Derrick Simpson was a relatively common man; wealthy but not rich, in his mid-40s working in middle management and watching people his children's age pass him by. He was prolific in one aspect of his life, though, having 5 ex-wives, and 10 daughters and step-daughters. His inability to bear a son had always haunted him, each child being more of a disappointment than the last. For these and other reasons he wasn't in as much despair as many others would have been when his doctor told him that he had terminal cancer, and a year at most to live. After receiving the news he returned to his lonely home and tried to think of whom to break the news to first, before realizing that no one would care. What could have been hatred at God or his body was instead an absolute loathing at every woman he'd ever met, since now when he needed someone to care the most no one would. What to do then, to get back at everyone who had wronged him while allowing him to have one last bit of fun before his body went to the ground to rot? His plotting began.
First he prepared his house, gathering everything he could think of to keep himself entertained and selling everything that he would not need. He then began making phone calls, contacting seedier and seedier men before finally talking with a few men who agreed to bring him any woman he requested, no questions asked. Finally he prepared a list of potential victims. All of his daughters were on the list, ranging in age from 11 to 22. Also on the list were a smattering of secretaries, restaurant employees, friend's daughters and other women who had caught his eye throughout the years. His final preparation was loading his grandfather's revolver with one bullet. How long his run would last he had no clue, but eventually people would be suspicious and eventually he would be caught. He had no intention of being taken in alive.
He sat in his chair, gently rocking back and forth. "Who first, who first" he muttered to himself quietly. He never imagined he'd be this nervous about choosing his first victim. Finally he came to a decision and picked up his phone, "Bring me Samantha."
Samantha was his second daughter by his first wife, 19 years of age. She was a model of perfection; 5'9 and extraordinarily slim, but with 32 C breasts. She had long blonde hair and blue eyes. She knew how beautiful she was, though, and constantly used her looks to manipulate those around her, male and female. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door.
"She was pretty easy to track down, but she wasn't alone," the thug said, hauling two handcuffed, blindfolded and gagged girls into the room and laying them on the floor. Sam was wearing a tight revealing designer top with a denim miniskirt, while Whitney was wearing a loose yellow sundress. "Hopefully you won't mind" He said with a smile.
"Of course not," Derrick said, licking his lips and rubbing his hand together. This was a complication, but not an unwelcome one. He recognized the second girl as Whitney, Sam's friend since childhood. Whitney was everything Sam wasn't; only 5'6 and chubby, but with large 36 D breasts. Her eyes and hair were brown. Sam had constantly manipulated her over the years, never letting her forget which of the two was prettier. Despite this they had remained friends. Derrick walked over and pulled the gags and blindfolds off of both of them.
"Daddy! What's going on?" Sam shrieked, as Whitney blinked and looked around, speechless.
"Don't worry Sam, if you do everything I say you'll be ok," Derrick said, smirking a bit at his lie. "It's really best if you don't ask questions though, and just follow orders. It will all go so much easier for you if you do." He then walked over and uncuffed the both of them. "Don't even think about trying to escape though, the men who brought you here may not be as gentle with you as I will be..."
Both of the girls looked terrified, but slowly climbed to their feet. "Mr. Simpson, what's going on? Why are we here?" Whitney asked, tears already starting to well in her eyes. Her question was met with a hard slap across the face, knocking her down.
"I said don't ask questions. Now the two of you follow me into the kitchen." Sam complied immediately, and Whitney slowly rose to her feet and followed.
"Now girls, remember what happened to Whitney when she asked a question. Just follow orders." The both nodded slowly, unsure of what to make of the situation. "Now, undress each other."
Sam's eyes shot open wide, not believing what she'd just heard. "Daddy? You want me to ... you want me to take off my clothes? Here? In front of you?"
Now it was Sam's turn to take a hit across the face. "No questions. And I didn't tell you to take off your clothes, I told you to take off Whitney's. And her yours."
