The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It’s wrong, a man smacking his grown-up daughter, especially when she’s eighteen years old and has a smoking hot body.

It isn’t right, a Dad standing his eighteen-year-old daughter up against a wall and pulling her shorts down and slapping her newly-curvaceous butt till it stings like crazy…

… But then…

… You don’t know my father…

… You’ve never seen my Dad in action…

… Three hundred pounds of Texas cattleman, a strapping, muscular body, face tanned from working out in the sun all day herding steers and cutting out heifers, slapping the rumps of bulls and milkers, a whip never out of his hand…

We lived on a stud farm so I suppose it was natural my father was quick with his hands when it came to a smack or a slap or a flail’s sting or a crack of the bull-whip. I loved to watch him stride through the pens, shouldering ton-weight haunches aside, or on horse-back driving the herd, his long whip singing in the summer heat, planting immaculately-placed stings on an obstreperous rump, big bulls’ buttocks rearing from the kiss of his lash.

It still wasn’t right, him standing me up against my bedroom wall and smacking my butt hard when I was eighteen-years-old, just because my short shorts were a bit revealing. I was a teenage girl. My cute, toned butt was sensational. My newly-curvaceous breasts were pure eye candy. Why shouldn’t I show off a bit of skin, when my skin was so young and soft and silky?

Those smacks really hurt. My Dad left big crimson slap marks on my sumptuous softness. By the time he was finished my butt felt completely raw. My toned ass-cheeks were aching for hours.

It wasn’t right… but, like a lot of Texas ranchers, my father was old-fashioned when it came to morals. He was particularly puritanical when it came to sex and women’s dress codes.

“You’ll not be flaunting your pretty ass round my house, slut!”

Slap

“… Ow-wwwwwww…!”

“I’ll not have a little harlot strutting her stuff in my home, Bree! Understand me?”

Slap

“… Ouch…!”

I braced my arms against the wall. I lowered my head and felt my cute ass jelly as his big hand came swinging in.

Slap

“… Ow-eeeeeeeee…!”

A little harlot? It was only a pair of short shorts! Tangled round my ankles now as my father exacted his revenge for me looking so smoking hot! It was only a pair of low-rise short shorts like any eighteen-year-old girl might wear to show off her cute pussy. Okay. The slashed denim was cut a bit high on my arched split. The white denim, skin-tight on my luscious ass-cheeks, molded my rear cleft to perfection. But harlot? Slut? There was no need for him to be so Biblical about it!

Slap

“… Ow-wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww…!”

A pang of voluptuous pleasure thrilled up the backs of my legs. A shiver of delight tingled my stinging ass-cheeks. A delicious ache pushed my legs wider apart. The next smack sank a lightning bolt of sudden sheer ecstasy into my wet pussy. My butt stung. Hot agony rinsed my sumptuous ass-cheeks, but the thrill was even stronger than the pain. My Daddy was beating me. My hunky father was thrashing a strange new excitement into my virgin body.

“… You’ll dress like a proper young woman from now on, hear me…?”

“… Yes, Daddy…”

Slap

“… Ou-oooooooooooooooouch…!”

The strange new excitement thrilled through my untried pussy. The shiver of delight pulsed in my vagina. It turned the hot slick between my legs hotter and sharper and juicier. The ecstasy set off a molten ticking in my wet gash. My tail-bone kicked. My pussy jerked and bucked…

… Fu-uuuuuuuuuck… !

… If my father caught me climaxing I was dead… !

My winged hips took flight. I felt a lift-off of molten pleasure. My stomach squirmed and buckled. My toned tits tightened in delight. My nipples ached, rock-hard and butting at the skimpy tank-top that had enraged my father as equally as my shorts.

Delicious honey gathered in my throat. My mouth opened on a cry of helpless ecstasy. If my father knew I was cumming I was dead!

My legs spread helplessly. My pussy quaked in luxurious meltdown. I jerked and bucked under his heavy blows. I masked my ecstasy with cries of pain:

“… Please, Daddy… please… no more… you’re hurting me…!”

Slap

“… Ow-wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww…!”

My butt swiveled helplessly. My succulent ass-cheeks squirmed beneath his hand, concealing my delight in a faked attempt to avoid his blows.

Slap

“… Please, Daddy… ple-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese…!”

I couldn’t tell if I was begging him to stop or pleading for even harder smacks, an even hotter stinging.

At last it was over.

My father roared:

“Let that be a lesson to you!”

He stormed out of my bedroom.

I collapsed against the wall panting and sobbing, my whole body throbbing deliciously.

My father hadn’t seen the hot juice trickling down my inner thighs.

I became obsessed with the idea that my father might smack me again, this time perhaps even whip me. When he was angry my Dad was capable of anything.

However, I never received a second thrashing. The discipline that had brought me off so ecstatically, braced against my bedroom wall, was never repeated.

I wore skimpier, more and more revealing, clothes around the house and in the stockyards too. Hotpants and halters. Lurex tube skirts and five inch strappy sandals round the farm! My Dad just turned his head away, like Job turning his back on Sodom and Gomorrha, muttering about ‘sluts’ and ‘whores’ and harlots’ but he didn’t repeat the one thing I needed most.

He’d sensed my excitement. He hadn’t actually consciously registered my orgasm when he beat me but he’d sensed strong forces, sensations he had no name for, coursing through my smoking hot teenage body, reveling in my raw, stinging ass.

He’d sensed that something weird had happened between us, something forbidden that he didn’t dare risk awakening again.

I lived in a permanent ferment of frustration. Fingering myself was no use. Recalling the event and bringing myself off again and again through the long sultry summer nights was no relief.

