บท 1305: MAD MONDAY
I woke up to find my teenage daughter perched on the edge of my bed, an unusual look on her face.
"Andrew," she said solemnly, "we have to talk."
I tried to simultaneously yawn and shoot her a stern glance - not an easy move at the best of times, but particularly difficult when you're just waking up.
"Belle, you shouldn't call me that."
For the last few years, my daughter's behavior has been spiraling, and so I tried to sound as authoritative as I could.
"Andrew," she said again, "it's me...
"It's Mary."
I froze. What game was Belle playing at?
"Belle, it's too early for this. Go and get ready for school."
"Andrew, I'm serious. It's me - your wife, Mary."
I mentally scanned through all of the children behavioral books I'd been reading lately...there had definitely been no mention of what to do when your rebellious teenage daughter pretends to be your wife, and so I wasn't really sure how to proceed.
"Belle, I don't know what you're playing at, but we don't have time for this. Go and see if your brother's awake."
"Ben's awake, honey. I checked on him before I came in here. And it turns out he listens to what his sister says far more than his mother, which I suppose shouldn't surprise me."
I paused, lost for words. Obviously my daughter was lying to me, but at the same time...there was something odd about the cadence of her speech. She really did sound like my wife.
"Now look, I understand that you have no reason to believe me, but it really is me. Ask me any question that I'd know and our daughter wouldn't."
Should I play along with Belle's strange game? Obviously what she was saying was impossible, but...I couldn't resist.
"Okay," I said slowly. "What...what color were the roses at our wedding?"
"Red," Belle answered immediately, rolling her eyes. "Honey, I love you, but you're really not very good at this. First of all, there's photos of them all over the house, and secondly...they were red roses. Belle wouldn't have to be Sherlock to get that one. Ask something truly personal. Ask something about our sex life."
"Belle! I am not talking to you about...about that. Now go back...-"
"I'm not Belle," my daughter repeated, her voice getting slightly higher in her frustration. "Oh dear, I really should have thought this through a little better. Okay, let me...your first kiss was with a girl named Kirsty, our first date was to see Strange Days, which neither of us liked but pretended to because we were nervous, we didn't have sex until our fourth date, but I went down on you on date number two."
"Belle! I don't know what you and your mother have been...-"
"Really? Okay, stuff that you know I would never tell our daughter...I own two bullet vibrators, and you like using them on me after we've had sex. You like the way a little bit of your cum squirts out of me every time I twitch. I love it when you scratch my back, and sometimes I'll go out and buy the cheapest underwear I can find, because we both love it when you tear it off me."
My mouth fell open as I stared at my daughter.
"...Mary?"
"Yes! Yes, honey, it's me. Fifteen years ago I lost our daughter in a mall, ten years ago you accidentally stole a thousand dollars from work and then lied about it because you were afraid people would think it was deliberate, and we're both worried sick that our daughter's misbehavior is our fault. Do you need anything else?"
"Oh my god, Mary. How...how did you..."
"It's a woman thing, honey. You wouldn't understand. Nothing else was working, and so I thought it was time for drastic measures. That's why I slept in the study last night - I didn't want Belle waking up in my body and waking you up when she freaked out."
"So...so..."
"Yes, our daughter is in my body and I'm in hers. I think that this will really teach her a bit more about responsibility, and help her understand things from our perspective. It's only going to be for two weeks...-"
"Two weeks!?"
"Yes, two weeks. I'm sure that we'll be able to get through whatever she does in my body in that time - she might be going through a rough patch right now, but she really does love us, I'm sure. She won't do anything to permanently destroy my life...our life...and when we switch back, she'll be all the better for it."
"So does...does she know..."
"That I'm in her body? No, and I want to keep it that way. Whenever she's around, I have to act exactly like her - I've been studying up over the last month."
With that, my daughter...well, my wife in my daughter's body, at least...slouched, and shot me a glare.
"Sup?" she snarled, and I couldn't hold back a huge grin.
"Perfect."
My wife's smile appeared on my daughter's face - a strange sight to behold.
"Isn't it just? I'm no actor, but I'm very pleased with my efforts so far. Anyway, I just came in here to let you know - you have to act normal around her. Around me. Around our daughter in my old body. Do you understand me?"
I nodded.
"Good. Now, she finishes school an hour or so before I finish work...except, of course, the other way around now. That will give us time to check in every day. Until then, it's vitally important that you act as if nothing is odd. Talk to her like you do me - tell her how worried you are about Belle, how much we love her, and how we wish there was something that could be done.
"She's probably going to suggest that we could never understand, that we don't listen, all that jazz. Nod along, pretend that she's presenting really good points, ask her advice - anything to make her think that you don't know. Meanwhile, I'm going to continue being the terror that our daughter has always been. Any questions?"
I shook my head.
"Crystal clear."
"Excellent. Like I said, we'll check in every day. And, uh..."
My daughter's brow crinkled slightly.
"Don't, um..."
"What?"
"Don't kiss her goodnight."
"Oh!"
I paused, my eyes widening slightly.
"I hadn't even thought of that."
"No, until this moment, me neither. In fact, maybe you should suggest that she keeps sleeping in the study. Make up any excuse - I'm sure she'll be so happy to grasp it, she won't even question it. It'll just..."
"Yes, yes."
"Excellent."
My daughter's lips spread so wide, they almost touched her ears.
"Honey, I really think this is going to work."
"I sure hope so," I muttered, but my wife's smile was contagious, and soon I was beaming back at her.
"I sure hope so," I repeated, much more confidently this time.
###
"Hi Dad...ling. Darling. Hi darling."
I don't think my daughter was aware that I knew exactly how she saw me, and so it was fairly easy to play the part of a dopey Dad. I frowned at my iPad as I continued to pretend to read the daily news, and waited for her to try again.
"Good morning darling!"
"Oh, hello honey," I said, looking up and overplaying my absent-mindedness. Yes, I can be a little absent-minded at times, and yes, I know it drives my daughter crazy.
For once, it was something I could use to my advantage. It'd give me a chance to let Belle grow comfortable with her role as her own mother; I could pretend not to notice anything unusual about her behavior.
"Oh, honey," I said without looking up. "That leak still isn't fixed - you might have to sleep in the study for a few more nights. Is that going to be a problem?"
"No!"
I couldn't resist - I looked up at her excited response, peering over my glasses with an amused smile on my face.
"Oh?"
"I mean, uh...I'm going to miss you, sweetums."
"You too, pork chop."
I pretended not to notice the look of disgust on my daughter's face as I turned back to the newspaper app. 'Pork chop' may have been pushing it...but in all fairness, Mary and I had never, ever called each other "sweetums".
###
That afternoon, I was neck-deep in work when Belle came home. Belle's body, anyway.
"Hi honey!"
"Hey sweetums," I replied, and laughed as my wife rolled my daughter's eyes.
"Do you think Ben noticed anything wrong?"
"I'd be surprised. He leaves for camp tonight, and I literally don't think he cares about anything else right now."
"Awesome."
I cocked an eyebrow at that, and my daughter stuck her tongue out at me.
"Trying to get the hang of the parlance."
"Tip number one - I don't think teens these days say 'parlance'. How was school?"
"Ugh."
I couldn't help but laugh. I think that was my wife's genuine reaction, but it so perfectly mirrored my daughter's natural response to the question, I momentarily forgot the strange situation we'd gotten ourselves into.
For the next half-hour we chatted about Belle's social circles, her grades, her status at school. I wasn't able to offer much in the way of useful plans, but I've always been a good listener, and I could tell my wife felt much better once she'd vented about the problems in our daughter's life, and started constructing the first steps of a plan.
"Of course, none of it will work if Belle can't use what I've made for her and take advantage of her improved circumstances."
"Of course."
"Anyway, I have...well, I have something strange to tell you."
"Stranger than what we're doing now?"
My wife laughed - again, it was so strange, hearing those familiar peals of laughter coming out of my daughter's mouth. They were younger, higher-pitched. You don't really think of someone's laughter changing over the years, but it reminded me of how she'd laughed when we'd first met.
"I guess not. Did you know that our daughter has a boyfriend?"
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I sat straight in my seat.
"Oh?"
Even I could hear the hint of danger in my voice.
"Yes, and I think he might be part of the reason we've seen such drastic changes in our daughter lately."
"What's his name?"
"Spike."
I snorted.
"I know. But I think he might be trouble."
"So break up with him."
"Right. Yes. Obviously."
Belle's eyes looked away, refusing to meet my gaze.
"What? What is it?"
She bit her lip.
"Spit it out, honey."
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"I'm talking to my 40-year old wife who's currently in my eighteen-year old daughter's body. I think things are as uncomfortable as they're going to get."
"Well...you promise this won't get weird?"
"I promise it can't grow much weirder."
"Okay."
My daughter took a deep breath, and looked me in the eyes.
"I wasn't expecting the hormones."
I paused I processed what she was saying.
"What?"
"I mean...it's been so long, honey. Do you remember what it was like being a teenager?"
My eyes widened.
"Oh!"
"Yeah."
We sat there in an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds. Clearly, I'd been wrong - there was room for things to get much, much weirder.
