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.