I was on a hair trigger… I was gripped by strange, delicious sensations… a sudden rush of delight between my legs, my pussy melting, the throb of orgasm through my body… watching my father crack his whip at the rump of a recalcitrant bull…!… my stomach buckling, my wet cunt jerking and bucking perched on a stockyard rail… just watching my Dad leave a delicate welt on a cheeky heifer’s haunches…!

People started looking at my strangely. The yard hands began noticing things. I was in a state of permanent semi-orgasm dreaming of my father flogging the living daylights out of me! I was going crazy. Things couldn’t go on like this…

… That was when Wilkinson’s Traveling Big Top came to the town nearest to our farm and set up in the showground for a weekend’s country fair. There were all sorts of rides and challenges and spectacles advertised, as well as Wilkinson’s Big Top itself. The whole district buzzed with excitement.

“… Please, Daddy… ple-eeeeeeease…”

My father refused to let me go. He wasn’t about to let a daughter of his flaunt her ‘harlot’s wares’ at the country fair. He still hadn’t forgiven me for my short shorts and skimpy tank-top.

Luckily, that Sunday night, the last night of the fair, my Dad came down with one of his migraines. My father suffered from chronic headaches, migraines so powerful they confined him to his bed for days on end. It was all the anger and moral outrage building up inside him. It was the puritanical rage at ‘Sodom and Gomorrah’ overwhelming his brain, with no outlet other than a splitting headache. By a stroke of good luck, that Sunday night my Dad took to his bed with a blinding migraine and I was able to sneak away to the fair.

Oh the joy! The sense of freedom! Wandering the aisles of stalls and displays! Listening to the music of the hurdy-gurdy! Feeling the eyes of the young men snatching a glimpse of my face! Their hungry gazes lingering on my sensational body in its lightweight summer sundress!

I felt my heartbeat quicken when I saw the sign:

MADAME HYPNA. HYPNOTIC DEMONSTRATIONS.

Hypnosis? The hypnotized trance state? People carrying out whatever crazy command the hypnotist placed in their subconscious mind? My father carrying out my crazy wishes?

Butterflies churned in my stomach. I pushed the flap aside and entered the tent. I kept telling myself that Madame Hypna must surely be a mountebank and a fraud, that her ‘Hypnotic Demonstration’ was only a charade for conning gullible people, but a wild hope refused to stop beating in my heart. Perhaps if I learned the ‘occult art’ and hypnotized my father I could could make him whip me again and again and again, as many times as I wanted.

The show began.

Madame Hypna called people up out of the audience to be hypnotized. She made the volunteers gaze into a mirror set up on the stage that she called her ‘Mystic Mirror’. Incense burned. Lulling music played. Made Hypna spoke in a crooning voice. The volunteers soon fell into a deep hypnotic trance. I saw strapping men dance like ballerinas at Madame Hypna’s command. Fussy women turned coy and seductive at her bidding. I told myself that the ‘volunteers’ were just plants, Madame’s co-conspirators placed in the audience to assist with the show, but my crazy hope refused to die. I pictured my hypnotized father, a bull-whip in his hand, pulling my panties down.

The moment of proof finally came. Finally Madame Hypna called me up onto the stage.

I gazed into her ‘Mystic Mirror’. My face wavered in the glass. My body undulated in the mirror. I felt myself sinking into subconscious realms I never even knew existed. My eyes were wide open, my body remained at my command, but when Madame Hypna told me to sing a song—I hate singing. I never sing, not even when I’m alone, let alone in front of an audience— I sang ‘Home On The Range’ at the top of my voice. Hypnotism worked.

Immediately after the show I went back stage and begged Madame Hypna to take me on as her assistant. I was in luck, the famous hypnotist was getting old. She’d been looking for an apprentice she could teach her ‘fabled demonstrations of the hypnotic art’ to. She needed a pretty girl to help ‘liven up the performance’. She hired me on the spot.

The circus left town that night. I didn’t even bother to go back to the farm to pack a few things. I never even said goodbye to my Dad. I’d return when I was good and ready. I’d be back soon enough, my bottom tingling for the first kiss of his whip.

By the time my absence was noticed I was a hundred miles away.

Madame Hypna had been looking for a ‘young, attractive’ female assistant. I was certainly both those things. For the first few weeks she didn’t teach me much, I was merely her ‘assistant’. She made me wear an array raunchy costume to ‘pull the punters in’. Madame Hypna had lots of sexy costumes in her wardrobe. Spangled bikinis. Hareem pantaloons. Slinky catsuits. Fishnet body stockings. I didn’t mind. Like I said, I’ve got a smoking hot body. I looked good— I felt good —in Madame Hypna’s exotic costumes. I proved adept at encouraging volunteers from the audience, particularly male volunteers, to come up on stage. I learned how to get Madame Hypna’s ‘subjects’ composed and seated before the ‘Mystic Mirror’.

Madame’s ‘Mystic Mirror’ was a weird piece of equipment. There was a ‘Crazy Mirror’ stand at the fair where people paid to look at themselves in distorting mirrors and see their heads elongate, their mouths grow a meter wide, their arms and legs go thin and bendy and turn to drawn-out chewing gum, their grins turn to gaping caves. By some process which she never explained, Madame Hypna had fused seven of these crazy reflectors into a single mirror and invested them with an occult power I didn’t understand. For every show her ‘Mystic Mirror’ stood center stage.

Now that she had a ‘young, attractive’ female assistant, Madame added a new twist to her hypnotic technique:

To the wafting of incense and lulling of zithers and gongs, I danced for the volunteers in front of the mirror, my dance reflected in the distorting glass.

