Submissive Incest Mind Control 1: Naughty Daughter Spanked
"We're not angry with you," my mother said, giving me a slight smile, "we're just disappointed, Bess."
"Disappointed?" I groaned. "That's it? Disappointed?"
I glanced at my father's car, the front end crumbled, radiator fluid forming a larger and larger puddle. I pushed up my glasses and then rubbed at the back of my neck. The tow truck beeped loudly as it backed up to the vehicle.
"That's right, Bess, disappointed," my father said while nodding.
He stood tall over me but his brown eyes stared at the wreckage of his car. He loved his Mustang. The cherry-red, sleek sports car held a prized place in our garage. Every Saturday he spent a good hour or two washing and waxing it, stroking the vehicle with all the care of a man caressing his lover.
"We're just glad that you're okay," my father added.
My mother nodded, her light-brown hair spilling about her face. She put her arm around my shoulder, pulling me to her. I winced, my neck aching more from the violent impact. I couldn't believe she was comforting me.
"You're not going to punish me?" I demanded.
"Honey," my mom sighed, shaking her head. Her green eyes focused on me. "What is going through your head these days?"
"That I wished my parents would be my parents?" I muttered.
"And how are we not your parents?" my father asked. He ran a hand through his black hair, the same shade as my own locks spilling down my face. "Because we don't do something as hindering to your development as punishing you?"
"Yes!" What did it take to get them angry at me?
"You're just going through a phase," my mother said. "I was rebellious when I was eighteen, too."
"Did you steal your father's car?" I muttered.
"Steal?" my mother asked, amusement in your tone. "I'd hardly call what you did
stealing,
Bess. You're part of the family. You
borrowed
your father's car."
I stared at her, shaking my head in shock. "I only have a learner's permit. Dad never even teaches me in his Mustang."
"Being curious and testing boundaries is a part of life," my father said, quoting that dumb, hippy philosophy my parents subscribed to. "That's all. You were just exploring your potential." He let out a sigh. "And your potential is not in driving my car."
"So... what are you going to do to me?" I asked, squirming in my mother's embrace.
"Love you," my mother said. "Perhaps we need to give you more attention."
I ground my teeth together. "You need to punish me! I was bad! I wrecked Dad's car!
After
I stole it."
"What do you want us to do?" Dad asked, his brown eyes finally falling on me, puzzlement crossing his handsome face. "Spank you?"
"Yes!"
"My father spanked me," my mother said, "and it didn't do anything but make me resentful."
"It's cruel. Children shouldn't be harmed by their parents," my dad said. "Misbehavior is merely a cry out for attention."
"And you must really want our attention." My mom gave a smile. "We should have a family night tomorrow. We'll go see a movie, have a nice dinner, and--"
I let out a shrieking groan. Nothing. There was nothing I could do to get my parents to punish me. To treat me like an actual daughter. I glanced over at my cousin Louisa, my partner in crime. She had been riding shotgun after I suggested we steal my father's car and go cruising. I was eager to show off what we were driving.
Her parents, Aunt Georgia and Uncle Wayne, shouted at her like proper parents. She shrank between them, squirming and wilting beneath her mother's angry tirade. The words weren't clear, drowned out by the traffic streaming by on the road, but the anger was there. Louise would face actual consequences to her actions. They would make her do chores, or maybe even spank her.
I would
love
to be spanked.
I shook my head. How could Aunt Georgia and my mom be sisters? What went wrong with my mom? How had she infected my dad with her hippie nonsense? Children needed to be disciplined, dominated. They needed to be controlled or they would do dumb things.
Like me.
"Is this like when you borrowed my vibrator?" my mom asked. "Did you take your dad's car so we'd punish you?"
"Yes!"
"See," my father said, "this is what society does to people. It gives them horrible expectations. It's brainwashed you to think we need to be authoritarian. It's so confused you, kiddo. You don't have to act this way. We love you."
"So let's go home, sweetheart." My mom rubbed my arm. "We can get ice cream on the way home. Cold Stone's on the way."
Ice cream...? Ice cream...? My parents were insane. Poor Louisa was trembling. She had tears glistening on her cheeks. Her father was shouting at her now, standing over her, looking so handsome and strong, so powerful.