Reconciliation

36 year old Emily Parker sat in her father's bedroom. Her 5'4 220 pound frame was stuffed into a Girl Scout costume 2 sizes too small. She had purchased the silly outfit from a novelty shop in a fit of excitement about seeing her father again, hoping he would like it.

58 year old Michael Parker was a semi-retired general contractor. He had been surprised by his estranged daughter's first visit in almost 20 years several weeks ago. 100 pounds overweight, single, and having severe depression for almost a decade, she came to confront her father who had so selfishly used and abused her many years ago. She showed up on his doorstep, and after several minutes of polite conversation, she explained why she had come (or rather, why Ms. Pritchett, her therapist of 5 years, had wanted her to come). Within minutes, Emily was reduced to a screaming, crying mess. Her carefully crafted message of maturity and forgiveness came out as a blathering of accusations. She recounted her father's shameless abuse of her, sobbing and even throwing herself on the floor. Michael Parker watched his daughter lose control without flinching. When she was sprawled out on his hardwood floor, wailing, he felt a twinge of pity and guilt. But that was quickly suppressed as he carefully calculated how he could settle this situation to his own advantage.

"Emily, EMILY!" He shouted down at her, "Pick yourself up this instant! Go and wash your face you ungrateful child!""

He looked down at her, grim-faced as he wondered how his ploy would work. He was pleased to see her heaving sobs subside. She slowly picked herself up from the ground, as if on autopilot much like she acted when she was a child. He continued to glare at Emily until she walked sheepishly to the bathroom. Michael went to the kitchen and poured himself a drink, considering the best way to deal with his daughter.

"So," he said to Emily as she came into the kitchen, "Is this what all those years of seeing that shrink has made you?"

For a moment Emily looked as if she were going to explode at him, but just as quickly her mouth froze and she stared down at the floor tiles blankly. Michael was pleased.

"What I did back then," He said, taking a sip of Scotch, "Was for both of us. I knew back then, just like I think you know now, that you are nothing but a lazy, worthless slut, and that will never change."

“You are just like your Mother, plus 80 pounds,” he laughed.

Emily's cheeks rose in color.

"Look at you!" Michael shouted, making his daughter jump, "You are so fat and disgusting, you'd be much better off dead. You should be thanking me for giving your filthy body the attention I did!"

Michael finished his drink and handed the glass to Emily. He watched her carefully as she carried it to the sink and washed it before putting it away. That was a good sign.

"I think you still about me," Michael said, peering at her, "A lot."

"Don't you?" He barked, grabbing his daughter's arm and shaking her hard.

Emily nodded, looking down at the sink and contorting her face as she fought back tears.

"You probably miss having Daddy's cock to play with, don't you?" He asked.

Michael reached out and grabbed his daughter's large tits, groping them and twisting her nipples through her business suit.

"Is that what you tell your shrink?" He smirked, "That you still think about me fucking you? Like I did when you were a cute little girl?"

Michael watched a single tear fall from her cheek onto the countertop.

"You were such a sexy little bitch," He said, still squeezing Emily's breasts, "And we had such a great time together, didn't we? We must have, since you still fantasize about it."

Emily looked up at her father, eyes wide with surprise. He immediately slapped her face.

"You nasty pig," He sneered, "You want me to use you again? That's the real reason you came over, isn't it? You want me to fuck you like the filthy trash that you are. You want me to rape you again like I enjoyed doing back when you were small and scared and couldn't stop me. Is that it?"

"Y-y-yes D-dad," Emily nodded, trembling.

"YES DAD," Michael copied her, "I figured as much. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

He took his daughter's arm and walked her to the front door. He wrote down his e-mail address and told her to write to him when she had cancelled her therapy sessions and was ready to get down to business. Emily went home and tossed and turned all night, finally crying herself to sleep.

