The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mad Monday

by Pan

Chapter 24:

I managed to mask my erection as I left the office (a skill I’d developed as a teen, and hadn’t thought about it for many years). I tried to calm down as I waited at the bottom of the stairs for my daughter (in my wife’s body) to finish preparing for our ‘date’.

My mouth dropped open as Mary’s body appeared.

Over the last week, Belle had been dressing her mother as she saw her choices in fashion. At the age of forty, Mary had long settled into what I considered quite a pleasant array of outfits, but—in her daughter’s eyes—were apparently dull as ditchwater.

Yesterday, for example, Belle had worn a black dress that I hadn’t seen Mary in since her uncle’s funeral. It was stiff, staid, formal, and did absolutely nothing for her figure—something I’d been extremely grateful for.

I was already having enough trouble hiding my attraction to Mary in my daughter’s body. The last thing I’d needed was to hide my attraction for my wife from Belle in Mary’s body.

Even after eighteen years of marriage, I still consider Mary one of the most gorgeous creatures on the planet, but I knew that Belle must be finding the scenario stressful enough as it was. She didn’t need her father’s lustful eyes passing over her borrowed form.

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

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?”

“When 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 a very 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 active as mine. I had never particularly kept track of frequency, but 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 it would come to that.

“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 dimissively.

“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 confused and 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 presumed was Lacey, 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.