The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was late Sunday morning. My wife, Marsha, had left for work a little while ago, a double shift. Chani, our eighteen-year-old daughter, sat across from me at the dining room table.

Thus far, it had been a pleasant morning, mostly just sitting right where I was, reading the newspaper. But, everything changed moments ago when Chani walked in and took a seat.

She had just set something on the table. A leather collar, to be precise. To most people, it would look like any ordinary dog collar, even if the name, Ashley, emblazed upon it was perhaps unusual for a dog.

The reality was different, however. This was not a dog collar. It was a hypnotic prop.

Many years ago, early in our relationship, I had spent months using deep hypnotic trance states to create a sub-personality within my wife.

This personality, Ashley, was, for all intents and purposes, my sex slave. She fulfilled all my deepest, darkest sexual desires with wild abandon, even while my wife—whose body she inhabited—was generally pretty vanilla in the bedroom.

The collar was used to bring out, to wake up, if you like, this Ashley, while at the same time, putting my wife, Marsha’s true personality, to sleep.

Whenever I (and only I) presented the collar to Marsha, she instantly fell into a deep sleep, and Ashley would come forward.

The process had been perfected over years of regular use to the point where Marsha had no memory of the collar. Even if she came across it on her own, while cleaning or something, she would ignore it entirely and have no memory of it later.

As you might imagine, such an endeavor is fraught with peril. As such, when I first began the hypnotic training, I was careful to create contingencies, and backdoors, just in case something happened and Marsha figured out what was going on.

Indeed, the sub-personality itself was one of those contingencies, as she, Ashley, was omnipresent—even if buried deep—in Marsha’s mind. She could influence Marsha, subtly, as needed, just like any other aspect of Marsha’s subconscious.

Very early in the process, there were a couple worrisome events where Marsha began to realize that something was out of sorts. Thankfully we had been able to mitigate her suspicions, and in time Ashley, and I figured out a series of little safeguards and strategies to ensure Marsha’s blissful ignorance.

As an example, just last night, Ashley prevented me from cumming inside my wife. Usually, a sex ‘slave’ would have no say in such matters; however, part of her mandate was to project Marsha. After all, an odd taste in one’s mouth upon waking was much easier to ignore than sperm leaking out of one’s vagina.

And, it was that collar, that hypnotic prop, that my daughter had just placed before me.

My initial reaction was to explain it away as a bit of kink, of sexual roleplay shared between her mother and me, but Chani’s recounting of events made it clear that she would never believe such an explanation.

The reality was, though, I didn’t have much choice. I could lay all my cards on the table and hope that Chani didn’t run to her mother (or the police). Or I could try to gaslight her and hope she bought it.

“Oh, that,” I played it cool. “I’m sorry you saw that, Chani. I’m a little embarrassed to say this, but your mom and I play a little sex game that involved her pretending...”

I was stopped there when Chani interrupted me. Her voice was full of something, pain, confusion, incredulity, all of the above? “Stop! Daddy, please just stop.” She paused and took several deep breaths.

“If it were anyone else, I would probably believe your story about ‘sex games.’ But I know who you are. In fact, today, I know you better than I ever have before.

“For starters, I know that you are a master hypnotist. For my entire life, I’ve heard you talking about hypnosis.

“You’re obviously proud of your work, and it was inevitable that I would pick up quite a bit in eighteen years of listening to you.

“When I saw the change that came over Mom last night, I had no idea what I was seeing. But later, after thinking about it, I knew. I knew that you had done something to her mind.

“That woman,” she looked down at the collar as if reminding herself of the name, “Ashley, she’s not Mom, is she?”

I sighed and steadied myself. I was caught, and how I handled this was critical.

The most interesting thing was that, so far, there had been no recriminations from Chani. It appeared that she wanted to understand, not to accuse or threaten.

I quickly weighed my options, thought about potential outcomes, and decided to come clean, well, mostly.

“No,” I finally responded. “Well, yes, and no.”

Chani just stared at me, indicating I should continue.

“Alright. I’m going to put it all out there. When you have questions, just speak up...

