How to Train Your Daughter

This is the main event that this entire story series has been leading up to. I highly recommend that you read the series from the beginning in order to fully appreciate what transpires here. Thank you everyone who has shared feedback, and please comment and vote if you like this!

* * * * * * *

Exhausted and ecstatic, I collapsed into my couch with a glass of whiskey in our den and switched on the TV. I'd put the three girls to bed, and my wife had turned in as well, and now, after an exhilarating night, the house had fallen silent and I was ready to watch the DVR of Festival that we had just returned home from a few hours ago.

All our work over the past few years with Jennifer had come to a culmination this evening, and I couldn't be happier. Such an extraordinary experience, and while it was a huge success, I knew I still had much to learn, so I was looking forward to watching the recording and taking note of the things we could improve as we approached the twins' Festival.

I fast-forwarded through most of the opening of the show to get to Jennifer's segment-I'd be able to enjoy the other girls later, but right now I couldn't wait to see my daughter and myself on TV.

The Festival had become a major cultural phenomenon, full of pageantry and spectacle. Our district held its Festival in a large, ornate old theater, and the stage design, lighting and television broadcast were major productions.

The stage was huge, and backed by massive LED panels that could create any background desired. In front of the stage was a large desk where a pair of color commentators would sit, and there were cameras and camera men everywhere, feeding not only to the television broadcast, but also to two large jumbotrons that flanked the stage for the benefit of the live audience.

The place was packed to the rafters with several thousand people excited to share in the celebration of this year's young girls being released as sexual beings into the community. There were twenty-three of them from our district this year, and the evening promised to be very special indeed.

The music swelled as a commercial break ended, a boom camera swooped across the audience and onto the stage, and the picture faded to Jennifer's intro video.

As the sound of Aerosmith's 'Crazy' played softly, the scene opened to my neighbor's beautiful red '69 Camaro parked in his driveway. The lighting was perfectly golden-hour, and into the frame, in slow-motion, walked Jennifer, carrying a bucket and a large sponge. She was wearing cut-off denim shorts that were so small and artistically tattered they barely qualified as clothing, with the red string waistband of her thong rising clearly into view above them. Her white t-shirt had also been extensively modified-the arms and collar had been removed, and several other carefully placed slashes combined to require that it only stayed on with the help of some ingenious knots in the fabric. Even with this engineering, however, it was mostly a loose halter top, with lots of opportunities to view her torso for the fortunate spectator, and what remained of her modesty was protected by her tiny red bikini top. She wore an American flag cowboy hat, and no shoes. It was maybe a little shamelessly cliched, but one could also describe the entire production as 'classic', and in any case the footage-and my daughter-were gorgeous.

'Hi, my name is Jennifer Lynn Stevenson,' she said cheerfully in voiceover, and the film cut to a shot of her on her bed, bathed in warm light, being interviewed by one of the production team.

'I'm 18 years old,' she smiled, looking into the camera, 'and I'm five-eight, 135lb. My measurements are 32C, and then I'm a 26-28...' She sat cross-legged on her bedspread in her usual thin white tank top and panties, her nipples highlighted by the bright film lighting and a hint of her camel toe showing between her opened legs.

The picture cut back to her washing the Camaro, and continued to alternate between that and her interview as Aerosmith played in the background. The production crew had done an amazing job. We had selected the theme together, and Jennifer was a total champ about filming the sequence.

'I think I'm a really caring person. I just love it when people smile-I just want people to be happy and feel good, and I always want to know what I can do to make someone happy and feel good. I think I come off as really sweet-but I'm also really adventurous. I love my family, and I love animals-I want to be a marine biologist...'

She was reaching on her tip-toes over the hood of the Camaro with the soapy sponge, her backside to the camera, her shorts riding high between her cheeks as the light accentuated the definition of her hamstrings and calves and shoulders.

'I love school, and I'm an Academic All-American. Math is one of my favorite subjects. In my free time? Um, I like to hike, and watch movies. I go to church on Sundays and sometimes Thursdays ...'

