Don Weathers was a man unaccustomed to deferring his gratification. And with ready, albeit uninvited, access to his stepdaughter's sleek fourteen-year old body, he seldom had to. Sure, there were periods when his wife, Bethany's mother Kristie, was simply too underfoot to accommodate the "proper taking of his pleasure" from the youngster. The real world naturally interfered from time to time in other ways, as well. But this week marked the first time since the day he had deflowered the girl that he had refrained from touching her for more than a day or so by choice.

Needless to say, the forty-five year old satyr was horny to the point of distraction. Sure, he had his wife, and his hand, and his computer porn, but it had been four days now since he had last made use of his far more satiating stepdaughter. On that day, he had throat fucked the poor girl delightfully, ejaculating explosively as her throat fluttered in protest about his cruelly imbedded length. But that had been Monday. Today was Friday. In the interim, he had restrained himself, heroically to his mind, and had found various inconveniences to camouflage from the irresistible eighth-grader the intentional nature of the break she was getting. Undoubtedly, she wouldn't be looking this gift horse in the mouth. Serving has Don's sexual plaything was clearly not Bethany's favorite way to while away her free time, and so Don didn’t expect her to start asking questions about her unexplained respite.

Don Weathers was indeed unaccustomed to self-denial, but he was also a shrewd man. A man shrewd enough to have manipulated an unwilling stepdaughter into a sexual relationship in the first place, and a man shrewd enough to have prepared in advance for the likelihood that same girl would eventually betray his confidence and approach her mother. Don had sought out Dr. Leo Cohen’s services before Bethany tried to report him, and the good doctor had told him just what to do.

Don chuckled at the recollection. He had played his part well when Kristie confronted him with Bethany's accusation. As the doctor had predicted, it was clear his wife was grasping for any explanation, no matter how thin, to believe in. So, as he had been coached, Don had displayed shock, disappointment, and concern for Bethany. "How could she say such a thing? Why is she acting out? Maybe we should have her talk to someone, a professional, I mean. Of course this is an insult to my good name, and I know I should be angry with her, but more importantly, I want to respond to this, this... this cry for help!"

How convenient that a suitable professional, one Dr. Leo Cohen, was available for immediate consultation with the girl, and sure as shit, somehow during her first session he had managed to convince Bethany that there was nothing she could do to change the situation, and that her only avenue of relief would be to change her response to the inevitable. Well, maybe she hadn’t been fully convinced from just that first session, but at least she had stopped trying to report the abuse, despite its continuation. In fact, Bethany was getting fucked more often now, after her brave attempt to seek help, than she had been previously. And, despite a continued surliness in her attitude, the exploited schoolgirl had been displaying progressively flimsier resistance to her stepfather’s liberties with every passing week of therapy.

So, a shrewd man like Don Weathers, having seen the success of Dr. Cohen's methods, and having continued to enjoy the sexual fruits of that success, was likely to follow that same Doctor's recommendation in this instance, even at the price of unpleasantly forestalled sexual gratification. For the doctor had called Don at the conclusion of his Tuesday session with Bethany, three days earlier.

"Are you sure, Doc? I thought you told me not only that I could, but actually that I should, continue to enjoy myself with Bethany while the treatment program progressed. I've been doing that, believe you me! In fact, her mother is dropping her off at home any minute now, and I have a hard-on I could really put to use in that tight ass of hers."

"I am well aware of your diligence in that regard, Mr. Weathers, as I require Bethany to give me full, detailed reports of all of your shared encounters during our sessions. It is part of the process."

"So, has it been working? Are you making progress? You said that this course of treatment would lead to her not only accepting my sexual mastery over her, but that she would come to crave it. That she would be devoted to me – and more importantly, to my cock. Is something going wrong?"

"No, Mr. Weathers, everything is going fine, in fact we are ahead of schedule. We are already on the positive reinforcement phase, and the readings I got this morning suggest that she is indeed warming up, physically, and starting to enjoy your...attentions, in some small way. That is why I am recommending your abstention for the rest of this week including, I’m sorry to say, today. With the three positive reinforcement sessions – you will recall from our first discussion that this involves the vibrational stimulation of your daughter's sex whenever she successfully quells a negative reaction to sexual cues associated with you – with those three sessions this week, and the sudden, coincidental ‘happenstance’ of an unexpected and relatively prolonged withdrawal from incestuous sexual activity, I expect her to be quite primed by week's end. Do you think you might be able to arrange some extended private time for yourself and Bethany, say this coming Saturday?"

