“No, no — I haven’t gotten that small,” lied Chase Bentley to his daughter over the phone. “The doctors say it’s just your typical case of malabsorption…you know, where my body can’t absorb nutrients as well as it used to. Guess that’s what happens when you get old, am I right?”
“No, dad,” came Isabella’s voice over the phone, deep and measured but tinged with concern, “that’s not just “what happens.” Malabsorption is a serious medical issue, and there’s no reason to take it lightly.”
“Oh Isabella, always looking out for me,” laughed Chase, feeling an uncomfortable twinge in his gut as he looked over his rail-thin arms. “I guess I’d expect nothing more from a daughter who’s in med school.”
“Yeah, dad, I’m in med school,” said Isabella, trying not to let her frustration bleed through in her voice as she drove down the highway, “so you should listen to me when I tell you how important it is for you to be getting your electrolytes and pancreatic enzymes. You’re taking the supplements, right?”
“Of…of course I am,” lied Chase again. He tried to laugh off her question. “Come on, Isabella, are you gonna be grilling me like this all spring break?”
“That depends,” said Isabella, already tired of her father’s antics. “Anyway — I should get off the phone. I’ll be there in a couple hours, ok?”
“O-ok,” said Chase, and just like that the conversation was over. He put his phone down and slumped his shoulders, looking over his body. At 5’5”, he had never been a tall man, but he had always prided himself on his brawny, muscular build. He used to bench a lot and had once sported impressive biceps, which he was always fond of flexing for people.
However, now he was 54. A few months ago he had started having muscle cramps and abdominal pain, and, much to his dismay, had started losing weight and muscle mass. Once his weight had dropped from 205 all the way down to 150, he felt he had no choice and went to the doctor. The doctor diagnosed him with malabsorption and proscribed him a regimen of medications and electrolytes, which he took for a couple weeks. But they hadn’t worked immediately, so he had stopped his treatment, convincing himself that the doctors were full of shit. All this time, he got smaller and smaller, but he refused to accept that there was anything truly wrong with him.
But Isabella wouldn’t stand for all this, he knew. She was so much smarter than he was…just like her mother. Chase thought briefly back to his ex-wife, who had divorced him 8 years ago. A nastiness began to simmer inside his head as he remembered her parting words to him: “I made a mistake, Chase. I thought that you were on my level. But now even being my bitch isn’t enough.” He wouldn’t let anyone, let alone his daughter, boss him around like that ever again.
Isabella sighed as she hung up on her dad and focused on driving. She could hear the lies in his voice — he had this medical condition and was being a stubborn asshole just like always and refusing to take care of himself.
‘It’s that same old masculinity thing,’ she told herself as she rolled down her window and let the wind scream through her hair. ‘That Napoleon complex.’ She wondered, as she often had during her childhood, what her mom had seen in her dad. But she quickly brushed aside those thoughts — they were pointless now. She could feel her mind shift to something more…intriguing. How small had her dad become?
She glanced across her tanned, full arms, her large hands on the steering wheel, and her long legs in their cramped position in the driver’s seat. She had gotten her mom’s genes — thank god. At 24 years old, she stood just over 6’2 with a body to match her height. She was fully muscled, curvy, and vigorous — unlike her father, Isabella exercised and ate well. As a current med student and former college athlete, she knew the value of nutrition and staying active.
A couple hours later Chase heard Isabella’s car pull up in the driveway. A bolt of anxiety rifled through his shrunken stomach and withered limbs. He hadn’t seen his daughter in 2 years, and this is what she would see. In the back of his mind, he knew that he looked terrible and sickly. However, his stubbornness was stronger than his rationality, and he opened his front door determined to take a stand against any of Isabella’s attempts to control him.
He couldn’t believe it — his daughter towered over him. The top of his head barely reached her chin, and his eyes were even with her shoulders. Isabella had always been tall, but he didn’t remember her dwarfing him by this much. Staring at her tanned muscular legs, her womanly developed arms, her ample breasts, and her wide powerful hips, he couldn’t help but feel tiny.
“Dad!” came Isabella’s alarmed voice when she saw him. “Holy shit, look at you!” She had known he was lying about his condition, but she had never dreamt that it was this bad.
“Yeah, yeah I’ve lost a little weight,” he said with a wave of his hand, trying unsuccessfully to sound dismissive.
“A little?!” said Isabella, stepping closer to him. “A little? Dad. Come on. You’ve turned into a shrimp!” Her voice was mixed with concern for her father’s well-being and exasperation that he wasn’t accepting the reality of his condition. Chase, however, interpreted Isabella’s animation as a direct attack and reverted immediately to his defensive mode.
“Now listen here young lady,” he said firmly, “I may be a little smaller now, but I will not be spoken to in that manner.”
