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A First for Jessica

by Frenulum

Copyright © 2016 Frenulum. All rights reserved.

“Who’s picking you up?” Jessica’s dad asked for the second time. She was patient, used to his fussing over her.

“Kelly. And bringing me home, we’re all going in one car.”

“Ok. You’ll call me if —”

“There’s any problem, and you’ll come and get me.”

Her dad smiled. “The usual drill. If you text me when you get to the beach I promise not to bug you.”

“Ok, Daddy.”

Jessica wore a modest one-piece swim suit, with a pair of track shorts and a tee shirt for traveling. She grabbed her bag and towel, and she and her father headed downstairs together.

“You go ahead, Dad. Kelly won’t be here till 11:00 or so.”

“Sure you don’t want me to wait?”

“No, go on. I have my key.”

“Need money?”

“I’m good.”

“Ok. See you at dinner.” With that, Jessica’s father disappeared into the attached garage. A moment later, peeking through the curtains, Jess saw his car turn out of the driveway and onto the street.

She raced up to her room, peeling off her tee shirt on the way. The shorts hit her bedroom floor, and she wriggled out of her bathing suit. Jessica opened the bottom drawer of her dresser and, from its hiding place between two sweaters, pulled out her other suit. The one she had bought for herself, without any fatherly supervision.

She tied the bikini top on with a bow, turned it front way around, and pulled the halter strings up over her neck. Another bow secured it. The fabric of the top was adjustable, by gathering the little triangles to the desired amount of coverage; Jessica pinched them both into the narrowest of strips, so that the bands hid her nipples and not much else.

The bottom of the suit made the top look positively Victorian in modesty. It was a piece of cloth to cover her mons — part of it, that is — a very narrow strip for the valley of her ass, and thin strings to hold it all in place. She had shaved carefully after her shower, because the panty was low and narrow enough to reveal any oversight. Jessica took an admiring look at her reflection in the full-length mirror on her closet door, turning and looking over her shoulder to evaluate her nearly-naked bottom. She faced it again and cupped her breasts in her hands, admiring the effect as she pressed them together.

The light in her bedroom wasn’t the best in the morning, so Jessica trotted down the stairs again to appraise herself in the living room mirror.

There was no warning sound from the garage. Jessica’s father came in through the front door, and saw her instantly.

“Daddy! What — why are you back?”

He closed the door behind him, never taking his eyes off his daughter. “I forgot my thumb drive,” he said, the answer slipping out automatically. “With the plans and drawings.”

Jessica was paralyzed. She could cover her chest and her crotch with an arm and a hand, but to do that would call attention to the need for coverage. But standing still was just as brazen, and seemed to convey the thought that, just perhaps, dear old Dad was too dim to notice her attire.

“What are you — is that, uh, is that what you planned to wear to the beach?” Before Jessica could answer, he added, “That’s not — when I left a minute ago, you had on your blue suit, the, um, Athena one, from Macy’s. Right?”

He looked doubtful of his own memory — or perhaps just stunned by his daughter’s appearance.

Jessica couldn’t stand silent and frozen any longer. “I decided to wear a different one.” It was the best she could come up with, knowing how unhappy her father was likely to be.

“Jessica, we talked about — when we were shopping, and you wanted a little bikini, we talked about…” His voice trailed off. “Where did that come from, anyway?”

“I bought it,” she replied. “With my own money. Dad, nobody wears those old-lady tank suits, nobody. I know what you said, about, you know, exposure and showing off and privacy and, like, giving people the wrong idea, and I’m definitely not trying to, you know, make some guy all crazy and stuff, but — really, Daddy, I can’t wear the one-piece, I’d die from my friends making fun of me.”

“Your friends would make fun of you for having enough self-respect to reserve something of your body?”

Jessica glowered. “It’s not like that. It’s not like showing off or, or, or sex or anything. This is just what people wear to the beach. Everyone. This is just what a bathing suit looks like. Don’t you get it?”

“I do,” her Dad replied. “But I also get what’s going through the mind of a hormone-addled teenage boy, because I was one, and the biology hasn’t changed. And Jessie, it’s not like I put my foot down on short-shorts or miniskirts or those half-way-down shirts — I absolutely get that your peers don’t dress like mine did. But, honey, look at yourself — you’re all but naked. I won’t allow it. And you know that, Jessica, you know I won’t, which is really what upsets me.”

