Chapter 14

After I’d cleaned up from breakfast, Aunt Liz asked if I was healed enough to dress in day clothes. The blazing rash that had been my groin had mostly dissipated, so my aunt sent me to change. As I strolled from the room, Aunty Liz reminded me not to attempt tucking until the rash disappeared and recommended tight, lace panty shorts to hide my unsightly boy bits.

I carefully hung the pants I’d worn when I woke up and rummaged through the walk-in robe, looking for something I knew my aunt would like. I found a pale yellow, high-waisted pair of trousers paired with a see-through white blouse hanging toward the back.

I put them on and admired myself in the mirror. But the first thing I saw was that my nipples were prominently displayed through the blouse material. I knew Aunt Liz would find that crass, so I unthinkingly searched for a bra. I found several in a drawer and searched through them until I found a white one marked 32A. I didn’t understand the markings, but I guessed that the earlier the letter and the smaller the number, the smaller the bra and the bra’s cups.

It seemed that I was right because the bra fitted perfectly on my skinny chest. I put the blouse back on and tucked it into my trousers. I checked my look in the mirror and was pleased by how having the bra gave me an hourglass figure and how my top half seemed quite feminine. Adding it to my already fairly girlie bottom half, it seemed I was already halfway to being a girl after only two days in Mistress’ hands.

That brought me up a little short because I wondered how I’d gone from having no conscious desire to be one to wanting to look girlie. Then it occurred to me. It wasn’t being a girl that I desired but pleasing my aunt. I’d watched and read enough porn to know that I already considered her my Mistress, even if I wasn’t ready to admit that to myself yet.

However, I’d promised Aunt Liz I wouldn’t be too long, so I scampered downstairs while trying to glide. Aunty Liz hadn’t moved from her spot, but her cup was empty, so I asked if she wanted a refill and then made it for her. I’m unused to being able to afford more than one cup a day, so it didn’t occur to me to make one for myself.

My aunt’s eyes hadn’t left her tablet from the moment I entered the kitchen, but when I sat her cup down, she looked up. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in my new outfit, and I received another quirked smile that I’d quickly learned to relish. It meant I’d pleased her. She didn’t acknowledge me, though, although I did receive a muttered, “Thank you.” When I put her coffee before her.

I sat beside her, maintaining my posture and waited for her to talk or give me instructions. Eventually, she calmly said, “Do you know how to do the washing correctly?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied instantly.

“Really?” Aunt Liz queried disbelievingly.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“So, you know to separate the delicates from the other clothes and put them in wash bags before putting them in with the light-coloured items? To separate the clothes into light and dark colours to wash separately? How to further divide the load into heavy and light items if you need to do more than one load of each? Do you know the wash settings for the various types of clothes? Whether to warm or cold wash?”

Who knew that washing clothes was so complicated? Oh, I’d learned not to be stupid enough to put clothes in colours that might run with anything light-coloured. But the rest of it? What was with that? I replied, “Then, no, Ma’am.”

Aunty Liz favoured me with her deeply sexy laugh, and she stood and guided me to the laundry. “It was laundry day two days ago when I picked you up,” Aunt Liz stated amusedly. I only wash every ten to fourteen days, so I don’t wear the same outfit twice too often. Unfortunately, that means you have quite a lot to do.”

She emptied the two wash baskets onto the floor and showed me how to divide them. Towels, hand towels, washers, tea towels, and washcloths went in one pile. Lingerie went in another—nightwear and robes in a third. Light-coloured clothing in a fourth, and darker-coloured in a final pile. Aunty Liz glanced at the five piles calculatingly before saying, “One wash for each pile, I think. We’ll do the delicates first because they’ll fill in the inner rows of the washing line. Then, as we do the bigger and bigger items, we’ll move toward the longer, outside rows.”

Aunt Liz then showed me how to select the correct wash cycle for each type of load and left me to it. “Once the first load is on, make coffee for us both, and meet me in the lounge.”

I dutifully did so before sitting beside her on the couch. Because Aunt Liz had pulled her feet up to her bottom and tipped her knees to the side, I did the same thing. Awed by her innate beauty and grace, I watched her surreptitiously as she read and scrolled. This time, I didn’t feel lust for my aunt. Instead, I felt gauche, ugly and awkward before her sublime beauty. I’d kind of drifted away when, whack, my knuckles smarted. I’d let my shoulders droop, and I slouched in the seat. Re-establishing my posture, I vowed to make my aunt proud.