"I'm no good at anything, and nobody pays any attention to me!" I heard my daughter Mindy whine in the next room. "Josh is Dad's favorite, and Tammy is yours!" It was a familiar refrain, and she was once again complaining to my wife about her perceived persecution in the family.
I suppose it wasn't entirely groundless. As the middle child, she suffered from the "Jan Brady" syndrome. She wasn't the oldest — that honor fell to her fifteen-year-old brother, Josh. And she wasn't the baby — that attention was lavished on her nine-year old sister, Tammy. At thirteen, Mindy was the classic "middle child".
Unfortunately for her, that wasn't the end of it. You see, Josh was a very promising young athlete, excelling at every sport to which he put his hand. He showed real promise as a soccer player, potential to go a long way with it. Much of the limited time I had for the family I spent attending his soccer and basketball games, or taking him golfing with me. Maybe I was a little partial to him, but I tend to think that it was more that I enjoyed living vicariously through my only son. He was the athlete I had never been.
On the other side of the coin, Mindy's younger sister Tammy was quite precocious, a certifiable genius. At nine, she was already in the fifth grade, having skipped the third. Her elementary school had recently recommended moving her on to middle school for the second semester this year. She had placed second in the state chess championship the previous year in the 18-and-under class. I was naturally very proud of her, and I made no secret of that. My wife is Korean, and for cultural reasons she was even more doting on Tammy for her academic and intellectual achievements than I was.
So Mindy was not only the middle child, but also far less athletically inclined than her brother and far less intellectually gifted than her sister. She missed out on the attention her siblings received as the genius and the sports star. Not that Mindy was without her own gifts — she was an extremely attractive girl. The Eurasian features, the silky long black hair, and the perfect complexion she inherited from her mother, combined with the long legs, the lean form, and the big brown eyes (which nevertheless retained an almond-tilt) she received from my genes made her a real beauty. When she grew up, she would be a heart-stopper, I had always thought. My wife Sung Soon (she went by Soonie) and I often referred to our kids as "The Brawn", "The Beauty" and "The Brain".
Despite Mindy's physical gifts, however, I could see how she might feel neglected. The family scheduled its time around Josh's sports activities, and we were clearly very focused on Tammy's accomplishments, but what good did Mindy's looks do her in the "economy" of family attention? It's not like we were going to enter her in beauty contests or anything — that was definitely not our style. Like most parents, we tried to suppress any emphasis on the superficial. Unfortunately for Mindy, it's always a lot easier to view physical charms as superficial than it is to view athletic prowess or academic success in the same way.
"That's not so," I heard Soonie reply to my daughter's complaint in her stern, heavily accented, but perfect English. "We love you all just the same. If you want more attention, get better grades. You can be smart. You have to study more!" Even I could see how this conversation wasn't going to help Mindy. My wife was totally focused on achievement, insisting that all three of her children would become doctors, lawyers, or professors. I couldn't argue with that value system, but it hardly helped Mindy to develop any self-confidence or esteem. I suspected that she was destined to be a slightly above-average student regardless of how much or how little she studied.
The only way she was going to feel validated was through the attention her face and body could get her. It was on the occasion of this overheard, often-heard conversation that I came to this realization. The timing of this discovery on my part was ideal — it made me immediately recognize the cause Mindy's subsequent behavior, and it forearmed me to take advantage of it. I can't say I am proud of the use I made of this knowledge, but I must admit that I've been very pleased with its results.
I guess it was on a Saturday, a couple of weeks later, that I noticed her first calculated attempt to get some attention. She had just been to the mall with her friends, and she returned wearing a new pair of shoes. They were open toed, very-high heeled black numbers that on an older female I would have described as "fuck me pumps". She was wearing them with a pair of short-shorts and a belly-baring top. I couldn't help but notice the sleek lines they made of her long lean legs, and the perky lift they gave to her tight little thirteen-year-old ass. My cock stirred in pleasure at the sight, although I'm certain Mindy had no idea of the effect she had on me. She simply thought the outfit was "cute", and was underscoring her strong points in an attempt to garner more attention, from both her family and the world. This development was definitely fine by me. Daughter or not, she was a sexy little morsel.
"Honey, now don't you look cute!"
"Do you like my new shoes, Daddy?"
"They're very nice. I like it when you dress like that. It makes me proud to have such a pretty daughter.'
"No, really. A man should show off such a pretty daughter. Hey, I have an idea, why don't you and I go out somewhere this afternoon, so everyone can see how pretty my daughter is?"
