Aly Starts Regression Training

Aly Starts Regression Training

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Episode 4 in "The Family Practice" series. There are episodes, more are coming, and eventually an ending. There is an arc, a plot and a cast of characters. It might even turn into a chapter book. Read in order if you can, but don't sweat it. Just enjoy.

All characters are over 18, fictional, and none of it ever happened. Think of it as a grimm fairytale.

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Last month Mybell was inducted into Aly's family and got a new sister, Daddy, and Daddy rules to obey, and the next day she got a portrait to remember her special day. Now a month later their family female roles are changing but Aly needs help, so Father starts her on regression training.

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I slip out of bed leaving Mybell dozing, drape my dressing gown loosely around my shoulders, and head to the kitchen. On the way I pass Aly's open bedroom door. Unlike yesterday, she's on her back, half covered by the sheet, one tit exposed, one leg covered, the other drawn back, thigh gap, slit and fur patch beckoning. A stab of disappointment, a pang as I realize once again her un-daughterly behavior. She has never learned what's appropriate. Lord knows I've tried to teach her since her mother left.

I must keep trying. I can't send her into the world not knowing how to behave around men. It shouldn't be a matter of chance how she presents. She should understand expectations and always be thoughtful and considerate. In short, know her place. As they say, family female consideration begins at home. I sigh and move on.

***

I get a mug of coffee, go to the basement studio, and set to work. I'm almost caught up after this past month's excitement.

Welcoming Mybell to the family has been exhausting. Aly brought her home from college for the holiday week, and I claimed her t first night. She never went back. I had to overcome her resistance for a week or so. Sometimes she fought back physically—she's a strong little bitch when she chooses—and sometimes she tried to plead and manipulate. But I brought her round and now she's fully bedded in to her new role. As if born to it. Which she is. Though she doesn't know it yet.

Now if I could only bring Aly fully to hand too. Her mum never helped, and then she left, so Aly was never challenged to live up to expectations, and there are years of neglect and indiscipline to undo.

But enough rumination. The business won't run itself, and I fire up the servers and monitors. The equipment is state-of-art, and I'm practiced, skilled and focused. I work efficiently.

Soon the best selection of the past month's videos harvested from throughout the house are playing on six large monitors with audio muted. Each monitor has six video windows, and each window has a raw video clip. They're from the cameras in the kitchen, bedrooms, lounge room, etc. I can bring up others with a mouse click. I also have the video from the portrait session at Jimmy Jissle's studio that first Sunday.

The videos cover many events—initial expectation setting and discipline, Aly and me bringing Mybell to hand, Aly and Mybell sharing my cock, them playing together, and most of all me repeatedly claiming Mybell as she progressively submitted, accepted and then embraced me as her future. Each of the audios is muted to a whisper, but together they fill the studio like an orgy of lovers inspired by each other.

My fingers fly as I replay, edit, cut and paste the raw clips. The final result is two dozen ready-to-publish commercial-grade video packages ready for multiple market segments. Some are short clips that end just as the action gets going. These are for customers not yet fully committed, people who I tease with hints of fetish action just beyond their reach, ripening on my marketing vine. Others are medium length extended-play narratives that allow committed customers to participate vicariously in their favorite family character's—the member's of my family's—discipline, training, beddings, seedings and orgasms.

Finally, there are the customized extended collector's editions for long term VIP customers who enjoy ring-side seats. They get exclusive close-up camera views and occasional surprise gifts—delivered by confidential courier anywhere in the world—such as locks of hair, pony-tail ribbons, clean or fresh panties, red and white stained bedsheets. One gentleman on the live-feed channel, a orthodontist, even paid a premium for the orthodontic braces—after she outgrew them and they were removed from her teeth—of a favorite of his, Jill, a young niece of mine who often "opened wide" into the camera as she orgasmed. And still does.

Hell, I too liked and licked those braces and still recall the rasp of wire against my tongue as she came, her upper lip curled back beneath my own, her body trapped beneath me. Mine was the only tongue to ever feel the frisson of that rasp. I initiated her against her will over repeated seedings and taught her my Family expectations and now nineteen years later and well in hand she visits faithfully with my beautiful god-daughter Rachel, named for me, in ongoing family service. Like her mother before her, Rachel has a delightful mouthful of candy which will one day adorn my own collection. And like her mother and grandmother she's a screamer.

