DISCIPLINE
by Karnal 2006

Edward is forced to teach his daughter a lesson. (Mg, inc, cp)


I had to discipline Jessica again this evening. This was the third time in four weeks, a worrying trend. Since she turned twelve Jessica has become very wilful, everything she does seems to be a challenge to my authority. It’s even more important now for me to maintain discipline; if I let up on her now I will lose her, just as I lost her mother.

       Jessica had been extremely well behaved during our evening meal; she had not uttered a word while we were eating, an offence for which I have had to punish her several times before. After the meal she had followed our routine to the letter, taking the dirty plates and cutlery to the kitchen without being reminded. Perhaps her good behaviour was intended to soften me up, for when she had finished her chores she asked if she could spend the evening at her friend’s house. I saw no reason to refuse her request, but I reminded her of our routine; to be in bed by 8.30pm, she would have to be home by 8pm at the latest.

	“Yes, daddy,” she replied. She was standing directly in front of me, looking straight ahead as she addressed me. I admit, I was off my guard at that moment, Jessica looked so much like her mother; straight brown hair almost to her waist, bright blue eyes and a slightly crooked smile. Of course, Jessica’s mother had been several years older when I first met her, but our daughter was growing up quickly.

	Ten minutes later I was sitting at my desk in the study when there was a faint knock at the door.

	“Come in,” I said. The door opened a fraction and Jessica’s head appeared in the gap.

	“I’m ready to leave now, daddy,” she said. I always insist that she tells me when she is about to leave, and that she reports in when she returns home. I was suspicious. “Come in, Jessica,” I said, in a firm tone of voice.

	Jessica hesitated, my suspicions became stronger. I stood up quickly and went to the door, opening it wide to reveal what my daughter had hoped to conceal from me. I looked down at her. Jessica’s long, slim legs were bare, yet she knows she is required to wear white knee-socks or regulation school tights; her skirt, if it could be called that, stopped several inches above the knee, more a belt than a skirt; but worst of all, her top, a tube of flimsy material, supported by two narrow straps that were more like shoelaces. Although Jessica’s breasts have yet to develop, I could clearly see her nipples poking through the skimpy material.

	An image entered my mind; my little girl, dressed like a whore, sitting in a public house, her long legs crossed, revealing too much thigh; surrounded by rough types, men with shaven heads and stubble, leering at my daughter as they imagined what they could do to her ripe body. I had to save her from that.

	Jessica lowered her gaze to the floor. “Look at me!” I commanded, and she obeyed. She knew better than to say anything now, she knew her punishment was coming and there was nothing she could do to avoid it. “Go to your room,” I said. My anger was apparent to her, even though I spoke quietly. I detected a faint tremble in her slender body.

	As she climbed the stairs dejectedly, I realised that her skirt was so short I could see her panties; they were pink, and trimmed with lace, instead of the plain white cotton ones she should have been wearing. I sighed, and for a moment I doubted myself. What was the point? Jessica took every opportunity to disobey me, could I ever keep her on the right path? Yes, I told myself. I could, if I was resolute.

	I went to my room and prepared myself; first I showered, because it is important to start such an undertaking in a state of cleanliness, it gives one a certain sense of superiority. Then I dressed in a pair of loose grey jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, for I knew I would be exerting myself. Finally I went to the cupboard and selected the equipment I would be using. Something told me the usual punishment would not be sufficient this time.

	As I entered Jessica’s room I realised I had been far too lax with her; the subdued lighting made the room look more like a brothel than a little girl’s bedroom. The walls were covered with posters depicting young men, presumably pop singers of some kind. At the time it had seemed like a good idea, but now I regretted allowing this; Jessica had obviously become over-stimulated by these pictures.

	I was pleased to see that my daughter could do at least one thing correctly; she had taken up the position I have taught her, kneeling on the floor with the top half of her body across the bed, her arms stretched out in front and her face pressed against the bedclothes. She lifted her head slightly as I entered the room, and gave a loud gasp as she saw the cane I held in front of me. I had never had occasion to use the cane before, but I had often shown it to Jessica and her brother as a warning. 

	“Jessica,” I began. “I have always taught you the correct way to behave, haven’t I? How to conduct yourself in public, to be polite and respectful to your elders? Haven’t I, Jessica?” I waited. “Jessica? I asked you a question; you may speak.”

	“Yes,” she said, in a faint, trembling voice.

	“And haven’t I taught you how to dress appropriately?”

	“Yes,” she said again, more quietly. “I beg your pardon?” I said. “Please speak more clearly, so that I can hear you.”

	“Yes,” Jessica said, louder this time but still with a tremor in her voice.

	“How have I taught you to dress, Jessica?”

	“Respectable,” she muttered.

	Sometimes I despair of my daughter. “Respectably,” I corrected her. “Why should you dress respectably?”

	“So that others know I am a young lady, and treat me with respect,” she replied.

	“Very good Jessica, clearly the lesson has penetrated your brain and lodged in your memory. Please explain, therefore, why you have chosen to dress like a prostitute?”

	Jessica said nothing. “I’m waiting,” I reminded her.

	“Sorry, daddy,” she whimpered.

