Chapter 4

“Hi there!” Bianca said, chipper as a chipmunk, her dimples on full display as she smiled brightly. She strode into the salon, Rim Beauty with the prisoners of **** in tow. The situation Emer found himself in didn’t stop him from appreciating the view as he and his friends followed. “I’ve made appointments for Song, and Emery. We’re a little early, but I wanted to make sure they were here when you were ready for them.”

“You’re kidding.” the receptionist said in disbelief. She peered past the redhead to see the two standing behind, beet red in their embarrassment.

Bianca was puzzled. “I thought you frequently served the transgender community. That’s what the reviews led me to believe. Was I mistaken?”

“Oh, no no no.” the girl replied. “Please don’t misunderstand. I just mean…nevermind. So you’re here for a spa day topped off with our makeover package, right?”

The question left hanging in the air, Song looked to Bianca with pleading eyes. The stern expression he got in return told him it was best to just comply, or he’d probably end up regretting it. “Yes.” he answered through clenched teeth.

“Okay then, come along…girls.” She giggled to herself as she walked to the back leading her boss’ son, and his idiot friend who, for whatever reason, seemed more curious about the decidedly foreign experience of a ladies’ salon than concerned over what exactly a boy like him was doing there.

The girl thought back to just a few days earlier when these same two particular young men were waiting in the lobby. The one thing Bianca hadn’t realized when she booked the appointment, that the salon, a high end establishment catering to the cream of the crop in southern California, was owned and operated by Grace Rim, Song’s mother. Song regularly turned up to the shop in search of his mother when he needed cash, or a ride home, or anything else the selfish boy wasn’t willing to try to do for himself.

His most recent visit ended with the entitled youth accidentally knocking the receptionist coffee onto the floor, shattering the mug, only to laugh at the mess and then walk right out without so much as an “I’m sorry” let alone an offer to help clean up. The dumb one with him had his nose buried in some game on his phone, seemingly unaware of anything that didn’t directly affect him. The young girl had no idea why she was now bringing the brats to start a full round of beauty treatments, but she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Eun, your two o’clock is here.” the receptionist said, knocking on the door to the private room.”

“Do come in ladi…what the fuck?” Eun’s customer service voice gave way to her typical over-it demeanor. “What is this shit?”

“I have no idea.” the girl answered with a laugh and a shrug “Some white lady came in here, and said she booked this appointment for them. For some reason they’re just going along with it. They looked scared of her.”

Emer may have been distracted by the dozens of little pots, and all the tools splayed out on the many tables, but Song was very aware of the two workers talking about him like he wasn’t there, when they should have had more reverence. He’s the boss’ son after all.

“Can you bitches not pretend I’m not standing right here?” Song spat. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“You know what? No.” Eun said bluntly, holding her hand in Song’s face. “I don’t have to deal with customer ****. Your mother has made that very clear. If you’re rude to that ****, you can just get out.” The bob-haired Korean woman in the brown scrubs opened the door, and stepped back out into the hallway where she could see Bianca gabbing away with another staffer, while Emmanuel sat awkwardly in one of the waiting room chairs staring at his feet. Eun didn’t know the specifics but she was smart enough to know that the spoiled child she’d had to suffer on far too many occasions must have finally screwed up in a way he couldn’t just laugh off. “Looks like that woman is still out here. You both can go explain to her why you’re taking your business elsewhere.”

“No, no, no! Emer shouted, his self-preservation instinct kicking in and pulling his attention back to the present. “He’s just joking. Right, Song?” his pleading gaze darting back and forth between the aesthetician, and his friend who he was only just now beginning to understand never knew when to shut his mouth. “Right, Song?”

Song first crossed his arms defiantly, and pouted, but a second glance at Eun’s face told him she meant business. “Okay, fine…” He drew out the word. “ I’ll be nice.”

“No, I don’t believe you.” Eun said, not an ounce of sympathy to be found, positive she could hear the air quotes around the word nice when he spoke. “If you meant it, you’d ask nicely. Say, please Miss Park, won’t you please make me pretty?”

“I’m not gonna do that, Eun.” Song replied, the idea of acquiescing to someone he thought so far beneath him was impossible.

Coldly, the scornful woman said, "No, you don't deserve to call me by my first name. Call Me Miss Park. Try again."

He was shocked when Emer, a guy who only ever pushed back with the strength of a field mouse, swatted him in the arm nearly hard enough to leave a bruise. “Okay, fine.” He huffed. “Please, Miss Park, won’t you please make me pretty?”