This memory reminds me that if these part-time family members have all learned their role and place, then Aly as a full-time member can too. Can. Should. Shall. Must. Soon. Before too late.

I finish the packages, staged ready for electronic delivery around the world to my eager, loyal and profitable clientele. I press enter and lean back in my padded office chair, as the packages zip to inboxes in every time-zone. My work done, the raw videos continue looping in their windows, row by row, cum by cum, my left hand edging my cock. I like my work and I'm proud of my product, my business, my family.

***

The door opens quietly behind me, and I smell Mybell as she enters.

She puts a fresh mug of coffee on the desk. She's naked under her loose house coat, untied, draped open around her breasts, belly curved enticingly above baby-bearing hips, slippers on her feet. She moves behind my chair and presses breasts and belly warm from our bed against my head. Her hands rest easily on my shoulders and slip gently down to comb through the gray chest hair she's come to love. Her scent swathes me, as mine does her. I breathe deeply and hold a lungful.

"Good morning, Father, what are you doing?"

"Attending to business," I say, as I raise my left hand moist with pre-cum and stroke her left hand at my nipple. She raises my fingers to her lips.

"Is this what you do?" she asks.

"Yes, it's my business. I started in my teens and built it over the years. It is both my life and business. The best of both worlds. I call it The Family Practice. I turn pleasure into profit. And it's very, very pleasurable, and very, very profitable."

"How does it work, Father?"

"Simple really. There are cameras throughout the house controlled by motion sensors, and AI filters eliminate irrelevant action. I record all activity in the house—mostly with family, but also with visitors—and sell the content to paying customers. They range from casual drop-by's to long term VIP clients. Some even pay for special by-              appointment-only real-time video feeds and Family merchandise. I'm now quite wealthy—north of nine figures in assets—and I retain a team of professionals on call to help manage emergent legal, security and technical issues."

She's looking at the monitors and points to a window. "Is that me?", she asks. I've learned she is naive but intuitive in these matters. I'm sure this is due to subtle guidance from her grandfather's and mother's relationship, and reinforced by her father's latent interests, interests he's never acted on, a weak man.

"Yes. That's the Saturday night when I first claimed you." I turn up the audio.

We watch in silence as on screen my cock—balls high and tight against the shaft—thrusts rhythmically in and out of her steadily creaming cunt. God, she was tight as I held her down and opened her for first seeding. I can still feel her cunt clamp rhythmically as she came unwillingly on me.

All the stars had aligned. She was ready for me—though to my utmost pleasure she did not know it and therefore resisted deliciously as I staked my claim and for weeks after—and her ovulation cycle was approaching peak. She was naive and innocent, though subconsciously ready to be taken. Again I must thank her childhood—her mother, father and grandfather each in their own way—for preparing her for ploughing and the yoke. But then, I knew that from my research before she arrived.

"Who's that?" she asks, pointing to another screen. "Aly?" It shows my cock thrusting into another creaming cunt.

I'm impressed. "Yes, very good. That's her. It's her daily seeding after you fell asleep in your new bed."

I reach up and back and grasp Mybell's hand, and bring her to her knees beside my office chair, which I recline to almost horizontal. My dressing gown is open. My hand twines in her hair and I push her head down to my belly, facing away from me, inches from my cock-head which I'm still edging. We both watch the monitor in front of us, the cock shuttling in and out of the frothing pussy before our eyes. Disembodied moans fill the studio. That's my cock in Aly's cunt.

Mybell mouth accepts my cock, and soon my thrusts into her throat and her rhythmic suction and tongue action are in synchrony with my cock thrusts into Aly's palpating pussy on the screen. All four of us—two on screen and two below—build and rise to four simultaneous orgasms—the wet blow-job below and the mounted petite mort on screen.

Our eyes, ears, minds and senses flow then overflow. We melt and meld.

"Aly!", I cry as I cum down Mybell's throat and into Aly on screen.

"Dad!", Aly cries on screen.

