A daughter’s revenge [M/F][inc]

*Inspired by a prompt. :)*

—–

*August 17th, 1988*

Jin looked across the cheap table at Yeong-ho bitterly. “We trusted you.”
Yeong-ho took a sip of the tea – not very good tea – that they’d served him and his goons, then sighed and shook his head. “Well, that was your first mistake. Your second was falling behind on your repayments. And your *last* mistake was thinking you could negotiate with me. You owe me money. Hand it over. Now.”
Kyong, Jin’s wife, handed Jin a thick envelope, which he passed on to Yeong-ho. “Here. Everything that we owe you. Every *won* of it.”
Yeong-ho opened the envelope and riffled through it quickly, counting the bills enclosed within. He handed it to one of the silent men sitting at his shoulder and shook his head. “Not enough. You’re still ten million *won* short.”
“But we’ve sold everything that we have!” cried Jin in dismay. “We’ve sold our house, what’s left of our shop! Every piece of jewellery Kyong *had*, every piece of furniture. We have nothing *left* but the clothes on our *back*!”
Yeong nodded, and a smile played crossed his lips, cruel and condescending. “The clothes on your back, you say? Well, that’s something. Give them to me!” and laughed.
Kyong’s face paled as Jin’s reddened. “What do you mean?”
Yeong gestured at Kyong. “Your clothes. They’re cheap and barely worth cleaning floors with, but for them I’ll take some off your debt.”
“No!” Jin shook his head vehemently, and Kyong nodded at his words. “We’ll not do that!”
“Then give me my money!” he slapped the table. “Now!”
“We…we can’t.”
“Then? Your clothes. Give them to me.” Reluctantly, eyes downcast, they stripped off their clothing, pushed them across the table to Yeong-ho, then sat naked back on the tiled floor across from him. He wadded up the clothes, tossed them to one of the silent men at his shoulder, snorted “Rags!” as he did, then let his eye run greasily down Kyong’s slim body, his eyes caressing each breast, trailing down her belly, down to what was hidden below the edge of the table. Looked Jin in the eye so there was no possibility if misunderstanding. “What *else* of value do you two have to offer me?”
—-
*October 10th, 1988*

In the windowless room she called home, Yeong-ho held Kyong’s head down along his member, letting her come up along it to push her back down, slight choking sounds coming from her as he forced himself down her throat, tears falling onto the hair just above his penis. When he was ready, he pulled out of her mouth, a thin string of drool trailing from her lips, and roughly pushed her down on the dirty blanket that was her bed there on the damp concrete floor. Pressed his full weight on her back, mounted her, entered her, used her for his full enjoyment until he came. Thrust *hard* between her legs so she knew that her had. The last of her debt paid in full.
Rising from her supine body, he straightened his clothes. “There,” he said to Kyong sobbing on the cold, hard floor. “Now, I believe you have one more more for me?” Crying harder still, the naked woman rose to her knees, took a white envelope off the broken end-table by the wall, threw it at Yeong, sank back to the floor, covered her head with her arms, let the tears flow. He picked it up, opened it, counted the money inside. All accounted for. Jin’s life insurance policy, just enough to cover the remainder of their debt. “Good. Jin killing himself saved you a lot of back-breaking work.” He laughed and walked to the entrance. “Breaking your back on this hard floor! But this *is* the last of it, just enough. And may I say,” he said, pausing at the door, “my condolences on your loss.” Laughing, he left her lying, naked and crying, in the one-room back-alley shed that was now her home.
—-
*May 20th, 2012*

Yeong-ho looked up at the entrance of one of the human resources staff and reflected how times changed. It had been a whirlwind thirty years; a loan shark turned – if he could pardon the stereotype – legitimate businessman. It was funny how life worked out sometimes. But, here he was…employer to 30,000 people in a proper industry. Largest manufacturer of personal goods in all Korea. Still an exploiter of people, he would be the first to admit, but now he was *encouraged* to exploit people by government instead of hiding it. *Payments are bigger,* he mused, although they called them ‘taxes’ rather than ‘bribes’ these days. And thankfully he got out before the rise of the internet; few alive today knew how he had made his fortune all those years ago.

Very few. He made sure of that.