Despite it being more than twenty years ago, I distinctly remembered my teenage years. I must have spent more time masturbating than eating, and I had been a big eater.
"Spike is...well, he's hot."
"Honey, he's a teenager!"
"I know! Do you think I don't know that? But I'm in...here."
My wife gestured to our daughter's body.
"And as long as I'm in here, I can't look at him without wondering what he looks like naked. I have spent more time today imagining teenage cocks than I ever have - I didn't even think about that kind of stuff when I was a teenager!"
I'd been my wife's first - Mary was raised in a religious household, and she'd once told me that she hadn't started masturbating until we'd been married for four years.
She'd assured me that was a compliment.
"So..."
My daughter sighed, as if the weight of the world was on her teenage shoulders. It would have been funny, if I wasn't aware of the context.
"I'll break up with Spike. Of course I'll break up with Spike; it's the obviously correct thing to do. I just..."
Again, that comically out-of-place sigh.
"I just hadn't realized that Belle's hormones were so...powerful."
I nodded. We'd gone right past uncomfortable, and I had nothing useful to offer.
We sat there in silence for a few more seconds, until I noticed the pink on Belle's face.
"Honey?"
"Hmm?"
"You're blushing."
"Oh! Oh, I was just thinking..."
I gulped. By the way that my daughter's eyes were again darting around the room, I wasn't sure if I wanted to know what was about to follow.
"God, please don't be weird about this."
"I'll try not to," I said gently.
"I just...I'm going to go and grab those two bullets from my dressing-table, okay?"
My eyes widened, and I nodded slowly, trying desperately not to think about what that meant.
###
For the rest of the night, I continued to act as if everything was normal. I was trying desperately not to think about what Mary had told me about Belle's...hormones...but it was a difficult concept to get out of my head.
Eventually, instead of trying to block it out entirely, I started trying to think about the positives. Now that our daughter was in her mother's body, perhaps that would help her calm down - my wife and I have a healthy sex-life, but she has her hormones well and truly under control. Hopefully that would help Belle establish a bit more control over herself.
Belle had clearly tried to imitate her mother's makeup that morning, but she'd gone a bit overboard. A part of me wondered if anyone at her office had noticed - Mary works in customer relations, so (without being disrespectful to my wife's work) I was sure that Belle could bluff her way through her mother's job for a few weeks; it didn't require any particular technical knowledge, and our daughter has a good head on her shoulders.
And a body filled with hormones, it turned out.
After "the kids" had gone to bed, Belle and I chatted for a while - she asked a lot of questions about her own job, and I answered them as if nothing was odd about her asking if I knew where she kept her phone codes. I didn't bring up our daughter's truancy or rebellion problems: we had two weeks, and I wanted to be subtle.
We went to our separate rooms, and after an hour of laying awake and staring at the ceiling, I eventually drifted into a dreamless sleep.
###
I was awoken the next morning by my PJ-clad daughter, laying beneath the covers with me, smiling.
"Good morning, honey."
"Belle! I mean...Mary! What're you doing? You know I sleep naked."
"It didn't seem to bother you yesterday."
"Yes, but you were...out there. You weren't...in here, with me."
"Oh come on, Andrew. It's not like it isn't anything I haven't seen before."
"Yes," I hissed, "but that's...not...not while you've been..."
"Fine," she said with a roll of her eyes. "I just..."
She trailed off, and that slight blush returned.
"What?"
"Jesus, I have no idea how teenagers do it. I feel like my every thought is spelled out on my forehead."
"For the love of god, Mary, what do you want? What if someone comes in?"
That young laugh again, familiar but different.
"I can assure you, there's no chance our teenage daughter is going to come in and risk seeing her father's phallus. And your Dad picked up Ben last night."
"So what do you want?"
"I just..."
Again, she trailed off. In a much softer tone, I prompted her again.
"What?"
"I just wanted a cuddle."
The realization that my wife was lonely made my heart melt, and I reached out.
"Come here, honey."
For the next fifteen minutes we cuddled and chatted, her head on my chest, my arms wrapped lovingly around her. I shut my eyes, tried to ignore the pitch of her voice, and tried to pretend this was just a normal morning conversation with my wife.
###
That afternoon, I was woken up from a mid-afternoon nap by Belle storming through the door.
"What?" I spluttered, sitting up. "What is it?"
My daughter's face was streaked with tears, her cheeks were red, and her eyes were puffy. Forgetting for a moment the unusual situation we'd found ourselves in, I held out my arms.
"Come here, Belle-drop."
She threw herself into my arms and sobbed for a few minutes. I held her comfortingly and my brain continued to wake up, reminding me that I was being used as a tissue by my wife, not my daughter.
"What happened, honey?" I asked softly.
"I did it," came the muffled reply. "I broke up with Spike."
"Oh..."
For a moment, a flicker of worry flew through my brain. I dismissed it instantly, of course - a teenager was no threat to my strong, healthy, 20-year marriage.
"So...why are you crying?"
"He was so mean," my wife bawled into my arms. "He laughed when I tried to break up with him, and then said that he'd been fucking another slut cos I wouldn't put out."
I took a moment. That was a lot of information to process at once.
"Our daughter's a virgin."
"I suppose," Mary sniffled. "I'm impressed, to be honest. I've never felt so turned on - even after I got myself off four times last ni...-"
"La la la la!"
"What?"
"Honey, I really don't want to hear about that kind of thing."
"Oh come on," she said, pulling away and looking up at me balefully. "You've never minded hearing about it before."
"Yes, when it was you in your body. I don't want to hear about my daughter...doing..."
I made a face and trailed off. A half-smile appeared on Belle's face.
"So you would be okay hearing about what our daughter is doing in my body."
My eyes widened, and I answered without hesitation.
"Nope."
My wife giggled, something that I don't remember her doing for almost half a decade. I smiled down at her.
"You feeling better?"
"Yeah," she said softly, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "Thanks."
"Anything you need, honey. This is a weird situation, and we're going to get through it together."
"Thanks," she smiled back. "I can't believe our daughter was dating such a jerk. More than that, I can't believe how much his words got to me. I feel so fragile - I'm gonna go have a little nap, okay?"
I didn't say anything as she left. She wasn't wrong, when she'd described her face as an open book.
My wife wasn't going upstairs for a nap. She was going upstairs to...
I sighed, went back to my office, and tried very hard to think about something else. Anything else.
The next day, as soon as my wife finished school in my daughter's body, she bounded into my office where I was finishing up some contracts.
"Hey honey," I said without looking up. She hadn't come into my room that morning, and I hadn't seen her at breakfast. For a moment, I'd even forgotten about the swap that my wife had orchestrated and wondered if Belle had returned to her old ways.
There was no response, and I turned to see Belle standing there, her hands twisting together nervously, my wife's eyes peering out at me from my daughter's face.
"What's up?" I asked warily.
"I..."
She stopped abruptly, and threw herself face-down onto the couch. From between the cushions, I heard a muffled "Oh, god..."
"What is it? Honey, what's wrong?"
I sat down on the couch next to my daughter's prone body, and put one arm on her shoulder. She shrugged it off; a move totally foreign to my wife, but one very familiar from my daughter.
Had it worn off? Had they swapped back, twelve days early?
What was happening?
"Honey? ...Belle?"
"No," the muffled voice replied. "It's still Mary."
"What the hell's happened?"
She rolled over, and looked up at me with big, sad eyes.
"Andrew, this is so much harder than I thought it would be."
My mind started racing with potential problems and their solutions. If she was struggling with school, we could take her out for a few weeks. If she missed her friends, we could...they were trustworthy, surely? Maybe we could explain to a few of them what had happened.
I mentally ran through a dozen different possibilities before my wife continued.
"I...oh god, this is so embarrassing!"
She flipped back over, and buried her head in the cushions once more.
"Honey, I promise - whatever it is, I'm not going to judge you."
"Yes you are!" came the muted reply.
"Stick a needle in my eye, I'm not."
My wife rolled over again, revealing a solemn look on her blushing face.
"Honey, this is the strangest thing I'm ever, ever going to ask you, and I want you to promise that you're not going to hate me for it."
"Of course," I urged. "What's wrong??"
"I..."
Another sigh, and for a second I thought I'd lost her, and she was just going to hide her face in the couch again. Her blush deepened, and her response was so quiet I couldn't make out the words.
"What?"
"I..."
There it was again, that whispered response.
"Honey, if I don't know what's happening, I can't help."
"...I want to make out."
I felt like I'd just been slapped. I stood up in shock, and at the strength of my reaction, a tear appeared in my daughter's eye and began rolling down her face.
My mouth was suddenly dry, and it felt like it took a few minutes before I could gather up enough saliva to reply.
"W...what?"
"Oh god, I told you that you'd hate me."
"Honey, I don't hate you. I just...I just don't understand."
"It's the hormones, Andrew, it's these damned hormones! I couldn't tell you the full of it because I didn't want to admit it myself, I didn't want to weird you out. There's no way you can understand - it's like there's a thousand ants running around my body at all times."
