Our local beach is far from huge. It’s just a small patch of sand with rocks on either side. Nothing scary—I remember when I’d been younger, jumping from rock to rock, completely oblivious to the potential risks. One slippery patch and I could have smashed my head open.
Maybe that’s the true curse of growing older: you’re suddenly aware of dangers everywhere. It’s much easier to have fun when you don’t spend every moment knowing how close you are to death, weighing up how much closer each and every action will bring you.
And so it only took us a few moments to discover exactly where Mary had taken our daughter’s body.
I was watching my wife’s face as we did, worried I’d see delight, or envy.
But no—to my relief, the sight in front of her evoked the exact mix of emotions we’d hoped it would.
Shock. Revulsion. Protectiveness.
And once more…determination.
As we cornered the rock, moving to the most secluded area of the beach, we found my wife had done exactly what as planned. I’d been skeptical about its feasibility when my wife had proposed it that morning, but Mary was pure confidence…and, as always, she was right.
She had sat our daughter’s body in the middle of four kids the same as as Belle…and was making out with one of them, while the others watched.
Watched, and touched her.
One teen was just running his hand up and down her left leg. Another had his hand on her stomach, and it was obvious that he wanted to move it up and grab my daughter’s tits.
The last was more hesitant—every now and again, he’d reached out and just trace a small pattern on her skin with his nails.
Belle’s body shuddered with delight every time he did. Her miniskirt and top were long gone, and she was donned in nothing but the bikini she’d been wearing that morning when I fucked her.
The same bikini she’d worn when we’d come up with this plan.
I could feel the green-eyed monster rising inside me. We’d worked this out together. We’d unanimously decided we were going to do this. It was all part of a plan—a good plan. A plan I’d signed off on.
But at the sight of Belle—my Belle—making out with a stranger, while others touched and groped her…I really had to fight my desire to march down there and kick his ass. The teenager my wife had chosen to lock lips with wasn’t much bigger than me, I was sure I could take him.
She was mine. Not only had I raised her since birth, not only was she made of my DNA…over the last few weeks, I’d taken her every hole as my own. I’d taken her. I’d tasted her. I’d made her cum more times than I could count.
She was mine.
Worse than the sight of my daughter making out with a stranger was the knowledge that it was actually my wife doing it. My loving, faithful wife, was—for the first time since our marriage began—making out with someone who wasn’t me.
And it was very, very obvious that she was enjoying it.
I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t really cheating, that she wasn’t doing it for fun, that this was the best way to help Belle. But even though I understood that intellectually, it didn’t stop the primal instinct from trying to take over my brain.
That was my wife. My daughter. And someone else was touching them.
They were both mine. Mine, not for sharing.
They belonged to me.
“What is she doing?” I asked, very aware that I was really at the limits of my acting ability here. Even if I hadn’t been involved in the planning, it was blindingly obvious what she was doing.
But I don’t even know if my daughter heard me—she didn’t answer, just continued to stare in horror at the sight in front of her.
Again, I checked to make sure that it wasn’t envy or lust that my daughter was wearing on my wife’s face, but no—her hesitation clearly didn’t come from want. She was stunned, locked up, as if she couldn’t even process what she was seeing.
It wasn’t until a few seconds later, when the formerly-hesitant boy apparently found his confidence and went to undo my daughter’s bikini-top—triggering another surge of possessiveness within me—that Belle snapped out of it.
“What are you doing?” she bellowed, echoing the question I’d just asked her. “Belle!”
My wife looked up, impeccably imbuing our daughter’s face with the look of shock and guilt that she would have worn had if this situation had really happened.
Not that I really think this could have happened without our intervention. Before the switch, my daughter had been dating one person, and she hadn’t even let him touch her. She’d been better at fighting her hormones than her mother, truth be told.
Belle started marching my wife’s body towards her own, and I followed promptly. By the time we reached them, the four kids had scattered, leaving Mary (in Belle’s body) alone in a bikini, her cheeks burning red, the clothing she’d worn on top of it nowhere to be seen.
“What the hell, Belle?” my daughter asked her own body, and I followed her lead.
“Young lady, we are very disappointed in you.”
My wife rolled Belle’s eyes…had we been alone, I would have pulled her over my knee and spanked her for that. I knew my wife was just playing her part, but my daughter had thrown that exact expression at me more times than I could count.
Spanking it out of her would be extremely cathartic…and somehow, I knew my wife wouldn’t complain.
“It’s no big deal,” she grumbled softly. “We were just messing around.”
I’d never seen my daughter so lost for words before, and I’d certainly never seen my wife’s face splutter like that.
“You were just messing around?” she finally spat out. “Belle, this is a public beach! Anyone could have seen you be…be used like that.”
My heart skipped a beat at the flicker of lust that appeared on my daughter’s face at that, but Belle didn’t seem to notice.
“No one did,” my wife muttered, and Belle rolled Mary’s eyes.
“Yes, they did!” my daughter responded. “We did!”
A young family rounded the corner, picnic basket in tow. “We should finish this later,” I said quietly, placing my hand gently onto my wife’s shoulder.
Belle instinctively shook it off, but as she opened her mouth to continue her tirade, she realized what I’d just said.
“You’re right,” she said, looking angrily at her own body. “We’ll deal with this at home.”
“Sure thing, Mom,” my wife replied petulantly. “Whatever.”