"Saturday! You want me to hold off until Saturday? Jees, well, I gotta say I have plenty of reason to believe in your methods, Doc. Yeah, Saturday, sure, I can make Bethany 'help' me in my workshop on Saturday. Wife usually scoots out for hours when she knows we'll be ‘working the wood’ all day."

"That should be ideal, Mr. Weathers. It would be best if you can engage with her several times once you have broken her sexual fast. You, of course, are free gratify yourself all you want between now and then, provided it is completely independent of the patient. Just don't wear yourself out – remember, several times on Saturday would be best. In fact, if I may make a suggestion and hope that it will not offend?"

"Sure, what suggestion?"

"Well, while I have complete confidence in your virility, and though I have my own firsthand experience to vouch for the recuperative power the available body of a teenaged girl can have for men our age when we desire a second or even a third coital round in a single session, it would be best if we took no chances. In addition, as I say, it would very much help Bethany’s progress if you can manage as many 'rounds' as possible on this occasion. So I encourage you to consider taking one – or even two – of the Viagra tablets I provided in your orientation packet."

"Hey, no problem there, Doc, and no offense taken, if that's what you're worried about. I use it recreationally sometimes, anyway. I have no problem getting it up to fuck an eighth grader, at least not for one as fucking hot as Bethany, but sex is even better with a steel-hard prick. Like it felt when I was eighteen – only nowadays, I can last as long as I like. And I getcha – even with a tasty little bitch like Bets, after two or three goes I'm usually ready for a nap. I'll take your suggestion, gladly. My dick'll make her holes pay interest for their time off."

"Excellent, then, Mr. Weathers. Of course, although this is primarily in furtherance of the patient's progress, there is nothing wrong with your having a fantastic time in the process. Enjoy yourself Saturday, but now I must be going. I have a set of sixteen-year old twin girls coming in, whose father has asked me to extend their biofeedback conditioning. I’m looking forward to the session."

"Oh, mind if I ask what this ‘extension’ is?"

"Mr. Weathers, I know you expect me to keep your medical confidences, and I extend the same ethic to all my patients and their bill-paying guardians. However, since I am not naming names, and there are several sets of twins in my case book, I think I can share without stepping over any boundaries that this doting father – whose daughters have been successfully conditioned under my treatment to the point of practically fighting each other for the privilege of receiving his ejaculate – well this gentleman desires his twin daughters to enjoy each other, physically. He already requires them to ‘perform’ for him, of course, but he wishes them to actually crave the experience of sapphically pleasuring each other. Not only is this quite possible, but the training ‘sessions’ are quite entertaining for the therapist supervising them, as you might imagine."

"Hell, yeah! You think we can train Bets to crave pussy, Doc? I’d love to make a cunthound out of her, on top of making her a slut for my cock."

"Now, now, Mr. Weathers, let’s not look ahead to the next game. We still have a lot of work to do in the here and now. So remember, hands off until Saturday, and then give her sweet little body "what for". Oh, and one more thing – I strongly suggest that you first take her from behind, in what you may know as the "doggy" position. We’re making the most progress, therapeutically, in conditioning her around that particular act."

"Yeah, yeah, you got it, Doc. Starve her hot little pussy all week, then stuff her to the gills, doggy-style. Anything to help her get better!"

-o0o-

Friday evening at the dinner table, Don could swear his stepdaughter was on pins and needles. She squirmed in her chair, picked at her food, and generally looked fit to be tied. That expression brought an image to his mind, an idea to the fore, and a smile to his lips. God was he ever ready to again fuck the petite brunette!

"What have you got planned for the weekend, honey?" Mrs. Weathers asked as she took her seat.

"Well, I thought I’d spend some time in the workshop, would like to make some progress on the coffee table project. That is if Bethany is available to help me?"

"Sure, I can help."