Her top and her shorts had gotten wet and soapy, so she slowly peeled out of her denim bottoms, and then carefully removed her bikini top, while keeping her shirt on. It clung transparently to her body, and her areolas became visible immediately.

She had hesitated for only a moment about undressing for the film crew. She understood how important this was, and she knew that it was only the beginning of a whole new chapter of life in which her body would be considered public property in many respects. While understandably apprehensive about what all that would entail, she had also been raised from a young age to look forward to the privileges and opportunities her body would make available to her as she transitioned from being a girl to a young woman.

'I think I bring a lot to the table, actually. A lot of people say I have really pretty eyes, so I like my eyes, but I also like my breasts,' she said, giggling and giving them a gentle squeeze with both hands. 'They're not super big, but they're shaped nice, I think, and they feel good when they're touched...

'I don't have the biggest butt, either, but I think it's nice. I hope you guys think so too...'

She had abandoned the car, and was now soaping herself up. Clothing was obviously an impediment to the project, so she finished her strip-down, the camera catching every beautiful curve of her body in slow-motion as she leaned against the back of the Camaro and poured sudsy water over her naked body. The soap (and the masterful editing) kept things tasteful, with only the tips of her dark nipples poking above the dense white layer of bubbles, while a thick stream of suds ran down her back, followed by the camera as it coursed through the valley of her butt cheeks and coated her vulva in white cream that seemed to follow every detail and crevice of her girl parts without showing any actual skin between her legs.

'I've gotten so many beautiful letters from so many men over the last couple weeks, and I just want to say thank you for all your support-everyone has been so encouraging, and sharing all the fun things they are looking forward to teaching me, and just being so positive and warm and welcoming-it really means the world...

'I've worked really hard for my Festival, and I've really been looking forward to it. I think I'm going to be a really sexual girl-I mean, I don't actually know, because I haven't done anything yet of course, but I think about it A LOT...

'When I imagine it, I think I'll really like doggy style-like, it just seems like fun to be on all fours and have a guy holding me tight and just, you know, DOING stuff to me...

'Oh! And I'm really curious about...um...about blowjobs. I've watched some videos, and I've seen some of my friends' dads get them, and it makes me think about what a guy's...thing...tastes like, or how it would feel in my mouth...'

'A guy's what?' the low, business-like voice of Jason the producer asked, off-camera. He evinced no emotion, just the calm professionalism of a journalist asking a clarifying question-but his mastery of his job was evident in how confident he was that this question would create the opportunity for something magical, and he was right.

Sure enough, Jennifer blushed visibly and her eyes widened as she realized with an endearing embarrassment that her innocent attempt at keeping her conversational references oblique had instead confused the issue, and that she was now being asked to make explicit what she had hoped to keep implicit. Her perfectly rehearsed lines were of no help, and she underwent a visible transformation from someone trying very hard to act like a grown-up woman, back to just a sweet young girl beginning to grapple with the realities of her sex.

More than a little flustered, she tried valiantly to regain her composure, and selected her words carefully and with admirable purpose-she sensed that her best bet was to fully own what she was about to say, and her quick thinking and commitment to her role was both inspiring and very adorable.

'A guy's...a guy's penis,' she said, enunciating the word 'penis' with a bit more purpose and care than one might normally use, and smiling the proud smile of a debutante ready to take on the world, now that she had conquered this five-letter word. Having found her way back to her self-possession, she helpfully clarified her thought.

'I meant to say, "I often think about what a guy's PENIS would taste like, or what it would feel like in my mouth..."'

'How often do you think about that?' Jason asked calmly, not letting her off the hook just yet. Sure enough, she collapsed again for a moment back into a little girl, giggling with a burst of bashfulness and girlish frankness as she realized the honest answer was more revealing and outrageous than even she had thought, prior to being forced to voice it publicly.

'Um...oh my gosh...um...a TON...probably too much, actually...'

There was a knowing laugh from the audience. She was definitely perfectly ripe and ready for this next phase of her life.

The video cut back to her naked backside as she picked up her wet clothing and walked slowly away out of focus, and her voiceover took us to the conclusion.

