Daddy s Girl
Most mornings, we would pass each other in the lobby of our building, and I would smile and offer her a greeting. But she would avert her eyes, merely nod and hurry away.A young professional woman, I guessed, no older than twenty-five. Maybe a solicitor, accountant, medic or academic. Her fiery hair was invariably gathered tightly back into a tucked-in-braid. She never wore a skirt, always a suit, those butt-hugging tailored pants. One morning I noticed the impeccability of her attire...
BDSM