How to Train Your Daughter Ch. 12a

He thought of the lovely, dark and juicy Jordanna, in whose mouth he'd cum a couple weeks ago after teaching a particularly stimulating social studies class—she was very sweet and accommodating, if a little simple, and he resolved that if he could locate her schedule this afternoon, he would take her aside between her classes and try out her vagina.

Until then, he would try to block out thoughts of the inappropriate things he dearly wanted to do to these girls, who were not yet eligible for the training he would have liked to give them.

His attempts to ignore the sexual desirability of the new students he was handling were utterly unsuccessful of course, for obvious reasons, and so, taking his cues from Dr. Andrew's considerable professional wisdom, he eventually found a pleasant mental middle ground, and practiced appreciating and enjoying the beauty of the girls he was handling, without feeling the need to actually consummate his physical desires for them.

And they were indeed beautiful, as all girls are. Each time he called the next one into the office and instructed her to undress, it felt like unwrapping a little Christmas present, and the men delighted in the treasures that were uncovered in the course of their examinations of the incoming schoolgirls.

The girls were, of course, a delectable plenitude of sizes and shapes and colors and proportions, each more delightful than the last in their sheer perfection and tender, ripe desirability; and although they were not yet ready to be fully enjoyed, the men relished the unique opportunity to get a tantalizing sneak preview of the upcoming seasons of Festival initiates, and to imagine how much fun training these girls would be once they'd been ceremonially deflowered and released to the public to begin their sexual education in a few years.

It was thought-provoking work from a scientific standpoint as well, and Ryan was captivated by the infinitely varied permutations of delightful genetic dice rolls that each girl represented as a possible expression of her sex.

As they worked, Dr. Andrew shared some of his considerable knowledge on the subject, discussing the relative advantages of the various evolutionary strategies exhibited in the marvelous range of sizes and shapes of the girls' breasts, the endless variations of arch and fullness and color in their young lips and tongues, or the degree of complexity evident in the development of their maturing female parts.

Some of the students possessed elegantly simple external genitalia comprised of little more than a gentle, innocent slit leading back to their untouched, hymen-protected entrances, with almost no inner lips at all.

Other girls pulled down their panties and presented the men with more extravagant vulvas luxuriously adorned with baroquely frilled labia and playful clitorises which poked cheerfully from their tiny pink hoods when Dr. Andrew or Ryan carefully spread apart the full outer lips between which they normally nestled—and of course, there were girls whose pudenda exemplified every variation in between.

Their clitorises often seemed to grow firmer and more sensitive when the men gently pinched them between thumb and finger in order to gauge their responsiveness and circulatory health, and caused all manner of beguiling vocalizations and reflexive muscular contractions throughout the bodies of the girls to whom they were attached.

Dr. Andrew pointed out that the great variety of moans and whimpers and squirms of the girls as their clitorises were manipulated were yet more examples of nature's marvelously diverse strategies for attempting to ensure that the young females' vaginas were regularly inseminated.

In the endless battle for the most desirable male seed, he said, any competitive edge could prove decisive, and as they experimented with applying various stimuli to the schoolgirls' shiny, pink little buttons of flesh, and observed their fascinating array of beguiling responses, the men compared notes on which girls' giggles and squeals and wriggles they personally found made the most compelling case for their breeding.

Every part of every young female's body has been designed and refined by millions of years of nature's persistent trial and error to attract the strongest, most genetically compatible adult males to mate with her, Dr. Andrew said, and it was a simple matter of scientific fact that these girls, as members of the most recent cohort to approach their own sexual maturity, represented the current pinnacle of evolution's ancient male-attracting craft.

It was endlessly captivating to observe how both her small details separately, as well as the entire gestalt of a girl, affected one's natural urge to breed her; Ryan made special notes of several of the students as the ones he was most powerfully compelled to couple with once they'd celebrated their Festival, and reminded himself to check when precisely that would be for each of them.

After the first few students, Dr. Andrew started teaching Ryan the basics of the intake process, and gradually allowed him to take some of the girls' measurements and complete the various inspections himself, though still with Dr. Andrew's close supervision and continued guidance, of course.

