“Up, Up, Up!” her Mistress called out; sunlight was already streaming through the windows. The young woman on the bed dove underneath the blankets to prevent an all-out assault of kisses from her Mistress. Without her intervention, the poor girl was bound to have a day plagued by ill-conceived notions and bad thoughts. It was Sunday, and bad thoughts liked to bubble up on Sundays. 

“Baby girl,” Her Mistress dove onto the bed, showering the blanket where her face was with kisses. The young woman just groaned, “Please, darling. I don’t think I can do this today.”

Her Mistress frowned, and lay down next to the covered woman, cuddling the pile of blankets she was under “I’m sorry, I can help you feel better though, if you let me?”

The girl shrugged. It took several minutes of gentle coaxing before Mistress was able to get a look at her eyes, peeking from the covers. “There’s my pretty girl.” The younger woman whimpered a little, before a hand darted out from underneath the blankets, grabbing her Mistress, and pulling her into the girl’s arms, spooning with the blankets separating them.

“Baby girl!” Mistress laughed, to the giggle of the wistful woman in the bed. “Got you.” The girl whispered.

“You did, you did, now, unhand me, sweetie, so we can get you some breakfast. Today’s a special day, and I think it will help cheer you up.”

The girl whimpered again, “I don’t wanna get out of bed today.”

Mistress sighed, trying to meet the eyes of her girlfriend, “Baby, please?” Mistress asked, “We just need to have some breakfast, then can we see how you feel?”

“Okay,” she replied in a small voice.

“Perfect, baby girl, I promise this will help.”

The girl slid out from underneath the blankets; taking a few seconds to adjust her rather promiscuous nightgown. Its sheer blush color and little flowers enraptured her Mistress the night before, but now? With the sunlight softly streaming through the windows, her golden hair and soft shoulders and pretty nightie made her feel like she was trying too hard. It left her feeling fake, like when you get good at something but aren’t sure how. Imposter syndrome but for pretty freckles and promiscuous nightgowns and soft breasts and golden hair. The rational part of her knew this wasn’t true, but Sundays left her feeling melancholic.

The girl was led out of bed and down the stairs. Three cats perched on or near the couch, grooming themselves after their breakfast. On the coffee table sat a plate with a serving of fruit, an over-medium egg, and a lightly toasted piece of bread she had made the other day. She sunk into the cushions, with a cat on either side of her and a spare one climbing into her lap immediately. She giggled as he made himself comfortable.

She took her time eating, trying to savor the fresh fruit they had bought on their last run to the farmer’s market. She asked for a dollop of whipped cream, who cares if it was breakfast on Sunday? Her Mistress smiled, happy to see the girl voice her wants.

Breakfast did help her feel better, but the true cure for her wariness was still to come. She sighed, stretching her shoulders. Her Mistress took her plate to the kitchen, an act of kindness, it was usually her who served breakfast in the morning and cleaned up. She smiled softly at the treatment, all relationships needed to give and to take, and what you were giving and taking should change occasionally. She cuddled with their cats for a while longer, their babies, the grand kitties to the grandparents who would never meet them.

Far too soon, she was scooped up by her girlfriend, she clung to her neck as hard as she could. She was still loathed to trust anyone, even her Mistress, to not drop her. Years of failed conditioning that tried to make her into someone she wasn’t. Tried to teach her all sorts of nasty little things about her herself: about her size, about her weight, about how she should interact with the world around her. Nasty stuff that her Mistress, her therapist, and her doctors were all trying to solve for her. On days like today, that voice was the loudest in her ears, but instead of asking to be put down, she clung to her girlfriend’s neck instead. Not contently, mind you, she was still clinging on for dear life, but it was progress, to trust someone else. She hated the feeling of falling, but she trusted her Mistress not to drop her.

She was placed onto the bed gently, with her hands placed in her lap. On days like today, she knew she didn’t have to think as hard; her Mistress knew what was going on, and she had to trust that it was with her best interests in mind. Her Mistress returned from the closet, holding a complete outfit. A baby blue sundress with small, white daisies dotted around it. A pair of white strappy sandals with a small heel, a matching white bra and panty set, with a pair of white safety shorts. Lastly, a creamy white bow.

