Mad Monday Pt. 02

And so I hadn't been prepared in the slightest for Belle to choose one of her mother's least conservative outfits. It was a red dress that she'd bought to wear to the beach, but shelved after realizing it was far too revealing.

Women's fashion is a strange thing. My wife has worn a bathing suit to the beach - she even has a bikini that sees regular rotation.

A bikini is fine, but a revealing dress is verboten.

And no, in case you were wondering, the dress is *not* more revealing than a bikini. It's just a sundress - spaghetti straps over each shoulder, a lace-up back, and a hem that ends about five inches above her knee.

It's certainly not offensive, or slutty - my wife just knows what's appropriate for her to wear as a pillar of the community and a mother, and decided this falls on the wrong side of that line.

Belle, it seemed, didn't agree.

"Wow," I said, furiously telling my cock to stay down. "That's..."

"Do you like it?" Belle asked, my wife's face lighting up. It made my heart melt a little - all my little girl wanted to do was make her mother's body look pretty. She was so innocent in so many ways.

And, thanks to me, no longer innocent in so many others.

I shooed the thought away and returned the smile.

"I love it," I said, leaning in and kissing her chastely on the cheek. "You look phenomenal."

To my surprise, she didn't recoil from the kiss. Or perhaps she was just getting better at hiding it.

"Thanks," she said, doing a slight twirl. "You ready to go?"

"Whenever you are, my queen."

For the first time since the swap, Belle didn't grimace at the pet name. Instead, she grinned, took my arm, and led me to the car.

###

As I drove to the 556, my mind was racing. What was Belle up to? Where had this sudden desire to change her mother's wardrobe come from?

After a week in Belle's teenage body, it almost felt like my wife had gone crazy. She had insisted that I take our daughter's virginity, that I cum on her face, on her tits...the sudden dose of hormones had hit her hard, sent her spiraling out of control, and made her do things that she never would have tolerated before.

Could a similar thing have happened to Belle?

My wife's hormones obviously weren't as powerful as our daughter's, but we had an active, healthy sex-life. We weren't one of those TV couples, where the man desires and the woman denies - Mary's libido was just as awake as mine. I had never specifically kept track, but I'd bet Mary would drag me to bed as often as I would her.

If Mary had been overwhelmed by Belle's sexual urges, perhaps the same thing was happening in reverse. My stomach churned at the thought - my daughter, trapped in her mother's body. What if she decided to act on those urges?

No. No matter what, I knew that I couldn't do anything - not with my daughter. It may have been my wife's body, but inside was *Belle*. The real Belle.

Doing anything with her would mean that she'd remember it. She'd remember me.

The idea made me sick.

For the first time, I was sympathetic to my wife's point. Yes, Mary was in Belle's body, but it was still *her*. It was still my wife.

Conversely, while I'd made love to my wife's body too many times to count, the idea of doing anything while Belle was inside...it was completely out of the question.

No wonder Mary had struggled to understand my reticence. Her stance was suddenly making a lot more sense.

My wife had used her considerable debating talents to wear me down; I knew that my daughter wouldn't be able to do the same thing. It might be awkward to explain to her why I, her 'loving husband', didn't want to make love to her, but I knew I'd be able to do it.

And at worst, I'd flee. I'd flee the situation, and get to safer grounds.

Not that she would ever want that, of course. God, the last few days had gotten me so confused - of course my *daughter* wouldn't want me to make love to her, no matter what body she was in. I'll bet it would never even occur to her.

"You excited for our date?" I asked, breaking the silence. Belle had been using her mother's eyes to stare out the window for the whole trip, distracted.

I dreaded to think of what thoughts were distracting her.

"Mmm-hmm," she said distantly.

"I really, uh, love you," I said, trying to gauge where she was at.

"Love you too," she replied dismissively.

"I think I'll get the crocodile for dinner," I replied.

"That sounds lovely," Belle responded.

Okay, definitely not listening. I wasn't sure whether or not that was a good sign.

"We're here," I said, and Belle turned to shoot me a smile. My daughter's smile on my wife's face looked completely natural, and I found myself smiling back.

*Not my wife,* I had to remind myself. *It's Belle in there. My daughter.*

Mary's actions over the last few days had left me so worked up - even though I'd cum onto my daughter's face and tits just a few hours ago, it felt like my body was still humming with sexual energy. I had to make sure not to release any of that energy in the direction of Mary's body.

I could do this. I knew I could.

Opening the door to the diner, I was simultaneously overwhelmed with terror and relief. In an instant, it became clear to me- my daughter hadn't dressed this way for *me*. All my head-spinning had been for nothing.

Sitting inside the 556, his arm around a girl I recognized from the beach, sat Spike.

And my wife's eyes were boring into him like a laser-focused drill.

Mary had been right. This *was* going to be interesting.

Chapter 25:

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 spilling an entire family's meals onto the floor) while pretending this was just the way we always traversed busy rooms. 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 soda. 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 home," 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 in the Den. 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 tried 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 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?"

Chapter 26:

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 in our daughter's hands. "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 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 her form, steering our daughter's 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 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 announcing 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.

Chapter 27:

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 I knew it would be 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.