With a sigh, she stepped out of her shoes and began to strip off her jewellery; Flair simply held out a hand for it, deposited earrings and necklace in a drawer near the sink, then held out her hand again for Jillian’s clothes.
It got harder once she was out of skirt and blouse.
Mistress needs me clean and dressed right. Mistress said to listen to Flair.
The thoughts distracted her enough that she could unfasten her bra and peel off her pantyhose and wriggle out of her panties. The latter were damp enough to make her blush again. It had to be those intrusive thoughts and their insidious, almost subliminal, pleasant feelings, surely a way of making her more compliant. Or it was her adrenaline levels. It had to be.
But they did feel rather nice.
I belong to Mistress and I’ll obey her, she thought experimentally as she stepped into the huge tub and drew the curtain around, and felt that gentle rightness.
I don’t want to be here and I’m not going to cooperate, they’ll have to force me.
That thought brought that sense of discord back again.
She hastily corrected herself while she adjusted the temperature and switched it to shower. Nothing is my choice right now except cooperating or resisting. The same things will happen either way. Mistress wants me to cooperate. So I will.
There, that was better.
She just hoped those intrusions were going to stop, and weren’t going to leave anything behind. But for right now, anything that was going to make it easier for her to live up to her side of the bargain was a blessing.
“Am I allowed to ask questions?” Jillian asked. Hair first, Flair said, and she felt that rightness as she picked up the yellow bottle. The water pressure was higher than she’d ever had in an apartment, the many thin streams thumping against her skin. It took only seconds for her short hair to be saturated.
“As long as it’s while you’re doing other things, yes. Most things I can answer.”
“What will this party be like?” The yellow conditioner was thick and viscous. It was going to take some effort to get it all the way through her hair.
“If it’s like the usual ones, it’ll just be a few of Mistress’ friends getting together, maybe a few others she has some debt to. I haven’t seen the guest list yet, but her friends are not the sort who are cruel to humans just because they can be. Different kinds of fae like or need different things. Our job is to make sure they have the right food or drink or whatever they want. I’ve done it alone lots of times, although I get pretty tired by the end and I usually beg Mistress to let me be a statue for a day or so straight so I can rest. With two of us serving, it’ll be easier. If any of them were invited because of a debt, they probably won’t bother talking to us at all. If they do, be extremely polite and respectful, and never ask them questions other than clarifying orders if you don’t understand. And never lie to them, they’ll know if you do. Um, and don’t stare at them, no matter what they look like and no matter what they do. They aren’t going to be pretending to be human in looks or behaviour. Tell me when you need extra hands.”
“I, um, I will. Tell you, I mean.”
“Anything else you want to know? A lot, I bet.”
“Yes, but I don’t know where to start. How long have you been here?”
“With Mistress, you mean? Ten years, maybe? Twelve? I’m not allowed to talk about anything before that with anyone unless Mistress gives me permission. But I’m happy living with her and I wouldn’t want anything else. She promised me that I could stay with her forever. Which means as long as I’m alive, because fae live a really long time. She won’t send me away or give me to another fae or anything.”
That couldn’t be a genuine free-willed desire, could it? How could anyone honestly want to be property for life? Was that what happened from too much of those internal murmurs, the little nudges that encouraged the right thoughts? That was an alarming idea.
She’d made a huge mistake, doing this. She just needed to endure tonight, then life could be normal again.
“Are you okay? You went quiet.”
“I think I’m going to stop asking questions,” Jillian said with a sigh. “I’m mostly regretting asking them after I get answers.” The yellow conditioner was coating as much of her hair as she could manage, so she set the bottle down, rinsed her hands, and unscrewed the top of the pink jar, giving it a cautious sniff. It did smell lovely, without being eye-wateringly perfumed. What was that, vanilla? No, it was mint. Or was it chocolate? She liked it, anyway. She used two fingers to scoop some out and spread it on her forearm. That triggered that little voice again, and the corresponding feeling of doing the right thing, which was by definition anything Mistress wanted her to do.
“I don’t understand why,” Flair said, “but all right. That skin cleanser feels really incredible, and it makes your skin feel all soft and moisturized, and it smells nice too. Get it all over every inch of you. Down between your legs and all. Some fae have a really acute sense of smell, you need to be extremely clean.” She giggled. “Although no matter how clean or not, humans still smell good to Nikandros.”
The pale pink goop tingled on her arm, warm without discomfort—something less disturbing to concentrate on. She used her palm to spread it farther, and discovered quickly that it was persistent stuff: the water’s spray didn’t rinse it away like soap, though it was possible to spread it into a very thin layer that made her skin look pale pink. As she worked, that feeling of rightness lingered, strong enough to tickle disturbing feelings between her legs. She lifted the collar with one hand so she could get the skin underneath with the other, though it made her even more acutely aware of its weight and texture.
