Can I get dressed

"Can I get dressed?" you ask, pushing yourself up from the spa bed.

"Not so fast, girl," she says, pushing you back down on the padded table, "let me take another look at your skin."

You see she's got a wicked looking scrubber in her hands. She looks pensive as she goes over every inch of skin on your body. Thankfully, she makes no move with the loofah and instead just shakes her head.

"Your skin is perfect. The rest of you is a disaster, but your skin looks like you could have been born yesterday. Give thanks for small miracles. Get dressed and meet me in the main room."

You stand up, retrieving your clothes from a nearby chair. You carefully pull the hot pants back on over your recently waxed bits and your still sore bottom. Looking down reveals a subtle camel-toe in the front of the pants. You hope that it's not too obvious.

You pull your top on and feel thankful for the support it offers your breasts. You had no idea it would be so awkward to swing these things around. Lastly, you slip back on the heels. You're surprised at how quickly you've adapted to walking in them, but then you've always had good balance.