"I mean, I was a teenager...-"
"No," she interrupted in a whine. "You don't understand. When you're a teenager it's all abstract, it's all just ideas. I know. I know what it's like to be fucked so hard that you lose count of your orgasms, I know what it's like to cum around the cock of the man you love."
I blinked twice, taken aback by the crude words coming out of my teenage daughter's mouth.
"I know what it's like to be truly sexually satisfied...and I know what it's like to be touched. Oh god, Andrew, please...I just want to be touched."
"Honey," I stammered. "I can't. I...you know I can't. I just can't."
She sighed, and threw her head back.
"I know! I know it's weird! God, don't you think I know it's weird? But I spent all day today surrounded by teenagers, knowing that every one of them was going through the same thing as me. All of them are craving to be touched, are just desperately wanting to feel a pair of hands on their skin, to feel wanted..."
My wife sat up abruptly, and gestured to our daughter's body.
"And I know we've never talked about it, but none of this would be a problem if Belle wasn't hot. Honey, our daughter is gorgeous. It just makes it worse - with a word, with a gesture, I could convince any one of those greasy, sweaty teens to take me into the supply closet. I could have their hands on my body, I could have my hands on their cock..."
She slumped back again, and I realized my mouth had gone dry once more.
"I love you," she said quietly, staring up at the ceiling. "You're the only man I've ever loved, and I never want to be with anyone else. I never, never, never want to cheat on you. But it's cruel, telling me I can't have you and then surrounding me with sick temptations. If I have to spend another day around all those boys, around all those cocks..."
Her eyes glazed over slightly at that last word, before she swallowed and continued.
"...then I genuinely don't know if I can resist."
Mary sighed, swung her legs around to the side of the couch, and looked me dead in the eye.
"I know how weird this is for you. I know how weird this is for both of us. But if you don't kiss me, if you don't touch me...I'm going to go mad. Please. Shut your eyes and pretend I'm me, but just...I need to make out.
"I need to feel wanted.
"Please?"
Mad Monday
by Pan
Chapter 5
I stared at my wife for what seemed like an eternity.
Intellectually, I knew she was my wife.
But it felt a lot like I was staring at my daughter.
My daughter, who had just asked me to make out with her.
No. No. It was Mary asking to make out, not Belle.
Mary and I had a healthy, active sex-life. Between her bullet vibrators and our shared passion for the other's body, we'd never been left wanting.
Once or twice, just to mix things up, we'd even engaged in some role-play. For our fifteenth wedding anniversary, I'd 'picked her up' from a hotel bar. Neither of us had been able to refrain from smiling as we clumsily exchanged fake names, but we'd otherwise gotten into our characters.
Maybe I could treat this like that.
Yes, that was the ticket. If I thought of this not as...my daughter. If I instead treated this like a costume my wife was wearing, a game we were playing.
I took a deep breath.
...
I couldn't do it.
I loved my wife. I loved my daughter. But I had never, ever thought of my daughter in a sexual light. Yes, I'd known that her body was blooming, that she was growing up. Objectively, I was even aware that she was stunning.
But I'd never considered her a sexual creature, on any level.
I couldn't start now.
"Honey, I can't."
"I need it," my wife urged, speaking through our daughter's teenage lips. Her voice was dripping with lust; I could practically feel the heat radiating off her.
It was a tone I was extremely familiar with, but not coming from Belle's innocent face.
"Honey..."
"Please," she pleaded, and when I hesitated, leaned forward and planted her lips on mine.
My eyes widened with shock, and I froze.
For the next half-minute, I experienced something I hadn't expected (or wanted) to experience - the taste of my daughter's soft lips on mine, her hands on my chest, and the vibrations of her chest as she silently groaned with need.
I didn't react. I couldn't. Like a mouse staring down a snake, I was unable to move.
Finally, in response to my total lack of response, she pulled away.
"Andrew, darling...-"
"Mary," I interrupted. "This isn't fair."
As I saw Belle's eyes darken, I knew immediately that I'd said the wrong thing.
"Fair?" she hissed, another tone I was altogether too familiar with. "Fair? Honey, let me tell you about fair."
Oh dear.
"This morning, I woke up from a dream that I was being taken by the entire football team. I climaxed four times before bed to try to avoid sex dreams. It didn't work!"
I wanted desperately to cover my ears, but I had an inkling that wouldn't be well-received. My wife needed me; the least I could do was listen.
"I woke up dripping; all I wanted was to roll over to my loving husband and ride him to an early morning orgasm. But I couldn't."
"I know..." I said soothingly, but Mary was having none of that. She continued, in a zealous tone that I'd never before heard coming from my daughter's mouth.
"Do you know why I couldn't? Because I'm doing this for our daughter. For us. For our family."
"And I appreciate it..." I said softly, but Mary continued without pause.
"Instead, I got off twice. Twice! And then I got dressed and went to school. School! School, Andrew!"
I nodded.
"I'm forty years old, and I'm in high school. And oh my word...you don't remember, Andrew, you really don't. You think you do, but you have no idea. They treat the children like animals, herding them from room to room, needing to ask permission to go the bathroom. And the teachers...the teachers! They drone on and on and on about dates, molecules, conjugation. And no one cares, Andrew. The students don't care, the teachers don't care. Why do we make them sit through this for thirteen years?"
"I think...-"
My wife interrupted me before I could respond, sparks flying from her eyes.
"Rhetorical, Andrew! Rhetorical. I don't know any of our daughter's friends, and from what I've seen of them, I don't care to. So I sit in classes, trying desperately to pay attention to concepts I learned thirty years ago, with no one to talk to, with nothing to occupy me. Yes yes, it teaches patience, it builds character - I already have patience! I already have character!"
"You do," I said, and the teenage girl in front of me took a deep breath.
"So do you know what I do all day?"
"Tell me," I said. "Tell me what you do all day."
"I think about you. I think about you, Andrew."
My smile was genuine.
"Honey, that's so...-"
She held up one hand.
"I think about you pounding into me. I imagine you bending me over and railing me. Taking me up against the classroom wall, on the teacher's desk. I imagine this..."
My daughter's hand squeezed my cock, making me jump.
"...in here...
I deliberately avoided looking down to see where my daughter's other hand was.
"And it makes me happy. It gets me through the day."
I didn't know what to say.
"Because if I didn't, Andrew, if I didn't spend my day remembering all the times you've made me cum my brains out, I would go crazy. I would go crazy, and I would follow my instincts. And I know from watching our daughter for the last few years - these instincts are not to be trusted. Do you know what my instincts are telling me?"
I did, but was very interested in not following that train of thought.
"My instincts are telling me to get out of there, to find Spike, and to show him that he didn't need any other fucking sluts."
"Language!"
"He wouldn't need any other fucking sluts, my dear, because I would be able to show him what twenty years of experience has taught me about pleasing a man. I would choke on his cock, I would have him cum in my ass, I would wrap my body around him so tight...-"
"Sweetie," I interrupted, trying desperately to change the subject. "Please. You know I..."
One of my daughter's fingers made its way to my lip, and I fell silent.
"I know. Believe me, I know. But this isn't about you. It can't be. This is about me, and this is about our daughter. I'm lonely, she's horny, and this is the only way I can think of to avoid doing anything we'll both regret.
"So please. Do whatever you need to do. Shut your eyes, pretend I'm somebody else. Anything you need. Just...kiss me."
I nodded, and for the second time in my life, I felt my daughter's lips meet my own.
Mad Monday
by Pan
Chapter 6
It wasn't easy.
That was something I could hold onto, at least.
It was a genuine struggle to let myself relax into the kiss. As my daughter's arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer, as my wife pressed my daughter's body against mine, it was almost impossible not to shove her away, to scream at her, to remind her that what we were doing was wrong, wrong, wrong.
But her words had left an impact. She needed this.
When Mary had been pregnant, I'd done all that I could to pick up the slack. For months, I was solely and entirely in charge of housework, errands, shopping.
At the end of it, we'd gotten Belle and Ben, and it had been worth every moment of work.
Now, my wife needed me again.
Again, I would do whatever needed to be done.
And so I closed my eyes and - although it went against everything I believed in - returned my daughter's kiss.
Her lips were soft, softer than her mother's. Her tongue was delicate, strangely timid, as it ran its way across my lips. And her hands were needy - they ran across my back, occasionally grasping and releasing.
It was such a different experience to kissing my wife, I couldn't even pretend it was her.
The soft moans coming from her mouth were a higher pitched than my wife's, and so I used my imagination. I pretended that my wife had a younger sister, and the two of them had decided to share me. It was close enough to my wife that I wouldn't feel like I was cheating, but distant enough to justify the differences.
I pretended that I had her fictional sister - "Ellen", I mentally named her - in my arms, and I was able to bring myself to return the kiss.
But as fiercely as I tried to pretend, I couldn't shake the truth: the body pressing against mine, the saliva I was gingerly tasting, the hands grasping at my back...
They belonged to my teenage daughter.
After ten minutes, Belle's lips left mine, and she leaned back. Her eyes, so fiery just a few minutes ago, looked as though they were glazed over. Her hair was messy, her clothes were rumpled, and if I'd walked in on her like this a few days ago, I would have furiously started searching the room for a boy.
