mind and your soul to us. So you can drink. So you can drink it all in."

Jean slowly nodded her head and watched the silver pins disappear beneath the ripples as she lowered herself back down into the lavendered pool. As she tilted her head back, she saw that the tips of the pins still stood above the surface of the water, twitching back and forth slightly as she breathed and as her body absorbed the gently lapping waves of pain that radiated through her tits to fill the entirety of her body.

The beating of her heart thrummed louder and louder in her ears as she floated. She stared at the images on the insides of her eyelids, seeing herself dissolving and melting away into the bottomless pool of warmth that enveloped her. She was melting away…but it felt so good.

Is this what it feels like to die… to drown?

An eternity of time later, Jean felt herself being lifted up out of the water. Yellow-dress was there, guiding her into a sitting position, and then helping her to stand and step out of the bathtub.

"Its time for you to be smoothed now, Jean Bujold. Now that you have been opened, we shall begin to polish and smooth what we have opened and uncovered." The woman wrapped Jean in a fluffy white cloud of a towel and dried her now-pink skin. Then she took Jean by the hand and led her towards the door, leaving the towel on the floor.

As Smooth As Silk, As Soft as Butter

They walked together, the woman supporting and guiding Jean down the corridor with her hand on Jean's hip, towards another of the closed doors. The fact that she was nude was a mere blip in Jean's mind. Every step was an adventure, as she moved unsteadily along the carpeted path. Her breasts jiggled as she walked, and the gentle movement of her titflesh and the inescapable effects of gravity on the heavy silver pins on her nipples combined to create little shockwaves with each pointed-toe placement of a foot on the blood-red carpet.

The Oriental girl and another woman in a similar red silk sheath came out of the room she was being guided towards. They smiled at Jean and her nakedness and welcomed her to the Smoothing Room.

That sounded so nice, and comforting – the Smoothing Room. Jean frowned and struggled to bridge the foreign terminology. The Smoothing Room? Anything Goes didn't have a Smoothing Room – did it? Jean struggled to decide. Without even knowing what it might be, Jean was convinced that Anything Goes was already far beneath Fantasia in the salon rankings. After all, it doesn't have a Smoothing Room.

When the door was closed behind her, and Yellow-Dress had left her in the Smoothing Room to wait perched on the tall wooden stool that seemed to be the trademark in Fantasia's treatment rooms, Jean realized what the Smoothing Room was. A hot cauldron of wax bubbled lazily on a side table and, in the center of the room, a sheet-covered padded table awaited her.

She was going to be waxed, and have her body hair ripped off her warm, pink flesh. The fact that there were binding straps dangling down from the sides of the table seemed odd, but then so much about Fantasia was unusual.

Jean sat docilely on her stool, waiting. The pins on her nipples made her titflesh ache and throb. She wanted to remove them – but, no, she didn't, not really. Was it because she liked the way they looked? Or did she like the way her body absorbed the little painspasms and how they made her cunt wet? Or was it simply because she didn't want to take them off without permission from someone? It was all so jumbled up…

Jean was watching her breasts rise and fall, and correlating her breathing with the painspasms that coursed through her body when the door opened and closed. She looked up to see three women arrayed around her. The one standing in front of her was holding a cup of tea.

"Drink this, it will help you relax," she said as she held out the cup. "Your mind needs to drink, like your body did in the bath."

Jean took the cup and held it in both hands as she lifted it to her lips. The scent wafting up from the swirling orange-dark contents of the cup went straight to her brain as her hands gripped the steaming-hot cup. Each tiny sip of the scalding-hot liquid sent a fresh wave of contentment coursing through her body. Even her titpain receded in the swirling fog that the tea drew around her.

The three women were attired in clingy little tank tops that had what must be Fantasia's advertising slogan embroidered in classic script on the white fabric between their shamelessly displayed nipples – right where the viewer's eye always ended up. "Fantasies can come true," it said. They each wore matching white spandex thongs and black spike-heeled sandals. Definitely not what they wore at Anything Goes. The shoes alone were extravagant – not to mention the barely decent outfits they wore. Oh, and the collars and bracelets – three more matched sets of silver dragons.

They must be part of the uniform. I wonder… will I get to wear them, too? If they take me, that is.

"Lie down on the table, Jean Bujold," the woman who had given Jean the tea directed. "Become comfortable." It was an order, and not a request.

"Yes, thank you," Jean replied. Why did I just say 'thank you'? Jean wondered about that for a moment while the women proceeded to strap her to the table, with a wide leather strap across her chest, above her tits and another at her waist.

"So you will not flinch and be distracted by wanting to move," one of the other women said, as she tightened the strap across her tits. She flicked her fingertips against Jean's silver titpins to emphasize her point; and smiling when Jean jerked and spasmed at her touch.

A minute later, Jean's ankles and wrists were secured in leather cuffs. White linen ropes were used to tie her limbs to hooks that were bolted into the Smoothing Room's low ceiling. She was lying on her back with her arms and legs angled up and away from her body, leaving every inch of her, except for her back, totally exposed.

"This will help you concentrate, and to drink…" the third woman said as she placed a set of headphones over Jean's ears and a blindfold over her eyes. "You will drink through your skin now, and through your ears. Drink deep, Jean Bujold. Drink until your thirst is quenched, and you are on the brink of drowning. Then, you will be ready for what comes next."

Jean relaxed into the words that danced in her ears. The woman's voice was hypnotic and seemed to be calling to her from across a wide expanse of ocean. One song melted into another in a gently snaking stream of consciousness-lulling rhythms.

And then the women began to rip at her flesh. They worked in concert, each one taking a part of Jean's body and smoothing the hot wax onto her skin, and then waiting for it to harden and tighten on her flesh and for it to ensnare and capture the wisps of hair that dared to be there. Then, one after the other, in quick succession, they ripped the congealed wax from her flesh, taking her hair and part of herself with each agonizingly lovely, slow-motion ripping away of the wax.

Jean was the sacrificial lamb on the altar, being flayed alive, having her skin lifted away from her body. She curled up inside herself and soared again among the clouds. That makes no sense. Curling and flying… But, oh god, I don't care. I'm drowning in the ocean of myself…

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Submitted by : Anonymous
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