To build a proper girl up, sometimes she must be broken down first. How? Shame is a useful tool when someone knows how to use it. This fact was crystal clear two days ago, after I crossed one line–when my dream finally came true and I put my hands on the flesh of my lovely, curvy, growing 18 year old daughter, a tall, pretty girl dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. In crossing that one line, I broke many rules: those of a husband, a father, and an adult. Yet I was not the one who felt shame; it was Laura. She turned quiet as I groped her naked breasts, she turned red as my hand touched her pouting, fatty tummy, and she saw herself as unworthy as my fingers touched her pubic hair while she heard my discontent that there was any hair there at all.
Two days later, the time had come for her to know of my driving lust. It was time for Laura to feel more shame. It was a Saturday like any other, except my son was away on a camping trip and my wife was about to leave for a few hours on a research trip related to her graduate work. Laura was plaintive and quiet as her mother left; surely my daughter suspected that more would continue today. I woke up with the slightest pang of guilt. I had, after all, gotten away with cornering my daughter in the bathtub, feeling her, belittling her. In my study, shortly after breakfast, any guilt I felt was solved by a short glass of Jameson whiskey.
Painfully, I waited a whole hour with just my daughter and me in the house. Then I called her downstairs to the den, a wide, bright room with a wall of windows that looked out to the back yard. On the coffee table there was a small paper bag, a tall glass of Jameson that morning, and an old Polaroid camera.
“Yes, Daddy?” she asked sweetly. I could see her eyes flit to the bag. She always was one who loved a present.
“I’ve bought you something. A present, since you did just a good job last time.” My last few words hung in the air. Since I had put my hands on her while she bathed a few days ago, this was the first reference to the event. She went to the paper bag, bending down to pick it up. For a moment, my eyes drank in the deep crevice of her ample cleavage. Those growing, tender breasts truly were delightful. Holding the bag, she pulled out first colorful paper, then two swaths of pink cloth. Momentarily she was confused.
I clarified it for her. “It’s a bathing suit, Marshmallow,” I said, using my pet name for her. “A two piece. Aren’t you…” I paused, emphasizing the next word, “big enough for one now?” Seeing her blush, I knew I had hit a nerve. Despite being 18, my daughter had only recently started to bloom, and with it had come some modest weight gain. Not only was she embarrassed by her ample, lovely chest, but the other curves of her body as well. Furthermore, she had always been a modest girl, preferring a one piece bathing suit even in our own pool.
“Yeah, I guess I can sort of see myself it….” Laura clearly was nervous about where this was going. Demurred, she smiled. “Thank you Daddy for the bathing suit,” she said plainly. She paused, perhaps thinking ahead and trying to avoid what was coming. She added, “I’ll try it on later.”
I sipped my whiskey and smiled; I felt evil and wonderful. “No,” I said directly, “you will go to the upstairs bathroom and put this on, then come back down.”
I was slightly surprised to see a faint, pained look on my daughter’s face. “Daddy, please. After what happened in the bathroom… I was terrified. It wasn’t normal. This isn’t normal.”
Anger flared up in me. She wasn’t ordinarily so vocal about dislikes. I took a deep breath, trying to control the rage wanting to bubble up. “I’ll tell you what isn’t normal. You have no boyfriend. I am not even sure that they find you appealing.” Anger seeped into my voice, my volume increasing. “But I do, and you should respect that! You should honor that!!”
Tears slowly came into her eyes but did not fall, making them appear thick and glassy. “I know I’m not normal. I wish I was… I wish someone would just tell me what is wrong with me!”
Not even wanting to let any fatherly sympathy leak in, I sipped my whiskey again. Silence filled the air. I took a breath and spoke softly but firmly. “Laura, speaking back is one thing wrong with you. Disobeying a man, any man, is another thing. But these things can be fixed. All girls have some badness in them. You, however, can be a good girl by going upstairs and putting on this bathing suit right now.” Now my voice changed, becoming more caring. “When you come downstairs we can have a good, honest look at your body and talk about what is right and what isn’t. Okay?”
My daughter sighed and smiled. “Oh, so that’s what you meant!” She looked relieved, and I realized that the events of in the bathroom must have taken a toll on her. In her naiveté, she truly believed that I was not capable of molesting her. This despite the fact that I had two days ago. And despite the fact that I would again this morning.
“Yes, darling. Go upstairs and change, bostancı escort and we can get this worked out.”
