How to Train Your Daughter

Author's note: Special thanks to A, who inspired me to write her into this chapter and to whom I owe any additional energy or creativity you may find here. You're delightful.

This is a four-part chapter in a chronologically and procedurally arranged series; I'd recommend that you start with Ch. 1 to get your bearings (which also happens to be one of the most popular chapters), or at least read Ch. 2, which is a very short synopsis of the rules of the universe in these stories.

All parts of this chapter have been completed and submitted; expect to see one section go live each day, so stay tuned.

This series deals with first-time, free-use, age difference, light BDSM/noncon, and light incest.

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Part 1.

'About ready to go, sweetheart?' I called up the stairs from the entryway, my jacket over my arm.

'Ten seconds, dad!' Jennifer shouted from behind the bathroom door, and I checked my watch again just as a horn honked in the driveway to let us know Dave and Layla Kendrick had arrived to pick us up.

'They're here, honey,' I said.

'Oh my gosh daddy, I'm COMING,' she laughed, appearing at the top of the stairs and nearly taking my breath away as she descended toward me.

We were fine. Martin Davis, who was hosting the father-daughter party, had said come by anytime after 1:00pm. I certainly wasn't interested in being late, though-I had been looking forward to tonight for weeks, ever since Martin had invited us.

She was dressed simply, and her figure and her grace were always stunning. She wore a very light, white, off-the-shoulder knit top which was thin enough to make it obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. She didn't really need to most of the time; her breasts were finely formed B-cups, and the prominent nipples she had been blessed with pressed emphatically against the soft cashmere, which draped and clung perfectly to all the important details of her bust, her breasts bouncing gently with each step she took down the stairs.

The top was a crop, which ended just above her navel, and I admired the lines of her tight, toned stomach as it disappeared behind her short blue skirt. Her legs were bare-and spectacular as always-and she wore a lovely pair of white, strappy heels that showcased her perfect dark blue pedicure. She carried her small handbag, and her eyes sparkled as she drew close, her rich brown hair pulled back into her customary ponytail.

'Okay, dad, I'm ready,' she smiled, kissing me on the cheek and thanking me for being patient. I smiled back and took her by the shoulders so I could take another look at her.

'Sweetheart, you look amazing,' I said, taking her in with a pang of fatherly sentiment as I realized how grown-up she had become. Jennifer blushed and waved my soppiness off with a giggle. I chuckled and shook my head. 'No, honey, you really do. I'm so proud of you. You're perfect. Did you do a fresh shave?'

Jennifer nodded, and I kissed her forehead.

'Good job, honey. Let me check really quick.'

My daughter groaned and rolled her eyes. Even as grown-up as she had become, she still needed guidance and accountability, and that was my responsibility. I simply shot her a look that said I wasn't messing around, and with another groan and a muttered complaint under her breath that I didn't trust her, she raised her skirt and pulled the front of her panties down for me.

Up until recently I had done most of her grooming and hygiene, including bathing her and styling her pubic hair. Now that she had celebrated her Festival, it was time for her to take primary responsibility for these tasks, and she was still working on learning to maintain the standards that she needed to.

'I do trust you, sweetheart,' I said gently, kneeling in front of her and inspecting her work. She had gone with a narrow wisp of a landing strip, and as always her clitoris, peeking out from between her outer lips, gave me a little shock of primal joy at its perfection.

I ran my fingers along her mound and between her legs. The soft skin of her genitals, fresh from her shave and moisturizing, was even more velvety than usual. 'It's just that you've only done your own shaving a couple times, and this is a really important day. Four other dads will be sharing you, and it needs to be right. You want that too, don't you?'

Jennifer sighed again and begrudgingly agreed, and shifted her feet so I could reach through her legs and check her perineum and anus. I was happy to find that she had done a very complete job, and with another kiss on the forehead I told her to pull up her panties and we headed out to join Dave and Layla.

The Kendricks had moved to our neighborhood about four years ago, and Jennifer and Layla had become fast friends. They were both extremely intelligent and very beautiful, and they were inseparable throughout high school, forming a formidable duo that made a mark in the theater department, the debate club, and the model UN.

