As I stand and watch myself in the filmy dressing room mirror, I try to gauge your reaction. You often study me, and always appreciate me, but in this moment of contemplation, I feel like a work of art.

It isn’t the clothes you are choosing, it is the way they accentuate the curve of my hip and the line of my leg.

It isn’t the fabric you are concerned with, but the way it falls over my breasts and where it skims across my thigh.

It isn’t the color you are judging, but the way it compliments my soft creamy skin and the unusual hue of my green eyes.

When your fingers skim and shift, causing my heart to flutter and my core awakens, your eyes tell me that, yes, you are objectifying me. But because I long for it. Because I crave to be your possession. Because I’m just a little girl seeking approval.

So, when I ask you, shall I wear my hair curly or straight? Do you prefer the hoop earrings over the simple gems? Or, which stockings and shoes you like best?

It isn’t because I can’t decide.

I can, and I would.

But you’re here, Daddy, and you want me. So tell me how to make myself just as you desire.

Choose for me.

Decide for you.

Dress me.

The reward is absolutely worth your attention.

For the pleasure of seeing me shine under the spotlight of your love is surely artistry of it’s own.