“Oh really?” said Isabella, completely unfazed by her father’s show of confidence. She stepped even closer to him, so that she was just about a foot away. She stared down hard into his eyes. If he wasn’t going to do what was necessary, she would — and she’d get a little kick out of it as well in back-payment for all those years of having to suffer through his emotionally abusive parenting. “Why should I listen to a small little man who can’t even take care of himself?”
“S-small l-little,” stuttered Chase, suddenly feeling intimidated by his daughter’s obvious physical superiority. “C-can’t t-take care of…of…” and he found himself backing away from her imposing body. Isabella followed him confidently through the doorway — once she was through she shut it, turned the lock, and faced him.
“Yeah, dad,” she said simply, indicating to his dwindled form. “You clearly aren’t taking your meds like they told you too.”
“B-because they weren’t working!” said Chase angrily, trying to make a verbal stand. Instead, his voice came out in a little whine.
“They take time to work, dad,” said Isabella coolly, fully in charge of the situation. “You can’t just expect immediate results — you have to be patient and do what the doctors tell you.”
“Well, those doctors don’t know everything,” retorted Chase. “I hope that you’re not getting your head filled with all kinds of nonsense in that school you’re going to.”
“I’m learning how the human body works,” said Isabella, refusing to take her father’s bait. He wanted a fight — she could tell. And she wasn’t going to give it to him. Instead, she was going to effortlessly crush him into submission. “And I’m learning about all the kinds of things that can go wrong.” She gestured to her father’s body. “Like this.”
“I’ve—I’ve just lost a little weight, that’s all!” said Chase angrily, feeling backed into a corner.
“You know what, dad?” said Isabella with sudden energy. “Let’s find out.” She reached out one of her long toned arms and grabbed Chase by the hand. He felt his own small hand caught up in the grip of someone much larger and stronger than him, someone who could effortlessly dominate him. Knowing that it was his own daughter made him feel weak in the knees.
“Let’s go, dad. The scale’s still in the bathroom, right? Let’s go and do some comparisons. Maybe then you’ll get it through your thick skull how tiny you really are.” Isabella then half-led, half-dragged her father into the bathroom. She released him and he stumbled a few steps, overcome by his daughter’s power.
“Go ahead,” said Isabella, gesturing to the scale. “Step on it, dad. Let’s see how big you are.” She wasn’t going to give him any room to bitch and moan — not anymore. She was so sick of his attitude, and she wasn’t going to spend her break arguing with him about common sense bullshit. She knew she was going to have to break him right off the bat. Chase hesitated a moment, glaring at his daughter.
“Do it, dad,” she said firmly, “or I’ll make you do it.” She stood up to her full height. “And it wouldn’t be hard for me, you know — I mean, look at you.”
Chase gave his daughter another nasty look, slumped his shoulders, and stepped on the scale. She had him trapped. The digital scale garbled its numbers up for a moment, and then produced the unquestionable result that shined out in steady, artificial blue numerals: 111.4.
“Holy fuck, dad!” exclaimed Isabella in genuine wonder. She reached out her hand and put it around his upper arm. His once-mighty bicep was so shriveled that she could wrap her entire hand around it. “Look at that, dad! Your arms are little twigs!”
He suddenly snapped, just like a cornered animal would: “Just because you and your mother are freaks doesn’t make me a shrimp!” he spat, trying to be as hurtful as possible. Isabella arched her eyebrows at him, and let go of his arm, smiling knowingly.
“Oh yeah?” she said in a calm measured voice, enjoying his reaction, “let’s see how much of a “freak” I am, dad.” She effortlessly brushed him aside and stepped on the scale. A moment later: 201.6.
Isabella laughed. “Oh my god, dad — I’m almost twice as heavy as you. And look at this!” She stepped off the scale and stood next to her father, comparing their legs. Hers was tanned, toned, and fleshy — a grown woman’s leg in the prime of her life. His was pale, bony, and aside from the black hair, it looked like a child’s leg.
She looked down at her dad with a controlled smile, meeting his eyes and staring into them deeply. He had to look away. She chuckled in response — she overwhelmed him completely. And then she noticed it, tenting through his shorts.
“Are you — are you getting hard, dad?” she asked incredulously.
“Sh-shut up!” stuttered Chase, suddenly on the verge of tears. He tried to hide his boner, but Isabella reached down and grabbed his hands, getting down on her knees so that she could speak to him easier. Her head came up to his neck.
“Oh my god!” laughed Isabella. “So this is why mom tolerated you! You got off to being her bitch!” She saw her chance — she yanked down his pants and started jacking him off. Any attempts to stop her were futile; she was simply too strong. Within one minute, he was spraying his cum all over the floor.
“You gonna get healthy?” asked Isabella, tasting his cum with her finger.
“Y-yes,” he said, tears in his eyes as he bowed his head in submission.
“Good,” she said. She stood back up and loomed over him, her hands on her hips. This is how it was meant to be, just like her mom had realized: weak little men need to be dominated, and not indulged. “Because your cum tastes like shit.”