She leapt from the car as we emerged from the house, and the girls squealed as they embraced; they hadn't seen each other in a couple weeks since the Festival, which was unheard of for them. She then gave me a giant hug, as well.

'Thank you so much for inviting us, Mr. Stevenson,' she said

While Jennifer had done some cheer and gymnastics, Layla had excelled in track and basketball. She was a little taller than Jennifer, with long, powerful legs that met at a ridiculously perfect backside; this entire priceless apparatus was perfectly framed by her short, flouncy white skirt and sophisticated leather open-toe booties. Upstairs she was lean and graceful, and was blessed with a small, perky pair of B-cup breasts nearly identical to Jennifer's that were showcased in a thin, ruffly cobalt blouse with a plunging neckline. Like my daughter, she didn't need to wear a bra, and my hand brushed her nipple where it pressed against the light cotton.

In spite of her physical prowess, she was a lithesome, girlish creature, with delicate features, a pre-raphaelite jawline, and sparkling blue eyes that danced ceaselessly in search of adventure. Her father's shock of fire-red hair had been tempered by her mother's genes, and was bequeathed to her in the form of long, wavy, auburn tresses that tended toward copper at their ends.

I hugged her close and kissed her head. I was very much looking forward to this afternoon in general, but I was especially excited to have the opportunity to train Layla.

Over the years I had played every role from science fair project manager to philosophical debate moderating carpool driver to slumber party breakfast chef for Jennifer and her friends, and Layla had always been there. She'd seem to flirt with me occasionally in the tentative, awkward manner of a young girl experimenting cautiously with her burgeoning power over an older, larger male, and we'd had a couple of more intimate conversations about her plans for her life and challenges she was facing with boys or her teachers. I'd watched her become an incredibly beautiful and accomplished girl, and I'd imagined for a long time what she would be like to enjoy.

I'd invited Dave and Layla when Martin told me he'd had a cancellation, and a couple days later I was pleasantly surprised to find a letter in my mailbox from Layla confirming their RSVP.

In it she thanked me for inviting them, and asked if they should bring anything. Then she noted Jennifer's unusual confidence when it came to matters of sexual training, and asked if I had any counsel that would help her feel as at ease as she embarked on her own training career. She detailed how her father's business partner had come to the house the morning after the Festival and trained her in the kitchen before breakfast in front of her parents, and she highlighted how some of the parts of her session that made her apprehensive about the rest of her training.

She had never written me a letter before, and it was characteristic of the type of missive a girl would write to a man she was considering asking to be her mentor.

After their Festival, girls were required to accept lessons from any eligible male, at pretty much any time and any place. This ensured a broad sexual education that reinforced their understanding of their sex as a community asset.

Mentorship was an unofficial role in which a man might indulge a girl with a little additional personal attention, especially pertaining to things like answering questions or helping her develop specific skills that may require consistent practice involving more than a single lesson.

It was a position of trust and tutelage; typically a mentor would meet with his girl once every couple weeks for in-person skill tests and evaluations, and after a girl finished a training session with a regular eligible male, she would often write a short report and send it to her mentor, explaining what she had learned and asking any questions that she had; he could then help her debrief and contextualize her experiences, and be a steady voice of encouragement, duty, and knowledge for her as she negotiated the challenging realities of her new life.

Of course, none of this could compromise the rest of one's training duties, but if there was some underlying connection or affection for the girl, it wasn't uncommon for a man to carve out a little extra time now and then to help her develop.

It was a position that a girl was responsible to ask an eligible man to take, and I wondered if Layla was considering asking me to be hers. She would have discussed it carefully with Dave, and if he'd given his blessing, I was certainly flattered. I wasn't sure if it was a commitment I could make at this point, but I decided to just wait and see if she sent me a letter with a formal request.

I climbed in the front seat and greeted Dave as he flashed me one of his brilliant smiles through his giant red mustache. He was a former firefighter who now owned a business downtown, and his powerful shoulders and twinkling green eyes made everyone around him feel safe and cared for. We were good friends, though certainly not as close as our daughters; we played on the same softball team and I'd contracted his company to do some work for one of my clients, and he was a solid guy.

