Daughter in Charge Ch. 05

I did get to work on time, but that wasn't what I was going to say when I got home. I'd say that I was five minutes late clocking in, and that the manager glared at me. Oh, how I do love planting such seeds! Dad would know that I was lying, but there was nothing he could do or say about it. Ha!

When I returned from work, Mom was tending to the marigolds by the pool. It was a warm and breezy afternoon.

"Hi, Mom." I said, putting my bag onto one of the chairs there. "How'd your day go?"

"Hello, honey. Oh... it was pleasant enough." She held up a hand.

"Like my nails?" she said. They were painted a cheery 'bubble gum' pink.

"Very nice." I said. And they were, but I had other things to talk about.

"So, about this morning, Mom. Dad really screwed up, didn't he?"

"I'll say. The bozo. It's because he gets nervous trying to do everything perfectly."

"I wasn't late for work, but I could have been." I said.

"He has no right putting you in a stressful situation like that." Mom said. "I don't know. I guess all we can do is to keep training him."

"I agree, Mom. Hey, how about if I tell Robbie that I was late anyway? That would get his attention."

"Yes. He'll know that he'll be getting stripes on his ass."

"Exactly, Mom. And I do need the practice."

"You're doing just fine with the belt, dear." Mom said encouragingly. "Still, practice makes perfect."

"Where's Dad now?" I said, eager to break the 'fake news' to him and watch him squirm.

"He's in the basement ironing. I gave him some of your cotton tops to do, too. Didn't think you'd mind."

"No, not at all. Thanks. I was drawing up a list of things for him to do, and that was on it." I said, taking off my shoes and letting my feet dangle in the water.

"You know, Mom, Robbie is a good worker. Everything I've told him to do so far, he's performed well." I said, feeling the luxurious sensation that I suppose everyone who owns a devoted slave feels.

Mom straightened up from her work.

"As far as all this domestic work goes, he's a treasure, Jen. Think about it? We do practically nothing around here besides telling your father what to do next."

"It's so cool." I said, concurring all the way. "When I'm at work, I sometimes try to think up new things for him to do." I said, giving Mom a sisterly smile.

"He's developed some real skills by now. We could rent him out as a chambermaid to someone!" Mom said, and we both got a belly laugh out of that.

"But we mustn't neglect the fun aspects of it all." Mom continued. "Oh, I know it's wonderful the way he services us. I think you'll agree."

"Hell, yeah, Mom. Dad's got to be an some kind of asslicking champion. Geez. I'm just getting so used to having it whenever I like."

"That's what he's there for, hon." Mom assured me.

"But beyond that, Jen. There are other ways to use your father for our enjoyment." Mom said.

"Any ideas, Mom?"

"Well - and this is something I've been cooking up for awhile, I have an idea for a game."

"Hmmm, Go on." I said, intrigued.

"I was driving in the alley behind Lucy's Market, you know, where they keep their dumpster - their delivery entrance. One of the clerks there had a cart with boxes of old vegetables and fruit in them, and he was about to throw them into the dumpster. I saw an opportunity. I told him I was a gardener, and that what he was about to toss out would be most welcome in my compost bin."

"Compost bin?"

Well, I just made that up. Now, here's where the game comes in." Mom said, and we put our heads together and came up with a fun-filled plan.

After an hour or so, we went to the basement to see what progress Robbie was making with his duties. He was at the ironing board wearing one of those elastic, terrycloth headbands. On a rod to the side were the many articles of our clothing perfectly ironed, some crisp with starch. Dad fell to his knees when we came down the stairs, and cast his eyes downward.

"Well, Robert, you've been busy."

"Yes, dear. I'm almost done. Then I'll hang them in your closets. Oh, Jen, dear, I saw that some of your dressy shoes could use a polishing. May I do that for you?"

'May I do that for you?" Mom and I heard an awful lot of that line, too. It's what we told him to say when he was offering a service.

"Yeah, go ahead. And don't go snooping around in my closet, freak." I said, giving him a hard stare. It was amusing to watch him get nervous and wither when I put my foot down with him.

"No, no! I didn't! just happened to notice, dear. It just caught my eye, Jennifer. Really, I..." Dad continued to blather.

All right, all right. Put a lid on it, shit head." I said. I noticed that Dad had turned slightly pale when I confronted and scolded him. The sign of a well-controlled slave. Old Dad was afraid of me! Yes!!

"Put this stuff away, Robert." Mom said, "Then bring the tarp from the garage."

"Yes, dear." Dad said. He began to carefully gather the hangered clothes and bring them upstairs.

While Dad was gone, we busied ourselves with our plans. Mom found a box of latex gloves on a shelf, and we each put on a pair. Then Mom went to the back porch where she had left the old fruits and vegetables. She came lugging the box down the stairs, and I rushed to help.

"Wow, Mom! Sure got a shitload of stuff here. Hmmmm." I said, going gingerly over the contents. There were baskets of overripe strawberries covered in mold, oozing tomatoes, onions and potatoes soft with rot. The list went on. It really put out a stink!

We placed the box on the folding table, and began to lay out the scene. Robbie came down the stairs with the big tarp. It was about 15x15 feet. Mom oversaw him as he tacked one edge of the tarp high on the wall across from the table. This left plenty of tarp on the floor.

"Robert, stop fussing with that. It's fine." Mom said. "Now go upstairs and put on your outfit."

Of course, the outfit was: his big polkadot hair bow, his pink bunny slippers, and his most conservative (and expensive) necktie. I called after him when he reached the stairs.

