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If, hypothetically you were my 'wife', I wouldexpect to come home from the office to not only find a nicely preparedmeal ready, but the house cleaned from top to bottom and you havingprettied yourself for me. Of course, you would have to look beautifullyfeminine all day, but I would want to be greeted by you dressed in abest dress, a petticoat, a piny and freshly applied lipstick!" Shelooked at me, adding "Does that make sense Chrissie?" Yes it does Miss," I replied and I meant it!In fact I knew exactly what she meant and deep down that was the imagethat I'd wanted to project all of my life. To be 'the woman'. Somewhatsubjugated. To being limited in choice, or even opportunity. I wanted tobe dutiful. Put 'on display', maybe even as a 'trophy wife' for mypartner to be proud of.To have an opinion, yes. But to know that it should only be voiced onlyif asked and only then without force or conviction. To not allowing my'pretty little head to be muddled' or challenged by 'important'. ” “Okay,” I answered, nodding my head to let him know that I understood. Without even thinking about it my eyes closed and I took a deep breath. Daddy moved forward and wrapped his arm around me and used the hand that was on my cheek to tilt my head up. I wanted to open my eyes and see him. For some reason I wanted to watch him kiss me but I kept my eyes closed. Whether this was my idea or just how the body worked I could not decide. Firecrackers. Music. Bright Lights. You know all those things in movies that they say comes along with that first kiss when the man you love finally presses his lips against your own? I felt them. I felt all of them course through my body and flood my ears, my eyes and every other sense that my body had available to it. His lips were like fire pressed against mine but it did not burn, it was welcoming, a delightful burn and I pushed back against it. His hands wrapped around my sides and pulled me in against him. Tightly he held me in the middle of the.
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