by Michael Alexander
Samantha Mayfield walked briskly across the mall, the sweet scent of freshly cut grass fragrantly filling the morning air. As she passed the administration building, the clock tower rang out, bells ringing steadily. Sam threaded her way through the crowds of moving students, mostly freshman like her, who had been foolish enough to schedule themselves for eight o'clock classes.
"Sam! Hey Samantha! Wait up!" A voice called out to her and she turned, looking over her shoulder to see her friend Chelly hurrying over to her, crossing in front of the Eagle Statue. Chelly's long blonde hair shone in the morning sunlight like ripened grain. Sam smiled, waiting.
"Trying to make me late?" asked Sam with a chuckle as Chelly fell into step beside her, the two girls making their way past the Student Union.
"Sorry. I was reading the paper this morning. Did you hear?" Chelly asked as they moved away from the Free Speech Corner, avoiding a hippie-dressed man who was preaching about love.
"Hear what?" Sam asked, her deep brown eyes looking inquisitively at Chelly.
"About the attack! You know." Chelly said, her voice intent and a little excited.
"Another one? Really?" Sam shook her head. "You'd think these stupid girls would know not to go out at night!" She let out an explosive sigh. "So what did the paper say?"
Chelly shrugged. "Just that it was the fourth attack. The girl wasn't named but the buzz at Bruce is that it was some girl from over at Kerr. Her roommate called the police but she didn't want to file charges. That makes two out of the three that didn't file charges."
"That's weird. Why wouldn't they want to file charges? If it were me I'd be screaming for the police," Sam said disgustedly as they pulled open the heavy glass doors of their building.
"I'm not so sure. Janice said that supposedly the two guys doing this aren't actually raping the girls. Seems that all four girls got covered in baby oil and hot waxed."
"What?" Sam's eyes corkscrewed open in astonishment. "You're kidding me. They gave her a waxing?"
Chelly rolled her eyes. "No you dummy, not a waxing! They poured candle wax on her! Geeze, you and your tan lines!"
Sam glared at her friend as they made their way down the lecture hall to their seats, sitting down and waiting for class to start.
Chelly was pulling out her book when she spoke again. "Janice said they torture the girls," she paused for effect, "sexually."
"Is that all you think about?" said Samantha with a sarcastic smile.
"Like you don't?" demanded Chelly
"Well not like you do! All the time!" Samantha said with a smirk.
Chelly began to retort, but was cut off by the arresting cough of the professor as he stepped up to the podium to begin the day's lecture. Chelly pulled out a piece of paper, scribbling on it and sliding it over for Sam to read.
They're being called The Waxers.
* * *
It had been a long day and Samantha lay on her top bunk reading, her mind trying to concentrate on the biology lesson. For a moment her eyes went blurry and she took off her glasses, rubbing at her brow and the bridge of her nose as she stretched.
"I can't take it anymore, Jamie. I'm going down to the student union and get my mail."
Jamie screwed up her face from the chair, looking up at the brunette on the top bunk. "Are you crazy? You're going to walk over to the post office at ten at night?"
Sam laughed. "Worried about The Waxers ?"
Jamie nodded. "Yes. And you should be too. Pretty nerd like you walking through the campus all alone."
Sam shook her head. "Jamie, there are cops everywhere! No one is going to grab me."
"Please don't go!" Jamie pleaded.
Sam hopped down and slipped on her flip flops. "Sorry. I'm going nuts. I've got to get some fresh air." She smiled and patted Jamie's head. "Hey, I'll be back in about twenty minutes, okay?"
"What if you're not?"
Sam paused, her fingers on the door knob. "Then call Chuck to come on over and spend the night with you." Sam opened the door and stepped out into the hall.
The hallway was completely deserted and Sam moved down the tiled hallway quickly, choosing the stairs over the elevator. The slap of her flip flops sounded unnaturally loud in the stairwell echoing up into the heights. Finally she pushed the ground-floor door open, stepping out into the lobby.
She made her way past the lobby desk and the sleepy looking RA on duty and opened the heavy glass doors to the front of the building. She made sure her keys had her ID pouch still attached and then turned right, setting off toward the street.