I don’t like singing, but I’m a good dancer. Madame Hypna taught me voluptuous postures and sinuous undulations out of the ‘Ancient Rite’, dressed in her revealing costumes for the volunteers to gaze at. I swayed and swooped and bent and buckled in the mirror, a flowing mirage of silky skin and lustrous black hair and plump, moist lips and sensational curves…

… Seated in a chair, unable, by a trick of the mirror, to see themselves, only me dancing, the volunteers soon became deeply hypnotized by my body in the mirror, accompanied by the incense and the lulling music and by Madame Hypna’s soothing voice leading them on a journey into their subconscious minds, where she planted her suggestions into the limbic regions of their brains and her ‘volunteers’ fell completely under her command…

… Madame approved of my dancing…

… She agreed to teach me the deepest secrets of her occult art…

… I learned the lulling tone of voice in which Madame Hypna lured her subjects into the trance state. She taught me the incantation for snapping a hypnotized subject out of their entrancement. I even learned the mystic art of thinking my suggestions and commands straight into my hypnotized subjects’ mind without the use of words, of planting my commands in the deepest regions of their subconscious through the power of thought alone…

… I was a quick learner…

… I soon picked up the fundamentals of the hypnotist’s art…

… In fact, Madame Hypna said I was ‘the best assistant she’d ever had’. She took my breath away the day she told me I was born to be ‘a great hypnotist myself’. Perhaps it was merely the costumes and my young teenage body—I was still only eighteen years old— but the old woman told me I was already a ‘greater hypnotist than she’!

My life was changing. I felt myself in the grip of magical powers that were shaping my future in a way that I was incapable of shaping it on my own. I was destined for a brilliant career as a leading hypnotist, but still my young body yearned for the sting of my father’s broad palm on my voluptuous butt, for the waves of ecstasy only his bull-whip could release in me.

Madame Hypna was an old woman. She was growing frail. After nine months I was ready to become her replacement. Nine months to the night after I’d slipped into her tent Madame Hypna stepped aside and let me take her place. She gave me the title of ‘world’s most famous hypnotist’. She bequeathed me her mirror. I was finally in control of my own destiny. I could follow whichever path I chose.

Several young men had attempted to hit on me during my time with Madame Hypna, many of them quite handsome, a few of them total hunks. Almost every night I’d had some spunky guy trying to get me into bed with him.

I’d tried to give in.

I’d done my best to be seduced. I was still a virgin, a smoking hot virgin, but totally untried never-the-less. I’d striven as hard as I could to give in to my suitors’ demands and let them fuck me, but something always got in the way.

Dad.

My father.

My father’s strapping body, his face tanned from working out in the sun, three hundred pounds of Texas cattle man.

I couldn’t get my tyrannical father out of my mind.

Every time I was about to let some guy take me I felt myself being pinned against my bedroom wall, my short shorts around my ankles, my father’s broad palm slamming hot and hard into my naked ass.

Slap

“… Ow-wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww…!”

Every time I let some dude lead me into the shadows and slip his hand under my dress I was already spasming to the heat of my Dad’s big mitt laying into me, a pang of voluptuous pleasure was already thrilling up the backs of my legs, tingling my stinging ass-cheeks, pushing my legs wide open for my Daddy to fuck me, for my father to sink his lightning bolt of sudden sheer ecstasy into my wet pussy.

“You’ll not be flaunting your pretty ass round my house, slut!”

Slap

The fairground dude didn’t stand a chance.

There was only one thing for it… I had to go home… I needed to get back to the farm where I grew up… I needed to ‘flaunt my pretty ass’ round our house again… I needed to see my tyrannical Daddy real bad…

Transporting the mirror and my on-stage wardrobe back to my father’s house wasn’t a problem. The problem was…

… My Dad…

My father ranted and raged. He cursed me. He’d heard stories of my feats on Madame Hypna’s stage and he was furious.

The day I turned up I felt sure he was going to hit me. I felt certain I was in for the thrashing of my life. I didn’t mind. It was exactly what I wanted. My silky teenage skin yearned to be tanned. My curvaceous butt ached for my Daddy’s bullwhip.

He didn’t even slap me.

Nothing.

Not even a warning smack through my short shorts.

Just yelling and cursing.

“… You’ll not be running away again, my girl… whoring your slut’s body in some gimcrack hypno show…”

Some subliminal memory, buried deep in his subconscious mind, of the way I’d climaxed when he spanked me was keeping him from going berserk on my smoking hot, eighteen-year-old body.

“… Flashing skin for dupes and con artists in some sleazy trickery display…!”

My father didn’t believe in hypnosis one little bit. He thought hypnotism was a huckster’s con job, a sleazy art Satan had taught Eve to ensnare the sons of men ‘in the wiles and toils of sluttish women’.

I encountered a major problem.

My father no longer wished to smack me. Even touching me was a ‘temptation of the Devil’. The only way of getting him to flog me to the ecstasy I required was by hypnotizing him. But my father refused to be hypnotized. Even the suggestion that he sit for a short trial session enraged him. The very word ‘hypnosis’ drove him berserk. I grew frantic. I was going crazy. I was a skilled hypnotist, but putting my father into the trance state so I could plant the necessary commands in his brain was out of the question… except for…

… His migraines…

… Those splitting headaches…

… They were getting worse and worse…

… The angrier my father got the more excruciating his migraines became. His forehead creased, riven by thunderbolts of pain, his eyes grew blank and unseeing…

… I suggested that perhaps hypnosis might help ease the pain…

“… Please, Daddy… let me try… it works… it really works… I can heal your splitting headaches…”

He humphed and snorted like an enraged bull:

“If you think I’m sitting for that sleaze show trickery you’ve got another thing coming, young lady!”

“… It works, Daddy… hypnotism really works… I’m sure I can make you feel much better…”

It was only when a particularly severe migraine sent him howling and groaning to his bed for three whole days that my father began to give way. He railed at doctors and snake-oil salesmen. He cursed his cruelly aching eyes and wretched thundering head. He slowly began to relent, but it was still a long time before he finally gave in and agreed to sit for a mere ten minutes and try this ‘stuff and nonsense’!

