Sarah Teenage Beauty Therapist

Fourteen year old Sarah has a weekend job at a salon.

The smell of frying bacon slithered under Sarah’s bedroom door like a seductive whisper. She stretched, the sheets clinging to her sweat-damp skin, her mind still tangled in the remnants of a dream—hot breath, rough hands, the forbidden weight of the man in her dream pressing her into the mattress. She could feel her cotton knickers sticking to her, already wet.

Her fingers snook into the panties and traced the smoothness between her thighs— freshly waxed just yesterday. She hated being hairy down there— and loved the feeling of being smooth like when she was younger.

Sarah had her weekend job at Sax Beauty in Ripon for three months now, but she’d already persuaded Anna to let her wax clients— she'd even done a man chest.

The way Anna’s eyebrows arched when Sarah had first mentioned wanting to do wax people had been so funny. "You’re fourteen, love," Anna had said, but Sarah had grinned back at her, "I'm going to get qualified as soon as I turn sixteen, and I'll need the practice." She didn’t mention the real reason—how she loved the intimacy, the idea of getting to see people's bits—it was so naughty.

Sarah still remembered the sting of the wax, the way Anna’s fingers smoothed over her skin afterward, gentle but firm. "Now pay attention to how I do this," Anna had instructed as she worked. When Anna had finished, she’d handed Sarah a mirror—"Go on, have a look. You're going to do me next." Sarah’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t hesitate. Sarah took the mirror and looked—she was bare as a baby, smooth as silk. It was perfect. Sarah loved the way her vagina looked it was 'tidy' smooth with her plump outer lips meeting perfectly.

Anna took off her uniform trousers and climbed onto the table, lying back with her legs slightly apart. Sarah hesitated—just for a second—Ann's vagina was very different than hers. Anna's was more...pronounced. Her outer lips were fuller, darker, the inner folds peeking out slightly. Sarah swallowed hard.

"Go on then," Anna said, her voice steady, though her thighs tensed just a little. "You wanted to learn, didn’t you?"

By the end if the day Sarah had waxed two of the stylists and Claire from the mobile phone shop next door. Anna had watched her, arms crossed, nodding approval as Sarah worked with surprising confidence for someone her age—her fingers steady, her technique careful but efficient. Claire, who was only eighteen herself, had squirmed and giggled, her thighs trembling as Sarah spread the warm wax over her neatly trimmed curls. "Oh my god, it stings!" Claire gasped, gripping the edges of the treatment bed.

Sarah just smirked. "Wait till I rip it off." And then she did—quick, merciless—earning a sharp yelp from Claire, followed by breathless laughter. "You little sadist!" Claire sqeaked, but her cheeks were flushed, her legs still spread shamelessly. Sarah couldn’t help but notice how Claire’s slit glistened under the studio lights—pink and slick—before she hastily covered her with a towel.

The memory coiled low in Sarah’s belly as she kicked off the tangled sheets and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her fingers lingered between her thighs—still damp, still craving—but she forced herself to pull away. She was due at the salon in about hour, and Anna would skin her alive if she was late. Again.

When Sarah arrived the door was still locked so she sat on the step and pulled out her phone, idly scrolling through Instagram. Tracey the head stylist turned up about ten minutes later.
"Ann texted me—she sick," Tracey said, unlocking the salon door. "There's only three bookings for beauty, and she wants you to handle them."

Sarah's stomach flipped. Alone? The prospect sent a thrill through her—no Anna watching, no raised eyebrow when she lingered a second too long smoothing oil onto freshly waxed skin.

The first two appointments went by in a blur—a middle-aged woman who barely blinked as Sarah waxed her legs, and a nervous bride-to-be who kept apologizing for her "jungle down there" before Sarah silenced her with a firm, "Stop moving or I’ll mess up." The bride left with a red face and a perfectly bare vagina, tipping Sarah an extra fiver.

The third was for a Robin and was marked in the book as marked BSC.
"What's BSC ?

