Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
They say I’m an Amazon, a Giantess, and they’re not wrong. At six-foot-seven, I literally tower over most people in our world, especially the ‘Littles’ like my Dad. He’s not just short; he’s perfectly proportioned, just small. Like a doll-sized person. And in our world, women like me? We run the show. We always have.
I was supposed to be packing for university, dreaming of dorm life and lecture halls. But Dad was panicking. “Who’ll help me reach the top shelf, darling? Or drive me to the market? Or even get me up onto my bed?” He meant it. He really can’t manage those things alone. His little hands struggle with the steering wheel, and a standard bed frame is like a mountain. So, he made me an offer: stay home, and I’d be in charge. The house, the finances, everything. For an allowance, of course. A sizeable one. That clinched it. College could wait.
six-foot-seven amazon daughter
Life settled into a rhythm. Me, managing bills, coordinating Dad’s appointments, even helping him with his tie – his tiny fingers struggle with knots. He’d spend his days working remotely, managing his miniature tech repairs, while I became the household manager. It wasn’t exactly what I pictured for my post-high school years, but the money was good, and honestly, the power was too.
Then Mrs. Henderson next door, noticing I was always home, asked if I’d babysit her son, Johnny, twice a week. More money? Done. Johnny was all boundless energy and curious questions, and a surprisingly tidy boy, considering his age. After the first hour, though, it hit me. “Okay, Johnny, time for your nap,” I’d say, guiding him to his room. Dad, at 6 PM, would often whine, “But I’m not tired!” just like Johnny. Johnny would leave his Lego bricks everywhere. Dad, his little car models. Johnny hated vegetables. Dad picked at his broccoli. When Johnny got excited, he’d bounce on the couch, ignoring my pleas to sit still. Dad, when he got a new gadget, would do a little happy dance, sometimes bumping into things because he couldn’t see over them.
It was uncanny. The parallels were glaring. And that’s when it clicked. I wasn’t just living with my Dad, I was managing him. Now that I’m the woman of the house, the one running things, it’s my responsibility to ensure he’s healthy and well-behaved. Just like with Johnny.
So, new house rules are in effect. From now on, Dad has a strict 8 PM bedtime. And no more of those adult pajamas that bunch up on his little frame – it’s onesies for bed, nice and cozy, just like the ones Johnny wears. And those processed snacks he loves? Gone. We’re doing healthy, fiber-rich meals. For his own good, of course. He may protest, but I’m the Amazon here. I know what’s best.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
https://phonesexcandy.com/cory