Lie Daddy. Joy's Tale.

LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER. Joy's tale

A daughter enters the world of BDSM with her father.

Daddy encourages Joy to discover her submissive side.

Notes: This story is a continuation of the Mistress Dee chronicles. Yet another of Mistress Dee's students is groomed into her world of submission and pain. Like Kim before her, Joy also wishes to learn to give, as well as to take. This story delves deeper into her daddy's role than previous tales, introducing new degradations for Dee's slaves to perform. The astonishing similarities of the girls' lives are a tribute to Mistress Dee's skills and experience in selecting her stable of trainees from her clients and elsewhere.

All of the content is fantasy, hence the ability of Mistress Dee's slaves to take severe punishment so soon after learning to submit and the possibly 'larger than life' characters in the tale. As with my previous tales, just enjoy the story, and if you enjoy it, your feedback comments and votes are welcome.

Chapter 1

Joy takes a caning

There she is, standing looking at me in my bedroom. She has just emerged from the shower and has a big fluffy towel wrapped around her. She looks great, but she wishes she were a couple of inches taller. However, at 5' 6" her shape is pretty good. Obligingly, she drops her towel so I can have a more critical look. She's a few months past her 20

th

birthday, Black hair, straight to the shoulders, and honey-coloured skin, both inherited from her Asian mother, with dark brown eyes to match. Straight, swimmer's shoulders tapering to a medium narrow waist and flaring back out to show me the width of her hips. Slender runner's thighs, and as she turns sideways on, I see the outline of her ass, round and full without having to push it back for effect. As I approach, I notice her boobs, each a delightful handful, 34B, with strong, thick nipples and small dark areola puckering into hardness as I gaze at them. I lower my look and at the junction of the thighs, a light covering of black, straight, pubic hair, trimmed, but not enough. 'I must do something about that', I said to myself as I closed the cupboard door, with its full length mirror, and continued to dry myself. Daddy has taught me to be proud of my looks and I frequently get heads to turn in the street, and not just by boys! I've had some boyfriends, and some girlfriends, but I don't find the usual experiences hugely satisfying.

I live with my step-father. He usually works from home doing some kind of design consultancy. He married my mum when he was in his early twenties and I was about eight years old so he is only about fourteen years older than me. Sadly, my mum died when I was twelve and he has looked after me ever since. We get on very well; he is very open-minded and usually tolerant of my behavior although he is strict on some issues. However, we can discuss any topic I want to bring up and he is always honest and straightforward with me and treats me far better than I deserve. Sometimes, it is more like we are friends than daughter/daddy. I call him daddy. Between us we are not particularly shy, we see each other naked quite often coming and going to the bathroom and it's not a big deal, although in the past few months I have seen him naked more frequently than before.

I go to a small, girls only college close to my home where recently a new lecturer came to the college to teach Behavioural Science. It is a very small group who attend this subject as most people don't find it interesting enough. I, on the other hand, have taken a deep interest in it, particularly because of the teacher. She is in her mid-thirties with a body to dream for, around 5'10" tall with dark chestnut hair past her shoulder. She wears flattering clothes and I have noticed her boobs straining through her blouse sometimes -- I guess she has a 36C chest, and a very athletic frame. She doesn't smile a lot, in fact she seems rather stern and strict and when she tells us to behave in class, we do. I confess that am rather in awe of her.

It was the second term and winter was well under way when one day I got delayed on my way to class and I turned up five minutes late. It was one of those days when the two other students had both skipped the class. Knowing that she had some kind of hang-up about us not arriving for class on time, I apologized to her for being late and took my seat in the front row, as usual.

"I appear to have you all to myself, Joy. Perhaps this would be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other better?" she suggested.

