I freely hand her my power as I walk through the door.

We share small talk and laugh as we prepare.

I remove my clothes purposely, anticipation throbbing in my chest.

As I mount the table, where I will remain for the next hour and a half, the memories of past sessions come flooding back.

I am safe here.

I am exposed, naked and without power, I am ready.

Strength radiates from her touch, powerful, determined, increasing my longing.

She slowly begins manipulating my skin with gloved hands.

Slowly rubbing powder across my chest, in preparation for her work to begin.

Hot wax is spread firmly over my right areola.

The heat is comforting, almost too hot.

I welcome the deep, soothing warmth, oh sweet relief.

She applies pressure with the palm of her hand, the wax settles in.

With a forceful motion, she rips off the wax revealing a sharp, sudden pain.

This pain is more than simple hurt; it is purposeful, bringing energy and a familiar electricity which resonates within my body, releasing a flood of endorphins.

This is the first of many wax applications and removals yet to come.

As she works; we casually discuss the play list we listen to, laugh at each other's stories and engage in intimate sharing like lovers, but we are not.

This intimacy is not sexual, it is part of something basic, primal, yet feels natural.

She is in control, I am compliant.

I will endure whatever pain she decides to inflict on me.

I want to let her know she can go further, but my fear of diminishing the moments hold me back.

I will act brave, stoic, and submissive.

I want more pain, will she give it?