The night was only sparsely illuminated by the street lights, giving a shadowy, almost surreal quality to the campus. The night was cool, the air fresh and clean, lacking the automobile tang morning would surely bring. Sam took a deep breath, enjoying the scents. Her footsteps sounded loud as she crossed Avenue C, moving past Chelly's own dormitory, walking along the sidewalk next to the music building.
It was a path she walked frequently, almost every morning in fact, and she was attuned to it subconsciously. For a second she paused, sensing something wrong. For a quick moment she wondered if she was being stupid, wondered if she was asking to be attacked. Her mind imagined hands holding candles above her and she crossed her arms over her chest.
Suddenly a black shape rose in front of her, coming fast. Sam screamed… backing up suddenly, stumbling over her own feet and crashing down hard upon the cement. She looked up, her arms coming up to defend herself when the bicycle slowed to a squeaking stop.
"Are you all right, miss?" asked the bike cop, dismounting and bending over to help Samantha up.
Sam let out a little gasp of relief, taking hold of the cop's hand, letting him pull her up. Her hands went to her bottom and brushed off the dust, checking for injuries.
"Did you hurt yourself?" the cop asked again, his voice strong and masculine.
Sam shook her head. "It's just a bump. I'll probably have a cute bruise on my butt tomorrow to remind me of my stupidity." She looked up at the man, noticing his short trimmed blonde hair under the white and black helmet.
The officer laughed quietly, smiling. "Where are you heading this late? You know the Waxers attacked someone last night, right?"
Sam nodded. "I know. I'm not too worried about it."
The cop frowned. "Well you should be. Pretty young girls like you are their prime target. Where are you headed? I could give you an escort."
Sam shook her head. I'm just going to the Student Union post office to check my mail. Then I'll go back to my dorm like a good little girl, okay?"
"You want an escort?"
Sam shook her head. "I can see the Union Building from here. Thanks though."
The officer looked like he wanted to object, but then his radio squawked. He spent a moment or two saying numbers into it and then Sam heard the dispatcher say "Kerr Hall."
"All right, well I've got to go do another escort. Anything happens to you though, scream your head off, okay? We've got officers all over the campus right now, all right?"
Sam nodded obediently, smiling at the clean cut man standing in front of her.
"Have a good night," he said before straddling his bike and riding off into the darkness.
"If you were one of the Waxers, officer, I'd want you to attack me right now." She said huskily, her breath slow and steady in the shadows. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the sudden image of her lying naked, covered with baby oil, as the police officer poured hot wax down upon her.
"Whoa girl! Calm down there!" Sam said out loud. Her fingers went down to her shorts and slipped past the elastic bands of both shorts and panties until her finger found her slit. She couldn't help herself, slipping her finger in just up to the first knuckle. She gasped as a sensual wave crashed over her and she bit her lip to stifle the cry.
For a moment she was lost in the wave, her hand buried in her shorts like some sort of perverted toy. As soon as the wave crashed she pulled her finger from her body and clothing, wiping the clear gooey wetness on her shirt. Her breathing came in hoarse little gasps and she shook her head to clear it.
"Come on, girl. Get a move on or Chuck will be spending the night in your room." Sam once more began moving down the sidewalk, slightly humming under her breath. The bronze eagle glistened in the moonlight as she entered the post office, finding her box key. Her box was empty, as usual, and she frowned with a sigh.
Her steps were more hurried now as she made her way back toward her dormitory. Once more she crossed her arms, but made herself think of the police officer and his cute smile. Lost in a dreamy reverie, Sam never noticed the dark shadow rising behind her, its hand clutching a dark rag. She gasped as a hand was clamped over her mouth, a pungent odor filling her nose. She screamed but the sound was lost. Then the street lights went out.
* * *
Sam groaned, opening her eyes slowly. She blinked against the harsh light shining down on her and it took her a moment to orient herself. There was a strong and unpleasant aftertaste in her mouth and she felt groggy and disconnected. She shook her head and moved to rub her temple when she realized that her wrist was bound above her head.
She arched her back, looking upward at the dark leather strap holding her secure. Trying not to panic, she checked her other wrist. It too was bound and Sam concentrated on discovering her situation. In short order she realized she was naked, bound, and spread eagled on some soft surface.