She asked me to tell her about myself and my life, she seemed genuinely interested, particularly when I started to talk about my daddy. I call him daddy, even if he is my step-dad. He tells me that makes him very happy and he loves me as if I were his own daughter. His name is Roy, and he is self-employed, mid 30s and quite fit. She asked me to tell her more about him. Instead, I showed her a photo that I had taken at the beach a year ago. She took in a quick breath that made me glance at her and her face puzzled me a little -- it had become more stern than usual, and rather purposeful. Quickly she smiled to cover her reaction and said some pleasantry about him looking nice, and how good it was that he and I get on so well. I told her I have no secrets from him and that he has none from me.

"Really?" she asked, "You think not? All men have secrets they keep from their daughters, just like daughters have secrets they keep from their fathers. This man is no exception, I can assure you."

I didn't want to challenge her on that, so I let it slide -- she was meant to be the expert in behavioural science, after all.

"Now," she said, "we have to discuss your late arrival in class today. The other students all informed me beforehand that they had to miss this class, but you did not. This is something I will not tolerate, ever. Lateness to appointments is a trait which must be corrected immediately, before it becomes a habit. I am quite new here at the college and I intend to produce successful students so this is my warning to you, Joy. I know you are 20 years old and this may sound strange to you, but in my world, when a person is late, or otherwise behaves badly, they receive punishment."

"If you are late again to class," she continued, "or if you earn punishment for any other suitable reason, I will award you three strokes of the cane. Initially, these will be applied over the outer clothing, skirt or jeans or whatever you are wearing that day, but there will be no reprieve and punishment will take place that same day. There will be no discussion, nor negotiation on these rules. Is that clear?"

Well, I was amazed at hearing this. I had an idea I might be spanked, having discussed it briefly with my classmates who had also been late to class before, but they wouldn't say what the punishment was that they had been given. It was a secret they shared and I admit to being curious. I had never been caned in my life, receiving just some pretty gentle spankings from daddy when I was younger, before mum died, and interestingly, never since then. I just looked at her and couldn't find any words to speak.

"You will be allowed just three such experiences from me. If your behaviour does not improve by then, your punishment will increase." She added. "You will learn quickly that I am a woman of my word. As this is your major subject you must attend my classes unless you now choose to drop my subject. It is, after all, about behavioural science. This is the part I call 'behaviour therapy' where the subject learns to behave better! Take as long as you like to consider your options. By attending my next class this coming Wednesday, you will be silently giving me your consent. I think you are an excellent student, and it would be a pity to lose you, because I like you and I think you will do very well on my course, but this is 'my casa', and these are 'my rules'!"

I absorbed all this and my mind was racing. I told her I needed some time to consider everything she was suggesting, and was even considering asking daddy what he thought about it.

"I think that would be a very good idea, Joy. In fact, I think you should consult your father? Maybe he can help advise you on this. I am sure he will recommend that you accept my rules. I have another idea. Why don't I give you the three strokes that you earned this morning right now, so that you will know how it feels to be caned? That should help you decide if whether it is too terrible to repeat or not."

As a behavioural scientist, she certainly knew her stuff, because as she was talking, I was beginning to wonder about that myself. Daddy had never been strict enough with me and I knew that I sometimes push his tolerance far beyond what he should have to take. Maybe being disciplined by this strong woman was what was missing in my life.

"Yes, Miss Dee. I think that might be a very good idea. You know I love your classes, and the way you teach us. I like you too, although sometimes I feel a bit intimidated by you. I feel that maybe you can teach me much more. Please don't be too harsh on me though, as I have never been caned before."

We went to her office which happened to be at the far end of a corridor of offices, most of which were not in use. It is on the second floor, and all you could see through the window was grass and a few trees. Nobody could look in! Without a word spoken, she opened a cupboard and removed a tall chinese vase, inside which was an assortment of canes. I knew what a cane looked like, even if I had never had one used on me! There was an armchair in the centre of the room positioned towards the window where the light was streaming in.

"Always good to have light on a subject!" she announced. "Joy, you were five minutes late to class this morning. As I informed you, I would normally let that go by with a warning but you have opted to take the three strokes of the cane that this misdemeanor earns. You will be allowed to keep your jeans on this time, but please get up on the armchair, with your knees on the arms and rest your neck and arms on the back of the chair." She swished the cane through the air, making a rather terrifying whooshing sound. My heart was racing.

