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His shirt

She stands at the bathroom sink and wipes the day from her face. The golden light Illuminating in such a way that she does not see him lay down on the bed outside to watch her. He watches her as she fumbles around the bathroom wearing only his t-shirt and her panties. He sees her in a way that she will probably never see in herself. Her dimpled thighs riddled with blue veins and stretch marks are so exquisite to him. He has always found a rhythm to them like every inch of her thigh tells a story. How powerful they are to hold her, carry her, and yet how vulnerable they are when he marks them black and blue.

She has always voiced displeasure about this or that body part here or there. How they are not perfectly beautiful or how they used to be. But he sees more than just her body when he looks at the things she scorns. He sees her life, he sees her experience, he sees how she has lived and loved and lost. He sees how despite all of that she continues to give all of those scorned parts to him every time she kneels at his feet.

He notices how she has dressed herself in his favorite t-shirt. Something he has often told her not to do. But wearing that shirt excites him rather than annoys him. He quietly gets up from the bed and walks to the bathroom doorway. “Baby girl, I have told you a hundred times that is my shirt”. She lets out a slight gasp, surprised that he is there, but continues to brush her hair and gives no other response other than a side eye and a smirk. He slowly walks to her, an energy building between them. Before she can slide the brush through again he grabs a handful of her hair, “What did I just say?”

“That it is your shirt Daddy.”

“Yes. And what have I told you about wearing it baby girl?”

“That I shouldn't wear it Daddy.”

“And why do you continue to defy me girl?”

“It smells like you Daddy.”

He pulls her head back into his shoulder. As he takes a big breath of her he growls into her ear, “Take it off. Now.”

“Yes Daddy” she says as he lets go of her.

She removes his shirt and hands it over to him. He ponders a moment as he watches her begin to shiver in her new nakedness. He walks over to her and lifts her chin with his finger to gaze directly into her bright blue eyes. “You do not need this when I am here.” She starts to try to explain how she didn't know he had returned but before she could complete her sentence he pulls her into him and begins to kiss her. The shirt is and always has been a ruse. An unspoken understanding between them. She wears the shirt because it comforts her, it reminds her of him, she envelopes herself in it when she needs his presence. He has never minded her wearing his shirt for he has always found a way to get it off of her. He wraps his fingers in through her hair and says “Come girl” and then leads her to the bedroom. “I want you” he whispers as she takes her place knelt down below him.

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