Lydia Lansing had never been afraid of her father. A parental, authoritative position had never been established between the two even when Lydia had been very small. She had always, always, had him wrapped around her little finger…Now quite literally, as her slender fingertips explored the length of his exposed arousal. Even before she had explored the arts of sexual pleasure, Lydia knew that her father practically worshipped her…<br/><br/>Practice, makes perfect…and daddy made such a good slave. She had decided not to inform her father of her career as a dominatrix not out of fear of his disapproval, but because she simply had decided it was not something he needed to know. However when he came to her doorstep, wringing his hands nervously around the formal envelope she sent to all of her clients with the necessary paperwork, she felt not the slightest bit horrified as one might expect. Instead of being repulsed that her father would seek out such a exhibition, Lydia was thrilled. An overwhelming sense of completion coursed through her veins on the day she took her daddy as her permanent slave…<br/><br/>Lydia had always been a beautiful girl. A pampered, beauty Queen from the time she could walk on her own. Now, she had grown into a woman the gods designed for pleasure, according to one of her foreign clients. Her body was slender, but curved in all the right places. Her breasts were naturally large and perky, her legs long and toned. Typically her attire consisted of thigh high black leather boots, a tightly fit red and black corset, and garters if she decided to be a bit more teasing. Her dirty blonde hair was always styled and done up, so that the carnal desire of pulling hair and seeing it flow down the curve of a woman’s neck could be completed…A lot of time and effort was put into the perfection of her appearance…Lydia always appeared as the Goddess she was praised to be.<br/><br/>Her fathers high rise apartment appeared quite formal in a majority of the rooms…The staff only came to clean certain hours of the day in certain rooms, but never the first room to the left of the entrance way…That room, only Lydia had the key to. That room, was her dungeon. A beautiful and exquisite collection of crushed velvet, leather and dark wood furnishings with of course, all the necessary equipment of a proper Mistress. Leather benches with cuffs for the ankles and wrists, St. Andrews Cross’, suspension bars, a lavish silk bed with all sorts of restraints, and of course her worship throne in the center of the room, surrounded by all sizes of candles. Lydia had an entire walk in closet of various lubricants, flogs, paddles, whips, and toys…This room was entirely for her clients, all of daddy’s toys were tucked in their shared bedroom closet…<br/><br/>She sat now, on her medieval looking throne with her boots propped up on her daddy’s strong back. She smirked slightly, breathing in the soft fragrance of the candles around her as she moved one leg down so that the leather material would rub against his cheek. “Are you going to be a good boy when my clients arrive?” She inquired, in quite the chastising tone. The end of her crop wandered across his spine, drifting down to circle that puckered hole that was so very inviting…