The Death of Ellen Hopkins
Copyright© 2025 by IA14YOG
Chapter 1
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A single father is given a special medical treatment by the multinational conglomerate he works for to improve his performance at work. And then, he receives special treatment for his daughter to improve her behaviour.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Consensual Mind Control NonConsensual Slavery Heterosexual Fiction Science Fiction Incest Father Daughter MaleDom Rough Interracial Black Female White Female Oriental Male Anal Sex Cream Pie First Big Breasts Body Modification
John Kamiya was not half-asian. His full-blooded Japanese immigrant parents decided to name him Johnny so he could not be relentlessly bullied in high school for his foreign origins, or so they thought. That didn’t stop absolutely anything. The constant kung-fu jokes and mocking of his “small penis” when adolescence began were relentless. And when the Virginia Tech shooting happened, he was being punched for a different but still racist reason.
He was tall for a Japanese person. 175 cm. Brown-haired, his hair almost always fell over his head. He was skinny and was obsessed with anime, not because it came from his country, but because he thought it was pretty cool.
So when leader cheerleader Stacy Hopkins, a 180 cm big-titted, big-assed, athletic blonde with wavy hair, with blue eyes who seemed to escape from a neo-nazi sex fantasy, proposed sex to him and said she was a virgin, he thought he had won at the lottery. However, she made sure to tell him she would make sure he would somehow die if he told anybody she lost her virginity to him, and that she was doing it so her boyfriend Brad, a future NFL prospect, would not throw her away for “lacking of experience” after he unwittingly made her falsely confess she had sex with over 20 guys because he said he liked mature girls.
That was the dumbest thing John had ever heard and he was sure she had completely misheard what Brad meant (dude was a jock, but at least he didn’t bully John, so he assumed he just wanted a girl who didn’t had her head in the clouds), but he was not dumb enough to refuse free sex. Or maybe he was, for accepting it. In two months, Stacy was vomiting, but he had a girlfriend who actually liked him at that point, and Brad was sure he was the father since “one condom must have ruptured out of the sixty I used”, something he said to the entire high school class with a frustrated tone. Dude seemed to have regretted going inside Stacy because of her killer looks, and soon John would too.
There was just a little problem with Stacy’s plans to become “Miss Brad Johnson”: Brad was black as hell. And though kids are generally born pale, that kid wasn’t showing any sign of getting blacker anytime soon.
Stacy’s dad got himself arrested and his nose broken by John’s mother with a hotplate when he ran over the Kamiya house’s gate after trying to kill Johnny over a false rape accusation.
Stacy was basically fuming when the judge declared John innocent, but she still got full parental rights regardless. John cried like a child when he was forced to separate himself from his infant daughter.
Stacy and her family moved to England, and John then lived a mostly solitary life for the next fourteen years as his girlfriend broke up with him. It didn’t matter what the judge said; he was the prospective mass shooter who escaped a rape conviction on a technicality; the technicality of the rape being over a year ago and never being reported mattered nothing to the public. No girl, no matter how ugly, wanted to date him, and even his job prospects were small despite his high grades in computer engineering in college; he only did small gigs and never got a stable position. It was when, at age 30, he received the unusual opportunity of a Japanese conglomerate that invited him to work in a place that was officially called “Bitch Island”. He was shocked by the name. He thought it was a prank at first, but the place was real.
It was an island on the Gulf of Mexico/America that had an unusually high population of dogs, more specifically on the coast of Louisiana. He heard the Japanese CEO found the name funny as an explanation for the purchase, but the high-paying job was more interesting than knowing the reason for the name. He sank himself into the job and bought a relatively big home with his first bonus; it had thick walls and thick windows that made it soundproof from outsiders, so he could watch porn at maximum volume and nobody would know. But six months later, he received a telephone call from his parents, who would change his comfortable single life quickly.
Stacy had married a rich British lawyer and got cancer in the pancreas, and the dude dumped her unceremoniously soon after. She was sick, very sick, when he met her again. The once gloriously athletic, curvy body was emaciated, but her blue eyes still had her old poison.