I complied with her instructions and made myself as comfortable as I could, glad that I had chosen to wear my jeans that morning instead of a skirt. My knees were spread about two feet apart! She took her stance behind me and to my left and tapped her cane on my ass a few times.

"Ready?" she asked, and I told her I was. "Not hard, please Miss." I pleaded. Not one of the strokes hurt much, although they did sting a bit and I could feel a mild glow inside my jeans. In fact, it wasn't just a glow on my ass, I felt a tingling in my pussy too, and wondered what that was about. As I climbed back down from the armchair, she noticed my rouged cheeks and flushed throat and casually mentioned that sometimes a girl, or a boy, who gets caned will feel a bit of a sexual thrill.

"It's perfectly normal, you know." She said, "The mixture of feelings of embarrassment, humiliation, submission and the physical stimulus to the nerves in the area can have a very erotic effect on some people. I know many people who have become totally addicted to it and crave repeated canings, increasingly harder, to satisfy their needs. Now, go home to your father and think about what we have done here today. Talk it over with him. Tell him that you have just received your first lesson in 'behavioural therapy to improve tardiness'. I am confident that he will agree that you should attend your next class, on time please, on Wednesday morning at 9.00 sharp!"

I had a few other classes that day but couldn't concentrate on them. I made my way home, my ass still tingling a bit as a reminder of my introduction to 'behavioural therapy to improve tardiness'. Why was she so sure daddy would be enthusiastic about it? Did she know him? She certainly behaved strangely when I showed her his picture. And, if she did know him, where from? He hadn't mentioned her before, but then, I hadn't told him much about my course and the new teacher either. Many thoughts passed through my mind, and many questions. I think she was right though, I should speak with him about it.

Daddy was in the shower when I got home. I went to my bedroom to change and put my dressing gown on over my fresh underwear. As I put my clothes into the laundry basket, I noticed it was full. I picked it up just as daddy came out of the bathroom wrapping his towel around himself. "Oh, hello Joy. You're home. Do you want a hand with that?" He came forward, tucking his towel in, and took the basket in both hands. "Thanks daddy. Can you bring it downstairs and I'll put it in the machine straight away?" I set off down the stairs ahead of him and heard him following me. I turned around as he started down the stairs and watched his towel loosen as he took the first step down and it fell off completely before he could stop it. He was on the stairs and couldn't put down the basket. Leaving the towel behind him, he continued to the foot of the stair so there he was, holding the basket, completely naked.

"Oh daddy! Your towel fell off! Quick. Bring me the basket." And he did. He had little choice so he put the basket down in front of me and just stood there, facing me with a helpless look on his face. I stared at his cock and exclaimed "Daddy, your hair -- there isn't any. You are completely shaved down there!" and he was. He isn't a hairy person to begin with, but between his navel and his knees there wasn't a single hair. "Wow, daddy, do you shave yourself there? It looks as smooth as a baby's bottom! Why? Is this new? I've never noticed before, but I guess I've never stared at it so long before either." I laughed, as much in wonder as enjoying his embarrassment. Clearly he was rather embarrassed too but what struck me was that he didn't just turn around and go upstairs to fetch his towel. As I looked, I saw his cock twitch a little and suddenly begin to swell. He was getting a hard on. We both stood there seemingly paralysed, apart from his cock which quickly came to full erection and it started to throb, pointing at me. This is new, I thought. He has never stayed naked in front of me for so long. Is he doing this deliberately?

"Daddy, I can't stop looking at you cock. I've never seen it hard like this. It looks kind of nice. Wow!" I blurted out.

I took pity on him and picking up the laundry basket I went to the kitchen. He dashed up the stairs and quickly wrapped the towel around himself again. I was actually quite amused and got on with starting the washing machine going and within five minutes he was dressed and back downstairs to start the evening.

