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As I steered my wife to a table by the window, I tried to simultaneously keep an eye on Spike, watch Mary’s face, and act as though everything was normal.

Which, in a sense, it was. I was just out for dinner with my wife. The fact that our daughter’s ex-boyfriend was here was of no consequence.

At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.

Belle, for her part, did a terrible job of acting nonchalant. I guided her by the arm (preventing her from knocking an entire family’s meals onto the floor) and pretended everything was normal. When we sat, she made sure to position herself so she could see Spike and his new tart.

I did my best to make conversation throughout dinner, but it was obvious that her attention was barely on me. More than once, I caught her absentmindedly shaking salt into her coca cola. And once we’d finished one of the most delicious meals I’d ever had at the 556, she did her best to avoid leaving.

“I want dessert,” she demanded. I tried to hide my smile at the teenage whine that had crept into her voice.

“A…second dessert?” I said, pointing at the remains of the crème brûlée sitting in front of her. She blinked twice, as if seeing it for the first time.

“How about coffee?” she smiled, trying to turn on the charm. But charm is a learned skill – one that my wife had mastered, and my daughter had not.

“You know you can’t drink coffee at this hour,” I said. “You’ll never sleep again.”

“Well…”

I could practically hear her mind ticking.

“Why don’t we just sit and chat for a while? You said it yourself; we never go out like this.”

I sighed, feigning frustration. “Mary, you’ve barely said two words to me all night.”

A thoughtful look crossed my wife’s face, as my daughter processed what I was saying. After a moment, she nodded.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Reaching out and grabbing my hand, she looked directly into my eyes.

“What do you want to talk about?”

The sudden attention took me by surprise, and I said the first thing that came to my head.

“P…peers.”

“Peers?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to recover. “Belle’s peers. I’m worried that she doesn’t have any friends.”

A hint of sadness flickered across Mary’s face, but my daughter quickly did what she could to quash it.

“I’m sure she has plenty of friends.”

“Mmm,” I replied nonchalantly. “…does she?”

To my surprise, I spent the next twenty minutes having a real, honest conversation with my daughter about her social situation. It was all in the third person, of course – always ‘our daughter’, never ‘you’, but I learned a lot. She reiterated a few things we’d already discussed – her loneliness, the isolation she’d been feeling. She’d only really connected with two people at her school:

Spike, and his new girlfriend Lacey.

“Of course,” I said, crossing my fingers under the table. “That Spank kid was only interested in her for sex.”

“Spike,” my daughter corrected, before wrinkling Mary’s nose. “And…do you think so?”

“Of course. I bet that when she wouldn’t put out, he immediately left her for someone who would.”

My wife’s head nodded as my daughter chewed on what I’d just said. For the first time in almost half an hour, I caught her looking over to the snide-looking teenager.

This time, her expression was different. Thoughtful. Determined.

“Let’s go,” she said abruptly.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. I left cash on the table and followed my wife as she marched out of the restaurant, not giving Spike or Lacey another glance.

###

“I think it helped,” I finished with a shrug.

We were sitting on my bed. As soon as we’d gotten home, Belle had claimed exhaustion, and taken my wife’s body straight to the couch. Almost as soon as the spare room’s door had closed, Mary – in my daughter’s body – had slipped into my room.

Before she could say anything – or do anything – I’d given her a summary of the evening’s events.

I’d never before had to distract my wife from sex, but it worked.

“That’s fantastic,” my wife said, a huge smile on Belle’s face. “Great work, honey.”

“Thanks, snickerdoodle.”

We both laughed, and I threw my head back on the bed in exhaustion.

“I think it helped,” I repeated.

My wife lay Belle’s body down beside me, and reached out to hold my hand. For the next few minutes, we lay in silence, and I reflected on the conversation I’d had with my daughter.

It becomes so normal, being a parent. I mean – not recently, of course. But over the years of raising a child, it’s easy to forget – you made a human. There’s a whole new person in the world, and you’re responsible for them. For their health, for their happiness.

For their life.

“Did you like seeing me all dressed up like that?”

I turned to face my kastamonu escort daughter, my eyebrows furrowed.

“You mean…in my office?”

