Mad Monday Pt. 02

My wife had used our daughter's body to blow me several times now, but it had never been this...calculated before. I'd always felt tricked into it, or done it simply because I'd been overtaken by lust.

By suggesting something so much more extreme than a simple blowjob, my wife had stopped me from arguing the blowjob itself.

My eyes narrowed. Had that been her intent all along?

I unzipped my trousers - I was hard as a rock, of course. For all my protestations, I couldn't deny that there was something perversely hot about Mary's idea. Our daughter's innocent face, made up like a whore, my cock in her mouth, using her like a slut, eyeline dripping down her face...

Belle's eyes lit up at the sight of my erection; in no time at all, she'd enveloped me with her mouth, taking the entire length of my cock down her throat like she'd been doing this for years.

I suppose she had, in a sense. Not my daughter, of course - Mary. She'd been sucking my cock for more than fifteen years, and she'd never struggled to swallow down the entire thing. Almost two decades of sexual experience, inside a body less than two decades old.

If I wasn't careful, I was going to cum before taking the photo.

"Are you ready?" I asked, and when my wife responded with a muffled 'mmf-hmmf!', and took our daughter's hair into my hand.

Chapter 30:

My wife had been right not to take me seriously when I'd claimed I was going to find this difficult. I was so charged up, I almost immediately began fucking her throat.

Hard.

It wasn't easy to ignore my parental instincts - when Belle started coughing and choking, I wanted to stop, to make sure she was okay. But I knew my wife would do something if she was in any kind of danger, so I overrode my parental instincts (as I'd been doing so much lately) and focused on the task at hand.

I was starting to feel torn between a genuine concern about being caught (we hadn't set the alarm as we had the previous day) and wanting to finish - and clean my daughter's face up - as quickly as possible. So despite her spluttering, I continued fucking my daughter's throat as intensely as I could.

Even as Belle's eyes began to water, my wife didn't slow down for a second. I was pounding into her mouth hard and fast while she used one hand to play with my balls, pulling and tweaking her hard nipples with the other.

Before long, the dam broke - Belle's overly-thick makeup began to run down her face as my cock pistoned in and out of her face.

After several minutes of this, I could feel myself on the verge of cumming. I was tempted to pull out, to cum on my daughter's face and take *that* photo...but that wasn't what my wife had requested, and I didn't want to give her *any* excuse to force a repeat of today's experience.

And I knew my wife. *She'd take it*.

So instead, I picked up the camera, forced my daughter's face down until her lips were at the base of my cock, and stopped.

"Smile," I said, and Belle's big, blue, lust-filled eyes looked up at me with picture-perfect need and desperation. "Good girl."

*Click.*

My daughter's loud moan filled the room as the camera whirringly began to print the instant photo. I could feel my wife's conflicting desires, so I pulled Belle's face off my cock, and held my daughter close as we watched the photo develop.

It only took a minute or two for the photo to fade into clarity - unlike the famous lyrics suggested, I did not 'shake it' (moving a developing photo adversely affects the chemical process) - just watched, and waited, as the image slowly came into view

"Fuuuuck," my wife said, breathing heavily at the sight of our daughter's lips around my cock. I don't consider myself much of a photographer, but it was hard to deny - the image was an erotic masterpiece. The mascara running down Belle's face, the look of pure animal lust in her eyes, her red lips stretched obscenely around my cock.

We probably could have sold it to a nudey magazine for a decent chunk of change. Y'know, if we wanted to ruin's Belle's life.

More than we already had.

I noticed my wife had moved our daughter's hand between her legs. She was stroking herself as she looked at the perverse image in front of us; physical proof of what we'd done.

Of what, I knew, we'd likely end up doing again.

"Touch me," she begged, turning those big, blue, wanton eyes in my direction. It hadn't been part of our deal, but I couldn't resist - I reached between my daughter's legs, and replaced her hand with mine.

"Look at yourself," I murmured, my voice a low rumble. "Look at what a slut you are."

"Daddy..." she whined, unable to tear her eyes away from the photo we'd taken. "God, Daddy. Please..."

"Look at what a slut our daughter is," I whispered.

"Daddy..."

"Look at what you've done to our baby girl."