Finally, near noon, they reached the final name on the list. Ryan was ecstatic to complete the arousing work, and to be free at last to hunt down Jordanna so that he could finally release the pent-up sexual energy he'd been barely throttling for the last few hours—as well as the large load of semen his balls now seemed barely able to contain—into her lovely body.

He glanced at the list for the name he was to call as he reached for the door, but his keen eye for detail noticed something puzzling which gave him pause, and he asked Dr. Andrew if it was significant; next to the last student's name was a short series of letters that he supposed indicated something pertaining to her enrollment status: IT/NV/E.

Dr. Andrew raised his eyebrows and exclaimed his approval for Ryan's observation.

'Ah, excellent,' he chuckled, 'I'm so glad you caught that—it is indeed important. This indicates the last girl is an 'International Transfer, Non-Virgin, Eligible'.

He flipped the student's manila school records folder open and thumbed through the documents until he found what he was looking for.

'Yes, here we go,' he continued, 'It appears she just moved from Ontario; she has had penetrative sex already, so, not a virgin; and she is old enough that if she'd grown up here in the states, she'd have celebrated her Festival by now—um, let's see...yes, she became eligible for training a couple months ago.'

He closed the file and motioned for Ryan to call her in for her inspection.

'These can be interesting cases; let's see what she's like, and make sure to welcome her properly.'

Ryan turned the handle and stepped into the corridor, and found a beautiful lone schoolgirl left sitting on one of the cold metal folding chairs.

At the sound of the door opening she raised her head with a bit of a start, and he smiled at her kindly as his gaze met her haunting, dark doe eyes and long lashes framed irresistibly by the thick, wavy brunette hair held back from her lovely face with a simple black headband which perched atop her head, and which bobbed pensively as she nodded in answer to his questioning greeting.

'Abigail Miller? Come in here please.'

Her wide, slightly gap-toothed smile was made all the more adorable by the dimples and rosy, girlishly round cheeks that served to soften her features and highlight her soulful eyes, evoking a classic young actress from sixty years ago, Lara Brookes—and Ryan was further charmed to hear a slight lisp in her dutiful 'yes, sir'.

He chuckled to himself; like a puppy, she seemed to still be growing into her ears, which stuck out from under her long hair in front of her headband like a pair of pitcher handles. He could be forgiven for imagining she looked like a sweet-hearted prairie farm girl, as in fact that wasn't so very far from the truth. She was truly beautiful, and while she seemed polite and friendly, she had undeniable hints of shyness in her voice and mannerisms.

His brow cocked inquisitively as she rose and followed him into the office, and Dr. Andrew's expression upon seeing her momentarily mirrored Ryan's bemusement before regaining its composure, for her outfit was remarkable in its unsuitability as a school uniform.

She was slender, with what appeared to be an impressive bust; the men were somewhat shocked however to observe that her breasts seemed to be completely concealed beneath a substantial brassiere, a long-sleeved blouse buttoned to the throat and tied round with a bow in a flagrant display of unladylike modesty, and a black cardigan which muted the fetching curves of her torso, rather than accentuating them.

There were hints that her hips and legs were quite shapely, but they were all but completely obscured by a scandalously long red plaid skirt of thick wool that reached nearly to her knees and left the men straining to perceive anything more than traces of the well-sprung curvature of her buttocks and the graceful lines of the backs of her thighs; a pair of black pantyhose hid, rather than showcased, the detail and definition of her calves and ankles.

It had been a long time since either of the men had seen a girl presume to come to school in such unseemly attire, as the uniform regulations were quite clear in their requirements; and in any case, it was customary for girls of all ages to wear the minimum amount of clothing in any situation, and it was frowned upon for them to ever cover more of their beautiful bodies than was necessary.

Ryan could only surmise that this must be the traditional schoolgirl uniform in Canadian culture, and while he could respect it, he was still a little horrified at its barbarism. He'd heard that Canada had not followed our path to the cultural norms we now enjoyed, and he could only imagine how monumental this move must be for this young girl.

It meant that Abigail hadn't celebrated her Festival.

