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above my midsection. As it moved toward my face, I grabbed my thumbs in clenched fists and held my breath. As the first drop of liquid warmth landed close to, but not exactly on, my right nipple, I made a small noise of surprise. My hands opened flat and I laughed softly when it registered that the wax hadn’t hurt at all, had in fact felt more like a kiss than anything.
        Robert was holding the candle almost as high as his own chin, standing above me, so that the wax had time enough to cool on the way down.
        “You liked that?” he teased me, and I nodded, still smiling.
        I waited for the next drop to fall, and cried out when a tiny stream of ice water fell onto my left breast instead. I hadn’t realized he’d been holding and melting an ice cube in his other hand.
        “Oh my God, that’s so cold,” I said, shivering.
        An instant later three more drops of wax, this time carrying a tiny sting of heat, splashed onto the same area where the water had fallen. He lowered the candle further and spilled another small puddle onto my stomach, taking away the chill completely. “Thank you,” I said, “that feels nice.”
        “My pleasure,” Robert said, and poured the melted-ice water onto the triangle of my G-string.
        I gasped, then laughed, and heard Robert laugh quietly as well. I willed my body to remain still as the different sensations began raining down on my skin more rapidly. Warm on my upper thigh, icy on the delicate skin covering the tops of my feet, hot and cold simultaneously between my legs, this time lower than where the first droplets had fallen. I didn’t realize how loudly I was breathing until I heard a muffled noise and realized it was Robert talking to me.
        “I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t hear you,” I said.
        “I was just murmuring in pleasure over the way your skin turns a lovely shade of pink with just the slightest stimulation. It makes me curious to see what color it would turn if you were across my lap, receiving a different kind of stimulation,” he told me.
        “Hm,” I said, feeling shy and a little embarrassed, as I always did, about how excited the idea of it made me.
        I have spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out what’s up with this spanking fetish I have — where it comes from, what about it exactly is such a turn-on, why I identify being spanked as a good feeling instead of a neutral or unpleasant one. I really have no idea. The only clear thing to me is that the thought of it can create a feeling inside me as if all the blood in my body is suddenly being drained from every extremity and redirected straight to my sexual center.
        “KNOCK! KNOCK!” Hillary boomed over the intercom. Robert snapped his head toward the wall where the screech came from, and yelled back.
        “EXTEND!”
        He looked back at me, post-declaration, and raised an eyebrow to confirm my agreement.
        I smiled up at him, still barely believing that this was happening to me. It was a heady feeling to be with someone who had more authority with the boss than it seemed other clients did. I knew Hillary would have buzzed back to confirm with me if this hadn’t been the case.
        Robert helped me up and gently dried me off where the ice water had left me damp. His hand, covered in the towel, pressed into my wet G-string several times, blotting as much of the water as possible from the darkened material.
        “Your hand is warm,” I said into his shoulder as I leaned against him for support.
        “Let’s see what else of yours it can warm up.”
        I let Robert take my hand and lead me to the leopard-skin bench that was pushed up against one of the walls. It was long enough that I could get across his lap, which I did promptly, resting my arms on it in front of me with the length of my legs and feet resting on the other side of him. It was a comfortable way to spend an