“As you know, your mother is my second wife. My first marriage was a disaster. We got married for the wrong reasons, and divorce was inevitable.

“There was so much bad in that relationship, but one of the only bright spots was our sex life. We had great sex.”

The sour look on Chani’s face indicated that she wasn’t keen to hear about my sex life with my ex-wife but was willing to continue listening as long as it was going somewhere.

“After the marriage inevitably fell apart, and some time passed, I met your mother,” I continued.

“Our relationship was the exact opposite. Everything was fantastic. We had similar goals, similar beliefs, similar senses of humor. Sure, we were in love, but we were also in ‘like.’”

Chani clearly had no idea what I meant, so I explained.

“I mean that we really liked each other. We became genuine friends. You may find this hard to believe, but that’s rare. Most people fall in love; they feel all these intense, sometimes overwhelming feelings. Then, they intensify and confuse those feelings with sex.

“They decide that they’re soulmates, get married, and five years later, realize that they’re not all that into each other anymore.

“But, at that point, they’ve got kids and a mortgage, and their lives are so intertwined that the thought of starting over is less appealing than just sticking with this person. After all, they mostly get along; it’s not terrible.

“It’s why so many divorces happen when the kids move out. There are just so few reasons for them to stay together; it’s easy to just walk away.

“That’s not how things were with your mother and me. We were friends, real friends. We were comfortable with each other in a way neither of us had ever experienced before.

“It sounds corny because so many people say this early on, but for us, it was true: We had the perfect relationship...

“Except for sex.”

I paused there and looked at Chani. She was listening intently to my little story. More importantly, she was mostly relaxed. Her facial features, body language, and eyes all indicated someone interested, not angry.

“Then, and now,” I continued looking at her more directly, “your mother just wasn’t a particularly sexual person.”

I paused again, seemingly steeling myself before sharing profoundly personal and possibly painful information.

That’s not exactly what I was doing, however. No, I realized that if I didn’t get my story straight, I might destroy the narrative that I’d been weaving with Marsha and Chani over the past few weeks.

Amazingly, no one considers themselves a liar. We all like to think we’re honest and honorable people, but who was I kidding?

Over the past couple of weeks, I effectively brainwashed my daughter into thinking she was desperately in love with me. And, simultaneously, I’d convinced my wife that she’d had a years-long incestuous relationship with her father—all lies.

Now, I was trying to figure out how to salvage that work—by, once again, deceiving my daughter. And even so, I didn’t feel like a bad person.

I decided to save the self-reflection for later and pushed forward.

I took a deep breath and painted my face with a sorrowful and introspective expression. I could tell it was having the desired effect because when I began speaking, Chani actually leaned in closer. Perfect.

“It wasn’t that she was asexual or something,” I picked up where I had left off. “We did have a sexual relationship, obviously, as evidenced by your existence.

“No, it was just that she didn’t enjoy sex the way I did.

“Marsha has told you about her relationship with her dad, right?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” Chani replied.

“She told you how beautiful it was?” I continued, and she nodded in response.

“About the special bond they shared?”

Again Chani nodded.

“She likely told you about how it showed her what a good relationship could be like and how that exampled helped her in her dating life.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Chani confirmed.

“And she told you about what a ruckus and raunchy time they had, her father and her, right? How she learned to be a skilled and considerate lover? How they could barely keep their hands off each other? How she was able to explore all her deepest fantasies so that she could enter into her marriage free of doubt and shame?” I asked as I looked at Chani expectantly.

“Uh, no,” Chani responded, a little embarrassment showing on her face, likely from the subject matter.

“She didn’t tell you those things because they were not part of the relationship she had with grandpa,” I stated matter of factly.

“Don’t misunderstand,” I continued. “They absolutely had a physical relationship. It was something they shared on a regular basis. And, I’m sure that it was, at times, passionate.

“But, for them, it was mostly an expression of love. It was something gentle, something quiet. Something intimate and reserved.

“And, again, don’t get me wrong, that type of sex...that type of lovemaking...absolutely has a role within a healthy relationship.

“Even the horniest guy desires to feel that level of intimacy on occasion.

“For me, though, sex is all that and...SO MUCH MORE!