“Daddy, I —”

“You lied to me, by putting on your regular bathing suit before I left. You as much as told me that’s how you were dressing — you had your purse, your things… and — Jessica, how long have you had that?”

“Um… Since February, I guess, when the sales started.”

“Ok, then, so you’ve been keeping it hidden — keeping it a secret. Because you knew I’d say that you couldn’t wear it. So that’s… an extended kind of lying, keeping something hidden from me, planning to lie about it.”

“I didn’t lie to you, I —”

“Jessica! Don’t look for excuses. You knew my decision, you ignored it, you were deceitful and sneaky, and you tried to fool me today. There’s no way to put a happy face on that.”

Jessica fumed at the rebuke, even more so because she recognized the truth of it. “I’m old enough to decide for myself what I wear!” she yelled. “I’m not a baby, I’m sixteen years old and I can make my own choices. It’s my body and my life and my friends and you don’t get to dress me up anymore, all right? You just don’t!” She folded her arms and glared at her father, expecting him to relent. She rarely got angry with him, so it was usually effective.

“Oh. I see. Old enough, are you?” Jessica’s father paused. A troubled look passed briefly over his features. Old enough. Was she? Was this indeed the moment, the transition?

His gaze went for the first time from his daughter to the mirror on the wall behind her, and he caught sight of her bare bottom cheeks, divided by a tiny stripe of hot pink. Given the tenor of his thoughts, it seemed like a sign.

“Old enough,” he repeated. His face was stern, set, resolute. His voice was calm and steady. Jessica sensed that something had shifted, but did not know what. That uncertainty quelled her rant and filled her with apprehension.

“Then you’re old enough for me to spank you for your deceit, your defiance, and your disrespectful attitude. Go up to your room.”

Jessica, hardly believing her ears, stared at her strange new father, mouth agape. “You — you’re not — you don’t believe in spanking, you told me that a hundred times, you said —”

“I don’t believe in spanking children,” her father interrupted. “Children don’t think long term, children don’t think about consequences, children can’t anticipate how they might hurt others, children can’t even connect their misbehavior with the act of spanking and understand them as cause and effect. But, Jessica, now that you’ve declared that you’re old enough to disobey and disrespect your father, at the ripe old age of sixteen, well then, I have to figure you’re no child any more.”

“Daddy, I —”

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to spank you. Disrespect, defiance, lying — you’re old enough to understand that comes with a price. Upstairs. Now!”



Tears welled up in Jessica’s eyes. “Daddy?”

He pointed toward the stairs. “And take off that so-called bathing suit.”

Jessica was in her room, nude, curled up on her bed as tightly as she could, trying to be invisible, when her father walked in.

“Daddy, please,” she whimpered. “Please don’t spank me. I won’t go to the beach at all, I’ll clean my room, I’ll do all my chores, I… I’ll get groceries while you’re at work, and, and —”

“Enough, Jess,” her father interrupted. “You chose your course — defiance and lies — and it ends right here, right now.”

“Daddy, can I please get dressed?”


“But… Dad, I’m embarrassed. Please?

“Embarrassed? You were about to go out in public in very nearly this condition. With a crowd of strangers looking at you. One person, who bathed you and dressed you and changed your diapers, should hardly give you a qualm.”

“But you’re my father!”

“The one person who won’t misinterpret your state of undress.” Jessica’s father took the study chair from the desk in her room, and turned it around. He sat down and looked across the bedroom at his daughter, still huddled on the bed. Her eyes were sparkling with tears. “Come here, Jess.”


“Here, over my lap, right now. Or do you think that defying me again is a good idea?”

“No, but —”

“Now, Jessica. Right now.”

Jessica reluctantly rose to a sitting position, bringing one arm up to cross over her breasts. As she got to her feet, she carefully shielded her private parts with the other hand. Jessica had not been nude to her father’s gaze for the latter half of her life, nor for that matter with any boy her own age ever, and she wore a deep blush of embarrassment on her face. Her hands actually covered more of her body than her bathing suit had, but she felt a thousand times more exposed, more naked, more defenseless.

Any other man would have watched her slow progress across the room with appreciation and arousal at the sight of her lithe body with its tempting and barely hidden secrets. But her father exhibited a detachment bordering on oblivion. He wasn’t aware of the sexy sixteen-year-old: he saw only his daughter, who had disappointed him, and thought only about punishing her, which would devastate him.