Mindy blushed at the compliment, and at being the focus for once. This was working; I could tell she was very pleased. She was getting positive attention from her father and she loved it. "Really, Daddy? That sounds great!"
I was glad I had foreseen this development. Mindy was trying to get validation through her looks, and I was encouraging it. Now to throw a little water on the fire, just to keep her working at it. "O.K., let's go then. Josh has a soccer game this afternoon. Let's head over to Marksan Field and watch his game." I could see how this crushed her — she physically slumped. I decided to ease off a little, to provide more encouragement for her chosen course. "I don't know if I'll even be able to watch the game with such a pretty girl beside me!"
This cheered her up a bit, and I got a reward to suggest this approach was going to work: as I walked behind her down the walk towards the car, I noticed her putting a little swing in her hips. I felt my cock twitch again. Yes, if I could get her to keep this campaign up, my prick and every male she met would have me to thank for the pleasurable view.
When we got to the game I made sure we sat a few rows up in the bleachers. I sent her repeatedly down the stands and across in front of the small crowd to the concession kiosk. Watching her negotiate her way down the steps in her too-high heels, and watching the head of every male in the rows before me track her progress as she passed, created both a tingling in my loins and a pride of possession in my heart. I could tell she was noticing and enjoying the attention from the crowd — she was walking as sexily as she could. She did a pretty good job of it, too, for an inexperienced thirteen-year-old. With a little swish to her hips, a flip of her long, silky black hair, or an unnecessary pause to look back up at me, her hand shading her eyes while she pushed out her immature chest, she joined the timeless charade, the ancient dance of the pubescent female. Whether she understood the consequences or not, her body was announcing to every male within view its budding womanhood, its readiness to be mated. My god, I love life!
Of course, like a billion fathers before me, I felt a jealous urge to protect her from the attentions of other men. Unlike most of them, I understood the primary source of this jealously — my own lust for her. I took satisfaction from the irrepressible affirmation the men in the crowd were giving me, and I knew it would only serve to assist my efforts in molding her. I had something none of them did — power over this sweet little hottie. I enjoyed the authority of a father to keep his thirteen-year-old daughter on a short leash, away from the clutches of pimply-faced boys and lecherous men. A short leash — now that was a mental image!
Whenever she returned from one of these expeditions, I openly devoured her with my eyes. When she sat down, I would pay her a compliment, like "Those shoes do make your walk sexier", or "I can't believe how you're growing up", but then I would leave it at that, and overtly direct my undivided attention towards Josh's exploits on the soccer field. She was receiving my message loud and clear: your importance to me is based upon and limited to your sex appeal. This might seem a little harsh, but given her feelings of sibling inferiority, I followed this course in the selfish hope that she would clutch at it like a life ring.
As we sat there, Mindy alternately basking in my attention and pouting at my inattention, and me pretending to watch the game, my mind was working at top speed. This was going well, so well that it was outpacing my planning. How could I continue to encourage her to measure her worth by her sexuality while also ensuring that she didn't find her reward in the attentions of others, rather than from me? I could hardly compliment her "fuck me" clothing, while punishing her for going out in it. I couldn't convince her that her sexuality was her most important asset while simultaneously restricting her to the house "to study".
However, I knew I had an unwitting ally in my wife, Soonie. With her intense focus on academics, I knew exactly which buttons to push.
By the time we returned home, Mindy was bubbling with happiness. I had made a point of not waiting for Josh after the game, saying that he had his bike, and this was Daddy-Daughter Day, anyway. Instead, I had taken her to the neighborhood Dairy Queen, where a lot of kids her age were wont to gather. She enjoyed prancing around in front of her classmates in her hot outfit, especially the boys, I'm sure. But if I read the situation correctly, she also delighted in the unprecedented one-on-one attention from her dad. Her happiness did not go unnoticed by her mother upon our return, or during dinner that evening.
Later, when Soonie and I were alone, she brought it up.
"Mindy seemed very happy today. Where did you go with her?"
"Oh, we went to Josh's game, and then I took her to Dairy Queen. You know how she feels she doesn't get enough attention. I thought I'd try to spend some time with her."
"That's a good idea. She does get upset about that sometimes. It's just that she doesn't study hard enough. Tammy will get into a good college, and Josh gets better grades, too. Of course I show them my approval more often. But I love her just the same. I just wish she'd do better!"
"Well, maybe she doesn't need to be that good at school. She has other qualities, you know. Lots of boys came up to talk to her at the game. She must be very popular. Maybe it's time we let her date." As expected, this set Soonie off.