Laura wiped her eyes and smiled broadly. “Alright, Daddy. Give me a minute.” The bathing suit in her hands, she turned and headed to the stairs. My eyes crawled over her butt, so wonderfully plump and round. In yesteryear she had been a delight to spank. I now looked forward to touching that ass again.
I could hear her up in that bathroom, the very one that I had seen her naked in so recently. She took too long to come down. At first I was angry, but I realized that she must be up there, hands shaking and butterflies in her stomach as she looked at herself in the mirror. She must be up there wondering what was going on, what would happen. She must be scared and curious and confused. All the more reminder to go slow with her.
In time, I heard the bathroom door open. She paused at the top of the steps, then came down and into view. I had bought her a simple pink two piece bikini from Victoria’s Secret in a medium size. Descending the stairs, my eyes were locked on her wonderful, moving breasts. They were large indeed, and had the bounce reserved for the rare girl that is both very busty and quite young. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, I looked into her face. Yes, she was nervous indeed.
“You are a lovely sight indeed, Marshmallow.” Laura smiled, letting out the breath I didn’t realize she was holding.
She walked closer to me, entering the full light of the windowed den. I saw now that I had misjudged in buying her a medium bathing suit. The bottoms seemed to fit with appropriate, luscious snugness. However, those wonderful, inescapable breasts of hers strained the top in an almost obscene manner. Goodness, how I loved the husky, soft curves to her body!
With a welcoming laugh, I said, “I must apologize, Laura! The top I bought you is certainly too small. I clearly… don’t know your size up top.”
She smiled back, in a relieved way. “Yeah! I was kind of wondering about that, but I guess I just thought… stuff… you know….”
I was not stern, but allowed the happiness to leave my voice. “‘Stuff’ and ‘you know?’ Laura, a girl has to learn to speak plainly to a man, as this is pleasing. Tell me what you thought when you realized the top was too small for your chest?”
“I thought you didn’t realize how much it had grown lately,” she answered plainly.
“Well, guilty as charged, my darling daughter.” A wonderful question entered my mind. “And just how large are they?”
Laura stammered and crossed her arms in front of her chest, then said, “I am a 38 D cup now, Daddy.”
How spectacular. She had managed to surpass her mother, who has a stellar chest. I looked at her chest and saw only arm. Hadn’t I told her a few days ago not to cover up by me? Wordlessly, my eyes flashed anger at her. The sides of her mouth went down; she recognized that she had done wrong. Her arms fell to her sides.
Returning to the topic of her looks, I asked her, “What is the best feature on your body, Laura?”
“My chest,” she said instantly. The answer that any girl with a large chest should give.
I smiled kindly. “Exactly, exactly.” I reached slowly for the Polaroid camera. “Now, I’d like to take a few pictures, so that we can discuss things from the man’s point of view. Is that alright?”
She paused, clearly unsure. I wondered if she could sense that this could be a larger development than it sounded.
I continued, soothingly saying, “Come on now for your father, Marshmallow. A few pictures so we can make you the very best girl possible.”
“…Alright. A few pictures,” she finally said.
I opened the Polaroid and leaned in close, squaring off her round, pouty breasts in the viewfinder. A snap, a whir, and moments later she was asked to sit next to me.
“What do you feel when you look at the picture of your chest, Laura?”
She smiled an innocent, toothy grin. “I feel like… proud. I mean it’s weird getting attention for my chest, but it’s nice too. It’s something not all girls have.”
“Yes, that’s a good girl. That’s why I taught you not to be shy about your breasts, that you shouldn’t hide your best feature.” I smiled sweetly, knowing that my next comment would give her a tweak. “In a bit when we talk about where you are lacking, keep in mind that your breasts are a positive.” I could see that it hurt her a bit to hear that some negative critiques were coming. I, on the other hand, couldn’t wait for it. “Stand up. Right in front of me.”
I had to pause a moment and drink in the sight of her body up close. I loved seeing her curves and I loved that she was no longer a skinny girl. Nonetheless, seeing her so close and knowing that she was sensitive about her weight drove the animal in me into only a greater fury on the inside.
Calmly, I snapped a picture of her plump stomach. “Turn around.” She did so and I took a picture of her equally curvaceous sancaktepe escort rear end. I heard her murmur something. “Sit down. And tell me what you just said.”
