I Accept

Becky awoke the next morning -- a Saturday -- to the chirp of her phone going off. At first, she thought it was an email from a client, then she remembered she didn't have any clients anymore. She rolled over, unlocked her phone, and found a message from her mother in the secure messaging app. They'd agreed to start using it the night before. It appeared her "homework" had arrived.

She read, smirking with amusement at her mother's precise, organized manner:

[Becky,

I'm happy you have decided to be a part of this. I think it will be an exciting adventure for both of us.

Here is how we will work going forward. From time to time, I will give you "assignments" for pleasing your father. You may accept them or reject them as you see fit. You may also add to them, or alter them before accepting. This will be done via text before we begin.

These tasks will likely become more sophisticated as we go. This will be a process of learning and exploration for all of us.

Your first assignment will be to come downstairs in your underwear. You will kiss your father on the cheek and have breakfast with us. You will sit so your father can get a good view of your body.

Your father does not yet know what we've agreed to. This will be a surprise for him.

Do you accept?

-Mom]

Becky covered her mouth to muffle her laughter. This was so ridiculous and surreal. She couldn't have made this up in a fantasy if she'd wanted to. What could she do?

She wrote back: [I accept.]

Then she went to find something to wear. Or, more accurately, not to wear.

***

After a few minutes of indecision, Becky decided on a black bra and matching panties. Basic black seemed like a solid choice: she looked good in it, you couldn't see through it, and they were comfortable.

She slipped them on and looked at herself in the mirror. Becky had grown up with enough self-esteem to know she looked good: the lines of her stomach sleek and trim, her skin clear, her hair a little messy but still manageable enough. She dealt with her long red hair by pushing it back with a matching black hair band.

She did a little twist in the mirror and grinned. Perfect. Never mind that her heart was absolutely pounding. She wondered if she'd be able to eat with her stomach flip-flopping the way it was. She was going to be like this in front of her dad? What would he think? What would he do?

"Never know till you find out," she said. She took a deep breath, grabbed her phone, and made for the stairs.

***

She hurried downstairs in her bare feet, trying to control her breath.

The kitchen was sunlit and warm -- something smelled good; her mother was making something in the oven, which made it warmer still. Her father sat in his normal place at the head of the table, back to her, coffee and newspaper in front of him. He still read a physical paper; his only concession, he said, to being old. That was all right with Becky. She found it charming.

Well, she figured, no sense in half-assing this.

"Good morning, Dad," she said as she stepped up behind him. She put her arms around him and hugged him from behind, kissing him on the cheek.

"Good morning, Rebecc-" her father stopped short as he realized how much of his daughter's flesh was pressed against him. He put a hand on her arm and twisted in his chair, looking her up and down appreciatively. She pulled away from the hug, and he slipped a warm hand around her bare waist.

"Good morning," he repeated, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. Becky felt a thrill at seeing his normally calm demeanor break a bit.

"How did you sleep?" she asked, swaying back and forth a little, letting him look at her. She found she liked the way he was looking at her.

"Very restful. And you?"

"Great, thanks."

"Sit down, dear," her mother said from the other side of the kitchen. "Breakfast is nearly ready."

She sat with a bright smile. Her body was still singing with nervousness, but she found she enjoyed the sensation. Her dad continued to admire her as she pulled up a chair to his right.

"So," he said, unable to take his eyes off her. "Is it laundry day?"

"It is," she said. "I got up this morning and just didn't have a thing to wear."

"Not too cold, are you, dear?" her mother asked.

"No, Mom, I'm fine." Oddly enough, she did feel fine. Not just fine -- thrilled. Oddly excited. More than a little naughty.

Marilyn brought breakfast: crepes, roasted vegetables, fresh fruit, coffee. Becky sat and ate happily, fully aware her father was stealing glances at her every chance he got. She did her best to make it easy for him: leaning back in her chair as she drank her coffee, stretching frequently, turning her chair to half-face him. He seemed to be enjoying it.

She wondered what came next. She supposed none of them really knew for sure, her mother's planning and organization aside.

