Chapter 2

I lay quietly for a long time, trying to regulate my breathing and remembering the feel of my father’s hands on my skin. Then my hand slipped down my body until my fingers touched where I wished he had. I am so fucked, I thought to myself. I slipped a finger between my slick wet labia. I am so unbelievably fucked. I let my fingertip brush lightly over my swollen clit, aching with need. I was so turned on by the spanking, and it turned him on, and then he gave me that massage-like lotion treatment, which felt really good, and now I’m so horny I can’t stand it.

I pushed a finger inside myself, gasping softly. He spanked Mom, and she called him Daddy. My hips pushed down against my hand and I muffled a long moan into the pillow. I rubbed my clit, my hips bucking against my hand. He called her a slut, and then he called me a slut. And then I came, my cries only partially muffled by the pillow, as the biggest orgasm of my life wracked my body.

Afterwards, I lay there, boneless and unmoving and wondering why I wanted to be a slut for my own father. Then I heard him going down the stairs.

Crap. Had he been up here? Did he hear me?

I’d been sure my day couldn’t get any more humiliating. I’d been wrong.

I didn’t want to go to the stupid party anymore, but, after lying on the bed for an hour, I forced myself to get up.

My brand-new dress was a wrinkled mess, so I took a shower while I thought over my wardrobe options. Jeans and a T-shirt? Safe but dull. Short skirt and crop top? Slutty, and I wasn’t. Okay, I was, but only for my Daddy if he really thought about me that way. I stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and practically ran into him.

“Oops, sorry, Pam.”

“My fault,” I said, taking a small step back.

“Aren’t you going to the party?”

“Yes, but I kinda messed up my new dress. I have to figure out what to wear.”

“Oh, right. Can I be of any help?”

I looked up at him in surprise. “Er ... sure, I guess.”

He stepped to the side, waving his arm gallantly.

I walked back to my bedroom, conscious, as I had never been before, of how short a towel was when it was wrapped around my torso. It was amazing how quickly our dynamic had changed, in the space of only twenty-four hours, just because my fucking AirPods had died.

“So, what are the options?” he asked, pulling out my chair and sitting down like a panel member on America’s Got Talent.

“Ummm ... wrinkled new dress,” I said, waving a hand at the once-beautiful and quite expensive dress on my bed.

“My bad,” he said, looking sheepish. “I could iron that for you, if you’d like.”

It was a kind offer, but it didn’t solve the problem. The dress didn’t need just an iron, it needed washing, too, because I had masturbated while wearing it and gotten girl-cum on it. “It’s okay, I have other choices.”

“Okay. Next?”

“Jeans and a T-shirt, safe but boring.”

“Yeah, maybe a bit less boring with the right bra, though.” He winked at me.

I stared at him. It was a damn good point, but I hadn’t expected my Daddy to make it.

“Er ... moving on ... short skirt and crop top says too slutty, right?”

He lifted one hand and made a so-so see-saw motion. “Depends on who is there, I guess, and how short the skirt is. Back burner?”

It was a fair point. “Sure. Ummm ... that was as far as I got.”

“Hmmm, okay. Summer party, right? Haven’t you got those denim shorts?”

Well, yes, I did have them, but they were ... kinda short shorts. “Yes ... and arguably better than a short skirt, I suppose. But with what?”

“White button-down shirt?”

I made a face. “Daddy, it’s not an office party.”

He gave me a hungry-looking grin that I’d not seen from him before; Mom probably had, and it made my stomach flip-flop. “That’s because you’re thinking about it all wrong. You fasten, like, two buttons. Then you tie the rest of the shirt underneath in a knot. Voila, chic and relaxed aesthetic, perfect for summer, that looks awesome with denim shorts and shows your class.”

I blinked my blue eyes at him. “That ... could work.”

He nodded. “Go on, then, show me.”

Wait, what? “Wait, what?”

“Show me,” he repeated, settling back into the chair with I’m not going anywhere body language.

“Now?”

“Yes, now. The party is soon, isn’t it?”

The party was soon, but still. “Ummm ... I’m naked under this towel.”

“Yes, one typically comes out of a shower that way. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, and recently, for that matter.”