He had raised Jessica alone since the death of her mother, when Jess was but a baby, but even before they had conceived a child they had decided on the subject of spanking. And that agreement — that adult status and adult misbehavior meant adult consequences — had spared him any long deliberation. His overwhelming feeling was of regret that so many years had flown past, and that Jessica was leaving the last protection of childhood behind.

“Stand here, face this way, lie down across my lap.” Unsure of herself, Jessica obeyed her father’s voice and hands as they guided her. By the time she was in position she had, without thinking, used her arms for support, thereby surrendering any scrap of modesty they had offered. Face down over her father’s lap, however, Jessica felt at least a little bit concealed. Like many girls with her lack of experience, she thought of her vulva as being “in front” and had no clue that a bent-over girl presents quite a revealing view from behind.

“Defiance, disrespect, and deception have consequences, Jessica. You’re old enough now to face them.”

Her father’s hand, which had never touched her without tenderness, softness, gentleness, reassurance, struck Jessica’s taut bare bottom hard.

The shock came first: the awful reality that she was being spanked, the words and the threat and the anticipation replaced by the concrete impact of flesh on flesh. The pain came instantly after. Jessica’s bottom stung and burned with the first dreadful smack; she gasped at the severity of the pain, worse by far than she had dreaded.

Then came the second spank, and the third, and the hundredth.

Jessica’s feet kicked. She squirmed fruitlessly on her father’s lap, his left arm holding her securely enough that her bottom was a sure target. As each spank hit home her body tensed, setting her ponytail bobbing and bouncing in time to the cadence of her spanking.

She wailed and sobbed and, in moments when she could find an articulate voice, begged for her father to stop, pleading for mercy, promising angelic and dutiful behavior in ragged, broken gasps.

Her father paid no heed. He was determined, relentless, and fierce. He watched the skin of his daughter’s bottom grow pink, then rose, then red, then crimson, each hand print blooming pale against the color until fading into the deepening patchwork of angry reds.

He spanked hard and thoroughly, with smacks landing not just on Jessica’s buns but on her sit-spots and upper thighs. His hand felt like a plank, solid and heavy and hard.

“Please… Ow! Please… Oww! Daddy… Aah! No more… OWIE! I’ll never… Ow! Lie to you… Aaeee! Never… OW! Please…”

In time, Jessica stopped pleading, and the only sounds in her bedroom were her sobs, her cries of pain, and the unwavering rhythm of spank after spank after spank. The pain was dreadful, the pose and nakedness humiliating, and the still-forming thought, that somehow this spanking was just the first example of a new father-daughter norm, was terrifying.

After what felt like an eternity of pain to Jessica, her father paused. Without the fresh bright sting of a new swat, she was able to feel the far more unpleasant deep-down ache in her bottom, the furnace heat lit by the crackling fire at the surface. She lay still, legs finally at rest, ponytail no longer airborne, crying heavily, tears falling from her face to the floor.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

It had been only a pause, not an end. The spanking continued, and Jessica’s body was once again set into motion, reacting to every wasp-sting blow of her father’s heavy hand. Her sobs grew loud again, her cries at each impact louder still, and the ache in her bottom was driven deeper and deeper.

To Jessica it felt endless, hopeless, and miserable. But it did not feel unjust, not when her father used words like “disrespect” and “lying,” for she thought of herself as a good girl and a good daughter, and his disappointment in her was the worst punishment of all.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

Another pause. Jessica steeled herself for the spanking to resume. Instead she heard her father’s voice.

“That’s all, Jessie. All done. You may get up now.”

It took a moment for her to process the words. Then relief overwhelmed her, and swept away whatever meager control she may have had over her crying. Sobs broke out with renewed strength, and Jessica’s whole body quaked as she lay across her father’s knees. She felt him stroke her hair, and the familiar kindness of the gesture only served to open up the waterworks even further.

“Here you go, Jess. Stand up.” Her father’s hands, now miraculously turned back from oak into human, held her and helped her rise to her feet. She was shaky and unsure of her balance, so as she wiped her tear-stained face she stood sideways to her father, not looking at him. Whatever cause for embarrassment her nudity had given her, such thoughts had been driven far from her mind, and she made no attempt to cover herself.

