Created and Displayed

Created and displayed

Silence. The sound of my soft footsteps on the cold hard floor fill the room. My directions had been clear, ‘remove my clothes and position myself lying on the raised table ready to be created and displayed.’ I say my directions over and over in my mind, ‘created and displayed,’ my thoughts race at the possibilities. Created into what? Displayed for whom? I flush at the thoughts, deepened further by the air on my skin reminding me of my nakedness.

I put my thoughts away as I make my way across the room and start to take in my surroundings as a distraction. The lighting is soft and although the air is warm, it’s touch on my bare skin is noticed. Tables are set out for dining, candles lit adorning their wooden surface. Their positions seem odd at first but as I come closer to the centre of the room their purpose becomes clear. The ‘raised table’ I am to be displayed on is at the centre of the surrounding tables, a vast chandelier illuminating its top for all to see… for all to see me.

A rush of nervous fear and anticipation mix in my stomach, the feeling spreads, evolves and settles between my legs. Silent no longer my arousal has awoken. As delicately as possible I climb atop the table, silly I know as no one is here to watch, but the wanting to impress him is hard to ignore. I lie on my side, one arm resting under my flowing hair and I bend my legs slightly, maybe to try and hide my growing wetness between my legs. Happy in my position I wait in silence for him.

The tapping of dress shoes upon the floor disturb the silence and our eyes meet, I must look worried but I try to appear calm for him. “Good girl, you look beautifully laid out,” he says as he brushes his hand down my side, “but I want to make you into my art.” 

He begins by rubbing warm oil into my skin. Starting from my legs he massages me, spreading the warmth slowly up to my hips then circles my round full belly. Another flutter inside reacts to his touch, the fullness of his creation. Finally his warm hand focuses upon my breasts, sensitive yet wanting, I sigh as he caresses them, working his way round the plump skin to my erect nipples. I hear him reach under the table to gather another of his tools, my skin feels encased in warmth, the oil creating a seal around me and I feel relaxed, ready for whatever he has in store for me.

“Now I want you to close your eyes and focus on being a beautiful still sculpture for me.” A slight nod of acceptance before my eyes shut.

I feel a hot liquid touch my skin, I gasp in reaction but it’s not unpleasant. A tickling heat as the liquid pools on my leg then trickles down. Before my mind adjusts to the sensation it’s going up my body, just as the massage previously, the thick liquid is being poured slowly over my hips, then stomach. Each time the heat gathers on my side then overflows and drips down over my legs, my hips, my tummy. The feeling is unique and after some time the realisation dawns as the warm wax cools and begins to pinch my skin slightly as it sets in its place.

Created and displayed

My body is filled with a wanting as the sensation of the wax continues to flow over me, once upon my hips I’m willing it to snake between my legs, desperately yearning for the warm heavy touch to rest upon the soft lips of my labia. Each time it trickles my anticipation rises but the wax alludes my desires, the slight bending of my legs has cloaked my delicate lips, I lament at my previous foolish attempt to stay concealed. But my flame is not extinguished, as the hot liquid pours further yet up my body, dripping like a protective case over my pregnant belly then begins to pool above my breast.

I gasp as the wax lake finally bursts and leaks down my breast, winding a path across my hard tingling nipple. The heat diffusing through my breast as the sweet bite of the wax is felt as it starts to solidify. My skin jumps as more wax floods over my breast and drips onto the other below, the radiating pleasure felt between my legs as my other attentive nipple is enclosed in a coating of warm wax.

He continues to glaze my skin with wax, methodically working up and down my body and lulling me at the same time.

“My masterpiece, you are ready,” He says once satisfied with his art, “Now remember my sweet little statue, keep your eyes closed for me until I direct otherwise.” My heart jumps at his words, what was previously subdued now buzzing with possibilities of what was to come. But I knew I would do as I was told, I was his. I hear him leave the room and my flesh ignites as the weight of the wax somehow feels more revealing than if I were nude, more exposed to what I had become. His creation to be displayed. 

Suddenly smooth music starts up in the background, I hold my breath, light chatter and footsteps break the soft silence. 



Wicked Wednesday

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