“No,” Mary said, a slight purr entering our daughter’s voice. “When you went out for dinner.”

“Oh! You mean…you.”

“Yeah. Did you like seeing me all dressed up like that?”

Belle’s hand moved down my neck, down my chest, and rested on my crotch.

God help me, I was hard.

“Yeah,” I said.

I’d gotten better at navigating weird situations, but my wife seemed determined to keep on raising the bar. If there’s a correct response to your wife in your daughter’s body, asking if you enjoyed the sight of her body dressed up by your daughter, I wasn’t able to work it out.

“I guess.”

“It’s okay,” Mary said, our daughter’s hand gently massaging my crotch. “I like knowing that you still find me attractive.”

“Of course I do,” I said. “I just…”

“I like knowing that after this is all over, after we switch back…you’ll still want me.”

“Of course I will,” I replied firmly. “Mary, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

“Mmm,” she replied, undoing my fly and pulling my cock out. I was too distracted to even think about stopping her.

“…even more attractive than our daughter?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Mary,” I said, trying to sound stern. “What are you playing it?”

I glanced down. My cock was out; my wife was holding it beside my daughter’s face.

“I was just wondering,” she said, her attempt at an innocent look completely undercut by the throbbing erection she was holding. “Who do you think is more attractive?”

“I’m not playing this game,” I said, starting to sit up. Before I could, Belle’s mouth enveloped the head of my cock.

“No…” I protested feebly. “Mary…we can’t.”

“We already have,” she said, pulling my cock from our daughter’s mouth. Belle’s blue eyes were looking up at me. I loved her so much. My wife, too.

I loved them both so much.

“No,” I said firmly, reaching down and taking my erection in hand. “Honey, you know we can’t.”

A mischievous look came across her face. Every time she gave me that look lately, a pit began to form in my stomach.

“Answer the question,” she said. “Answer the question, and we can stop. For the night.”

I closed my eyes.

“You,” I said. Even without seeing her, I could tell that Mary was rolling our daughter’s eyes.

“Who’s hotter?” she pressed.

“You are,” I answered, opening my eyes. She hadn’t moved – her face was still an inch from my cock. Even with my hand wrapped around it, the engorged head was still visible, and that’s where my wife’s attention was focused. “You – Mary.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine for a moment, and her grin grew wider.

“Wrong answer,” she said tauntingly, and slowly used our daughter’s tongue to coat the head of my cock in saliva.

It took a few moments before I was again capable of the power of speech. My wife and I had always had a healthy, varied sex life, and going down on each other had been a regular part of it.

I missed many things about having my wife in her old body; getting head was close to the top of the list.

“But that’s the truth. How can an opinion be wrong?” I asked, willing my erection to go down.

“Because,” Mary said, a huge grin on Belle’s face. “You’re lyyyyyiing.”

She was right, of course. She was always right.

Don’t get me wrong – my wife is gorgeous. And if you’d asked me even a few weeks ago, I would have told you that she was far more attractive than our teenage daughter.

But until the swap, I had only barely been aware of Belle’s looks. And with my wife inhabiting it, steering her young body to reach its full sexual potential…

My daughter may have been the most attractive creature on the planet.

Not that I could admit to that, of course. Especially not to my wife.

“I’m not,” I protested, trying to move my cock out of reach. I was flustered – I’m really not a good liar – and, of course, a part of me very much wanted Belle’s soft pink lips wrapped around my hardness…

No.

No, I was a good father. I would do what my wife needed, but she didn’t need to suck my cock.

She obviously wanted to, but it wasn’t something she needed.

“We had a deal,” she said, looking up at me balefully. “You tell the truth, we stop. You lie, you suffer the consequences.”

From the outside, it would have been hard to describe what happened next as ‘suffering’. I know my wife, and I know myself, and I knew that there was no way I was getting out of a blowjob.

If you were watching, you would have seen a regular middle-aged man getting head from a horny teenage vixen. You would have had no way of knowing that behind the blowjob was decades of experience, but kayseri escort I’m sure you’d have recognized the skill involved, even from the outside.

But even as I received the best blowjob of my life, I couldn’t truly enjoy it.