Finally, she turned toward the chair, trying to find the right words to express her regret and renew her promises.

The sight of her father stunned her to stillness. His face was covered in tear tracks; his shirt was wet where many had fallen, and parts of his glasses were fogged from the tears that they had dammed. She had never seen him look so terribly sad, so injured, so broken, and she gasped with pity and worry and love. Without even thinking, Jessica sank to her knees before her father and threw her arms around him, hugging him close, burying her wet face against his shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy!” she sobbed.

“I know, baby.” He stroked her head as it lay pressed against him. “I know. All over now. All over.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you —”

“Shhhh. That’s ok, Jessie. Ok. No more sorries. It’s all in the past now. Shhh.”

They held each other for a long while. Jessica harbored no thoughts of anger or resentment. She had seen in her father’s face how much it had cost him to punish her, and was smart enough to realize already that, while the pain in her bottom would go away quickly, the pain that she had seen in his eyes would be with him much longer.

Eventually they relaxed their embrace. Jessica stood; her father followed, and returned the chair to its original spot. When he turned back, he found his daughter holding up the scandalous swim suit by a couple of meager strings.

“Guess this goes in the trash, right, Dad?” It was only at that moment that his sight became objective, that he beheld a beautiful naked teenage girl, long legged and curvy, with her pussy bare and her nipples erect. How many boys in her class would pay anything for such a sight? How many girls, for that matter?

Then he blinked, and saw only his own child again.

“You don’t have to throw it away.”

Jessica was confused. “But… you said… but I thought that—”

“You can make your own choices,” he said, quoting her living-room rant. “I don’t get to dress you anymore.” He watched as she recognized her own words.

“I don’t understand.”

“Jess, I didn’t spank you for a bikini. I spanked you for lying and being sneaky. Not for what you had on, but for how you treated me, how you ignored our honesty with each other. That is the problem I hope we just addressed.”

“But you still don’t approve of it,” Jessica replied, puzzled.

Old enough means facing up to consequences, like you just did,” said her father. “And I hope it’s clear that, if you force me to, I will spank you again.”


“But old enough also comes with some freedoms. Being held accountable means at the same time that I can leave decisions more and more in your hands. So, wear the bathing suit you want to, whether it’s the one-piece or the… the… that thing.”

“I understand,” Jessica said thoughtfully. She tossed the bikini onto her bed and stepped back to her father, hugging him once more, tightly, her supple figure pressed against him. “Daddy?”

“Yes, hon.”

“Thank you for spanking me. I think it helped me a lot.” Then she stepped back and looked up at the face she loved.

“I’m glad to hear you say so.” He glanced at the alarm clock next to her bed. “Jess, I have to run, I’m already going to be late.”

“Ok, Dad. See you at dinner.”

“Six o’clock. I love you, Jessica.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

He turned and left. Jessica heard his feet on the stairs, then the opening and closing of the front door, and then the sound of his car starting.

She went to her bed. There lay her modest one-piece bathing suit, and next to it her racy, daring, provocative, bare-it-all bikini. She stood there for a long time, thinking over all the events of the morning. When she chose, it was because she knew which choice she could be proud of.

Kelly pulled into a parking space and shut off her engine. With the radio suddenly silenced, the sound of a hundred girls talking was evident — somehow, though, it was produced by only six. The girls spilled out of the car and, clutching towels, bags, and coolers, made a beeline for their favorite patch of sand.

They spread out towels, found sunscreen, and started to peel off their traveling clothes: tanks or tees and short-shorts. Jessica pulled her tee-shirt over her head; her friend Amanda was the first to look her way.

“Oh-my-god-Jessica!” she exclaimed, staring. That made the others turn to look as well.

They babbled a confusion of compliments and surprise at the sight of Jessica’s skimpy top. Her breasts were nearly bare, her nipples covered by narrow pink triangles by only the slimmest margin, and she grinned as she preened, enjoying the effect she was having on her friends. None of them had seen her except in a conservative one-piece suit, and were stunned by their friend’s new-found boldness.

The other girls resumed undressing, and though they all wore brief bikinis none were as daring as Jessica’s. Inspired, though, Kelly readjusted her top for minimal coverage. But all of the girls kept an eye on Jessica, to see what the bottom of the suit looked like.

Jessica grabbed the waistband of her shorts, pulled them down past her hips, and kicked them aside when they fell to her feet. Her friends all stared again.

