How to Train Your Daughter Ch. 15

Author's Note:

For Miss P, who is a delightful trainee and a very good girl, even if she sometimes wants to be naughty. Thank you for your inspiration and for sharing your delicious self with me so generously, and bringing me so much pleasure as a girl should.

Apologies, I keep intending to write some shorter stories, but lately each one just gets too fun and interesting as I start writing.

I only write things that I find sexy, but this episode is perhaps even more self-indulgent than some of the earlier chapters, so if there are things you don't care for about my style, be warned--this chapter is basically just a whole lot of those things. On the other hand, if you do like my writing--well then, bon appétit.

I love to hear from my readers for any reason, and I respond to all letters. Just remember to include your email address in the message if you want me to write you back, as I cannot see it otherwise.

Like all the stories in this saga, this chapter includes portrayals of men in graphic sexual situations with their own daughters, as well as light nonconsent/reluctance and BDSM. If these are not your cup of tea, which I certainly understand, please be warned. All characters are over 18.

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'Oh my gosh, you haven't experienced cock therapy yet?'

My laugh resounded in the sunny, bustling church foyer as the organ intoned the closing hymn and the congregants streamed out the stained glass doors and on to the rest of their Sunday plans.

My friend Levi Miller's eyes widened in wonder as he shook his head.

'Well in that case, you simply must join me this afternoon and allow me to introduce you to the pleasure...'

Levi had moved to Stonewall for work a little over a month ago from outside Toronto with his family, including his beautiful, innocent daughter Abigail, and our neighbors to the north--over fifty years after the sweeping positive social changes in the US that had forever transformed our country and the way girls were raised--had still not implemented anything like the Festival customs we practiced here.

The transition was understandably monumental for all of the members of the family in their own way; for himself, Levi now had the previously unimaginable freedom--and responsibility--of having sex with any eligible girl he happened to be attracted to, at pretty much any time and in any place.

Upon reaching sexual maturity, girls had their virginity taken in a grand public ceremony known as the Festival, and were then immediately offered up to all eligible men of the community as priceless objects of care and development, as well as freely available vessels of sexual pleasure; and as the father of a high-school-senior daughter, Levi's service was now invaluable in the essential work of teaching and training these inexperienced, newly-deflowered females everything they needed to learn in order to excel in their often demanding copulatory duties.

His wife, of course, was doubtless working through her own thoughts and feelings concerning this arrangement, but it was not an option; the task of training young girls was considered a man's civic duty, not a luxury, and adopting and conforming to the cultural traditions of her new home meant understanding that her husband was, from now on, expected to openly and frequently engage in sexual activities with girls as young as their daughter.

She could take reassurance, however, in the fact that this had no impact on his commitment as a father and husband, nor on his abiding love for her, and she had to admit that even in only the short time since they'd moved and he'd begun his girl-handling responsibilities, he'd been in higher spirits, and more motivated and even affectionate, than she'd seen him in years.

She knew that men sometimes began to struggle with a sense of purpose at his age, and now he seemed revitalized, as if newly confident in his place in society as an eligible man, and proud of the positive difference he was able to make in these girls' lives as he selflessly poured his time and energy and semen into training their eager, pliant young bodies and minds, and she knew deep down that this was a good thing.

For her part, their sweet, beautiful daughter Abigail arguably had the most challenging path in adjusting to life in her new home; raised conservatively and modestly, with only a single fumbling, short-lived junior-high romance before her move, she was now faced with the daunting reality of being considered community property, her body available by law for any sexual use, by any eligible man, whenever the urge might strike him, until she married.

Her duty now, in her strange new home, was to offer herself at all times as a source of pleasure; and to learn and master everything she could from the many men who would select her for vigorous, penetrating lessons in order to help her on the way to fulfilling her fundamental purpose as a girl, and to achieve her extraordinary innate potential as a nubile, freshly-fertile mating partner.

