It was time for another body wax, one I particularly look forward to—a chest wax.

It is a part of my body that I particularly love to see totally smooth, probably because I can see it more clearly, my nipples exposed, bare skin feeling the air fully on it.

Being smooth-chested more clearly defines my feminine traits, makes me feel more sexually active and eager, and refuels my confidence and well-being.

Being smooth-bodied in its entirety is even more of a boost, but that doesn’t happen very often. I’m always in a state of ‘being done’, rather than having been done, thanks to growth patterns, albeit all slowing down across my body to various degrees in various places.

For those pursuing waxing as a way of removing body hair, it certainly does not happen quickly. I would say that I have been going for regular body waxing appointments to the same salon for over 10 years.

Waxing slowly reprograms the hair roots to die off through constant removal, potentially just as it is starting to grow back again.

The more it is done, the weaker the hair growth gets, and eventually, it gives up and dies off.

Shaving encourages hair growth, as you only lop it off at the skin surface level, leaving the root beneath it.

In summary, I’m far less hirsute than I used to be. This is well documented in many blog entries.

Moving on.

My life centres around my waxing appointments. I’m always counting down to the next one, potentially frustrated in between.

Again, I made my way as quickly as traffic and access on wheels to and exit on foot from the car park would allow. I was early but had to wait a few minutes in the main salon area. It wasn’t long, though, and when my mentor escorted a client from the other side of the business, from that area, to the reception, He advised me that I could go and get ready.

I was soon undressed and naked, another warm, sunny day in the UK meaning that a t-shirt and light shorts were the only things being worn along with a pair of short socks and footwear. No undies.

I rounded the treatment table positioned in the middle of the room. On the opposite side was a familiar full-length mirror. My chastity cage, a permanent fixture for some 100+ days now, seemed to glisten in the spotlights of the room.

As is often the case these days, I could barely feel that I was wearing it, but I could clearly see that I was, of course, and was immensely proud to be doing so and, with it, permanently, my tiny appendage increasingly remaining smooth, tiny and soft within.

Having seen His previous customer out of the door, a silence fell over the premises, disturbed only by the nondescript spa-style music quickly emanating from the speaker in the corner of the room I was in.

There were the odd sounds of Him making His way into a neighbouring room before quickly returning to the reception area.

I then heard the sound of keys being turned in the lock of the front door. It was just a distant sound, yet it seemed so evident and noticeable in so many other ways.

I had been quietly standing in the treatment room—hands submissively behind my back—head bowed equally submissively. In retrospect, I could have assumed a kneeling position, but my stance felt appropriate at the time. I was excitedly anticipating His arrival into the room once more.

After a few more moments, He breezed in, and I offered a warm and appreciative greeting as He enquired as to what waxing needed doing on this occasion.

His hands roamed. My back and bum were quite smooth still. His hands rounded the curvature of my bum cheeks before He vowed to carry out an inspection of my metal chastity cage, of which He greatly approved.

As He cupped it, I proudly declared that it was my 111th day of permanent confinement.

“Wow!!” He replied, “Really? I love it; I really love it,” He added.

After a few minutes of inspecting the naked, presenting, but caged sub, He vowed to get on with waxing my chest.

I stretched out flat on the treatment table, but not before I was invited to touch His crotch through His jeans. As I got on to the treatment table, my aim was off and He reached to guide my hand down and across His hardening cock still contained within.

Moments later, He determined that He would do away with His footwear, jeans and undies. I briefly thought for a moment about inviting Him to become fully naked, before letting the matter pass. Perhaps next time.

As He worked, moving around the treatment table, He took a moment to state that His cock was hard and glistening, and reached for some paper towel to dab it. I quietly said that I would have offered to clean it for Him had He said as such.

It appeared that He was continuing to leak at the nature of the submissive He had before Him and had soon rounded the treatment table to let me clean Him, His cock head slotted into my willing mouth a few times. The taste and consistency of His pre-cum was so very evident in my mouth. I relished the moment.

Shortly afterwards, He refocused on the job at hand—to wax my upper torso, but not before grazing His hands across my body, cupping my cage, and reaching between my legs to tease and touch. Then he sprinkled talc across the area to be waxed.

General chit-chat then ensued as the wax was applied, the paper was applied, pressed and removed in swift movements up and down my body.

Afterwards, cooling and moisturising cream was applied, fingers deftly flicking across my erect nipples as He worked..

