Mistress? Whore? Or just a very lucky girl?

Daddy bought me a present.
A dress.
A little black dress.

Not very expensive for many people. But expensive for me. From Lord & Taylor's. I normally do NOT shop at Lord & Taylor's. And the best part is, it actually suits me!

I do think it's sexy.
I do think he'll like it.
But I'll also feel like me in it.
Which will make me feel exceptionally bubbly.

And there are still those heels to keep me feeling...
under control.
Obedient.
Chained.

We didn't get to have our tryst. On the Wednesday just before, as we were making ourselves crazy aroused with anticipation, my mom had a stroke. Not a really terrible stroke. But she's 91, prone to depression, and NOT prone to working at what needs to be done to get better. She was already showing some signs of dementia beforehand, and my dad had been doing a lot of caregiving over the last few years after she took a bad fall, so I don't expect her to bounce back far.

Anyway, the Wednesday afternoon before our hotly-awaited tryst, I got the call. Bye-bye tryst. The next morning I was on my way up to Connecticut, to help my dad more than anything else.

We were both horribly disappointed, but the fiend was very sweet about it. And now there's a chance of something special at the end of the month. No promises. But a chance.

So.
The dress.
He wanted me in a little black dress.
Last fall he had visualized me in a little black dress.
I wore a darling green sweater dress.
Looked great.
*I* thought.
But he was disappointed.
It didn't fit his fantasy.

Hence, the shopping trip.

And it was
SO
MUCH
FUN!!!

Me shopping,
consulting with a sweet young saleswoman,
and emailing Daddy of my progress.

Great fun.

So there it is.
He buys me things.

Occasionally.

Books.
Shoes.
A dress.
A hotel room in which he can enjoy me.
Use me.
Be served by me.

But it's for both of us.
It's a relationship.
It's the interactions.
It's shared joy.
And it's just part of who and what we are.

And -
I must admit -
that fiercely independent as I can be,
I do love the feeling.
The feeling of being owned.
The feeling of being controlled.
Of being ordered to buy things.
To wear things.
To do things.
To feeling like his mistress.
Like his whore.
His poet
and his pet
and his own baby girl.

I love it.
I love it all.

And they are all part of who we are.
What we are.
Together.
A rich, full tapestry of a relationship.

Plus it's a darling dress.
And now
I'm horny as hell.

Thank you, Daddy.
I love you a lot.
With or without the presents.