HOUSE-TRAINED: The Home Make-Over Job by Paulette Peril

Author:Paulette Peril [Peril, Paulette]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2020-10-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Sunday, late afternoon . . . . .

After we’d lain there for the best part of half an hour, the mood changed, almost instantly, and we were back in full planning mode.

“Okay, enough lolling around,” announced Mistress Katrina, “You need to get to the bathroom, wash your face and down below, go to the toilet, whatever you need to do. Then I’m going to put a very quick face on you. And everything for dinner is out, the recipe book is there, and I’ve marked the page. It’s a very simple chicken and veg casserole, in the slow cooker. You go first to the bathroom. Then you can get started and I’ll have a shower, whilst you’re prepping the food. You’ll have to wait for your shower. I’m not taking you out of that fabulous outfit, until we’ve been to your flat. So, chop, chop! Off you go!”

And I went to move and follow my instructions.

“Stop!” she blasted. “Let me take off the mask and the gloves. Don’t want either of those spoiled.”

No, we certainly did not!

And I meekly returned for her to peel off each of the silky smooth, soft leather gloves, from each proffered arm. And then I did a little twirl at her side of the bed, as she reached up to unzip the latex hood that had glued itself to my features for the past seven hours, or so.

My face was red and flushed and relieved to feel the cool air on it, once more. I looked at my Mistress laying there, white leather dress, high, high, matching boots and gloves, and I wanted to throw myself at her, so our leather-clad bodies could weld together and fuse as one. But she was back in her business-like mood and playtime was, most definitely, over.

For now!

So, I showed a deal of self-restraint and wandered off to the en-suite in the bedroom below, to do my best to clean up the bits of me that were exposed.

I heard her busying herself as soon as I’d left the room. Well, she had made a lot of mess! And by the time I came out of the bathroom, flushed face washed, underarms freshened up, crotch laundered, she was back in the main bedroom and stripping off her fabulous outfit.

Soon, I was back in the make-up chair. This time, I was back in my floral robe, covering my corset and skirt, the erotic thigh boots, peeking out from the folds of the long robe and looking, really, quite incongruous.

But I wasn’t tied to the chair, this time. I was free and it felt liberating to sit there and enjoy the fifteen-minute quickie make-up session, as she plied her trade skilfully, and made a very passable effort of transforming my already, petite features, into a more-than acceptable image, of a pretty, young, blue-eyed, fresh-faced Francesca.

The same bob-style wig was perched back on my head, adjusted and fitted and brushed into shape, and I was told to dis-robe and make sure I wore an apron, whilst cooking, so as not to spoil the expensive leatherwork.

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