Eun stepped back through the threshold triumphantly, while the receptionist left, eyebrows raised at the surreal display she’d just witnessed, closing the door behind her.

“Okay girls, strip. I’m betting you two haven’t been keeping up with your grooming, so this is going to take a minute.

“I’m not getting naked in front of you!” Song shouted, while Emer had already removed his shoes and shirt. Without a word, Eun took a single step to the door prompting Song to quickly comply. He clumsily struggled with his shoelaces begging, “I’m sorry, uhh…Miss Eun. I uh…don’t know what came over me.” Try as he might, his scowl told the esthetician how he really felt, but she enjoyed watching him squirm to conform to the servile behavior she expected. Fortunately for the angry teen, that was good enough for her.

With a calculated glint in her eye, Eun chose Emer first. The cruel intention was clear: to let Song witness the torment to come, amplifying the anticipation and prolonging his suffering. It was a twisted game of psychological ****, designed to savor every moment of Song's impending agony.

Emer sat upright on a little stool with a small towel covering his crotch. Song stood off to the side, holding a similar sized towel around his waist, it barely covering his privates, while he watched on, horrified. Emer’s body hair was also blonde, though a few shades darker than the strands on his head. While he was still growing hair in new places it was surprisingly sparse across his body, only densely packed in a few select areas, his chest, thighs, and the small of his lithe back.

First, Eun slathered a warm layer of wax across Emer’s chest, then she spread a strip of cloth along the length of the application, before waiting for it to suitably cool. Emer actually found this pleasant, the warm sensation luring him into a false sense of security. That didn’t last long, however. As soon as it was ready, without any warning, Eun ripped the strip from his chest against the direction of his follicles.

Eun couldn’t believe it. She knew men couldn’t handle a little thing like waxing without revealing themselves as the frail little creatures they are, but this one was actually crying. All she did was pull out a little hair, and here he was, tears streaming down his cheeks. She actually took pity on the poor boy, and quickly followed up with two more strips of wax, and using the old ripping of the bandaid mentality, pulled them as soon as they were dry. The process repeated on his back, though Emer was grateful it only required two applications. By the time she started on his legs his endorphins were working in full ****, the process no longer really bothering him beyond the initial sting.

Emer’s lack of reaction towards the end did nothing to assuage Song’s worries. He was shivering, partially from the cool air-conditioned room, but also from the terror he felt, being that **** to a person he knew despised him. Emer did squeal a little with each armpit but after the thick application of a soothing lotion, he relaxed and counted his lucky stars the **** session was finally over.

It wasn’t the first time Song had seen this procedure being done, but it was the first time he had seen a male sit for it. Emer was a nitwit, but his reactions could be trusted more than his opinions. The cries of pain and tears falling from the blonde’s face had him feeling a sense of dread. That combined with the freezing cold air in the room, made the entire experience feel like both physical and psychological ****.

Once it was Song’s turn, Eun could hardly wait to get started, but once she had him under the lamp, much to her displeasure she could see there wasn’t nearly as much work to be done as there was for his airhead friend. With only a little bit of fuzz down his scrawny legs, it was hardly an effort for the depilation expert. That didn’t stop Song from grumbling, “Bitch” louder than he intended. As soon as the word escaped his lips, he knew he’d screwed the pooch.

Eun had known Song for almost the entire time she’d lived in the U.S. She came over on a student visa, excited to spend time in a foreign country. For a while, she was doing okay, making friends, and putting down roots, in spite of her plan to return home once school was over. During her sophomore year, Eun came down with a terrible case of mono, and was trapped in bed for months, wishing she’d at least caught it from kissing a hot guy. Anything was better than the shame of your kinkiest recent activity being sharing a soda with your dorm-mate.

Because of the absence, Eun was **** to drop all of her classes, and sit out the rest of the semester. Unfortunately for her, the board in charge of her scholarship was less understanding than the university and they promptly rescinded her funding. It didn’t take long for the federal government to get wind that she was **** to drop out, and soon after she received a letter notifying her she had forty days to leave the country, a place she’d called home so long, her accent was hardly noticeable anymore.

Having built many relationships, and with no desire to return to a home that always felt empty despite her parent’s presence, Eun spent a lot of time in the library trying to find a way to stay without being **** into under-the-table jobs that didn’t pay what she was worth, while hiding her presence from any official databases. She discovered that she could be sponsored for a work visa by an employer, and after asking around, found out about Rim beauty, meeting with Grace herself to discuss employment.