His own daughter also scared him, but in a different way. Ellen was 14 and was already pretty obese. She had dyed short blue hair, a nose piercing, and even some tattoos written in Chinese on her arm. He was shocked since he remembered watching a TV program where it was explained that doing tattoos on minors was illegal in the UK. Stacy’s father explained when asked that her stepdad had won the right to do it over “psychological reasons”; that creeped John a little, but he didn’t think it could be anything worse. She was wearing heavy clothes that covered almost everything except two tattoos on her hands showing a rose and a unicorn, and he was thankful for that.
And then when he spoke with her, he could sense the venom dripping from someone who had clearly been taught by her mother that he was a rapist and by society, he was also a rapist. She talked about how his life was “easy, for a criminal” and how “it’s easy to say you wanted to be my father after I’ve already grown up”. She really liked the word easy and said how things would be easier if she were a man, saying he only judged her weight and looks because she was a woman when he told her her eating habits were unhealthy, and would not do it with a boy.
Stacy had called him so John could take parental duties as her prospects of surviving were ridiculously small, but also for a reason he couldn’t believe: she at least wanted to get married in a church before dying. John got angry; after all, Ellen constantly reminded him of what her mother had accused him of, but he paid for the ceremony anyway, out of respect for her last wish. His parents were happy, but Stacy’s parents were both annoyed and couldn’t hide the disgust they felt at their granddaughter.
Stacy died two months later in her bed. John cried at the funeral, almost to his own surprise. Then he smiled sadly, thinking about how he had only slept with one woman in his life, and she had never loved him. His high school girlfriend never went further than kisses.
He took Ellen to America, obviously, and had to sleep in what was the guest room until now. Ellen never got as acid as she was when her mother was alive, but it was obvious she didn’t treat him like her dad. When his friends came to watch the NBA final later that year, she closed herself in her room and played Billie Eilish louder than John believed possible; that did little to interfere with the party since the walls were so thick. His friends found that hilarious, though. To him, it was just embarrassing.
His pathetic attempts to try to win her daughter’s love were misguided to say the least: she got more tattoos, more piercings, and got fatter for the next year, until her PE teacher told him she was morbidly obese and he had to something; Ellen yelled at him as he refused to buy more fast food crap for her, and though she didn’t get fatter, she didn’t get skinner either.
When out of nowhere, at age sixteen, she announced she had a girlfriend, he almost expected a giant tentacle monster called Linda to walk into his living room. Instead, almost the exact opposite walked in.
Alissa was a blue-eyed redhead with a ponytail who seemed quite athletic. She was definitely a tomboy, but John was shocked at how such a cutie could kiss his daughter on the lips.
They had an honest talk about how Alissa was planning to become a professional soccer player, and that is when the girl revealed to him an even bigger shock that she was only fourteen. She was almost as tall as he.
After she left, however, Ellen turned on him and accused him of looking at her ass and of being a “pedophile”. John couldn’t be farther from a pedophile if he could. His preferences lay almost perfectly in the “Stacy type”: a blonde-eyed woman with big breasts, an athletic body and a large ass. Alissa had small breasts and no ass. He could admit throwing some looks at Alissa, but it was because she looked 19 and was nothing sexual, which earned him a slap to the face.
She ran to her room crying like she was the victim, but the one left depressed was John. He felt himself completely cornered in a hellish life.
Also, just to complete his depression, the topic on television was “domestic violence in the LGBTQIA2S+ community”( John seriously wondered if they were going to add greek letters soon, and if Ellen was going to add those greek letters to the tattoo on the back of her neck), and he began to fear maybe Alissa was a future wife-beater. He certainly couldn’t see his daughter being one with such weak slaps.
It was another boring Monday for John, checking errors on projects made by other people and trying to make small improvements, until what he thought was a simple inspection by the CEO of his company turned into something different. The fat old man approached him and said, “Well, well, well, John, you couldn’t believe it, but you’ve been the topic of my week. Not alone, of course, this isn’t exactly about your coding capabilities. Can you please go to the medical department and talk to the secretary at the entrance? We have a topic to discuss with you”.
