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“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.
“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.
“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.
“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 çapa escort 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.”
“And I gave it to him.”
There was a pause.
“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.”
“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 cihangir escort 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?
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 esenyurt escort 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.
“Hit me!” she said again, and – almost instinctively – I did.
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.
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