Amanda affected a Southern drawl. “Whah, that-there looks lahk some gen-yoo-ine teen-age pussy!” she said, provoking gales of giggles from the circle of friends.

“That’s, um, that’s quite an outfit, Jess,” added Elise.

“Seriously, could that cover any less?” asked Amanda, resuming her normal voice.

“It is pretty skimpy,” admitted Jessica, “but I —”

“Turn around, let’s see the back,” Elise interrupted.

Obligingly, Jessica turned.

Silence, but for the surf and the voices of distant beach-goers.

Another wave broke.

“Oh god,” said Kelly.

“Is that —” began Abby.

“That looks awful. I mean — not your suit, but — I mean, you don’t look awful yourself but, um —”

“How did you get sunburned there?”

“Oh you poor thing!”

“But what —”

“Quite a spanking,” said Kristen, the sixth of the group. “By hand, right?”


“Oh my god!”



Jessica faced her friends without shame. “Yes. My dad spanked me this morning.” The admission did not distress her. Rather, she felt proud: her new status as an “old enough” not-child, and her new freedom to make decisions for herself, made her feel mature and special and independent. And the anguish evident in her father’s face that morning had been the best proof ever of how much he loved her, and would help her if she were to stumble again.

“Why?” came the chorus.

“Lying to him and sneaking around.”


“That is so not you!”

“I don’t believe it!”

“It’s true,” she said calmly. “I lied to him, and disrespected him, and he did what he had to. So stop freaking out, ok? I deserved to be spanked and my dad took really good care of me — there’s no reason to fuss over it.”

The comments didn’t stop right away, but died to murmurs as the other girls went about the business of applying sunscreen. Jessica was particularly careful to coat her bare, red, tender bottom and thighs: to get a sunburn on top of the existing pain was unthinkable.

“Help me with my back?” Kristen asked, turning around without waiting for an answer.

Jessica squirted some sunscreen into her hands and began applying it to Kristen’s shoulders and back, rubbing gently. “What did you mean: by hand?” she asked.

“Strap marks are obvious. The color’s too even for a paddle or hairbrush. Can’t picture your father with a cane, and anyway a cane leaves welts. So… just an educated guess.”

Jessica’s fingers slowed. “You get spanked?” she asked quietly.

“Oh, yeah. A few times with the fuckin’ belt, but usually by hand.”

Jessica was intensely curious, and didn’t balk at personal questions. “What for?”

“For saying ‘fucking’ and ‘goddamn’ and shit like that,” Kristen replied with a laugh. “For grades, sometimes, but only if he finds out I didn’t try or didn’t study or, like, blew off a quiz. Or ditched school completely — that got me the belt.”

“Your father?”


The conversation wasn’t meant to be overheard, but Elise caught enough of it.

“Me too, Jess.”

“You too what?”

“Spanked at home.”

“Your dad?”

“Mom and dad. Mom usually gets to me first and then I get that ‘just you wait for your father’ routine.”

“Oh no!”

Kelly chimed in. “I’ve never been spanked,” she said, “Even though I prolly oughta be.”

“What do you mean?” asked wide-eyed Abby.

“I get away with all kinds of crap,” Kelly said frankly. “It’d prolly be a good idea if my folks tried to shut it down, ’cause I’m gonna get into some sorta trouble for real one of these days. But they think spanking is for Bible-bangers in Louisiana or something.”

That, of course, made pressing Kelly for juicy details the new order of business. Neither Abby nor Amanda ever said whether she had any experience of being spanked, but Jessica did notice Abby’s apparent fascination with the subject.

No more was said about Jessica’s spanking, except for two occasions later in the day.

The first was when Amanda, Elise, Kelly, and Kristen decided to go for a swim. Jessica and Abby stayed behind, Jessica because she was sun-drowsy and a bit worn out, Abby because of consuming curiosity.

“Hey, Jess?”

Jessica didn’t open her eyes. “Mmm?”

“Did it hurt a lot?”

“What, getting spanked?”


“Of course it hurt a lot, genius. That’s, y’know, like the whole point.”

Abby persisted. “Yeah, ok, but I mean… like ‘this is no fun’ or ‘wow, that’s terrible’ or more like… awful and screaming and… really, really bad?”

