Author's Note:
Thank you again to everyone who continues to read my work and support the site. My greatest love is in telling these tales to you all, and I'm working hard at putting together new content to keep the site fresh and interesting in different ways. One of those ways is spending time putting up short, weekly content, like this story series, while working on the larger, longer works. Please enjoy Vicky's spiral into depravity, as she works to win her father's approval and her fortune.
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This story series is a hardcore romp behind the scenes of DomCo, which will see a new chapter released, until all ten are freely available on the site. For those that want to jump ahead of the release schedule, the full story is available for purchase in the store.
The day that Vicky was summoned into her estranged father's office and told that she stood to inherit a great deal of wealth, Vicky became tremendously excited.
"Vicky," he said, "I know that I wasn't present in your life, and I'm not going to apologize for it. Your mother was a bitch and a whore, and I didn't love her. You were an accident."
Vicky flushed at the demeaning comment. Her father continued, "One day, probably soon, I'm going to die. I don't have any sons, or one of them would be standing here now, because the simple fact is that men are just better at being humans than girls."
Vicky wanted to protest, to tell him that women were the equal of men, but her father held up his hand and continued, "The only thing that's more useless than a girl is the goddamn government. When I die, I either pass along my name and my assets to you, or the fucking government is going to carve them up and spend them on something stupid. The problem is, Vicky, that I've been watching you for some time, gauging what kind of girl you are, and I just don't approve of you."
"What? Why?" Vicky asked, flummoxed.
"Well, Vicky, you've got all these notions in your head, a bunch of nonsense put there by these whackjobs that think that girls should be the equal of men. You're a feminist. You advocate against rape, abortions, and the superiority of the male gender. I come from a different time, a time when people had the way of the world straight. It was a time when a man could have a cigar and a brandy in his office at 9am and he could do it while his secretary sucked his cock. Now, I have billions. I made it through hard work and by being a real fucking man. On the day that I approve of you, I'll name you my heir. Until that day, sadly, those billions are going to the government."
"What… what do I have to do?" Vicky asked, flushed.
"You can start by showing me your cunt and your tits. Let's see what you're working with."
Vicky blushed, cutely, which made her father think about slapping her, because she would be cuter if she had a handprint on her cheek.
"Well," he said, "are you going to stand there all day like you've got a stick up your twat, or are you going to start winning daddy's approval?"
Vicky didn't want to do it. She didn't want to show her father her cunt or her tits. Vicky did want to inherit billions, though, and so reluctantly, she lowered her pants to show her hairy, bushy, cunt. Then, she lifted her shirt to show him her small breasts. Her father was silent as he stared at her tits and her twat.
"No. That won't do at all," he said, finally, leaning back in his expensive office chair, "First off, a bald cunt is the best cunt," he stood, rounded the desk, and before Vicky could react, he reached out and pulled on one of her breasts, painfully, making her screech.
"And these," he continued as Vicky wailed, her arms flailing, "These aren't even tits. A real girl has tits. Big ones. This won't do at all."
He released Vicky's tit, and then slapped her across the face. Vicky began to cry.
"Now that's an improvement," he said, nodding to himself, "From now on, whatever you do manage to do to improve yourself – if that's possible – I'm going to slap you, because that handprint on your cheek and the tears in your eyes are beautiful. That's exactly how you should look. From now on, I don't want to see you in my office until you've, first, found some way to improve yourself so that I'll approve of you and, second, you'd better have a handprint on your face and tears in your eyes."
"Yes, sir!" Vicky said, afraid and not wanting to be slapped again, but the handprint on her cheek had begun to fade, and so, her father slapped her again.
"You can go now," he said, dismissively, "Come back when you can show improvement, and I'll consider naming you my heir."
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