Becky glanced across the table and caught her mother's eye. Her mother smiled and dropped a conspiratorial wink as she sipped her coffee. Apparently, she approved. Good.

Her father dug into his crepes. "So, what are your plans for today, Rebecca?"

"Job hunting, I guess?" Becky said. "Have to get that money."

"That's a good girl," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling into a smile. "My ambitious little beauty."

She hadn't expected the words "good girl" and "little beauty" to have an effect on her, but Becky suddenly found herself on the edge of swooning. Being exposed and semi-naked like this, having her father's eyes on her, hearing him compliment her like that -- it unlocked something inside her. She felt simultaneously afraid of it and eager to explore.

"What about you, Dad?" she asked.

He glanced her way again, clearly taking any excuse to look at her body, but never letting his gaze rest for long. "I think I'm going to relax and enjoy my Saturday."

"That sounds like a great idea." She stood, leaning into him and putting a hand on his shoulder. Her torso was only inches from his face. "Can I get you more coffee?"

"You may. Thank you, Rebecca."

Becky took his cup and sauntered to the coffee pot, making sure he could get a good view of her ass as she poured. Hers was a good ass. She did enough squats to know. When she returned, she gave him another kiss on the cheek as she placed it in front of him. She hoped she wasn't overdoing it.

They finished breakfast together, making some small talk, none of which Becky would remember afterward. She volunteered to clean up the dishes, rinsing them off and taking the opportunity to bend over frequently as she loaded the dishwasher.

As she closed the dishwasher and started it, her mother stepped up next to her and drew her into a one-armed hug. She leaned in close, her mouth right next to Becky's ear.

"You're doing great, honey. Perfect."

Becky felt her face get hot. She felt happy -- unreasonably happy, for the first time in a long time. She mouthed the words: thank you.

"Well, I'd better get to work... looking for work," she said, feeling a little lame, but deciding to let it go. She gave her dad another hug, a kiss on the cheek -- and then, impulsively, a kiss on the lips.

She'd sometimes wondered what it would be like to kiss her dad full on the lips. His angular cheekbones and sturdy bone structure sometimes made him look like he was made of stone -- but his lips were soft and yielding, his mustache and beard bristly but not too scratchy. She liked it.

He started a bit at her forwardness, but returned the kiss, then added another. His hand came up to caress the back of her neck briefly, then slipped away.

"Good luck, honey," he said.

She grinned. "Thank you, Daddy."

Becky turned and bounced her way upstairs, feeling giddy and sinful and thoroughly ridiculous.

***

Once upstairs, she felt a wave of relief and disappointment simultaneously. Being mostly naked in front of her father like that had been exhilarating -- but it had also been a performance. She was happy to have a little time to herself.

She sat at her desk and played on her tablet for a few minutes, giving her heart a chance to slow down. She had just begun to fully relax when a message came through from her mother.

[Becky,

You did very well at breakfast. Your father and I had a discussion, and he is very happy and excited to be starting this experiment with us. He was very aroused by seeing you this morning.

Your next assignment will take place later this afternoon. Your father has requested a little roleplaying scenario. I am going to hide the milk in the back of the fridge. When you come downstairs, he will accuse you of drinking it all. He will then punish you, over your protestations.

Do you accept?]

Becky read this with wide eyes, then burst into helpless giggles. It was a moment before she could gather herself enough to form a reply.

[What exactly do you mean by punish?]

She waited patiently, both eager and a little nervous to hear what the reply would be. After a short delay, it came back:

[Spanking and touching.]

Once again, Becky found herself both excited and disappointed. Though this whole scenario was still beyond bizarre, she was loving it so far -- and part of her had been hoping for a little more than a spanking. Still. It sounded like a blast.

[I accept], she replied. She waited for the read notification, then closed her phone.

"Wow," she said to herself. "I am through the fucking looking glass on this one."

It appeared she had a little time to kill. She picked up her tablet to actually look for some work. Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to stop obsessing about what would happen later that day.

***

Becky did look for work, but found the pickings very dry. She made a little progress on one of her pickup gigs -- never changing out of her black underwear -- but found herself getting bored and sleepy after awhile. She convinced herself she'd had a big enough morning that she'd earned a nap. She set her phone alarm for two hours, then put herself to bed.