At that, Jessica opened her eyes. She was face to face with Abby, as both girls lay prone on their beach towels, and could see the intense interest in her friend’s face. What she did not notice was that Abby was subtly and entirely subconsciously rocking her hips, gently pressing her pubic mound against the beach towel.

“I dunno. It hurt a ton. More than anything ever.” She grew thoughtful. “Maybe some of it was… it was my dad, y’know, and he’s so sweet all the time, so, like… maybe shock or something too?”

Abby’s voice, already quiet, dropped to a whisper. “Did you have clothes on, or, um, panties…” She let the question dangle.

“Nope. Bare butt. Bare everything, for that matter.” Jessica blushed at the memory.

Abby barely stifled her gasp. “Did, um, your dad, um… undress you?” Her eyes, already wide and intent, focused even harder.

“No. I just had this bikini on, and he told me to take it off.”

“Were you ok with that?”

Jessica snorted. “No, it wasn’t ok, ’cause I was super embarrassed. I mean, think about if your father saw you naked. Plus, if I had to guess, I’d guess it prolly hurts more on bare skin.”

“Did you fight?”

“What, like struggle with my dad? No. It’s not like there was a lot of negotiation or discussion or anything, Abbs. It was the first time, so… I guess he just was sure of himself and I didn’t… it just started so fast, and I didn’t really have a chance… like it was a done deal from the beginning.” It occurred then to Jessica to wonder just how it was that her father knew how to give a spanking.

“First time, you said — will you be spanked again?” Abby’s eyes were wide and intense.

“Not if I can help it!” Jessica said with a rueful laugh.

“Did you cry?”

“A ton.”

“But it was just with his hand, right?”

“There’s no just about it, Abbs — it was awful!”

“Kristen said a belt is worse.”

“I guess it would be — but I sure don’t plan to find out for myself.”

“How many times?”

“I told you, this was the first time.”

“No — I mean… how many spanks?”

“A million? Jeeze, Abby, I wasn’t takin’ notes, ok? Plenty, that’s how many. Way too many.” Growing tired of reliving her experience, Jessica added, “Is there anything about me getting spanked that you don’t want to know?"”

Abby blushed. “Sorry, Jess.”

There was a quiet moment. Then Abby spoke up again. “Jessie? Can I ask you, like, one really personal question?”

That prompted a giggle. “What, like you haven’t been?”

“I mean more personal.”

Jessica was a bit concerned, but answered “You can ask, I guess.”

Abby gathered her courage. “Was there anything about your spanking that…”


“Anything that you, um, liked, or… or felt a little bit good?”

“Are you crazy? No! I got smacked so hard my butt is still sore hours later. I could barely sit in the car on the way here. It hurt a lot, you nut case.”

Abby was quiet for a moment, then said “Thanks for being honest with me.” She retreated into her own thoughts: of the spanking fantasies she had had since early childhood; of her collection of romance novels featuring strong, mature, authoritative men taming proud, willful, spirited young women with repeated, lengthy spankings mixed with masterful sex; of masturbating in bed almost every night, cumming at the thought of a powerful older man punishing her naked ass with his hand or some wicked sort of strap. Abby worried, not for the first time, that her fantasies indicated something wrong with her. If only Jessica had confessed to feeling even a teensy hint of a sexual thrill!

The second time Jessica’s spanking was mentioned came toward the end of the afternoon. The six girls were drowsing in the sun, hip to hip in a tight row, when Kristen stood up to get a bottle of water from her bag. Returning and settling back into her spot, she planted a soft, careful kiss right in the center of Jessica’s right ass cheek.

Jess turned her head to see Kristen lying close. “What was that?”

“Kissing your owie to make it go away.”


“I can make it all feel better, you know,” Kristen said earnestly. “I’m a spanking recovery expert.”

“Really? That’d be awesome! How?” Jessica asked.

“Mmm… how about if you come home with me after the beach, and I can show you how.” Kristen’s eyes searched Jessica’s face from up close. The tip of her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips.

“What, you have some medicine or something?” asked Jessica.

“Something,” Kristen replied, with a soft smile, her eyes dancing. “Something wonderful.”

“Well, sounds good to me,” Jessica said. “As long as you don’t plan on kissing my butt again.”

“Not at all,” Kristen reassured her.

And thought to herself, “No. Not your sweet sexy bottom, Jessie, tempting though it is. Not your ass. But close.”