'I'm so excited to get to know you guys in a whole new way, and learn everything I can from all of you. I hope to place well at the Festival, 'cause I've worked really hard on my body and I truly want it to be a special thing that gives you pleasure and makes you want to teach me a lot. I want to be super sweet to each of you, and I promise to work really hard and try my best in every lesson. I just hope you'll be patient with me as I'm learning all this new stuff, and be nice to me...'

The video faded out to enthusiastic applause as the MC announced our names, and Jennifer and I made our entrance to the stage.

I was relieved to see that neither of us looked as nervous as we'd felt-Jennifer in particular was cool, calm, and stunning. I wore a dark blue suit and tie, and Jennifer was dressed in a gorgeous custom gown. We had gone to Oliver Stack, one of the premier designers of Festival wear, and he had made it just for her.

A girl's clothing was of utmost importance, and the best designs were created for the wearer's body specifically; thus the relationship we were building with Stack would be the key to many future outfits Jennifer might wear.

He took his job with the seriousness that his reputation justified, and the creative process began with dozens of detailed and intimate measurements and photographs of Jennifer's body, so that Stack could sculpt every aspect of his designs to flatter and showcase every part of her. In addition to the usual hips, waist, bust, height, and inseam, his process even included metrics like the length of her nipples, the distance between them, and the diameter of her areolas; the width of her her vulva in the gap between her thighs, the visible length of her clitoral hood (in case we wanted him to design daring pieces that revealed as much of her mons as possible while preserving the last vestiges of her modesty), and the use of a complex, protractor-looking device that recorded the precise curves of her bottom and her breasts.

His efforts had paid off, and as we walked briskly to the center of the stage, hand-in-hand, Jennifer was breathtaking in a dark, shimmering blue piece with a plunging neckline and two long slits on either side of the skirt that ran to the top of her hips. The light fabric clung effortlessly to her body as if by some magic, with no sign of cinching or fasteners.

Her dark hair was done in a princess updo, and her deep brown eyes flashed like gems even through the TV screen. My own eyes welled up a little bit as I saw how beautiful my daughter was.

We stopped momentarily on our marks in the center of the stage, and with our clasped hands raised, bowed briefly to the audience, the two commentators, and the three judges who stood next to the commentating desk.

Kyle Monahan was a local television personality who hosted a show about the Festival that featured interviews with organizers and officials; how-to segments; Festival-related news, and in-depth personality pieces that would follow a girl through a few weeks of her Festival preparations. One of his most popular bits, called '3SEXTY5', consisted of bringing a girl into the studio a year after she celebrated her Festival and having her demonstrate for the viewers-on Kyle, his co-host, Dylan, and the show's other guests, if there were any-some of her favorite techniques and skills she'd learned in her first year as a woman.

'Layla, Jennifer Stevenson is looking great as she makes her entrance-I'm seeing a lot of confidence and poise already out of this girl. She just draws the eye immediately, doesn't she?'

Layla Schaeffer owned St. Carmen's Academy, an elite finishing school for young debutantes, and she was considered a tastemaker in all things concerning female desirability.

St. Carmen's was for girls who wanted to waste no time getting married to the highest-quality men they could, and so instead of the normal route of taking lessons from every eligible male for as long as it took to eventually find love, St. Carmen's students underwent an accelerated three-month program cloistered in the giant old brick boarding school. There they learned literally everything needed to be the ultimately desirable wife, including highly advanced sexual skills.

In a long, low outbuilding next to the school, St. Carmen's maintained a large stable of physically gifted young men for the purpose of the curriculum. Challenging courses designed to plumb the depths of each girl's endurance, skill, pain and pleasure tolerance, physical capacity, and sexual responsiveness took place nearly around the clock, at the carefully regimented direction of Ms. Schaeffer. Many girls didn't even make it past their seven day orientation phase, fondly known by graduates and staff as 'Blowjob Week'.