“Injection first, or after you get dressed?” she whispered.

“First, it’ll be easier in the long run than having to pull everything aside.” She was getting antsy, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“As you wish, my Princess.” Her Mistress replied, with a small kiss on her forehead.

As her Mistress prepped the injection, she was left to her own thoughts, it wasn’t that she hated what the injections did for her, even she could admit how much she loved the feelings it gave her, but sometimes, right before her weekly injection, she would feel worse. She would be snippy at her Mistress, unable to focus on tasks, and frequently her brain would turn against her. Thankfully, her Mistress understood, and she did not typically get in trouble with her unless she did or said something especially out of character. She did not want to write two hundred sentences about how she was a real woman again. It had been five hundred last time because she had mouthed off while writing the two hundred. Fortunately, by line three hundred and seventy-four of “My body is a temple for my soul, and my soul is a woman who yearns to see the world.” she started to believe it.

“Stand, please.” She heard behind her. She moved into the position she took every Sunday morning in front of a large floor-to-ceiling mirror, propped up against the wall. She steadied her hand on a bookshelf next to it. From this angle, she could see her Mistress kneel behind her, injection in hand, filled with .5 ml of a unique potion that her Mistress and her doctors had brewed just for her. It was sweet of them, to treat her like she was so special, so fragile, and like she was one-of-a-kind. Her nightie slipped off one shoulder as her Mistress lifted the back of it to expose her. “Naughty girl, did you not put anything on after last night?” She chuckled.

“No.” was all she replied. She felt the alcohol cool her skin and flinched a little. She didn’t hate what the needles did, but she still disliked the process itself. Although three minutes of discomfort for six days of peace, joy, and love made it worthwhile.

Breathe In

And Out

She looked at her face, its lack of stubble was still novel, smooth skin and freckles were all that was left, her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes shown brighter than ever before, despite it being injection day. With each poke, each week that passed, she would be a little further from the person she once was. She reached up, and gently adjusted the gold day collar around her neck. The collar itself must have been expensive, it seemed everything Mistress had bought for her was: The best makeup, the best clothes, the best accessories, only the best for My Princess, my Sweet, she would say. Mistress wanted her to be perfect, she had even provided the most expensive injections. She would be perfect, one day, hopefully soon.

Breathe In

And Out

She felt the pinch of the needle in her left cheek and steadied her breathing as much as possible. Being in front of the mirror had been an instruction of the first week when a very different person was looking back at her. With one spaghetti strap dangling uselessly around her arm, her left breast was exposed. Creamy white flesh that defied gravity, her pink areola had grown and expanded nicely over the last year or two. The pair were a good handful now, much to her Mistress’s delight. While jarring at first, she could now reminisce on how good they made her feel. How amazing they made her body look, with a waist that was curving inward and hips that were growing outward. She was eating properly for the first time in her life, and it showed. She idly wondered why she had ever treated her body with such disdain, her Temple. It was obvious now, in hindsight, that before it was not her temple, but someone else’s. Someone who was now dead, at least to her, and could not control her any longer. She was nothing but an empty vessel for someone else’s desires before. Someone that you were told was supposed to be with you, not someone you chose to be with you. She could no longer remember the exact details.

Breathe In

And Out

New feelings swirled up inside her again as she began to feel more like herself. Each week her injection got a little easier, a little less harsh. The mellow calm became more permanent as the storm inside her shrunk away, withered just like her old self. She was being reborn, remade, she understood that now. A growing part of her loved it.

And Out

The needle slipped out without as much a pinch. She realized she was still staring at her left breast, only broken from her fragmented thoughts by the soft touch of kisses up the small of her back, following her spine until she could see her Mistress surround her, peppering little kisses over all her freckles and up onto her neck. It only took another moment before a wave of calm crashed over her. A buzzing she could not hear had already stopped. It was sweet, blissful quiet, as she leaned back into the arms of her Mistress. The Mistress she chose, not the Master she was commanded to worship. Her breath was hot on her neck, “What are you thinking about, baby girl?” She whispered into her hair.