"Wow," she gasped. "Andrew. Andrew, that was..."
"Are you okay?"
"Mmmm," she said, and for the first time in my life, I wished that my wife's voice wasn't so expressive.
"Was that what you needed?"
"Yess," she moaned.
We sat in an awkward silence for several minutes, as I tried to erase the afternoon's events from my mind, and my wife slowly came back to earth. I watched her straighten up Belle's hair and clothing, and it wasn't long before it was impossible to tell that anything had happened.
"Thank you," she said, stepping into a hug. I'd held my daughter like this before, so many times - her head on my chest, my hand on her hair. It had always made me feel like I was able to protect her, like as long as I could bring her in for a father-daughter cuddle, nothing could ever go wrong. "I really, really needed that."
"I know," I said simply, and she smiled and skipped out of the room.
###
I was still quite shaken up when my daughter (in my wife's body) approached me later that night. She had some more questions about her job, but it was clear that I was distracted.
"What's wrong, honey-buns?" she said, and I pretended not to notice the flicker of disgust on her face as the term passed her lips.
My opportunity was here, and I seized it.
"It's Belle," I answered honestly, and - exactly as I expected - she took the bait. Who doesn't like talking about themselves, after all?
For the next few hours, we spoke about 'our daughter'.
It's hard to say, of course, but I feel like I did a pretty good job. Without being preachy or judgmental, I managed to convey my worries, the potential I saw in Belle. Without being too sappy, I told her how much I loved our baby girl, how I just wanted to be there for her - any way I could.
By the end of the conversation, I felt like I'd really made an impact. She'd started out guarded and defensive, but as she left for the couch in the spare room, I felt like she'd begun to actually understand that her mother and I weren't doing this to control her, or using her to attempt to correct our teenage mistakes; that we really cared.
In turn, she'd managed to voice some concerns I wasn't aware of. It was a tricky conversation to have through the layers of subterfuge that we had to navigate, but while playing the role of her own mother, Belle managed to expressed "her daughter"'s fears, her loneliness. Mary hadn't been imagining it; our daughter genuinely didn't have any friends she was close with.
No wonder this 'Spike' character had managed to get his claws into her. Alone, full of hormones, scared...she must have been easy prey.
What I'd done that afternoon had been wrong, I knew that, and I hadn't gotten any pleasure out of it.
But if it helped us get through to our daughter, it was absolutely worth it. I'd do anything for Belle. For Mary. For our family.
Anything."What in God's name has gotten into you??"
As soon as I saw the look of hurt on my daughter's face, I knew I shouldn't have shouted. It had just been totally unexpected.
When Belle's body had returned home from school that day, I'd been working at my desk. Without warning, she'd entered my office, straddled my lap, and pressed her mouth against mine.
In shock, I'd pushed her away. One minute, my mind had been buried in spreadsheets; the next, my daughter's tongue was halfway down my throat.
"I just...I just..."
Before I could say anything, before I could apologize, my daughter burst into tears.
Without a word, I put out my hands, and pulled the crying teenage girl onto my lap for a cuddle. As she sobbed onto my shoulder, I wondered what she'd expected my response to be. I knew my wife well enough to know that she wasn't trying to entrap me, but surely she didn't expect me to make out with her again, not while she was in our daughter's body.
After ten minutes of tears, the sobs subsided, and I spoke to her softly.
"Honey..."
"I'm sorry," she said meekly. I still wasn't used to it, the mix of my wife's inflection and my daughter's tone. "I just..."
"What?" I prompted gently. I regretted the delivery, of course, but my question still stood - what in God's name had gotten into her?
"I just...oh Andrew, it's so hard."
"I know," I soothed, and with a deep breath, my wife turned to me and continued, using my daughter's deep blue eyes to stare into mine.
"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I just...I spent all day thinking about what we did yesterday."
"I'm glad it helped," I said, bringing my hand to the side of my daughter's face. "But you know we can't do that again. That was just to help. That was a one time thing"
I don't think Belle's face could have looked more crushed had I slapped her.
"What?" she asked, crestfallen.
"Honey, I'm glad that I was able to help you, but...think about it. You know we can't. I can't."
"I need it," she said simply.
"Mary..."
"I do," she said. All emotion was gone from her voice now; I'd seen my wife like this before. Conflict with her parents, fights with other customers over Black Friday sales, disputes at work.
She only acted like this when she wanted something.
In twenty years of marriage, I'd never seen her fail to get what she wanted. But I wasn't backing down.
I couldn't.
"Mary, no. We can't!"
"Why not?" she said, a suspiciously innocent look in her eyes. I'd seen this before, too.
It was effective. Too effective.
But where she'd been distracted by the haze of teenage lust, I'd spent most of the previous night tossing and turning, fighting off nightmares about what we'd just done.
Without even knowing it was coming, I'd spent the night preparing for this battle.
"Firstly," I said calmly, "because if we get caught, I go to prison. Forever. No matter how careful we are, if anyone suspects a thing, that's it. Our family is destroyed forever."
"Okay..." she said, and I could all but see the gears turning in her head.
"Secondly, I can't. I know that you need it, I truly do. But I simply can't. Thirdly, we have spent fifteen years teaching our daughter that her body is her own, and that only she gets to choose what happens to it. We can't go back on that now, just because you..."
I paused, and chose my words carefully.
"Just because of your needs."
"Anything else?" she asked warningly, and I nodded.
"Lastly, because I love you. I love you, and the thought of kissing anyone but you is killing me. I know it's still you, but...honey, it's different.
"You know it's different."
Experiencing my wife's intense gaze through the eyes of my daughter was one of the strangest things about the experience so far. When she again asked me if I was done, I just nodded
For the next few minutes, I just squirmed under the strange mix of parental authority and teenage innocence that my wife was projecting. Finally, she spoke.
"I love you too, and that's why we need this."
"It's just ten more days," I interjected, and she shook her head.
"It's more than that," she said. "It's ten days and it's ten nights. I...I can't control myself, Andrew."
For a moment, the intense stare cracked, and my teenage daughter looked truly vulnerable.
"I'm scared. Today at school, I found myself staring at one of the basketball players. I didn't even know I was doing it. He saw me staring...no not just staring. Ogling. He saw me ogling him, and he asked me for my number."
"Mary, that's...-"
"And I gave it to him."
There was a pause.
"What?"
"I gave him my number, Andrew. Belle's number. I handed our daughter's number out to a strange boy at school, because he thought I was checking him out. No...because I was checking him out."
"Mary, that's..."
"I know. Believe me, there's nothing you can say that I haven't already thought of. I know what the problems with this are, and yes, we'll be getting our daughter a new number. But I can't control myself - I've already gone through two sets of vibrator batteries, and it isn't enough. If Spike calls and invites me around...I don't know if I'll be able to say no."
We sat in silence as I reflected on my wife's words.
"I know what a bad idea this is, truly I do. But if I don't get some release, I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm meant to be helping our daughter, not destroying her social life. Please, Andrew. I need this. We can be careful - we can be so careful. And I want to appreciate our daughter's bodily autonomy, but if it's not with you, it's going to be with somebody else, I know it is."
"Maybe you should..."
"Switch back? If you say no, I will. If you can't do this, I'll switch back. But this is working, darling, I know it is."
I thought back to the previous night, and was forced to agree.
"Ten more days," my wife continued. "Ten more days, and we'll have made a real difference. In the meantime..."
My wife sighed, and threw my daughter's hands up in the air.
"I need it. I love you, and I need you. What do you say?"
###
It was definitely easier the second time.
"Ellen", I moaned in my head. She was a blonde, I decided. I'd never been with a blonde. She was a blonde who yes, had some similarities to my daughter, but that made sense. My wife had similarities to my daughter, and that had never been off-putting before.
Although now, maybe it would be...
No. Focus, Andy. Focus on Ellen.
She was a small blonde who liked skiing, and practiced yoga. That would explain why she was so flexible. In her spare time, she brewed her own beer and...-
My eyes shot open.
"Mary!" I gasped. While we'd been making out, my mind heavily and deliberately on 'Ellen', my daughter's hand had made its way down to my crotch. Through my pants, she was now patting and grabbing at my erection.
"Please," she panted. "I need it...oh god, I need it."
"No..." I objected...but for a few moments, my hands remained where they were, resting lightly on my daughter's back.
When my wife wasn't swapping bodies with my daughter, we typically made love three or four times a week. It had been four days; not a particularly long dry spell, but long enough that...well, tension had begun to build up.
And my wife is very, very good with her hands.
No. Not her hands. My daughter's hands.
"Honey," I whispered, firmly grabbing her hand and moving it to my chest. "We can't."
"Sorry," she whispered, and soon her mouth was back on mine, my eyes were closed, and Mary's inexplicably-Portuguese sister was back on my mind, her tiny hands grabbing and kneading at my chest, her hips thrusting forward as she climbed on top of me.
My daughter's school had a uniform; again, something that I'd never thought twice about before. It was a fairly standard outfit - white, button-up shirts, pleated skirts, white socks, black shoes. She'd been wearing it for years, and until her misbehavior of late, it had never held any significance.