“Remember last night?” I prompted her. “You told me about how you had desired to ‘return the favor’—so to speak—from what I had given to you a couple weeks ago.

“When you were unable to do that, it upset you.”

The corner of Chani’s mouth turned up into the slightest grin, and I took that as a sign to continue.

“Marsha, your mother, would never have a thought like that. That longing to give your partner pleasure. To use your body to provide them with a gift like that, willingly, without prompting or cajoling, that’s just not what sex is to her.

“For her, sex is a sweet and tender moment shared between lovers as an occasional expression and reminder of that love.”

“What about last weekend?” Chani chimed in, recalling the rather wanton behavior of Marsha during the previous weekend.

“Two things created that delightful evening,” I replied as if it was obvious.

“First was the alcohol. I hate to say it, but your mother is a little sexually repressed. On rare occasions, when she’s had too much to drink, or...,”

I emphasized my next words, “When she’s jealous of another woman. Say someone younger with bigger breasts. Someone who’s at least as beautiful, if not more beautiful. Someone who’s been receiving a lot of attention from her husband...

“Someone like you.”

“Mom is jealous of me?” Chani asked, genuinely taken aback.

“Yes,” I responded as a point of fact. “Indeed, she’s told me as much. In fact, it’s really been working out for me lately. She’s been a whole new person in the bedroom.”

“Really...,” Chani said, with a hint of her own jealously in her voice.

“Anyway,” I continued. “Marsha and I have very different needs when it comes to sex.

“I can easily meet her minimal needs, but she is uncomfortable trying to meet mine. It’s just not in her.

“This became painfully apparent in our early relationship, once the intensity of the first few months wore off. I tried to be okay with it. I told myself over and over that our love would be enough, and my sexual needs were just my own selfishness.”

I paused again. I realized that contrary to my initial intentions, everything I’d said thus far—except for the parts about Marsha and her father—had been true.

I took another deep breath and decided to continue in that vein.

“Look, Chani,” I began. “I’m about to reveal a secret to you. Of course, you’ve obviously discovered one of my biggest secrets already, but I’ve never shared this story with anyone...

“I’ll admit I’m a little scared. The thing is, I love you immensely. I don’t know if I’ve put our relationship in jeopardy. And, I don’t want what I’m about to tell you to change how you feel about me.” When I said that, Chani was momentarily, visibly taken aback. I don’t think she’d considered that last night’s revelations or this morning’s conversation might permanently harm our relationship. Good. This was very, very good.

“I made some mistakes with your mother, and I don’t want that between us if we continue moving forward. So I’m going to tell you some things no one else in this world knows.”

Again she leaned forward in rapt attention.

“Before your mother and I married—though not long before—I cheated on her.”

“What!?” Chani gasped.

“Please, let me...,” I tried to continue. “I’m not trying to make an excuse, but for months and months, I had denied part of myself, a HUGE part of myself, my sexuality.

“I had convinced myself that the love I felt for Marsha was enough.

“It was only after I cheated that I realized it wasn’t. I was losing part of myself, and I just wasn’t strong enough to deny it. And, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t WANT to deny it anymore.

“I talked with Marsha, though I didn’t tell her about the cheating. I just told her how I felt about sex.

“We talked, we yelled, we cried, we hugged, and we affirmed our love for each other.

“Marsha said she understood and that she would do more in the bedroom. And, to her credit, she really tried.

“But she couldn’t maintain it. And, even what she was able to do was obviously forced. She wasn’t enjoying herself, and that ruined it entirely for me.

“The most frustrating thing was that I KNEW she did have it in her. Like I said, when she got drunk, or someone flirted with me, we’d end up having fantastic sex.

“I thought about it long and hard. I told your mother I needed some time to myself, and for nearly two weeks, I struggled with how to proceed.

“Finally, I realized that my sexuality was simply too much a part of who I am. If I were to go through with marrying Marsha, I would be killing a part of myself.”

As I spoke, I remembered back to that time in my life. To my complete surprise, the emotion of it started coming back. The pain of the choice I was making, the fear of the future, the incredible sense of loss, they all came flooding back, and I started crying.