"Oh, Dad. look in my panty drawer. There's something there I bought for you thatI want you to wear."

"Yes, Jen." Dad said, and hurried off.

While he was gone, we put on aprons to protect our clothing. We were ready for action!

Soon, Dad descended the stairs, and Mom just went into immediate hysterics.

"Good lord! Jennifer, you have really done it this time. My, my!" Mom said, looking over Robbie. He certainly looked like some kind of pathetic clown. The fake nose and eyeglasses really tied the outfit together. One glimpse, and all you could say is: Here, without question, is the biggest loser on the planet. It was beautiful.

Mom was still laughing as she guided Robert to where he would stand for our playtime.

She positioned him squarely in the middle of the tarp backdrop.

"Now, Robert, we would like to hear you sing a song for us in that lovely tenor voice of your's." Mom said. "What would you like to sing?"

"O, well..." Dad began, seeming confused about having a say-so about anything.

"I know." I said. "How about 'The Impossible Dream!" I said, with no small degree of irony. Imagine - a docile loser, a weak-kneed asskisser, singing words of bravery and steely resolve. How perfect was that?

"Excellent choice, Jennifer." Mom said, returning to stand at my side at the table. Some of the food in the box was close to falling apart, especially the tomatoes, and we had to lift them from the box carefully.

"You may begin, Robert." Mom declared. Dad began to sing. He gestured as he did, which made it all the more laughable. Sweeping, emotive gestures. You'd think he was playing to a ballpark. Hmmm. Not a bad voice!

It was somewhere around '...to fight the unbeatable foe' when my first handful of tomato got Robbie squarely in the face. Splat! It was gorgeous. It caught him while he had his mouth open, so some got in there, too. He continued to sing, with bits of tomato dribbling from his mouth.

Mom took up a more sideways position, and caught Dad on the side of his head with a soft, blackened onion. Again, great sound effects.

"Good one, Mom!" I cried. We were both laughing, and just loving Dad's performance.

When Dad came to the second verse, he was pretty much a mess, dripping vegetable ooze onto the tarp. There was a long piece of soggy eggplant skin hanging from the corner of his glasses.

"Jen." Mom said, controlling her mirth for a second. "This looks like a photo opportunity."

How right she was. I went for my phone, and we did a very nice series of Dad from various angles, plus a short video of him singing.

Then, Mom brought out her surprise: eggs!

"I have a dozen for us, and a dozen for your father." she explained, as she opened the boxes.

"One for Dad?"

"You'll see, dear." came her teasing reply.

"Another song, Robert. Any suggestions, Jennifer? If not, I have one."

"Go for it, Mom." I said.

"How about... 'Buffalo Gals'? You know, the one they're always playing in saloons in Western movies."

"And a lively little dance to go with it, eh, Mom?" I said.

"It's that kind of song, dear. Yes. A lively jig. Most appropriate." she said, and we burst out laughing.

"You do know the song, don't you, Dad?" I said.

"Oh, yes, Jen! A very nice tune." Dad said. And all the while, this pervert had about the biggest hard-on he could manage. I smiled. We were all on the same page, looked like.

Mom prompted from the sidelines:

"A one, and a two, and a ..."

Old Robbie began kicking up his heels as he sang, cavorting back and forth in front of the tarp. Mom let go with the first egg. It missed him, and slid down the tarp behind. Dad kept at it, singing and prancing about. As they say, in the old days people had to make their own entertainment. Well, it was making a comeback in our household! Yeehaw! go, Dad!

I'm a bit of a tomboy, and I've got a good arm. My first egg was a glancing blow onto Rob's temple. but I would soon get my range.

Mom and I were both getting in some good shots. One of Mom's landed on his forehead, and the dripping egg on the fake nose and eyeglasses... priceless!!

Then, when we'd run out of artillery, Mom brought the other dozen eggs to Robbie. She placed them on a small table next to the washer.

"Your turn, Robert." Mom said, and I just had to wonder. Why would he need things to throw? Then, it became clear.

"Another verse of 'Buffalo Gals', shall we?" Mom said.

Dad reached for the eggs, and began to sing. Every time he got to 'Buffalo Gals', he would crush an egg onto the top of his head. The polkadot bow was sure taking a beating. We just looked on and enjoyed. Dad's final pirouette was something to behold, as was his general condition. There were bits of onion skin clinging to him, and his slippers were heavily soiled with the vegetable ooze. The eggplant skin still dangled from his glasses.

Mom and I removed our soiled aprons and dropped them in a heap on the floor.

"You've got some cleaning up to do, Robert." Mom said. "And just look at your outfit! The one Jennifer and I so carefully picked out for you. Shame, Robert!"

Dad just stood there, an occasional bit of tomato or a rotted strawberry sliding down his chest.

"I'm so sorry, dear." Came Dad's reply.

"Well, it's inexcusable." she continued. "It's as though you have no regard whatever for the efforts we make."

"I'm so sorry..."

"Hey, shut the fuck up, Robbie!" I practically screamed, and a palpable stillness followed my words. I strode over to him.

I gave him a shove, and he slipped and fell onto the tarp.

"Get up, dopey." I said, and he scurried to his feet.

"Your being sorry doesn't mean shit around here, understand?!"

"Yes, Jennifer." he said, knowing enough to say nothing more.

Mom looked on approvingly from the side.

"Now, Dad" - and the venom in my voice when I said that word was unmistakable, "get this shit cleaned up, wash our aprons, see what you can salvage from your outfit, and be in the living room in one half hour from now, naked and on your sorry-ass knees. Move it."

There was some reckoning to be done, and punishment to be meted out.