She e-mailed her Dad the next day. They wrote back and forth, and began chatting online during the evenings. He pushed her to tell him all of the fantasies she had about re-living her childhood abuse. She admitted her sexual feelings and urges toward him. By the end of one week, Emily had cancelled her future therapy appointments, and was gushing to her father over the phone about how much she actually enjoyed the incest which she thought had ruined her life. Michael never lost his stride, encouraging Emily to further question her own beliefs and feelings. He taught her to look back fondly on the memories of her stolen innocence. By the end of 2 weeks, Emily was living in a sexually heightened state. She masturbated while on the phone with her father, and several times per day.

Michael met her for lunch one afternoon. She wore her most revealing dress and nervously waited for him at his favorite diner. They sat in a booth across from each other, and Emily smiled and flirted with her father. Michael sat back, happily amused with his obese, heavily made-up daughter who twirled her curly hair and batted her eyelashes at him. After lunch, she walked him to his car and hugged him.

"You need your Daddy to fuck you again, don't you?" Michael asked.

"Yes Daddy," Emily replied. "Pretty please," She whispered breathlessly to his ear, gently licking it.

"Be at the house Saturday night at 9," he said, suddenly pushing her away and getting into his car.

Michael smiled as he watched through the rearview mirror his daughter looking desperate and lost. He rubbed his crotch as he drove away.

It was Saturday night and Michael laughed hard when he saw his daughter standing on his doorstep in the ridiculous Girl Scout costume. Secretly he was pleased that she was willing to humiliate herself for his enjoyment. He invited her inside, and sat her on the sofa. Without uttering a word, he undressed in front of her as he had done hundreds of times in the past, and quickly inserted his penis into her mouth. After a minute of holding her head and thrusting in and out between her lips, he ejaculated. He felt her throat rise and fall as she worked to swallow his load. He then ordered her to go into the bedroom and wait for him.

Still dressed like a hideously overweight tart, Emily went to her father's bedroom and sat on the bed.

Michael turned on the television and sat on the sofa with a drink. He watched home movies of Emily playing by the pool as a little girl. He watched and rubbed himself, making his cock hard again. Then he made another drink and picked up the phone. He dialed a number and a woman picked up.

"Caroline Pritchett," the woman answered.

"Hello, it's Michael."

"Oh hi," Ms. Pritchett said, "How are things going with your daughter?"

"Wonderful," Michael said, "She's in the bedroom right now, waiting for me to come in and fuck her."

"That's great!" Ms. Pritchett said, "I knew when she cancelled her appointments with my assistant that things were headed in the right direction."

"Yeah," Michael said, "Listen, I really wanted to thank you for everything you've done. You've definitely made my dream come true."

"No problem," Ms. Pritchett said, "You know I'd do anything for you, darling! Just enjoy yourself and spank that fat ass once for me."

"Will do," Michael laughed, "You did a great job. She's barely acting human anymore. You should see the stupid outfit she wore for me today!"

"I told you," Ms. Pritchett chuckled, "With her childhood history, it was rather easy. You planted the seed. I just gave it some water and sunshine."

"Okay Carol," Michael said, "It's time to give the little slut what she's been craving."

"Have fun," Ms. Pritchett said, "I'll see you tomorrow night when I get home."

Michael hung up the phone and went to the bathroom.

"Get your clothes off and get on your hands and knees at the edge of the bed!" He called out to his daughter.

Michael urinated, and put a new condom on his throbbing penis. He walked into the bedroom and saw his daughter waiting on her hands and knees at the edge of the bed facing the wall. He walked up and delivered a dozen hard slaps on her creamy, oversized buttocks, painting them red with his handprints. He sharply inserted two fingers into her vagina, and shoved them in and out roughly. In less that a second, Emily cried out in ecstasy, her flabby body jiggling as she shook from the most intense orgasm she'd had in her life.

"Ohhhh Daddy...." She wailed, collapsing onto her father's mattress, her pussy twitching around his fingers.

Michael continued to finger fuck her aggressively for a few more minutes, making her squirm and writhe on the bed. He got up on the bed, kneeling between her legs and burying his erection deep inside her.