I set the mirror up in my bedroom. I made sure everything was prepared.

Candles burning tranquilly in Egyptian sconces.

Patchouli and black licorice smoking in the incense burner.

The rise and fall of Madame Hypna’s lulling music on the tape machine.

I brought the bull-whip and flail and a coil of rope in from the stockyard.

I sat my Dad down in a chair facing the ‘Mystic Mirror’. I forbade him to turn his head and watch while I got changed.

I put on the one costume I’d never worn on stage, not even a single time. Fearing the police, Madame Hypna had forbidden me to wear it.

The two nipple clamps tightened on my tingling nips, each clamp dangling a pearl on a short silver chain, each chain tugging deliciously in time to the beating of my heart, aching for the moment when Daddy’s first whiplash lassoed my sumptuous breasts.

“Don’t look!”

The pearl G-string between my legs was already marinating in my hot juicy pussy. Tight elastic drew wet pearls deeper into my succulent gash every time I breathed in, waiting for the flail’s first sting to wrap around my curvaceous butt.

In the mirror I was a wavering, undulating, fabulous Whore of Babylon, every inch of my silky skin pleading to be flogged.

“… Okay, Daddy… ready…?”

My father’s broad forehead tensed. Migraine throbbed dully behind his eyes. When he had one of his headaches he couldn’t see too clearly.

His eyes fixed themselves the mystic mirror. He was instantly half entranced. His voice came from a long way away:

“Load of freaking rubbish.”

I murmured in my most seductive voice, the lulling tone that Madame Hypna had taught me:

“… Your daughter’s going to dance for you, Daddy… in the mirror… when your daughter dances in the mirror she turns into a harlot…”

He drew in a deep breath.

“… When your daughter sways and wiggles her hips in the mirror… she turns into a hot, juicy whore…”

His eyes emptied out completely.

“… She deserves a good thrashing…”

He sat completely still on the chair, a stone idol staring into endless distances.

My breath caught in my throat:

“… Your slutty daughter needs the living daylights thrashed out of her…”

His mouth moved mechanically. His voice came from a million miles away:

“… Yes…”

Where he was sitting in the chair, by a trick in the mirror, my father couldn’t see how my all-but-naked body was swaying inches from his shoulder.

“… Your headache’s going away…”

“… Yes…”

“… You see clearly now…”

“… Yes…”

“… Your daughter’s alluring…”

“… Yes…”

“… She’s an alluring, hot strumpet…”

“… Yes…”

“… A brazen temptress calling down God’s wrath upon her head…”

His fists clenched.

“… Yes…”

I swayed to the music. My nipples grew taut and erect. The clamps tugged deliciously. Pendant pearls grazed my succulent softness, tapped rhythmically against the toned fullness of my breasts.

I was no longer myself. In the mirror Jezebel shimmered and swayed. The Whore of Babylon teased and titillated, pearls dangling from her nipples, two drops of milk squeezing from her taut, tight breasts.

“… Your daughter’s the Devil’s courtesan…”

“… Mm-mmm…”

“… You want to fuck her…”

A deep-chested groan:

“… Yes…”

I undulated in time to wavering zithers and gongs. The string of pearls between my legs sank deeper into my wet cunt when I breathed in, resurfaced wet and glistening every time I breathed out. Moist elastic ground sweetly against my melting clit.

I murmured:

“… Your cock’s stiff…”

A wounded animal’s moan.

“… Yes…”

“… Your big cock’s aching to fuck your slutty little daughter…”

A disembodied groan:

“… Yes…”

“… She deserves a good thrashing for making you want to fuck her…”

He shifted in his chair:

“… Yes she does…”

I swayed voluptuously. A sweet spasm ran the full length of my body.

“… You want to thrash the living daylights out of her hot teenage body…”

His big hands clenched and unclenched.

“… Yes…”

“… You want to put your daughter over your knee and smack her hot ass till she screams for mercy…”

His eyes stayed glued to my body in the mirror:

“… Yes…”

In the wink of an eye, before he could know what was happening, I stretched myself out over my father’s knees. I emerged from the mirror, hot and hungry, and draped my perky body between my father’s legs.

He was wearing the baggy overalls he wore around the farm. His penis stood up rock-hard through roomy denim. The rod of God’s Wrath dug its thick spear-head into my silky belly.

It was the dangerous moment Madame Hypna had warned me of, the risky moment when hypnosis can go awry. The transition from suggestion into direct command.

I wriggled deeper into his lap. I lowered my voice. I placed my undeniable commandment deep in the limbic regions of my father’s brain, where survival instinct and sex drive have their source:

“… Feel how toned and juicy your daughter’s pert ass is…”

For a blissful instant my father’s broad, chapped palm cupped my curvaceous ass-cheeks, felt the wet heat percolating upwards from my pulsing pussy.

“… Smack it…!… smack it hard…!… lest she lure you into sinning with her…”

Slap

“… Ow-wwwwwww…!”

My bottom stung. My sumptuous softness erupted beneath his hand. Burning ecstasy flowed through my whole body, tingling outwards from a shiver of red-hot shock.

I’d forgotten how big and hard my father’s palm could be, how rough and chapped his hand was from working with bulls and heifers.

Slap

“… Ow-wwwwwwwww… eeeeeeeeeeeeee…!”

Moist elastic tightened in my ass-cleft. My silky thighs clenched tight, holding onto the ecstatic pain. My pussy melted in the blissful heat my father left inscribed in my silky skin.

Slap

Slap

Slap

My hot cunt went into rut. My pussy spasm-d on wave after wave of delicious pain.

