Forced Incest Story

Forced Incest Story
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The confused child wrote disturbing journal entries detailing the escalating relationship between Steven Pladl and his long-lost biological daughter Katie after the pair reconnected via social media
THE confused diary entries of an 11-year-old girl helped expose the incestuous relationship between her father and her long-lost sister in a scandal that has shocked America.
Steven Pladl of Wake County, North Carolina left his wife to start a relationship with Katie Fusco, going as far as fathering a child with her.
The sordid affair between father and daughter began after Katie decided to track down her biological parents after they gave her up for adoption in 1998.
Katie, who had turned 18, reconnected with her biological parents via social media and went to live with them and their two other children near Richmond, Virginia in August 2016.
Just three months later, Steven and his unsuspecting wife Alyssa separated, and she moved out of the family home taking her two young children with her.
In May 2017, Alyssa received a call from her estranged husband saying their 11-year-old daughter had started to misbehave during visits to see him after he and Katie moved 150 miles away.
He handed his wife the girl’s diary and it was then that the sickening truth emerged .
According to the Daily Mail , the confused and disgusted child had written: “Katie is pregnant. Dad says they feel like couples. Did they get a little too drunk that night? My dad is a slut.
"He'll go to hell but he won't be the one getting tortured, he'll be the one torturing people."
The girl added: "Wait one second if he's Satan and Katie is a human then the baby will be half demon."
The diary also included drawings of her pregnant sister and dad, depicting them both as devils.
Alyssa now feels that he allowed her to read their daughter’s diary as he was too much of a coward to openly tell her the truth.
As expected, the disgusting details in her daughter’s diary left the 37-year-old horrified.
She said: "I lost it. I started screaming. I felt like I was going to throw up.”
After confronting her husband, Alyssa discovered the pair planned to marry and that Steven had instructed his other children to call Katie their “step-mum”.
She told cops her husband would sleep on the floor of Katie’s room in the months before she moved out.
The authorities were alerted and arrest warrants were issued for the pair.
They were tracked down last month and charged with incest with adult, adultery, contributing to delinquency.
A baby boy, understood to be a four-month-old fathered by Steven, was found at their home.
Steven and Katie were held at the Wake County Detention Center pending extradition to Virginia.
Court records show Steven was released on a $1 million bond while Katie, issued with the same bond, remains in jail.
Alyssa lays the blame solely on her 42-year-old ex-husband, insisting he brainwashed and seduced Katie after she moved into their marital home in Henrico.
She said: “There are no words to describe the sense of betrayal and disgust I'm feeling.
“I waited 18 long years to have a relationship with my daughter - and now he's completely destroyed it.”
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Rape victim stories can be very difficult to read, frightening and emotionally draining for some but stories of rape show other victims that they are not alone in their struggles. Rape stories detail the many abuses that some people suffer and yet survive and go on to succeed in recovering and regaining control of their lives. Rape victim stories can help others to realize that there are other survivors that have been through exactly what they have and come out the other side a whole person.
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APA Reference Tracy, N.
(2021, December 17). Rape Victim Stories: Real Stories of Being Raped, HealthyPlace. Retrieved
on 2022, July 7 from https://www.healthyplace.com/abuse/rape/rape-victim-stories-real-stories-of-being-raped

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All my preparations and quivering anticipation was to have ended in bliss, the kind only my father could give me… I was my father’s lover and he was mine. Everything was perfect.
I didn’t cry. It was painful what he did, but I didn’t cry. He said it was ok.
I didn’t cry the second time either. I liked it. He was gentler. He told me it was our secret, our special thing, and no one should know about it.
I went to him the third time it happened, it was raining and the thunders scared me. We did it again, I enjoyed it. We began to do it more often, and each time I enjoyed it more.
I was twelve that first time, and a happy child, happier than any other child I knew. I doubt if any other child had so much love. I was my father’s lover and he was mine. Everything was perfect.
And then, on my twentieth birthday, the unthinkable happened.
My father broke up with me. Just like that. He said it wasn’t right, what we do, and that we must stop. End of matter. It felt like a full stop at the end of an epitaph. It was too sudden.
I had no warning, no premonition. The break up was like death. I had taken the week off from school just to be with the only man in my life, the best man I ever knew, or so I thought. I thought my birthday would have ended sensually, like all the others. It was usually the best birthday present he gives me, a passionate night of love making right out of a romance novel.