As we made our way to the freeway to take us from Magnolia to the East side, where Martin lived in the upscale Clyde Hill neighborhood, he expressed his thanks for the invitation as well.

Layla should have been a top-three finisher at the Festival, but she took an unrecoverable points deduction when she flinched and pulled away as the judges inspected her anus; her loss of composure plunged her to a heartbreaking 15th place. Among other repercussions, it meant that she was required to submit to up to four training sessions per day for her first year, since she obviously needed more training, rather than the two sessions girls in the higher percentiles were allowed.

Dave was concerned both about preparing his daughter for the significant physical demands of the next year, as well as with building up her mental strength and comfort level so she could be more confident and less timid when offering men her body to explore and enjoy. Today's party would help with both of these issues.

Martin Davis greeted us at the door of his large, sprawling contemporary house with a giant smile. We'd met him and his wife at a benefit auction last year; they were a vivacious couple, and we'd become good friends, spending several lovely family weekends with them last summer on their boat off of Montlake. He was in his sixties, but possessed the energy and enthusiasm of a much younger man. He was heavily built and tall, about six foot four, with a considerable belly, and his bushy white beard and the twinkle in his eye behind his spectacles gave him the undeniable air of an off-season Santa Claus.

He shook my hand as we entered, expressing his delight at having us join his party, and turned to Jennifer. She stood straight, clasping her hands behind her back, and thanked Martin with a smile for the invitation.

'Ah, darling Jennifer, it is so good to see you and to have you in my home,' he said. He leaned down and kissed her on the lips while he gently fondled the undersides of her breasts over her top; Jennifer kept her hands behind her back and let him taste her, and she giggled bashfully as he inhaled her scent with noisy chuffs, registering her pheromones with relish.

'This is my friend, Dave Kendrick, and his daughter, Layla,' I introduced everyone, and Martin seized Dave's hand in his giant mitt and shook it warmly before greeting Layla as he had Jennifer.

Martin's large downstairs rec room was comfortably furnished with oversized couches and chairs; along one wall was a collection of classic arcade games, and a sliding glass door opened to a lovely pool and deck.

'Make yourselves at home,' Martin said with a grand gesture toward the kitchenette counter, which was stocked with drinks and snacks. 'There is plenty of wine and beer, so enjoy. Jennifer and Layla, I know you and the other girls are too young to drink, but there is juice and soda for you if you'd like some. Hydration is probably a good thing for you to focus on this afternoon,' he chuckled.

'And this is my next-door neighbor, Colonel Curt Ford, and his daughter, Kristen. This is Robert and Jennifer, and Dave and Layla. You should know that Jennifer placed first in her Festival last week-we're honored to have a celebrity in the house,' he chuckled.

I grabbed a beer and got Jennifer a coke, and we all shook hands. I was growing more excited about the afternoon by the minute.

The colonel was a clean-cut and very well-built fellow with a tight-cropped head of steel-gray hair and the quiet air of a career military man. He seemed kind, but not easily impressed or distracted by nonsense.

His daughter, Kristen, was a stunning leggy blond in the classic fashion model style. Her bare calves and thighs were mouth-watering as they disappeared beneath a short, diaphanous white A-line sundress that hung loosely on her lithe body; the sunlight streaming in from outside illuminated the fabric and revealed a hint of her dark areolas where her nipples pressed against the insubstantial cloth. Where Layla seemed younger than her years, Kristen seemed more mature-doubtless a product of her upbringing by her father.

Curt expressed his pleasure at meeting Jennifer, and congratulated her for her placing in the Festival. As he and Dave chatted her up, telling their daughters to pay close attention to Jennifer today so they could learn all they could from a Festival champion and improve their own desirability, an adorable little curly-haired blond walked in from the back yard.

She had evidently been tanning by the pool, and besides her sparkling smile she wore only a tiny green bikini. The top was hardly more than two little patches of fabric that barely concealed the areolas of her considerable breasts, and the bottoms-a minimal scrap of cloth meant to cover her slit, but so short that it failed to fully conceal her thick, blond landing strip-were no more substantial.