"You could've had this the whole time," Michael grunted while fucking her, "You should have never left."

"I'm sorry Daddy," Emily cried, her body melting beneath his violent thrusts, "Please keep fucking me!"

Michael fucked her hard and degraded her.

"Why don't you go to the gym, you fat piece of shit?" He growled, "You better thank me for this afterwards, and for all the other times I was nice enough to use you."

Michael grit his teeth as he came, throwing his hips wildly against his daughter's fleshy buttocks. Then he yanked his spent cock from her drooling pussy. He pulled off the slick, cum-filled rubber, and dropped it onto her sweaty, pudgy back.

"Well?" He growled.

"T-thank you Daddy," Emily whimpered, curling up in a fetal position.

"Thank you for what?" Michael barked.

"F-for f-fucking me t-tonight, and all the other times you u-used me D-daddy," she said in a barely audible squeak.

"Damn right," He said, "You'd be completely worthless if I didn't."

Michael picked up Emily's Girl Scout costume and wiped his dick clean with it. Then he tossed it next to her.

"I'm done with you," he said, "Get your fat ass dressed and leave. You make me sick."

Emily sat up, looking devastated. She struggled to wiggle her sausage-like body back into the cum-stained costume.

"Carol was right about you," Michael snorted, "You are a complete joke of a person, crawling back to me after what I did to you."

"M-Ms. Pritchett?" Emily said, looking horrified.

"She told me she couldn't even believe you were trying to become a normal person," Michael said, "She told me everything about you, every fantasy you've had about me, every fucked-up relationship you were in, every career you failed at, everything."

Emily stared at her father, her eyes glistening with fresh tears and pain.

"I've been dating Carol for two years now," Michael said, "She got so sick of your pathetic whining that she looked me up to talk about it. We hit it off, and she agreed to help me put you in your place."

Michael watched his daughter's lip tremble as she started to hyperventilate and sob. He steadied himself, and backhanded her viciously across the face.

"Can you believe it?" He laughed, "You're so fucked up, even your own therapist wanted to set you up!"

Michael slapped his crying daughter again, sending her to the floor. He stood over her, watching her wail in pure emotional agony. Then he began pulling her hair and kicking her with his bare feet towards the door. He dragged her outside, and spit at her.

"Was it good for you?" He laughed, "Call me tomorrow, maybe I'll have time to use you again before Carol gets home."

He slammed the door in her face, and went to fix himself a drink. After a few minutes he heard his daughter's car drive off. He picked up the phone and called Ms. Pritchett again.

"How was it," the therapist asked.

"Not bad," Michael replied, "Not as good as before."

"Of course not for you," Ms. Pritchett said, "But I'll bet it was heaven for her."

"Really?" Michael said, "I was concerned I went too far."

"Good," Ms. Pritchett replied, "That means you did it right. You know how fucked up her fantasies were. Don't worry. She doesn't have the guts to kill herself. I'd stake my career on that. She'll have no choice but to come crawling back to you whenever you want her. I guarantee it.”

"Thanks again for your help," Michael said, taking a drink.

"My pleasure," Ms. Pritchett replied, "It's such a turn-on, thinking of that pathetic cow crying herself to sleep tonight, totally mind-fucked by us."

"Absolutely," Michael grinned.

Michael and Ms. Pritchett made fun of Emily's crying, making sobbing sounds and laughing. Then they wished each other goodnight and hung up.

On the way home, Emily cried so hard she was fighting to breath. She pulled over for a few hours, considering driving her car off a bridge. But eventually, as the therapist who had been her closest confidant for many years had predicted, she simply drove home, ate an entire package of Oreos, drank a 2 liter bottle of Coke, and cried herself to sleep. She woke up several times during the night to find herself touching herself while dreaming of her father. By morning, her mind was again flooded with desire for her father. She sat at her computer eating a pint of cookie dough ice cream while writing an e-mail to him thanking him for last night.