Tracey looked up from sweeping cut hair and grimned at Sarah, "Back, sack and crack, love."

Sarah's pulse jumped. A man. She'd only waxed women so far—well, except for that one chest—but this? She bit her lip to stop the grin spreading while trying not to blush at the same time.

Tracey leaned on the broom, smirking. "You gonna faint, Floodie?"

Sarah flipped her off with one hand while flipping through the appointment book with the other. Robin, 11:30. No notes beyond BSC. She swallowed hard. "I can handle it."

She didn’t have time to panic—the door chimed five minutes early.

Robin wasn’t what she expected. He was—well, *attractive*, maybe forty-ish, with salt-and-pepper stubble and forearms thick enough to make the rolled sleeves of his button-down strain. His smile was easy, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he spotted her standing there, gripping the appointment book like it might fly away.

"Anna not in today? Sarah's throat tightened as Robin's voice rolled over her—deep, warm, with just the faintest rasp. She swallowed, forcing her fingers to loosen on the appointment book. "Uh, no. She's sick."

His gaze flicked to the waxing room door behind her, then back to her face. "So you're handling me, then?" The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a grin, but something close.

Sarah's stomach twisted, but she lifted her chin. "Yeah. Unless you wanna reschedule?"

Robin laughed—a low, rumbling sound that made Sarah's thighs press together reflexively. "Not a chance. Been putting this off for weeks." He rolled his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut across his chest. "Lead the way, then."

Sarah left Robin, or Rob as he introduced himself, in the waxing room to ger ready. When she came back in he was already laying face down on the treatment bed, naked except for the towel draped over his muscular bum.

"Right," Sarah said, trying to sound professional as she snapped on her gloves. She'd waxed a back before—and that was easy enough.

But when Rob shifted slightly, lifting his hips so she could adjust the towel, she caught her first real glimpse of a man’s arsehole. Darker than she expected, a tight little pucker nestled between the firm swell of his cheeks. She hesitated for only a second—because, really, wasn’t it just like waxing a woman's bumhole?

Sarah had done plenty of those—Claire’s most memorably, when she’d squirmed and gasped as Sarah worked the strip off with a sharp tug. Rob’s might’ve been hairier, thicker with coarse curls, but the technique was the same. Warm wax, smooth application, quick rip. She exhaled, steadying herself. She parted his cheeks slightly—professional, clinical—her fingertips brushing warm, surprisingly soft skin. He tensed for a second, then relaxed.

"Never had anyone so young do it before," Rob murmured into the headrest, voice muffled. "How old are you, anyway?"

Sarah's pulse stuttered, but she kept her hands steady as she spread warm wax along the dip of his lower back. "Old enough," she quipped, pressing the strip down harder than necessary.

Rob chuckled—a rough, knowing sound that sent heat pooling between her thighs. "That right?"

Then came the moment of truth, "can you turn over, please?" she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Rob rolled onto his back—and Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. There it was, thick and heavy against his thigh. She’d seen cocks before—online, in magazines—but never a real one. Well,other than her little brother James's but that was a little boy's and didn't count.

His cock was uncut, the foreskin pulled back slightly to reveal the flushed head. Dark curls framed the base, trailing up his stomach, and she could see his balls, heavy and taut against his skin. Sarah’s mouth went dry. She wasn’t supposed to stare—but god, she wanted to.

She had no idea how to do this properly, but she knew his scrotum skin needed careful handling—stretching it too much would hurt, not enough and the wax wouldn’t grip properly. Anna had shown her the technique on women, but men were different—looser skin, more folds, . Her fingers wrapped hwr hand around the shaft—just to pull the skin taut—but the warmth of him against her palm made her hesitate. Rob let out a slow breath. "Okay, well that's a different technique," he muttered, but didn’t stop her.