It had been a while. My higher education had taken me away. And I sorely missed my beloved father. I went home that day with thoughts of my father obscuring all other thoughts. I arrived late in the evening. He wasn’t home yet. I made myself as adorable as he liked. It was not hard. My allure had never needed much artificial furnishings; a touch here and a touch there, and I would be set to win any beauty contest. That evening I was at my best.
All my preparations and quivering anticipation was to have ended in bliss, the kind only my father could give me.
Instead, I got the shock of my life. That terrible day, I knew exactly how the deer must feel when the hunter’s bullet crashes through its heart. I learnt how it must feel to be shot out of the sky.
I had hoped he didn’t mean it, that this was just another punishment, but the way he said it convinced me it was final. I knew my father; I knew the look on his face. It was the same look he had when he shot Dragon our Alsatian. This was not like before when he would refuse to touch me because I misbehaved. My father had never hit me or scolded me; his punishments were usually more severe and silent. He would simply refuse to touch me for days on end. Such days were hell for me. I could barely survive without him. When he was pleased with me, he really would take his time and give me much pleasure that I never knew was possible.
I was a very well behaved child; I had all the proper manners for a proper lady. Thanks to my father.
But this was no punishment. This was a cessation. This was my death. I tried to make him see reason, to convince him that we were to be forever. I told him of our joys, our laughs and how love couldn’t be any better. I begged him not to kill his beloved and only child.
It is true what they say. Men are beasts; unfeeling beasts.
How could he end something so wonderful, something so perfect? He said he still loved me, but I didn’t believe him, I couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t even look me in the eye when he said it. There must have been a reason, but I didn’t care for whatever it was. I knew it wasn’t about right or wrong, there is no love that can be wrong, especially the kind we had. It was beautiful; we were one, my father and I. Our love transcended that of a father and his daughter. It was the stuff of heaven. No, His reason wasn’t religious, not at all, my father wasn’t that sentimental. I was his sole religion, he worshiped me.
There was no one else either, I knew that much. My mother died while birthing me. Ever since, I had been my father’s heartbeat. And he was my breath. I never missed my mother. I never knew her, never would meet her. I would, perhaps, have liked to know her, but somehow I thank God she wasn’t with us. It would have been awkward. I don’t think I could have shared my father with any one.
My father gave no reason for killing me. He couldn’t explain why we could no longer have what we had. There was nothing I didn’t think, there was no thought I didn’t wish to explain his decision by. Something, perhaps, must have happened to his hormones. I couldn’t believe this was my perfect father. I couldn’t believe my day could ever become so dark.
He only said he was doing it for me, that it was for the best, my best. How could I have ever believed the man loved me? He even looked sad that day, so sorrowful and tired. In better times and in our previous world, I would have taken him in my arms as I was wont, and work my magic on him. Over the years I had learnt his special recipe. I was the only one who knew his mix. I had never asked him, but I sensed that even my mother didn’t take him to the heights I took him.
But his words belied the sorrow on his features. He had said the break up words so casually, as if he had thought it through and found it a simple matter. There should be a special kind of voice and words for pronouncements of that nature, something equal and suitably terrible. The normalcy and casualness of his words were a negation. It was like mockery. I didn’t know I could ever stop being what I was to him; I had never thought our relationship would end. But end it did, and in so shocking a manner. Good things shouldn’t end that abruptly. Relationships don’t die at once. Death is not a casual occurrence.
The most painful part of it was that I didn’t die. I felt like dying. I wanted to die. But I didn’t know how to go about it. I should have killed him too; I should have hurt him too. He looked like he was hurting, but I should have made sure. It is too painful to feel the pain of death and yet be alive. There is no pain worse than the pain of death.
And then, the man wanted us to be Father and Daughter, just father and daughter. I couldn’t understand why he would want to reduce our love to something merely biological and normal. Why on earth couldn’t he see that I could never be happy as just his daughter, and that I could never be remotely happy with any other arrangement? We were happy, I made him happy. Why do some people reject their own happiness?
For a long time I had believed my father loved me. On my twentiethbirthday, I knew the truth. That day was my awakening to the heartlessness of men, and the absurdity of love. That day, I grew up, I grew old and I died.
It was the last day I spoke or saw my father. He killed me, so I made sure I remained dead to him. I became a living dead, dead inside and alive only in looks.
As I left him that evening, I looked back a lot of times. He didn’t recant, he didn’t rethink. He watched me leave. The tears were streaming
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