The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mad Monday

by Pan

Chapter 40:

Belle may have been better than her mother at making coffee, but Mary was a true whiz in the kitchen. She loved cooking for other people, me most of all.

I read an article a while back about the long-term effects of marriage. It talked about how when you’re in a relationship with someone over many years, you basically end up outsourcing parts of your brain. They’re in charge of remembering dates, you’re in charge of knowing where the USB cords live; they become the navigator, you’re responsible for car maintenance.

Cooking was a little bit like that in our marriage. Don’t get me wrong—I wasn’t completely useless. I knew how to fry an egg or grill a steak. I’d even mastered the fine art of chopping up vegetables and putting them in the microwave with a little bit of water.

But between Mary’s love of cooking and my love of Mary’s cooking, she had firmly claimed the kitchen, and we were both perfectly happy with the arrangement.

It was impossible to count how many times I’d sat in the kitchen as my wife flitted around, giving me small tasks (“dice these, will you?”) while she turned a pile of groceries into fine cuisine.

And so as I sat, watching my wife navigate our daughter’s body in the kitchen we’d shared for almost two decades, I was filled with a strange combination of nostalgia and unease. We’d done this before, many times.

But never quite like this.

I was completely and utterly in love with my wife. I do hope I’ve made that clear by now—my wife was my one true love. She always had been, and always would be.

As well as that, I was more attracted to her than any woman I’d met before her. Ignoring the past two weeks—which were so impossibly far from typical—I’d barely glanced at another woman in decades.

So when we spent these hours in the kitchen, it was common for me to check her out. I don’t know if it’s a primal thing—perhaps we’re just naturally more attracted to people who provide for us—or if there was something hot about the vaguely submissive nature of seeing her ‘serve’ me food.

Whatever the cause, I was never more attracted to my wife than when she was cooking. On many an occasion, Mary had been forced to bat my hands away from her derriere while she stood at the oven.

And even more often than that, she’d ended up bending over the countertop and allow me to take her then and there, until we both reached a shuddering orgasm right in the middle of the kitchen.

Despite the events of last night, despite the aching worry in my gut, I found my eyes naturally drifting south to my daughter’s derriere. Mary had chosen the outfit well—she knew how much I liked denim shorts, and Belle’s ass did a particularly good job of filling them out.

And I was reasonably certain that if I were to reach out and grab it, my wife wouldn’t stop me.

She’d quite happily bend over and allow me to take her, right then and there.

I could fuck my daughter in my own kitchen, and no one would sto pme.

“What is it, darling?” my wife asked in response to my heavy sigh. She was the kind of person who really got into whatever she was doing—as she assembled the meal, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d completely forgotten about our current situation.

I, meanwhile, could think of nothing else. My erection didn’t distract me; it reminded me of what we’d done.

My wife and I had made a home together. We’d built a life over twenty years.

And in one simple, stupid move, my daughter had torn down everything we’d worked so hard to build.

“Nothing,’ I replied, and Mary was so distracted by the boiling pot in front of her, she didn’t even bother to follow up. I pulled out the newspaper and started doing a sudoku to distract myself.

Three more days. We just had to get through three more days.

I just had to get through three more days and I’d have my wife back. I’d have my life back. A better life, even. A life where my daughter respected her parents.

A life where my wife had engaged in a tawdry threesome with a drug dealer and his girlfriend.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten.

Our body is just a vehicle for our brains, I reminded myself. That was how we’d justified it. I hadn’t fucked my daughter, not really. I’d fucked her body. My wife had been steering, so it wasn’t like I’d actually had sex with Belle.

We’d just been…borrowing her body, like you’d borrow a neighbor’s car.

I had to believe that, otherwise I was just a monster. But if I believed that, surely I couldn’t be upset about Belle’s actions. Not really.

The sex I’d had the previous night wasn’t incest. It had been sex with my wife, my loving wife. My wife had begged me to fuck her, and I’d obliged.

She’d just happened to be in my daughter’s body at the time.

And so it followed that Mary hadn’t cheated on me. Even if her…her body had been involved in a threesome with two strangers. It hadn’t been her inside, and that was what counted.

Last night, I’d had sex with my wife, and my daughter had fucked two idiot teens.

They’d just been borrowing each other’s bodies at the time.

“Andrew? Are you okay?”

I suddenly realized that my wife had been trying to get my attention for a few moments. I had just been sitting there, eyes closed, head pounding, trying to process the situation. Trying really, really hard to make sense of the last day…and the ten before that.

“Uh huh,” I nodded, looking up.

Oh, crap.

“I’m all done,” Mary said, swaying our daughter’s body back and forth provocatively. “While dinner cooks, how about we get a head-start on dessert?”

“Mary…” I said warningly, but I don’t think either of us really believed that I wanted her to stop.

“A head start,” she repeated, dropping to her knees with a grin.

Two weeks ago, watching my daughter’s hand fish my cock out of my pants would have been unthinkable.

One week ago, I would have pushed back, and my wife probably would have had to spend an hour convincing me that she needed to suck my cock, that it was the only way she could get through school the next day.

But now, as my daughter’s mouth closed over my cock, I didn’t try to stop her. I didn’t fight back.

Instead, I glanced at the clock and wondered if we had enough time to fuck before my wife got home.

It’s amazing how much can change in just a couple of weeks.

* * *