Sarah swallowed. She scooped the warm wax onto the spatula, her other hand still loosely curled around him, feeling the pulse of blood beneath soft skin. The wax dripped onto his balls, and Rob hissed—more surprise than pain—but didn’t pull away. She smoothed it quickly, her knuckles brushing the underside of his cock.

Sarah methodically applied the wax, her fingers trembling slightly as she worked— his balls.The heat of his skin seeped through her gloves, making her breath hitch. She could feel him twitch under her touch, his cock thickening ever so slightly.

"Easy there," Rob murmured, his voice thick with amusement—and something darker. "You're not trying to torture me, are you?"

Sarah's cheeks burned, but she didn't pull her hand away. The wax had cooled enough. Time to rip. "Hold still," she ordered, then yanked the strip upward with a sharp flick of her wrist.

Rob's entire body jerked—his cock twitched violently against his stomach, his thighs tensing. "Fucking hell!" he barked, half-laughing, half-groaning as his hands gripped the edges of the table. His cock was getting harder now, Sarah pretended not to notice—but she noticed. The flushed tip glistening faintly under the salon lights, the way his foreskin slid back further as he stiffened.

Sarah smiled, tossing the used strip into the bin. "Don't be a baby," she said, though her own pulse was hammering. She reached for another spatula of wax. Her fingers trembled slightly as she wrapped her hand around him again, firmer this time, pulling the skin taut. The heat of him was intoxicating—she could feel his heartbeat through the thin latex of her glove. By the time she'd finished he's was fully hard in her hand.

Rob exhaled sharply through his nose, his hips shifting slightly—not pulling away, just adjusting. "You enjoying yourself?" he teased, voice rough. His cock twitched against her palm, thick and insistent. He reached down his hand covering hers, pressing her fingers more firmly around him.

Sarah's breath hitched. She should pull away—should snap into professional mode, should tell him to behave. But the weight of him in her hand, the way his pulse jumped under her fingertips—it made her dizzy. His grip tightened, guiding her fingers slowly up his shaft.

"You ever done this before?" Rob murmured, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. His voice was low, deliberate—not mocking, but curious.

Sarah's pulse thrummed in her throat. She could lie. Should lie. But the heat pooling between her legs betrayed her. "No," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rob exhaled—half groan, half laugh—and guided her fingers tighter around him. "Fuck, you're a quick learner." His thumb traced the ridge of her knuckles, pressing her glove taut against his skin. The latex squeaked faintly as she moved, tentative at first, then bolder as his breath hitched. His cock was slick now, the head glistening where it peeked from his foreskin.
"Take the gloves off," Rob murmured, Sarah hesitated—only for a heartbeat—before peeling them off with her teeth. The air felt electric against her bare fingers as she wrapped them around him again. No barrier this time. Just skin. His groan was ragged, his hips lifting off the table to meet her strokes.
Sarah watched, mesmerized, as her fist moved—the way his foreskin slid back with each upward pull, revealing the flushed tip. Precum beaded at the slit, his cock seemed to grow harder still under her touch. Suddenly, Rob’s hand clamped over hers, stopping her mid-stroke. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "Slow down," he gritted out. "Or this’ll be over too fucking fast."
She obeyed, easing her grip, letting her thumb swirl over the slick head instead. Rob shuddered, his thighs tensing. "Play with my balls," he muttered, guiding her other hand down. They were smooth now—bare from the wax—but still heavy, warm. She cupped them gently, rolling the weight in her palm as she stroked him. His breath came in sharp bursts. "Jesus Christ," he hissed.
Sarah’s teenage pussy was sopping, her own thighs pressing together as she watched him unravel. Rob’s free hand found her ponytail, gripping it loosely—not pulling, just holding. Then gently tugging her closer, guiding her face downward.
Sarah’s stomach clenched but, her lips parting instinctively. The scent of him—musky, warm—hit her first. Then the taste as her tongue flicked out tentatively, lapping at the salty bead of precum. Rob cursed, his fingers tightening in her hair. "Yeah," he rasped. "Just like that."
She took the tip into her mouth, her lips stretching around his girth—she’d seen enough porn to know the basics, but the reality was different. She suckled gently, her tongue pressing against the frenulum, and Rob’s groan was guttural. His hips jerked involuntarily, his cock nudging deeper into her mouth. Sarah gagged slightly and pulled away just a little—but Rob wasn’t letting her go. His grip in her hair tightened slightly, holding her in place but not forcing himself deeper.
"You’re fucking perfect," he growled, watching her lips stretch around him. His other hand slid under her salon t-shirt— cupping the swell of her tiny teenage breast before roughly pinching her nipple through her bra. Sarah moaned around his cock, the vibration drawing another ragged curse from him. His hand moved to her bum— squeezing her tight arse cheek through her work skirt.
Sarah whimpered, her own hips rocking against nothing—desperate for friction. Rob seemed to notice. He slid his hand up her thigh, under her skirt, fingers slipping inside the crotch of her knickers. "Fuck," he muttered when he felt how wet she was. His fingers stroked her slick folds— his thumb circling her fourteen year old clit. Sarah gasped, her mouth popping off his cock as pleasure jolted through her.
Rob smirked—then abruptly pulled his fingers awat and sat up.