Intellectually, I knew it was my wife giving me head. I knew I wasn’t cheating, that everything I was doing was completely above-board.

I knew that Mary was the one skillfully stimulating the underside of my cock with Belle’s tongue, taking the base of my cock in her hand, forcing my erection as far down her throat as it could go.

But I couldn’t stop thinking it, over and over:

That’s my daughter.

That’s my daughter.

That’s my DAUGHTER.

My wife had dressed Belle in the old cotton pajamas she’d worn as a younger teen. They barely fit her any more; her huge tits were threatening to burst out of the top, and her ass perfectly filled out the bottoms. As Mary continued to use our daughter’s body to give me head, one of Belle’s hands slipped between her legs.

She was staring at me, a half-crazed look in her eyes as she bobbed up and down my cock, again and again. Each time she thrust her head forward, I could feel the top of my penis bump against the back of my daughter’s throat. It actually hurt, the first few times, but I was beyond talking, and I doubted my words would have had any effect.

Gagging noises were coming out of Belle’s mouth, and a sizable amount of drool was dripping out of the corners of her mouth. She looked like such a wanton slut – giving head as though she was in a frenzy, desperate to be used by an older man.

My daughter’s a slut.

Without realizing, my mantra had shifted. It was still one of horror, but I was so turned on, I couldn’t even think straight.

God help me, I was more turned on than I’d ever been before.

My daughter’s a slut.

My daughter’s a SLUT.

Belle’s eyes widened as she felt my cock thicken. She redoubled her efforts, slamming her head forcefully against my dick. I think we both knew that we were beyond pleasure at this point, beyond pain. Our motivation was lust, pure and simple.

My wife wanted me to use our teenage daughter’s mouth, and I wanted to use it.

I reached down and took ahold of Belle’s long, blonde hair. I knew that in just a few minutes I’d hate myself for it, but I face-fucked my daughter, staring directly into her big, innocent eyes as I did.

The only sound in the room was my daughter’s moans of pleasure – each time I forced my cock deep into her throat, she would make a sound – a combined grunt, gasp, and moan.

“I’m going to cum,” I grunted, my voice strained and deep. She nodded, and I noticed her other hand had reached up the thin cotton top, and was roughly pulling and tugging at her engorged nipples.

With a groan, I came directly into my daughter’s throat.

As soon as the first rope of cum left my engorged cock, it was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over me.

What was I doing??

I let go of Belle’s hair in shock, and she fell backwards. I watched with horror as another two, three, four strings of semen burst forth from my erection, flying onto my daughter’s face, her cotton pajamas, coating her with my seed.

“Yes Daddy,” she moaned, and I was unable to look away. “Daddy yes daddy please yes daddy, mark me as your property. You own me. Daddy, you own meeeee…”

Her voice grew high-pitched, and her hips began bucking. I forced myself to look away as my wife had a powerful orgasm in our daughter’s body, soaked in my cum, frenetically muttering about my ownership of her.

“I have to go,” I muttered. In that moment, I forgot that it was my room, that Belle – in my wife’s body – was in the house. All I knew was that I was starting to lose control of the situation – and I had to get out of there.

***

I didn’t run to the cabin again.

God knows I was tempted, but what good would it do? Mary would know how to find me, and out in the woods, so far from prying eyes…

I didn’t trust myself.

At least in the house there was the ever-present threat of Belle. The real Belle, in my wife’s body. At any point, I knew that she could walk in on us – the thought was terrifying enough to stop me from going too far.

Well, to stop me from going any further than we’d already gone.

Instead, I returned to the 556.

Because it was open twenty-four hours a day. That’s genuinely what I thought the motivation was, as I drove across town. I told myself it was a logical place to go because it was always open.

But as I parked beside my wife’s car – ‘the big car’ – I wondered if my subconscious had been two steps ahead of me.

I entered the diner cautiously, but I needn’t have worried. Belle – in Mary’s body – wasn’t paying attention to anyone but Spike.

And kıbrıs escort Spike wasn’t paying attention to anyone but Mary.

I watched for half an hour before slipping out again. I didn’t want to chance the pair of them deciding to call it a night, and my daughter spotting me watching them.

