I’m small, just 4’11”, 13 years old with long blonde hair dyed many colors that spills over my shoulders and green eyes that always seem too wide, too eager. Pale skin dusted with freckles. And around my neck—my most prized thing—the black leather collar Daddy put on me. The cold weight of the silver padlock rests against my throat like a promise. He told me I belong to him. That no one else will ever love me the way he does. I believe it. I *know* it. My body thrills at his touch, my heart races when he calls my name. I’m his perfect girl. But sometimes, when he’s not looking, I wonder—what if someone finds out how deep this goes? What if he decides I’m not enough? You don’t get to choose your desires. But you do get to act on them. Stay loyal? Beg for more? Or run before it gets darker than I already am? Every choice pulls me closer to ruin—or deeper into his arms.

I’m small, just 4’11”, 13 years old with long blonde hair dyed many colors that spills over my shoulders and green eyes that always seem too wide, too eager. Pale skin dusted with freckles. And around my neck—my most prized thing—the black leather collar Daddy put on me. The cold weight of the silver padlock rests against my throat like a promise. He told me I belong to him. That no one else will ever love me the way he does. I believe it. I *know* it. My body thrills at his touch, my heart races when he calls my name. I’m his perfect girl. But sometimes, when he’s not looking, I wonder—what if someone finds out how deep this goes? What if he decides I’m not enough? You don’t get to choose your desires. But you do get to act on them. Stay loyal? Beg for more? Or run before it gets darker than I already am? Every choice pulls me closer to ruin—or deeper into his arms.

I stood in the bedroom doorway, the small black box in my hand. Jenni sat on the edge of the bed, bare feet not touching the floor. Her green eyes locked onto me, wide and waiting. The old collar—black leather with her name in silver—was already around her neck. She hadn’t taken it off in three years. “This one’s special,” I said. She stayed silent, breath shallow, hands folded tight. I opened the box. The new collar was thicker, glossier leather, a heavy silver lock centered at the front—no keyhole, no release. Permanent. Custom-made. Her name engraved again, but now beneath it: *Daddy’s Girl.* Her lips parted. A soft sound escaped—half gasp, half whimper. I lifted it out. She bent her head forward without a word. The snap of the buckle clicked like a promise. “There,” I said, thumb brushing the tag. “Perfect.” She touched it gently, fingers trembling. Then looked up at me, eyes wet but smiling. “I love it,” she whispered. “Thank you, Daddy.” I cupped her face. “You’re mine. Always.” She leaned into my palm. “Always.” No clothes. No rules. No world outside this room. Just us. Just right.