	I sighed. “I didn’t ask for an apology. I asked you a question. Would you like me to repeat it?”

	“No, daddy,” was all she said.

	I waited. “Jessica. You really are trying my patience. Please tell me, why do you wish people to think you are a prostitute?”

	“I don’t,” she replied.

	“THEN WHY DO YOU DRESS LIKE ONE?” I shouted, my whole body trembling with fury.

	“I’m sorry, daddy.” Jessica was almost incoherent now, barely capable of speaking through her sobs.

	“Enough.” I paused for a while to allow myself to calm down. 

       I stood behind Jessica and reached down to pull her skirt up. Although the skirt was short it was extremely tight, and I could only pull it up a short way. “Stand up,” I told her. Jessica did as I ordered, and began to turn towards me. “No,” I commanded her, “don’t turn around.”
       
       We stood there for some time, in complete silence. I lowered the cane until the tip rested on Jessica’s bare shoulder. “Take off your skirt.”
       
       Jessica reached behind her, and began to unfasten her skirt. It was so tight she had some difficulty with the buttons. Impatiently, I slapped her hands away and did it for her. “Now take it off,” I said.
       
       She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her skirt and pushed it down over her thighs. For the second time I saw her panties; the kind a whore would wear.
       
       “You might as well take off that top. You’re practically naked anyway,” I told her, a note of disgust entering my voice. She did as she was told. She was facing away from me, but in my mind I could see her sharp-nippled little buds.
       
       “Now resume the position,” I told her. As she knelt over the bed once more, I found myself looking at her buttocks, barely concealed by the flimsy material of her panties. I felt a tightness in my groin and I realised I was becoming aroused. This made me even more determined to teach the little slut a lesson; if she could have this effect on me, what would she do to weaker men?

	“Now pull your panties down, please,” I said. She did so, leaving them just below her buttocks. I bent down and pushed the panties further down her thighs. I allowed my hand to rest on Jessica’s bare bottom. Her skin was warm and soft, just like her mother’s.
	
	The first smack made her cry out; good, she hadn’t been expecting it yet. I smacked her again, my hand making a sharp slapping sound on her bare flesh. I gave her four more smacks, of moderate severity. She began to whimper. “Be quiet please, Jessica,” I asked softly. I stroked her bottom, her skin felt quite hot to the touch. 

       I was feeling some significant discomfort now, so I was obliged to lower my pants. My penis sprang up in front of me, very hard now, almost throbbing. It occurred to me that I would need some freedom of movement, so I removed my pants completely. I didn’t want Jessica to see me in a state of arousal, goodness knows what effect that would have on her, but as long as she maintained the prescribed position she wouldn’t be able to see anything.
       
       I positioned myself carefully and drew my arm back. “Jessica,” I said. “I want you to understand that I do this because I love you, that you have done wrong and must be punished. Do you understand?”
       
       I waited. Jessica said nothing. “Do you understand?” I asked again. “Yes,” came the barely audible reply.
       
       Whack! The cane made a satisfyingly loud noise as it struck Jessica’s bottom. She began to wail, most plaintively.
       
       Whack! I made the second stroke harder, leaving a distinct red mark across her buttocks.
       
       Whack! I had to pause then. I had become incredibly aroused, and I was concerned that I might ejaculate. After a minute or two I had regained my composure and was able to continue.
       
       Whack! Jessica was sobbing quietly now.
       
       Whack! There were several bright red marks across Jessica’s bottom now, but she was hardly making a sound.
       
       Whack! I made sure that the sixth and final stroke was the hardest of all. Jessica gave a loud grunt which subsided into a series of deep sobs.
       
       I had to stop and recover my breath; I could feel droplets of sweat on my forehead. I had exerted myself to a greater degree than I had anticipated.

	Then Jessica began to lever herself off the bed, obviously thinking the matter to have been concluded. “Stay where you are,” I commanded her, firmly. She lowered herself back onto the bed, stretching her arms out and pressing her face into the bedclothes.

	My penis was now almost painfully erect, my testicles were swollen with semen. The sight of my daughter’s pert young bottom was too much, I knew I would have to do something to relieve myself. I lowered myself to my knees behind my daughter. She tried to look round to see what I was doing, but I gave her a sharp slap with my free hand and ordered her to resume the prescribed position.

	I took myself in hand, and began to slowly move my foreskin back and forth over the head of my penis. I wanted to prolong this, but I knew I was now so aroused I wouldn’t be able to last very long. I began to masturbate more quickly, my hand becoming a blur. I felt my scrotum tighten, and I gave a deep moan as thick strings of semen spurted from my penis all over Jessica’s bottom. I watched, fascinated, as the sticky substance oozed between her buttocks. I leaned down for a closer look, and to my surprise I saw tiny droplets of moisture nestling between her labia; this was not my semen, but my daughter’s own juices! The little slut had become aroused by her punishment. I realised then that I would have to raise my game, this dirty little whore needed more severe treatment to teach her the lessons she so badly needed to learn.

	I stood up, looking down at my daughter’s naked body stretched across the bed. My flaccid penis began to twitch again, so I hurriedly left the room before my desire got the better of me. “Clean yourself, girl,” I commanded as I left.