Part of her rebellion had been to hike up the skirt, and to choose bras which gave the blouse a much chestier tone.
We'd told her off for it, of course, but as our battles had grown more frequent, we'd had to pick and choose what we focused our energies on. Over time, the uniform had been a lower priority, and so now I barely even noticed how much leg she showed, or how much cleavage she managed to give an otherwise-sedate top.
As my wife used Belle's body to gyrate, however, I suddenly became aware what the shorter skirt gave such easy access to.
I didn't say anything as my wife continued to moan into my lips, rubbing our daughter's body against me, her panties grinding against my erection. Had she noticed what she was doing? I didn't want to embarrass her by drawing attention to it, but nor did I want our daughter's privates in such proximity to mine.
At least her hands were now behaving themselves.
For a quarter of the hour, I indulged my wife's needs, allowing her to grind on me, use my mouth as a release valve for the lust she'd been building up all day. I even used my hands to roam around our daughter's body...sticking to safe areas, of course. Her back, her stomach. Her legs, once, but that had felt too weird, and I'd had to stop.
And then, just as I was about to push her away, it happened.
My daughter's tongue pushed into my mouth, her hands tightened their grip, and her entire body began to shake. My mental image of the sensational, fictional 'Ellen' disappeared, and I opened my eyes in alarm.
A low, guttural moan emerged from my daughter's mouth, and she began to twitch. Once, twice, three times, so strongly that I was worried she would buck herself off the chair.
"Yesssss" she groaned, her head flying back and her crotch grinding into mine. "Yes yes yes yes yesssssss..."
It was an embarrassingly long time before I realized what I was witnessing: my daughter's orgasm.
"Oh god..." I muttered, feeling like I was going to throw up. My daughter had just cum, rubbing her body against mine.
No. No, not my daughter.
My wife. I tried desperately to remember that this was my wife, but it was hard.
I'd only been with a few women besides Mary, and - loathe to admit this as I am - I never witnessed any of them achieving orgasm. I suppose a part of me had just always assumed that Mary's orgasms were...standard. After all, porn and locker-room talk had told me that all men's orgasms look very similar; it made sense that it was the same for women.
The mixture of disgust and fascination was overwhelming, and for the next few minutes, I just felt numb. Mary lifted our daughter's body off of mine, kissed me gently on the lips, and thanked me.
As she left for her room, I shuddered. Was she going off to relive what we'd just done, what I'd just done?
God.
I needed a shower.
###
After I'd cooled down, Mary (in my daughter's body) entered our bedroom. Her red eyes told me that she'd either been crying or...
I chose to believe she'd been crying.
Maybe the reality of what we were doing had finally struck her. Maybe she'd come down from her orgasms, and realized that we couldn't go on this way, that she would just have to find the willpower...
The first words out of her mouth dashed my hopes.
"That was amazing," she said, her blue eyes smiling up at me. "It helped. It helped more than you can imagine. Thank you. Thank you so, so much."
"That's okay," I stammered. I mean, what else was I to say?
She threw her arms around me. I momentarily tensed up, but it seemed that she was genuinely just seeking a hug.
"That's okay," I repeated, relaxing my body and returning the cuddle.
As she left, she looked back at me, and with three simple words, filled my heart with dread:
"Same time tomorrow?"
###
The next day, I didn't fight it.
Even that made me feel bad - like I was encouraging my wife's deviant behavior.
But yesterday had made one thing clear: even when she was in my daughter's body, I was no match for my wife.
If she wanted make-outs, make-outs she would get.
No sooner was she home, a coy smile on her face, than she leapt into my lap and pressed her face against mine. Like yesterday, she gyrated against my crotch, her short skirt allowing easy access.
Unlike yesterday, it was clear that her actions were deliberate.
I desperately tried to force my mind to 'Ellen', but it was hard. I'd seen my own daughter's o-face; there was no coming back from that.
On top of that, I still hadn't cum since the transformation - almost a week. Last night it had taken a few hours of tossing and turning before I'd finally managed to drift off to sleep.
Add 'suspicious sleep patterns' to the reason I was glad not to be sharing a room with my wife's body.
But I couldn't cum. I couldn't. How could I?
What if my mind slipped?
I don't own any porn, and going to my computer to download some would have taken me through the den, where my 'wife' was sleeping. If I'd jerked off, I would have had to rely on my own imagination, and what if...
God, what if my brain turned to my most recent sexual experience?
What if I thought about my daughter?
I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it.
I didn't want to do it, but I'd just seen her cum, I'd made out with her two days in a row.
Jesus...I'd made out with my daughter, two days in a row. Just the thought of it made me sick.
And so without any porn, and not trusting my brain not to slip to the wrong image, I'd gone another night without orgasm.
The next day, I'd been hit with an unexpected deadline - taking fifteen minutes off to rub one out was technically possible, but not at the risk of Q1's entire tax break. And so I'd submitted the last file when Mary entered, twisting my darling daughter's mouth into an erotic smile that I'd never wanted to experience.
"God I want you," she whispered in my ear, and I shuddered.
Ellen, I reminded myself. Ellen, Ellen, Ellen. Ellen wants me. Not my daughter.
Not my beautiful Belle.
I made myself a promise: as soon as we were done, as soon as my wife skipped our daughter's body out of the room, I swore that I was going to go online, find some porn, and get off to a MILF. Or a chubby goth. Or a grandma covered in tattoos.
Anyone. As long as they had as little resemblance to Belle as possible.
Belle's tongue explored my mouth as her mother steered her hands around my body.
For the first time in our marriage, I wished my wife didn't know me as well as she did - she knew exactly what I liked. The way she pinched my earlobe, the way she dragged her nails across my back. She tried to move one hand below my belt, but I slapped her away.
"No," I said firmly, expecting resistance.
To my surprise, she moaned in response, and immediately moved her hand. Up to my chest - safer than where it had been, yes, but...well, my wife knows that I have sensitive nipples.
As she played with them, I couldn't help it - a small groan left my mouth. It just felt so good, and it had been days...
It was as if the sound lit a small fire in my daughter's body. My wife immediately redoubled her efforts, stroking and pinching, and grinding against me. To my horror, I realized that I could recognize the signs of her impending orgasm - something that no father should be able to recognize in his daughter.
"No," I murmured involuntarily, and (surprising me again), Mary backed off. She pulled Belle's hands out from under my shirt, and she slowed down.
I breathed a sigh of relief, but immediately realized how counterproductive it had been. The longer it took her to cum, the longer we'd have to do this.
Should I do something to...speed things along?
As soon as the thought entered my head, I realized that I couldn't. I also realized that...I had to.
It doesn't take me long to cum at the best of times...and even if she was my daughter, a half-naked teenager grinding against my erection was more stimulation than I needed. A half-naked teenager with my wife's me-specific expertise?
We needed to end this, or within the next few minutes, I'd cross a line that we couldn't cross.
I hadn't had to wash cum-stains out of my pants since I was a teenager. It wasn't something I'd missed.
Gritting my teeth, trying to think about the Queen, about cricket, about anything-in-the-world-that-wasn't-sex, I did the unthinkable. I said the unspeakable.
"Cum for me," I whispered in my daughter's ear.
"Oh GOD," she shrieked. "Yesssss..."
"Cum for me," I repeated. My wife, for all her bossiness, loves being told what to do in the bedroom, and I hoped this predilection had followed her into our daughter's body. "Cum for me."
"Yes," she shouted. "Yes, yes, yes!"
"Cum for me!" I ordered, focusing as hard as I could on the pain in my ears from Belle's shouting.
"Hit me!" she replied, and my eyes shot open.
"What?"
"Hit me!" she said again, and - almost instinctively - I did.
SMACK.
As soon as my open palm collided with my daughter's panty-clad ass, I felt a sense of horrible guilt. We'd spanked Belle once or twice as a child, and even then I'd hated doing it.
Just like when Belle was spanked as a babe, she opened her mouth and wailed. This time, however, it wasn't in anguish or despair.
A guttural moan left her red lips, and the sound deepened as she practically twitched herself onto the floor."Honey," I said gently, as my wife picked Belle's body off the floor. "You've got to get out of here."
"Why?" she asked, and for a moment it was easy to see nothing but my daughter's innocent face, easy to pretend that everything was business as usual.
Then the image of my daughter's face twitching in orgasm crossed my mind, and I was forced to look away.
"Because, I've...I've got to cum."
"Oh my god," she said, her eyes lighting up. "Oh my god oh my god oh my god Andrew, please. Please. Let me see it."
"No!"
I stared at her, aghast. Maybe it was the intensity of my reaction, maybe it was the fact that she'd just cum, but - for the first time since switching bodies with my daughter - Mary backed down.
Whether or not the contrite look on her face was genuine, I couldn't say, but she backed down.
"Of course," she said, and almost immediately, I was alone.
I swear, no man has ever loaded up a porn site as quickly as I did that afternoon. I knew that Mary - well, Mary's body - was going to be home within the next half-hour, and so it was a race against the clock.
I was hard as I could ever remember being, I was right on the edge...but, to my horror, I immediately found a problem in every video I loaded up.