During the conversation, He praised me for giving Him and the cocks He had brought in before the best blow jobs He and they had ever had, clarifying that the other cocks had said as much.

“Thank you, but I must modestly but gratefully rebuff that praise,” I said, “…because other than what I have perhaps read and taken in somehow over the years, I have never had any actual training.” The praise continued to be heaped.

He then asked me to sit up on the edge of the treatment table so that He could complete some waxing just below neck level and across my shoulders.

He was provocatively close to me, my legs spread, arms dropped to each side, my cage in clear view and practically hanging over the edge.

His now more flaccid cock grazed against one hand. I had soon murmured approval and carefully but intently took hold of it.

“It’s not often you can bring me to full hardness like this, is it?” He said.

Again, I murmured my approval as my hand worked His hardening shaft and reached under to cup and play with His balls.

As I worked, He swept more cooling and moisturising cream across my chest and the other areas recently waxed, tweaking and brushing over my nipples in doing so.

The sexual tension was palpable and was ever increasingly more so.

Conversation was now more overtly sexual and led by me detailing how increasingly submissive I was feeling, having been in permanent chastity for approaching four months, and how I had felt after a day in which my key holder had instructed me to be left unlocked for a few hours, wearing the ring only.

I told Him that I had not felt as contented and as happy as I had done and that I knew my place was locked and was ecstatic when I was allowed to lock back up again, the key holder having had full control as ever.

He reassured me with a calm tone that it was not wrong to feel that way and it was entirely my right to be how I wanted to be and feel how I wanted to feel.

The validation was encouraging and motivating, as well as comforting.

I said I knew my place and that was to serve and be of service, that my personal sexual needs were unimportant, and that my place was to serve and service cock.

With my blatant declaration of my submissive status and my place being to serve, He gave an emphatic and clear reply.

“I think it’s time that my cock was sucked then!” He exclaimed.

“Yes, Sir,” I quietly uttered, edging my way off the treatment table.

“Shall I get on the treatment table, or did you want to kneel?” He asked.

I was surprised by the availability of options, accepting that it was not usually down to me to lead, but He knew, having previously described me as a “power bottom”, that I could still lead, even as a submissive.

I was equally emphatic in reply.

“I know my place, and that is to kneel before you, Sir,” I said, before dropping to the floor to my knees or haunches to gorge on His thick, veiny and much favoured manhood which was still glistening with the pre-cum that was being released as a result of the atmosphere which was thickening the room.

I was as insatiable for cock, and on this occasion, as ever, His cock. Again, as before, every possible method of servicing Him was thought about and applied, hands put to good use on His balls, His bum cheeks and lower part of His impressive thick shaft. My tongue swirled around His cock tip as I worked, jabbing His slit and collecting the pre-cum as it continued to ooze out, much to my pleasure.

His tones and words of pleasure in return were more than audible as I worked, again, telling me that I gave the best blow job He has ever had. I just wanted His cock, wherever. I just wanted it, and forever, time did not matter.

I had been gradually trained and sexually developed as a cock slut. I knew it, and although we had never talked about it directly, He knew it.

I was deep-throating Him, tightly gripping Him with my mouth or lightly sliding up and down His manhood, fluttering my mouth on Him feigning the act of swallowing repeatedly to increase the sensations He was feeling.

I was neither aware of nor really had a care of what the time was or how long had passed. My focus was solely on serving and servicing the cock available to me.

The service I was giving was doing whatever it needed to do for Him. After a few moments, He led a change of position.

He had soon stretched out on the treatment table as He had previously referred to it, and I was soon standing diagonally alongside Him, my bum close to His head and hands as I bent over to gorge on His continually veiny and thick shaft.

I continued to work on Him in every conceivable way, licking up and down His shaft, kissing the head of His impressive and always lusted-after cock, tonguing His slit, swirling my tongue around His cock head, pulling His foreskin further back to expose the frenulum, kissing and sucking on it, then reattaching to glide down His shaft slowly, loosely, back and forth, then suddenly taking a tighter grip and plunging down the shaft, deep-throating Him.

The other method is to feign swallowing whilst taking His cock in my mouth. In addition, once I had licked down His shaft, I had also taken His balls into my mouth, one by one, giving them a gentle, malleable suck whilst I had His cock in a hand. If I wasn’t sucking His balls, I was cupping and playing with them.

