Chapter 1: Dressing Room Submision

“You take care of your father and be a good girl, Melody,” my mother said as she stood in the doorway of our house, her the tight, gold necklace glinting about her throat. She always wore it. The thin chain kept the heart-shaped locket pressed to the hollow of her throat. Her braid of brown hair fell off her right shoulder and down the front of her conservative dress. My mom always wore the most conservative dress. She was such a fifties housewife, staying at home, keeping everything clean, being subservient to dad.

Like always subservient. She would fetch him beers when he watched TV after work and always made sure his coffee was topped off during breakfast. Every day when he came home from work, Mom would be waiting for him, ready to take his jacket and massage his feet.

And she did it with a smile on her face. She loved my dad. And I didn’t blame him. He was a handsome man, tall, dark-haired, and muscular. Sometimes he made my fourteen-year-old body ache with desires and I would have to masturbate in my room hoping my twin sister Alice didn’t notice.

Now Alice and I weren’t identical twins but fraternal. We looked as much alike as any other normal set of sisters. She was taller and slimmer than I was but my breasts were bigger and my hair finer. It fell in a similar braid to my mother’s down my back, almost the same shade of brown.

“Mom, we’re going to be late,” Alice shouted from the car, her head shoved through, her bushy, tawny hair spilling about her delicate face. We both inherited Mom’s small nose and delicate cheekbones, making us look fragile and innocent.

“In a moment, dear,” my mom shouted, always full of patience. She turned to me and stroked my hair. “While I’m gone it will be up to you to take care of him, okay. Be obedient and a good girl. I know you will be. You love being a good girl for your daddy.”

My cheeks warmed. Ever since I realized that my dad was a muscular hunk beneath the dress shirts he wore for his office job, I found myself wanting to do whatever he said, running errands, fetching him drinks, doing things Mom normally did for him so I could be around him. It made my heart almost float out of my chest when I did.

I just wanted to be close to my dad. I was a daddy’s girl, but so were lots of my friends. My friends, including my best friend Sun, were all jealous that I had the cutest dad.

Alice, on the other hand, was a brat. I was glad she was going with Mom to Grandma’s. Three weeks of just me and Dad while Mom helped Grandma adjust after Grandpa’s hip surgery. I could have gone, but it was my choice to stay.

And I would get to spend so much time with Daddy. So of course I declined. It was so boring at Grandma’s. I loved her and Grandpa, I did, but there was nothing to do there but be board. They barely had internet and no cable, just rabbit ears on a black and white TV.

“I’ll be good for Dad,” I smiled.

She sighed. “You don’t call him Daddy anymore. I get it, you’re getting older, but it always made him happy when you call him Daddy.”

“It does?” I asked, a hot thrill shooting through me. Daddy. It felt so naughty to call him that at my age. I squirmed my hips, my nipples hardening in my bra.

She nodded her head. “Now you be good. Do everything he tells you. Fourteen is not too old to be spanked over your father’s knee.”

I blushed. Once, I had seen Dad spanking Mom a few weeks ago. They were in their bedroom, but the door had been cracked. It was Saturday and my sister and I were supposed to be weeding the garden. I slipped in to change my clothes—my tight shorts were proving impractical to moving—and heard the slaps. At first, I thought dad was hurting her until I glimpsed her face.

Mom loved to be spanked.

The image rose in my mind. My mother naked, her large breasts pressing against Dad’s muscular thigh, her round bottom red and wiggling as he slammed his broad hand on her flesh. Her head had risen with each spanking, her toes curling. I caught a glimpse between her legs. She was shaved and looked so youthful. And with her hair braided, she seemed more like a little girl being spanked by her daddy than a wife playing with her husband.

I had only watched for a minute before I was so afraid I ran. I burst into my bedroom, shoved my hands down my shorts, and rubbed at my pussy lips. I was so wet. I had never masturbated with such a frenetic need as I pictured Dad’s muscular chest, covered in barbwire tattoos, rippling as he drew back his arm and spanked me.

“Melody,” my mother said, bringing me out of my fantasy. “You are going to behave, right?”

“I’ll be Daddy’s good girl,” I smiled.

