She was in constant battle with her stepfather. He wanted her to be the good little princess her mother had wanted. But she was 18, and wanted to be a tomboy. She hated looking feminine; she felt embarrassed and humiliated by it.

So he set out to help her remember exactly who and what she was. 

When she refused to burn her shapeless flannelette shirts, he booked a boobjob for her to give her big fake tits. A month later, when she was anaesthetised for routine gall bladder surgery, she woke up with gigantic, unconcealable fuckbags.

He told her she’d dye her hair blonde and wear feminine makeup, or else he’d take her up another cup size again, and she sulkily complied, but a month later in an act of defiance she got a tattoo, and he had to punish her again.

He did it by throwing all of her clothes in the bin. Now if she wanted to leave the house clothed, she would have to come to him nude, and beg to be allowed to wear the sexy little pink skirts and stockings that he had bought as replacements. 

Even still, she resisted, staying naked in her room for three days, refusing to play his game. So he started slipping a little aphrodisiac in the food he brought her at breakfast and dinner. She would remember that she had a cunt soon enough, he thought.

And sure enough, it worked. Soon he could hear the slutty moans coming from her room as she frantically worked her fingers into her pussy. For a day, she couldn’t sleep, or think straight, her cunt too sopping wet to allow rational thought. She lived in a haze of horniness and confusion.

And at the end, she crawled out of her bedroom, naked, on all fours, her big fake tits swinging beneath her, and said, in a little girl voice, “Please daddy, can I have some pretty pink panties to wear like a good girl?”


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