Chapter 1: Hypnotized Daddy Spanks His Daughter

Note: Thanks to WRC264 for beta reading this!

Anna Miller

“Valerie!” I roared when I walked into the disaster of my kitchen. Flour covered one counter and spilled over the floor. My induction stove, set on the island counter, had something burned and crusted to the glass surface. Eggshells were scattered over another counter, the milk was left out, and the sink was full of dishes. “Valerie, where are you?”

I whirled around. I couldn’t believe the mess I found. My package couldn’t arrive soon enough. What was wrong with that girl?

“Valerie!” I shouted as I marched back out of the kitchen, my hair sweeping about my face. My feet were tired from my day at work. My hips swayed. My fingers flexed and relaxed. “Valerie, where are you?”

“What, Mom?” my daughter shouted from the den, sounding exasperated.

I took a right down the short hallway, passing the guest bedroom and first-floor bathroom and burst into our den. It was an entertainment room. My daughter was sitting on the floor with her friend, Wendy, beside her. They both had pouches of frosting and were decorating cupcakes sitting on a baking sheet resting between them.

“What the hell did you do to my kitchen?” I demanded.

“We had to make cupcakes,” said my daughter, looking up, apprehension on her pale face. The fifteen-year-old girl swallowed, holding a bag stuffed full of pink frosting. Her light-brown hair fell in a bushy sweep around her face, her brown eyes darting wildly, searching for salvation.

Her friend, our neighbor’s daughter Wendy, swallowed. She had her black hair falling in a braid down her back. She was a slender and lean girl, only fourteen but not for much longer. She breathed in deeply, looking like a doe before the wolf.

She should be afraid.

“You left my kitchen an utter disaster!” I shouted at my daughter. “How did you make that much of a mess to make some cupcakes?”

“It was a work in progress,” my daughter said; her face set. She deliberately spread frosting onto a cupcake. “I need to get these made for the bake sale tomorrow. I told you about that.”

“You didn’t say you would coat my entire kitchen in flour!” My blood pounded through my veins. “Why did you not clean it up?”

“We’re still baking!” my daughter answered, giving me a defiant look. She used to be such a sweet thing. Now she just glared at me and fought with me. She never did anything right. When I called her out on it, she gave me lip. “So relax, Mom. Don’t be a bitch.”

“What did you call me?” I demanded.

Wendy sat stiff as I passed her to loom over my daughter.

“A bitch,” she said, slowly, carefully. “I’ll clean it up.”

“When?” I demanded. “Why didn’t you just clean it up while the cupcakes were baking?”

“Because,” she answered.

“Because why?”

She shrugged and frosted another cupcake.

“You march in there right now and you clean the kitchen, young lady! I have dinner to cook, and I can’t do it when it’s filthy!”

“I’m frosting cupcakes!” she said. “When I’m done, Mom!”

“When you’re done?” My voice rose an octave. “You’ll do it right now!”

“Why?”

My hands balled tight, my fingernails biting into my flesh. My breasts rose and fell in my blouse as I fought the urge to grab her hair and slap her. “Because I told you to, that’s why! Get off your lazy ass and clean it up.”

She frosted another cupcake.

“Um ... I have to go,” Wendy said, her voice soft.

She set down her pastry bag and slowly rose. My daughter ignored her and kept frosting. My pulse throbbed in my throat. I didn’t know what to do. Valerie was disobeying me. I should grab her and spank her. Discipline her. But that should be a man’s job.

That was the problem. My husband and I never disciplined her.

Wendy fled, her braid dancing behind her.

“Well?” I demanded of my daughter. “Are you going to clean up your mess?”

“Eventually,” she said. “I’m busy, Mom.”

My teeth ground together.

“What’s going on?” my husband asked from behind me.

I whirled around to see Mitch there, wearing his blue jeans and a tight t-shirt. He must have just gotten home from work. He was a tall man, his sandy-blond hair cut short. He had a buff face, a scar on his chin that was pale compared to his tan face.

“Your daughter is refusing to clean up the kitchen!” I told him. “She’s giving me lip and called me a bitch.”

“I said you were acting like a bitch,” my daughter muttered. Then she hopped to her feet and darted past me to her father. She threw her arms around him, pressing that nubile body against his.

The little slut.

“Daddy, Wendy and I were just making cupcakes for the bake sale at my school tomorrow,” she said in that breathy, wheedling voice. It was all girlish and innocent now, all defiance gone. “I just haven’t had a chance to clean it. I tried to tell mom that, but she just started screaming at me. She made Wendy flee by yelling at me.”