“You.”

“Oh?”

“Thank you.” She smiled, her eyes glossing over.

“Anything for my Princess.”

Princess giggled. She saw her small smile in the mirror they were both looking at now. Her Mistress slid the nightie off, revealing the right breast now. “Do you love it again, Princess?”

She nodded, how could she not love this body, this soul, “I never stopped loving it this week.” She smiled. Those dirty, nasty little thoughts of sin and compulsion and hedonism and desire and want and need and pain and suffering and more never even reared their ugly head last week. Each week those voices were weaker, replaced by the soft, loving tones of her Mistress and her voice. “I will never stop loving it,” she ran her hands down her sides, looking at the loose skin where her testicles used to be. Only a small penis resided between her thighs now, pretty and pink and undeniably feminine. “I feel a bit better than when I woke up, thank you, Mistress.” Her voice was light and airy, the voice she trained and practiced, the sultry sweet tone that her Mistress loved. She planted a small kiss on her Mistress’s cheek.

“The day is young, let’s get you dressed.” Mistress patted her bum, tapping the small band-aid that covered the injection in case any blood came out. Princess smiled that soft smile that felt so natural again. She was a little dazed after the injection, maybe a little more susceptible, eager to please, but her Mistress never abused it. Sundays were about her. She lifted each of her legs one at a time as the white panties slid up her thighs, cradling her small penis. She whimpered a little as her Mistress put everything in its proper place. In the mirror, it hardly looked like she had a penis at all, just a mound that was no bigger than any other for the time being.

The bra was slid on next, she helped right her own breasts into the cups, lifting and cupping as she was taught. She was maneuvered back in front of the mirror while her Mistress pulled the sundress off its hangar. Standing in front of the mirror made her leak, just a little bit. Was it wrong to love your own body? She wasn’t sure, so she let the thought float away again, that was not for her to decide.

The sundress was slid around her. The off-the-shoulder style sat on the edge of her shoulders and upper arms. The low cut emphasized her breasts which were big enough now to be something of worth. Princess heard her Mistress groan softly behind her. “Sorry, baby girl, bra off. I didn’t realize.”

“That’s okay,” Princess replied with a giggle as her bra slid off behind her. The sundress had built-in support anyway. She felt the zipper slide up her back, forcing her to correct her posture a little as it tightened. “Good girl.” Her Mistress told her. She heard the lock click at the top of the zipper at the base of her neck, soon to be hidden by her hair. She shivered at the thought of being locked in again.

“I know you don’t need the locks anymore, Princess, but I know how much you love them.” Her Mistress kissed the base of her neck, before letting her hair fall where it may please.

“May I have my brush?” Princess asked.

“Let me, baby girl.”

She was moved to the vanity so she could sit. The mauve velvet cushion and the white table, recently cleaned of their usual clutter of makeup. Her Mistress brushed her long golden locks, starting at the bottom and working her way up. She was never sure if it was the potions every week or if this was her natural hair color, but nevertheless, she loved it, even if it was slightly frizzy at times. Its gentle waviness was back after being straightened two days ago, but it was not oily enough to need to be washed again. While her Mistress brushed, she spent a minute donning a rosy lip gloss, just to give her a bit of extra oomph for wherever they were going today.

When Mistress finished brushing, she gathered a section from each side of her head, in front of her ears, and pulled it back, clipping the bow into the lower crown of her head. She left several tendrils in front, framing her face. With a little oil, she was able to wrangle the frizz and tendrils together, forming a soft halo around her face. A swing of mascara on both eyes and she was done. It was best to keep it simple on Sundays unless specifically requested otherwise. She smiled up at her Mistress. Feeling soft and floaty again. Mistress spun her around on her chair, making her giggle. She spent a minute putting on her sandals for her, the delicate strap was difficult for her these days with her long nails, especially when she was feeling so spacey like right now. She relaxed while her Mistress took her time, the moment was too perfect to joke about how much her Mistress denied liking feet yet took so long to put on her shoes for her. So, in the soft sunlit room, she just sighed and enjoyed the pampering, letting her thoughts float away again. Before long, she was shaken from her reverie by her hand being lifted and bringing her along with it. She adjusted her dress and her posture again to accommodate the small heel. “Good Girl.” Her Mistress told her, noticing the effort she was putting in. Princess smiled up at her, biting her lip.