The sheer intensity and volume of the training program-and the seemingly endless, inexhaustible army of well-conditioned cocks Ms. Schaeffer had assembled-pushed many of the young girls to near their breaking point before building them back up to be stronger and more sexually capable and confident than any of their peers. And the payoff was worth it for those who didn't fail out.

There was a long, three- to four-year waiting list of very successful, attractive, carefully vetted men who put down immense deposits for the privilege of having their pick of each crop of graduates from St. Carmen's as their wives. They got a young woman who would make an ideal life partner, with both the skills and genetics to produce high-quality, top-performing girls of her own. For their part, the girls got to forego being handled cavalierly by an endless string of random, eager older men from the general population, and instead paid their dues by compressing several years of sexual experience into a rigorous few months, then were paired with a carefully selected, highly qualified male who would care for her for life with security and affection in a well-appointed lifestyle.

The Festival was an opportunity to scout for students, and Layla was always on hand to add her insights to the proceedings. She nodded as she joined Kyle on air.

'Yes, I have to say, she's already making a mark for me-fantastic styling, great gown, but I love the look in her eyes-she feels like she's here to compete, even though she's never done something like this before. At the end of the day, Kyle, it's really hard to beat a girl who's just 'game'-she's here to play, to do whatever needs to be done. I love the attitude.'

'Absolutely, Layla-it'll be interesting to see if she can maintain that attitude through the rest of the show.'

The lead judge motioned for us to proceed, and I released Jennifer to begin her routine, which consisted of a series of walks and turns across the stage as the judges evaluated her gait and carriage. She put on a show, flouncing and spinning, her hips swinging and her eyes flashing as she gave her best angles to the judges, who silently made notes on their clipboards as they watched her move.

The judges were the three oldest men in the district who were still capable of copulating to completion with a girl. It was an honored position-they had amassed the greatest trove of appreciation for the female body over their many years, and were considered to be in the best position to make pronouncements concerning the desirability of any given girl for the purposes of the Festival.

Selections for the judges spots were held two weeks before the Festival each year, and generally several dozen old men would register to try out. Due to the inescapably somewhat distasteful nature of the proceedings, three young girls guilty of minor infractions would generally be secured for the purposes from the city jail, and their misdemeanors dismissed in exchange for their assistance.

One by one each of the applicants would select the girl he fancied, and on a bed set up in the community center would demonstrate in a business-like manner that he could achieve and sustain an erection, penetrate the orifice of his choice, and climax inside or on the girl. The three oldest men who qualified would be that year's judges.

The girls generally did their best to imagine themselves elsewhere, and were advised to be grateful for having their sentences lifted in exchange for something as simple as spending the afternoon enduring ten or twelve old-man bodies sweatily humping them and trying to fill them with stale cum.

The main danger of course was to the applicants. Waivers were signed, and informed consent was assumed, but even as recently as last year the indefatigable Maxwell Herschberger, 98 years young, had expired in the act of trying to qualify for a judge's post using little Anika Knight, who was evidently a little too hot for Herschberger's constitution. As he came in the missionary position the old man collapsed, and as Anika screamed in horror and tried to fight her way out from under his rapidly rigoring body, several men had to rush to free her. Legend was that even as they pulled him off, his cock slid from her pussy still hard and still firing his final, enthusiastic bursts of semen.

As Jennifer completed her paces to applause, she returned to the center of the stage, turned and faced the audience, and struck a pose with her hand on her hip. I stepped behind her and, with a flourish, tugged lightly on a hidden strip of fabric on her gown and withdrew a strategically placed pin from her hair. With a breathtaking smoothness her entire gown fell to the floor without Jennifer moving a muscle, while her hair cascaded down around her shoulders in thick, lustrous waves, and she stood on the stage in her lingerie set.

The crowd applauded again as she repeated her series of walks in her sky-blue bra and panties and her delicate strappy heels. There would be three passes-fully clothed, in lingerie, and finally fully nude-and in addition to her gait and overall impression, Jennifer and the rest of the girls were scored on how precisely each pass was exactly like the others. Each step, each turn had to be perfectly choreographed and repeated the same way, regardless of how much clothing the girl was wearing.