A Day in the Life of Daddys Girl
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been my Daddys girl. I’ve always been his princess. I would always ask my daddy to play with me, his advice, he would help me with my homework. He was everything. Well, that didn’t change as I got older, but we started having special time together when I turned 13.
My pert little breasts had just started to develop, pushing cutely through my little pink tank top. My ass started to fill out my cute pink panties (in case you haven’t noticed, pink is my favorite color), and my hips started to get just a tiny bit wider, giving me an hourglass figure. I really didn’t quite understand the concept of puberty, so when daddy started looking at me differently, I didn’t quite understand why.
He always used to say, “You’re Daddys girl, you know that? Do you know how special you are to daddy?”
But when I started filling out my clothes, he would whisper this, against my neck, against my thighs, when he was taking my clothes off, and between kisses.
I’m getting ahead of myself, though. I want to describe the day I became Daddys Girl really and truly, for the first time.
It was Saturday morning, and mom was out on one of her “girls weekends” which, somehow, never included me. But Daddy always made me feel special, and feminine.
I had come downstairs in my pink tank top and lacy pink panties, carrying my teddy bear by his left hand. Daddy looked at me, his eyes traveling up and down my entire body slowly, as I walked into the kitchen.
We talked over our breakfast of cold cereal, and I noticed he never took his eyes off of me. He’d put down his phone, where he’d always quietly read today’s news while eating his breakfast, and he just stared at me, a strange look in his eyes. I didn’t know why, but I put it off to him just trying to give me the attention mom never did.
Want to read the rest of the story? Head on over and read part 2!