Sarah blinked up at him, her lips still parted and wet—confusion flickering across her face before Rob grabbed her hips in one rough motion and spun her around. The edge of the waxing table dug into her stomach as he yanked her skirt up and her knickers down in one fluid tug. Cool air kissed her bare arse before his palm cracked against it—a sharp, stinging slap that made her gasp.

"You've got the prettiest little cunt I've ever seen," Rob growled, his fingers spreading her waxed folds apart without preamble. Sarah whimpered, her smooth teenage pussy glistening under the salon lights—plump outer lips already flushed pink with want, her inner lips peeking out like delicate petals. He traced a blunt fingertip along her slit, gathering her slickness before circling her tight little hole. "Christ, you're dripping," he muttered, his cock twitching against her thigh. "This what you wanted, you naughty girl? Getting soaked while you wank off clients?"

Sarah had used a hairbrush handle before—pressed between her mattress and her desperate thrusting hips—but Rob was *much* bigger. The thick head of his cock nudged against her entrance, his foreskin sliding back as he ground against her. Sarah braced herself, her fingers scrabbling at the waxing table's edge.

"Wait—" she gasped, suddenly unsure.

Rob stilled, his breath hot against the back of her neck. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, his cockhead pressing just enough to make her clench around nothing. "Say it, and I walk out right now."

Sarah’s pulse roared in her ears. Her thighs trembled, slickness dripping down her inner thighs. She should say it. She *should*. But the weight of him against her—the way his calloused fingers dug into her hips—sent a thrill through her that drowned out every rational thought. Instead, she arched her back, pressing her arse against him in silent answer.

Rob exhaled sharply—a sound between a groan and a curse—before gripping her waist tighter. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice rough. "You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?"

Sarah barely had time to process the words before his hips pushed forward, his cock slowly breaching her tightness in one slow, relentless push. She gasped, her fingers clawing at the waxing table as he stretched her open—his bulbous head slipped past her tight entrance, the sudden fullness making her whimper.

"Easy," Rob murmured, his breath hot against the nape of her neck. But he didn’t stop—didn’t pull back—just kept pressing forward until she could feel every inch of him sinking into her, her slick walls fluttering around the unfamiliar intrusion. It *hurt*—a sharp, stinging burn that made her toes curl—but beneath the pain was something else. A deep, throbbing pleasure that radiated through her pelvis with every slow thrust.

Sarah whimpered, her fingers scrabbling against the waxing table as Rob bottomed out inside her. Her body clenched around him instinctively—too tight, too inexperienced—but he groaned like she was fucking *perfect*. "Christ," he rasped, his hips flush against her arse. "You’re so fucking tight." His hands slid around her waist, fingers splaying over her flat stomach as if he could feel himself through her skin. Then he pulled back—just an inch—before pushing in again, slower this time, letting her feel every ridge, every pulse of his cock as he stretched her open.