For whatever reason, that was the phrase that did it. Belle's body began to shake, and my wife grabbed my hand, pushing it hard against our daughter's pussy mound.

"Dadddeeeee..." she wailed, twitching with pleasure. My eyes widened as I looked down and realized that my wife was squirting. That Belle was squirting.

She'd never done that before. In either body, as far as I was aware. I'd seen it in porn, but I hadn't known it was something my wife could do.

Of course, maybe it wasn't.

"Good girl," I said, holding her close as she came down from her orgasm. "You're Daddy's good girl."

I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth, but Mary seemed to appreciate them, shuddering in pleasure as I held her body against mine.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the lighter that I'd stashed there while my wife had grabbed the camera. Belle's eyes were closed, but they shot open as soon as she heard the 'click'.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, as the small yellow flame began to blacken the edges of the photo we'd just taken.

"You promised," I said. It took several moments for the flame to catch - as it did, I set the opposite edge alight as well.

"But..."

"No buts," I said firmly. "I promised that we'd take the photo, and you promised we'd burn it."

My wife fell silent as we watched the sexiest image either of us would ever see slowly turn into acrid smoke.

When it was done, she turned to me, her eyes a mixture of sadness and lust.

"I want you to cum in my mouth," she purred, and I shook my head.

"On my face?"

"No, Mary," I said gently. "You told me you wanted a photo, and a photo we took. We're done for today."

"What??" she asked, a slightly frantic look on her face. My wife has always enjoyed sex, but I swear...until she started inhabiting our daughter's body, she never used to bear such a resemblance to an addict.

But I stood firm. I wanted to cum; of course I wanted to cum. But I've learned a thing or two in my time as a parent, and one is that boundaries are important.

Not that this was my daughter, of course. I tried not to think about how blurred the lines were becoming.

"Tomorrow," I said soothingly.

My wife was not soothed.

"That's not *fair*," she whined, and I rolled my eyes.

"Mary. Honey. You're forty years old."

I could tell that she wanted to stamp her feet, to argue, but she took a deep breath and nodded.

"Fine," she said with a huff. "Tomorrow."

I smiled as she walked off. For the first time since Mary had switched bodies with Belle, it felt like I'd *won*.

Chapter 31:

My wife stayed in my daughter's room for the rest of the evening. I only checked in on her once - to my relief, her frustrated moans of orgasm could only be heard when my ear was firmly pressed up against the door.

I couldn't imagine my daughter (in my wife's body) being *that* curious, even after she asked why Belle wasn't at dinner that night.

A part of me was curious to know exactly what Belle thought of the current situation - waking up in her mother's body, attending her dayjob - but there was no possible way I could ask her thoughts on that matter without revealing how much I knew, so I forced myself to surpress my curiosity and focus on what I *could* learn.

"She's upstairs," I said casually, grabbing another fistful of fries. Mary normally cooked, but Belle didn't know her way around the kitchen beyond boiling an egg, so she'd been 'generously' picking up fast food on the way home from work each day since the switch.

It wasn't great for my waistline, but it was only for a few more days. If we could survive Thursday, Friday, and - I shuddered with dread - the weekend, we'd be back at Monday and the girls would switch back.

I only had to survive four more days.

"Why?"

"Teenagers," I replied with a roll of my eyes. "Who knows?"

We continued to eat in silence for a few moments, when a spark of inspiration struck me.

"Do you ever wish," I asked, unwrapping my second burger of the night, "that you could go back?"

Belle - in Mary's body - blanched at the question, and I examined the inside of the fast-food 'treat' with laser focus, making sure not to show that I'd noticed her reaction. By the time I'd peeled the pickle off the cheese, she'd recovered.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice shaky.

"To being a teenager," I replied, my mouth full of delicious pickleless burger. "Do you ever wish you could go back to those days?"

"Yes," she replied immediately. "I mean, um...not that I've ever thought about it."

"I think about it sometimes," I said, putting on the vague look I'd been practicing lately. Navigating these conversations without revealing what I knew - or what my daughter *didn't* know - was tricky, so I'd been leaning on the absent-minded manner that was apparently expected of me. "Y'know, just...what I'd do if I were a teenager again."

"I guess," Belle replied, shrugging my wife's shoulders.

I nodded, and we continued eating in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. When I felt like it was safe, I brought the topic up once more.

