Glasses
You are studying for your physics exam. Your papers are spread out on the breakfast table in the kitchen.
I helped you with your math homework as soon as you got home. I made you a snack. You kissed me and we talked about your day -- and mine -- and we kissed some more, but then I insisted you get to work and when you complained, I told you "There will be time for love later, darling. I don't want to be your distraction. You should study now, don't you think, Konekochan?"
You smile -- Konekochan -- it's my new pet name for you. "Yes, Daddy."
I sat down next to you and took your hand in mine. "Darling, you are strong and beautiful and I only ever want you grow into being more that way. In our love-play, you are my submissive and that's wonderful. When you need it or want it, that can always be your refuge. But I never want you to feel separated from life and I never want you to hide from the things you need to do to be more and more yourself. I feel it's important that you work hard in school so you can be more independent and more free. My arms will always be here to hold you. I want you to come to them freely."
You were silent for a long moment, taking it in. "Thank you, Daddy." You smiled and touched my cheek. "I have never felt so loved. Sometimes I don't quite know what to do -- I mean -- because you are older, there are ways that you are like -- well -- like a father or uncle to me -- and I like that. You have a different view of life and it's so amazing to be around you. I learn so much just by being near you.
"So sometimes when you tell me what I should do, I react like I'm obeying my elder and also like I'm obeying you -- the part of you that is my dominant. It's actually very sweet and makes me feel warm inside. I like obeying you. And I love calling you 'Daddy.' But I always obey voluntarily. I know that sounds funny -- but I mean it. I know I'm free. I know you'd never want me to feel -- well -- confined.
"But it's also important to me to feel that I belong to you even in daily life. When I'm in class, when I'm getting lunch with my friends, wherever I am -- I'm very aware that I belong to you. And I really, really like it. I really, really need it, Daddy. I gives me -- like an anchor or something -- like context... yes context is a good word for it. Being yours gives my life the context that I need.
"I like it when you tell me what I should do -- like to do my homework or something. I like being your little girl. And I really, really like being your pet. It makes me feel safe and happy."
"But Darling," I said, "What will happen when you outgrow liking to be my little girl."
"Then, Daddy, I will like being your young lady. But you will always be my Daddy." And you tickled my abdomen with both your hands and you laughed mellifluously.
The kitchen echoed with it. I knew the halls and stairs all the way to the highest cupola were smiling. The house had found new life ever since you stepped through it's door. The building was full of you and because of you it would be empty if you ever left.
So you turned back to your studies, your lap-top whirring and your books opened.
Now my Handbook of Chemistry and Physics is piled high with other reference books from my library on the table. You are squinting at the papers. You rub your eyes. "I'm tired, Daddy. I should stop for now. I'll study more tomorrow after breakfast. I don't have class until Early American History in the afternoon." You hold your head and frown as if it hurts.
"What's the matter, baby girl? Headache?"
"Yes, Daddy, more and more -- when I study too long."
I come over and look you in the eyes. "Sweetie -- is it your eyes? Maybe you need glasses."
"But this is a headache, not an eye-ache." Your tone is a little angry. A little defensive, maybe?
"Why the mood? I just asked if you had trouble seeing."
"I can see just fine and I don't need glasses."
You have been too vehement. I'm dumbfounded. I think to myself how I had forgotten about girls' moods. But then I say "You need glasses, don't you? Tell the truth." I smile.
You look cross. "So what? What if I get a little out of focus when I'm reading?"
My tone is calm. "Is it just when you're reading?"
"Well -- mostly. So what?"
"The strain of trying to focus your eyes may be what's giving you the headaches, sweetie, that's all. If you need glasses, it's no big deal. What's the matter?"
You are scowling. "I -- I used to wear glasses."
"You used to?"
"Yes I used to, then I stopped."
"And why did you stop?"
"I can see fine without them."
"But you get headaches when you read. So -- let me get this straight. You actually have glasses, don't you?"