Sarah’s mouth fell slack, drool pooling on the vinyl tabletop beneath her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered shut—not from pain now, but from the overwhelming *fullness*, the way his thick cock dragged against her inner walls with each shallow thrust. She could hear the wet slap of skin, the creak of the waxing table under their combined weight. Rob’s breath came in ragged bursts against her neck, his teeth grazing her shoulder as he muttered filthy praise. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her back onto him with each thrust, forcing her to feel every inch.

"Fuck, that’s it," Rob growled, his grip tightening as he picked up the pace. His fingers slid forward, rough fingertips finding her clit with unerring precision. Sarah gasped—her body arching—as he circled the swollen bud in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming—the deep, stretching ache of his cock and the sharp, electric pleasure from his fingers.

She came suddenly, biting down on her own hand to stifle a scream—her teeth sinking into the fleshy part of her palm hard enough to leave marks. Her orgasm crashed through her like a rogue wave, muscles clamping around Rob’s cock in erratic pulses. He groaned, but his rhythm didn’t falter—just kept driving into her with relentless precision, his fingers relentless on her clit until she was whimpering, oversensitive and trembling against the waxing table. Then she came again, softer this time, her vision blurring as specks of light danced behind her eyelids.

Rob’s thrusts grew jagged, his breath hot and uneven against her shoulder. "Christ—where do you want it?" His voice was rough, strained—his fingers digging bruises into her hips as he held her still against him. Sarah’s foggy brain struggled to process the question—her mouth opening and closing wordlessly—before she understood. A chilll crept down her spine despite the heat pooling between her thighs. She didn’t want to get pregnant. The thought sliced through the haze of pleasure like a blade.

She twisted halfway, her fingers scrabbling at his wrist. "Not inside," she gasped, her voice raw. Rob exhaled sharply—a noise caught between frustration and amusement—but nodded. His grip shifted, one hand sliding between her thighs to press a thumb against her clit while the other guided himself free with a slick, obscene sound. Sarah barely had time to register the loss before he roughly guided, almost lifted her off the waxing table, turning her toward him, and pushing her onto her knees on the hard tiled floor.

Rob's cock slapped hot and heavy against her cheek before she opened her mouth instinctively. He groaned—low and filthy—as the head pressed against her lips, his thumb spreading her slick across them like gloss. "Open wider," he rasped, as he wanked himself roughly, his foreskin sliding back and forth over the swollen tip. Sarah obeyed, her mouth open, tongue extended—just like in the videos she'd seen.

The first spurt hit her tongue—salt and heat—before the second stripe painted her cheekbone. The third landed in her brunette curls, sticky and warm. Rob cursed, his fingers tightening in her ponytail as he milked the last pulses onto her chin. Sarah panted, her tongue darting out to catch what she could—eyes wide, lashes fluttering at the unfamiliar taste. She swallowed dutifully, before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Rob pushed his softening cock into her mouth—cleaning himself off—before finally stepping back. Her looked down at her beautiful flushed teenage face coated with his cum—her ponytail messy, lips swollen, and pupils blown wide—and grinned. "Fucking hell, how old are you really?" He muttered.
Sarah hesitated—then grinned back, cheeky despite the tremble in her knees. "Fourteen." Rob barked a laugh, "fuck me," he muttered—then froze, realizing what he'd just done. Sarah giggled, wiping more cum off her face with her fingers. Rob looked down at her, half horrified, his cock twitching against his thigh. "You're gonna get me banged up, girl," he muttered—but his smile said he didn't mind one bit.

He peeled five crisp ten-pound notes from his wallet—enough to make Sarah's breath hitch—and tucked them into the waistband of her bunched-up knickers still around her thighs. His thumb lingered against her hipbone. "Buy yourself something pretty," he murmured, his voice rough with something Sarah couldn’t name.