John was shocked. He knew the company cared about the employees’ mental health, but was his health decreasing noticeably? He just hoped the medical department hadn’t discovered somehow that he also had cancer. Though she certainly didn’t show any love to him, he was sure that Ellen wouldn’t take it well if both of her parents had died from cancer before she was eighteen. Especially because she then would have to go to his father’s house, and his own father had told him in a Stone Cold Steve Austin-accent that “Ellen should be trained like an animal out of shape, I’m sorry to have to say this son”. His father loved to talk like a cowboy.
The secretary guided him to some weird room deep, well deep into the department, labelled 212. They somehow went up and down stairs. When the door opened, John saw a doctor checking things on a computer on a desk and a big equipment. It was like a chair, but it had a lot of visible machinery that extended itself almost to a five-meter height, hitting the ceiling. He felt he was going to be scanned or something, and Akira came to mind, but then he realised a supporter for something from the size of a syringe on the left arm of the giant chair, and he was confused.
“Is this one of these multi-purpose tools for hospitals? No, this is too big for a hospital”
“Please enter”, repeated the secretary.
As soon as he entered, she closed the door.
Looking around the room and realising the black mirrored walls, John wondered if this wasn’t a prank show like those that still aired in low-audience channels.
“Well, the budget is too high for that”
The doctor seemed Japanese and had brown eyes. She had short black hair, wore glasses and a white coat over a simple black dress, and was short, though not Edna Mode short.
She talked using very few words at first, and John didn’t know if it was laconism or simply a lack of knowledge of English, a reason for.
She presented herself as Emiko and said to him she was from Osaka, without giving him a surname.
“So, why am I here today?”
“Well, sit on the chair first. It will be more comfortable”.
She asked questions about his life and professional career, and demanded honesty. When John asked why after it was over, she smiled and answered.
“The company is developing a new kind of medical treatment, and you’re the lucky test subject. You’re free to refuse, of course”.
“I don’t understand. Shouldn’t you guys ask for volunteers?”
“It is voluntary, I just said it’s free for you to refuse”.
“I just don’t understand why it has to be a company employee”.
“Well, Mister Kamiya, we need a specific kind of sample that would not be available if we hired the unemployed man down the street selling fast food”.
“What is it?”
“Someone who we know is not having a good personal and professional life, and therefore we can improve it”.
That stung John. He didn’t even feel it was an invasion of privacy, because he took a months-long leave, and he told them about Stacy’s illness. He was always thankful for not having his contract terminated during that period. He had company data on his personal laptop, and he knew he could sell it for thousands to a British company back then.
“So it’s about me being a widower?”
“Well, that and other factors. You’re not under the risk of being fired, but you’re not going to be promoted anytime soon, the way you’re going”.
“Jesus, that is harsh.”
“You wanted to know, I answered. We could easily test this treatment on a better employee, but we have to discard the placebo effect in our calculations, and it’s for the best to test on someone who is on a relatively low ranking. The variation would be too small in someone on the board of directors, you know. Not to mention, they are all pretty sure there is no room for improvement, so they refused once our testing on animals was complete”.
John and Emiko laughed.
Once he finished answering her questions, which made her give a series of commands to the computer he couldn’t understand, he asked questions about what he was going to go through.
“So, what is the treatment about?”
“A simple injection, that is all. It’s a faux-viral agent that acts on your hormonal glands and brain. It is supposed to increase your willingness to work and exercise. Not very complicated. Our tests on monkeys showed a notable increase in intelligence, but to our sadness, it was less effective on already smart monkeys. It’s like the body refused to go past the limits of the peak of the species; like a drug that makes you fast, but never faster than Usain Bolt”.
“Well, I read ‘Flowers for Algernon’, that is good”.
“That is just a story, Mister Kamiya”.
“But that is good, right? If we could use that on people with learning disabilities, they could live normal lives”.
“Well, if you like it, then get ready for the injection”.
John felt like he had set up and fallen into a trap of his own as the woman pressed buttons on the giant machine structure, which opened to reveal a metal hand with a syringe filled with orange liquid on it.