"Well hello, Samantha. I see you are awake! Are you thirsty?" came a disembodied voice. Sam blinked against the bright light, trying to see who spoke.
Sam licked her lips. "Yes. Who are you? What are you doing to me?"
She felt a plastic straw placed against her mouth and she sucked the sweet water down. It washed away the distasteful flavor and lubricated her throat.
"I'm sure you can figure that one out for yourself," the voice said.
Sam blinked again and watched as a man's head came into view. She could see his brilliant blue eyes and a sensual mouth, but the rest of his head was covered with a ski mask. He smiled mischievously.
"Oh God! You're one of the Waxers!" Sam burst out.
The man chuckled. "A fitting name, don't you think? I was particularly pleased when the Daily nicknamed us that. He reached behind him and brought a clear colored bottle forward, holding it up for her to see.
"Time to get oiled, little Sam." He said, unscrewing the cap.
"How do you know my name?" Samantha demanded.
"Your ID card was on your keys," he said, putting the cap on the table behind him.
"Let me go or I'll scream!" Sam demanded.
The man smiled again. "Sam, if your screaming was a concern to me, don't you think you would be gagged? If screaming makes you feel better, than by all means go ahead. We're not going to rape you if that's what you're concerned about."
"Then what are you going to do to me?" Sam asked, realizing how stupid the question sounded only after the words had left her mouth.
The man hesitated. "We're going to wax you." He tilted the bottle over and spilled the baby oil over her body, splashing it copiously. Sam gasped. She had expected it to be a little cold, but it had been heated and it felt like a warm bath splashing over her skin.
"My roommate is going to call the cops if I'm not back soon," she said, her breath coming in little gasps.
"That's fine," the man said, obviously concentrating on the oil.
He stopped the pour and placed the bottle back down on the table. Sam saw that his hands were long and delicate, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to the elbows. She tensed as he reached down, placing his hands on her belly.
"Relax now." He said gently.
"Where's your friend?" Sam said as his hands started to spread the oil over her abdomen.
"Oh, he'll be here in a little. Don't worry. You will get to play with him too." His fingers slid over her flesh, digging slightly into her belly button. She couldn't help not giggling.
"Ticklish there?" The man asked, running his fingers through her button another time.
"Yes! STOP!" Sam shouted, her voice tinged with hysterical laughter.
The man smiled and continued his circling caress, moving downward into the tiny well until Sam was shaking and screaming, begging him to stop tickling her.
The man finally stopped, moving his hands upward and smoothing the oil over the creamy mounds of her breasts. His palms rubbed softly against her nipples and Sam felt her areolae tighten, her nubs standing higher. Her skin glistened as he moved into her cleavage and then onto her shoulders. His hands felt warm and they plied her skin with sensitivity, caressing her in gliding waves.
Even her arms were oiled, all the way up to her wrists. He massaged her arm muscles and then her fingers, lubricating her palms. She sighed, relaxing despite her bound state. His tender fingers felt so good against her skin. She shook her head, reminding herself that she had been kidnapped and stripped, touched.
His fingers once more moved back down and she trembled as they found her loins, moving inward to her thighs. She moaned as he heavily massaged designs into her hips and leg muscles, moving downward one leg at a time over her knee and shin to her feet. Sam groaned in pleasure as he used his entire hand to rub the bottoms of her feet, gently massaging each toe in turn. Finally there was only one place he hadn't touched and she held her breath as his fingers slid up both legs, over the insides of her thighs, to the quiet dampness between.
His fingers felt strange on her skin as he went high, touching her mons. She raised her head, looking down the odd angle over her glistening body and saw that her normal patch of hair was gone, replaced by a single well trimmed "v" shape. The man saw her studying herself and smiled.
"Yes, we trimmed and shaved you. Hope you don't mind. One, its much sexier. Two, it's a lot easier to clean the wax off you."
Sam's reply was breathy and strained. "So you don't rip hair out by the roots?"
The man merely laughed. "Women! How could you stand that? No, the wax we are going to pour on you is normal candle wax. We heat it in the microwave and keep it warm in a crock pot. Trust me. You will feel no pain tonight." He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. "You are so beautiful like this. Your body shines."
