Then:

'Nessa's birth name had been Vern Ascot. She'd lived seven years under that title, seven glorious years of hotwheels and playgrounds and catcher's mitts, the same as any other boy growing up in God's Green Acre. That was before The Change had struck, before TISM had altered his existence forever. Toxically Induced Sexual Morphism was considered one of the rarest genetic disorders in human history, yet Vern had somehow managed to win the cosmic jackpot, along with an ever-increasing number of children born in the Courtland Valley.

Vern's transition had occurred in sporadic bursts over three grueling years. The ordeal had taken a tremendous toll on his entire family: as the medical bills piled up and finally buried them beneath an avalanche of debt, his parent's marriage had collapsed into a toxic wasteland of anger, tears and accusations. Group counseling sessions had only exacerbated the situation, allowing Vern's father to vent his rage and disgust to anyone who would listen. A burnt-out veteran of two Middle Eastern campaigns, he was furious with the hand fate had dealt him, blaming his wife for the transgendered freak he'd been saddled with. The divorce had followed twelve months of drunken shouting matches, and Vern – now going by the name Vanessa – often suspected that it had come as relief to everyone concerned, especially his long-suffering mother.

The next few years had passed in a slow, grey limbo as 'Nessa rode out her transformation, gradually adjusting to the complexities of female life. By the time she turned twelve, both she and her Mother – the former Mrs Grace Ascot – had recovered sufficiently from their shared traumas to start enjoying life once more. Their financial situation had improved considerably: Vanessa had won a grant to Lainsbury Academy and Grace had even started dating again; an old flame from her university days named Rob Jackson.

Possessing a child's natural fear of strangers, 'Nessa was a little reluctant to accept her Mommy's new boyfriend (particularly since her father's violent outbursts still haunted her dreams), but she understood that she had to give him a chance, if only because he made her Mommy happy. After everything they'd been through together, her Mother deserved a little peace and comfort, both of which Rob seemed more than capable of providing.

As the days crept by and the seasons chilled, 'Nessie discovered – much to her surprise – that she actually enjoyed his company, finding him to be kind, warm-hearted and amazingly generous on occasion. Best of all, Rob honestly didn't care that she was a transfem. This was, perhaps, his defining virtue. In contrast to virtually every other man she'd ever known, Robert Jackson seemed to have no prejudices whatsoever. And that, in 'Nessa's view, was the dealmaker.

Over a year's worth of dining, picnics and outings, Rob became a permanent fixture in Vanessa's life. He was far more than just a "fun uncle," he was a genuinely good man: honest, reliable and trustworthy; the proverbial Tower of Strength her Mother was looking for. He wasn't exactly perfect – 'Nessa had noticed pretty early on that he was a bit of a workaholic – but in virtually every other respect, he was the most eligible bachelor in Ridgewick. The inevitable wedding took place the following May, with 'Nessa playing bridesmaid at the civil ceremony. It wasn't precisely a fairy tale marriage, but life seemed to stabilize to some degree, and the world kept turning as it always had…

With perhaps one exeption.

Now:

Rob ordered her to turn around. Moaning lightly under her breath, Vanessa obeyed his command in tear-soaked silence. She was literally blushing from crown to heel, standing there with her panties peeled down to her knees while her step-daddy subjected her to another one of his patented pre-spanking lectures.

Eyes downcast in complete and utter misery, 'Nessa covered herself in front with both hands, feeling a cold rush of gooseflesh over her tummy, thighs and shoulders. Needless to say, this desperate attempt to preserve her modesty was utterly futile. Rob instructed her to hold her hands behind her, leaving her nubile young body on open exhibition. This tableau continued for the next five minutes while Rob concluded his extended harangue with a detailed list of her recent misdemeanors.

And then it was time to go over his knee.

Gripping her tightly by the wrist, Rob guided the whimpering girl across his lap until her head was nearly touching the floor. Her smooth, white buttocks were thrust rudely upward, practically staring him square in the face. Sobbing in abject disgrace, 'Nessa lay jack-knifed over his paired thighs with her toes hovering above the floor on the other side. Her slightly splayed cheeks clenched back and forth in mute expectation.