With a hand gently cupping her bum the pair left the bedroom. Princess grabbed the book she was reading on the way out, a romance novel that felt oddly familiar already. She dropped it into her prepped canvas tote bag that was sitting on the table downstairs. “Thank you, Mistress, for packing my things.” She got on her tip toes to give her partner a kiss on the cheek.

“Princess!” Her Mistress chuckled, “Your lip gloss is sticky!” but she had already turned away and started for the front door. A coy smile etched on her face from the overt teasing. “I’ll get you back for that!” She heard called out behind her, but Princess was already moving to the car. She twirled on the way out of the door, leaving Mistress to grab everything else.

The drive was quiet, allowing her to space out again, as was so easy to do on Sundays. She was looking out at the passing countryside; they were heading toward the park next to the Sound. It was opposite the town they did their shopping in. She let her thoughts idly wander as her thigh was caressed by the driver, her hand slowly inching upward. She remembered the first time Mistress had taken her out, “I need to hold something pretty while I drive, sweetheart, I’m sure you understand.” She told her. Even back when she was scrawny and gross and different and sinful. Mistress had seen through all of that, through the façade and the years of torment. Mistress was one of the few who would ever want to rescue a stray like herself. She felt so incredibly lucky. She had Mistress to thank for everything, what would have happened if she had not ignored the “No Soliciting” sign on the door to her plum-colored, Victorian home? She was so eager to win hearts for someone back then, someone else she could no longer remember. Now though? Mistress told her the only heart she needed to win over was her own. She had promptly ignored that though and won over Mistress’s heart. A scandal somewhere else, she hoped.

She did not have a free hand to hold her dress down in the breeze. It was coming off the Sound in a gentle swirling pattern, cooling her and the other parkgoers off.  Others, maybe not so unlike herself, each with their own journeys and desires and fears. If they could enjoy the late summer sun, then so could she.

Mistress had given her a picnic blanket to hold, which she clutched tightly with one arm, while her hand was used to lead her along to her favorite spot underneath the tree. Close enough to hear the water lapping upon the smooth stones. She stood silently as Mistress laid everything out. A picnic basket was produced, and a variety of small snacks were laid out. Two small bottles of wine were produced out of the backpack Mistress was carrying. Princess met her eyes and the pair giggled together.

They sat underneath the tree for most of the afternoon, until the waning sun threatened to leave them in darkness. Princess had spent less time reading her book than she thought she would. Her Mistress had been toying and playing and enjoying her ever since they sat down. The first time her hand moved up under her dress she realized that Mistress’s revenge was never putting on her safety shorts. Mistress spent her time feeding her Princess cheese and snacks and sips of wine that made her feel extra giggly and nice and soft and sweet and perfect. Her head had spent much of the time resting on Mistress’s warm thigh, her hair being scratched and teased and gently rearranged like she was a work of art. A prized possession of Her Mistress, she smiled at the thought. It was exactly where she wanted to be, exactly who she wanted to be.

Every injection day was easier than the last, and she owed it all to Her. She was the only one who saw through the pain and rescued her. She saved her from a life she could no longer remember, the gaps filling in each day with happier memories and nicer moments. She had been made pure again not by any Man above, but by the woman she lay in the lap of.

“Thank you, Mistress.” She looked up at the brown-eyed woman above her, who peered down, a soft smile growing on her face. She was happy to see her Princess happy.

“For what, Baby girl?”

Princess thought for a moment, Mistress may not be happy to know she was reminiscing again, but it was the wine’s fault.

“For making me forget.”

Her Mistress’s smile never softened, “I am making room for the lifetime of memories we are going to make.”