I'm getting ready for work, leaning over the bathroom counter in nothing but a thong. My music is playing, and I'm dancing along. A slow Ozuna song that makes me roll and rock my hips while I'm putting on my makeup.
Daddy is watching me.
I know what I'm doing.
I'm just finishing up my mascara when he walks into the bathroom and stands behind me, hands resting on my hips.
"You sure make yourself pretty for work," he observes, hands stroking my hips lightly.
I lean back into him, letting my head roll back onto his shoulder. I like seeing us in the mirror together — especially me standing undressed in front of him. His height compared to mine, and how possessive his hands look on my body.
"Think so, Daddy?"
"I do," he says, his arms coming up to wrap around my bare stomach.
"Make you jealous?" I rock my hips against him for a moment, to the beat of the music.
"No," he says, "I know what's mine." One hand moves to rest lightly on my throat.
That's all it takes for my body to turn to liquid fire. I make a small noise in my throat that I refuse to classify as a whimper.
"But reminders never hurt," he says lowly in my ear, his eyes intent on mine in the mirror. "Take it off."
I bite my lip and push my thong down over my hips, widening my stance so that it can fall to the floor at my feet.
"Watch."
My cheeks are already flushed and my breathing so heavy that I feel like I'm panting.
One hand is still at my throat and the other moves down between my thighs. He cups me and asks me whose it is.
"Yours, Daddy. All yours."
"Good girl," he praises, and my breath catches in my throat.
He starts stroking my clit. I know he wants me to keep my eyes open. I try, but it's so hard when I'm already feeling overwhelmed by him and the pleasure he's giving me. My eyes drift shut.
"I said, watch." Sharp. Stern. I'm in trouble.
Instead of his fingers lightly caressing my throat, now it's his arm pressing against it. He's forceful but careful, holding me tight against him but not impending my breathing.