Sitting, she sighed. “I know this will be the tough part….” Her voice trailed off. It clearly was difficult for her to talk about her body. I told her to go on. Stammering and embarrassed she said, “I know I have a big butt. It used to be a tighter, like, bubble butt, and now…” she sighed. “Now it’s a bigger bubble! And I know that my tummy… is something we’re going to talk about too. And that that’s going to be the hardest part.”
“Your tummy, yes,” I said in a serious tone. I glanced at the snapshot of her stomach. Oh, how I loved that little bulge of hers! I resisted the urge to pin her down right there and take her virginity; instead, I reached for my whiskey. Then sternly, I said, “We’ll return to your tummy. Let’s look at the picture of your rear end now.”
We looked at the wonderful picture for a moment in silence. Then she held my arm and softly asked, “What do you think, Daddy?” My daughter looked up at me, her eyes big and inquisitive. Inwardly I grinned: she was growing more reliant on my opinion and authority.
“It’s not bad,” I said simply. I could feel her deflate a bit, but she still held onto my arm. In turn, I put an arm around her and continued softly. “Ever since you were little, you always have had such a nice curvy butt that pushes out. A bubble butt, just like you said. What I see now is just that little extra bit of weight added to things. It pulls your butt down a bit.”
Laura scrunched up her face, thinking for a moment. Then she lit up and blurted out, “I know!” Before I knew it she was up and out of the den, heading upstairs. I had absolutely no inkling of what she had in mind. Soon enough, she was coming down the stairs… having put on a pair of while heels. She grinned from ear to ear, clearly happy that she had thought of the boosting power of pumps all by herself. She walked in front of me and did a quick spin, ending up twirling all the way around. “What do you think?” she asked eagerly.
I had to genuinely laugh at her eagerness. “Slow down, slow down! I hardly was able to look and judge! Now turn around slowly. Face away from me.”
She did so, and I found myself truly enjoying the sight. “Laura, it looks great. It’s gone from being pudgy and fat,” that last word intentionally stung her a bit, “to looking plump and tight. Absolutely wonderful! Stay there a minute….” I took a quick picture. “Turn around.”
She looked at me, still smiling with pride.
“Marshmallow, what have you learned now? About heels I mean?”
“…That they make my butt look good?” Poor thing, clearly unsure, even after being so thoughtful.
“Exactly. So what should you do when you are around a man?”
“Well… wear heels, I guess.”
“Good girl, good girl. See, though you will never be perfect, you still have ways of highlighting the good parts of your body. Come sit.” She smiled again, happy with her ingenuity; I was then struck with some of my own. “Tell you what, Laura. Whenever it is just you and me home, I expect you to be wearing heels. No matter what.”
She was now sitting next to me again, her hand on my arm, her head on my shoulder. She nodded, not saying a word. I let the silence hang for a few moments; I knew she was nervous to see the picture of her stomach. I was happy to make her more nervous, more malleable.
“Laura…” I said seriously, “with this next picture, well, there isn’t a lot of good news.”
Silence, then a whispered, “I know, Daddy.”
“It’s a lot of bad news.” I held the picture right in front of my daughter’s face. “What do you see, Laura?”
Tersely, I said, “Describe it.”
“Well, it’s pale, it has a belly button–“
“No!” I blurted, surprising myself with the edge of anger. “What would you call it? What word describes it?”
She lowered her head and mumbled something near my arm.
“What, Laura? Speak up so I can hear you.”
Softly, barely above a whisper, she said simply, “It’s fat.”
I pretended not to hear her. “What?! I am a man, a concerned man, who is giving you time out of his day to attempt to make you a better girl! Say it loudly, you stupid fuc–“
“FAT!” she yelled. “My tummy is fat because I am fucking FAT!!”
Love and lust flooded me and I kissed the hair on her head. Whispering, I said, “Good, that’s good. You’ve admitted it Marshmallow. You’ve admitted the truth. I’m proud of you.” Her body shook softly against mine. She clearly wanted to cry but once again was holding it back. I rubbed her back and kissed her head, letting her calm down. We had crossed a bridge together and I let her take the time she needed. Hell, I knew I could stop now… but there was no reason to. My lust needed release before this morning was over.
Laura looked up at me, wiping away whatever tears might have zeytinburnu escort been there. “Daddy… I want to get back to looking the way I was.”
