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Waxing Fetish: the Pleasures and Pitfalls

There's always been a well-established body of waxing fetishists in the BDSM community. If you're looking to explore a potential waxing fetish, read on to discover more about the pleasures and potential pitfalls of hair removal.
 

There are innumerable ways to get off on waxing or being waxed for those with a waxing fetish. Whether it's making an elegant ritual of applying the sticky stuff, the sensations and the power dynamics that can be involved in being waxed, or the sensuality of having a body free of hair.
 

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Indeed, those of us with a leg fetish may love the idea of waxing their partner's legs to create super smooth pins that can be worshipped. Equally, the person who being waxed may get turned on by how it feels to be hair-free and also to see the pleasure their partner gets from waxing. Or maybe you have an armpit fetish and love to keep those pits bristle-free. Whatever your interest in waxing as a fetish lies, read on for some practicalities you need to consider (however, if you have a pubic hair fetish, you may want to look away now!).
 

The joys of a waxing fetish

First, there are those excited by the ceremony in a BDSM context. To give you an idea of what this might look like, picture a submissive consenting to allow their Dominant to de-hair them, followed by a systematic, ritualistic process of doing just that: where the kinky kick is for the result but perhaps, even more, the procedure of hair removal.

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Many people have a nude waxing fetish

 

Then there are people where the pleasure lies in how waxing feels. For them, it's the sensuality or intensity of the hot wax or the exhilarating rush of endorphins when it's pulled away which is behind their fetish for wax.
 

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Next, a significant number find a smooth, hairless body enticing to make love to, by how it feels to caress or how it looks. An appreciation that can be shared equally by the person waxed, as their skin feels very different from how it was hairy.
 

Should you wax at home?

Depending on what you want to do, staying informed about what you can do at home and what should be left in the hands of a professional is always a good idea. To give an example, despite all the home waxing kits on the market, if you're thinking of using any of them on a person's genitalia… well, don't. And, yes, even if the advertised product says it's suitable for “bikini areas.”
 

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That's because the thing about most of these kits is that they fail to consider another beautifully diverse thing about us humans: that none of our bodies will react the same way – including pouring hot wax onto their skin and then jerking it away to rid them of hair.

 

“There are innumerable ways to get off with a waxing fetish, whether it's the power dynamics that can be involved in being waxed, or the sensuality of having a body free of hair.”


If you want to try any of those at-home methods, do a small test of the process, but anywhere except someone's genitals to see if there's a reaction. Even then, these kits often contain extra-added ingredients that can cause severe irritation. So, be cautious, and if there's any doubt in your mind, ditch the idea of doing it yourself and instead get off to a professional waxer.

 

Waxing preparations 

No matter which way you go, there are a few things you can do to help make the hair removal process less ***ful – and by this, we mean in a bad, non-BDSM way. 

A day or so before waxing, it's advisable to exfoliate the area gently with a mild scrub to remove dead skin cells around the hair follicles. Doing this helps loosen existing ingrown hairs and improves results. 

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Adding gloves can enhance a waxing kink

 

If the hair is too long, it can make waxing more ***ful, so it's advisable to trim it beforehand. However, you should leave at least a quarter-inch of hair so that the wax has something to grip onto. Also, ensure that after washing, dry the area thoroughly with a clean towel when you're about to wax, as wax won't stick to wet hair. Following these tips should mean you can fully engage in your waxing fetish with as few problems as possible. 

 

The realities of waxing

Aside from potentially burning someone – especially if you foolishly try to wax at home without taking the time to learn how to do it safely – there is another caveat. A professional waxer will recommend that the person waxed should refrain from exercise or sex for a given amount of time to allow the skin to heal fully. 
 

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Agreed, this is kind of a bummer as it's tempting for those with a waxing fetish to leap bare-skin first into fooling around the instant all those hairs are gone. However, no one wants a severe rash or pockmarks from infected pores. So, wait as long as you're told to, and afterwards, keep the area extra-clean to prevent any nastiness.

 

“A day or so before waxing, it's advisable to exfoliate the area gently with a mild scrub to remove dead skin cells around the hair follicles.”


Another thing not mentioned about waxing as much is that the window of hairlessness can be remarkably short. Back to personal experience, I was shocked to realize that my luscious smoothness began to get all stubbly a few short days after getting waxed.
 

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And while it may be tempting to have it done again or employ a razor, this isn't the best idea as the waxed skin will be raw and extra-sensitive for a reasonable amount of time afterwards. Doing anything like this again could mean a nasty rash… or worse.

 

Enjoying your waxing fetish

Whatever's behind your fetish for waxing, it's your responsibility to stay as educated as possible about every aspect of the process. If you take this approach and do not let your fantasies get in the way of the realities of waxing or any other BDSM activity, you and your playmates can have all kinds of enjoyable and safe fun — with or without hair. If the thought of the wax itself also turns you on, you may want to start exploring wax play too. Enjoy! •


M. Christian is a respected author and BDSM educator, having taught classes on everything from polyamory to tit *** for venues such as the SF Citadel, Good Vibrations, Beat Me In St. Louis and many others.
 