He looked at the placeholder, and then Emiko walked towards it, pressing a button on the support portion. It expanded, allowing him to put his arm on it. He wondered if she injected things into animals in this room.
After he was injected with it, he obviously felt nothing at first. Emiko said it was a one-dose.
“So, when will the effects vanish?”
“What?”
“The effects, they will disappear, right?”
“Ahn, sorry, I guess you’re not well-versed in biology as I am. It’s a faux-viral agent, Mister Kamiya. It replicates itself much like a living thing. It will live as long as you live. Don’t be shocked by a little fever. Honestly, my greatest fear is that your body will kill it before it acts on your glands.”
“Am I the first human subject?”
“No, obviously. We made tests on five different employees in Japan. Do you want to see them?”
“Well, if I have the time”.
“You do not need to return to your job. Go home and rest. We know receiving an injection like that may affect your ability to work on a psychological level”.
She presented a series of photos that reminded John of “before/after” videos of suspicious infomercials. However, there was a bizarre theme on this series: it seemed that in every final photo, the employees were no longer working in the office. A secretary had become an actress; a janitor a JSDF officer; and an office worker seemingly on his level had turned into a freakin’ pro-wrestler!
“Do people tend to leave our company once they take this?” he asked Emiko.
“It’s a source of frustration for the board, actually; the drug has been too effective on employees who had horrible records; it seems they find their actual inspirations and leave our company. So we’re testing on an average one like you”
“But doesn’t that make for good medicine regardless of the effect?”
“The drug is too expensive, Mr Kamiya. There is a reason we spent a year before approving a new test on you. Maybe in ten years, we can come up with a mass production version, but for now, it is just you. I will be taking blood samples weekly, but in two months, we will introduce you to the second part of the treatment.”
John returned home, afraid and anxious. He thought about how it was freakin’ easy for him to accept being injected with some strange drug that apparently self-replicated. He easily could be pressured into doing risky things for some level of excitement; that is how he ended up shooting his load on Stacy and “her dumb bimbo pussy with no future”, as he angrily described her during the rape trial when her lawyer tried to claim Stacy had a “promising future”.
When he talked to Ellen about the injection (he reminded himself he didn’t sign an NDA, so he was likely free to talk about that), she began to rant about “peer pressure”, “capitalistic exploitation”, and other of that critical theory/social justice crap that Tumblr has certainly feed her for the last few years. John, however, tried to defend the corporation, saying they were always “nice” to him, only for Ellen to ask what kind of business allows an employee to be called “mediocre” to his face.
She then smirked and said. “Well, considering who you are, not a lot of people will care if this thing kills you, so it’s an acceptable loss for them”.
In that moment, two things came to John Kamiya’s mind.
The first one is that at that moment, Ellen looked just like Stacy to him.
The second one is that he imagined himself cutting her head open with a machete. The image scared him; Ellen realised he was staring into the emptiness and asked what was happening.
After he washed the dishes, he didn’t watch TV. He went straight to his room and almost instinctively locked the door.
He didn’t think it was the pseudo-viral agent; he simply was scared of himself, and that talk with Ellen felt like the last straw to trigger his resentment’s transformation into hate. He reminded himself of the guys in high school calling him “future mass shooter”; was he going to go postal, thirty years out of date?
He lay on the bed and fantasised about a big-breasted, big-assed, athletic, blue-eyed blonde to sleep with; well, one who actually liked him.
He suddenly woke up at 3 AM with some weird impulse to exercise. An instinct to move, to be more exact.
Bitch Island was famous for being incredibly safe, but somehow still scaring people away with that name; it’s like people didn’t want to come because the name was ridiculous.
So it was perfectly ok for John to run around outside at that hour.
Running managed to push anxiety out of his lungs, and he felt a bit more refreshed once he came back home two hours later. He suddenly wondered if he had turned into a vampire; walking around at night certainly was a thing night-crawlers did.
While he was preparing breakfast, Ellen was throwing weird looks at him, like she was seeing an alien. He was smiling too much.
Of course, she didn’t care much about him, so she went to school without saying a word.