The staff member handed him the personnel dossier on his new secretary, the one he cleared his docket to greet. He was glad they’d hired a new one, he needed one; his last secretary was on permanent maternity leave with the most generous of benefits that his company offered for the official leave and an even more generous settlement from a private account belonging to an overseas shell company for the remainder of it. *The Pill was great*, he thought ruefully, *but never bulletproof*. Still, not the first time it had happened. Probably wouldn’t be the last. Just the cost of doing that sort of business.
He glanced at her file, read her name there: Ji-yeon. He tossed the unread folder in the trash. If she was pretty, that was all he needed to know. And if she wasn’t, he’d have a quiet talk with a *new* recruiter down in HR before the week was out.

At 9 am she arrived at his office, punctual to the dot, and he invited her in, closing the door behind her. He offered her a tea and made small talk while he eyed her up. Small, pale, slim; yes…she’d do. His HR Director was undeniably an expert at recruiting the right type of personnel for the position, that was certain. He went over her expected duties, showed her the desk inside the office door where she’d be working. Took her and brought her around the floor, and as she introduced herself to person after person it struck him that she seemed somewhat familiar to him, somehow. Maybe a memory from his old life. He pushed it from his mind; it would come to him…or not. It didn’t matter.
After the tour he brought her back to his office and went over some final details. Warned her to expect several busy periods throughout the year, and during those times he expected her available as needed, and on his schedule rather than hers, to expect no vacation time to be authorized at fiscal year-end and during the quarterly reporting. Told her also that he would often work late hours, taking advantage of the quiet to catch up on outstanding tasks. She nodded. Informed her that his expectation was that she would be *available* for those late night activities if necessary, to assist in any way he required. Another nod, a small smile on her lips? Decided to toss the dice, reminded her that his overtime was covered under the “other duties as assigned” clause in her employment terms. Another nod still, another smile, certain this time. Seeing it, he smiled to himself in turn. Good. They understood each other, then.

The first month passed uneventfully. She was smart, efficient, very organized and seemed to know his mind almost better than he did, handling the day’s minutiae invisibly and providing what he needed almost before he knew he needed it. During the second month, he had her stay and work on some quarterly reports with him after hours, and she was receptive to the idea of extra time alone with him at the office. The occasional pat on the bottom or brush of the hand when she passed him his tea went unremarked. She smiled at each of his bad jokes and laughed at each of the rude ones.
On the third month, he suggested she refresh her work attire. Told her it wasn’t *required*, but also if she did he didn’t expect she pay for it out of her own pocket, that there was a slush fund that he could dip into to pay for it. She nodded, and he handed her a ready envelope of cash along with a suggestion that she visit *Vivien* – a high-end clothing shop which also just happened to specialize in lingerie – to find *work-appropriate* clothing, then once done stay after hours to make up the time, to assist with a special assignment with a tight deadline. This was generally the sticking point; either she would understand the meaning just below the words or he’d be introduced to a new secretary before the month was out.

The envelope disappeared, and she returned – shopping bags in hand – after the office was empty but before the sun had set.

That evening he did an inventory check of her new assets, and found to his satisfaction that everything was in order. He especially approved of the cornflower-blue silk brassiere and the crotchless panties at her hips were an efficient and productive choice, framing her pubic bush nicely, beads of moisture sparkling like jewels in her hair there. Her new underwear was smooth and silky under his hand and he found she was smooth and silky on the inside, too, hot and eager, her ankle around his, biting at his lip and meeting him thrust for thrust with a strength that left him later that night feeling bruised and more tired than he’d felt in a long time. Not that he was complaining. He smiled as he lay in his bed in the dark. No, far from it.
He had few complaints during the next few months as well. In addition to the increasingly numerous late night deadlines he had several instructive one-on-one meetings with her to discuss career opportunities during the day behind locked doors. During those daytime discussions she’d have to bite her lip to keep from crying aloud as she came, or bury her head in her clothing to muffle her cries; she’d often let him stuff her underwear in her mouth as a silencer, something new to him which excited him more than he *thought* it would which in turn seemed to excite *her* all the more, driving her to greater urgency.
On those days when he couldn’t guarantee a clear calendar she’d wear nothing beneath her skirt and stand beside him at his desk, ostensibly watching him while he worked but legs slightly spread to allow him to finger her below the desk, her face completely impassive while he fondled her, one thumb rubbing at her clitoris with two fingers working in tandem, moisture running down his hand, wet to the wrist and beyond. The only sign of an orgasm a brief cry which she would turn into a fake sneeze for the benefit any office staff who may be in range.
During the evenings, of course, she had no need to hold back and she would gasp at feel of her breast in his mouth, a loud intake of breath at the feel of his tongue hot on her skin. Would wrap one leg around his back to meet him urgently as he took her against the side of his desk, pleading him to move faster, harder, *deeper*, *her* breath hot against his neck, her tongue warm and wet in his ear, his mouth. Or she would sweep the objects on his desk off onto the floor, lay him across it, and ride *him* hard until he came, bent always low along him, his head in her hands, her mouth and tongue on his lips, his cheeks, his chin, taking him fully until he came, and came, those nights leaving him sore but happy as he drove home. She made him feel almost thirty again, and her monthly bonuses reflected that. She was up for almost anything, and he was impressed with the care she took afterwards, the way he would come in her and never leave a drop behind no matter how she moved or how awkwardly she climbed off of him.