A few minutes ago, I decided to deceive my daughter and try to salvage the twisted ‘relationship’ we shared. Instead, I ended up opening up to her in a way I hadn’t done, with anyone, in a very long time.

I don’t know why I did that, but it seemed to be the right choice. Chani reached out across the table and took my hands in hers.

I steadied myself, took a deep breath, and looked up at her.

In response, Chani smiled at me, a warm, loving smile, and she nodded, telling me to continue the story.

“Well,” I continued, clearing my throat a little after my emotional outburst, “I decided to end things with your mom. It was one of the...no, it was the hardest decision I’ve ever made, and it destroyed me.

“But,” I went on, smiling slightly to myself, “life, fate, karma, whatever it is, it has a way of getting in the way of our plans. And, in my experience, it’s usually for the better.

“I hadn’t had the courage to talk to your mom yet, and I was a wreck emotionally. I wanted to distract myself, so I did something that always brought me a lot of comfort; I went to a used book store.

“At the time, I was into some pretty ‘out there’ kinds of stuff, and I believed—and maybe I still do—the secrets of the Universe were hidden in obscure books.

“I read so many books from centuries-old monks and mystics; each one felt like I was peeling back the curtains on some hidden world.

“But, it was also always a bit much for me. I just couldn’t bring myself to fully accept what these people had to say. I often wondered if they just didn’t have the language to explain their ideas rationally.

“So, when I stumbled upon a particular textbook, ‘The Wiley-Blackwell Handbook of Transpersonal Psychology,’ I was so excited.

“Here was a new concept—well, new to me—that took a lot of the old spiritual, mystical ideas and reframed them in a psychological context.

“I was fascinated. And, it was precisely the sort of distraction I needed.

“I took it home and devoured it over a weekend. (Well, I devoured parts of it...it’s a big and dense book.)

“The reality is, I could talk about this stuff for hours, but the long and short of it is: it gave me an idea. It gave me the idea that I could, using deep hypnotic states—something I was just learning—find those highly sexual parts of Marsha, those parts that came out when she was drunk or jealous.

“I could find those parts and mold them into a ‘helper’ a ‘construct’ a ‘sub-personality’ that would exist within your mother, and that could be brought forward when needed.

“What I didn’t know, at the time, was that my idea wasn’t new or unique. In fact, even back then, there were whole therapies based on these ideas. But I didn’t know that, so I made it up as I went along.”

Chani was wholly engrossed in my story, and for my part, I was engrossed in telling it. This undertaking was one of the most profound in my life, and yet I’d never shared the details of it with anyone.

“I called up Marsha and apologized for my cold feet. She was incredibly understanding.

“The next time I saw her, she told me that what we shared was unique and that she never doubted that I would work through whatever it was I needed to work through.

“Your mother was an incredible woman back then, and she still is today,” I said, smiling at Chani. Who smiled back warmly.

“Not long after that, we moved in together with the intent of getting married. And that’s when I got to work.

“It took me months of regular hypnosis sessions, but I eventually accomplished my desired goals.

“I found those sexually repressed parts of Marsha and bonded them together. I named them, empowered them, and focused them on a shared goal, Marsha’s and my happiness.

“Then I worked with that aspect, Ashley. I taught her, trained her, molded her into who and what she is today.

“You saw part of the end result. You saw Ashley acting as my sexual partner...well, more of a willing, very willing, sex slave.

“But there’s more. Ashley is always there, helping to manage those urges that your mother wants to deny. It makes Marsha happier, more relaxed, more confident.

“Ashely has helped your mother in many ways. It’s worked out better than I ever could have hoped.”

With that, I stopped and looked at Chani. She stared back at me, unreadable.

Oddly, I wasn’t nervous. Neither was I cocksure; I honestly didn’t know how this was going to end. But, the vibes I was getting from Chani were, at worst, neutral.

She continued staring at me for what felt like five minutes, even if it was more likely closer to one. Finally, she nodded and began to stand.

“I’m taking your car,” she said, a statement of fact rather than a request.

Usually, she would have asked permission, but she was basking in the ‘power’ her knowledge held over me. Even so, after making her declaration, she paused and looked back at me with questioning eyes.