“Good.” Dad’s voice rumbled behind me.

Startled, I let out a squeak and turned around, my hands clasped before me as Dad, wearing a plain, white t-shirt that molded to his muscles, walked up. Mom lowered her head and clasped her hands before her. Dad stopped before her, ignoring me, and raised her chin.

“Dear,” Mom said, “Melody has promised to take care of you while I am gone. I hope she will be a satisfactory replacement.”

“Once I have her trained,” Dad answered, his thumb brushing her cheeks.

“Good.” A smile played on Mom’s lips. “Then, with your permission, dear, I would like to go and visit my parents.”

“Granted.”

Permission? Why did Mom need permission?

Dad seized Mom’s lips in a kiss. My eyes widened at the unbridled passion. Mom shuddered, her eyes closed while Dad owned her lips. He still held her chin as he kissed her. She moaned, her hips shuddering, her hands squeezed tight together. And then he broke it. Mom took a deep breath, her cheeks flushed.

“I love you, dear.”

Dad nodded, his thumb still caressing her cheek, an intimate touch. Wild thoughts of Dad touching me like that spilled through my mind. A heat ignited between my thighs, wet, molten passion. The urge to run upstairs and masturbate seized me as Dad patted Mom’s ass as she walked away, a laugh on her lips and a saucy look in her eyes.

They were so affectionate.

“Well,” Dad said, staring down at me. He cupped my chin and lifted my eyes. Would he kiss me now? “It is just me and you. Your Mother promises me you will behave.”

“Of course ... Daddy.”

His lips twitched, a smile almost forming. “Good.” He kissed me on my forehead instead of my lips. My flesh burned where he touched me. I shuddered. “Go fetch me a beer, the game’s about to start.”

“Yes, Daddy.” My heart beat in my chest as I turned and raced to the kitchen.

I thought I felt Dad’s eyes on my ass. I wore an old pair of jeans—I was supposed to go school shopping with Mom and Alice tomorrow—and they were tight. They hugged my rear and legs. I had grown since I bought them.

I hoped he was watching. It made me feel so womanly. Mom was gone. It was my place to be the woman of the house and make sure the man was taken care of.

My teachers at school would be horrified. Especially Ms. Gardner and Mrs. Thompson. They were always talking about how women didn’t have to serve men and being a housewife was “internalized misogyny.” But it was nice to serve. It made me happy.

What was so wrong with that?

Nothing.

Of course, I never contradicted my teachers. And I never told them about my mother. She was almost straight out of the ancient TV show that sometimes appeared on Nickelodeon late at night—Leave it to Beaver. But she wasn’t faking her happiness. She was always humming and singing as she cooked or clean.

“Your father earns the money and provides for us,” she would say, “and he works hard to do it. So I work just as hard at home making our life pleasant. Your father appreciates what I do, and I appreciate what he does. We compliment each other.”

Hearing her say it made it sound like the most romantic thing in the world.

My head buzzed with images of me being Daddy’s wife. Cooking and cleaning, waiting for him to come home, then I would massage his feet after his hard day while we talked. They always laughed when Mom massaged his feet. It was their private time. Alice and I were banished to our bedrooms or elsewhere during it.

I brought the beer to Daddy.

“Thank you, Melody,” he said, taking it and giving me a nod.

“You’re welcome, Daddy,” I smiled.

He patted the arm of his recliner while the announcer called the baseball game. The Mariners were playing the A’s, and the first pitch had just been thrown. I sat on the chair’s arm and leaned back, Daddy’s arm going around my waist.

It was wonderful. I smiled, loving being near him even if it meant watching a boring baseball game. Twice more he sent me to get him another beer. I returned with his drink and diet cokes for myself. I even started getting into the game, and when the Mariners won, Daddy hugged me to his chest.

He smelled so manly. The hot itch returned to me. I squirmed, my cheeks burning, suddenly so embarrassed. “I have to go make dinner, Daddy.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” He kissed me on the forehead.

I crawled off the recliner, my thighs squeezed tight. I really did have to start dinner, but I wanted to masturbate so badly. “Daddy, Mom was supposed to take me clothing shopping tomorrow.”

