Constant dripping brings the moan: wax play

Author: Kitteh
Fantasy & experience | Stories

I’m sure you’ve all heard this “That’s how it all started” meme with a BDSM context. A child holds a finger in the liquid wax of a blown-out tea light, then lets it dry on the fingertip and carefully coils it off. Or one like this:

Source: @iMissMistyEyed, presumably Instagram

I can’t really remember if that’s how it started for me. Nevertheless, waxing as a BDSM practice now has a special appeal to me.

Admittedly, after my first experience with hair removal using hot wax strips, I was actually sure that I would never voluntarily let hot wax near my naked body again.

Unless I can scream into a towel while relaxing meditation music plays and be hair-free for a few weeks.

Wax play: How it all began

Candlelight has always been part of the romance theme and therefore part of the bedroom. So it was obvious and only a matter of time before the first wax landed on a body.

Presumably, at some point in the deepest Middle Ages, some knight who thought his maid was just on his hips and himself a particularly creative lover thought, looking at one of the candles next to the cot: “Hey, I could pour that soup over the woman”.

Knight tilts, woman screams, knight gets horny, wax play born. Or something like that. To what extent the whole thing was safe, sane and consensual back then is debatable. Just like more precise accounts of the beginnings of this type of play.

My first wax play was basically quite similar to the anachronistic porn described above. Only – kudos to my play partner at this point – with a more suitable candle. I had two circumstances on my side, which in retrospect were extremely advantageous. First of all, it was high summer.

Before the first drop touched my skin, I was already so hot and sweaty that the burn was quite mild and the dried wax was easy to remove through the sweat film. In the meantime, however, I find massage oil or body lotion better and safer as a release agent.

I’m also still grateful today that the session didn’t take place in my home. I’m pretty sure that the last remnants of my pleasure are still trampled into the carpet at the scene of the crime. Since then, I’ve lived by the motto when it comes to wax play: it’s not very sexy to lay out half the bedroom with old towels, but it’s even less sexy to scrape wax residue out of a carpet on your knees afterwards. For me at least. I’m sure some other people would enjoy the sight.

Wax and its charms

If someone asks me what I particularly like about waxing, it’s definitely the fact that pain is created quietly, without much noise.

I’m also attracted by the subtle acoustic note and the tactile aspect of breaking cooled wax. That’s right, I’ve always been the one who closes my eyes in pleasure at the crack of a Magnum ice cream. And to this day, I’m still the annoying guest who nervously messes with the lanterns on warm barbecue evenings in midsummer and ruins my mother’s tablecloth.

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