John went to work as usual that day. And the day after. And the day after. Of course, he always did his regular night exercise.
He felt much more motivated. He felt almost ten years younger, and to his shock, he began to check around the short skirts of some younger office workers and secretaries. Didn’t he ever realise how many young, hot blonde ladies were around his job? Sure, that was certainly hair dye giving the higher-than-average number of asians on Bitch Island, but he never tried to hit on them. The word “hit” reminded him nobody likely knew about his rape accusation there, and he felt retarded for thinking that long, long-forgotten trial would make dating hard in the place.
He began to leave home on Fridays and flirt with random women in nightclubs. Ellen didn’t care, or left before with Alissa.
Every week, he was called to room 212 for blood samples. Emiko said it was too soon to say if the treatment was effective because of the placebo effect, but John felt better.
In his third week, he finally managed to go past drinking and groping (consensually, of course) and finally get a twenty-something big-titted black school teacher to a love hotel. She wasn’t exactly his type, but a hot piece of ass was a hot piece of ass. They stripped each other and had sex on a bathtub, but she saw him looking at his boobs and said she could give him a paizuri to make him hard again.
He was shocked she knew what paizuri was, but then he almost laughed when he heard she said she cosplayed as Tsunade from Naruto; this made her punch him in the groin.
That made him see red. She was still apologising for her burst of rage when he slapped her right on the face. She was in such shock that she didn’t scream, but began to sob and cry like a child.
That didn’t stop John from pushing her to the ground and giving her a free creampie while shutting her mouth with his hand and calling her “stupid bitch”.
When the passions subsided, he apologised, but she said she was the one with a rage problem and had hurt him much more. She also said she was cheating on her husband anyway.
John returned to the house depressed. It was then that he met Ellen. She was watching some interview program with some Armenian woman he recognised as a “feminist” game critic, but he didn’t pay attention to that. However, when he passed through the sofa from behind, Ellen delivered another sting on his ego.
“Raping someone lately?”
She wasn’t even looking at him, and he couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was smirking. This time, she wasn’t exactly wrong, but he wasn’t the same man as last time. He imagined stabbing her through the seat with a sword, blood dripping from her mouth. He didn’t feel as scared, only a little bit surprised at how vivid it was.
The next week, he picked up a cute brunette who worked in telemarketing. Same love hotel. Certainly, she sounded familiar to him in the worst way. After some wonderful sex, he said If she liked it rough.
She smirked and said, “Slap me in the butt and call me a sow daddy!”
They both came like crazy, and she nagged him to give her his telephone, but he lied and said he had a wife.
Ellen was annoyed when he came back. This time, the interview was with a circus clown. “Are you going to the same club every week?”
“Different club”, he lied. He was planning to do that next week. That woman was annoying.
“I really don’t see what a woman would see in you”.
John was shocked but smirked, knowing the perfect verbal counter. “Imagine what that means for you”.
“Mom was a cheerleader”.
“You will never be a cheerleader unless a miracle literally falls from heaven on top of you; in other words, die and be born again as a different person”
He left her be.
The fifth week was a weird, tall goth one that said to him, “Fate has tied us together”. Instead of a hotel, they went to her home. John thought her pale ass was godly, but then he realised her room had dense black mirrors just like room 212. He got scared and said he had a wife and child waiting for him. The goth said, “Soon that will be true”. That cryptic message should have made him happy, but instead disturbed him.
Ellen wasn’t in the living room. He presumed she was sleeping. He felt happy that at least she was sleeping earlier. She was accustomed to pushing all-nighters and only waking up in the evening on Saturday and Sunday.
When he lay on the bed, however, he began to hear some weird noise. He had, in an extremely unhappy moment, caught Ellen masturbating with a vibrator one year before. Completely naked. She screamed obscenities at him, but he was more scared of the fact that she was beginning to resemble the Michelin Man. The horror had been imprinted on his mind.