One porn star had the same hair-color as my daughter; the next was wearing a school uniform. The next video took place in a den far too similar to the one that I was sitting in...I clicked through video after video, wanting nothing more than to cum, unable to find anything completely safe.
I had never seen my daughter's tits (and was never going to), and so I was safe for a few minutes with a titty-fucking video...until I realized that the porn-star's skin was the exact same shade of olive as Belle's.
"No no no no," I muttered, before the obvious solution occurred to me.
Clumsily typing "black chiscks" into the search bar, I was delighted to find that the dark-skinned beauties populating the results page had ZERO physical similarities to my daughter.
I was safe.
Running my hand up and down my hardness, I allowed myself to get lost in the video: a black woman getting plowed from all sides by equally-dark men. I'm sure there was some semblance of a plot; all I cared about was getting off without any chance of my daughter's body entering my mind.
Before long, my balls were gleefully emptying themselves into a tissue that I'd prepared for that very purpose. With a sigh of relief, I cleaned everything up and pulled up my pants...
And that was when I heard it.
"Belle?"
Shit. Mary was home.
Well, Belle was home. Belle in Mary's body was home.
I cleaned up as quickly as I could, and opened my office door. My 'wife' was standing there - Belle had managed to do a better job at Mary's makeup today, although her stance was all wrong. My wife has many vices, but slouching is not one of them.
The worried look on her face was really what concerned me.
"Honey-blossom?" I asked, hoping she couldn't smell anything on me as I moved towards her. "What's up?"
"Belle was..."
"What?"
"When I came home, Belle was kneeling outside your office."
I tightened my jaw.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. What were you doing in there?"
"Oh, we'd just had a bit of a fight," I lied smoothly. "I'd told her she couldn't wear that damn bikini, and that I was going to get rid of it."
"What? She looks great in that bikini!"
My first instinct was to argue, but then I remembered who I was really talking to. I remembered the reason we were doing this in the first place.
"I know," I said after a pause. A fight wouldn't help anyone here. "But surely you can agree she's too young to be showing off that much skin."
"Uh, she's not a child. She's old enough to make her own decisions."
I bit my tongue, and took a deep breath before responding.
"You're right," I said calmly. "Yeah, that's a good point. What do you think we should do?"
"Let her wear the bikini. Where did you hide it?"
"In the safe," I said. "That's probably why she was spying - trying to see the combination."
"Ha!"
Hearing my daughter's derisive laugh coming from my wife's lips was an odd experience. Of course, it wasn't even in the top ten 'odd experiences' I'd had over the last few days, so I didn't dwell on it.
"Hmmm?"
"Doesn't work."
"What?"
"You can't see someone unlock the safe from there. You can only see your chair, and..."
Belle trailed off, my wife's eyes avoiding mine as she realized what she was saying.
"Probably." she awkwardly concluded. "I mean, that's what I reckon. What do you think?"
I decided to keep playing into my daughter's perception of me.
"Probably," I casually responded. "I'll get the bikini out after dinner."
"I can get it!" my daughter offered, far too quickly. "What's the combination?"
I stifled a smile.
"Don't worry about it, honey. You've had a long day. Let me take care of this."
###
"I know. I screwed up."
I stood in my daughter's doorway, leaning against the frame. I had done the disappointed father act so many times, but this was the first time I felt like it was actually working.
Too bad it was on the wrong person.
"I know."
I didn't say a word, just raised one eyebrow.
"God damn it, Andrew, I know. I'm sorry. It's just..."
She let out a sigh so despondent, I would have thought she was putting it on, but then I noticed her eyes were watering.
I sat down beside her on the bed, and put one arm around her.
"It's okay, honey. Just...we need to be more careful, okay?"
"I know."
"In future, just..."
"Andrew, I know."
"You can't let those hormones...-"
"Andrew..."
I decided to drop it. Giving my daughter an awkward fatherly side-hug, I kissed her on the top of the head, and - for the first time in a week - started to feel as though things were getting back to normal.
###
The next day was a Saturday. No school, no work.
Well, technically any day could be a work day for me; the benefit of being your own boss. But we'd decided many years ago to make Saturdays 'Family Day', something that Belle had loved as a little girl (and increasingly resented as the years went by).
She hadn't been home for a Family Day in almost a year - probably off with 'Spike'.
When my wife (in Belle's body) entered the kitchen and put on some toast, Belle (in my wife's body) practically squawked in alarm.
"Honey!" she said, slightly too intensely. "What are you doing here?"
"Family Day," my wife said, rolling Belle's eyes.
"Yes," my daughter replied, through Mary's gritted teeth. "But what about...you know."
"What?"
I had to admit, my wife was doing an excellent job of aping my daughter's mannerisms and attitude. If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't have been able to tell there was anyone but Belle in there.
"You know. The game!"
"Mo-om! God, you're such a freak. How do you know about the game? Are you spying on me?"
"No, no!"
It was almost funny, watching my daughter try to desperately back-peddle.
"No, I just, uh, heard about it. From Spike's mom. She...wanted to know if we were coming."
"God, you've been talking to Spike's MOM? What is wrong with you?"
"Honey, he seems to be...he seems to be a, uh, a nice...young...lad. Yes."
To my surprise, tears welled up in my daughter's eyes. Mary really knew what she was doing.
"Well he can't be THAT nice because he's been sleeping with LACEY for the last two months!"
"What!? That SLUT!"
I looked away to stifle a laugh, and when I glanced back, I noticed that my wife's eyes were growing wet as well.
Crap. I had forgotten that this was the first Belle was hearing about her own break-up.
"Uh, honey," I said, putting a gentle hand on my wife's arm. She pulled it away in anger, before realizing what she was doing.
"Sorry, sweetie-pie," Belle said, clenching my wife's teeth. I made a mental note to move up her next dental appointment; I very much doubted my daughter was brushing. "I just...I didn't know that my daughter had been dumped."
"I didn't even know she was dating."
"You don't know anything."
There was an awkward pause as my two girls realized they'd said the exact same thing at the exact same time. I side-stepped the entire situation, picked up my iPad, and pretended to continue reading the news.
"Honey," my daughter said, in a fairly good impression of my wife. "Are you okay?"
"Like you even care," my wife muttered, doing a superb impression of my daughter.
"Of course I care," Belle said, opening my wife's eyes slightly as she realized the truth of what she was saying. I tried to keep my attention on the tablet screen, but it was hard - was this the breakthrough we'd been looking for? Was Belle finally getting it?
The next words she said sent my hopes crashing through the floor, and almost doubled my heart-rate.
"Belle, get your bikini - we're going to the beach!"
###
It would have been far easier to avoid noticing my daughter's body...if my attention wasn't constantly being drawn to it.
"Look at her, cuddle-pot!" my daughter said excitedly, using my wife's hand to point. As if she needed to point - the bikini-clad teenager would have stood out in almost any crowd. The half-dozen families building sand castles provided zero competition.
"I see her, chicken licken."
"Doesn't she look great?"
My wife's eyes were shining with pride, and I realized what was happening. We never really get a chance to see ourselves, not really. Everyone is their own worst critic, and looking at your body through your own eyes means you're never going to truly appreciate what's there.
Especially, I suspect, if you're a teenage girl.
"She's beautiful, honey," I responded simply, and she patted my arm with joy.
Mary, for her part, seemed to be having a great time. She'd dropped our daughter's trademark slouch, and returned to her own familiar gait - shoulders back, chin held high.
She was wandering up and down the waves, and seemed to almost be feeding off the stares she was getting. As I mentioned, Belle's body was without comparison - her legs were long and toned, her stomach was flat, and her breasts were...well, they were larger than I'd been expecting. Not comically large, but certainly quite ample on her young teenage frame.
I was so glad I'd gotten off the night before. I started scanning the beach, trying to see if there were any black women in bikinis I could use to distract myself.
Before I could find anything, Mary's hand gripped my arm.
"They're here," she said excitedly.
Too excitedly.
"Who?"
She struck an innocent pose.
"Just, uh...just some of Belle's friends from school."
"Oh no," I muttered under my breath.
I'd never met the guy. I would have been quite happy to go the rest of my life without meeting him. But the moment I laid eyes on the boy, I recognized him.
Spike.
He was exactly my daughter's type. Piercings, tattoos...and who comes to the beach in a leather jacket? Somehow, he managed to avoid looking like he was about to melt.
Somehow, I was loathe to admit, he looked...cool.
I immediately hated him.
Judging by the daggers shooting from my wife's eyes, I guessed that the piece of arm candy draped over him was Lacey.
"I thought he had a game," I murmured to myself.
"They always come to the beach after the game," Belle responded, using my wife's arm to tug me forward. "Let's go."
"Wait, what?"
"Let's go. I want to see what's going to happen."
"Button-pants," I said softly, "isn't this...y'know, Belle's business? Shouldn't we give her some privacy?"
"Oh! Oh, yeah."
My daughter fell back, the soft smirk never leaving Mary's lips.
"We can see everything from here anyway."
I nodded.
"He doesn't look like a football player to me."
Belle rolled my wife's eyes.
"He doesn't play football. Duh, Da-..."