Levi and I had met a few weeks back at the home of our mutual friend, Martin Davis, who'd hosted a father-daughter party. Levi had brought Abigail, and I, my eldest, Jennifer; several other men had also attended with their own girls to share around, and we'd all spent a pleasant and instructive afternoon taking turns teaching others' daughters various sexual skills and techniques, and enjoying the matchless pleasures of their fresh, inexperienced bodies.

Abigail, a sensitive, shy girl who was far more self-conscious of her body and sexual matters than our daughters, due in large part to her upbringing, had expressed significantly graver misgivings about the day's proceedings than the other girls, and had at first refused even to disrobe so the assembled fathers could appreciate her naked body, let alone allow herself to be bred by all of them.

It was carefully explained to her that she had no choice in the matter, and that she was required to submit to her lessons from the men regardless of her feelings; and when she was ultimately assured that, as a young girl, she had no higher purpose at this juncture of her short life than to be a wellspring of copulatory pleasure for mature males and a priceless repository for their semen, she was at last successfully stripped nude in front of us; and despite her qualms, the sweet girl did a very good job of being obedient and allowing us to enjoy her luscious body in a variety of delightful ways

It had been a distinct pleasure feeling her unwilling cunny (which had been splendidly tight, and had required some patient-yet-authoritative thrusts, as she'd initially resisted our penises' penetrations into her, rather than welcoming them) begin to relax and open up as she came to terms with her tender body being used for its most basic and beautiful purpose by multiple men, and her genitals became ever more of a slick, soaking mess as the drooling white seminal loads of the satisfied fathers commingled with her own cum; and by the end of the party we were all delighted to see her making the rounds of the room herself, bashfully proffering her swollen, sticky, pink, and well-used vagina to each of us and sweetly asking (carefully doing her best to use the proper language of girls her age in her new home) if we would like to 'train' her just a little more before her daddy took her home.

I had taken a liking to Levi and, wanting to make him and his family feel welcome in Stonewall, had invited them to visit our church, and this was their first week attending. Service completed, we were now waiting for our daughters' Sunday school classes to wrap up, and had been chatting about the sermon and our plans for the rest of the day.

I often spent some quality time at a cock spa on Sunday afternoons, particularly if I'd had an especially taxing week of lessons; despite the obvious rewards, training young girls was an enormous investment of energy that inevitably took its toll on the male body--especially at the intensity and frequency of most men's training schedules--and regular cock therapy sessions worked wonders for relaxing and revitalizing me in preparation for the pleasantly busy week of girl-handling I had ahead of me.

Levi had never even heard of the treatment, and I was happy to invite him to join me today, as he'd mentioned offhand with a chuckle that while he'd had a fantastic week training some amazing, beautiful girls, he was honestly feeling a bit sore and run-down today after the heavy exertions and many mind-blowing orgasms his body had endured over the preceding days.

As we firmed up our plan to meet later that day, Jennifer's and Abigail's Sunday school class for eligible girls was first to burst through the doors from the back offices of the church, and the two of them met us with big grins as they laughed and chattered together. Abigail was a good girl, and I was pleased to see a friendship budding between her and my daughter.

They wore simple white Sunday dresses in the usual manner of all girls in our church; shortly after the institution of the Festival nearly sixty years ago, the founding elders had written up a prayerfully considered epistle concerning the scriptural requirements of dress for young girls in the place of worship, and both Jennifer and Abigail were radiant in their Sunday best.

The elders took inspiration from various passages of ecclesiastical texts to construct the principles of spiritual propriety and modesty that should guide young girls in this new, unprecedented age in which the recognition, cultivation, discussion, and consumption of their nascent animal sexuality--long a deeply repressed and taboo subject in both polite society and the church--was now an explicitly public and omnipresent keystone of our culture.

The color white of course symbolized the purity of a girl, and her innocence before God; nothing a girl did or underwent in her education or training could ever stain her, because she was created precisely and divinely as a blessing of pleasure for the enjoyment of the righteous man, and in yielding herself to her trainers, she was yielding herself to the very purpose for which she had been designed; in fact, the church taught, the more lessons she accepted, and the more challenging they were for her to trust and submit to, the better she glorified her Creator by striving to become the perfect vision of a girl He'd had when He made her; in the final summation, her obedient service to eligible men was her truest and most fitting service to God Himself.

