Switched: Brides of the Kindred 17 (23 page)

Kerov had frowned
and looked around—what kind of test could be performed in such a
small area with no medical equipment? And what was the yellow,
viscous liquid for?

“
All right,” the attendant who had led him back to the room
told him. “You just take off your yoga pants and underwear and lay
on the table there with your legs spread wide.”

“
What?
Why?”
Kerov
demanded.

The girl frowned and
made a popping noise with the pink, malleable substance she was
chewing. It had a bland, sweet smell which Kerov disliked.

“
So Helga can
wax
you of
course! She can’t get to your goodies if you still have your pants
on!”

“
Helga?” Kerov raised an eyebrow at her.

“
Your waxing technician.” The attendant squeezed his arm.
“Listen, you’re going to
love
her. She’s so fast you’ll barely feel a thing.” And with those
not exactly reassuring words, she had left him alone in the small
room with the exam table and the pot of yellow, bubbling
liquid.

Feeling more
vulnerable than he ever had before, Kerov had removed the tight
fitting pants and tiny, lacy undergarments and had climbed up on
the table as directed. The padded table felt cold to his bare ass
and the crisp white paper crackled as he moved, trying to get
adjusted. He didn’t like the idea of spreading his legs, though,
even though the girl had said he must.

Back home in his own
body, nudity was no big deal. He showered naked with other males on
the base all the time and thought nothing of it. Here, however, it
seemed wrong, somehow. Mostly he objected to putting Frankie’s most
private and sensitive areas on display. When he spread his legs, he
could feel her pussy lips spreading too—it made him feel intensely
exposed which he didn’t care for at all.

Just as he was
finally getting settled, the door had banged open and a massive
woman with muscular forearms and small, dark eyes bustled into the
room in a businesslike way. She was remarkably tall for an Earth
female and very solid looking, Kerov thought. Thin, dark hair was
scraped back from her shiny forehead into a bun at the back of her
neck and she had a light dusting of black hair over her upper lip
as well—almost a mustache. For a moment Kerov wondered if she was
truly female but her formidable bosom put that question to
rest.

Speaking of which,
he could feel Frankie’s nipples hardening in trepidation under the
thin top he wore. He wished now that he had tried harder to figure
out the undergarment which went beneath it. Feeling Frankie’s
nipples become, sensitive points with nothing but the thin top to
protect them made him feel even more vulnerable.

“
All right, sweetie,” Helga bugled, slapping the door shut
behind her and going to the pot of bubbling yellow liquid. “Let’s
get started on that love cookie of yours. Now which side do you
want the wax on first?”

“
Hot…
wax?”
Kerov
stared in horror at the attendant who was holding up a thin wooden
paddle coated in the viscous yellow gunk from the pot. Gunk she
apparently wanted to slather over the sensitive area between his
thighs.

“
Yeah, hot wax. How else are we going to get your hairy little
biscuit all nice and smooth?”

Kerov clapped his thighs shut. He had never felt so vulnerable
in his life—it made him wonder if females felt this way often. If
so, he would never want to be permanently stuck in a female body.
He felt so
exposed.

And now he knew
exactly what he had exposed himself for. Lacy’s words during
mid-meal had made almost no sense to him, but now, lying naked and
vulnerable on the cold, padded exam-type table, Kerov had a
horrible revelation.

“
You want to put wax
where?”
he asked again, still not believing it.

“
On your va-jay-jay, hon. You
did
pay for a Brazilian, right? So that’s what this
is.”

“
It is? But…why?”

“
To get you all smooth and sexy.” Without asking again, the
technician dived in. Spreading his thighs with horribly strong
hands, she started slathering the hot, gooey wax all over the soft
little patch of curls that decorated the mound of Frankie’s
pussy.

Kerov yelped as the
heated wax made contact with the sensitive area. But before he
could jerk away, the technician put down the wooden paddle and
grabbed for some thin cloth strips. She pressed them over the
wax-coated area and rubbed vigorously.

“
Hey!” Kerov wanted to kick her—she hadn’t said anything about
actually
touching
between his legs! He himself had refrained from handling that
area out of respect to Frankie and now a complete stranger was
dripping hot wax on it and rubbing it all over!

But the next minute
his indignation was forgotten in a wash of pure agony when Helga
grabbed the end of the cloth and ripped it away, taking the soft
curls as well as what felt like half his skin with it.

“
Ahh!” Kerov sat bolt upright, every nerve tingling in pain.
“What in the
Seven
Hells?”
he
demanded.

“
All right now, honey, it’s all right,” the technician
soothed. Taking him by the shoulder, she pushed him back down on
the table. He struggled but she was a much bigger female than
Frankie was and incredibly strong. “The first side is the worst, I
promise.”

“
The
first
side?”
Looking down, Kerov realized with horror that only half of
Frankie’s soft, black curls were gone. Did this sadistic woman
actually intend to
repeat
the
process? Apparently so, because before he could protest, she had
grabbed the small wooden paddle and smeared the other side of
Frankie’s mound with hot wax.

“
No!” Kerov shouted, starting to get off the table. But again,
the technician pressed him back down. She really was
horribly
strong.

It was a new and
terrible experience for Kerov, being physically overpowered. He had
almost never known a time in his life when he wasn’t bigger or
stronger than his peers. He struggled but to no avail—Helga was
determined to torture him.

“
Settle down, honey and let’s get this over with,” she
snapped, clearly running out of patience.

“
I
don’t want to get it over with—I don’t want it done at all! I want
you to let me up
right now.
”
Kerov growled, glaring at her. But even his most intimidating growl
came out sounding high and squeaky in Frankie’s voice. Damn but he
was sick and tired of being trapped in a female body!