She cut herself off, and quickly tried to recover.
"...aaaffodill. Daffodil. He just hangs around the game, and, uh..."
"Sells drugs?" I quipped, and the look on my wife's face told me that I'd inadvertently guessed it.
Jesus. What had our daughter gotten into?
"Just pot," she quickly informed me, before going slightly red as she realized what she'd said.
"You're such a good Mom," I said, deciding to let her off the hook slightly. Not that she deserved it - dating a pot dealer? What the hell was she thinking?
I intertwined my fingers with hers and continued. "I don't know half of what goes on under our roof."
"That's my job," she replied thoughtfully. "To keep track of what's happening in...our daughter's life."
The 'confrontation' was short, and uneventful. Lacey tried to kick sand in Belle's eyes, and fell over in the process. My wife used our daughter's body to point and laugh - Spike sneeringly stayed out of it, and before long he'd taken his bimbo and left.
I suggested we go home, but I was immediately shot down. Apparently the real football players were coming, and "Mary" wanted to show our daughter off to them.
Something told me this was a bad idea, but I couldn't work out how to get everyone back in the car without drawing suspicion, and so I bit my tongue.
My instincts were right.
As soon as the football players arrived, my wife started showing off our daughter's body. She touched their arms, laughed at their jokes, and before long one of them had an arm around her.
Even from across the beach, I could tell she was enjoying the attention. Even from across the beach, I could tell she was getting far too much enjoyment out of the teens' lusty gazes.
"Isn't she popular?" Belle said dreamily, and that's when I realized I was the only one here who was going to stop what was happening.
"That's it!" I said, standing up. "We're going home!"
###
The entire car-ride home, I was met with a barrage of complaints. Neither my wife nor my daughter wanted to leave - for, I'm afraid, much the same reasons. Belle used my wife's lips to berate me, with Mary using my daughter's to join in.
I held fast, however. Tracking my daughter's orgasms was yet another item on the 'never wanted to do this, horrified that I have to' list, yet there I was, knowing that she hadn't cum for at least five hours.
Based on what she'd told me about how her school days had been, staying at the beach would have quickly led to her sneaking off with a football player, and...
...well, I didn't even want to think about what she'd have done with him.
Didn't want to, but was unable to prevent myself from doing so.
When we got home, I fully expected them to both go to their rooms and slam the doors, but my wife surprised me.
"Mom," she said, making fine use of Belle's blue eyes. "Can you go to the store for me?"
"What?"
"I'm out of pink lipstick, and I need some more."
"Can't your father go? He was the one who wanted to end Family Day early."
"God, Mom. Think about it. You want to send DAD to get lipstick. Please, Mom - I have a date tonight."
Apparently those were the magic words, because (visibly thrilled that she got to drive the 'big car') my wife's body was almost immediately out the door, and on the way to 'Stephora', whatever that was.
Not sending me was a smart move.
The moment I heard the car peeling out of the driveway (making sounds that were loud enough to be slightly alarming), Belle's body was on my lap, her lips on mine.
"Oh my god, Andrew..."
"Honey, we...-"
"Oh, god, shut up and kiss me. Did you see all those eyes on me today? Me! They were all looking at me."
I opened my mouth to respond, but it was immediately filled with my daughter's tongue.
"Touch me," my wife moaned, pulling my hands to Belle's breasts. "Oh god, Andrew, touch me..."
"How far away is Thesaura?" I asked.
"Twenty minutes. We'd better be fast!"
I'd spent the day unwillingly staring at my daughter's bikini-clad body, so it was difficult to mentally replace her with 'Ellen'.
Still, I did my best. Anywhere I moved my hands, I was met with soft teenage flesh and loud, impassioned moans. Avoiding her 'swimsuit areas' meant that I was running my hands over my daughter's bare skin, and Mary seemed to be doing her best to push inappropriate body-parts into my hands.
"I can't," I said, as - for the third time - she twisted our daughter's body to get her large, firm tits into my hands.
"I need to be touched, Andrew, please. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh please. Please, honey. Touch meeee..."
I glanced at the clock. Holy shit - had it been thirty minutes already? We needed to speed things up.
Mary took advantage of the distraction to, for the fourth time, manoeuvred our daughter's bikini-top into my hands.
Considering the time pressure, I gave in, and set my mind firmly to Ellen.
Kneading my daughter's teenage boobs, I desperately pretended they belonged to my wife's fictional sister.
"Harder," she moaned, and I unwillingly obliged.
"Cum for me," I said insistently, trying to ignore the needy tone in my voice. "Oh, god, cum for me..."
"Yesss!" she erupted. "Oh touch me touch me touch me touch me TOUCH me."
For the next thirty seconds, I stared anxiously at the door, praying to god that I wouldn't see my wife's face before my daughter's climax had finished. The entire time she came, twitching against my hands, she kept on repeating it.
"touch me touch me touch me touch me touch me touch me..."
After what felt like an eternity, she came down from it, she pulled back, and stared at me lovingly. It was a look that I was familiar with from both my daughter and my wife...although admittedly, it hasn't been one that Belle has given me lately.
"Andrew, you're...fuck me, you're a god."
"Language," I said with a watery smile.
"Honey, come on. We have one more week. We might as well enjoy this."
Before I could respond, we heard the sound of the car re-entering the driveway.My wife impresses me each and every day. Perhaps that's the secret to a happy marriage; she seems to be constantly raising the bar.
Admittedly, 'swapping minds with our teenage daughter' is going to be a tough one to top, but even the little stuff impresses me - like how she managed to change our daughter's look from 'freshly fucked' to 'presentable' in less than a minute, talking all the while.
"Honey," she said, adjusting her hair and wiping sweat off her...everything. "The date tonight - that's real."
"What??"
"I know! I'm sorry. He was...I was...look, it doesn't matter. What's important is...you need to get me out of it."
"Me? Why don't you just...-"
"Andrew. Seriously. I know we just...
She paused, and shot me a firm look.
"Well, you know. But trust me, in no time at all, it's going to be back."
"What is?"
"It! The...the urges! The libido! The hormones. It's a non-stop fucking loop. I have no idea how ANY teenage girl avoids getting pregnant, or...I don't know, masturbating to dehydration. It boggles the mind."
"Okay, so..."
My wife's words were interrupted by the sound of the garage door closing.
"So if you don't stop me, I'm going to go out with Philip."
"Philip?"
My daughter's cheeks went red, and I realized my wife was blushing.
"I don't want to. But...remember when I first found fancy cheese?"
"Yes. We had to stop keeping it in the house."
"Exactly. Philip is fancy cheese. If you don't stop me, I...I can't help myself."
I could hear my wife's keys in the front door.
"Ground me!"
"What?"
"We don't have time for this. Ground me! Find some reason, and...and..."
"Won't that be a little counter-productive? We're trying to...-"
"Fine! I'll give you a reason. Just please...ground me!"
My wife's head popped around the corner, and her eyes narrowed slightly.
"What are you two talking about?"
Balling our daughter's fists, Mary turned towards her former body. She threw her shoulders back, took half a step forward, and hissed two words:
"You. Cunt."
This wasn't the first time.
A few months ago, Mary had discovered a pack of cigarettes in Belle's room. Knowing what I know now about her boyfriend, I'm surprised that's all she found.
She threw them out, of course, and when Belle found out, she hit the roof.
The C-word was used, voices were raised, and Belle had been grounded for a week.
That time, I'd been the recipient of the curse word. At the time, I'd been torn between shock and amusement. Obviously no one likes to be called that, but it also felt a little like 'baby's first swear'. Cute, almost.
It had really hit Mary hard, however. I can't help but wonder if that was when she'd finally come to terms with the fact that we really had a problem.
This time, the look on my wife's face was...well, it was almost identical to the look on her face the first time it had happened. This time, however, the face was being controlled by our daughter.
Apparently she didn't like being on the receiving end of teenage rebellion.
Belle's elbow nudged me in the side, and I suddenly realized my role in this little play.
"Young lady, that is unacceptable! You are GROUNDED!"
"This is totally unfair!" she shouted back at me, and when I turned to my 'wife' for support, I was surprised to find that she wasn't there.
"Go!"
"What?"
My wife rolled my daughter's eyes, and pointed. "Go! Comfort her."
"But...-"
"Andrew, honey, this isn't hard. Go and comfort your damned wife."
"Right. Yes. Of course."
"If she asks why I was so mad, tell her that I found out about the diary. She'll know what it means."
"Got it."
"Oh, and honey?"
"Mmm?"
"After you're done...come see me in my room, okay?"
I don't know if she noticed the shudder that passed through my body as she left. Seeing that look of lust on our daughter's face...
This wasn't what I'd signed up for.
###
"How'd it go?"
"Good," I said, trying to avoid looking at my daughter's body. She'd changed from a revealing bikini into an equally-revealing set of lingerie. Where had our daughter even acquired such an outfit?
"What happened?" my wife said, patting Belle's bed.
"About what you'd expect," I said with a sigh, reluctantly sitting beside her. "She cried, she asked what had happened, I told her about the diary...she did read the diary, did you know that?"