Grace was impressed by the young woman’s work ethic, and felt an amount of sympathy for her story, but she couldn’t risk going to bat for someone she didn’t know. She did however offer her a job where she could earn a fair wage, sweeping up the shop, and answering phones, all so she could have the opportunity to prove herself. Eun gratefully accepted the position, and arranged to stay with friends while she got her life sorted so she didn’t have to risk putting her signature on a lease.

It was an anxious year for the poor girl, constantly looking over her shoulder for I.C.E. and trying occupy as little space as possible in her friends’ homes, hoping not to wear out her welcome too quickly. The effort paid off when Grace decided Eun had not only met, but exceeded her expectations, offering her a permanent position as the shop's newest Esthetician. Of course Eun gleefully accepted. Grace paid for her enrollment at a local beauty college where she quickly picked up the skills she’d need to succeed in her new career. With a new visa application sent off, containing both the signature, and glowing recommendation of Grace Rim, it was only a matter of time until Eun could finally live out a peaceful existence. If she stayed with Rim beauty long enough, she’d even be able to apply for citizenship in a few years.

That weight off of her shoulders, Eun’s defenses were down for once when her boss’ son, who happened to be in the shop that afternoon, asked her out on a date. Through the grapevine she’d heard about his recent eighteenth birthday, and also what a giant prick he was, but at that moment he didn’t seem so bad. Sure, he was a couple of years younger than her, but he was cute, and at least through her rose colored glasses, and he was charming enough. At least from what Grace had shared she knew this would be, as he introduced himself, Jae’s first date, so why not give him a chance.

Excited to go out for the first time in almost a year, Eun accompanied Song on a night out to the movies. At first things seemed okay, and she didn’t really mind when he draped his arm around her. When he leaned in closer, and started breathing heavily into her ear, his arm around her neck, was when she realized a boundary needed to be set.

“Let’s slow down a little, Jae.” she suggested, leaning as far away as she could get from the boy without getting up from her seat.

The would-be casanova grinned, and said, “You know, my mom was telling me about your situation the other day, while she was filling out those forms you needed. You must be pretty antsy right now. I mean, if the wrong person called the I.N.S. you might get deported before your hearing.”

He didn’t use so many words, but Eun knew a threat when she heard one. Feeling like she lived on the darkest timeline, she couldn’t think of a way to be rid of the little pervert without blowing up everything she’d been working towards. She was pissed but she let him kiss her sloppily all over her body, and he even seized an opportunity to cop a feel when it presented itself. One makeout session with a guy who kissed like he’d only ever seen it demonstrated in porn was worth his silence, but she knew that if the opportunity ever presented itself, she’d get her ****.

Now, her slate was clear, she had that boy in her chair, and she was certain he hadn’t suffered nearly enough yet. “That was hardly any work for me at all, Song.” she said after tearing the last little remnant of hair from her former blackmailer’s underarms, making sure to put the right amount of emphasis on that name she knew he just hated. “You know what? I don’t want you to feel ripped off, Miss Song, so I’m going to throw in an extra service, on the house.”

Eun snatched the towel from Song’s lap, exposing his little pecker for both her and Emer to see. Looking down between his legs she gave the naked teen a sly grin as he moved his hands to cover himself.

“It’s cold in here!” Song said, positive he knew what the girl he once dated was thinking.

The grin still on her face, she tapped the smooth flesh of his thigh. “I didn’t say a thing.” Eun’s voice had a playful tone to it. She was having one of her best days at work in a very long time. “Move your hands, little Song, I have work to do and you need me to make you pretty.” She dove right in with the wax the second he moved his hands away from his crotch, thoroughly coating the little black patch of pubic hair, giving the panicked boy no time to react. Once the strips were all put in place, and the substance started to cool, Song knew just how screwed he was. There was only one way those things were coming off, and there wasn’t anything he could do to prevent it. All he could do was brace himself for the excruciating pain that came with a full brazilian wax.