Good. She was putting on a little show, not actually trying to call the shots. Everybody does it a little when they feel like they can get away with it.

I just nodded and said, “Keys are by the door.”

Chani started walking away but paused, then turned and walked back next to me.

She bent down and kissed me, not on the cheek, but on the lips, and not as a daughter, but as a lover. It wasn’t sexual or passionate; it was a statement. It said, “I’m confused right now, but I still love you.”

She ended the kiss but held her face close to mine for a few additional seconds before finally standing back up and saying, “I love you, Dad. I’m not mad. But, I am confused. I need to think. I’ll be back later.”

She started walking away again, but once more turned, “I love you.”

Moments later, I heard the door close and the garage open.

I was alone with my thoughts and for the first time in a long time...I felt like the future was entirely out of my hands.

The next few hours passed slowly. Like any other Sunday, I did a couple chores, watched a little TV, and even completed a little work.

Eventually, I noticed the afternoon was getting long in the tooth, and I started thinking about dinner.

With Marsha working a double shift—she wouldn’t be home till early in the morning—and Chani gone, I was on my own.

Such situations call for a singular response: pizza.

I had a sneaking suspicion that Chani might be home in time for dinner, however. So I made sure to leave off the peppers and to order the breadsticks she likes.

The food arrived about an hour later, and after tipping the driver, I set it down on the kitchen counter.

It was at that moment my phone rang. A quick glance showed that someone was calling my work number, and while I usually would ignore a call like this on a Sunday evening, I decided to take it.

So, I headed into my office as I picked up. (Being physically in my office puts me in work mode. So while I could have answered the call in the kitchen, I just preferred to do work stuff in my office.)

Turns out...surprise, surprise...it was spam. I’ve been getting these calls lately where they pretend to be interested in my services. They get me talking, and suddenly they’re pitching me some web design or scheduling service. God, it’s infuriating.

Anyway, I walked back to the kitchen with the call terminated and discovered Chani standing there looking into the pizza box.

“You ordered us pizza,” Chani said happily. “Ooo, and you got me breadsticks? And...hey, were you waiting for me?”

I wasn’t waiting for her, but...never turn down an opportunity to take credit for a happy coincidence. “Well, I had a feeling you might be home soon. No worries if you already ate or something,” I quickly added. “I won’t be offended.”

“No,” she replied. “I’m starving.” Then she paused for a second, looked at me, and smiled. “Thank you, Daddy.”

That little interaction began an absolutely fantastic evening. Chani and I took our food into the living room and ate while she showed me a swath of funny and astounding Internet videos.

It was just fun; no drama, no pressure, just fun. We ate, we laughed, and when the food was gone, we snuggled.

I honestly couldn’t remember the last time we’d had a daddy/daughter night like tonight. It reminded me of how, years ago, Chani and I were friends—before the dreaded teenage years.

Spending time with her brought back fond memories, and the whole encounter just made me happy.

Eventually, the videos ended, the food was put away, and we were left in silence for a few moments. That’s when Chani spoke up. Her tone was different than it had been for the past couple of hours. I suspected it was time to continue our conversation from this morning.

“Dad, I’ve got to take care of something real quick. It’s going to take me about an hour, but when I’m done, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Okay,” I responded—dread apparent in my voice.

Chani smiled a warm smile and tried to put me at ease. “It’s nothing bad,” she said. “It might be a difficult conversation,” she added with a hint of sorrow in her voice. “But it’s nothing bad...I promise.”

I just gave her a half-smile and nodded my reply.

With that, Chani picked up a bag she had set down when she came home (I hadn’t noticed it earlier), and she went into her bedroom.

About twenty minutes later, I heard her move into the bathroom, and the shower started. Odd.

The shower was an interesting development. Why would Chani care about showering before having a conversation? That didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

I’d been sitting next to her for the past two hours. She certainly didn’t smell bad or anything... Why...?

Something occurred to me then. With everything that had happened today, throughout all of our interaction, both this morning and this evening, Chani had never seemed angry with me.

In fact, she had been nothing but loving. And, this evening, some of her behavior could even be considered flirtatious.

