I jerk my gaze to the dresser and pad toward it. It seems reasonable that I might start in the middle somewhere, so I choose the drawer with a six on it and pull it open slowly.
For a moment I stare at the contents, my fingers still on the drawer. I draw in a deep breath slowly. Every moment I’m in Master Kellen’s home, things get more real. It doesn’t get much more real than this.
With shaky fingers, I lift out the brightly colored dress. It’s a soft cotton material. Dark pink with white polka dots on the bodice and a loose skirt covered with yellow, pink, and purple flowers. It’s very short. The sleeves are thin straps with a ruffle around the top that will lift on my shoulders. The same ruffle of pink material lines the bottom of the skirt. It’s very feminine. Very girly. Very youthful.
I take a deep breath as I reach back into the drawer and pull out a pair of panties. They are lime green cotton with monkeys on them. I wonder if Master Kellen intentionally chose them to be in such stark contrast to the dress so that he might glimpse them. I shift my gaze to a pair of hot pink sneakers and white socks that fold down at the ankle with a lacy ruffle. Lastly, there are two pink ribbons that match the shade of the dress and the shoes.
Honestly, I was never a very girly girl. I didn’t wear dresses very often by the time I reached an age when I could easily exert my preference and defy anyone who tried to tell me what to do. I had a nanny when I was six. Several of them, actually. They never lasted very long. Probably because I thwarted every effort they made to control me. Perhaps if they had offered me boring shorts and T-shirts I would have insisted on frilly dresses and light-up shoes.
Since most people assumed as a girl, I would like ruffles and sparkles, I dug my heels in and turned down their selections. I didn’t really have much of a style of my own until high school when I started choosing everything I wore from the store.
I’m shaking as I gather all of this in my arms and hurry toward the bathroom. I drop it all on the counter and then glance around. The bathtub has several bottles along the ledge, and even though I already took a shower this morning, I strip down, pile my hair up on my head with the band around my wrist, and step into the tub without turning on the water.
I haven’t taken a bath in years. I prefer showers. I suspect Master Kellen intends for me to take baths or he would have included a shower curtain. Or perhaps he forgot to install one. I’ll ask him.
For now, I have no other choice. The first thing I grab from the ledge is the pink aerosol bottle labeled for hair removal. I read the back of the can and then sit on the edge of the tub, lifting one leg to set my heel on the porcelain. I squirt a generous portion on my hand. It foams up and I quickly spread it between my legs. When I’m sure I’ve covered my entire private parts all the way back to my tight hole, I reach over and turn on the spout to wash my hands off. I don’t want the hair removal on my fingers any longer than a few moments.
I wait impatiently for five minutes while the foam starts to tingle. As I examine the other bottles along the tub’s ledge, I swallow. All of them are pink. Baby bath. Baby shampoo. Baby lotion. The only thing not meant for a baby is the bottle of conditioner. At least Master Kellen is sharp enough to realize I would never get a comb through my hair if I didn’t use conditioner.
When it seems like five minutes have gone by, I turn the water on, wait a moment for it to heat up, and then lower myself onto my butt under the spout, legs spread so that the water sluices over my pussy. I want the hair remover to go straight down the drain, and I wait for the water to run clear before I put the stopper in the tub and scoot back.
I’ve shaved before. I’ve even waxed. I’m not opposed to having a bare pussy. I’ve enjoyed the sensation in the past. But today it feels different. It’s a reminder that I’m playing the role of a young girl. My maximum age is twelve. I didn’t have pubic hair yet at age twelve.
I’m not sure how long it’s been, but I also don’t think half an hour was enough time for me to accomplish Master Kellen’s tasks. He’s going to have to chill if I’m a few minutes late. Surely he won’t punish me on my first day here.
I reach for the baby soap because it’s my only option. I’m not the least bit dirty, but it occurs to me that if I don’t wash my body, Master Kellen will know. I’ll smell like the lavender body wash I used at Abby’s house before I came.
My hair is another story. I for sure can’t possibly wash it, dry it, and get downstairs in thirty minutes. Plus, I washed it last night. It would get very frizzy if I washed it again.
As I run my hands over my breasts, my nipples stiffen. I’m not sure my reaction to all this is warranted. I feel foolish. Who makes this kind of choice at twenty-four years old? Submitting to someone