It meant that she hadn't been raised with the understanding that upon reaching young adulthood, she'd begin receiving a rigorous sexual education from the men in her community at least old enough to be her father.

It was honestly uncivilized to imagine a country having no formal process for teaching and equipping its young girls to succeed at their sexual life's role—it was surely heartless to simply let one's daughter's reproductive hormones run unchecked after her adolescence, to take no fatherly responsibility for educating her about her sexuality and its responsibilities, and to abandon her to learn about her body from the sorry grab-bag of emotionally and physically immature teen-age boys at her school, who, aside from having no idea what they were doing, surely had no right to enjoy access to the priceless perfection of young girls' bodies.

Things used to be that way in the U.S. not that long ago. But the changes had happened well before Ryan was born, and it struck him as strange that such a clearly superior and more reasonable social system as we had adopted fifty years ago hadn't caught on more widely with our northern neighbors.

Dr. Andrew, the consummate professional, smiled warmly as he took a seat in Nurse Pemberton's office chair and motioned for Abigail to come stand in front of him, leaning forward with his hands loosely clasped, his elbows on his knees, as she drew close.

'Miss Abigail, welcome to Stonewall Academy, and to the states. This has been a big move for you, hasn't it?'

'Yes, Dr. Andrew,' Abigail nodded, 'thank you. It's been an adventure, for sure. But I think I will like it here. I'm excited to get started at school.'

'Certainly, dear girl. We'll get you on your way to your afternoon classes as soon as Mr. Desilva and I complete your enrollment process here, I promise. Are you ready to start?'

Abigail glanced from Dr. Andrew to Ryan, then rapidly back again, nodding once more. She found she was having a difficult time making eye contact with Mr. Desilva; the moment he'd poked his head into the hallway to call her name, she'd been flushed with warmth and her tummy had tumbled—she didn't know if she'd ever seen a more handsome man, and she had not been prepared.

His dark hair and set jaw were attractive enough, but his square tortoiseshell glasses perfectly complemented his smile, with its long dimples which dropped confidently from the ends of his neatly trimmed mustache to his strong chin, and the flash of his welcoming grin sent unexpected tingles through her private bits.

He seemed super smart, and he looked, beneath his well-fitted gray suit which matched his attentive, amiable eyes, like he worked out—in other words, he was everything a sweet, academically-inclined young girl from the provinces could imagine wanting in a man.

A shiver had prickled, unbidden, down her back as he held the door open for her and she passed breathtakingly close by him through a subtle and intoxicating aura of his body heat and the heady scent of a musky aftershave that caused her nostrils to flare instinctively and her heart to quicken; she was now having significant trouble dealing with the lubricious turmoil spreading lower into her tummy with every minute she felt his gaze on her, while she tried as hard as she could to pay attention to Dr. Andrew's conversation.

She felt supremely awkward and stupid all of a sudden, and was excruciatingly aware of the astonishing amount of warm, slick moisture that had begun to flood her panties.

Standing here fully clothed in front of two men she'd never met, she was awash with the agonizing feeling that they could somehow sense how much of a soiled mess her pussy was becoming, hidden from their view though it was beneath her skirt and underthings, despite the patent absurdity of the idea.

There was, of course, no way they could possibly know; nor, thank goodness, would they ever, EVER find out—but gosh, now she just wanted to escape as quickly as she could with her dignity, clean herself up between her legs, and perhaps—perhaps—for just a few frantic minutes before her first class—touch herself secretly for a little bit while thinking about Mr. Desilva holding her and kissing her.

'Yes sir, I'm ready,' she said as steadily as she could, hoping Mr. Desilva couldn't somehow read her attraction to him in her voice, 'I think we did most of the enrollment paperwork last week in the admissions office—do you just need me to, like, sign a couple more papers real quick?'

Dr. Andrew waved his hand with a chuckle. 'Oh, no, that's all complete. Today we just need to make sure you fully understand the school's dress and appearance standards, and double-check that your uniform and your grooming meets the school requirements.