“She refused to clean it up. My kitchen is destroyed,” I said.

“Destroyed?” Mitch asked, giving me a suffering look. “Valerie, honey, you know you have to clean up after yourself.”

“I was going to do it, Daddy,” she said, squirming against him, rubbing that nubile, fifteen-year-old body against his. “I was. I was almost finished with the frosting. See. Then I was going to do it.”

My husband grinned down at her. “Well, it sounds like your mother needs you to get that done first, and then you can finish frosting your cupcakes. Okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she said.

My husband kissed her on the forehead. “Okay, honey, go get it done. I’m sorry your mother overreacted.”

I ground my teeth as my daughter darted off in those tight shorts she wore. They molded to her tight ass and left her long legs bare. My husband glanced at her for a second and shook his head, glancing back at me.

I glared at him.

“What?” he asked.

“That’s it?” I demanded. “She called me a bitch, she defied me, and you’re not going to punish her?”

“She didn’t seem that defiant to me,” he said. “You don’t have to yell at her. If you just act nicely, treat her like an adult, she’ll respond.”

I marched up to my husband. “We’ve spoiled her. We have to stop coddling her. She’s a brat. You need to be firmer with her.”

My husband rolled his eyes. “What, do you want me to do, spank her?”

“Yes!”

His smile fell off his face. “Jesus, I was joking. We both agreed that spanking’s bad.”

“And look at the results. If you hadn’t come here, she would have left my kitchen a disaster, and I would have had to clean it.”

He shook his head. “Anna, she’s just a teenager. Relax. You’re too stressed out. She’s cleaning the kitchen. Pour yourself a glass of wine, sit down on the couch, and just chill.”

“I have dinner to cook,” I muttered, so disappointed in him. He was such a strong man, but he couldn’t stand up to our daughter. Valerie just had to smile and press her small titties against him, and he would melt.

I bet he wanted to fuck her. To just bend her over and ram into her pussy. To fuck the little slut hard like in those dirty stories...

The doorbell rang.

I whirled away from my husband. I marched through the house, passing the kitchen. I caught a glance of Valerie leaning against the counter texting on her phone, not doing a damned thing. My anger swelled through me. That little whore needed to be spanked.

I would make sure her father started disciplining her.

I wrenched open the door and smiled at the sight of the delivery man and the package he gripped in his hairy hands. Finally. It was time to change things.

Mitch Miller

I yawned as I set up from my nap. I liked enjoying those on a Saturday afternoon after getting the lawn mowed and the hedges trimmed. I didn’t need naps when I was in my twenties, but now that I was approaching forty, I appreciated them.

I stepped into the hallway and blinked to find my wife coming out of Valerie’s room. Anna had a satisfied look on her face, her finger playing with the crystal necklace she wore. I tensed. Were they fighting again? Coming home the day before and finding my wife screaming at Valerie had soured me.

“Still mad at her for ruining your kitchen?” I asked. “She did clean it up.”

“Took her half the night,” my wife muttered. “No, no, I was just finding out how the bake sale went.”

“That’s good,” I said, glad not to hear any shouting. My wife was just too hard on Valerie, always putting all this pressure on the poor thing. I peeked into my daughter’s room, expecting to find her crying. I was ready to comfort her.

She was a good girl. I just wished Anna could see that.

Instead of finding her sobbing, Valerie was shaking her head as she sat on her bed. She looked dazed, her eyes a little unfocused. Then she blinked and furrowed her brow. She fell back on the bed, holding her fingers up in the air before her, twitching them.

“Did you catch her smoking weed?” I asked in a low voice. I breathed in but didn’t smell that herbal tang.

“No, no,” my wife said, her fingers playing with that crystal. It caught the hallway light, flashing across my face.

It was a red crystal. A deep ruby. I frowned, glancing at it. The stone was shaped like a long, hexagonal tube tapering to points at the top and bottom. There was a ... flaw in the gem. A crack running through its interior that I just wanted to ... stare at. It was fascinating the way it bent and wound.

“Can we talk?” my wife asked.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding my head, my eyes staring at the necklace. She twisted it, changing how the crack looked. It magnified and warped as she shifted the faceted crystal. Another flash of light crossed my eyes.

The tension melted from my shoulders.

“Talking sounds nice.”

