Chapter 21: Incestuous Father/Daughter Therapy Humiliates the Wife

Note: This is a commissioned story. I don’t have much say over the events.

T. Ropex
“I have an exciting opportunity,” the AI said. “A family therapy session. Father, mother, and their daughter who is caught in the middle.”

“Perfect,” I said and appeared in an office room. There was a woman in it sitting at a computer. She had a sort of dull, red hair that she wore in a perfunctory bob and in a gray pantsuit. Nothing sexy about her, not even the glasses.

Well, I knew that would change.

“Dr. Lavender,” a voice said on the intercom, “the Brewsters are here.”

I smiled, ready for the scenario to play out.

Dr. Brenda Lavender
“Send them in,” I said and rose, smoothing my pants.

I moved around the desk, ignoring the boring sort of fellow standing in the corner of my office, and went to my chair. I had a couch facing it across a small coffee table. I specialized in family counseling, and I had a very problematic couple.

They were arguing a lot, mostly about their daughter. She was a senior in high school, eighteen and failing. She might not be able to go to college. She was in a slump, and that had her parents arguing, which only caused their daughter to do worse and worse.

It was an awful spiral. The husband didn’t want to be here. The wife dragged him, nagging him the entire time. I imagined the daughter would not be happy to be here, too. Probably blamed herself. We would have to figure this all out.

“ ... can do better than this,” the wife was saying. Mrs. Brewster was an overweight stay-at-home mom who had let herself go. That was another part of the problem. She had her sandy-blonde hair in a soccer mom bob. Nothing flattering. She was in sweatpants, again, with hardly any makeup.

The husband was an office worker. He had a bit of a gut that came with middle age. A dad bod as the zoomers called it these days. Still, he was tall and had a handsome face. He could do better than a pudgy wife. I had seen her wedding picture. Sure, he had gained thirty pounds, but she had gained a hundred.

The daughter slouched in last in a gray hoodie that was pulled up. Her brown hair spilled out and over the front of her hoodie. She was slender, looking much like her mother. A string bean. Not much curves. Probably low self-esteem from not blossoming properly.

“Welcome, welcome,” I said to the family. “This is Paula.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Brewster said, a cutting barb to her tone that just was not going to help.

I sighed. This would be a long session.

“Come on, Paula,” the husband said. “If you don’t talk, this will drag on longer.”

“She won’t make anything of herself if you keep coddling her,” the wife responded.

The husband shrugged. “She’s a good kid, you just are too hard on her.”

“She’s failing!” she said. “She doesn’t want to end up like me!”

“What does that mean?” the husband demanded. “Getting to sit all day on her fat ass watching soap operas.”

“I don’t watch soap operas!” she hissed.

“Right, there’s the wine drinking, too,” Mr. Brewster hissed.

The girl pulled on the strings of her hoodie, tightening the hood around her face as she lowered her head. Her shoulders were hunched over. The poor thing. This was not going to work. I crossed my leg, pulling out my notepad, writing a few things down.

“Please, please,” I said. “This is not why we’re here. Not to hurt each other, but to remember that you’re a family. Please, sit down. Your daughter between you.”

The parents sat down. Paula hesitated before sitting between them. She had to squeeze between them. The poor thing. Her mother fixed her eyes on me. She expected me to snap my fingers or something and fix her family.

If things were only so easy.

“Now,” I said, “academics are not the only future for a young woman.”

“Yeah, she can be a home-slave for an ungrateful husband who’s out working with those bimbos!” Mrs. Brewster said.

“At least they aren’t nagging shrews,” he muttered.

“Nagging shrew?” hissed Mrs. Brewster, glaring over her daughter’s head at her husband.

“Sorry, shrews are skinny,” he said. “Nagging whale.”

T. Ropex
“Adjusting the scenario,” the AI said.

The people changed. Well, not Mrs. Brewster. She remained fat. Well, not as fat. A more ... attractive plumpness. Thicc, I supposed. The therapist also was sexy. Thigh-high stockings. A miniskirt that showed off her gorgeous legs. Her blouse half-unbuttoned to show off her large titties. Her glasses were delicate and sexy, giving her a smoldering look.

A hot librarian.

Which went well with her lustrous, red hair that fell in waves to her shoulders.

The husband was a fitter man, too. Muscular beneath his tight-fitting T-shirt. The greatest change was the daughter. No longer mousy, she wore a jean skirt and a boob tube that hugged her huge, fake titties. Her brown hair was bleached-blonde. She looked trashy. A bimbo, her legs crossed as she smacked on her bubblegum.

Perfect.

Dr. Brenda Lavender
“It’s clear your daughter is an utter bimbo,” I said. “And one too stupid to use that body to get her teachers to giver her at least a C. Probably lets them fuck her for free.”

Paula giggled and smacked her gum. “It’s just so much fun! It should be free!”