The chilly afternoon light was bright and pale when she awoke. She crawled out of bed, grateful once again for her parents' preference for keeping the house tropically warm.

She checked her phone for any new messages, wondering if there was a particular time she was supposed to come downstairs for this little performance. There was nothing new from her mother. She supposed she would just have to wing it.

For the second time that day, she went downstairs in her underwear, trying to make a little noise to announce her arrival. She crossed the corridor from the stairs to the kitchen without looking in the living room. She heard the TV, but no conversation or other signs of life.

Becky made her way to the fridge and opened it up, looking for the milk in the door where it was always kept. It wasn't there. She wondered what exactly she was supposed to do next.

Then a rough hand closed around the back of her neck. She jumped, genuinely startled, a quiet gasp escaping her.

"Rebecca," her father's voice said sternly.

The combination of the controlling hand on her neck and the deep baritone of his voice aroused her instantly. She drew in a shuddering breath and froze.

"Yes, sir?" Should she have said "daddy"? Would that have been better? Shit.

"What did I tell you about the milk in the refrigerator?"

"To replace it, Daddy."

"That's right. What's it going to take for you to learn?"

"I don't know, Daddy." She nudged the fridge door shut with one hand as she stood, half bent over, in front of him. "I guess I need to be taught a lesson?"

She wondered if that was too corny, or just corny enough. But it seemed to have the desired effect. She heard a sharp intake of breath from him. Then his other hand moved to her waist and pushed her gently.

"Put your elbows on the counter, Rebecca." His hand still held her neck, and his deep voice rumbled through her.

Silently, she obeyed, bending down and spreading her hands on the counter top. She knew how she looked from this angle, and she arched her back a little to give him a good view of her ass.

Her father stepped up behind her, putting both hands on her waist. He caressed her there for a moment, and she savored the roughness of his hands on her. Then he hooked his thumbs through the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down with one stern tug.

Becky gasped again. Not that she hadn't been expecting it. But she was surprised at how turned on she was, about how much she liked where this was going. She felt dread and anticipation and excitement all at once, knotted into a tight ball of energy inside her, bright as a sun.

Her father's hands slid up her thighs to cup her ass for a moment. His hands were large, her ass small; they fit perfectly together.

Then he smacked her once, hard, on her left buttock. She yelped, fingers clutching at the smooth surface of the countertop. The stinging sensation radiated outward; down her legs, up her back.

Arousal flooded her brain like a nectar. She lowered her head and waited for the next slap. He swatted her again, on the other cheek this time, and she moaned out loud. Becky's anxiety melted away into nothing, vanishing into the depths of her mind as she gave herself over to her punishment.

The spanking continued, drawing out over minutes as her father paused -- cruelly, deliciously, letting her anticipation build -- before the next strike.

When it was over, her whole body tingled, her breath quick and heavy. She could almost feel the outline of his hands on her skin, hot and vivid.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said in a soft voice. "I'll do better."

"Oh, I'm not done with you yet," he said. She felt one hand touch the small of her back, holding her in place. The other slid down the swollen flesh of her buttocks, slowly, down between her legs.

Becky moaned softly as his fingers brushed against her labia. The touch sent jolts of sensation up her body, thick with taboo. Her father, touching her like this. Her, half-naked and shameless in front of him. She never wanted it to end.

They stayed that way for awhile; her bent over and helpless, his fingers stroking her slowly, in ever-more-intimate ways. When his fingers finally found her clitoris, Becky felt her thoughts washed away like a receding tide. She uttered a loud whimper, hands scrabbling for something to hold onto as he pleasured her.

"Daddy... oh fuck..."

"I told you not to be vulgar, Rebecca," he said, his mouth right next to her ear now.

"I'm s-s..." She never got to finish. Orgasm overtook her, and she was reduced to shivering moans, her whole body trembling as he made her come... once, then twice, rendering her senseless with his agile fingers.

When it was over, Becky lay with her chest pressed against the cold counter top, shuddering in the aftermath of her orgasm. Faintly, she felt her father pull her underwear back up and secure it around her waist.