"Father!" Mybell grunts, muffled by my cock, as her working cheeks caress my hairy belly and my swollen shaft pulses on her tongue.

***

This morning something has shifted in Mybell. I don't know what, but I sense it. Unknown to her and me, in the wee small hours of a recent night, warm and moist, dreaming, breathing slowly, beside me, she conceived. A sperm I had planted in her met this month's egg and burrowed in. She and I don't know it yet, but her body does, and it's sending subtle signals throughout her being—to uterus, breasts, stomach, brain—to submit and cleave to me. And her body's scent is sending subtle signals to me—to my cock, body, brain, protective vital verve—to keep and protect her as my mated brood mare.

***

Ten minutes later Mybell has cleaned me up and I'm sipping coffee as she leans against the desk facing me. We're so close my leg presses hers—fatherly, familiarly, possessive. Her arms are crossed below barely B cup breasts and above sweetly curving belly and pubic thatch. All of it mine. Her house coat hangs loose as I keep an eye on my property. She is diffident not indifferent, submissive not passive, possessed and presenting.

"Father..."

"Yes, daughter?"

"Can we talk?"

"Of course... what is it?"

"It's... "

"...go on..."

"...it's about Aly, I'm worried..."

My heart jumps. My own worry about Aly surfaces and bubbles just beneath my brow. Tension zings across my forehead. Small muscles tighten around my eyes. I calm myself, focus and wait.

"What is it?" I ask.

"She... well I'm younger than her... but even I know... she doesn't... I don't know... she doesn't know how to be your daughter," and then it all comes in a tumbling rush.

"She doesn't know her place, she's lazy, she sleeps late, she leaves you and me to do all the work, and you work so hard, and she doesn't know how to please you, how to make you happy, how to satisfy you, how to support you in your role, follow your command, as the man the daddy the sire of our home. She should have learned long ago. I'm afraid it may be too late."

She takes a breath and looks at me.

My tension breaks. I smile. I see her frown. It's a serious subject and she's voiced exactly what has been on my mind, but there is a funny side—she could be describing herself as she was just a month and day ago, before she came to live at my hearth and under my mantle, protection and possession. She has accepted so fully being my new daughter as the natural order that she can't remember when she thought differently just one breeding cycle ago.

But I cannot tell her this, so I suppress my smile and clear my throat, and say, "Don't worry. I'm just so relieved because that's exactly what I've been thinking. But I have a plan I've been preparing and I'm ready to put it into action. And I'll need your help"

"Anything. What is it?" she says, relaxing into my control.

"Well, the root of the problem is that she was never taught her family female role. It's a combination of ignorance and neglect. Her mum didn't know her own place and so she couldn't teach her daughter. And then she left and before you know it Alison had left school and came to me to learn about sex. I taught her and she's good, but that's not the same as knowing how to be a daughter in a family."

I continue, "What she should have learned as a girl she will now learn as college girl. I can't wind the clock back, but I can wind her mind back. Starting today."

"How?" Mybell asks, trusting me and looking for information

"I'm going to initiate her into regression training. I'll ignore she's a college student, and treat her as a girl, and as a girl she will learn the lessons she should have learned long ago. When she has accepted and absorbed her true place as my daughter then and only then will I treat her as an adult again—but by then she'll be a reformed adult with corrected values. restored to ongoing service in the family."

"That's perfect!" Mybell exclaims, "It is so important to teach her how a man should be served. Expectations begin in the family, I always say. Know how to treat your father as he expects, then you'll know how to treat all men as they expect, and you'll expect and want them to treat you as they should!"

She pauses, then says in a whisper, low but rising "I only wish my dad had taught me that. How to serve him like I serve you. But he was too weak. And now I'm glad I'm here. I wish you were really my Dad." Her voice ends on a strong clear statement—said with emotion, conviction and force—for the first time speaking a truth she never dared to know.

My heart skips a beat at her words. I couldn't have hoped for a better turn of the conversation.

I tell her, "Mybell, there is one more thing. I have another plan I'm putting into action. It will be a surprise, but you will soon get your wish."

Her eye's redden, she swallows, she moistens her lips. Then, her voice rasping, she whispers, "Oh, Father, if only that could be now. I feel I'm your daughter in every way but on. I want to be your daughter legally, in Mybell's eyes, in my parent's eyes, in the world's eyes."

