I stared at my wife for what seemed like an eternity.
Intellectually, I knew she was my wife.
But it felt a lot like I was staring at my daughter.
My daughter, who had just asked me to make out with her.
No. No. It was Mary asking to make out, not Belle.
Mary and I had a healthy, active sex-life. Between her bullet vibrators and our shared passion for the other’s body, we’d never been left wanting.
Once or twice, just to mix things up, we’d even engaged in some role-play. For our fifteenth wedding anniversary, I’d ‘picked her up’ from a hotel bar. Neither of us had been able to refrain from smiling as we clumsily exchanged fake names, but we’d otherwise gotten into our characters.
Maybe I could treat this like that.
Yes, that was the ticket. If I thought of this not as…my daughter. If I instead treated this like a costume my wife was wearing, a game we were playing.
I took a deep breath.
I couldn’t do it.
I loved my wife. I loved my daughter. But I had never, ever thought of my daughter in a sexual light. Yes, I’d known that her body was blooming, that she was growing up. Objectively, I was even aware that she was stunning.
But I’d never considered her a sexual creature, on any level.
I couldn’t start now.
“Honey, I can’t.”
“I need it,” my wife urged, speaking through our daughter’s teenage lips. Her voice was dripping with lust; I could practically feel the heat radiating off her.
It was a tone I was extremely familiar with, but not coming from Belle’s innocent face.
“Please,” she pleaded, and when I hesitated, leaned forward and planted her lips on mine.
My eyes widened with shock, and I froze.
For the next half-minute, I experienced something I hadn’t expected (or wanted) to experience—the taste of my daughter’s soft lips on mine, her hands on my chest, and the vibrations of her chest as she silently groaned with need.
I didn’t react. I couldn’t. Like a mouse staring down a snake, I was unable to move.
Finally, in response to my total lack of response, she pulled away.
“Mary,” I interrupted. “This isn’t fair.”
As I saw Belle’s eyes darken, I knew immediately that I’d said the wrong thing.
“Fair?” she hissed, another tone I was altogether too familiar with. “Fair? Honey, let me tell you about fair.”
“This morning, I woke up from a dream that I was being taken by the entire football team. I climaxed four times before bed to try to avoid sex dreams. It didn’t work!”
I wanted desperately to cover my ears, but I had an inkling that wouldn’t be well-received. My wife needed me; the least I could do was listen.
“I woke up dripping; all I wanted was to roll over to my loving husband and ride him to an early morning orgasm. But I couldn’t.”
“I know…” I said soothingly, but Mary was having none of that. She continued, in a zealous tone that I’d never before heard coming from my daughter’s mouth.
“Do you know why I couldn’t? Because I’m doing this for our daughter. For us. For our family.”
“And I appreciate it…” I said softly, but Mary continued without pause.
“Instead, I got off twice. Twice! And then I got dressed and went to school. School! School, Andrew!”
“I’m forty years old, and I’m in high school. And oh my word…you don’t remember, Andrew, you really don’t. You think you do, but you have no idea. They treat the children like animals, herding them from room to room, needing to ask permission to go the bathroom. And the teachers…the teachers! They drone on and on and on about dates, molecules, conjugation. And no one cares, Andrew. The students don’t care, the teachers don’t care. Why do we make them sit through this for thirteen years?”
My wife interrupted me before I could respond, sparks flying from her eyes.
“Rhetorical, Andrew! Rhetorical. I don’t know any of our daughter’s friends, and from what I’ve seen of them, I don’t care to. So I sit in classes, trying desperately to pay attention to concepts I learned thirty years ago, with no one to talk to, with nothing to occupy me. Yes yes, it teaches patience, it builds character—I already have patience! I already have character!”
“You do,” I said, and the teenage girl in front of me took a deep breath.
“So do you know what I do all day?”
“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me what you do all day.”
“I think about you. I think about you, Andrew.”
My smile was genuine.
“Honey, that’s so…—“
She held up one hand.
“I think about you pounding into me. I imagine you bending me over and railing me. Taking me up against the classroom wall, on the teacher’s desk. I imagine this…”
My daughter’s hand squeezed my cock, making me jump.
I deliberately avoided looking down to see where my daughter’s other hand was.
“And it makes me happy. It gets me through the day.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Because if I didn’t, Andrew, if I didn’t spend my day remembering all the times you’ve made me cum my brains out, I would go crazy. I would go crazy, and I would follow my instincts. And I know from watching our daughter for the last few years—these instincts are not to be trusted. Do you know what my instincts are telling me?”
I did, but was very interested in not following that train of thought.
“My instincts are telling me to get out of there, to find Spike, and to show him that he didn’t need any other fucking sluts.”
“He wouldn’t need any other fucking sluts, my dear, because I would be able to show him what twenty years of experience has taught me about pleasing a man. I would choke on his cock, I would have him cum in my ass, I would wrap my body around him so tight…—”
“Sweetie,” I interrupted, trying desperately to change the subject. “Please. You know I…”
One of my daughter’s fingers made its way to my lip, and I fell silent.
“I know. Believe me, I know. But this isn’t about you. It can’t be. This is about me, and this is about our daughter. I’m lonely, she’s horny, and this is the only way I can think of to avoid doing anything we’ll both regret.
“So please. Do whatever you need to do. Shut your eyes, pretend I’m somebody else. Anything you need. Just…kiss me.”
I nodded, and for the second time in my life, I felt my daughter’s lips meet my own.