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Have a waxing fetish or into ***d shaving? Find other players here on Fetish.com.
 

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Images: shutterstock/Alex Verrone, shutterstock/Michelle Aleksa, shutterstock/YAKOBCHUK VIACHESLAV

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    Wax

    Hi ya fellow kinkster I was wondering how ***ful is wax play. Yes I know not to ues normal candles. But ues the 1s for wax play. Also does it mark the skin an if so how long till it your skin goes back to normal. I like the idea of wax play. But due to medical problems Im on a few hospital waiting lists for different operations If there's a kinkster out there willing to share about wax play Id be extremely greatful. Ty for taking time out of your day to read my message. Charms ❤️☺️🤗 39 Likes 26 Replies· 19 days ago

    Control wax and denial.

    Tonight is the night. He will be here soon. You feel your hands shake slightly, giving away your nervousness as you wrap the thin leather cord of heel around your ankle. You take a moment, taking big breaths to calm your beating heart and soften the tremors. Your stomach flutters, and you are reminded of everything he has said to you—the sound of his voice on the phone, his beautiful pictures. You stand up in front of the mirror and give your head a slight shake, examining yourself. The thin red dress clings to your body perfectly. You move your manicured hands, ***ted in matching red polish, over your dress, straightening it out. You stop as you run them over your breasts to calm your erect nipples, which are swollen and begging to be touched. The sensation runs through you and your eyes close, imagining his big, strong hands caressing them. Quickly, your eyes snap open and you shake your head again. "Focus," you tell your reflection as you check your hair and makeup, knowing full well they will be a mess by the end of the evening. Satisfied, you move out of the bedroom and slowly walk down the hall, swaying your hips to an audience of none. You glance at the clock; just a few more minutes. Your breath catches in your throat and you pick up the glass of wine you poured, drinking it quickly to steady your nerves. You doom-scroll as the time ticks by, wondering if he is going to be late. 8 o'clock is approaching. You walk around your house, lighting candles, making sure the flickering light casts just enough shadow. You hear a loud engine pull up and turn off, and immediately your pulse hammers in your throat. You can't help but wonder, "Why am I so nervous?" It is just a man. You have had others. You know the answer, but you won't admit it to yourself. Not yet. You are almost unable to stifle a giggle rising within you when you think about how ridiculous you are being. The door rattles as he knocks, sending a jolt through you that brings you back to the present. "It's open," you say sweetly. He opens the door slowly to see you leaning against the couch, legs crossed, hand on your hip, biting your lip. You show your best, most delightfully hungry look. You want him to melt before you. He walks through the door and closes it softly, never taking his eyes off you. "You look beautiful," he says; his voice dances in your ears. Still standing in the foyer, he slowly takes off his jacket. His thin white t-shirt does little to hide his flexing muscles as he removes it and hangs it on the hook. You can feel your face flush as he continues to stand there, looking you up and down. His bright blue eyes pierce into you. You fidget, grabbing a clump of your hair and twirling it. "Are you just going to stand there?" you say nervously, trying to control the situation. He just smiles. "Come here," he commands, not taking a step toward you. His voice fills your ears. Your body automatically wants to follow his command, but he isn't getting control that easily. You hear the hitch in your voice betraying you when you say with a seductive smile, "Make me." His eyes darken as a smile appears on his mouth. He takes two steps toward you, muscles in his shirt rippling as his hands flex at his sides. "Here... now!" He points to the floor right in front of him. You are gliding across the room before you even realize it, eyes wide. You were planning on teasing him, but your body just gave in. His presence looms over you; you can feel his strength wrapping you like a heavy, warm blanket. "Good girl," he whispers, running his hands down your arms to steady your shaking hands. His warm skin feels like fire against yours. The sound of him calling you a "good girl" melts you, and you fight the urge to collapse into his arms. He lifts your chin and gently kisses you; his thick, warm lips press against yours, and electricity gathers around your ankles, shooting lightning up your legs. Once he pulls away, you grab his hand, intent on leading him to the living room, but he doesn't budge. His powerful grip stops you immediately. He pulls you into a passionate embrace, his heat pressing against you, his bulge hard against your stomach. Your nipples ache against his heaving chest. His lips press against your neck, and you don't recognize the moan that escapes you. "Mine," he breathes into your ear. Your body vibrates. "Yes, Daddy," you whisper, shocked by your own submission. "Take me," you beg. "Not yet," he retorts. He leads you into the living room and sits in the armchair, grabbing a candle and setting it beside him. "Are you going to be a good girl?" he asks deeply. "Yes," you answer weakly. "Yes what?" he replies. *** tickles your brain—it is exhilarating. "Yes, sir," you say. "Good girl." He gestures to the floor. "Dance for me." You sway to the music, eyes closed, hands moving rhythmically over your body. You lift your dress just enough to tease him. "Very good girl," he says. "Now, strip for me." You slowly shed your dress, leaving you in nothing but your lace underwear. He watches with a hunger that makes you feel exposed and needy. He motions for you to kneel at his feet. As you do, he picks up the candle, the wax pooling into a translucent, golden liquid. "Hold still," he commands. He tips the candle, allowing a drop of hot wax to fall onto your shoulder. You gasp, your body jolting as the heat blossoms against your skin. You look up, eyes wide, breath hitching. He drops another—this time closer to your collarbone—and you whimper, arching your back. "Is the heat too much?" he asks, his voice smooth and taunting. "No, sir," you pant, "please... more." He doesn't stop. He guides the wax in lines down your chest, forcing you to endure the sharp, stinging pleasure that leaves you trembling. You reach out to touch him, but he catches your wrists, pinning them above your head. "Did I say you could move?" He leans in, his face inches from yours. You are gasping, your clit throbbing with a desperate, denied ache. He releases your wrists, and your hands instantly fly to your own body, fingers brushing the sensitive skin he hasn't touched yet, begging for his contact. "I need you, Daddy," you sob, the words spilling out of you as you writhe on the floor. He stands up, hauling you to your feet by your hair, forcing you to bend over the seat of the chair. You feel the sting of his palm against your bare skin—smack—and then another. The spanking is rhythmic, unrelenting, and every strike sends a fresh wave of pleasure through your center. You are bound by his will, your body aching for the release he is so cruelly withholding. 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You take him into your mouth, your movements slow and deliberate, worshipping the strength in him. Every time you try to s***d up, every time your own pleasure threatens to overwhelm you, he grips your hair and pulls your head back, forcing you to slow down. He dictates your pace, your depth, and the angle of your head, ensuring every second is spent entirely for his benefit. "Look at me," he commands. You pull back, eyes glassy and unfocused, drool trailing from your lip. He reaches down and binds your wrists together with a silk tie he produces from his pocket, pulling them behind your back so you are completely defenseless against his whims. With your arms immobilized, you can only arch into him, offering your body up like an altar. He drags his fingers down your chest and over your stomach, tracing the cooling wax trails. When he reaches your core, he finds you soaking, pulsing with a need that is nearly frantic. 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    Claimed in Wax