The pink goop’s tingling only grew stronger the longer it was in contact. It felt as though every touch receptor in her skin was active, the contact with the water exacerbating it on those areas, a thousand drumming fingers. It felt… good. Very good. With a shaking hand, she smeared a palmful between her legs, over her outer lips, then hesitated. Did she really want this stuff on territory that was sensitive and private?
But if there was any chance of her own body odour being an issue… and Flair had emphasized more than once that it was to go everywhere… and that was what Mistress wanted.
Gritting her teeth, trying not to think about what this was going to do, she parted her lips with one hand, and slathered cleanser over the whole area between them, across the mouth of her vagina but not inside, across her inner labia and clit.
She would not have believed it was possible to feel so aroused.
I belong to a fae mistress, I’m in a shower that might not be anywhere on a map, I’m covered in some kind of stuff that could do anything but is certainly making me feel much too good… How the hell can I be so turned on?
It’s just the pink gunk. Or the adrenaline. Or the stuff being put in my head.
“How are you doing?” Flair asked. “Tell me when you’re ready for me to do your back.”
“Um… I think now?” Any reluctance to be seen or touched was shrivelling in the heat. Her heart was pounding too hard, her breathing was heading for fast and shallow, and the wetness on her inner thighs, she was humiliatingly certain, was not all water or pink goop.
Flair drew back one end of the curtain far enough to reach. The water spray slid off her altered skin the way it might off stone or metal, trickling along the edges of the metal inlay before dripping off. “Hand me the jar and turn around.” Briskly, she began to rub pink cleanser on Jillian’s back with a hand that was just a little too firm and smooth, though very gentle. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Too bad Mistress said no sex, or I could help. Get my tongue right down here,” with no more warning than that, she ran her slippery hand between Jillian’s legs, two fingers sliding between her labia. Jillian gasped and flushed as, without any conscious decision, her legs parted wider invitingly. “And lick to get some of the edge off. Good, you got there too. Turn around, I’ll do as much of your face as it’s safe to do.”
Sure that she was bright red with embarrassment, Jillian turned around and closed her eyes, submitting to having pink goop spread delicately everywhere except the orbits of her eyes—Flair stayed just outside her eyebrows, though she came closer underneath, and right up against, although not directly onto, her lips.
“What’s wrong?” Flair asked.
“I shouldn’t be… shouldn’t feel like this.” She definitely shouldn’t be wondering what Flair’s tongue would feel like, or contemplating whether Min’s no-sex order included acts she initiated herself!
“Why not? It’s not hurting anything. The cleanser’s harmless. It’s made for fae, though, and sometimes things made for them have a different effect on us. It feels good while it’s on, and it’ll make your skin feel nice afterwards, not dry or greasy, and it’s certainly quicker and more pleasant than other wayus to get rid of extra hair, and otherwise it just gets you really thoroughly clean. So why is it bad? Once I finish this, I’ll go get your uniform together and you can have a few minutes to help yourself, since I can’t. Just remember we only have an hour and you need to clean around your eyes and lips, and it’ll take you a little time to scrub it all off and rinse your hair, and we still have to do the rest. Okay?”
“Um… yes?” That light precise touch was only making things worse. So was that feeling of everything being right, because she was obeying Flair’s instructions on Mistress’ behalf.
“Good. Turn back around and I’ll scrub it off your back for you. Be careful when you do your face so it doesn’t go in your eyes. It takes a bit to get it off, but it’s worth it.” Flair went at her back vigorously with one of the thick washcloths, Jillian bracing herself and trying to pretend that her clit wasn’t throbbing dully. “There we go. There’s a rope at the far end of the tub, just pull on it when you’re done. I’ll be next door in the dressing room.”
“Right.”
Flair rubbed her hands vigorously together under the water to get the pink cleanser off, then pulled the curtain back into place. A couple of fast heartbeats later, Jillian heard a door slide open, then closed again.
She slumped against the tiled wall, even the coolness of that, the subtle rippled texture, screaming messages to her brain. How was she supposed to function?
Was she really going to masturbate, here and now, like this?
She was in an impossible place, talking to an impossible woman who claimed to be quite happy as a lifelong fae slave, and had no choice in anything that was going to happen to her. She was coated literally head to toe in goop of unknown nature, with a little voice in her head rewarding her for thoughts about obedience and discouraging thoughts of rebellion, and her nervous system seemed to be in overdrive, making it hard to think about anything but how desperately turned on she was. And all she could do was hope desperately that everything she’d been told was the truth and she was going to get out of this intact without the voice in her head or these odd reactions persisting and that she didn’t also end up as property.