"What would you do?" I asked, licking my fingers clean of ketchup.

"Hmm?"

I forced myself not to smile. Clearly I wasn't the only one who'd been practicing my reactions - Belle's response was an exact replica of my wife's 'I wasn't listening, can you repeat that?' tone. It was uncanny.

"If you were a teenager again. What do you think you'd do differently?"

I'll be honest - I'm not one-hundred percent sure what I was expecting. 'Stay in school, stay away from drugs, and work hard to build a solid, dependable future' would have been nice, but even I had to admit that was an unlikely response.

Then, as she has so many times over the years, my daughter's response shocked me.

"I'd be nicer to my parents," she said thoughtfully. Our eyes both flicked over to the empty seat where Belle normally sat. "I don't think I realized how..."

She trailed off, and I hesitated, not sure how hard to push.

"What?" I asked softly.

"I had no idea how hard it was."

I smiled, and put one hand over my wife's.

"You're doing a great job," I said sincerely. She smiled back at me, and I recognized Belle's shyness in the expression on my wife's face.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm trying."

I nodded.

"I know you are."

"Thanks," she said again, and we enjoyed the rest of the meal in silence.

As I was cleaning up after dinner (that's one thing that can be said for a nightly diet of fast food - no dishes!) I broke the silence.

"Oh, hey...Belle said that you spoke to her boyfriend? Slick?"

"Spike," she replied immediately, before widening my wife's eyes as she realized what I was saying. "S-she told you that?"

"Yeah," I replied with a shrug. "Before you got home."

An image of mascara running down my daughter's face flashed into my mind. I shook it off and continued.

"I didn't even know you knew each other."

"No," she replied quickly. "I, uh, ran into him at the 556 over dinner."

"Okay," I said, trying to keep my tone light. I could feel the jealous part of my brain trying to escape from the lizard zone, trying to take over. "The other night?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "You were in the washroom."

I hadn't let them out of my sights all night, but I let the lie slide.

"Ah. What did you two talk about?"

Maybe I should have just let it go, but I'd never managed to shake the idea that something had happened.

I knew it hadn't. Of *course* nothing had happened.

But what if something had? I needed to know.

"Belle," she replied immediately. "I...I told him how crushed she'd been when they broke up. How much she'd meant to him. And how cruel it had been to throw his new relationship with Lacey in her face."

My wife's fists were clenched, and I knew I had to tread carefully - easier said than done, considering how much I hated this Spike kid.

Dumb, isn't it? He was nothing but a teenager who had cheated on my daughter. But...well, she was *my* daughter, and I didn't like the way he'd treated her.

And I especially didn't like the way I'd seen my wife looking at him.

"Belle told you all that?" I said, trying to keep my voice as calm as I could.

"No," she admitted. "It was in her diary."

"Ah."

I silently counted to ten, to try to not let myself get any more worked up, but before I had hit seven, Belle broke the silence.

"...what did he say?"

"Can't you just find out from her diary?" I asked, one eyebrow raised.

"No," Belle said, a sad tone in her voice. "I...I shouldn't have been reading that. Besides, now that she knows I was..."

"Right," I said. For a moment, I tried to work out whether I should lie - how *much* I should lie - but there were enough mistruths flying around as it was, and I decided it would be folly to add to the pile. "Well, apparently he was very respectful. A real gentleman."

"Yeah?"

I could practically see the hearts flying out of my wife's eyes.

"Yeah. He apologized, and thanked her for being cool that he was with Lacey now."

"...oh."

The look of heartbreak on Mary's face would normally have given me pause, but knowing that it was in response to the news that a teenage boy was seeing a teenage girl...

Look, I may have let my lizard brain take control for a moment.

"Isn't that great?" I said, pulling my wife's body to mine for a hug. "Now our daughter is safe from that scumbag."

"He's not a...-"

Belle trailed off as soon as she realized the words coming out of her mother's mouth.

"Hmm?"

"He's not...her type," she said.

It was the strangest thing. Even as the words spilled out of her mouth, a clumsy attempt to cover her impulsive reaction, I could tell that she suddenly believed them.