“Good,” my wife said. She took my hand while she kept playing with her new amulet. She gripped me tight and turned me around in the hallway. I followed along, trying to get a handle on that flaw, not caring where we went.

The more she twisted it, the more fascinating it was. It was incredible how it seemed to twist and writhe. Like it was alive. My wife was saying something. Her words were so hard to focus on. I just nodded my head, gripping her hand.

The crack twisted like a snake. It writhed. It undulated. It sometimes caught the light and flared up through the crystal, igniting like a fiery scar. Light flashed across my face as my wife talked. Her voice soothing.

Made sense.

Her hand covered the amulet.

I blinked, my thoughts heavy.

“You agree?” my wife asked.

“Yeah,” I said, still blinking. My stomach growled. I was starving. I was sitting on our bed. When had that happened? “Of course, I do, honey.”

“I knew you would,” she said and gave me a quick kiss on the lip, her dark-brown hair slipping off her shoulder. She rose before me, her large breasts swelling the tank top she wore. She had on a tight pair of shorts. She didn’t normally dress like that.

“Those are nice,” I said as she turned, the shorts hugging her ass. “Haven’t I seen Valerie wearing something like that?”

“I guess,” she said as my eyes followed her rump. “It’s comfortable. Good for around the house.”

“Definitely,” I said, loving the sight of her ass. “Makes me want to spank you.”

She giggled. “Mmm, maybe tonight. Now I have to cook dinner. Chicken fine with you?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Is it that late already?” I glanced at the clock, saw it was almost 5. “Shit, I guess I took a longer nap than I thought.”

“Guess so,” my wife said with a shrug. Then she sauntered off, humming. She was in a good mood. I was glad about that. The last few weeks, she’d been angry all the time about our daughter. Maybe she was finally getting that Valerie was becoming her own woman and wasn’t a child any longer. She needed to be treated more like an adult.

I flexed my hand, my cock hard. I really wanted to spank my wife’s ass. Maybe I’d fuck her doggy style. We hadn’t done that in a while. It would be hot. Plowing into Anna’s pussy and cracking my hand on her rump. That stinging sound would echo through the room.

God, that would be hot.

I lay back down on the bed, these naughty thoughts filling my mind. I almost masturbated. I hadn’t done that in a while. The only thing stopping me was the desire to wait and enjoy my wife tonight. She was acting frisky. We were going to have a great time.

When she called me for dinner, I had a huge smile on my lips. I pulled on a fresh shirt and slapped on a touch of cologne. I whistled as I headed through the house. Valerie appeared from her bedroom in a pair of tight jean shorts and a tank top. She darted ahead of me for dinner.

She had a spankable ass, too, and...

I froze at that. A guilty flush shot through me. Why did I think that? Christ, that was my daughter. I knew she was growing up, but ... she was my little girl. When she turned to go down the stairs, I shook my head as I noticed for the first time the profile of her small breasts cupped by her tank top. It was clear she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts looked so perky.

“Jesus,” I muttered, my hard cock throbbing. I was too horny. Maybe I should have jerked off.

I kept my eyes looking towards the ceiling as I followed my daughter down the stairs, the image of her short-clad ass burning in my mind. My hand itched. I forced myself to think of my wife’s rump. A plumper ass. Perfect for spanking.

My wife had a big smile as she set plates down at the table covered in breaded chicken, a bowl of salad in the center. She had a naughty glint in her eye. She came up to me and gave me a lingering kiss, pressing her body against me.

“Ugh,” my daughter groaned. “I’m right here.”

“Mmm, you’re father’s just such a sexy man,” my wife said. “So strong.”

I grinned at my wife, my dick throbbing. We were definitely getting frisky tonight. Wild sex, like we had before we had our daughter. I sat down at the head of the table, my dick leaden, my wife to my right, my daughter to my left.

My wife fingered her new necklace as we said grace.

Dinner was spectacular as usual. I had two pieces of chicken and devoured a large salad, my wife’s homemade vinaigrette seasoning it to perfection. My daughter hardly looked at her phone at all as she chatted about the bake sale and how all her cupcakes had sold.

It was nice to have dinner as a family without my wife and daughter sniping at each other. It was peaceful. Enjoyable. I was glad my wife had finally recognized that Valerie was growing up. My eyes glanced at my daughter, that tight, pink top molding to her youthful breasts. They were small like my wife’s were when we married. Anna’s tits had grown two cup sizes with her pregnancy and stayed round and delicious after she’d weened our daughter.