Her room had locks now, but he had the key, and he felt she was just masturbating or maybe watching lesbian porn. He hoped it was lesbian porn. Once upon a time when she was in the house of a friend back in England he checked her laptop and discovered MLP Rule 34 involving Spike and Discord(he didn’t know those characters, but he made a quick research once the images of a dragon shitting on another dragon’s mouth no longer horrified him but made him curious what hell MLP was about). More horrors in his mind. This was in England, and Stacy laughed as best her terminal cancer allowed her to when he described the horror like he had discovered child porn.
When he dreamed, he had some weird, freaky dream: Alissa was on top of him, and Ellen was in a straitjacket, snarling at him. He woke up and jacked off to the dream in the bathroom. When he came out, he stumbled on nothing less than Alissa herself, wearing a flimsy pink pyjama that seemed a little wind away from showing him her nipple. It didn’t take more than a few seconds to realise they were having lesbian sex on his house.
“Mr. K”.
“Alissa, hello. Girls’ sleepover?”
“Well, kinda. Want some milk?”
His eyes instantly wandered to the carton instead of her breasts, as he guessed she was expecting him to. “Well, it is mine. I’m the provider of this house”.
“So you are the master”.
“You know, if Ellen ever caught you saying that, she would call you a ‘race traitor’ or something equivalent”.
“Ah, Mr K, you’re so ... right, hahahahaha”.
She found it funny. Him not so much.
“Well, do as you please. It’s not like two women can get pregnant anyway. I’m going to sleep.”
“Have nice dreams, Mr. K. Who knows, maybe one day I will call you ‘daddy’”.
Despite the fact that he had improved his confidence in the last few weeks, John shook his head and considered that just a dirty ‘joke’.
In the sixth week, he finally managed to snatch a blonde, a dyed one, though she was flat-chested and small. Ellen stumbled on them making out in the kitchen, and her horror was doubled: she initially thought he was molesting a child, and then she saw her face, and it was Sayako, her math teacher. Ellen was horrible at math, and Sayako had complained to him she had “an annoying social justice type that needed to cut on calories and properly learn what a cosine is” when describing her job. Summer had already begun, and Ellen was basically forced to do summer school because of her low grades in math.
Ellen left, but Sayako said it wasn’t “the right time anymore” and “he could come next week to my house; I’m checking students’ tests all week from tomorrow”.
John felt himself running harder and working harder, like that was going to reward him with the school teacher at the end of the week. It helped that Ellen was “extremely upset”; not only was her loser father scoring weekly, he was going to “fuck Glinda, the good witch”. He was flabbergasted, and she had to explain how she thought Dorothy was an evil brat to him. In that moment, he felt losing even more hope in Ellen than he already had. He knew now his happiness made his ungrateful brat fatass of a daughter extremely angry, almost fuming, and now he felt it was a good thing to do.
To his shock, Sayako gave him a welcome blowjob at the door while she was fully clothed. They had a wonderful dinner and then came the main event: he couldn’t believe it, even if she had told him last week when they were coming back to his house, but she was preserving her virginity until marriage and wanted him to go on her anus.
They did the Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider in her kitchen, complete with butter. John felt in heaven that day. He said that if Sayako wanted to date him. She smiled and said, “Anyplace, whatever time of the day you want, with whoever you want, tiger”.
“Ahn?” he asked, confused.
“Sorry, I mean I’m ok if you want another woman with me”.
“Oh, sure.”
“Sorry, I’m getting too far ahead. You’re fine, John, you’re too fine. Ellen isn’t your fault, I know. It’s her horrible mother. I know about the rape accusation. Principal Johnson is a cousin of Brad Johnson, the quarterback for the Pirates. Small world, eh?”
“You...”
She put her middle finger to her mouth.
“You know, I shouldn’t say this, but have you ever seen her naked? Do you know of any strange tattoos?”
“What do you mean?”
“The other girls told me a scary story about her in the locker room; One of them knows Mandarin and said they saw a Chinese symbol for ‘slave’ on her lower back. She also said it didn’t seem like a recent tattoo”.
John had spent the last few years trying to erase the image of naked Ellen from his mind, and now he suddenly felt the need to really see it. Of course, that could be as good as trying to get himself killed.