The girls looked up again still in shock, but not wanting to be hit again. Sam reached over and slowly pulled up Whitney's sundress, revealing a yellow thong and bra. Whitney's head dropped in shame, her body now on display for everyone to see. She didn't look nearly as bad as she thought she did, but years of Sam's constant belittling had torn away all of her self esteem. Whitney then reached over and pulled off Sam's shirt, revealing her perfectly toned body and perfectly shaped breasts.
"Mmmm..." Derrick said, smiling and walking over to the girls. "No bra Sam? I guess I shouldn't be surprised. And I'm certainly not disappointed. You're so beautiful; anything else would just get in the way. " He then looked over at Whitney, who was visibly ashamed, and decided to run with that. "Ugh," he said in disgust, "I'll never know why Sam kept you around." Whitney hung her head and started sobbing quietly.
"Daddy," Sam said, "I don't want to get hit again, but I'm ... I'm really confused. I don't know why you're making me do this, or ... I just don't know."
This time instead of hitting her Derrick just reached out and rubbed his daughter's breasts, making her extremely uncomfortable. "Don't worry about that. Don't worry about anything, just do what you're told. Now finish undressing yourself and that ... that thing you brought with you."
Sam pulled away from her father's touch, and pulled off her skirt and panties. She then reached back out to the sobbing Whitney and instead of offering support finished undressing her. Derrick smiled, secretly extremely turned on by the both of them.
"What's wrong Whitney? Upset that you're uglier than your best friend? Well don't worry, no matter who your best friend was you'd still be uglier." He walked over and began rubbing her pussy, noticing that it was loose. "Hmm ... looks like some unfortunate guys still had their way with you though."
An idea suddenly sprung to his mind, and he picked up a small knife, taking Whitney's hand and placing the knife in it. "Would you like to get back at Sam? Would you like to get even?" He said, suddenly transitioning from sinister to compassionate. "Sam, come here."
Sam slowly stepped forward, somehow becoming more scared than she already was. "Alright Whitney, here's your chance. Cut Sam. Destroy her beautiful face. Destroy her beautiful body. Anything you'd like to do to her with this knife is fair game, and I'll make sure she can't retaliate." Whitney's eyes suddenly shot up, torn between wanting to get even with Sam for the years of abuse but not sure that she could do something like this to her best friend.
"Please, no, don't," Sam said, pleading with her eyes and starting to cry. "We've always been best friends! You can't do this to me!"
Whitney remained speechless for a few moments, the knife gripped in her hand.
"I suggest you do it," Derrick said, still compassionate. "The alternative for you is ... unpleasant. You may not get a second chance."
With tears in her eyes Whitney raised the knife to Sam's face. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry" she said, her lips quivering. Tears poured down Sam's face, but she didn't pull away, afraid and confused. Whitney pressed the knife against Sam's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood, before dropping it to the ground. "I can't do it, I can't do it to my best friend" she said, looking up at Derrick, hoping her punishment wouldn't be severe.
"I'm sorry to hear that. You just passed up on a chance to get even, and save yourself." Derrick bent down and opened up the oven. "Now see if you can fit your fat whore self in here."
Whitney's jaw dropped in disbelief. "You want ... you want me to..." she stuttered, before remembering what happened when she asked questions. She still couldn't bring herself to comply though, and just stood in front of the oven.
Derrick picked the knife back up and pressed it against Whitney's breast. "Now now, you wouldn't want me to have to cut off the only part of you remotely attractive would you? The oven isn't on, and if Sam does a good job it'll stay that way."
Slowly Whitney climbed into the oven, having to bend over as if she were in the doggy style position. Her body filled the entire oven, pressing up against the heating elements. Derrick then closed the oven door and put a chair up against it, so that the door couldn't be opened from the inside.
"Your friend made a pretty big sacrifice so that she wouldn't have to hurt you," Derrick said to his daughter. "And after everything you've put her through over the years ... Sleeping with her boyfriend, buying the same clothes as her because you knew they'd look better on you, making her drive you to prom when you were grounded from driving and she didn't have a date ... Wow. How does that make you feel."
.... There is more of this story ...