Not just a first for Jessica, but a day of firsts. Her first spanking: the most pain she had ever experienced, and the deepest embarrassment. On the other hand, it apparently came with some added trust and freedom. And she realized that she could be a little more adventurous, knowing that her father could fix even a bad mistake and still love her just as much.

Her first adult freedom: choosing to wear her barely-there swimsuit after all — knowing that her punished ass would be on display, and deciding on her own to be proud of herself. Not to mention her pride in having such a loving Daddy.

Her first bold attempt at overt sexiness, with her boobs and pussy minimally covered and her bottom not at all. Her friends had been surprised at the loss of the old, shy, modest Jessie, but supportive and pleased as well. Another milestone of maturity.

Her first hint — a thought that was still hazy — that there might be someone who was attracted to spanking. She still needed to mull over Abby’s questions and obvious fascination, but there was something interesting there for certain.

Her first realization that someone could be a lesbian and still talk and act and look like a — “Like a regular girl,” Jessie thought, immediately chiding herself for incorrectness. Her mental model matching “lesbian” with “softball team” had to be discarded.

Her first real, serious, romantic, meaningful kiss. That it had been not with some boy, but with Kristen, had been shocking at first, but the world-turned-upside-down feeling had vanished much quicker than she would have expected.

Her first purposeful nudity, her first intimacies, her first act of love-making. Kisses led to kisses led to deep, passionate, exploratory kisses; kisses led to touches and strokes and shivery sensations; touches led to undressing and looking and questioning and… to the amazing ways that Kristen had touched and licked and sucked her. And her first ever orgasm, while Kristen’s mouth clung to her pussy, driving her to a place unimagined. Then, later on, her first taste of another girl.

So many firsts.

They circled through Jessica's mind as Kristen drove her home. It was a quarter to eleven when they arrived. The girls exchanged soft words and one more kiss before Jessica climbed out of the car. She watched as Kristen drove away, at the same time reaching into her purse for her cell phone. She saw the icons immediately: ten missed calls, thirty-one new texts. Her phone had been in silent mode all day.

The significance hit her like a bucket of cold water.

“Oh, no!” she whispered. “Daddy!”

Her own voice echoed in her head: “Ok, Dad. See you at dinner.” Her father’s voice as well: “Six o’clock… Text me when you get to the beach… Six o’clock…”

Jessica ran up the front walk. The door opened before she got to it.

“Daddy, Daddy, I'm so sorry I'm late, I just —”

The living room told the story. Phone books. Yearbooks. Laptop open to Facebook. Cell phone. House phone. Every indication possible of an increasingly worried, frantic, terrified father, trying to locate anyone — friends, parents of friends, classmates, relatives — who might curtail his panic with the words “Oh, yes, she’s right here, perfectly fine.”

Jessica watched her father’s anxiety ebb. But it was replaced with disappointment, displeasure, and anger.

It had been a day of firsts for Jessica.

And where there are firsts there can be seconds.

Author’s notes on A First for Jessica:

The idea for this story interrupted work on another interruption which had interrupted work on my next novel-length story. I hope I got the stack depth right — anyway, you get the general idea.

I am a fan and practitioner of consensual adult spanking. Like Jessica’s father, I find it has no place between parent and child: the child is not capable of giving consent freely. You may also know from my other writing that I haven’t the slightest interest in adult/child incest, and I hope that it was crystal clear that there was not a trace of it in the relationship of Jessica and her dad.

Of course, this tale is solely a product of my imagination. The story of Jessica’s friend Abby, however, is quite another matter. Almost all of the many correspondents who have told me about spanking in their lives have pointed to pre-sexual, early childhood beginnings. They have cited being interested in and excited by spanking years before learning even the basic parts and mechanics of sex. Abby, with her fantasies of sex, spanking, and the older man, is a girl drawn from countless real life examples.

Unfortunately, Abby’s fear that she is broken or crazy is also a common theme. Those of us who know better are obligated, I think, to spread the word that spanking, in fantasy and practice, is common and entirely normal. That it is a standard plot device in a popular genre of romance novels gives me hope.

Thank you to the reader who assured me “If anyone can write father/daughter spanking without making it creepy, you can.” I appreciate her encouragement and faith.

Please use the e-mail link or the form below to send me your comments. Your thoughts and feelings are my sole compensation for writing. Thank you.

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