The elders stipulated that dresses should be of a simple cut, signifying that the divinely-molded perfection of the natural, unadorned female body was sufficient in the eyes of God, and impossible to improve upon; they should be low-cut across the bosom as a token of the free, bounteous offerings of her most tender treasures the girl is bringing into the sanctuary of the Lord, and just long enough in the skirt to cover her backside when standing.

The fabric, the epistle emphasized, should be light enough to be nearly sheer, in recognition of the fact that God created the girl's body and called it good, and that therefore there was no shame in it being seen in the church.

It symbolized that her body was a highlight of creation, and she was hiding nothing, nor was she embarrassed before God and his people; but rather she walked cloaked in love and generosity, sharing the holy blessings of her young body freely with the devout men of the congregation; she was deserving always of caring love and respect whenever her body was being utilized for its natural God-given sexual functions--and deserving likewise of firm guidance in the path of righteousness, and the unsparing correction of the rod, when she strayed.

Girls who had not yet celebrated their Festivals wore only white bows or headbands in their hair, marking them as still virgins, while eligible girls were allowed to sport more colorful--though still modest--hair accessories.

The only other difference was that pre-Festival girls were permitted to wear simple white bras and panties beneath their sheer dresses, while eligible girls went naked beneath the light, nearly transparent fabric, and as Jennifer and Abigail walked happily toward us, Levi and I enjoyed the sight of the soft curves of their breasts ensconced gently beneath the cloth, their nipples pressing insistently toward the light and the dark hue of their areolas plainly visible.

The will of God was believed to permeate every aspect of life, and the reverent men of the congregation were encouraged to take time during the service to pray and ask for guidance concerning which girl the Lord would have them train after church; requiring the eligible girls to forego underwear, and allowing most details of their sacred young bodies to be visible, was believed to help a man better sense the powerful urgings of the Spirit deep in his loins as he prayerfully surveyed the congregation and considered which devoted, worshiping, nearly-naked young girl he was being called to aid in fulfilling her God-given purpose that day.

As virgins, pre-Festival girls were obviously not eligible for lessons, and while of course every part of their bodies was still considered pure and innocent and perfect just like their older counterparts, they were expected to wear underwear to church so as not to cause the fathers of the congregation to stumble with impure thoughts during worship about them and their beautiful, but not-yet-fully-ripened, anatomies.

Abigail was considerably more generously endowed than my daughter, and her bosoms bounced and swayed beautifully in their free state; our eyes danced from the girls' breasts to the clear silhouettes of their pubic hair that flashed with each step as the tiny breeze stirred up by their strides pressed their thin skirts playfully against their mounds.

Both our girls had fantastic legs, though they were of distinctly different types; Jennifer's toned, sculpted thighs and calves contrasting delightfully with Abigail's smoother, softer, beautifully proportioned lower body; and their assets were on full display beneath their short hemlines as they walked towards us, their bibles in their hands, through the brilliant spectrum of sunbeams shining through the stained glass windows in their Sunday radiance.

We greeted our daughters with kisses and smiles. It appeared that the deacons instructing the eligible girls' Sunday school class had administered communion to their pupils; according to our beliefs, the leaders of the church personified the authority and grace of the deity, and 'partaking of the body' had taken on a more literal, yet still highly symbolic, expression.

Jennifer, usually a fastidiously neat girl, had somehow managed to leave the classroom with a long, gooey dribble of one of the deacons' semen still clinging to her full lower lip from his final ecstatic benediction, and I chuckled as I brought my finger gently to her face and carefully scooped up the congealing cum, instructing her willing tongue to lick it up; a girl must never leave sperm to waste when it has been given to her, and especially not the semen of a holy man.

'Hi, Mr. Stevenson,' Abigail said politely with a smile, leaving her father's side to greet me. 'Happy Sunday to you, sir.'