She was quite soft and curvy, with mischievous almond-shaped eyes behind a big pair of wireframe glasses that made her look like an adorable blond mouse, and a big smile.

Martin grinned as he hugged her to his side and kissed her head.

'Ah, there you are sweetheart,' he said, his hand resting comfortably on her naked backside as he turned her to us to make introductions. 'Gentlemen, this is my granddaughter Elizabeth. Elizabeth, this is everyone-oh, and there's the doorbell. I believe our last guests have arrived. Make yourselves comfortable, and I'll be right back.'

We chatted amongst ourselves until Martin returned a moment later with a slim, dark-haired man in his late thirties and a beautiful girl.

'Folks, this is my good friend Levi Miller, and his daughter, Abigail.'

We greeted the new pair, and none of the fathers could take their eyes off of Abigail. She was slender, like her father. Her narrow waist accentuated her impressive bust, which we were somewhat puzzled to observe was enclosed in a substantial bra beneath her simple, long-sleeved top.

Her hips and long legs were concealed by a nicely fitted pair of jeans, which, in spite of how flattering they were, still stood out from the other girls' notably less substantial attire. It was customary for girls of all ages to wear the minimum amount of clothing required in any situation, and it was frowned-upon for them to cover more than was necessary. Jeans were rarely worn by girls before October, and certainly not on a lovely sunny day like today.

She had haunting, dark doe eyes and thick lashes that were framed irresistibly by the thick brunette hair she'd pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her lips were strongly sculpted, and she had a giant, slightly gap-toothed smile that reminded me of the young classic actress from sixty years ago, Lara Brookes-and I was delighted to find that she also had a slight lisp. She was truly a stunning girl, and while she seemed polite and friendly, she had undeniable hints of shyness in her voice and mannerisms.

'Levi and his family just moved here last week from outside Toronto-we used to work for the same data company, and we met on a project together about ten years ago in Amsterdam. He's a great friend, and it's wonderful that he got himself transferred down here,' Martin continued.

That explained the clothing-Canada had not followed our path to the cultural norms we now enjoyed, and I could only imagine how monumental this move must be for this young girl. It was our job to make her feel welcome and safe.

Levi thanked everyone for having them, and said he was excited for the afternoon. I sensed that he shared a similar apprehension as his daughter, but I was confident that he'd warm up quickly once things got underway.

Now that all the guests had arrived, Martin made sure we all had drinks, then led us into the main area and took a spot standing at the fireplace while he waited for us to get settled in the chairs and couches to begin the party. Elizabeth, still in her bikini, sat next to him on the fireplace ledge and pressed her body lovingly against his leg.

I picked a big recliner and Jennifer sat on my lap; as my hand came to rest on the side of her bare butt cheek where her short skirt had ridden up, she leaned down and kissed me.

'I love you, Daddy,' she whispered, 'Thank you for doing this party for me...and with me.'

I melted a little at my little girl's gratitude, and squeezed her butt as I returned her kiss.

'Of course, sweetheart,' I whispered back, 'I love you so much. I'm always going to take care of you.'

Standing at the fireplace with a big smile, our host patted his nearly naked granddaughter on the head, raised his beer, and welcomed everyone to the festivities.

'I've held these father-daughter parties for years. I did them for each of my four girls, and I hosted quite a number of them for friends. As you can see,' he said, gesturing around the large room, 'Marie and I have been blessed with a home suited to comfortably entertaining the special people in our life, so I was always happy to offer it to our neighbors or to my buddies who wanted to hold their own father-daughter parties. But it's been about ten years since the last one, so this is a special night for me, certainly, and I hope you all enjoy it as well.

We all raised our own drinks and cheered.

'Of course, my girls are all quite grown now. However, unfortunately my son, Elizabeth's father, had to travel unexpectedly for work this week, in spite of the Festival, and so she is staying with Marie and me.

'I stepped up to the occasion and exhibited her last week, and she placed quite well, so I'm feeling pretty good about it-not too bad for an old dog who hasn't handled a girl on stage in a couple decades,' he laughed, affectionately mussing his granddaughter's hair, 'but who am I kidding-the quality of this little body speaks for itself. Her scores are a result of her hard work. I'm very proud of you, honey.