For the next couple of days, nothing much happened.
Becky found herself mildly surprised by the development, or lack thereof. No small part of her had expected to be "on call" two or three times a day, engaging with her father in all sorts of increasingly explicit activities. But no thrilling new assignments came from her mother. Her phone remained silent, save for updates from various payment platforms informing her of a new incoming pittance.
By the second day, surprise had turned into slow disappointment. While she worked in the comfortable heat of the upstairs, she found her mind returning, over and over, to that moment in the living room.
Kneeling down naked in front of her father, exposed and vulnerable. Submitting to him utterly as he twisted her hair in his big strong hands. His thick cock sliding into her mouth - the sensation making her gag, but also setting her brain aflame with arousal, sending a taboo thrill through her whole body. The warmth of his flesh, the sound of his groans, the hot wet gush into her mouth as he came.
She wanted it. Again. She wanted it all. The strange limitations of their incestuous arrangement suddenly clarified for her, like shapes emerging from a fog. Was she allowed to initiate things with her father? Or was she just supposed to wait until she was summoned, like some sexual automaton?
"Okay, come on," Becky mumbled to herself as she tapped icons on her tablet. There was a good reason she didn't know the outer limits of this arrangement: the subject had simply never come up. There was no need to dehumanize herself or turn this into something mercenary and cold. Her father loved her. She loved him. They were family and, taboo as it may be, this was something they both wanted.
She wouldn't let the silence trigger her insecurities. Not when there was so much possibility in what lay ahead for both of them.
Becky sat for long minutes, half-naked, in her chair, before realizing she was staring blankly at her work materials without a thought in her head. Without a thought that wasn't pornographic, anyway.
She sighed, put down her tablet, and went to take a shower.
***
She padded downstairs in her underwear, nothing but a towel in her hand, and stepped into the roomy expanse of the downstairs bathroom. She didn't know if either of her parents were home, and normally she wouldn't use the downstairs bathroom while they were in the house, but she decided to make an exception today.
She turned on the water, stripped out of her somewhat threadbare bra and panties, and stepped into the glass enclosure of the shower. As per her mother's suggestion on the night of their first conversation, she left the door wide open. Anyone passing by would get a full view of her body.
As Becky soaped up, she found herself thinking of her dad again. She wanted him to see her like this. His gaze made her feel beautiful, loved, desired. He didn't look at her with the same feral eagerness some of her boyfriends seemed to exhibit when they saw her naked. There was lust there, certainly, but also something deeper, gentler, something she couldn't quite describe. Her dad had never been a man to show his emotions carelessly, and he often came off as brusque. But when he looked at her, she saw something in him soften and open up - and she liked the way that made her feel.
She took her time showering, enjoying the room the downstairs shower afforded her, which was downright cavernous compared to the cramped bathroom upstairs. She took full advantage of the luxury, soaping herself up twice and then washing her hair with luxurious slowness.
With thoughts of her first encounter with her dad still tickling her brain, Becky briefly considered pleasuring herself while she showered. But the unbidden thought of her mother coming in to scold her for wasting water dispelled the ghost of that idea.
Just before she turned off the shower tap, she thought she apprehended a shape through the steam that billowed through the bathroom. Nothing more than a shadow in the doorway: tall, square-shouldered, masculine. She was sure it was him. Before she could do or say anything, the figure moved away.
She felt a slight flicker of disappointment that he hadn't come in and made things more interesting, but it soon passed. There would be time for that later. For that, and much more.
Becky found herself grinning helplessly as she toweled off. Insecurities and uncertainties aside, she felt happier than she had in a long time.
***
Wrapped in a towel, she returned upstairs and got dressed. In this case, "dressed" was the smallest tank top she owned and a pair of boy shorts so brief they left little to the imagination. Her choices were partially but not entirely carnal: it was still hot upstairs, and she liked being comfortable.
She worked until about noon, then came downstairs again to forage for some lunch. She found her mother sitting at the kitchen table, cigarette between her fingers, a steaming mug of tea in front of her.
"Hi, Mom."
A wry smiled crinkled her mother's face as she took a look at her daughter's attire. "I see you took my advice of dressing provocatively to heart. I'll have you know that's one of your father's favorite looks."
"Next to nothing?" Becky quipped as she opened the refrigerator and began pulling out the makings of a salad. "I guess Dad is just a typical guy after all."
Marilyn smirked. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that."
There was a companionable silence while Becky assembled her salad, then sat down across from her mother. She ate no more than a few bites before curiosity got the best of her at last.
"Mom, how is Dad? He hasn't... well, you haven't-"
"Haven't given you any new assignments?" Marilyn stubbed out the cigarette. "I know. It's nothing to do with you. Vernon is very busy with a major work project right now. He's very tired much of the time and hasn't been in the mood for any sort of... activities."
"Oh," Becky said, feeling both relief and a little disappointment. She often found the tension of a high-stress work project could be mitigated by a world-class orgasm. It was a bit of a shame her father didn't seem to feel the same way.
A sudden vision sprang unbidden into her head: greeting her dad at the door as he came home, wearing nothing. Going down on her knees before him and putting his cock in her mouth before he could even close the front door. His groans of surprise and pleasure as he wrapped a strong hand around the back of her neck...
She realized she'd been staring into space, and shoved a forkful of salad into her mouth to cover her embarrassment.
Marilyn sipped her tea thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on her daughter. "Are you happy with the arrangement overall, Rebecca?"
Becky nodded silently and enthusiastically.
"Because if you're experiencing any problems with feeling guilt or shame, I want you to know we can stop if you ever become uncomfortable."
"I'm fine, Mom. It's... surreal and totally bizarre. And I sure wouldn't want the outside world to find out about it. But I'm having a really good time. Is Dad happy?"
"He certainly seems to be," Marilyn said, sipping her tea again.
Becky saw an opening and decided to go for it. "Mom, I had a question. Am I supposed to always wait for my 'assignments,' or could I... I don't know... start things with Dad on my own?"
Her mother raised one eyebrow slowly, her expression otherwise unreadable. "You want to start initiating sex with your father."