I responded with sympathy and a touch of condescension. “The way you were was before your body started to change. That change isn’t going back. You are lucky enough to have those wonderful breasts, but in your case there is a price to pay. The price is being curvy all over.”
She nodded, but clearly wished it was not true.
I kissed her on the head again, then said, “Let’s continue. With the pictures, I mean.”
Silence. I looked down at her, and she up at me. Laura didn’t want to continue; she had had her fill for the day. However, her weak spirit was all but broken and she would continue.
“Laura, go up on the coffee table.”
Confused, she moved from sitting with me on the couch to sitting across from me on the coffee table.
“No, Laura,” I said as though it was plain as day and she was acting stupidly. “Get up on the coffee table on your knees. And hands.” I then added with a sweet tone but wicked, hurtful thoughts, “Don’t worry, you won’t break it.”
She stood up looking a bit wounded, and for a split second my heart skipped; I thought she was walking out. Instead, she walked so that she was facing the long side of the coffee table… and promptly crawled on, slowly and gingerly. She moved forward a bit, even with me. I had a beautiful side of my daughter on her hands and knees wearing the tight pink two piece bathing suit. Seeing my daughter bent over like an animal as she wore a too-small bathing suit, as she did as I said… life was wonderful.
I snapped a picture, and she did not turn her heard. It was a gorgeous picture, her hair draped down, her beautiful, full body in its animal shape. Her breasts hung and her ass pushed up a bit in the air. Just like in the bathtub the previous time, she looked ahead. She was silent, embarrassed, ashamed… and following my directions like a good little girl. I glanced at the picture, then dismissively threw it on the coffee table, under her head. She was forced to look down on it while I stood, moving closer.
I asked, “What do you see? What’s the first thing your eye goes to?” I added, warningly, “Be specific.”
My daughter responded with a low, clear voice. “My tummy, my fat tummy. Because it’s more obvious like this. It… hangs a bit.”
“Yes…” I said, pleased. “And what do you see less of like this? What good part of you that could take my eyes off of your fat tummy can’t I see as well?”
I could tell her eyes were scanning the picture, that she wanted to give the right answer, that she wanted to please me. Then the correct answer came from her. “My breasts. You can’t see them as well when I’m like this.”
My hand went to her back. “Correct, Marshmallow.” My fingers went to the knot of her bikini top. “Time to fix that.” I pulled at it, and within a moment my daughter was topless before me. Her large, 38 D cup breast hung. They were still pert and youthful, but nonetheless pulled down by their own lovely weight. Hanging, her areolas looked both round and slightly conical, and her nipples were pink and small and seemed hard and wanting. With nude shame, she lowered her head even more. An animal’s sign of submission.
I moved to the opposite side of the table, camera in hand. I saw her in profile, her head on my right and her feet on my left. I stood back, seeing her hair hanging down, her eyes seeming empty as they stared at the table. My eyes were drawn back to her sumptuous chest, and I snapped another picture, knowing that this one would be kept and especially treasured. The polaroid developed, and I felt that she had to see it. I placed it in front of her, and her head rose a bit. I could read no emotion from her, and I realized why: she was waiting for my approval or disapproval.
“You are lovely, Laura.” I could see she was smiling with relief. She thought she was beautiful too, despite the rough things that had been said. I looked down at her, still on all fours on the coffee table, still feeling some pride in herself. With my left hand I rubbed her back. “Truly lovely.”
Then, finally, after waiting two endless days… I reached, and my right hand cupped her right breast firmly. It was wonderful, better than I remembered: warm and fully and aching to be squeezed. And this time, I felt the hard nub of her nipple against my palm. I told myself, or tried to convince myself, that I wasn’t molesting my daughter. We were both enjoying this. Weren’t we?
I rolled her hard nipple between my fingers, eliciting a grunt from her. I reached over her, grasping her left breast with my left hand. Holding both of my daughter’s breasts, I was in heaven. I had to capture the moment. I stepped back and snapped a picture. Laura didn’t move one bit.
I took a breath and, walking around the table once more, I sat down. It was absolutely phenomenal to see her, still on hands and knees atop the coffee table, having hardly moved.
“Laura?” I asked. “Are you alright?” She nodded silently. “Talk to me, Marshmallow. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
There was emotion in her voice. “No one has ever treated me like this before. No one. I’m a little scared, Daddy. My mind keeps telling me to run away… but my body wants to stay.”