He made a mental note to add a zero to his HR Director’s year-end bonus; as a recruiter of personnel she had outdone herself *this* time around.

But, like all good things, it had to come to an end. Six months passed when he noticed that she had become a little distracted, unfocused, a little lethargic. An observant man, he noticed her breasts a little darker, slightly swollen during their planning sessions, found her a little more sensitive when he’d enter her, noticed her a little more careful when she’d press herself against him. And one risky afternoon with the office full staffed, her naked body against his and his come hot and sticky where he held himself within her, one hand cupping a breast, he stroked one nipple and asked…was she pregnant?
She nodded. “I wasn’t sure until a few days ago, but yes, I am.”
*Of course.* “I see. I don’t want to lose you around the office; will you be willing to visit a clinic I know?”
She shook her head, *no*. “I don’t want to. I want to keep the baby.”
He sighed. *Of course she would,* he thought to himself, irritated at the thought of having to go through all this again with yet another new secretary, and losing the firebrand he had in this one. “Well, *I* don’t,” he told her. “What do you want to keep it quiet?”
She stood, letting him slip out of her. For the first time, she allowed a trickle of liquid to run down her leg, allowed it – to his annoyance – fall to the carpet. “I want full custody of the baby, and full support until the child turns 18.”
He nodded; thankfully it looked like she was going to be one of the easy ones. All she wanted was the usual severance package he normally gave. No problem; he had the money. “Is that all?”
“No.” She got up, walked naked over to her desk, opened her satchel, pulled a large envelope out from within. From inside the envelope, she took out one sheet of paper. “I need to you to sign this genealogy document.”
He nodded again. The standard document a single mother had in order to prove family lineage. They always asked him to sign one, and he always did. They’d know it was his child anyway if a court ordered the simplest paternity test, and it often saved him a lot of trouble down the road since the mother never needed his signature for anything more. He even flattered himself that his name was the key for many to the better schools and districts. He tucked himself back in his pants. “Pass it over.” He checked over the paperwork, looked at where he’d sign his name on the line next to hers. All in order. Looked at the column with the father’s family information, saw his name, his parents names, birthdays, addresses listed there. Nodded to himself, *Efficient as always…* he thought, she rarely wasted his time. Looked over at the mother’s column. Saw her mother’s name, birthday, an address he didn’t recognize…and a name for the father he recognized all too well.
“Your father’s name…this is *my* name! *My* date of birth, *my* address! Is this some kind of joke?” he demanded, angrily.
She shook her head. “No joke. Do you remember,” she looked over at him consideringly, tapping her cheek with one finger, “about twenty years ago, a little more, a young couple that you loaned money to at a rate that would be considered extortionate even by the standards of even the most callous of bastards?
They wanted to start a small shop, a life, but were too young, too *trusting* to see the danger in the loan? That small shop, ran with such pride until you had your goons trash it one night so that they couldn’t make their payments? Then paid off the insurer to deny their claim, so they couldn’t collect on the damages? And *then*…then called in the loan?”
He stared at her. “They had to sell everything they had, every possession they owned, borrow money from *every* family member they could talk into helping and then, even then, it wasn’t enough.” He continued to stare at her, speechless, and felt himself go cold. He *did* remember that couple. “You took the very clothes from their backs and when *still* that wasn’t enough for you,” she spat, her voice rising, “you made the wife pay off the rest of her debt on her back! And even *then*, after her husband killed himself out of shame and grief for what he had allowed to happen, you came, *fucked* her for her debt then *took* his insurance money from her on the *very day* after his funeral, leaving her naked and pregnant on a damp concrete floor!”
He felt himself break out in a sweat.
Her voice dropped; she didn’t want the people nearby to hear. “You took it all; their dream, their future, his *life*. Left *her* pregnant, penniless. And as a final reminder of everything she had gone through, she gave birth to your child. A daughter.
Me.”
She reached back into the manila envelope she held, and from within, she began to lay out items. First item: another document, an official one. “My birth certificate, showing you as the father.”