I flushed, realizing I was ogling my daughter again.

“That was good, Mom!” my daughter said and then bounded to her feet. “I have homework.”

She darted off, her ass swaying in those tight jean shorts.

“Wait!” my wife called after her. “Your dishes!”

My daughter was out of the dining room, not listening.

“Get back here, Valerie!” my wife hissed.

“It’s fine, I got it,” I told her, grabbing my plate and setting it on my daughter’s. I stood up. “Relax.”

“I’m not going to relax.” Anna glanced at me. “Discipline your daughter.”

I blinked as that itch in my hand intensified. My daughter’s rump flashed through my mind. Then this strange anger burned through me. It was almost like it flowed into me from beyond me. It spilled over me, this dark rage.

My daughter had done something wrong. She was being a brat. She had to pay for that. I whirled around and bellowed at the top of my voice, “Valerie, get back down here right now!”

I heard my daughter’s steps freeze on the stairs.

“NOW!” I roared. “Get your butt back down here!”

My wife nodded in approval, this look of shining delight in her eyes. She folded her arms across her chest, her purple tank top stretched over her round breasts, her nipples pressing hard against the cloth. She wiggled her hips.

My daughter’s footsteps padded down the stairs. She was taking her time. I could hear her slinking through the house. My anger swelled. Where had this rage come from? Was I really mad because she forgot to take her dishes to the sink?

My daughter crept into the dining room, her bushy hair spilling across her pale face. She trembled as she stared at me. “Daddy?”

“Tell her she’s been a bad girl,” my wife moaned, her voice throaty.

“You’ve been a bad girl!” I growled. “You know you are supposed to take your dishes to the kitchen and rinse them off!”

“I...” She swallowed. “Daddy, I’m so sorry. I’ll do it right now.”

She darted toward the table. She snagged her plates and darted towards the kitchen. My eyes locked on her ass in those tight shorts. My hand clenched. This strange urge to do something that I thought was wrong swept through me.

The sink hissed on as my wife came up to me. “It’s good she’s doing it, but she still has to be punished.” Her breast rubbed against my arm through her top. I didn’t feel a bra. She leaned in and whispered, “Disciplined.”

My hand balled into a fist. My dick went lead.

“Valerie, when you’re finished, get your butt back in here because we’re not finished!” I growled. “O-okay, Daddy,” my daughter gasped. Dishes rattled. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. It won’t happen again.”

“You better believe it won’t,” I said. “You’ll learn your lesson today!”

My daughter slinked back into the dining room. Her face was colorless. She squirmed, her nipples poking hard at her top and her cheeks flushed. She moved to me. She looked up, her eyes so vulnerable. She hugged me tight. I felt her developing body against mine.

She wiggled against me. She squirmed as she pressed her face into my chest. “I’m so sorry, Daddy,” she moaned. “It won’t happen again.”

My dick ached and throbbed. My cock was rock hard as I felt her nubile, underage body rubbing against my body. Her breasts pressed into my chest, her nipples hard. I felt how firm her tits were. She ground against my cock, stimulating me.

“I’ll be a good girl,” she whimpered.

“The little slut is trying to get out of her punishment,” my wife said. “But you won’t let her. You’ll spank her.”

“What?” my daughter gasped.

“Yes!” I growled, that itch in my hand intensifying. “Bend over the table right now, drop your shorts and panties, and take your punishment, young lady.”

Where had this impulse come from? Why had I told her to drop her shorts and panties?

... spanking a bare ass is the best form of discipline...

My daughter broke away from me. She bit her lip but didn’t object. “I ... I was a bad girl. Bad girls should be spanked.”

“That’s right,” my wife hissed. Her hands were rubbing at her stomach. Her eyes were glassy, her cheeks flushed. “And you’re such a bad girl, aren’t you? Rubbing yourself against your father! Disobeying me!”

My daughter’s fingers found the fly of her shorts. My heart beat faster and faster. My dick twitched as I heard the snapping pop of the fastener coming undone. The zipper rasped. Valerie’s breasts jiggled in her pink tank top as she wiggled her hips back and forth. She shoved them down, revealing a pair of lacy, gray panties, cut narrow in the front.

“What a whorish pair of panties!” my wife hissed. “Where did you get those?”

“Bought them,” my daughter muttered. She turned around and I saw it was almost a thong. Most of her perky, teenage ass was on display as she bent over, thrusting her rump at me. I could see tufts of her brown hair peeking out around the edges. “With my allowance.”