With her spanking only moments away, Vanessa's sense of humiliation was literally beyond description. She wept in hopeless resignation, softly begging for mercy and whispering "please," "don't," "daddy" and "no" in various combinations. When she felt Rob's left arm taking her firmly around the waist, she tensed her entire body, knowing precisely what came next. Vanessa had not forgotten how hard her father spanked, nor how long he could make it last.

"Please, Daddy, no no no..." she cried as that wide, determined palm swept down across her naked cheeks.

Then:

Prior to the marriage, Grace had been 'Nessa's sole disciplinarian, usually dispensing justice with a few smacks to her pantied bottom whenever required. Like any child, Vanessa found it a little painful and embarrassing, but tended to shrug it off as a normal part of growing up. She sometimes even claimed that her Mommy hit like a girl, knowing that Grace found the comment particularly annoying.

All of that had changed during her thirteenth year, when both of her parents agreed she needed a firmer hand than Grace was able to provide. 'Nessa was growing up, ripening into a beautiful young woman. Limits had to be established for her own good. She required guidance, the same as any other girl her age. Most of all, she desperately needed some extra care and attention.

The kind that only a strong, loving Step-Father could supply.

Her first spanking over Rob's knee had taken place following a particularly vehement argument with her mother. Rob had intervened before the spat could escalate to a full-blown screaming match, sending the girl to her room and promising the sorest bottom she'd ever known. 'Nessa had stared at him in stunned disbelief, realizing for perhaps the first time that she had completely over stepped the mark.

Disbelief turned to outright fear when he'd come upstairs and instructed her take down her shorts and panties. He was going SPANK her on the BARE! Vanessa had immediately begun to wail in shame and terror. He had no right to punish her like a six year old child – he wasn't even her real father! As a last ditch gambit, she played the gender card, protesting that she wasn't a girl – she was a boy and should therefore be spared this indignity.

Rob had dismissed all of her pleas with an impatient wave of his hand: if she was going to act like a spoiled little girl, she would be treated like one. He'd had more than enough of her lies, deceits and mischief. For all intents and purposes he was her Father, and as long as she lived under his roof she would damned-well respect his authority.

His patience finally taxed to the limit, Rob had taken the struggling girl over his lap, peeling her pants down without further ado. Vanessa screamed as she was stretched across his knee with her alabaster buns on rude display:

"No, no, please Daddy, it's not fair, I don't want a spanking!"

The punishment that followed lasted only five minutes, but it brought 'Nessa to heel in ways that would shape her behavior for decades to come. Rob established his position as the proverbial Man of the House, Vanessa learned to never question his decisions. It was a lesson well learned, one which lasted right up to the present day.

Now:

The spanking began with a series of loud, staccato smacks across 'Nessa's tightly clenched cheeks, during which she shrieked at the top of her lungs. Each retort was as loud as a shotgun blast, echoing off the walls and shaking the windows in their frames. Within a minute, her milky white bottomtops were shining bright pink. She kicked her legs in rhythm to Rob's relentless tempo, squirming her peach from side to side.

"Hold still!" Rob ordered, holding her gruffly in place with his free hand. His palm lashed down almost faster than the eye could follow. One minute turned to two, then to five, then to ten as Nessa's lush, ripe bottom-cheeks blazed cherry-red. 'Nessa bucked about on his lap, shaking her hips in a futile attempt to evade that wide, blistering palm.

Once he'd finished tanning her lower cheeks, Rob turned his attention to her upper thighs. He was determined to teach the girl a lesson she'd never forget, and this was the best way to get his message across. Vanessa shrieked with each thunderous swat, working her way up to a virtual crescendo. The pain was nothing short of exquisite.

Recounting the full extent of Vanessa's agonies might be considered redundant; suffice to say that within fifteen minutes, her naughty young bottom had assumed the tones of an Autumn sunset (and even this might simply be stating the obvious).

There is, of course, one pertinent detail which might be worth mentioning.

Rob honestly didn't care that 'Nessa was a transfem; she was his daughter in every sense of the word that mattered. Their relationship might have been very different had she looked and acted like a boy, but the point was moot. 'Nessa wasn't a boy, she was a pretty teenaged girl who'd come to love him as her Father – again, in every sense of the word that mattered.