All of these methods were met with seemingly ecstatic gasps, moans and the odd words of satisfactory expression.

A precursor for what was to happen came when He instructed me to reach for some cream from the nearby trolley of lotions and potions. I asked Him to verify which one and a pot of cream was selected.

He referenced how we needed to get me to try riding Him again, something that had not quite worked out before. He remembered an instance when I had got close to taking Him from on-top but having straddled and hovered over Him, making efforts to slot on, had soon ruined it through the sheer eroticism of taking the lead and fucking Him.

I tried to deflect the reference He was making by advising that I had been struggling to position my knees on the edge of the treatment table. Whilst I was trying but failing to explain myself, I could feel Him smearing the cream down my bum crack and massaging it determinedly around my hole.

I resumed the oral service, having replaced the pot of cream back on the trolley before hand, then bending back over the treatment table to continue to intensively serve and service Him.

I was falling deeper into subspace. He was vigourously finger-fucking me, with any number of fingers, or loudly slapping my seemingly much appreciated bum cheeks. From that subspace, I barely noticed. My task was clear.

He remarked how good things looked in the full-length mirror. Out of the corner of my eye, much though I wanted to be able to see, I knew I could not, so remained focused on that task in hand and mouth.

I seemed hell-bent on expressing how much of a cock slut I was, telling Him about my anal indulgences of the week, that I had been plugged for a full day of work and had spent another day embedded on my 6″ dildo for 6 full hours, in the home office chair, against the bedroom mirror and against the bathroom tiles. His reply was clear, precise, and somewhat emphatic.

“You’ll have to bring those to your next appointment,” He said, more so an instruction than a request.

After what must have been a few more minutes, His use of my hole had given Him an urge to more intensively use it.

“I think you need to be fucked now!” He said.

I didn’t need a second invitation and rose up, before allowing Him past and bending over the treatment table, shuffling ever so slightly to the left to ensure I was in full view of the full-length mirror on the opposite side of the room.

As I repositioned, He was doing the same, busying Himself with the lotions and potions on the trolley nearby.

With my legs spread, I felt more cream before it grazed down my bum crack and massaged into and around my willing hole. I seemed to be staring into nothing yet staring at everything in the reflection of the full-length mirror before me, clearly able to see how I was bent over, Him positioned behind, about to enter me.

The physiology of my body and His, with my long legs meaning my bum was perhaps not at the right angle, saw me wiggle and position myself for Him to be of as much assistance as possible, eager, ready and waiting to be penetrated.

Again, there was no condom—I was being taken bareback, as I always had been. I felt Him push His hardened cock into me, splitting me open but gliding in with it. I could both see and feel Him pushing in and pulling out, working up a rhythm. As He did so, He summed up his feelings.

“Hmm, that feels and looks good!” He said lustfully and breathily, as He fucked His fuck toy.

After a few minutes, He withdrew to gather Himself, and giggled excitedly at the ability to continue doing what we both wanted.

He seemed to struggle to reenter me once more, so I asked Him how I could help and what better position I could be in. I dropped my hips slightly. He had soon moved back in and pushed back inside me to continue the sexual onslaught.

Historically, I hadn’t used the ‘slut’ word very often in the treatment room, but it had been uttered to me before by another cock I had serviced there, and I had said it myself on occasion, even though it perhaps seemed misplaced at the time.

Having been entered again, and being pounded, I was relishing being in my place as a fuck toy, HIS fuck toy. Back and forth He pounded, in and out of me, the hole and sub fully willing and receptive for as long as was necessary. The treatment table I was bent over was being shunted across the room with practically every thrust.

“That’s it!” I blurted, “Fuck the slut!” He didn’t reply. He seemed too distracted, and whilst my conclusion was that it seemed misplaced once more, it didn’t seem to distract Him. The bareback, lustful fucking continued for a few minutes more.

I was tight. He knew it, and I knew it, yet it didn’t seem like I should be as tight as I was, given my recent anal indulgences. He was seemingly close to cumming, and I knew, or at least concluded, that He would not breed me for His own justifiable reasons, breeding being something that was yet to be ticked off my kink bucket list.

Presumed to have been close to unloading into me, He withdrew but, given my verbally demonstrated eagerness to be soundly and continually fucked, He reached for the nearby massage gun and, irrespective of the attachment on it, switched it on and applied it to my hole, firstly pressing it gently against me before more forcefully pushing it in, deeper and deeper.

