Disclaimer: All characters and events are purely fictional. All characters are at least 18 years of age.
*****
It's 05:34 exactly and the sun has barely risen on this clear, crisp morning in early May. I'm gingerly making my way up the stairs, holding a breakfast tray in front of me, being careful not to spill its meticulously prepared contents.
Eggs, scrambled to just the right consistency, sit on top of a thick piece of toast, cut from a home made loaf. Rich, creamy Greek yoghurt in a small bowl and strawberries, sliced just so. A small white teapot filled with tea, made from a blend of the finest Darjeeling and Assam leaves, direct from India. A little jar of New Zealand Manuka honey, purely an optional extra. Silver cutlery, wrapped in a clean and pressed linen napkin. A single rose, snipped from the garden, completes the presentation. A morning meal fit for a princess, prepared for my princess.
With the toe of my slippered foot, I open the bedroom door. You are sleeping, quietly, peacefully. I stand in the doorway for a few brief moments and gaze upon you. Your astonishingly beautiful, angelic visage is so serene and still, it seems a criminal act to wake you, but wake you I must.
I place the tray down silently on the bedside table and draw open the curtains. The room fills with morning sunlight. It causes you to stir and frown grumpily, but does not rouse you completely.
Standing bent over beside the bed, my nose hovers above your face. Just for an instant, long enough to register the sweet and spicy scent of Madagascar vanilla. My lips press against the apple of your cheek. I allow the smooch to linger, long and lovingly. Your eyelids begin to flicker. Another kiss. This time my mouth meets yours. Your full, plump lips respond to mine and reciprocate my affection. A mouth made for kissing.
You look up at me, blurry eyed, but with a contented smile.
"Good morning, Daddy," you say in a croaky half whisper.
"Good morning, Angel," I reply. "I've made you breakfast."
The life and blood return to your stiff, weary, muscles as you stretch out your limbs and arch you back. You slowly rise into a sitting position and I place the food on your lap. When you see what I have made for you, your face lights up to rival the early morning sun.
"For me, Daddy?"
"Eat up, Baby girl, you've got a busy day ahead of you."
I make myself comfortable on the bed and watch you tuck in heartily. You sip your tea and devour the protein, vegetables, carbohydrates, dairy and fruit. I keep your feet warm in my lap and tickle your tiny tootsies under the duvet. You seem joyously happy, sitting there, propped up on a pillow, munching away.
For me, fatigue is beginning to set in. I didn't wake up to cook for you, I haven't slept. My chronic insomnia often keeps me up round the clock. This morning, as the hour hand mockingly landed on five, I decided to say, "sod it" to sleep and got up to see what the new day had brought. I made myself some coffee and turned on the television, but the forced cheeriness of the news readers irritated me. I felt like doing something productive. Upon opening the fridge, I discovered all the ingredients necessary for a nutritious breakfast. Just the thing to set you up for the day and I knew you'd appreciate it.
Seeing you clean your plate of every morsel makes the whole sleepless night worth it. I am so pleased you enjoyed it. However, now my eyes are droopy, my body is languid and my head feels heavy. I'm not going to be able to keep myself up for much longer. It's typical, the whole night through I'm wide awake and alert, then somnolence drops like a hammer. Seeing someone else start their day is always a great soporific. I send you off to the shower before I pass out cold.
As I lie in bed, listening to the pump whirring and the water rushing, I imagine you standing there naked. I picture the spray hitting you and flowing down your body. I see you lathering the shower gel and soaping your young supple skin, from your face down to your toes. My erection is conspicuous by its presence. There is no way I'll be able to sleep with this thing stretching my underwear. I think I'm getting my second wind.
Discreetly I let myself into the bathroom. You have already finished showering and are teasing your luxuriantly soft hair in front of the mirror. The air is warm and humid. Without a word, I come up behind you and plant a kiss on the back of your neck. You sigh. I follow it up with a chain of little kisses across both you shoulders. You giggle, inaudibly.
My hands reach for your body and sink into the plush Egyptian cotton towel wrapped around your torso. They creep slowly up the damp terrycloth to where it's tied loosely just above your bust. A gentle tug and the makeshift garment lies in a heap around your feet, exposing your charms to me.
We stand, gazing at the reflection of your naked body. You are unashamed before me. My eyes take in every detail of your young figure. My fingertips glide over your silken epidermis. Neither of us speaks, the silence is heavy, our eyes locked together in the bathroom mirror.
I reach for the coconut scented body milk. You like to keep yourself moisturised and I want to help. The click of the plastic bottle top and the squelch of the lotion are soft sounds, but ring out clearly in the deathly quiet. I slather liberal squirts of the the opaque white liquid all over you. Your arms, shoulders, neck, Décolletage, pert tits, tummy, back and round buttocks. You remain passive, fixed to the spot. I slip my hand between your legs to coat your vulva, before crouching and applying the moisturiser to your thighs and calves.
I straighten up to admire my handy work. Your skin glistens under the incandescent bulbs. You look pensive, expectant, even hopeful.
Slight pressure on your nape bends you over the sink, giving me clear access to your most intimate parts. My well oiled fingers pass effortlessly over your delicate, velvet pussy lips and the swollen nub of your clitoris. You look back at me with trust in your eyes and I gently part your labia, revealing your delicious pink slit. A single digit enters your hot wetness. It's just one finger, but you grip it tight as I push all the way in. You can't hold back a faint whimper as I slide back and forth, steadily in and out of your snug, little twat.
Another squirt of the greasy Arecaceae nut lotion and I move slightly northwards to your impeccable, puckered arsehole. You are very relaxed, two fingers stretch you open and inch inside with surprising ease. Without effort, I push into you until I reach my knuckles and can go no further. You moan softly and your sphincter muscles contract as I twist.
Here is where I have another surprise for you. Apparently out of nowhere, I produce a small, rubber anal plug. Not too small though. It's maybe, somewhat bigger around than my penis, but nowhere near as long. I want you to feel it and know it's there, but I don't want it to be too much for you. I was careful to select one that's the ideal size.
I meet some resistance as I push the toy home. You're not used to taking something quite so wide, but you are is willing and it sits in your rectum as comfortably as can be expected. You shake your arse from side to side with the pleasure of this new sensation. Then present yourself to me, legs apart, bum pushed upwards and your hungry pussy slightly gaping.
Tentatively, I press the tip of my engorged member against your quim. I don't penetrate, simply rub myself against you, up and down mingling my oozing precum with your abundant juices. I come to a rest, right at the entrance to your cunt. A little pressure, you can feel I'm about to thrust myself forward and fill you with what you want, what you crave.
But no, I do not enter you.
Instead, I take a step back and say, "Okay, Baby girl, enough playing for now. Time to get dressed or you'll be late."
"But, Daddy, please!" you say imploring me. "I need it!"
"No arguments! Get ready now and leave the butt plug in. I want you to wear it all day."