“… Yes… yes… thrash the sin out of your daughter’s voluptuous body…”

His thick prong stabbed upwards into my stomach through farmyard denim. My navel buckled on his throbbing spear-head. His big cock felt my perky body rushing towards the brink.

“… Yes… ye-eeeeeeeees…”

His anger reached boiling point. He was furious. My tail-bone kicked. My pussy jerked and bucked. My toned butt lifted on wave after wave of ecstasy. His slutty daughter was climaxing. I couldn’t disguise the tidal waves of pleasure undulating my perky body. The Jezebel he’d raised up under his roof spasm-d beneath his hand. I was driving him berserk. I tried to stop myself cumming. If my father felt me climaxing he’d kill me. I lost control.

“… Yes… yes… ye-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees…!”

I slid to the floor, my curvaceous ass stinging.

I gabbled:

“… The whip…!… the flail… !… quickly…!… flog her hot butt…!… before she drags you down to Hell with her… your big cock impaling her voluptuous body…!”

Delicious agony lifted me to my feet, blissful after-shocks lifted me up and staggered me across the room to my desk, the big oak desk my father had bought me to do my homework on.

“… The flail…!… the flail…!… whip her before she sucks your soul out of your body…!”

I slumped forward over the desk, my legs pressed together, holding onto the ecstasy quaking my wet gash, treasuring every throb of delightful pain my father had given me.

He was on his feet, his strapping body a muscled-up automaton’s, his eyes big and wide and empty. The flail was in his hand. It consisted of a wooden handle and seven short leather thongs.

“… Whip her juicy pussy…!”

My father muttered:

“… Yes…”

I stopped breathing altogether.

“… Teach her hot pussy not to get so wet…!”

“… Mm-mmm…”

I opened my legs wider.

“… Make her scream…”

“… Yes…”

Each thong slid individually up the luscious wetness of my pulsing gash.

I shuddered.

I shivered all over.

This was no fatherly palm printing its rage on my butt. This was no mere slap on its way to my toned, curvaceous ass-cheeks. All seven thongs were lining up my succulent pussy. The strips of wet leather were planning exactly where to slam into my voluptuous gash. My father wanted to hurt me. My Dad was going to kill me with his very first blow.

The flail swung back.

A sudden empty feeling.

My pussy twitched.

“… On her butt… punish your daughter’s toned butt… not her pussy…” I didn’t know what I was saying. “… Her pussy needs your big cock too much…”

A grunt:

“… Yes…”

CRACK!

“… Ow-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…!”

The stinging bolt of lightning shot out seven sizzling rays of searing heat into my ass’s silky softness.

CRACK!

“… Ow-wwwwwwwwwwwwww-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…!”

I went up on tiptoe. My butt swiveled helplessly under the force of the blow. I hopped on tiptoe trying to escape the curtain of burning pain closing over my mind.

CRACK!

“… Ou-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuch…!”

I was inside his mind. I was inside my father’s rage and fury. His dark, angry consciousness overwhelmed me. My butt drove him crazy. My toned teenage ass-cheeks were more than he could bear. My curvaceous softness grew more and more unbearable with every savage sting he unwound across my crimson ass.

CRACK!

“… Ow-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…!”

I spun in helpless orgasm. Waves of pleasure streamed like warm water up the backs of my legs and lifted me onto my toes. My tail-bone kicked. My raw butt jerked and bucked. An ecstatic tidal wave of pain and ecstasy broke over my whole body.

“… Yes… yes…”

My hot gash quaked, splayed for my father to see, I could feel my pussy’s sopping lips unfurling, driving him crazy, hot juice trickling down my inner thighs, betraying me, snitching on my deepest need. I could feel my succulent pussy leaking virgin cream, quaking in helpless meltdown.

“… Yes.. yes… fuck… oh fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

CRACK!

“… Ai-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…!”

I was an obstreperous heifer frisking her rump in his stockyard.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

His anger was too great. I couldn’t control him. I couldn’t control myself. I climaxed again and again on blow after blow after blow, each orgasm driving my father more and more berserk.

I remembered the times I’d seen him out herding stock, bringing a stampeding heifer down, lashing her hooves together in strong ropes to hobble her rebelliousness.

I crooned:

“… Tie her up… hog-tie your slutty daughter… bind her down so she’ll never dare trick you again…”

The same automaton’s voice, from a million miles away:

“… Yes…”

My Dad strode to the bed, purposefully, mechanically.

He picked up the hank of rope. He reached up and strung the rope through the hammer-beam on the ceiling. He let out a length of cord and bound my wrists together.

“… Ouch…!”

He pulled the knot tight.

“… Ow-wwwwwww…!”

He yanked on the rope and my arms shot up above my head. The soft flesh of my inner arms squashed against my cheeks.

He kept on yanking.

“… Oh…”

My feet left the floor.

I went up on tiptoe.

My toes could no longer touch the floor.

My armpits ached. Even a few seconds of taking my full body-weight, my shoulders were hurting.

I dangled in mid air.

My father secured me there, his face rigid, his eyes empty, concentrated solely on binding his perky daughter, each angry movement mechanical, his body a muscular automaton’s losing control.

He tied a separate rope around each ankle. I’d left him all the rope he desired but I hadn’t accounted for this sudden panic hammering in my chest.

“… Yes.. yes.. tie her up nice and tight…”

He yanked on the rope fastening my right foot. It shot up like a ballerina’s arabesque. He secured the rope to the wall.

“… Oh… oh…”

My left foot… I hung splayed like a carcass in an abattoir, my arms already killing me, my moist pussy mouthing helplessly at thin air…

He stared at the smears of cream, the helpless wetness trickling down my inner thighs. His empty eyes stared into me, already pumping his big cock in his fist, ramping his rock-hard shaft even harder, thumbing his raw spear-head rawer, getting himself ready to fuck me.