"So, darling. How was college? Did you learn anything new and interesting today?" he asked, clearly trying to avoid the burning elephant-in-the-room issue. He was dressed in loose shorts and a tee-shirt, his usual 'relaxed evening at home' gear.

"Actually, daddy, it was possibly the most interesting day in all my time there. Can we have one of our talks, daddy? The 'non-judgemental, daddy-gives-advice' kind of talk?"

"Oh, this sounds serious. Maybe we should have a glass of wine, and a seat in my den, and let's hear about your interesting day." He responded. Great idea -- I enjoy a glass or two of wine, although more than two makes me a bit silly, but it should help to loosen the inhibitions for the chat I wanted to have, so we opened a nice bottle and sat opposite each other in the comfy armchairs in his den.

"Fire away." He offered, leaving it to me to do the talking.

''Daddy, I was caned today, by my teacher, for being late." I started.

'Good lord!" he said, changing position in his chair. "You had better tell me all about it."

So I told him. I explained that I was late, I was the only student and the teacher and I had had a lovely chat, mostly about me, but that she had taken a special interest in what I had to say about him. I mentioned that she had reacted weirdly when I showed her his photo, declared that she believed he kept secrets from me, and fairly quickly turned the conversation around to how she wanted to discipline me for being late.

I noticed daddy was shifting about in his chair a bit and wondered if he was OK. I asked him to top up our glasses and noticed that he adjusted his shorts before fetching the bottle and pouring the wine. Was he getting a hard-on -- again? He sat down again quickly and asked me to continue. I told him about the warning of three strokes of the cane, how she had advised me to consult my father on whether I should allow her to do this to me, and how she believed that he would urge me to do so. I continued my story by telling him about the 'behavioural therapy to improve tardiness' that she specifically wanted me to mention to him, and the three strokes that she had given me. I told him they had stung a little, but that I could easily have taken them harder than I got. I did not mention how it had made me feel a bit horny!

"Well, that is quite a story!" he said. "I know I haven't spanked you for many years, but you also know that I am a stickler for people being on time for appointments so I think you deserved her punishment. However, I am a little surprised at how quickly you seem to have submitted to her regime, and without much need for persuasion on her part. Behavioural therapy to improve tardiness, eh? How did you feel after she caned you? Angry? Upset? Or accepting? Maybe a little excited?"

"Yes, daddy. While she was telling me about her rules, and the punishment for breaking them, I found myself agreeing with her. I think maybe you have been too kind to me and that I should have been disciplined by you much more than I have been. I know I have been naughty many times. She is a powerful character and I think at that moment I actually wanted her to take control over me. I wanted to find out what it would be like to submit to someone else's authority and, I suddenly realized, that I quite wanted her to cane me."

"Good grief!" daddy retorted, "I had no idea you felt like that. You feel that I have been too lenient with you? You would have preferred me to have been stricter in your up-bringing? Maybe you are right, I should have been much stricter, and punished you when you deserved it, but your mother would never have agreed to that. Would you let me see if your teacher has left any marks on your backside after caning you?"

That was pretty direct. Of course, as I've already said, we have seen each other in various states of undress over the years, in and out of the bathroom, and I had just seen him standing bollock naked, quite literally, in front of me, but I have never deliberately shown him any of my body before, for his inspection, as it were. However, the wine was kicking in and I thought 'why not?'. So he told me to stand up and stand with my back to him and to pull my dressing gown aside and then I felt his fingers on my panties. "Can I pull these down?" he asked my permission and when I gave it he gently lowered them to expose my ass to him. "Hmm, there are three faint lines here. She gave you three strokes, did she?" he asked, rubbing my ass with one hand. "No raised weals. I think this was just a token caning. Maybe she was just playing a game with you to encourage you to be more respectful of her class times. I suggest you don't worry about it. Go to her classes, but if she continues with her 'behavioural therapy', please let me know." He pulled up my panties and gave me a playful smack on my ass. We settled down to a TV dinner and a movie and I completely forgot to ask him more about his shaved cock, and why he had continued showing it to me even when it got hard.