    “You didn’t shave.” His voice is calm, but it holds weight. The kind that presses down without raising volume. I’m already lying back on the bed, naked except for the rope he’s winding around my wrists. My arms rest above my head, relaxed. Open. Offered. I could have said no—I still could. But I don’t. I won’t. I meet his gaze. “I like the hair.” He pauses. Rope in hand, head tilted. “I know you do.” He finishes the knot slowly, deliberately. Secure, but never tight. His fingers trail back down my arms, down the center of my body, until he’s standing at the foot of the bed again, eyes settling between my legs. My soft peach fuzz, warm and unbothered. “I just don’t like anything in my way,” he says. “And I want to feel every part of you.” He disappears for a moment. When he returns, it’s with a small black case. Wax warmer. Clean white strips. The set is sleek, methodical—like everything he does. Like him. He doesn’t ask me again. He already knows my yes lives in the way I stay open. The way I breathe deeper when he steps closer. The way my thighs shift just slightly wider. He kneels between them, settling in like he’s home. He always says my bald head is part of what drew him in—how unapologetically bare I am before he even touches me. No performance. No illusion. Just skin and certainty. He calls it power, even when he holds all of mine. He warms the wax with care, tests it on his wrist, then dips in the stick. The heat glides across me in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation is sharp, but not unwelcome. It lands somewhere between exposure and worship. “I want smooth,” he murmurs. “I want my mouth to slide against you without interruption. I want nothing between your skin and my desire.” He presses the strip down. His hand rests firm on my thigh. Rip. The air leaves my lungs all at once. My back arches. My wrists flex against the rope, not to escape—just to feel more. He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t check in—not because he’s careless, but because he knows. My moan is his permission. My wetness, confirmation. My stillness, the offering. Strip after strip, he works me clean. Every motion a claim. Every touch a declaration. This body—my body—is mine, and also his. And tonight, he gets to shape it. He leans in now, admiring. And then, as if pulled by instinct, he sinks his teeth into the meat of my thigh. Slow, deep, possessive. He doesn’t warn me. He never does. I gasp, a jolt of shock and need snapping through me. My head falls back. My mouth opens, but I say nothing. He bites again, higher this time. His tongue soothes over the mark. He kisses the indent and then meets my eyes, lips parted, breath hot. “I love your thighs,” he says. “I love leaving my mark on them. I love knowing tomorrow, when you look down, you’ll remember who did this to you.” He runs his hand over the bare, waxed skin now slick with me. He doesn’t rush. He takes his time. Two fingers slide inside me easily. “See?” he whispers. “No resistance.” He plays with me then—fingers, tongue, teeth. And when he finally pushes me over the edge, it’s with a bite to the other thigh and a growl so low it vibrates through my hips. When I come, it’s without permission. It’s without words. It’s a full-body surrender made of heat and trust and the quiet power of being undone by someone who sees you entirely. After, he unties my wrists, pulls me into his lap, and wraps the blanket around us. He kisses the crown of my bald head. “You gave me everything tonight,” he says. And I did. And he earned it. 4 Replies· over 1 year ago