The bristles of the brush whisper against my cheekbone . Mistress leans forward 

“Close your eyes,” she says.

I do.

Everything is  amplified by excitement ,  everything.  The sound of Mistress’ corset creaking as she leans forward  The tiny wet sound of the brush swirling in pressed powder.

Mistress sets down the brush and selects a pencil from the glass tray—black kohl  ,. The first touch against my waterline makes me flinch but she  continues drawing, stroke after deliberate stroke, until both eyes feel weighted and strange and somehow larger.

“Open.”

I blink at my reflection.

The person staring back from the illuminated mirror is half-familiar. My bone structure, yes. My mouth. But the eyes belong to someone else—someone who knows exactly how pretty she is

“Oh,” I breathe.

“We’re not finished.” Mistress sets the eyeliner aside and reaches for a lipstick so deep crimson it’s nearly black in the tube. “Pout for me.”

I push my lips outward. She holds the bullet to the center of my bottom lip and paints outward to one corner, then the other, her pressure steady enough that I feel the wax drag against every microscopic fissure in the skin. When she fills the top lip, she catches the cupid’s bow with such precision that the two peaks come out identical—

“Press.”

I press my lips together, roll them, release.

“Again.”

Three times she makes me do this, building the color in translucent layers until my mouth looks wet and obscene and ready to suck Mistress’ cock