"Of course. I've been writing in it every day. She forgot to tuck the sheet back in after she grabbed it from under the bed this morning."
"Oh."
I wanted to ask why my wife knew where our daughter's diary was, but this wasn't the time for that conversation.
"She probably just wants to know what 'she' is up to, but it was a handy excuse. What did she say about me swearing at her?"
"She didn't like it, I'll say that much. I don't think she expected it to hurt as much as it did. I think..."
I hesitated to say it, knowing what train of thought it would inevitably lead my wife down, but I couldn't lie.
"...I think this is really working. We're really getting through to her."
"Of course we are," my wife said, her trademark grin not sitting quite right on our daughter's face. "Have I ever been wrong before?"
"Napa Valley," I responded flatly, and we both burst out laughing at the memory.
"Where is she now?"
"Asleep. She had a glass of wine...-"
"You let her drink wine?"
I smiled, and put my arm around my daughter's neck.
"Honey, she's in the body of a 40-year old. I think she can handle a little wine."
The grin returned.
"As the owner of that 40-year old body, I can assure you: she can't. A whole glass? She'll be out cold all night. And that means..."
Gently but firmly, I pushed my lingerie-wearing daughter's body away from mine.
"Sweetie, we can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this."
"Andrew, honey; she's out cold. We can be as loud as we want..."
"That's just it, my love. I don't want. I know that...I know that you're doing this for us. And I know that it's hard for you. And believe me, I'm doing everything I can. But you just...you already...it wasn't even two hours ago, and..."
Mary moved one of Belle's fingers to my lips, and interrupted my stuttering.
"I'm asking too much, aren't I?"
"Yes! Yes, honey. Too much. Once a day, sure. Fine. I can do what needs to be done once a day. But this is...it's starting to take its toll."
My wife thought for a moment, and nodded our daughter's head.
"Once a day. Okay. That's fair."
I paused, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and was surprised to be met with...silence.
"Really?"
"Of course. Once a day. If that's all you can handle, my sweet, that's what we'll do."
"And...you'll be okay?"
"I'll be okay."
"No...other boys?"
"No other boys."
"Okay."
"Okay."
I smiled down at my daughter's beautiful face.
"We're going to get through this."
"Of course we are, honey."
"Thanks so much."
"Thank you."
###
Around lunchtime on Sunday, I started feeling guilty.
I'd spent the entire morning in a state of tension, just knowing that Mary was going to pull me aside and try to fool around. I'd been so sure that she wasn't going to be able to stick to her word.
By noon, I realized that I'd greatly underestimated my wife, and I felt terrible.
She was playing the role perfectly; sulking about being grounded, complaining about the date that she'd been forced to miss. She'd perhaps laid it on a little too thick - around three, Belle had used my wife's body to sit me down and talk.
"Lovey-dove," she started, a grimace flitting across her face as the term of endearment left her mouth, "don't you worry that we're being a little harsh on Belle?"
"No," I said flatly. Perhaps it wasn't the best approach to take - confirming our daughter's view of us as overly-harsh dictators - but there was no way I was going to risk Mary using my daughter's body to go on a date.
She'd said it herself; she wouldn't be able to resist.
"No," I repeated. "She brought this on herself. Using such language on her mother."
For a moment, I wondered if perhaps I was the one laying it on a little thick. I'd been saying 'cunt' since I was fifteen. I'd been friends with an Australian - they use the word as commonly as conjunctions.
My wife had surprised me that morning with her self-control; my daughter surprised me in that conversation with her maturity.
"Yeah," she said softly, and I could tell that she was very far away. "It's not cool, is it?"
"No," I repeated, a half-smile on my face. "It's not cool."
We sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes (something I feel like I haven't done with my daughter since she was in diapers) before she pulled herself together and stood up.
"Where are you going?" I asked, tilting my head to the side.
"Out," my wife said, a sullen tone in her voice. It took her a few moments to remember her situation; I carefully avoided looking at her as she caught up. "Uh, I mean...out, sweety-bum! Errands. Just going on some errands."
"Oh?"
Something was afoot, and I didn't like it. For a moment, an image passed through my mind - my daughter tracking Spike down, using my wife's body to...
No. No, she'd never do that.
No matter what, I knew that my daughter would never do that.
"I've got some errands to go on as well," I said, standing up casually. "Maybe I'll come with you."
"No!" my wife's mouth squeaked. Belle took a second, trying to act calmly. "No. No, no need for that."
"Well, where are you going? Maybe we're not going in the same direction."
"Definitely not!" Belle replied, nervously twisting my wife's top. "Opposite direction."
"Mary," I said slowly. Some would say 'patronizingly'. "How do you know? I haven't told you where I'm going."
With a sigh, my wife's body collapsed back in the chair.
"Fine," she said. "You caught me!"
I stifled a laugh. This was the exact response, in both words and movement, my daughter had once given me when she was nine.
"Hmmm?"
"Belle asked me to head up to the outlet mall for her."
"What? Why?"
"There's a dress on sale," she said.
"The outlet mall is forty minutes each way," I said, scratching my head. "Why would..."
Oh.
Suddenly, my wife's good behavior all morning made a lot more sense.
"You don't understand," Belle huffed, rolling my wife's eyes. "It's a Hot Kiss dress, and it's more than fifty-percent off. It's so cute, and..."
"Why doesn't she just go?" I asked, and answered the question at the same time as my wife.
"'She's grounded'. Right."
I sighed.
"I agree she should be grounded," Belle said, surprising me again. I smiled at her, and she turned a poor imitation of my wife's best puppy-dog eyes in my direction. "What she did was..."
She swallowed.
"It was across the line."
My eyebrows shot up.
"But she was so good this morning."
Yes, I thought. And now I know why.
"And the dress is so cute..."
I waved away the dreamy expression in my wife's tone.
"Go," I said with a sigh. "My errands are in the opposite direction anyway."
"Thank you thank you thank you!" she gushed, before blinking twice and composing herself. "I mean. Uh..."
"You're excited," I said with a warm smile. "It's fine. I'm sure she's going to look great in it."
"She will!"
The look of excitement made me nervous, but I knew better than to stand between a woman and a discounted dress.
"Drive safe, okay?"
"Bye," she said, grabbing the keys and headed for the door. "Love you!"
"I love you too," I said automatically, before realizing what she'd just said.
It had been literally years since our daughter told us that she loved us. We know she does, of course - we may be flawed people, but we're good parents. All Belle's life, we've never shown her anything but love and affection.
But to hear her say it, even using my wife's mouth?
It was working. My wife's crazy plan...was working.
Whatever the costs, it was worth it.
So it was with a spring in my step that I ascended the stairs, excited to tell Mary the good news.
I opened Belle's bedroom door without knocking, and was met with the sight of my teenage daughter's naked body, writhing around on the bed as she touched herself.
"Belle!" I exclaimed, shocked enough to forget who I was talking to. Not twenty minutes ago, my daughter's body had been in the living room, fully clothed, playing with her phone.
"Andrew," she moaned, turning to look at me, her eyes burning with lust. "Please..."
I should have turned away. I wanted to turn away. But the sight...the smell...
I was overwhelmed. Frozen in place, like a deer in the headlights.
"Please, Andrew," my wife panted, using my daughter's hand to pull on her long, pink nipple. I didn't want to know it was long and pink. That was something I never, ever needed to know.
"I want to suck your cock. Let me suck your cock. Oh, god. Please. Please, honey...I need it."
"Mary, no!"
My reaction was immediate and instinctive...but despite my harsh tone, my wife didn't miss a beat.
"Once a day," she pleaded, using - to my horror - our daughter's 'cute' voice. "Once a day, Andrew. You promised."
I realized I was still staring at my teenage daughter's exposed flesh, and turned away.
"I promised once a day, but...honey, there have to be limits! You know there do."
"I need it," she repeated. "Honey, please. Please...I need it."
"No," I said firmly. "Love, no. I can't. We can't. Please, try to understand..."
"Andrew..."
I could hear the desperation in her voice, but worse; I could hear the wet sound of flesh on flesh.
Even as she was pleading for me to let her suck her cock, my wife hadn't stopped playing with our daughter's wetness.
From the sound of it, she hadn't even slowed down.
"You were very good this morning," I said, and she let out a loud moan in response.
"I'm so good," she gasped. "Yes! Oh god, yes...I'm your good girl.
"I'm your good girl..."
"Mary!"
I turned in shock, preparing to let my wife have it, to inform her just how unacceptable this behavior was.
I was met with the sight of my daughter's legs, widely spread, as Mary showed off the pinkness between them.
"Oh, god."
"Look at me," Mary panted, and - god forgive me - I did. My daughter's hand sped up, and her eyes bored into mine. "Look at me..."
For the umpteenth time in six days, I was forced to watch my daughter's orgasm. I wish I'd looked away, but I was transfixed. My wife's skilful motions, my daughter's soft, small hand.
I watched as Belle's body twitched in orgasm, as her youthful legs were used to push her pelvis up, thrusting against the air, as she watched me watching her.
When she was done, I wanted to be sick.
"Mary," I gasped.
"Oh, god, Andrew."
"Mary, we...we can't."
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