I don't know if it was the fact that she was hearing them in Mary's voice, or just that she'd never actually said them out loud before, or some other woman thing that I'll never know, but in that moment, my daughter made an important (and accurate) realization about Spike: he *wasn't* her type.

"She deserves better," I said gently, and couldn't help but smile at the emphatic nod I got in return.

"Yeah," Belle said, resting Mary's head against my shoulder. "She really does."

We stood there for a few minutes, smiling, holding each other. For a moment, I felt normal. I could have been hugging my daughter OR my wife, and it would have been just as nice, just as peaceful, just as calm. I didn't feel confused, I wasn't fighting my own instincts.

I was just an ordinary man, standing in my kitchen, hugging an important woman in my life.

But it was more than that. It was the knowledge that against all the odds...it was working. My wife's insane, impossible plan was working.

Four more days. I could put up with anything, if at the end of it...I'd have my daughter back again.

Chapter 32:

I considered sneaking into my office and masturbating before bed-time.

Not an unreasonable action, you'll have to agree. For one, I'm a grown man (who works from home, at that). I can get off whenever I damn well like.

On top of that, it felt like it had been years since I'd last gotten off. Mary's teasing, the bizarre, fucked-up situation we were in...I was more erotically charged than I'd been since my own teenage days.

Back in college, one of my roommates had been super into anime. It wasn't like today, when you can find it everywhere on the internet - he'd had to order it in from Japan.

I hadn't been as into it, but he played it so much that it was hard not to be aware of what he was watching. He particularly liked those 'harem' shows, whatever they're called - a guy meets a few dozen hot women, all of whom are inexplicably attracted to him.

The structure varies from show to show, but the ones I most remember (for obvious reasons) were the ones where the main character was just in *endless* sexual situations. First his female roommate would lose her towel, then his neighbor would get locked out of her house naked or something. Nonstop erotic situations, accidentally or deliberately orchestrated to drive him up the wall.

I felt my life had turned into that, but instead of a string of attractive women, it was just one: my wife. My daughter.

My wife, in my daughter's body.

She was still locked in her room, but I feared that when she heard her daughter (in her mother's body) go to bed, she'd sneak into my room.

My daughter's body would sneak into my room, and - unless I'd already found release - I was afraid that I'd be unable to resist.

I knew this. I knew my wife, and I knew how my daughter's body was affecting her.

And yet, I didn't masturbate.

Looking back, it's hard to say why. Did I truly think that I had the willpower to resist whatever she threw at me? Or did I *want* my defenses weakened?

Did I want my wife's willpower to overpower mine?

You know how when you're tired, everything is so much *harder* than normal, and it begins to snowball? You're more likely to have a bad day on a day when you're having a bad day - you're tired and cranky, so you miss your stop, which makes you even more tired, so you're more likely to stub your toe, which makes you even more cranky...

It's a vicious cycle.

While it's not exactly the same, comparisons can be made to arousal. I was horny, which impaired my judgment...the sensible thing to do would have been to jerk off (perhaps more than once), strengthen my resolve, ensure that I didn't go on to do anything I'd regret.

But instead, I managed to talk myself into staying in the living room and watching television. I convinced myself that Mary wouldn't try anything, not tonight, not after being rejected.

I'd promised to help her once a day, and I'd done exactly that. My wife was reasonable; surely she'd see that I'd done my husbandly duties for the day, and leave me alone for the night.

Right?

But the very moment after I closed my bedroom door, it opened, and my daughter's body entered my room.

"Go to bed, honey," I said patiently. I tried to ignore the way my cock throbbed at the sight of her. After these two weeks were done, would I ever be able to go back to viewing Belle as my beautiful, innocent daughter?

Or had we ruined that forever?

It didn't help that my wife hadn't cleaned up at all. My daughter's face was still coated with mascara - we'd destroyed the photo, but the image would be burned into my face for all time. I could picture my cock in her mouth, the desperate look in her eyes as she'd gazed lustfully up at me...

*Down, boy,* I mentally admonished.

My wife is far from a perfect person, but I can tell you that 'predictability' is exactly none of her flaws. To my utter surprise, she responded with a single word - "Okay." - and slipped out of my room just as quickly as she'd entered.

I was still staring at the door in shock when it reopened a few seconds, and she poked our daughter's nose back into the bedroom.

Of course. It could never be that simple.