Page 44 of Fitch

“You bought things for me?”

I still couldn’t believe it.

“If you don’t like any of it, we can get you what you’d prefer.”

I put the basket on his bed and the first thing was a simple black toiletries bag. It looked expensive as hell.

He made a face, clearly nervous. “It’s just a toothbrush, a comb, that kind of thing. It’ll save you bringing yours with you.”

“Dom,” I whispered. “It’s lovely.”

He smiled and my heart squeezed.

Then he eyed the basket, to what was in the bottom.

Clothes, by the looks of it.

The first thing I pulled out was a... well, I wasn’t sure.

“They’re pyjamas,” he whispered.

Well, well, well.

These pyjamas were deliciously obscene.

“Oh my,” I whispered.

The smallest pair of grey boy shorts I’d ever seen and a matching white singlet vest. They were soft and I couldn’t help but put them to my face to feel the lavishness.

“Do you like them?” Dom murmured.

“Oh, daddy, yes,” I breathed. “Help me into them.”

He made a sound that was almost a purr. He sat on the bed, pulled my towel away, and helped me step into the flimsy boy shorts. They were small, but so was I. They were tight, barely covering my arse cheeks at the back, barely holding my junk at the front. Then he pulled the singlet on over my head, pulling it down my torso. It was small too, tight around my chest, leaving a sliver of skin above the shorts.

Dom put his hands on my hips, my tummy, my chest, inspecting the outfit, inspecting me.

“Do you like it, daddy?” I whispered.

He slow-blinked, voice low. “Yes.”

Jesus, fuck. Hereallyliked it.

There was something else in the bottom of the basket. I reached in and pulled out another pair of shorts. They were bluewith white trim, looked like a sport uniform or varsity, and they were very small. And a pair of long white socks with blue trim.

“Mm,” I said. “I think my daddy has a thing for teeny-tiny shorts.”

He made a happy, rumbling sound. “Hm.”

The basket was now empty. “But there’s no shirt,” I said, holding the sport shorts. I gave him my biggest puppy dog eyes. “I might get cold.”

His gaze narrowed at me and he huffed. “There is a shirt,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t sure... I thought it was a good idea, but now...”

Well, now I was intrigued.

“Show me,” I said. I leaned in and looked up at him, blinking slowly. “Please, daddy. Pleeeease.”

He growled and took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Are you being a brat?”

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