Damn, that’s true. I pulled the knot on the towel, letting it fall open, and threw it on the bed. I was naked before my Dad for the third time in two days. I realized I could’ve readied the clothes before dispensing with the towel, but I hadn’t, and now I had to get them out, naked, with him watching. I turned and pulled open my underwear drawer; that was the safest place to start.

“Are you going to bother with underwear?” he asked.

I hesitated, a pair of panties in my hands. “Do you think I shouldn’t?”

He shrugged. “Entirely up to you.”

The shorts really were very short. If I went commando under them, there was a chance I could flash anyone who happened to catch the right angle. I stepped into the panties and pulled them up my legs, and it felt very strange to be doing so while my Daddy watched me.

I was definitely going to wear a bra; with the shirt approach he’d suggested, to not do so would be tempting the fates. I pulled one out.

“You don’t have to wear a bra either if you don’t want to,” he said.

I glanced at him in shock. “Ummm ... I think I will, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” He nodded graciously.

I pulled on the matching bra, fastening it behind me, and now I was dressed in just underwear before him. Not that dissimilar to a bikini – in fact, this set covered more than the bikini had – but we were in my bedroom, and that somehow added an extra level of intimacy. I found the shorts and pulled them on, feeling them snug around my ass and hips and tight across my mons. He watched me the whole time. I had the perfect shirt for this, maybe the one he’d had in mind. It was an older style, with a broad collar and a distressed, wrinkled effect, and it draped loosely and sat well when I tied the knot across my midriff.

There was a mirror inside my closet door, and I regarded myself critically.

“This outfit needs a pair of high heels,” he said, “but I know you have those.”

I had several pairs of shoes that would do, and he was right; the extra height would show my legs off better. I got up onto my toes and looked into the mirror, and the effect instantly lifted the entire outfit. I pulled out a pair of ankle-strap pumps with even higher heels than the sandals I’d worn to go shopping and stepped into them.

“Personally, I think you should lose the bra.”

“Really?” I asked, looking at my reflection. The bra was visible, but, if I took it off, I would risk flashing everyone at the party. The shirt was quite loose across my breasts, and, with most of the buttons undone, my breasts might be visible.

“Mmm hmm. You have perfect breasts; they don’t need a bra.”

I turned to him, momentarily speechless, his words shocking me again. “You ... you think I have perfect breasts?”

He smiled at me. “I’m sure every father would say such a thing to his daughter; I just happen to be the lucky one for whom it’s also true.”

I had no idea if every father said such things. “Even so, I think I’ll keep it on; I don’t want to be thought of...” I trailed off, blushing.

“As a slut?” he finished for me with one eyebrow raised.

I nodded, and he spread his arms open to me. I moved to him, and he pulled me onto his lap. “I don’t think you’re a slut,” he murmured, wrapping me against his hard chest, “despite what I said earlier. You can go commando if you like, too. I don’t mind; do what makes you happy.”

“I didn’t mind you calling me a slut,” I said, leaning my head against him.

“Did you mind me spanking you?” he asked, a playful note in his voice.

I considered that question. Did I mind? No, not really. Had I liked it? Judging by how my body reacted, I obviously had. But there were a lot of scary possibilities down that road, so I settled for a neutral response. “It hurt,” I said petulantly, and stuck my bottom lip out.

He chuckled, a deep masculine sound. “Well, be back by midnight, young lady, or we’ll be going for round two.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He drove us in my Mom’s car and dropped me off at the party.

Be back by midnight, young lady, or we’ll be going for round two. Those words had intrigued me ever since he’d uttered them. They were such a temptation. I pushed my thighs together at the thought of again being draped naked across his lap, his hands on my skin, spanking, rubbing, stroking. Fuck, I need to get laid, or at least get off.

“You all right, girlfriend? You look ... distracted.”

I smiled at Janey. “I’m fine. It’s been a busy weekend.” Life-changing busy.

She hooked her arm in mine. “Well, you look sexy as fuck. Let’s go tease some boys.” She giggled at me. “In that outfit, you’ll have them drooling over you!”