Which was why he'd never shirked his parental responsibilities. He gave her love when she needed affection, cash when she needed money and a roof over her when she needed shelter. He gave her everything she needed – and that included a good, hard spanking when she misbehaved. No exceptions, apologies, no excuses.

Yes, she might complain that he wasn't her biological father. Yes, she might claim that she'd been born male. Yes, she might even argue that she was too old for a spanking. And all of that would completely true.

It would also be completely irrelevant.

Because at the end of the day, he was her Father, she wasn't a boy, and she'd never be too old for a spanking. They'd been a family for over five years now, and 'Nessa knew precisely what to expect whenever she stepped out of line.

As he'd told her years before: if you're going to act like a spoiled little girl, you're going to be treated like one.

"If you're going to act like a spoiled little girl, you're going to be treated like one."

Always a man of his word, Robert Jackson spanked extremely hard, putting his entire shoulder into every thunderous smack. His wide, steely palm lashed down in a scathing blur, searing Vanessa's bottom with rich, carmine hand-prints. A gleaming, purple tint began to suffuse her upper thighs, creeping slowly down her slim coltish legs.

'Nessa's discipline generally lasted a minimum of ten minutes - often much longer - depending on Rob's mood and the severity of her misconduct. His steady over-hand pace did not let up until at least the halfway mark, after which he took a short break to rest his arm and scold his errant step-daughter. Needless to say, Vanessa kicked and thrashed a great deal during these prolonged spanking sessions, wailing and sobbing beneath his intractable hand.

Rob prided himself on being exceptionally thorough. He spanked relentlessly across both cheeks in rapid succession, scalding the flesh halfway down the thighs. The pain was nothing short of exquisite, and words cannot adequately describe the degree of agony the unfortunate young girl suffered, though her shrieks of anguish might covey at least some sense of her misery.

Due mention should also be made of the festive atmosphere under which justice was dispensed. As noted above, Vanessa's spankings invariably took place in front of an open window. This well-respected and time-honored tradition was the crowning glory of the Jackson protocol: whenever 'Nessa lowered her panties for her Father, the entire scene was visible to half the neighborhood – particularly to the brownstones across the road.

Possessing a firm belief in the benefits of abject humiliation, Rob assumed – correctly – that the open curtains added a public element to an already communal spectacle. With the sound of her punishment echoing through the length and breadth of Ridgewick, Vanessa knew that everybody within range had to be witness to her disgrace – though she naturally hoped against all logic that nobody would hear.

By the time Rob finished, 'Nessa's bottom had turned a bright, lurid crimson, shining like a storm-beacon in the night. Simmering with liquid heat, it pulsed and throbbed as the exhausted girl lay sobbing across her Father's lap. Leaning back in his chair, Rob sighed in grim satisfaction. The verdict had been rendered, the sentence had been served, all of his domestic obligations fulfilled. 'Nessa's firm young bottie had been well and truly smacked.

This particular spanking – one of the longest Vanessa had ever received – clocked in at close to nineteen minutes, a record even for the Jackson residence (over the next three weeks, it would be discussed up and down the block by friends and neighbors alike, detailing the finer points of the evening's entertainment. 'Nessa herself would hear whispered accounts from various high school 'informants,' none of which involved even the slightest hint of exaggeration).

Following his accustomed routine, Rob allowed 'Nessa to catch her breath for two minutes before hurrying her along with an additional swat and a scolding remark or two. The lesson had been learnt, the homily had been taught. It was time for the miscreant to confess her sins and express her regrets. Rob Jackson never did anything by halves, and his step-daughter had to demonstrate an appropriate amount of genuine contrition before her punishment would be declared complete.

Once she'd managed to find her footing, Vanessa was required to stand with her pants down and her head lowered while she thanked Rob for her spanking and apologized for her behavior. This was followed by a litany of heart-felt promises concerning her future good conduct, most of which lasted the better part of a week (at which point she found herself across her Daddy's lap with her naked bottom-cheeks staring at the ceiling). And thus, the cycle would begin anew, usually with the renewed vigor reserved for military bootcamps or religious inquisitions.