“That proves nothing!” he ground out. “You mother could have claimed *any* name as the father!”
Second item: a more recent document. “Then look at this.”
“What is it?”
“This is a genetic test, showing you as my father. Look here: my results. And here: your results.”
He looked at it, shocked anew. “Where did you get this? How?”
She gave him a withering look. “How do you think? All the late-night ‘meetings’ you’ve had me attend this year?” The sarcasm was pungent in her voice. “It wasn’t exactly difficult to bring them the samples they needed.”
“You can’t prove that was mine!” he said. “It’s your word against mine!”
She nodded. “That’s true. And so here,” and a third item: a USB key. “Videos of you having sex with me. Many videos, in fact, all taken from the wireless cameras I set up in here months ago.” He looked wildly around the room, failed to spot any lenses, vowed to do a thorough search later that night. “In addition to those there are several where, after you’ve gone home and left me in the office to clean up the mess I scoop you out of me, let it drip into a jar, seal and label it. Several more videos of me delivering those jars to a testing clinic I know.”
He went pale as the implications began to set in. “It would never stand up in court.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn’t have to, though, does it?” she told him. “It only has to stand up at the next board meeting. Tell me…how will the board react, do you think, to a CEO who not only has sex with his own *daughter*, but *impregnates* her as well?”
He didn’t have to think, he *knew*. “But…but how was I to *know* who you were? You never told me!”
Fourth item, and last: the personnel file he had tossed in the trash all those months ago, the one he never looked at. “Oh, I did,” she said. From inside, she brought out the familial disclosure agreement, the one all employees signed to recognize any family ties they had to any other employee within the company acknowledging her relationship with the CEO as her father, signed by her and an HR representative. “As far as the company is concerned…you knew. And knowing it, you went ahead and did it regardless. And that’s what I’ll be sure and report if asked: ‘Oh, yes, he *knew*, and knowing it just turned him on all the more.'”
He was trapped, and smart enough to know when to give in. “What do you want, then?” he asked her. “What do you want to make this go away?”
“First, full custody as I said, no contact. Ever. A hostage, you might say, against any accidents that may one day come our way. Second, full support for us for the next twenty years.” He nodded. He’d already agreed to that in essence before the bomb landed on him.
“Is that all?” he asked, thinking *All that work for so little.* She really wasn’t as intelligent as he’d given her credit for.
She shook her head, *no*. “I also want a cash transfer of ten billion *won* to a middle-aged woman living in a tiny two-room flat in Guri-si, with a suggestion that she use the money to open a little shop, and a sincere wish for her every success. And maybe to use the rest to enjoy life as she hadn’t been able to until now.”
He gaped at her. “Ten billion won? That will ruin me! That’s all the cash I have!”
She shrugged. “That’s unfortunate to hear.” She picked up the USB stick and ran it slowly between her legs, then handed the slimy piece of plastic to him. Flinching, he dropped it. “But what will ruin you worse? Losing the money…or how the board, the media, the *public* will crucify you when they discover you having an affair with your own daughter? Your own blood? *In your own office,* with your own employees just outside the room?”
At the returning thought, the strength went out of his legs and he dropped into his chair, “Damn you,” he whispered. He would check her documents for himself, but he had no doubt they were just as she described. He had no choice. The money would be sent. “Give me the address! And get dressed before someone comes in, sees you like that. Then get out!”
She walked over to stand in front of him. “What’s wrong…papa?” she smiled at him, running her finger along her slit then tapping him on the nose. “You don’t want to help me finish before I leave?”
“No! Get *out!*”
She shook her head: **tsk**. “What a selfish lover you are today.” Smiling to herself, she dressed, donned her jacket. Took a final piece of paper from the pocket, placed it on his desk. “I’ll expect to see that transfer tonight, to this address.” She didn’t have to say *or else*; they both knew it.
“You’ll get it,” he whispered. Nodding, she belted her coat, and left the room.

He watched her as she walked down towards the elevators. One thing he could do in all of this…that HR Director was *so* fired.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/szuzfy/a_daughters_revenge_mfinc