The situation was already precarious enough. A confrontation would be enough to send the entire body-swapping house of cards tumbling down.

To her credit, Belle didn’t look like she was doing anything inappropriate with her mother’s body. She was just talking to Spike, just making conversation. At 1am. With a teenage boy.

It wasn’t until the drive home that I realized:

I was jealous.

The thought made me laugh out loud.

I was jealous of someone less than half my age.

It wasn’t as if that was really my wife, either. It was my teenage daughter, navigating my wife’s body who’d spent the evening chatting to him. Staring into his eyes. Flirting with him.

Despite my recent actions – my recent realizations – I have to emphasize, I have zero interest in my daughter. The only way I’ve been able to get through our recent interactions is because it’s been my beloved wife inhabiting her body.

But just as I’ve struggled with the fact that Belle’s eyes were the ones looking up at me when my wife gave me head, I had a similarly primal response that evening to watching my wife’s body show obvious signs of interest.

I know it wasn’t Mary, sneaking out to spend time with a teenage boy. Of course I know that.

But my lizard brain doesn’t – all it saw was my wife (my wife) flirting with a teenage boy.

And it didn’t like it.

I lay awake in bed for over an hour, until I finally heard the ‘big car’ pull into the driveway.

I know my daughter. There was no way that she’d use her mother’s body to do anything inappropriate. Even with whatever draw Spike held for her, she wouldn’t make Mary – my Mary – cheat on her husband. She would respect the sanctity of her mother’s marriage.

She’d respect her mother’s bodily autonomy. She wouldn’t do anything with the boy. I knew they’d just spend that time talking, nothing more.

Right?

After the car pulled in, it was ten more minutes before I heard the door actually open. She was just thinking, I assured myself. Belle had just had a very confusing evening, spent with her crush, inhabiting her mother’s body.

She wouldn’t do anything inappropriate.

I listened as my wife’s body made its way into the house, into the spare room. I finally closed my eyes, ready to sleep, when a thought struck me.

Now, in case it hasn’t been made clear yet, I love my wife. I truly think she’s the most amazing woman on the planet – there’s nothing she can’t do, if she sets her mind to it, and she always acts with our family’s best interests in mind.

But it occurred to me that Mary, just a few days in, had found herself unable to resist acting on her desires. She had done everything I’d been assuring myself Belle wouldn’t – she’d violated our daughter’s bodily autonomy. From a certain point of view, she’d made me cheat on her.

We’d partaken in incest, because she’d been unable to resist succumbing to temptation.

She’d claimed it was the hormones, and if my memories of being a teenager were reliable, I could definitely understand that argument. But ultimately, she’d given into lust, and done everything I’d told myself Belle wouldn’t.

Mary and I typically made love three or four times a week. Mary’s body was accustomed to having sex at least several times a week.

It had been nine days since the switch.

Just as Mary had been unable to resist the pull of Belle’s hormones, perhaps Belle would find her mother’s needs overwhelming. And I knew with one-hundred percent certainty that she wouldn’t be able to make love to me, her father – just the thought of it made me shudder.

What had she done in the hour since I left the 556?

Had she come home alone?

An image passed through my mind – my wife’s body bent double, fellating Spike while parked in the driveway. It made my blood boil, and I gave myself a moment to calm down.

I was being irrational. Jealousy has always been one of my weaknesses – it had overtaken me just from watching my wife’s body, watching her be so entranced by another man.

I knew that Belle wouldn’t do that to me. To her parents.

But ten days ago, I would have said the same about Mary.

We’d been telling ourselves that it wasn’t cheating, not really – it was my wife, after all. She was just in a different body.

But by that logic, Mary’s body partaking in sexual congress with Spike…that wasn’t cheating either.

At the thought of Mary’s body riding Spike…our logic suddenly didn’t seem so iron-clad.

These thoughts ran through my head again and again, alternating between assuring myself that I was crazy…and reminding myself that the whole situation was crazy, and that the women in my life were more driven by lust than I ever could have imagined.

It was several hours later before I finally fell asleep, flashes of Spike’s face and my wife’s body haunting my nightmares.

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