"I don't care about popular! That won't get her into a good college! And she isn't going to date anyone! She doesn't study enough as it is. Once she goes to a top college, then maybe she can date."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right, baby." Perfect. Of course, I wasn't unhappy in the slightest. My wife would see to it that the only close male contact Mindy got would be from me and Josh, and from what I'd seen as we left the game, Josh had plenty of little cuties to occupy him already. Just thinking about what lay ahead made me hard. I put my vigor to good use, throwing it into Soonie from behind as I replayed Mindy's afternoon fertility display in my mind. Thirty minutes later, Soonie collapsed with an aching, satisfied, cum-drenched pussy. If she only knew why!
Events unfolded pretty much as I had hoped. Soonie continued to ride Mindy hard, putting the pressure on her academically while restricting her socially. Part of me felt bad for the girl, since I knew her mother's expectations were simply beyond her ability. On the other hand, this campaign drove a wedge between mother and daughter, a situation that would later serve me well. I heaped fuel on the fire, with carefully crafted "casual comments" to Soonie. These would always result in redoubled strictures on Mindy. At the same time, I became a sounding board for the girl. Such exchanges would go something like this:
"Daddy, Mom's unbelievable! Can't she understand that I'm never going to Harvard, that I'm not gonna be a doctor?"
"She just wants the best for you, honey. I can't disagree with her attitude towards school. You'll never have a chance later in life to learn as much as you can today."
"I know, I know! But I'm no good at that stuff. Besides, she never lets me go anywhere. And if she does let me go somewhere, whenever she thinks boys might be around, she gets all weird about what I can wear!"
"Well, pumpkin, you know I have to back your mother up. But I'll tell you what, whenever I take you somewhere, you can wear whatever you like."
"Thanks, Daddy, I knew you'd understand."
The mother-daughter division only widened. Mindy came to rely on me more and more as the refuge from her unhappy situation. I continued to trot her out from time to time, and she didn't disappoint. She'd use those opportunities to dress as "grown up" and sexy as she could. When her mother started finding fault with Mindy's clothing purchases, and began participating in and closely supervising her now infrequent shopping expeditions, I helped my daughter out by taking her shopping once in a while myself. It was cute how Mindy thought it so indulgent of me to "allow" her buy the sexiest outfits, when of course I wouldn't have had it any other way.
There were a couple of skirts and a pair of shorts she acquired along the way that were so short and sexy, she was afraid her mother would find them and go ballistic. She asked if she could keep them in my den, in the basement, which was my private preserve. Soonie rarely entered the room, and never without me there. My wife had her own retreat, on the second floor, which she called her "reading room", and which I respected similarly. This arrangement had always served our relationship well, giving us each a guaranteed private "space", and now my den was about to serve me in another valuable capacity. Of course I said "yes" to Mindy's request, and we entered the stage of hiding our first shared secret from her mother.
Inevitably, the mother-daughter tension led to endless, highly vocal arguments, which only served to escalate their differences. To my surprise and delight, one evening Soonie came to me and asked me to punish Mindy for a particularly egregious case of "sass". When I asked her what she had in mind, she said, "Give her a spanking like you used to. If she's going to act like a little girl, she can be punished like one!"
It was a struggle to keep a stern and concerned look on my face. I hadn't spanked any of the kids after they'd turned seven or eight, and I had never done it very often for any of them, even back then. The prospect of spanking Mindy's tight little thirteen-year-old ass sent an immediate telegraph to my prick, which sprang to attention. I quickly sat down to hide the tent in my trousers, gathered my composure, and replied, "If you think it's necessary. Send her to my den."
I had traditionally administered the rare spankings in my den. It had added to the gravity of the situation, getting "sent to the den", a normally off-limits jurisdiction, for one's punishment from Dad. I headed down there myself and eagerly awaited Mindy.
She arrived with an apprehensive look in her big, brown, slightly tilted Eurasian eyes. She was wearing a pleated skirt, a tucked in blouse, a pair of white socks and loafer-type shoes. She looked like a little schoolgirl in uniform, which did nothing to take the pressure off my imprisoned, straining shaft.
"Now tell me what you did, sweetheart."
"Daddy," she replied softly, "I'm sorry. I sassed Mom. She just seems so mean to me. I won't do it again; I learned my lesson. Do you really have to spank me?" She looked at me with a cute little puppy-dog face — sexy, sloe-eyed, pouting — which only served to inflame me more. She was definitely going to get spanked now!
"Now honey, your mom is going to ask me how this went, and I can't straight out lie to her. What are you now, thirteen? I'll tell you what, that means I'm supposed to give you thirteen strokes, one for each year. I'll give you seven hard ones, and six soft ones, O.K., and you know I always try to make it feel better afterwards."