“I’ll take you.” his eyes fell on mine. So strong. “But you won’t buy anything without my approval.”

Part of me wanted to revolt. What did my dad know about clothes? He would probably try to dress me like Mom. Long skirts, loose blouses, nothing to show off my growing body. I liked to dress in tight jeans, short shorts, and daring skirts. But I had promised to be a good girl for Daddy.

“Okay, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” he smiled.

My heart thudded for joy.

I was so tired the next morning. I couldn’t sleep last night. Thoughts of taking over all of Mom’s duties for Daddy filled my thoughts. I had rubbed my poor pussy raw masturbating last night. But I couldn’t stop. The idea gripped me. Massaging his feet, stripping him naked, laying beneath him as he pumped his cock in and out of me.

I knew about sex. Several of my friends had had sex, and they told me all about how disappointing the boys were the first times. “I wish I had a man do it,” they all said. “Someone older and sexier. Like your Dad, Melody.”

“I would totally let your dad pop my cherry,” Sun had giggled.

“Older men know how to get the job done,” Tiffany had proclaimed. “Trust me.”

“Every girl knows it,” agreed Donna. “But good luck finding an older man that isn’t a perv. He needs to be perfect. I bet your Dad would be perfect. Maybe I should spend the night.”

I had said no. There was no way I was letting Donna near my dad, not with the hungry look in her eye.

Now my thoughts were consumed with him. We were all alone. Three times I stood up and walked to my bedroom door, set on walking down the hall and slipping into bed with Daddy. But it was also so scary. I wanted him so badly, but incest was wrong. He wouldn’t want to sleep with me and cheat on Mom.

He was a good man not a pervert.

The third time I had stood at my door, gripping the nub, my stomach twisting. I listened. The house was so quiet. I strained to hear him in his bedroom. I imagined him awake, burning with desires for me, waiting for me to come and perform Mom’s wifely duties with him.

But I chickened out and ran back to my bed. And then masturbated to another orgasm.

I almost overslept and forgot to make Daddy breakfast. But I remembered at the last minute and rushed downstairs wearing only my thin nightgown. I whipped up Sunday breakfast and had it ready when Daddy came down at his usual 8 AM.

It was after breakfast he took me to the mall. I held his arm as we walked through the mall. I noticed the other girls and women who looked at them and a prideful surge went through him. He was desired but he was mine.

Until Mom got back.

I led Daddy to the first store, pulling him past the shoplifting detectors and into the vibrant clothing store. Everywhere I looked were frilly, feminine items. Daddy was the opposite of it all, standing tall, muscular, hunky.

“I only want you to buy skirts,” Daddy said. “I like my girls in skirts.”

“Is that why Mom never wears jeans or pants?”

Daddy nodded. “And you’re at that age where you should do the same.”

“But long skirts, like Mom? Hers are so boring.”

A smile crossed his lips. “Sweetheart, buy the shortest, tightest skirts you want. You have gorgeous legs. Let Daddy see them.”

Heat rushed up my legs. “Yes, Daddy,” I squeaked then turned away, my cheeks on fire. Daddy wanted to see my legs. I wish I was wearing a skirt right now instead of stupid shorts.

There were so many wonderful skirts. Short tennis skirts, pleated skirts, pencil skirts, flowery skirts, knee-length skirts, mid-thigh skirts, even shorter ones. I felt so daring when I grabbed on of those, imagining it only falling past my rear and not much else. It would show off so much of my legs. Daddy didn’t complain as I handed him another skirt to hold. He threw them over his muscular arms, a patient smile on his lips as he glanced at what I bought.

I liked flashy skirts with bright colors, drawing the eye.

And then I had to find blouses to go with them. We headed across the store where I snagged halter tops, peasant blouses, V-necks, scoop necks, baby doll t-shirts, belly shirts. With each one I considered which bottom it would go with, making my outfit plans. This top could go with three different skirts, bu this one only went with one. I took the top that could match three skirts.

Variety. I needed to mix up my clothing. I couldn’t wear the same outfit combinations all the time.

