In her late-twenties, Anita was still a very attractive woman, although it would be hard to notice that about her when she was at work. There, she was a bundle of nerves in squinty glasses, her black, slightly curly hair yanked behind her head with a clip. Her slim figure was the result of nervous energy rather than exercise, unless you counted her constant prowling through the office as exercise. She didn’t drink coffee because she didn’t need it.Anita had understood what was happening to her, and realized that it was bad not only for her but for the company as well. Several of her best employees, people who had been with the company since its founding, had left, unable to cope with Anita’s becoming more and more of, as one departing employee had snarled, “… an anal-retentive control freak.” She herself had become an insomniac and a nail-biter. She’d known that she couldn’t go on like that without suffering some kind of physical or mental breakdown, but had no idea how to make. Soon he was dropping it into conversation."How's my little girl?" Hey little girl! You look so damn sexy!" You are my gorgeous sexy little girl and I love you so much!"I came to like being called that. It was yet another pet name, a term of endearment that we had made our own. I liked the way it sounded coming from him. I never drew the comparison of a daddy calling a daughter that. My father never did.Sometimes he would test me again."Daddy likes that!" Daddy's excited!" Daddy is disappointed..."I would roll my eyes at him. The fire and anger was not there anymore. I just couldn't see why he wanted to use that term. What I did notice was that he enjoyed using it. His cock would bulge through his jeans. I liked him excited. I liked him thinking about me. I liked turning him on."Say it," he would prod me."What?" I asked innocently."Go on, say!"I would pause for effect, then reluctantly say, "Dad-dy!"His face would light up. His bulge would throb.I grew wet with excitement. What was.
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