"There," he said, satisfied. "I trust you've learned your lesson."

"Yes, Daddy," she said dutifully.

"Good." His hand stroked the bare small of her back for a moment -- and then he was gone.

Alone by herself in the kitchen, Becky suppressed an ecstatic giggle. It was early, but she had a feeling like this new arrangement was going to work out great.

***

Becky returned upstairs, feeling giddy and effervescent. She had a little difficulty going up the stairs: her knees were weak from the encounter. She all but collapsed onto the bed, lying face down and willing herself to relax.

She found she couldn't stop grinning. The absurd fiction they'd created for each other, the spanking and touching -- all of it. It felt forbidden and incandescently hot. She wanted more.

A half-hour ticked by as she lay there, ruminating on where this strange adventure would go next. Then her phone chirped. It was her mother.

[Becky,

Your father informs me he greatly enjoyed your encounter in the kitchen. He tells me you put on a wonderful performance and behaved exactly as he would like. Great job! He was very impressed with you.

Would you be up for another assignment later tonight?]

She grinned so hard her face began to ache.

[Yes], she answered. [I would love that.]

It seemed a little strange to give an enthusiastic response to her mother's precise, almost dry language, but it was what she felt.

Her mother's response came back:

[Good. Dinner is at five. Wear whatever you like.]

***

Becky distracted herself with a little more work before dinner time. Then she went to the second floor bathroom to shower, wash her hair, and tend to her hygiene. She didn't leave the door open, as her mother had suggested -- she needed to concentrate on making herself presentable.

Her father didn't interrupt her. She felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

As she shaved her legs, she thought about what she should wear to dinner. After all, this was the first night of their bold new experiment, and that made for a special occasion as far as she was concerned. She briefly considered wearing nothing at all -- just coming to the kitchen table naked, as if that were perfectly ordinary. But it felt like too much too soon. Underwear again? She knew he liked the sight of her that way. But she wanted to mix it up a little.

By the time she dried off and put her underwear back on, she had a pretty good idea of what to do.

When dinner time came, Becky came downstairs in a green sleeveless top, black skirt, black stockings, and heels. The skirt was short enough to attract interest without being scandalous. Becky was too flat-chested to muster much in the way of cleavage, but the top left enough to keep things interesting without seeming too slutty.

As she descended the stairs and crossed into the kitchen, she smelled something good -- chicken and roasted vegetables, from the looks of it. Her father sat at his usual place at the table. Both of them turned to look at her as she sat.

"Don't you look beautiful?" her dad said. Becky grinned and blushed.

"Thank you, Dad."

"You look very elegant, dear," Marilyn said, sliding a plate in front of her.

They sat and ate. The conversation was the usual dinner table fare -- current events, recaps of TV shows her parents had already seen, some article her mother had read in her lifestyle magazine. Becky's father glanced at her now and again to admire her, and she enjoyed the attention, at least as much as she had that morning. Beyond the validation she felt from both of them, it also felt good to put some effort into her appearance again. Living at home and having no office to go to meant she could work with her hair in a ponytail and wear sweatpants every day if that was what she wanted -- but it felt good to get dressed up.

Maybe her and her dad could go on a date. She found the idea both ridiculous and thrilling, and smiled helplessly.

"You're certainly in good spirits," her mother said. "I trust you had a productive afternoon?"

"Very," Becky said, glancing at her father. She wriggled a little in her seat, feeling the faint traces of the spanking she'd received.

The rest of the meal continued without incident. Becky found herself occasionally blushing as she looked over her mother's shoulder and saw the counter next to the kitchen where her father had spanked her and brought her to orgasm. Was she going to permanently associate going to the fridge with sex now? What a thought.

She noticed him glancing over at her every once in a while, a smile creasing one corner of his mouth. Despite being satisfied earlier, she felt at least as turned on as before, and wondered if he had done anything to relieve his frustration.

If not, she thought, maybe she would get a chance to fix that later tonight.

Becky finished her dinner faster than her parents -- they both ate slowly, and she was a ball of nervous energy from the strange events of the day. She got up, and cleared her dishes.