We had arrived at church separately, and sat in different sections, so this was the first time I'd seen her today, and she was lovely, her thick dark hair worn loose about her shoulders and her soulful, earnest eyes shining sweetly as she presented herself to me.

It was, in fact, the first time I'd seen her since meeting her at the party, and I was struck again by her innocence and grace, and by imagining the enormity of her transition to her new life in our country; I was pleased, however, to see that she seemed to be growing more sure of herself and her duties since I'd trained her at Martin's house, and she pressed herself toward me and sought my lips of her own accord for a sweet, sensuous kiss, her hands clasped behind her back like a good girl and her breasts offered freely to my touch.

She tasted amazing, her lips scented of strawberry lip gloss and her tongue a tender delicacy of the highest order, and I returned her kiss, gently cupping her breasts and thrilling at their soft heft in my hands.

'Good morning to you, Miss Abigail,' I replied softly, 'And happy Sunday, sweet girl. You're beautiful, and your breasts are feeling so good today...'

The gauzy fabric of her Sunday dress could only attempt to preserve her modesty in vain, but its earnest, though futile, efforts to conceal the intimate treasures of her young body only stirred my desires more strongly as, discreetly and respectfully (we were in church, after all), I slid my hand down her soft tummy, effortlessly transgressing the trifling barrier of her skirt's short flouncy hem and affectionately tousling the rich, glossy curls of her luxurious pubic hair, which I was pleased to find seemed a bit shorter and more fetchingly groomed than the admittedly rather rambunctious bush she'd brought to the father-daughter party.

We'd shared a couple special moments at the party, and she blushed again beautifully as my fingers played about the sacred thicket that adorned her mound; I wondered if she was recalling, with as much pleasure as I was, how I'd needed to discipline her by firmly holding her down on Martin's couch and fucking her quite hard while her father had observed the process closely and given his approval.

She was clearly still acclimating to the breathtaking access men now had to her intimate areas, but I was pleased to see her maintain her poise nearly perfectly, keeping her hands clasped behind her back and holding still like a good girl in order to politely allow me the simple, reasonable pleasure of petting her kitty for a moment, as proper etiquette dictated; though her gentle eyes widened as my fingers explored her girl parts right there in the church foyer in front of God and everybody, and her lashes fluttered imperceptibly as her innocent shock was quickly joined in a heady, bewildering muddle by the sudden ripples of warm pleasure that filled her tummy from my first touches to her personal area since we'd met at the party.

I affectionately tickled her full outer labia with my fingertips, chuckling softly in approval at her startled look, and she caught her breath and blushed deeply as I gently grasped the innocent petals of her inner lips where they peeked shyly from within her furrowed mound, and gave her sweet slips of tender girl-flesh a couple gentle, playful tugs.

The day I'd first met her at the party, I'd chosen to cum in her vagina, and I was filled now with a pleasant flush of memory, my cock growing swollen and heavy in my trousers, as I recalled how this delightful, furry little cunny had given me one of the most glorious orgasms of my life when I'd finished myself off inside it after thoroughly fucking the other young girls at Martin's house that afternoon.

I was delighted to feel the delicate inner surfaces of her labia slip, suddenly slick, across each other as they betrayed that her secret inner parts were already seeped with her juices, and I marveled again at the wonderful miracle of the female body.

While I possessed a good working knowledge of the basic science and psychology of the average newly-sexually-mature young female, and of course I understood why Abigail's vagina was lubricating itself so thoroughly, it diminished none of the wonder and awe I always felt at the fact that my mere presence and close proximity as an eligible man, and my gentle, friendly touch to a girl's intimate parts, was sufficient to set in motion an irresistible cascade of instinctive mating responses and subconscious, involuntary behaviors and bodily functions she could not hope to escape, inexorably readying her body to willingly take my cock should I choose to give it to her, regardless of any higher-order feelings she might have on the matter; and as my fingertips crept further back through the dense warmth of her fur and along her slit, taking care not to disturb her still-sealed inner lips, I glanced up toward the high, sun-bathed altarpiece and whispered a little prayer of gratitude to the Creator for blessing us with such precious, beautiful, and pleasurable creatures.