“Welcome home,” I said loudly and proudly.
I was met with a half-grin, followed by an eye-roll.
My son was two and a half years younger than his sister. He was a good kid…although at that age, Belle had been too.
Ben was still working himself out (as most people are at that age). I’d spent most of the drive asking him about the Camp he’d just spent a week at, and in response he’d given me a mix of enthusiasm, sarcasm, and what seemed like total non-sequiturs.
I’m sure “having his mod featured on Curse Forge” as a camp highlight made sense to someone, but it sure as hell didn’t mean anything to me.
The previous night, we’d watched a film (Knives Out, probably the best murder mystery I’d seen in years) before turning in early. I’d fully expected my daughter’s body to slip through my bedroom door for a late-night visit, but…well, my wife never fails to surprise me, and that night’s surprise was that she didn’t come visit me.
In what was again an unexpected turn of events, I’d woken up by myself. I’d breakfasted alone, before making the drive out to pick up my son.
When we arrived home, the two body-switched women were in the living room, watching Mean Girls for the hundredth time. And, for the fiftieth time, I wondered how much of herself Belle recognized in the main character.
Ben waved an awkward hello—at that age, pretty every movement he made was awkward—and in what must have been a difficult moment for her, my wife rolled Belle’s eyes and grunted a hello.
My daughter’s immediate reaction was again disdain, but fortunately (for Ben’s sake, if nothing else) she managed to catch herself almost immediately, and walked over to give her brother a warm hug.
“Mo-om,” he grimaced, squirming to get out of the hug. “God, I was barely gone for a week.”
“I missed you,” she said simply, and I smiled at the interaction. I’m not the most observant of men, but it felt like a good sign that I couldn’t detect even a hint of insincerity in her voice.
“What does everyone want to do for Family Day?”
I was met with the simultaneous rolling of both my son and daughter’s eyes, but—impressing me once more—Belle (in her mother’s body) managed to keep any distaste for my question hidden.
“Board games?” she asked tentatively, and I clapped my hands at the suggestion.
“Yes! There are four of us—we can play Witness!”
Witness was one of the more unusual board games in our collection. It was a cooperative game, which had made it perfect for Family Days in the past—everyone working together to win as a team. It played like a game of Telephone; everyone was given partial information, and had to whisper what they learned to the player to their left.
We’d bought it when it was first released, and had a great time playing through the scenario booklet. There were sixty-four cases; we’d gotten into the thirties (they escalated in difficulty as you went) before Belle had decided she was too cool for Family Day. The game required exactly four players, so for several years now it had been stuck on the shelf.
My excitement was genuine as I went and fetched the game box. When I returned, everyone was sitting around the table—Ben and I facing each other, Mary (in Belle’s body) on my left, and Belle (in Mary’s body) on my right.
I gave a quick recap of the rules, and when we launched into the game, it was exactly as much fun as I’d remembered. The first round required us to whisper clockwise, and when we added up the scores I was elated to see that we’d passed the mission with flying colors.
Everyone agreed with my suggestion to play another round or two. My wife wasn’t really a board gamer, but—just like anal sex, now that I think about it—got a lot of pleasure out of how much I enjoyed it, and was always happy to humor me.
I think the kids really did enjoy the gaming experience as much as I did—when they were younger, I’d seen them pull many a game off the shelf to play against each other.
The next round required us to whisper hints to our right, and after what I thought was quite a good verbal description of a quite complex map to my daughter (in my daughter’s body), I turned to listen to what clues my wife (in my daughter’s body) was going to share with me.
“Okay,” she began. “Can you hear me?”
I nodded. The rules forbade asking any clarifying questions—all I could do was listen and nod.
“I want to feel you inside me again,” she purred. “God, Daddy. All day, I’ve been thinking about your hard cock in my ass. I’ve been so sore. You made your little girl’s ass so sore with your big, hard cock…”
“Belle…” I said warningly, and my son’s head snapped around.
“Hey!” he said. “No talking!”
I grimaced, and nodded.
My frustration was twofold; firstly, what Mary was doing was so blatantly stupid. Okay, so she was whispering…and my son and daughter were probably too focused on their own clues to even try to hear what she was saying. Plus, Ben—as demonstrated by his interjection—was a stickler for the rules, and wouldn’t have even considered trying to overhear her whisperings.
But just as much as that…I wanted to play the game. There would be time to fool around later. We only had limited time to crack the case of the missing parakeet, and I didn’t appreciate my wife’s attempts to derail our efforts.
“I want to do it again,” she continued, and I rolled my eyes. “I want you to stick your cock inside your daughter’s sore ass. I want you to take me, Daddy, use me as your own personal little fucktoy. I want you to cum inside me, again and again, until your Belle-drop is nothing but a…”
“Belle!” I yelped. As Mary had been talking, I hadn’t noticed my daughter’s hand moving under the table. With startling accuracy, she’d planted it straight onto my cock.
“Dad!” Ben said again, and my wife’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
“God,” Mary said, standing our daughter’s body up and clenching her fists. “You’re so lame!”
With that, she stormed out of the room, leaving me with a shocked expression on my face, and the rest of my family staring at me, awaiting an explanation.* * *