The time passed agonizingly slowly, not least because I glanced at the clock every five minutes. Be back by midnight ... like Cinderella, and did she ever get spanked by the Prince? The story hadn’t included that. I seem to have developed a spanking fetish. Just like my Mom, apparently, getting spanked by Daddy.

As the evening wore on, I oscillated every few minutes between wanting to deliberately be late and wanting to ensure I was back on time. I still didn’t understand why being spanked had turned me on, but I wanted to find out whether it would happen again. Would it turn him on again too? I wondered. He got hard when he spanked me the first time; maybe that’s why he spanks Mom. Of course, based on what I overheard, she likes it too.

I’d originally thought he spanked me out of anger and the punishment had been so physical because he’d wanted to hurt me for scaring him. But now I was really unsure; this Cinderella-like noise didn’t make sense to me in the same way. So, in my mind, there were only two possibilities. One was that his comment was a throw-away quip, nothing he was actually serious about. The other was that he’d meant it because he wanted an excuse to spank me again.

Then, around 10:30, while I was listening to some guy explain to Janey why he was God’s gift to women, I had an epiphany. I couldn’t see him getting all that angry over me being half an hour late, so if it was just a quip, and I turned up exactly at 12:30, he’d be like no-dessert-for-a-week kind of upset. But if he wanted an excuse to spank me, I’d have given him one, and if he spanked me, it would be because he wanted to. So I could test my theories by being late getting home.

I made small talk for another hour, nursing an orange juice the whole time. I didn’t want to go home drunk; I wanted to be aware of everything that happened.

By 11:30 I couldn’t take it any longer. I said my goodbyes to Janey and went out front to wait another thirty minutes before calling for a ride. It was peaceful there, and the quiet of the night gave me time to think. What will I do if he spanks me again? What will I do if I get back home and he’s gone to bed already? Oh, God, please not that. Anything but that. At least let me find out where I stand with this!

That was the beauty of my plan. Assuming he wasn’t asleep, he’d either be pissed and I’d get a mundane, boring punishment and maybe a lifetime of regret that nothing else happened, or he’d feign being pissed and I’d get a hot naked spanking, followed by ... what? But at least I’d know.

On the dot of midnight I called for an Uber. Fuck you, Daddy. Cinderella is a bad girl. Whatcha gonna do about it?

My ride pulled up outside my house at 12:25. I gave the driver the twenty dollars Daddy had given me, took a deep breath, and slid my key into the lock.

There were no lights on downstairs. Then the small lamp in the living room flicked on, and he was sitting on the sofa glaring at me. “I’m pretty damn sure I said midnight, young lady.”

Thank God. Okay, Part A done, he’s not asleep. Now for Part B of my plan – get the outcome I want.

“I’m not a little kid any more, Daddy,” I said, nonchalantly as I lifted first one foot then the other, unbuckling and then slipping off my high heels. “It’s, like, twenty-six minutes difference. So what?”

“You’ll talk to me with respect under my own roof, young lady. When I said midnight I meant midnight.”

“Yeah, well, sorry. There was a delay on the Uber.”

The kitchen was on the far side of the living room. I had to walk through it – past him – to get there.

“Bullshit.” He was up before I was halfway across, standing in my way. I stopped, looking up at him. He was radiating anger; I could almost feel it coming off him like some tangible sense of warmth. “What did I say would happen if you were late?” he growled at me.

Fuck, this is it. “I don’t remember, okay? Sorry I was late. I’m going to go to bed –”

“I said, ‘we’ll be going for round two’.”

Oh, yeah, like I hadn’t replayed those words in my mind fifty times over the past four hours. “Did you?”

“You know damn well I did.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Fine. So what’s round two?”

“You know damn well what it is.”

“I’m tired, Daddy, humor me.” Say it. I want to hear you say it.

He didn’t say it. Instead, I watched as he walked to the sofa and sat down in the middle of it. My heart jumped to see him sitting there, exactly where he had earlier. He still didn’t say anything, he merely waved one hand over his lap.

“You want a blanket?” I asked.

“You’re pushing me, young lady,” he growled, “and I’m going to make you regret it. Get your ass over here right now.”

Finally. Now I know. Part B achieved. “Are you going to spank me, Daddy?” I asked, my voice suddenly small, with none of the sass I’d given him just a moment before.