I felt like I was being stretched and filled but could not quite work out how. I was on the edge of discomfort yet did not fall over that edge, but I did rise up from my fully bent-over position to slightly bent forward instead as He worked behind and inside me, the room having been filled with my loud moans of pleasure and possible audible and visual signs of borderline pain.

I was not prepared to concede to stopping anything by referencing the latter. I just knew I needed to be used and fucked for as long as possible.

“Does it feel good?”, He enquired, seemingly unsure of where I was in sub space.

I could only continue to utter murmurs and moans of pleasure, which were almost drowned out by the buzzing of the massage gun and the continuing but nondescript spa-type music, which continued to fill the room.

After a few more minutes, somehow, we had changed position again, but I don’t recall how it happened. I can only assume that He instructed me to start sucking His cock again as I can only remember then returning to my favourite position, kneeling or on my haunches, beneath His cock and on the floor.

Upon taking this position, caged and naked, I realised that the attachment on the plug was of the U-shaped two-prong type and briefly reflected on the fact that this had been fully opening me up.

I was acutely aware of this attachment as He was now applying the massage gun attachment to His shaft. I moved in close and was sucking the tip of His cock, continuing to take every drop of pre-cum and murmuring with satisfaction every time the taste and consistency hit my tongue.

My hands were in full use, cupping and massaging His balls and reaching around to squeeze His smooth bum cheeks whilst my mouth remained on as much of His cock as I could take in.

After a few minutes, He must have put the massage gun down on the treatment tabletop and begun masturbating directly in front of my face.

I dropped down slightly underneath His cock tip and opened my mouth, ready to be the cum dump.

“Don’t miss, Sir!” I said, “I want it shot down my throat,” I added hungrily.

He knew where it was going, and after a minute or two, He pointed His cock towards my still open mouth. I was gazing up at Him, making eye contact, to further trigger Him.

I knew I wanted to take and was going to take every single drop of His load. I was quite simply not going to allow any to be wasted, and it was NOT going to hit my face first.

At the moment He started to cum, I ensured my mouth was tight around His cock head as the flood ensued, filling my mouth with jet after jet of previously pent-up, warm, creamy, and tasty semen—my prize for offering my holes to Him once more.

His moans of ecstasy were loud, breathy and evident, but perhaps less so for me as I was merely focused on collecting and swallowing.

I collected first, feeling the cum pool inside my warm, wet mouth, delaying the act of swallowing for as long as possible as I drew off.

When I did eventually swallow, a wave of semen flushed down my throat and into the safety of my stomach.

His cock continued to leak, and I continued to quickly reattach to collect it when spotted, still 100% focused on not allowing a single drop to be wasted but instead, fully consumed.

He still hadn’t used the recognised safe word, but amid a haze of apparent ecstasy and pleasure, had seemingly forgotten it. Eventually, though, He reeled off a few.

Amongst them was our agreed safe word, but I had already accepted the first as the cue to stop and duly did so.

The moments afterwards saw Him dress and leave the room.

My caged cock remained without any real use other than being handled. Historically, I had been ruined with the massage toy held firmly and persistently against my cage.

This time, and for the first time though, He had clearly taken full note of my earlier message and declaration of being a cock slut, locked for a reason, and therefore did not make any sort of move to ruin me.

After the briefest of moments of deep thought, I accepted the situation for what I knew it should be.

After once again telling me that I give the best blow jobs ever, I was merely left to dress and join Him outside in reception. Used. Fucked. Unloaded into. Merely a fuck toy – holes.

There was discussion outside about prospective cocks in the future, how He had told one I’d not yet met about my apparent cock-sucking skills but that there would be no need to do anything in return because the subject discussed between them—me—was caged.

Apparently, the other party had taken great surprise in the fact that if presented with the sub, it would merely be a cum dump to unload into.

“What? So he will just suck me off and swallow, and that’s it?” my mentor recounted.

Ahead of the exchange of pleasantries, concluding chit-chat, booking another appointment, and making my exit, my mentor focused on distant future changes, which, He said, would hopefully result in a session with as many as eight cocks, subject to the availability of all concerned at the to-be-proposed date and time.

I momentarily brimmed and bristled with the excitement of the prospect of that—me—purely and simply being – holes.