“This is all your fault,” growled Mr. Brewster. “You put so much pressure on our daughter, she became a whore.”

“Don’t pretend that you don’t love it, you lecherous pig,” she hissed. “Too busy ogling our daughter to fix the leaky sink or to finish remodeling the bathroom or to build the deck.” She glanced at me. “The materials are sitting outside under a tarp. Probably ruined after two years.”

“I work fucking sixty, seventy hours a week so you can slurp down rum coolers and bonbons,” he growled. “Sorry if I’m not in the mood to repair some shit for your fat ass.”

“Too busy fucking your secretary!” she hissed back. “Though at least I haven’t been pawed by you for the last two years.”

“Because I can’t get it hard for a blubbery whale,” he growled.

Paula giggled. “I’m not blubbery, Daddy!” She snuggled against him. “Right!”

“You’re just a fucking whore rubbing your tits on your father’s arm,” hissed the mother. “That’s disgusting. Have some self-respect!”

“So your problems are he is fucking his secretary,” I said, my pussy so wet. I never wore panties. It spoiled the fun. “And he’s not maintaining the house.”

“Exactly!” Mrs. Brewster snarled.

“And you hate the fact she just sits around at home while you work hard to provide for her, right?” I asked, nodding to the husband.

He nodded. “She used to be hot.”

“Like me!” squealed Paula.

“Well, I think the solution is easy,” I said. “Mrs. Brewster, time for you to get out of the house and get a job. I can line you up with some office work. You can pay the bills, which will free up your husband to keep the house maintained. To remodel the bathroom and build the deck.”

“Get a job?” gasped Mrs. Brewster.

“Time she started earning her weight,” he said.

“And she has so much weight to earn,” giggled Paula.

Mrs. Brewster shot her daughter an evil look. “And she needs to contribute, too.”

“She will,” I said, my nipples tingling with excitement. What are you doing, this strange voice said. You can’t be about to suggest this. It’s disgusting. This isn’t how you help people. What absolute horseshit. This was exactly how I helped people. “Your daughter will take care of your husband.” Mrs. Brewster blinked. “What?”

“Take care of?” asked Mr. Brewster. “Like cook and clean.”

“Well, maybe clean,” I said. “I don’t think she’s smart enough to cook anything more complicated than cereal and milk.”

Paula giggled.

“But by taking care of, I mean sexually, of course,” I said.

“WHAT?” both the parents gasped together.

Mr. Aaron Brewster
I could not believe what I just heard. “You want me to ... with my daughter?”

“Of course,” the doctor said. She was a hot piece of ass. I mean, I would love to fuck her. My secretary was a good lay, but it meant I had to be nagged, nagged, nagged by my wife about it.

Well, if she hadn’t turned into a fat whale ... Of course, Lisa had never been a good lay. I didn’t know the difference until years after our marriage.

“She’s the perfect solution,” Dr. Lavender continued while my wife made choking sounds of shock. “She’s at home. She’s in the family. No more cheating on your wife. It’a not cheating if you’re getting satisfied by your daughter. Nothing wrong with that.”

“It’s incest!” I gasped.

“Pish, posh,” the hot therapist said, waving her hand. Her boobs jiggled in her top. “That’s just an excuse of narrow-minded people. Incest is perfectly acceptable when done under the right circumstances. It can be quite the affirming thing, too. Besides, your daughter’s never going to succeed. She’ll either end up in porn and strung out on drugs or as a hooker and it’s the same thing. She’s too dumb to get a billionaire to be her sugar daddy. So you have to make sure that doesn’t happen by fucking her daily.”

“I need it so much, Daddy!” squealed my daughter. She grabbed at my crotch and squeezed. “You’re so hard!”

“You’re hard for our daughter,” gasped my wife.

“No!” I growled. “For the fucking therapist!”

“You dirty pig!” hissed my wife, glaring daggers at me.

“Well, her tits are hanging out,” I protested. “How can I stare at those and not ... I mean...”

“She’s not a fat whale like me! Pig! You have a small dick! I’ve had bigger!”

“When?” I demanded.

“Daddy’s huge!” squealed Paula as she bounced to her feet before us. Her big breasts jiggled in her top. She begged for the breast enhancement as a present when she turned eighteen a few months ago. “You’re lying, Mommy! No guy would fuck a fatty, ugly woman like you. You’re not 403 like me!”

403? What the fuck did that mean.

“I ... I could...” My wife sulked there.

“You can’t,” cooed Dr. Lavender. “Now, Mr. Brewster, are you the man in the house or not.”

“I am,” I said.

“Then why do you let her talk to you like that? You need to take charge!” Dr. Lavender fixed her green eyes at me through her delicious glasses. “So put your wife in her place, send her fat ass into the workforce, and fuck your bimbo-daughter hard! Get balls deep in her snatch before she’s a strung-out whore and your wife nags you into an early grave.”