Images flashed before my mind. My father on horseback, driving the herd, his long whip singing in the summer heat, planting immaculately-placed stings on an obstreperous rump, big bulls’ buttocks rearing from the kiss of his lash.

I murmured:

“… The bullwhip… your daughter needs a taste of the bullwhip…”

His vacant eyes gleamed:

“… Yes…”

He uncoiled the long length of vicious rawhide. He slowly drew the bullwhip out to its full extent. It’s length and thickness took my breath away.

Plaited loops hung from his hands, ready to uncoil and snap.

I’d already climaxed countless times.

Perhaps it was enough.

I’d had as much pain, and as much ecstasy, as my body could stand.

My father was in a profound hypnotic trance. I could feel the Theta waves drowning his neural centers. My father was trapped somewhere deep in the limbic region of his brain, the dark place where terrible angers and uncontrollable desires are unleashed.

A thrilling heat, a voluptuous electricity, shivered up my whole body.

“… Yes… yes… flog your slutty little daughter…”

He stepped away from me.

… For a terrible instant I thought he was abandoning me, my father was walking away, out of my bedroom, leaving me dangling here…

… But no…

… His subconscious mind still obeyed my orders… only just… but his hypnotized brain was still under my control…

He positioned himself at an appropriate distance to give the bullwhip its full range and scope of impact.

I shut my eyes.

I thought, more than whispered:

“… Come on, Daddy… do it…!”

Rawhide sang through the air. His vengeance uncoiled instantaneously. My punishment flew hard and fast and searing at my silky skin.

CRA-AAACK!

“… Ow-wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww…!”

The scorching rawhide wrapped itself once, twice, three times round my voluptuous belly. Its raw heat bit and stung me all over. I couldn’t breathe. My father’s bullwhip knocked all the air out of my lungs. His bullwhip bound me in a burning caress then uncoiled for the next blow.

CRA-AAACK!

My breasts! He whipped my breasts!

“… Ow-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…”

The whip’s forked tip latched on a perky nipple, left a searing bee-sting.

“… Ou-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuch…!”

I swung helplessly in mid air. The weight of my father’s savage stripes spun me round, my toes searching frantically for the floor.

The string of pearls tugged tight in the hot swamp pulsing between my splayed legs.

CRA-AAACK!

My hips!

“… Ow-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…!”

A burning snake embraced my hips and flew away for the next blow.

I panted:

“… Yes… yes… please…” No. ‘Please’ was wrong. ‘Please’ was begging, not commanding. ‘Please’ would break the trance. ‘Please’ would erase the demented look in my father’s empty eyes. “… Flog your slutty little daughter harder…”

Slippery pearls spread my sopping clit hood, ground smooth, hard heat into my throbbing clit.

“… Oh fuck…”

He could see!

My father knew I was cumming. He could feel me climaxing!

“… oh fuck… fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

The word he hated worst in the whole vocabulary.

CRA-AAACK!

I couldn’t stop myself. I climaxed again and again. My juicy gash danced ecstatic hip hop between my spread-eagled legs.

CRA-AAACK!

“… Yes… yes…”

His eyes were blank and empty. His ripped physique moved with an automaton’ precision. His strong arm reveled in its skill with the whip. He wasn’t going to even think of stopping. This pain and ecstasy were forever. My father was going to keep on whipping me till I passed out… or till I…

My mind was already darkening. My arms were killing me. Searing knots sawed at my wrists and ankles. My mouth wasn’t working right. My lips were blubbering helpless pleas and yearning spittle.

I thought the command directly into my father’s hypnotized brain.

‘… Fuck me… I want you to fuck me…’ Worse and worse! He didn’t know who ‘me’ was. ‘Me’ wasn’t allowed to ‘want’. ‘… Fuck her… fuck your hot virgin daughter… punish your virgin daughter with your big cock…’

His arm froze mid blow. His breath caught in his throat. He lowered the bullwhip like an automaton receiving a one-hundred-and-eighty-degrees, totally contradictory command. The bullwhip relaxed. The lash coiled across the floor. The rawhide hilt went suddenly loose in his big hand. He stood stock-still, his massive cock rearing stiff and tall and raw and rock-hard between his legs.

‘… She’s a slut…’

A groan:

“… Mm-mmm…”

‘… Fuck her stupid… punish your slutty virgin daughter with your big cock…’

“… Yes…”

My father’s huge cock swung heavily.

His throbbing spear-head knocked against my splayed split.

My Dad’s raw, throbbing tip plastered pulsing pre-cum on my silky belly, my luscious mound, my pussy’s molten lips.

Dangling, at arm’s length, my toes scrabbling for the floor I was at the perfect height for my father to slam his big angry spear into my wet cunt.

‘… You’ve been wanting to fuck your daughter…’

His eyes were empty.

“… Yes…”

‘… You’ve been longing to fuck your smoking hot virgin daughter ever since she turned eighteen…’

His voice came from a million miles away:

“… Yes…”

My heart sang. He meant it.

I dangled helplessly. I prayed I wouldn’t black out. My ankles burned. My legs splayed moistly in their bindings. My sopping gash swiveled helplessly above the swollen tip of my father’s rock-hard cock.

‘… Feel how wet her pussy is…’

“… Yes…”

His throbbing spear-head skated on my slippery wetness. His cock’s thick tip rimmed my luscious entrance. His big prong set off spasm after spasm of molten delight. It lodged in my succulent fuck-hole a millimeter deep. His throbbing cock letting me feel the big load he was going to slam into me already ticking.

‘… Your daughter’s hot pussy needs your big cock so bad…’

“… Mm-mmm…”

‘… She needs you to punish her…’

“… Yes…”

‘… She needs you to fuck her stupid…’

An agonized groan:

“… That’s right…”

Burning rope scorched my wrists. Merciless knots tugged at my ankles.