After the process was done, Song was through the worst, now left with only a strong burning sensation, and a little blood dripping from a few follicles, but his psyche had taken a firm beating. He muttered “bitch” under his breath again, but sounded out as only a pathetic whimper that fortunately for him, Eun didn’t notice this time. The two freshly denuded boys were covered in a thick application of a soothing lotion. Nude as the day he was born, and just as smooth, Song winced when Eun offered him a little pink silk robe. Once he and Emer had donned the flimsy piece of cloth that barely covered their butt cheeks, the last little punishment Eun could inflict was an eyebrow wax shaping the two’s into perfectly sculpted arches precisely to suit each of the denuded youth’s unique face shapes. Satisfied with her work, the esthetician pulled them out into the hallway, and turned them over to the ladies in the spa.

Once she was alone again, she collected the boys’ clothes from the floor, and stuffed them in a garbage bag, before dumping it into the chute that led to the dumpster down in the basement incinerator. ‘They won’t be needing these.” she thought to herself, laughing maniacally, glad to have finally gotten an ounce of **** against the little asshole who’d done her wrong.

While Song and Emer were left in the hands of the salon’s staff, Bianca was off at a department store with Emmanuel in tow. She would love to do all the shopping in her own store, as it wasn’t her money she was spending. Purchasing two entire wardrobes worth of clothes would make her numbers look fantastic to corporate. While Bianca could get a lot at The Hanger, she couldn’t get everything. Thinking about it to herself, she shrugged at the thought, a playful grin firmly in place. ‘Besides, wandering around shopping in the mall like this is fun!’ Gliding her fingers across a rack full of garments, her eyes scanning the sizes and comparing them to the mental image of her new dolls before turning her attention to the one standing with her. “So tell me, Emmanuel,” Bianca was flipping through the racks, trying to decide which style best suited her new toys. “What kind of girls do you like? What’s your type?”

“Umm…” The quiet boy wasn’t sure how to answer, feeling like it might be a trap.

“There are no wrong answers, hon.” Bianca explained. “Like, what kind of girls do you think are pretty?

“Oh well…” Emmanuel pondered the question. He’d always heard about a so-called type some people would say drew their attentions, but he’d never really pondered his. If he thought a girl was hot, then she was hot. Still, he didn’t think that would satisfy Bianca so he tried to come up with something. “I guess I like girls who dress real nice. Like, fancy makeup and stuff. You know, like, classy.”

“Oh, so you like fancy girls then. I’m surprised, Emmanuel. I guess I pictured you into more…carefree girls.”

“Oh, I do like carefree girls.” Emmanuel said, praying this response would be to the fashionista’s liking. He took a moment to look at the clothing she was wearing. White tight jeans, some sort of white top that showed plenty of her impressive cleavage that was hard to ignore with his hormonal brain, a pink blazer with its sleeves partially rolled up, and a pair of pink pointed-toe heels. “I like when they’re like, real feminine, and uh…soft and stuff.” He considered saying he liked girls dressed like her, but didn’t think telling the girl… the woman that was punishing him, and holding the threat of jail over his head, that she was pretty would have been a good idea.

Bianca couldn’t help but snicker to herself. “That’s very specific, Emmanuel. Don’t worry, I think you’ve given me plenty to work with.”

“Umm…Okay…”

“You’ve never been on a date before?” Her expression betrayed a little concern for the boy once she realized his genuine ignorance.

“...no…” The lanky youth seemed genuinely embarrassed as his cheeks burned red when he answered. She couldn’t believe her first impression of the boy had been so wrong, especially when she was spot on about the other two.

Bianca offered a pleasant smile, and said “Well, don’t you worry about a thing. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be an old pro.”

‘Old pro at what? Dating?’ Like most of the time he kept his thoughts to himself.

After an hour spent in nearly every store up and down the concourse, Emmanuel’s arms were loaded with a dozen shopping bags as he followed Bianca back to The Hanger. The store was on the first floor and above it was the food court, so as they got closer Emmanuel could smell the food, his stomach rumbling in response. There was money in his wallet courtesy of Song, when the wealthy boy had paid him off earlier and now it felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. The desire to go order the number seven at the badly named Chinese restaurant, Big Wong, was strong. The problem was that he didn’t have his wallet on him. It was sitting on Miss Russo’s desk. ‘It will be fine, I’ll eat when I get home. I think there was some balogna left in the fridge.’

Upon their return, Bianca had the boy drop the bags off in the back while she checked on her employees. One was wearing a loose tie with his work polo, a fashion statement. One he said he wore ironically. That part didn’t matter much, but it did help her decide to give her new charge his own makeover. Hopefully that would boost his confidence, if only just a little.