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 I’d hadn’t gotten off in years. Mary’s teasing, the bizarre, fucked-up situation we were in…I was more erotically charged than I’d been since my own days as a teenager.
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 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 that feeling of being overly aroused. 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.
After all, I’d promised to help her once a day, and I’d done exactly as she’d asked. My wife was reasonable; surely she’d see that I’d done my husbandly duties for the day, and leave me be for the night.
But exactly second 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’ certinaly isn’t one 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.
“One thing before I go,” she said hesitantly. I sighed, and glanced at the clock.
Midnight. If I allowed her to suck me in (literally OR figuratively), it was unlikely that either of us would get a proper night’s sleep.
“Make it quick,” I responded, and she threw me a look of such innocence, the Andrew of two weeks ago would probably have bought it.
Oh how I wished I could return to those simpler times.
“So I told you that Spike offered me…”
She trailed off. I rolled my eyes, and finished the thought before she even had a chance to drag the silence out.
“A threesome with Linda, yes. I remember.”
“Lacey,” she corrected, my daughter’s big blue eyes working overtime. I don’t think I’d ever seen eyes so wide, so deliberately naïve.
“Lacey. What’s your point?”
“And obviously I can’t do it.”
“Obviously,” I said, pointedly glancing at the big clock on the wall. “Mary, it’s late. We really need to…—“
“We’re in complete agreement about that,” she interrupted, taking a step forward. I responded instinctively by taking a step back—not the most authoritative move, but I didn’t trust her so close.
I didn’t trust myself, either.
“Uh huh,” I said. “No using our daughter’s body for threesomes, agreed.”
No part of me wanted my cock to thicken at the thought of that. No part except my cock, apparently.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, turning her lips up into a smile. It was hard not to remember that just a few hours ago, my cock had been between those lips, forcefully fucking Belle’s throat, using her to get off…
“So there’s no problem,” I said.
“Right,” she said, lightly stepping backwards until she was once more in the doorframe. “No problem at all. Except…”
You’ve got to understand; I didn’t want to get sucked in. But my wife…she’s got a talent.
Many talents. And more than one of them had to do with sucking me in.
“Except that’s not what I told them.”