Don about dropped his fork. Bethany knew very well what "helping in the workshop" really meant. Don had converted the detached garage into a workshop in which he made wooden furniture. Bethany had been helping him since she was ten years old, the year he had married her mother. But lately, helping in the workshop had simply meant providing Don with a prolonged and private opportunity to disport himself with her middle-school body. Not surprisingly, she had taken to making excuses – often whiningly – in an attempt to avoid participating in Don’s "hobby" of late. Not that these attempts ever succeeded, but they were, by now, expected. Bethany’s easy acquiescence was indeed a good sign that Dr. Cohen was making progress.

"Ok, then, if you two plan to be busy, I can go into the city with Martha. I don’t get spend the day shopping very often, anymore."

"You’re right, sweetheart. You deserve a big day. Why don’t you and Martha catch dinner and a show while you’re down there? Make a girls’ day out of it?"

"Will you two be alright? What will you eat?"

"Don’t worry about us, right Bets? We have plenty to keep us busy all day, and I’ll make sure Bethany gets plenty to eat."

-o0o-

Don spent a few minutes in his home office while Kristie had an evening soak. They planned to watch a movie together, as usual on a Friday evening. Bethany seldom joined them, preferring to watch her own TV upstairs, away from Don, away from the cock that recent experience had taught her to avoid enticing.

Don was just checking his emails when he was startled to see Bethany at the door.

"What’s up? Ready for a big day tomorrow? I think you’ll really like the hardwood you’ll be working with!" To his surprise, instead of scowling, she dropped her eyes, and blushed.

"Er, mom is taking a shower. I was just checking to see if you…do you need anything?"

God bless good Dr. Cohen! Don’s neglected dick sprang to attention. Well, it was a neglected dick in the sense that it had been denied, of late, the delights of Junior Miss-sized cunt, although Don had taken care during the week to drain himself regularly so that he wouldn’t arrive at the morrow’s festivities on a hair trigger. In the face of this wholly unexpected temptation, he almost caved, but mastered himself and followed the discipline Dr. Cohen had prescribed – denial until tomorrow, when he could attend to the opportunity with full attention and superhuman repetition.

"Not tonight, Bets. I’m busy. I know that little fuckbox of yours is hungry, but not tonight. Maybe you should go play with your cute little pussy, like a good girl. Run along now."

With some regret, Don watch her cute little ass scurry away before pulling out his dick, opening some teen porn on his computer, and stroking out a quick, almost clinical, climax. No, it wouldn’t do at all to be on a hair trigger, come morning.

Quite consciously, Don awaited the morning with lust.

-o0o-

Bethany wondered what was wrong with her. Here it was, Friday night, her fourth consecutive day without suffering one of Don’s unwanted sexual advances, and all she could think about was cock. As in Don's cock. The cock that molested her, that had been possessing her at will, against her will, daily, and often even more frequently, since that fateful Saturday afternoon now many weeks past.

She hated that cock, and more importantly, she hated Don, her stepfather, who selfishly employed that cock in ravishing her fourteen-year-old body. Who had claimed her virginity -- her virginities. Who had so easily manipulated her mother when she had gone to her for help. Who had placed her into Dr. Cohen's unorthodox treatment program. And who hadn't touched her since Monday.

She lay in bed, in the dark, unable to sleep. Her faced burned with shame. What had possessed her to look in on Don tonight, after dinner while her mother took a long bubble bath, to ask him if he "needed anything"? She hardly realized what she was doing until she heard the words coming from her own mouth. Why on earth would she seek her abuser out? Her specific words were ambiguous, and didn't of themselves suggest a sexual inquiry, but considering that for many weeks now, she had diligently tried to avoid speaking to her stepfather about anything, and for several weeks now, virtually every moment that found them together and alone involved his taking sexual liberties, the question could easily be construed as a sexual opening from underaged girl to oversexed stepparent. The smirk on Don's face had told Bethany that this was indeed how he construed it. The fire in her crotch at the time suggested to the eighth-grader that Don was not necessarily misconstruing it. Which made his unexpected and script-breaking denial even more of a shock than it otherwise would have been. His choice of phrasing hadn't given her any self-deluding cover, either.