Maybe Flair was right and it was possible to make it less overwhelming.
She braced both feet, as wide apart as she could while staying steady though the wall was taking much of her weight. With thumb and ring finger, she parted her engorged outer labia, giving access to the hot wet space between. Her index and middle fingers found her clit to be swollen and hard, and she heard herself whimper softly as she stroked it lightly.
This was absolutely mortifying, doing this, here, but it felt so good, and she couldn’t bear to stop, she needed this so badly…
It didn’t take much at all.
Her breath caught as every muscle clenched, shuddering in bliss with the gradually decreasing waves surging through every nerve.
Panting, she let her head drop forward with her hand still around her vulva, waiting for her heart to slow and her trembling to stop. She was quite certain that she’d never in her life had an orgasm that powerful.
And while she still felt aroused, it really was weaker now, easier to think past.
She had to get everything washed off and call Flair. She didn’t know how long it would take to get dressed, or how much time Flair would need for herself.
Something felt odd as she moved her hand. She brought it up into sight, and blinked.
Her palm was full of dark curly coarse hair.
She grabbed one of the washcloths, and hastily rubbed between her legs, wincing a little at the post-orgasm sensitivity of her clit. The cloth came away with quite a lot more hair embedded painlessly in the pink goop. A tentative touch found that her labia were now entirely free of any trace of hair, the skin smooth and soft, and the touch made her arousal start to climb again… or was it how her labia felt under her fingertips? How did they look?
Everywhere she scrubbed, and it did take some persistence to remove it entirely, she found that she’d lost her body hair right down to the finest. Even the dark roots from her shaved legs and underarms ended up on the cloth. From the neck down she thought she probably didn’t have a single hair, and above that, only the ones on her head and her eyelashes and eyebrows.
It probably wasn’t worth panicking over. Hair grew back, right? And this actually felt… rather nice. But Gary would certainly be surprised!
One thing left: she positioned herself under the spray so she could start washing the yellow goop out of her hair.
Which felt like too much hair.
That was not the short practical cut she was used to. Her fingers could comb through the heavy mass of it, helping the water carry away the so-called conditioner—although she couldn’t say it didn’t feel amazingly soft. While it was wet, she couldn’t be sure, but she thought that it was darker than it should be, too.
All right. She could get it cut tomorrow, preferably before anyone who knew her saw her, and any change in colour she could laugh off as an impulsive moment. That wasn’t a reason to panic either.
She took a moment to make sure there was nothing at all left on her skin… her so-smooth, so-sensitive skin… which, she observed, no longer had any blemishes at all. Moles had faded somewhat, and scars were the same tone as the surrounding skin and less perceptible to touch. The normal muted beige-brown colour remained, but it looked somehow less bland, and overall, her skin felt, well, younger, tight and supple and radiant. Combined with the lack of hair, she must look much better than after even the most expensive spa treatment.
She turned off the water and pulled back the curtain, stepping out onto the waiting bathmat, thick and welcoming under her toes.
Her own reflection made her eyes widen. Her less-than-athletic belly aside, she looked more than a bit fuckable. Even the skin of her C-cup breasts had tightened, and while they weren’t defying gravity like a cartoon, they’d regained a firmness they’d gradually lost over the years. In the right clothes, she’d look… what? Not like a made-for-sex bimbo, not like a model, her hips were too broad and she was never going to be all willowy-slender, but… good. Really good.
Even if it had only been moments since her first orgasm, that was enough to push the hunger higher again. She perched on the edge of the tub, and found that she had no more difficulty with a quick orgasm than she had the first time. Nor was it any less intense.
Mistress is waiting.
Still quivering, she groped for the rope, and found herself stroking it, enjoying the weight and thickness, the slightly rough texture. She made herself yank on it and let go, then concentrated on standing up.
Flair reappeared through a sliding door of rippled blue and white glass panels, and smiled. “You look great! Here, let’s get you dry.” She snatched up a couple of huge fluffy white towels, draped one around Jillian, and started towelling her hair vigorously with the other. “We’ll be ready in time, for sure. Feel better?”
“Um… yes.” The need was definitely far duller than it had been, though she had a sinking feeling that it could rouse again all too easily. The reply came out a bit muffled, given how enthusiastic Flair was.
“That’s good. I like your hair like this. It’s a pretty colour. Come on, the dressing room is right here.”