With a dozen blouses and skirts chosen, I headed into the back for the changing rooms. “I can’t wait to see how pretty you look,” Daddy said as I closed the door.

My cheeks blushed. I looked out the louvered slats. I could sort of see through them from my side, glimpsing his legs in his blue jeans while I pulled off the t-shirt I wore. A sudden surge of excitement went through me as I wiggled out of my shorts.

I was almost naked in here and Daddy was just on the other side.

I grabbed a knee-length skirt and a halter top that went well with it, adjusting my bra. I would have to get a strapless bra to wear with the halter top, my straps were too obvious. I stared at myself in the mirror, turning, loving how my braid of dark-brown hair fell down my back, almost reaching the soft swell of my rear. The skirt fell lovely across my butt. I shifted my hips, loving how the hem swayed about my legs.

“You dressed yet?”

“Coming, Daddy,” I giggled. “You need to be patient when girls are trying on clothing.”

“I’m not good at patience. I like to take what I want.”

A hot wave rushed through me. I almost said, “You can take me, Daddy,” but that would be absolutely stupid.

I stepped out, standing before him, suddenly so afraid. What if he hated it. His arms folded before him, his eyes studying me as I fidgeted. I played with my fingers before him, wishing he would say something.

“Straighten your back,” he said. “And turn around. Let me get a good look at you.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I said, my spine snapping straight. Then I turned, putting a little sway into my hips to really make the skirt swirl. “Do you ... like it, Daddy?”

“The skirt’s a little long,” he said, “but your top is great. We’ll need to get you a strapless bra. Unless you already own one?”

“I don’t, Daddy.”

“We’ll fix that.”

I swallowed then reached for the door and opened it. I slipped in. Only the door didn’t close behind me right away. I turned and gasped as Daddy stood in there with me, his arms folded, his eyes on me as I clutched the next top.

“Well, this will be faster,” he nodded, his eyes rolling up and down my body. “You won’t have to keep coming and going.”

“I ... I don’t think it’s allowed for you to be in here, Daddy,” I trembled.

“I don’t care.” His eyes were so dark and commanding. “Now change. Show me your next lovely outfit.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I hastened to obey him. I pulled off the halter top. I felt so naked in just my bra, cupping my round breasts. My nipples were so hard, poking at the front. I don’t know why. I had worn my bikini around Daddy before and it showed just as much flesh. I wiggled out of my skirt, bending over to step out of it and pointing my panty-clad rear at Daddy.

“Cute pair,” he said. “Black. I like them.”

“Black? What...” My panties. My cheeks burned even more and the hot itch between my thighs swelled. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re growing up so fast.”

I straightened and pulled on a red, V necked blouse and turned to face him.

His cock bulged the front of his jeans. I froze, half-pulling on the top, my right arm through the sleeve, my left arm searching for the armhole. I sucked in a deep breath. Daddy was turned on right now.

I turned him on.

“Keep changing,” he ordered. “Don’t stop. I need to approve all your outfits.”

“D-do you approve all of Mom’s?”

“Why do you think I take her shopping? Your mother dresses to please me. She’s a good girl. And I know you want to be just like her, another good girl for Daddy.”

“I do,” I whispered. I pulled the top over my head and pulled my braid out the back. Then I grabbed a jean skirt I thought would be quite cute with this top. I stepped into the skirt, pulling it up my hips. It was tight. I sucked in a breath to get it up over me and then zipped up the side. It fell to my mid-thigh, a few artfully worn through spots showing off my pale thighs beneath.

Daddy nodded his head as I turned. “Now bend over,” he ordered. “Touch your toes.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I knew I had to do it with my ass facing him. I bent over, the skirt sliding up my thighs, revealing more and more of my flesh. I almost wished it was short enough to flash my panties at Daddy. The hot itch between my legs grew even hotter. I had to be wet, my panties soaking up my excitement.

I wanted to escape to a bathroom and masturbate.

“D-do you like them?” A tremble ran through me.

“They are perfect. You have great taste in clothing.” His hand stroked my bare thigh right beneath the hem of my skirt. I shuddered and moaned, the blood rushing to my head as I stayed bent over. What was he doing. “Just perfect. Okay, try on the next.”