That her "fuckbox" was "hungry." That she needed sexual attention – that her "cute little pussy" needed to be "played with."

Arrgh! How dare he! How could he suggest she wanted him to fuck her? How could he accuse her of feeling a need in her pelvis for his selfish, pounding cock? How could he think such a thing? How could he know? How could he be right?

Why was he right? Bethany tossed in her bed. What was wrong with her? Yes, it was true that her sessions with Dr. Cohen this week and been unusual. Enjoyable. Pleasurable. During the positive reinforcement exercises, she had been able to prevent her brain from reacting negatively when suddenly presented with imagery associated with her abusive, loathsome stepfather, and whenever she succeeded in this, within a second or so the vibrating device lodged against her clitoris and vulva had rewarded her, physically, with a delightful sensation. In fact, she caught herself becoming frustrated with the exercise, not because of the sub- and semi-liminal interruptions to her video viewing, but because she was forced, it seemed, to wait too long between Don-related intrusions -- and the pleasures attendant to them.

After all, as Dr. Cohen had explained to her, once an adolescent girl has been first vibrationally stimulated at her pleasure center, it is perfectly natural that she should thereafter look forward to, and desire, another such stimulation, and another and another. She soon understood this and felt no further embarrassment at enjoying the positive feedback vibrations.

However, Bethany had not told her therapist during today’s session about something she did find shameful, inexcusable, in her reactions.

For some reason, during this, her third session under the positive reinforcement regime, the apparatus seemed to be working poorly. The time delay between the presentation of the Don-related imagery (and the Don's-cock-related imagery) and the vibrational feedback was greater than it had been during the previous two sessions, and this delay seemed to have lengthened more and more as the session continued. In fact, several times near the end of the exercise, the vibrational reward failed utterly to follow the visual presentation of her tormentor's face or engorged manhood. Clearly, something wasn't working correctly.

But, despite that...

The confused girl, lying wide awake in the dark, felt a fresh flush of shame at the recollection. And that's not all she felt.

The shame arose from reliving the realization, near the end of the session, when the vibrating positive feedback seemed to take longer to arrive than usual, that the girl had felt a strong twinge of pleasure, right there in her sex, before the external stimulation arrived. And eventually, she had responded with a twinge of pleasure even when the vibration had not come at all.

In her way, despite being largely unschooled as yet in the scientific method, the eighth grader had then deduced a stunning conclusion. She was reacting positively -- sexually, with pleasure -- directly to Don. To Don's cock. Or at least to faithful visual representations of her hated stepfather and his criminally abusive sex organ. Somehow, despite her every effort at resistance, Dr. Cohen's treatment appeared to be having its advertised effect on her.

These musing must have distracted her mind terribly, because she suddenly became aware that her right hand was stroking her hairless pudenda. That is to say it was playing with her vulva, which of late was kept well waxed, at her stepfather’s insistence. In other words, the cute eighth grader was toying with her the bare, unfledged flesh of her wet pussy, pleasuring herself as she considered these horrid ideas.

Finding herself in this state, she felt there was no use in stopping. As her fingertips began to circle her slickened clit and her pelvis began to hum in the rhythms she knew to portend orgasm, she tried to think about a cute boy. She tried to think of the handsome gym teacher at her middle school, Mr. Summers. She tried to think of nothing at all but the direct physical sensations in her crotch.

But none of those efforts succeeded in blocking out the thoughts that her by-now starving cunt insisted on recalling to the fore. She couldn’t stop herself from mentally replaying her last actual sexual contact, reliving Monday’s afternoon’s rough throat-fuck between her stepfather’s knees.

Once the poor girl’s prematurely experienced vagina had what it wanted – her complete focus, in fantasy, upon her most recent re-life submission to her abuser’s selfish cock – then that precocious reproductive organ finally condescended to orgasm.

Thoroughly.

She shook. She shuddered. She died and she lived.

And though it all, she worshipped. She dedicated her lust for two dozen heart-beats of ecstatic spasm to the object of her devotion: her hated stepfather’s horrible, disgusting, hateful, magnificent and -- for the duration of these shameful throes –entirely worshipped cock.

Not quite subconsciously, Bethany awaited the morning with longing.