'Then I'll perform a general physical examination on you, and ask some questions to make certain that you're healthy and there aren't any pressing concerns before we release you into the student population, and we'll chat about some details concerning your particular situation, which is a little bit unique—we don't have a lot of girls transfer here from out of the country, as you may imagine.

'Mr. Desilva will take your photos and print out your student ID card, and then you'll be ready to join your classmates as a student at Stonewall Academy. How does that sound?'

Abigail said that was fine, and she was ready to get started.

'Excellent. Let's begin with your uniform inspection, shall we?

'Now then, dear girl, did you not receive a student handbook when you enrolled the other day at the office? It has the dress and grooming guidelines in it, and I can see already that there are some pretty significant violations in the outfit you've chosen to wear today.

'You don't strike me as a particularly headstrong or rebellious girl, so I'm supposing the explanation is simply that you were not given clear guidance on what comprises appropriate clothing for this school—am I correct?'

Abigail's sweet face fell as she listened, and she blushed in contrition and nodded her head furiously as she began to apologize, assuring Dr. Andrew that she had simply been told to wear her old school's uniform today, and that she would never willfully disregard any school rules.

Dr. Andrew held up his hand with a reassuring smile and assured her it was alright, and that they would rectify the situation swiftly and get her a copy of the student handbook before she left for the day.

'We do still need to assess your clothing now, of course, and make any adjustments that are needed; the uniform regulations are extremely important in cultivating an environment conducive to academic success, so I'm sure you understand that we can't allow you to mingle with the rest of the students dressed in a manner that doesn't meet the standards.'

'Of course, sir,' a relieved Abigail said emphatically. 'I'll change anything that is necessary. I truly don't want to be a distraction or cause any problems.'

'Excellent, dear girl. Now, you understand our students are subject to uniform spot checks at nearly any time of day, and when a violation is discovered, the piece of clothing causing the problem is confiscated, and the student must finish her school day without it.'

Abigail nodded understandingly, but her eyes registered a bit of alarm; she wasn't sure what was wrong with her outfit, since it was her nicest Canadian school uniform, and she hadn't brought anything else to wear today. She didn't want to get sent home or get in trouble on her first day.

Dr. Andrew hastened to reassure her.

'Since yours is a bit of a unique case, I believe we'll be able to get you replacements from the school supply room for any of your clothes that don't meet standard, so you'll be able to start off on the right foot, so to speak,' he continued, glancing at Ryan for confirmation, who nodded in agreement. 'You understand, of course, that this is only for this first time—after today, you'll be responsible for what you choose to wear, and for any consequences that come from those choices.'

This seemed reasonable to Abigail. It would hardly do for someone to break the rules and simply get to carry on breaking them; her school back home had a similar policy concerning all kinds of contraband, and though she couldn't really fathom what was wrong with her outfit now, she was extremely grateful that she was to be given the opportunity to correct it this once without getting in trouble, and she thanked Dr. Andrew for his understanding and leniency.

'Very good,' he replied. 'First thing, sweaters are not permitted; so, as lovely as that cardigan is, let's have you remove it please, and place it here on the desk beside me.'

Abigail felt a weight lift from her as she realized her inadvertent breach of the uniform standards could be so easily righted; she was perfectly fine not wearing her sweater today, if that was the offending article of clothing, and her face brightened and her fingers danced down her chest from button to button as she hastened to demonstrate her desire to abide by the the rules, which she knew had only been put in place with her success as a student in mind.

She slipped the cardigan from her shoulders and folded it carefully before setting it on the desk next to Dr. Andrew, then returned to stand in front of him with her hands at her sides so he could finish his inspection and proclaim her satisfactory. To her surprise, he appeared to consider her sweater to be only the first, and perhaps even least egregious, of her violations.

'Unfortunately, Miss Abigail, your blouse is also unacceptable for school wear. Long sleeves are not allowed until winter, and that collar is designed to be worn buttoned to the throat and tied round with a bow—you're indeed wearing it correctly, but Stonewall Academy requires an open neckline, with the top button no higher than the student's cleavage, in order to properly display her breasts. Before I can allow you to attend classes, I'll need you to remove your blouse as well, please.'