His stallion buttocks quivered. My father took my hips in both hands to stop my crazy swinging around. He slammed his rock-hard cock hard and fast, cervix-deep up into my sopping surrender.

I cried out:

”… Oh… oh… fuck… oh fuck…”

My tail-bone kicked.

My pussy jerked and bucked.

”… Oh… oh…”

I rutted on his big prong. My luscious pussy went into meltdown on the savage stabs ramming up into my wet cunt. The ropes creaked and burned. I thrashed and bucked in helpless ecstasy.

”… Oh fuck… fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

I climaxed hot and hard, again and again, impaled on my father’s relentless thrusts.

”… Yes… yes… ye-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees…!”

His pounding piston went into overdrive. Fucking his daughter was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Fucking his smoking hot daughter, taking her virginity, splitting her hot cunt wide open, was better than any pleasure he’d ever known in all his rough, brutal life.

”… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”

This could go on forever. It wasn’t going to stop. My Dad wanted to fuck me forever. He was going to impale me again and again forever and ever. I could feel the hot load pounding in his balls. I could feel his need to drown my virgin cunt in his hot seed but he was in a hypnotic trance, my Dad was totally under the spell of his powerful subconscious, the limbic region of his brain had taken over. He was going to fuck me till I passed out. He was going to impale me till I lost consciousness and the last remaining strength drained out of my body and I died.

I shut my eyes. I willed a frantic thought into his brain, command or plea, I couldn’t tell.

‘… You want to knock your daughter up…’

“… Mm-mmm…”

‘… You want to give your smoking hot daughter a baby…’

“… Yes…”

‘… You need to pump your hot semen into her tight little pussy…’

“… Yes…”

His stallion buttocks picked up speed. His tail-bone kicked like a frantic jack-hammer. His big cock sank pile-driver after savage pile-driver into my sopping surrender.

”… Yes… yes… fuck… oh fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

My teeth banged.

My tail-bone clicked like a witch’s knuckle.

The jolt went through my whole body.

My father pumped surge after surge of hot cum into my molten gash.

Delicious after-shocks ran through my voluptuous teenage body. I swayed ecstatically on my father’s big cock. My silky belly ruffled his pumped abs muscles. His big thing filled me so full, lifted me so high, it took some of the weight off my aching arms and shoulders. My father’s thick shaft filled me full and tight, his warm sperm overflowing my pussy’s spasming lips and trickling down my silky inner thighs.

I’d got what I wanted.

He released the ropes around my wrists.

My father eventually lifted me off his raw, slippery cock. He unfastened the knots round my ankles.

I slid down his body. Raw stings and inflamed welts on my breasts and belly slithered down my father’s powerful body. I clasped at his hips. I gripped his throbbing buttocks to keep myself from toppling over. All over, my perky body’s agonized stinging was turning to wave after wave of voluptuous pleasure.

I thought directly into his brain:

‘… You’ve done something wrong…’

“… Mm-mmm…”

I held on tighter to his hips. I shivered voluptuously.

‘… Your cock’s all sticky with your daughter’s juice and your own hot cum…’

“… That’s right…”

I was a lucky girl. His eyes were still blank and empty. His voice came from a million miles away.

‘… You’re going to make your daughter suck your big cock clean…’

“… Yes…”

My heart was beating like crazy. I didn’t have to do a single thing. His fingers sieved gently through my hair. He grasped two handfuls of silky teenage mane. He guided my eager mouth onto his big cock.

“… Mm-mmmmmmmmm…”

I moue-d luscious moisture into my Dad’s swollen tip. My plump lips sucked up the taste of sharp virgin juice and heady male cum. I was right. His thick shaft was well sticky. I tongued the tight place where his hot semen had exploded inside me. I clamped his thick shaft in a yearning love-bite. I loved him. My pussy was still trickling sticky warmth down my inner thighs and father’s cock was as rock-hard as ever.

My plump lips slipped down a juicy slide of rock-hard gristle. I impaled my voluptuous wind-pipe gullet-deep on my father’s raw prong.

“… Argh… argh… argh-llllllllllllll…”

I gargled his throbbing spear-head in delicious throat honey. I might not get another chance like this. An opportunity like this might never come my way again. I needed to take full advantage of it.

“… Glurg… gla-aaaaaaarg… argh-lllllllllllllllllllll…”

I licked between his balls. I rolled my father’s huge rocks in hungry saliva. I licked my way all the way up his raw shaft and nipped the tight ridge where his heavy spear-head took off from his packed shaft.

‘… No one’s ever sucked your cock as good as this before…’

A deep sigh:

“… No…”

My Daddy was so strict and puritanical this might well be the first blowjob he’d ever had.

“… Argh… argh… argh… argh… argh-llllllllllllllllllllllllllll…!”

I spasm-d helplessly. I impaled my luscious teenage throat on his throbbing spear-head again and again and again.

‘… C’m on… give it to her… give it to her hot and hard... cum in your daughter’s luscious mouth…’

His butt kicked. My teeth tingled. His throbbing thickness jammed my wind-pipe tight. He pumped throb after throb of hot cum down spasming throat. I couldn’t breathe. I swallowed surge after surge of pulsing semen.

“… Argh… argh…”

His thick tip plugged my throat. The pressure of his big load overflowed my moist plump lips and streamed down my perky chin.

Perhaps I’d hypnotized myself. Maybe I was hypnotized as him. Hypnotized by my father’s big cock, by the empty look in his stern eyes.