Suddenly she felt his finger slip into the folds of her slit. She gasped, feeling the oily digit slide along her petals, mingling the oil with the juices she knew were there. His fingertips found her clit, stroking it gently with oil until she grimaced, biting her lip to keep back her cry of pleasure.
"I think you're ready. Be back in a moment."
Sam tried breathing deeply, even pulled on the restraints, but they held tight. Her body felt incredibly alive, filled with sensations she had never felt before. It was as if every nerve had been sensitized, stroked and tormented until it sent every last bit of sensory information to her pleasure starved brain.
"Well now. I think she is absolutely beautiful! Already oiled and tantalized," a new voice said.
Sam turned her head, seeing another ski mask looming in the vague darkness behind the light. The mouth seemed just as gentle as the first man's, but the eyes were very different, a deep chocolate that seemed depthless, soft, and delighted.
"Feeling okay, Samantha?" the man asked.
"I think you should let me go." Sam breathed. "I won't tell anyone about this."
The man chuckled. "Let you go? But we've barely started. Ah. John is coming back."
Sam turned and saw the first one returning, his hands full of colored jars. "You're name is John?" She asked.
"No, Sam, it isn't. But you can call me John. This other gentleman is Clint." John said, smiling again as he put down his burden.
Both men stood to either side of the table, looking down on Sam's body. For a moment they looked down at her, but then both men laid their hands on her body. The fingers of Clint's right hand began sliding over her mons and into the flesh of her sex, rubbing her clit and folds in slow back and forth movements as his left hand began squeezing and rubbing her right breast in spine tingling movements. John's hands duplicated Clint's, except instead of running his left hand through Samantha's sex, he caressed her abdomen, tickling her belly button and then running his knuckles down to Samantha's mons.
Sam moaned, pulling tightly against her bonds as her body shuddered under the onslaught. Her mind reeled as the waves of pleasure rocked her. She felt her loins tightening and for a moment the scent of her own sex overpowered the baby oil, and she knew that her body was crying out for release. She closed her eyes, moaning out loud as the two men caressed her.
She barely noticed John moving away, still so intent on the slipping of Clint's fingers through the folds of her sex. She moved her bottom, trying desperately to push upward, to force his finger's into her well, but he moved with her, keeping her wanting.
Her eyes flew open wide as she felt something warm splash onto her left breast, encasing her nipple in a soft heat. John stood above her, holding a blue colored jar high, tilting it slowly as a slick azure liquid dripped rapidly downward. She drew in a startled breath, feeling the heat deep down to her very core, and she groaned as Clint's fingers circled her clit once more.
Clint's hand left her other breast and she watched in rapture as John tilted the jar again, this time coating her other creamy mound with its cerulean frosting. He brought the jar downward, tipping it again and Samantha's mouth opened in a small cry as the heat intensified, filtering through her breast.
She tilted her head back as the sensation overwhelmed her. Her muscles trembled and she felt herself building, the heat and massage sending her body and mind into that soft place where sexual tension is released. She cried out, her voice filled with a deep satisfaction, yet one with unrestrained longing.
"Well now, John. I think Samantha had a clitoral orgasm there," Clint said clinically, but with humor in his voice.
"I think you're right, Clint. Did that feel good Sam?" John asked, leaning over and looking her in the eye.
Sam nodded, not trusting her voice.
Once again, she nodded her head, licking her lips.
"Better give her another drink, John." Clint said.
John nodded, returning to the table and Sam felt the straw once more placed against her lips.
"Let us know whenever you need another drink, Samantha. Okay?"
Samantha swallowed, wetting her lips with her tongue. "Okay," she whispered.
A sigh escaped from her as Clint began his massage again, staying away from her clit for the moment, but concentrating on each pink petal between her spread legs. The heat had dissipated from her breasts and Sam wondered what would happen next.
John reappeared, a red jar clutched in his hand, and Sam watched as he poured an opaque crimson-hued fluid down upon her belly, filling her button with red heat. She gasped out loud, bucking upward, causing some of the overflow to trickle across her smooth and shiny stomach toward her hip. Once more the heat flowed, this time upward into her cleavage and then up over her breasts, filling her mounds once more with a steady warmth.