"Not too much longer, and that will happen," I say.

I flick her thigh and say casually, "Now get breakfast ready, and if Aly doesn't help, I'll take her in hand. Never too late."

Mybell kisses me then turns to the stairs and ascends slowly. Her baby-cradling hips sway beneath the house coat. Her body's already changing, and though I don't know it yet, my body will now defend hers against any insult or intimidation, even from her older little sister Aly.

I may not know, but my sire cock knows and I feel it rise and stiffen again.

***

I close down the studio equipment and make two phone calls.

One is quick. Nigel answers and I say, "Good morning, old cock. Can you do me a quick order for today? Sorry for such short notice but I'd like a full new outfit for Aly. Much younger. You have her size of course. No not the usual school uniform—I want pinafores that button up the back, white blouses, lace collars, training bras, plain panties and white socks—five complete sets but double up on panties—they tend to get messy—oh and throw in a few pair with hearts and strawberry decorations—you have good judgement in that department—and some sun dresses, and a bikini, and your best nighties—can you deliver at 1pm?—excellent, thanks, I owe you—text me the bill. Later, buddy!"

The other takes an hour. It's with Seymour L. the lawyer I retain for novel tasks. The 'L' separates him from his dad Seymour M, a mentor of mine. Seymour L. can turn his hand to the most unusual requests and always gets the outcome I want. In this case it involves family law. He has often helped me in this area. He'll negotiate with the parties and prepare the documents, then we'll execute them in a single meeting when and where I'm ready. It involves divorce, marriage, emancipation and adoption. I close the conversation when I'm confident he is clear on what I want, and confident he can do it.

I switch off the lights and head up to breakfast. Only 7:30am and a good day's work already done. I'm hungry as a sire of a family.

***

As I approach the kitchen I hear Mybell loudly holding Aly to account. I pause and listen.

"I am utterly fed up with you! You may be older than me but you are lazy and not pulling your weight. You are not being a full member of this family. You don't know your place as a daughter. First you wouldn't get out of bed, and then I told you to set the table and you are just sitting there. You wait till your father gets here."


"You're not my boss," grumps Aly. "I just wanted to sleep in. I'll get some cereal later when you and Dad have finished. You can't tell me what to do!"

Such disrespect is a challenge to my authority and role, and it bites deep. My vision clouds, muscles tense, cock surges. Aly's challenge to our family's stability is so threatening it is reflected in my recently serviced shaft.

Every member of a family must abide by his or her role for the protection of the family—the dad, mum, son or daughter, even a visitor under the family roof. The family is my responsibility, and a threat to me is a threat to the family, and a threat to the family is a threat to me. My body is reacting to Aly as to any threat and preparing to restore the offender to her proper family role—and as she is female my cock will restore her to her family female role.

"Yes, I can! Your father told me to get breakfast and that's what I'm doing, and he told me to have you help, and if you don't... he'll... he'll... put you in your place. Just you wait."

"I'm not allowed to do anything. I'm all grown up and I can do what I want. And in any case, you're not my sister. Not really."

Mybell's voice rises, "You don't know what you want, not really. You don't know how to be a daughter. You don't know how your father loves you. You don't know what he's going to teach you. You just wait and see. Now lay the table, young lady!"

Aly is yelling back now, "No I won't! I shan't! And you can't make me!"

My mind is clear and my body is ready for the challenge, not least my cock. I'll remind Aly of her place. Force and cock will be necessary and beneficial, as always when training a female.

I open the door and step in. Mybell is standing with her back to the kitchen counter, breakfast interrupted behind her, house coat loosely tied. Aly, is slouched in a kitchen chair at the end of the table with her dressing gown pulled tight around her, hiding her body, not even giving Mybell the courtesy of eye-contact. This is so disrespectful to our family—and me in particular—that I feel validated and doubly committed in my decision to begin regression training immediately.

I will take her back in time. Repair the damage. Teach her what her mother never modeled or taught. It starts now. I'm not even going to explain it to her. That comes later. Now she's going to enter regression training without warning. In the raw.