“
Sorry but I can’t let you go like this—if the wax dries before
I can rip it off you’ll
never
get it out.” Helga gave him a warning look. “Is that what you
want? A big wad of dried wax hanging off your hoo-ha?”

Kerov struggled to
master himself. Obviously he couldn’t leave Frankie’s body in worse
shape than when he had entered it. There was already a lump on her
forehead from the failed yoga pose. And having a dried wad of the
yellowish goo permanently affixed to what this woman called her
“hoo-ha” would clearly be even worse.

“
All right,” he said at last, forcing himself to relax back on
the cold table and spread his thighs. “But
hurry.”

“
Fast as I can,” Helga muttered. Once again she applied the
thin white cloth strips and once again there was the painful
ripping agony.

Kerov bit his lower lip until it bled. He had been wounded on
the battlefield more times than he could count but this level of
personal pain was unfamiliar to him. Also, wounds inflicted in the
heat of battle were barely felt—one was too busy fighting to notice
one was bleeding. But he had no savage skirmish with the Swarm to
distract him now—he had to lie here, exposed and hurting, allowing
this woman to torture him and for what? So that Frankie could have
a smooth pussy mound? Why was that necessary? For medical purposes?
Religious reasons maybe? Did the people of her world consider hair
in the nether regions to be some kind of abomination? What
was
wrong
with them?

“
All right, that’s the worst of it,” Helga announced looking
between his legs with apparent satisfaction. “Now we just need to
do a few touch-ups. Lucky for you, you’re not too hairy to start
with.”

“
Touch ups?” Kerov stared at her. “Does that mean you want to
rip
more
hair out?”

“
Just a little—you want to be nice and smooth for your man
tonight, don’t you?” Helga asked in a wheedling tone. “After all,
your friend out there told me you have a hot date lined up. Don’t
you want him to admire your lady treasures?”

Kerov felt his stomach knot with rage.
This
was the reason he’d had to go through torture
and agony? Not for any medical problem or religious belief but so
Frankie could give herself to some male who probably—no,
undoubtedly—
didn’t deserve her?

“
No,” he said thickly. “No, I do
not
want some strange male or anyone else admiring my ‘lady
treasures’ as you put it.”

The woman sighed.
“All right, be that way. In that case, we’ll move on to the back.
Flip over and spread your cheeks.”

“
What?”
Kerov
could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “You want to put hot
wax
there
too?”

“
Look, I know the front stings but believe me, the back
is
way
better,” Helga promised
reasonably, going back to the pot of wax and dipping in another
thin paddle. “There are hardly any nerve endings so—”

But before she could
finish, Kerov had hopped off the table and grabbed for his
trousers. He began to pull them on, wincing when the soft fabric
rubbed over the raw mound of flesh which had been Frankie’s soft
nest of curls.

“
Honey, now come on.” Helga put a hand on her hip. “What if
your man wants to do butt-stuff? What are you going to do—show him
a hairy love hole? You don’t want that!”

“
Keep away from me.” Kerov pointed a finger at her. “What
I
don’t
want is for you to spread
that poisonous goo on any other parts of my anatomy.”

“
But—”

Kerov didn’t hear
the rest of her remonstration. Turning the knob, he fled from the
small torture chamber, hobbling as fast as he could because it hurt
to walk.

Frankie,
he
thought as he went, keeping an eye out for the over-zealous
technician he was afraid was chasing him.
If we ever Switch back I’m going to have a
Hell of a lot to pay you back for! I don’t care what you are going
through in my body, it can’t be as bad as what I’m experiencing in
yours!

* *
* * *

“
Ugh! I’m beat!” Frankie collapsed in a cot in the Commanders’
barracks. She wanted to loosen the collar of Kerov’s dress uniform
which was pinching her throat, but she was so tired she didn’t feel
like fiddling with the weird latching mechanism that held it
together.

What a morning!

The last time
Frankie had been in a parade was when she was a kid. Her fourth
grade class had been in the Children’s Gasparilla parade in South
Tampa but they had only marched a few blocks and it had been fun.
How could it not be? Music was playing, people were cheering, and
everyone was throwing candy and plastic bead necklaces every step
of the way. A parade—or review as it was called here—was very
different on Tarsia.

For one thing, the
mood was not very festive—clearly the parade wasn’t for fun at all.
It was a military affair with rows and rows of soldiers in uniform
marching solemnly in formation. There was no candy, no beads, no
big colorful floats…and no fun as far as Frankie could see.

True, the streets
were crowded with ordinary citizens who had come out to see the
magnificent display, but none of them were cheering or shouting. In
fact, as far as she could see, none of them were even smiling. They
milled at the sidelines aimlessly, not talking to each other, their
faces rigid masks as they watched the soldiers go by. Frankie got
the distinct impression that they had been ordered to be there and
were only marking time until the review was over so they could go
home.

As for Frankie, she
wasn’t having any fun either. And it wasn’t because Ursa was acting
up, though Frankie was afraid she might, considering that she had
to be separated from her cubs which were locked securely in the
stall for safety’s sake. But the big bear-creature seemed to
understand her babies were safe—she also seemed to sense the
importance of the occasion. She was in perfect form, ambling along
at the head of the battalion of soldiers that Kerov commanded,
never deviating from her course once.

So
Ursa was fine, but Frankie was most definitely
not
.

She liked animals but she’d never even been horseback riding.
She had
wanted
to
go—like a lot of girls she’d gone through a horse-loving stage
where she read every book she could find on
them—
Man o’ War,
King of the Wind, My Friend Flicka…
but nothing she’d read could have prepared her
for sitting for miles and miles on a creature like Ursa.