Samantha writhed under the wax, tilting her body back and forth as it cooled against her skin. She felt the heat like a deep passion that fired her body in the kiln of sensation. She sucked in a cool breath of air, trying to quench the lust that had spread from her bosom downward in a fiery rush, making her steam like an unquenched volcano.
She moaned in frustration as Clint's fingers spread the lips of her sex open, baring her pink and moist flesh. She thrust upward sharply, rewarding herself with a slip of Clint's finger being driven ever so slightly into her body.
Then the heat struck her. Her clit convulsed as it was suffused in the passionate bath, scarlet wax surrounding and pouring downward. She felt the trails of paraffin trickle downward along the insides of each petal, coating and recoating the delicate folds of her sex in a sizzling yet cooling mold. She opened her mouth, crying out into the light as the heat rose, matching the internal combustion of her orgasm.
She felt a cool touch against her skin and vaguely realized that Clint was slowly removing the wax from her body. A sliver table knife gleamed, cutting under the cooled molds and peeling it from her like a ripe fruit. He carefully cut around both her breasts and sex, lifting the solid molds from her melons like a trophy. The thick cap covering her sex came off with a slight wet noise, as if her body was reluctant to let loose the pleasure-giving form.
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" asked John, wiping her reddened skin down with a towel, while cleaning off as much of the oil and leftover slivers of wax as possible.
"No. It was wonderful," Samantha said with a sigh.
Clint smiled at her, holding the mold of her sex in his hand. "Glad you enjoyed it. We did too."
Sam looked at the two men, suddenly remembering that she had been abducted. "What are you going to do with me now?" she asked, a tremor of fear returning to her.
John patted her soothingly. "Well, in a moment you are going to take another nap. We'll get you cleaned up, dressed, and then drop you off at your dormitory."
"And that's it?" she demanded.
"And that's it," laughed Clint.
"What if I call the police and report you?" threatened Samantha.
John shrugged. "So? Go ahead. There are no DNA samples for them to retrieve. We haven't sexually raped you. While you show marks right now, by the time you wake up and call the police, your skin will have resumed its alabaster beauty. You have absolutely no description of us, other than what you can see now, which is two ski masks. Our names are from our favorite Western actors. We've made no videotapes to sell, and thus be traced back to us. The risky part of this was taking you in the first place. Returning you will be a breeze." He smiled. "So go ahead and call the police. Tell them everything we did to you."
Clint leaned over her, his hands no longer holding the burgundy casing of her vulva, Instead he hefted a bottle and a white rag. "Nighty-night, Samantha. You've been delightful." He tilted the bottle into the rag and brought it down on Samantha's face. Once more she inhaled the awful chemical, feeling it sucking her down into blackness.
* * *
Sam blinked hard, shaking her head and staring around dazed. A rough hand was shaking her shoulder and she looked up to see the bicycle cop standing next to her.
"Hey. Are you all right? Why are you sleeping out here on the bench?" yhe cute police officer said, his voice filled with concern.
Samantha looked around in confusion. Her mind seemed foggy and mixed and she wondered how she had gotten there.
"Why did you come out here? You weren't here an hour ago when I rode by. Is everything all right? Did you make it okay back to your dorm room after getting your mail?" The officer looked at her closely.
Samantha suddenly remembered, her hand going down to cup her breast. She shifted on the bench, trying to detect any lingering feeling of oil on her skin. Her clothes rubbed against her normally, and she put a finger into her shirt, pulling it out and looking down at her bra-covered breasts.
"Uh… Miss?" the cop asked, a little taken aback.
Samantha dropped her hand, looking up at the police officer. Her skin was its normal cream, smooth and silky.
"I'm sorry, sir. Just a little groggy I guess."
"Well, that's normal after being asleep. Can you make it back to your dorm room?"
Samantha hesitated and then smiled. She looked up at the cute officer, so concerned for her well being.
"Yes officer. I can make it back just fine."
Copyright© 2013 by Michael Alexander. All rights reserved. I welcome your comments. Email me at