"Maybe -- not anymore. They were just reading glasses anyway. They were stupid looking."
"Oh -- OK. The truth will out. So you don't wear your glasses because you think they make you look foolish?"
After a long silence -- "Yes, Daddy." You sound defeated.
"Come with me, little girl."
You take my outstretched hand. We climb the stairs from the back kitchen hall to your room in the servants' wing. I am leading you. You are trailing behind. I smile -- it's as if you are being a petulant child. I open the door to your room.
"Show me." I gesture to your room and you step inside. As I stand by the door, you produce a pair of glasses from the little writing desk drawer. They are typical reading glasses -- plastic frames -- magnifying lenses. I hold them up to my eyes -- about 1.5x.
"Try them on for me, little girl."
You slide them onto your face. They look fine, but not wonderful. Your face is so beautiful that it certainly doesn't really matter. "Darling, they're just fine. Why don't you wear them?"
"I hate them. Boys don't like girls with glasses."
I smile. "Oh -- I understand now."
"Put them away. Come with me." I take your hand. I lead you through the main house; down the front stairs, around the corner, through the double doors into the library. Turning on the light switch, I lead you across the large room with its high, double-storied bookshelves, the ladder to climb to the highest ones, the glass cases with old things, the suit of Japanese armor, the Japanese swords -- it's like a museum -- to a desk by the tall window -- the window with the arched stained-glass panes at the top. "Now, darling --"
I slide open the pencil drawer and I take out a beautiful leather glasses case. I hand it to you. You look at me, then at the case. You open it.
Inside is a delicate pair of wire rim glasses. "Oh -- Oh, my, Daddy. Are they silver?"
"Yes, darling, and they're glass, not plastic. Try them on."
You pick them up. "The little nose pieces -- what are they?"
"Ivory, I believe -- back from before it was banned."
You try them on. It's a little tricky because the frames are kind-of flexible. You turn to me. I'm caught off guard. There is something about their old-fashioned shape that is stunningly beautiful on your face. Your youth and their age are a perfect match.
"Go look at yourself in the mirror upstairs, darling. Tell me if you like them. I'll turn out the lights down here and be up in a moment."
You turn slowly and walk across the room holding their case. You cross the great room to the marble stairs. You climb them and at the top, at the beginning of the long hall, you look at the portraits through the old glasses now perched on your nose. One after another comes into focus as you walk along to my room and near the end is a portrait of a lady. She's sitting by a window holding a book in her lap and on the book is a pair of silver glasses with ivory nose pieces.
As you study the painting more closely, you realize that she's sitting by the window in the library. Yes -- and your memory of the bookshelves you just saw match in the painting. She is small, blond, and dressed in clothes that look like they're from an old movie. She looks about twenty. She's beautiful.
Her hair is tied into a bun and a couple long strands fall carelessly across her shoulders. She's smiling in a way that reminds you of my smile. Her eyes are mischievous. You look at her hands. They remind you of my hands. And you focus on the glasses. They are the same as the pair that are on your face now -- you are sure of it.
You are stunned.
You turn and walk to the huge old mirror at the end of the hall by my bedroom door. You look at yourself.
You are wearing a simple blue dress and a light cardigan sweater. Your face is perfectly complimented by the glasses. You look elegant. You smile.
You walk back to the portrait of the lady. You touch her hand.
You skip to my room. You put the glasses back in their case and place them on the night table. You strip and snuggle down into the covers.
You feel suddenly hot. You spread your legs wide -- so naughty -- and slip your fingers between your pussy lips. You stroke yourself to a quick orgasm, shuddering and whimpering quietly. You squeeze your legs shut, savoring the excitement and release.
When I join you moments later, I can smell your heat. I prop pillows up against the bedstead and sit. You straddle me and take me into your sweet body, taking my cock into your heat -- kissing tenderly, you began to fuck me.
I hold you by the waist. I slow your movements.
"Darling, take it very slow. Barely move. Relax, sweetie."