"O.K., Daddy, I understand. Thanks," as she voluntarily draped herself across my lap, perfectly positioned. Although she hadn't done this in almost six years, which must have seemed like an awfully long time in her young life, she still knew what to do. She centered her hips on my lap so quickly that the sudden impact of her pelvis would have seriously injured my erect penis had it been pointing any more vertically. As it was, her eighty pounds applied a pleasant pressure along my fully clothed shaft, which her placement had nudged up along my lower abdomen.
I pulled her little skirt up to expose her white cotton panties. I tucked the skirt into her waistband and rested my palm on one perfect, tight, round, schoolgirl cheek. My penis moved of its own accord under her sweet little form, although I don't know if she noticed. Without further ceremony, I pulled my hand back and struck the same cheek a resounding, open-handed blow.
"That's one hard one, honey, only six of them to go." The next six came in relatively rapid succession, to one check or the other or across both, me counting them out loud and Mindy stifling her cries the best she could. I would have liked to have taken my time, but I didn't want my sexual arousal to become too obvious just yet. I could feel my cock drooling precum by the time we reached seven and the end of the hard strokes.
"The worst part is over now, baby," I soothed as I gently massaged her sweet little asscakes. "These next six will be slower and lighter."
The next six were hardly blows at all, each pat ending in a gentle cupping and caressing of some part of her bottom. I concentrated my attentions on the underside of her ass, where it met her long, coltish legs. My massaging fingertips frequently strayed very close to the little pouting, panty-clad mound I could see peeking out from between her slightly parted legs. Finally, I was done, so I bent over and kissed each of her cute little panty-clad buttocks once, pulled her skirt down, and helped her up.
She rubbed her bottom ruefully, but there was an odd sparkle in her eyes. If I needed any more evidence of her sexual development, I had it. I don't know what it is, hormones, maybe, but it has always been my experience that a woman enjoys a spanking, at least to some degree, in a way unfathomable to a child. Her bottom and pride might be stinging a bit, I thought, but unless I miss my guess, her pussy is tingling just a bit as well.
"Daddy, that wasn't so bad. Do you think I could get mom to send me to you for a spanking once in a while, instead of restricting me to the house? Then I could go out more."
"You might be able to do that, honey. Now go get ready for bed. Good night." Of course, my real agenda would be to encourage Soonie to assign her spankings and restriction. I didn't want Mindy finding any emotional refuges outside the home now that I was getting some gratification!
After I was sure she had gone upstairs, I looked over in the corner. She hadn't noticed that the video camera, in its normal position on its tripod, had been running. I quickly pulled the tape out and set it up in my den's VCR. I watched the spanking session several times, pulling on my dick, almost viciously, until I climaxed. I came, gasping and groaning aloud with pleasure, my eyes transfixed on the image of her sweet little adolescent ass, my prick shooting a tremendous load of cum into the junior-high-school panties I had filched from the laundry some days before.
From then on, Soonie assigned Mindy plenty of spankings, without, thankfully, any reprieve from her virtual house arrest. Each time, she showed up in a skirt, which allowed me to expose her panties, and each time she seemed more and more responsive to the caresses during the "soft six" strokes, pressing back up into my hand or grinding her pelvic bone almost imperceptibly against my thigh.
Each time, I concentrated more and more on the region surrounding her innocent pussy, my fingertips occasionally grazing along the puffy lips through their cotton covering. Each time, her eyes seemed a little glassier when we were finished, her face a little more flushed. Each time, I rewarded myself with a post-punishment mastubatory release, while enjoying a videotaped replay. I began to suspect that I wasn't the only one looking forward to these sessions.
This suspicion became conviction during a session a couple of weeks after her birthday. After the thirteenth stroke, six of which, as usual, were little more than drawn-out, lewd, caressing gropes, I was leaning over to give her bottom its traditional two pecks when she said:
"Daddy, I'm fourteen now. You're supposed to spank me one more time."
Soon, of course, I wanted more. I came up with a reckless plan, and tried to screw up my courage on two occasions during our now almost-routine spanking sessions, only to lose my nerve at the critical moment. Let's face it: although my now fourteen-year-old daughter had become a virtual accomplice in all this, I knew full well that I was very close to having crossed the uncrossable line already. One word to her mother, maybe during one of her rare tantrums toward me, and I'd be cooked. Society in these cases places all the blame squarely on the adult, and rightly so, I'm afraid. Mindy was far too young to not be easily manipulated by a lecherous old man — my success so far was proof of that!