I spat out skeins of gag and spittle. My lips were all creamy with his cum. I shuddered. I wasn’t sure if I could remember the words to snap my father out of a trance as deep as this… if I even wanted to snap him out of it… we could stay here forever, plundering each other’s bodies… my father could fill me with his sumptuous cum again and again and again… my pussy… my mouth… my hot, curvaceous ass…

I murmured into his mind:

‘… You hurt your daughter…’

“… Mm-mmm…”

‘… Her hot, curvaceous butt… it hurts real bad…’

“… Yes…”

‘… It’s red and raw and inflamed…’

“… That’s right…”

‘… She’s your daughter… you love her…’

“… Mm-mmm…”

I swayed towards the bed. I mustn’t black out. If I blacked out now I’d lose him forever.

I collapsed face down on the bed. I buried my face in the sheet. I spread my legs. I offered him my pillaged butt.

‘… You want to kiss it better… you want to kiss her hot ass better…’

“… Yes…”

How could those strong, broad lips, chapped from working out in the sun, feel so moist and tender? Plastering succulent healing wetness on my raw ass-cheeks? How could his powerful mouth feel so warm? Breathe such loving moisture where my sumptuous softness burned and stung?

I breathed moist gratitude into the rumpled sheet. My sweet ass quaked.

“… Mm-mmmmmmmmm…”

My father tongued juicy wetness into my burning butt. His broad tongue plowed loving saliva up and down my tight ass-cleft.

“… Mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…”

His succulent tongue-tip nudged where my hot ring quaked and kicked. I’d never get another chance like this.

I breathed:

‘… No one’s ever fucked your daughter’s ass…’

“… That’s right…”

‘… Her tight little ring’s aching for your big cock…’

“… Yes…”

I stopped breathing. The words got stuck in my brain. My mind went woozy. I was trapped in subconscious zones too deep to ever escape from. I buried my face in the sheet. I couldn’t even think what I wanted.

‘… She’s your daughter… you made her… you can do what you like with her…’

He didn’t need to answer.

He groaned out loud. He knelt between my legs.

His thick spear-head lodged in my rear crater. Everything turned black.

“… Oh… oh…”

Words tumbled through my brain:

‘… You’re going to hurt her… your loving daughter wants you to hurt her…’

“… I know…”

The blackness turned bright red. Crimson waves of anguish erupted in my tight ring. He was too big. My father’s cock was way too thick. His thick tip split my hot ass like a peach without a stone. Raw welts lifted and bucked. Hot wasps buried my curvaceous ass in a cloud of stings.

“… Ow… ow… ow-wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww…!”

My ring clasped my father’s throbbing spear-head in a burning vice, clasped and unclasped. My butt quaked helplessly on my father’s big prong.

“… Ou-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuch…!”

My curvaceous butt spasm-d. My ring rutted on a hot tide of ecstasy, feeling my father’s rock-hard shaft sinking deeper and deeper into my tight rear tunnel.

“… Ow… ow… ow-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…!”

‘… Cum in your daughter’s ass… come in your little girl’s hot ass…’

“… Yes…”

My butt was on fire. Flames of lambent ecstasy licked my perky ass-cheeks. My tail-bone kicked. My pussy jerked and bucked in its own helpless meltdown. My father slammed pile-driver after pulsing pile-driver deep into my rear hole. He picked up speed. I loved the stallion rhythm of my father’s big cock when it stampeded towards the brink.

“… Ow-wwwwwww… ow… yes… yes, fuck… oh fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…”

My father exploded deep inside my luscious ass-hole. His thick cock stretched my ring to breaking point, his hot cum forcing its way out, his throbbing spunk demanding a way out, plastering my curvaceous ass-cheeks, my stings and welts and aching rawness in healing semen.

“… Yes… yes… ye-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees…”

When he finally pulled his cock out of my spasming ass I knew I was in trouble.

I lay face down, panting on the bed, after-shocks of delicious pleasure thrilling through my whole body.

I was a skilled hypnotist. I knew the incantation to break the spell. The words to snap my father out of his trance were on the tip of my tongue but…

… With his pants gone…?

… With his big cock slowly relaxing between his legs, slippery with cum and pussy juice…?

… With his bullwhip and flail scattered around on the floor…?

… With my back covered in whip-marks…?

… With my poor, flogged butt raw and striped with welts, his semen trickling down my silky ass-cheeks…?

No way.

It was impossible. If I snapped him out of his trance now… and he saw what he’d just done… what I’d just done… he’d freak… it’d kill him… he’d never get over it…

I stood up.

I felt groggy. My legs were weak and powerless. I swayed helplessly.

I dabbed at my pussy with a towel.

I managed to clean myself up a bit.

I thought a command loud and clear into my father’s entranced mind:

‘… Put your clothes on… clean yourself up… get your overalls on…’

While my Dad was dressing I tottered to my wardrobe and cast my eye along the rail.

My summer sundress. The rose-patterned dress my puritanical father favored most, that I never usually wore.

I slipped it on.

Buttons all the way up to my throat at the front.

Long sleeves with flounces round the wrists.

The floral pattern reaching well below my knees.

The conservative sundress covered every part of my aching body marked by his savage love-making.

I glanced in the mirror.

Not a welt or sting or love-bite to be seen.

I was his demure little girl again. The virgin daughter he’d always wanted.

When I was ready I said the words. I whispered the incantation.

My father snapped out of his trance immediately.

His brow clenched in its former tyrannical scowl. His eyes were instantly full of their old, puritanical judgments.

He’d forgotten what we’d just done together. He was oblivious to everything that had happened. Not a spasm or love-cry or crack of the whip remained…

… Except…

… His brow was unfurrowed…

… his eyes were clear and unclouded…

… His migraine had cleared up…

He smiled grudgingly. He growled:

“… I guess my head does feel a little bit better… that doesn’t mean this hypnosis stuff isn’t all hocus pocus…”

I smiled:

“… Whatever you say, Daddy…”

Next time he got a migraine we could have some fun again.