Furthermore, Chani and I both knew that Marsha—arbiter of the ‘second-base rule’—wouldn’t be home for hours.

Was it possible that she wanted to get ‘cleaned up’ for me? Well shit! I hadn’t planned on this.

With that, I jumped up and ran to my own bathroom.

About thirty minutes later, I was washed, dried, and wearing just a hint of a cologne that Chani bought me for Christmas a year or two ago.

I had also taken the opportunity to brush my teeth and put on a slightly nicer pair of jeans and a stain-free t-shirt.

I didn’t want to look like I had gone out of my way to impress, but I did want to present myself well.

Not long after, Chani found me waiting for her in the living room. As I suspected, she had showered, done something cute with her hair, and put on some fresh makeup.

It was a casual look, but I know she must have been rushing to pull it off in such a short amount of time.

Additionally, she was wearing a rather sexy but slightly understated negligee. It was sheer and pink, with lace covering the top of Chani’s ample breasts. It hung just below mid-thigh, giving it a sexy and alluring look while still being somewhat modest.

She looked fantastic.

As she walked into the room, she paused, for just a moment, striking a pose that showed off her incredible assets. It was so brief that if I wasn’t already staring at her, I would have missed it.

I could tell it was a practiced move. Something that said, “Notice me, but don’t make a big deal about it.”

At that moment, I have to admit, I was just a little confused. I was sure that Chani would be mad at me with everything that had happened.

But, to the contrary, she wasn’t mad. In fact, it was the exact opposite. We had a lot of fun together tonight, and, based on her outfit, we might be having a lot MORE fun very soon.

As the reader, you might be wondering about one key point. A seeming hole in my story, so let’s address that quickly.

If Chani learned that I had use hypnosis to turn my wife into a sex slave, wouldn’t she suspect that I had used hypnosis on her too?

I mean, she’s my daughter. Our relationship had been nothing but appropriate for her entire life. Yet, suddenly, she’s deeply in love with me, romantically, and desperate to consummate that relationship physically?

Surely she was a little suspicious.

Actually, no. And, I wasn’t even a little surprised.

One of the most frustrating aspects of being a hypnotherapist is just how well it works.

You see, let’s imagine you suffer from a debilitating fear of heights. So, you go to work with a talk therapist. They tell you all the reasons why your fear is irrational. They get you to admit that your fear is irrational. But...the fear is still there.

Then, you go to a behavioral therapist. They give you exercises to condition you away from your fear. You force yourself to practice. Each time it’s terrifying. You hate doing it. After months you see only the tiniest bit of progress.

Then, out of desperation, you go to a hypnotherapist. The hypnotist talks to you. They ask you to breathe and to use your imagination. After each session, you feel relaxed, but you suspect you’re just wasting your time. After all, there are no exercises. There’s no ‘homework.’ There’s no struggle. You just breathe and imagine.

You stick with it, though, and after six or eight sessions, you one day find yourself in a situation which would have, in the past, terrified you. But this time you don’t feel anything. In fact, you didn’t even realize anything was unique until later when a friend asked you how you were doing.

Hmm, you decide you must of just ‘gotten over it.’ So, you call up your hypnotherapist and cancel your next session. You thank them, but you’ve just gotten over your fear of heights, so you don’t need them anymore. And besides, you don’t think it was working.

The hypnotherapist says, “Wait, you’ve struggled with this fear for 20 years. You’ve been to multiple therapists. You’ve missed out on many life experiences because of it. The only thing that’s changed in the past eight weeks is that you’ve been working with me. And you DON’T THINK IT WAS WORKING?!?”

That is the gift and the bane of hypnotherapy. The change comes from within. You don’t change who you are, you don’t struggle, you don’t try to be different. Instead, the world changes around you. You’re still you.

To Chani, everything she’s experienced over the past couple of weeks wasn’t a result of me forcing something upon her. No, from her perspective, it was already inside her. Everything she was experiencing was natural and from within. After all, if I had hypnotized her, she would know. She would feel strange or different. She would catch herself behaving oddly. She would know.

Wrong.

All of those things are true with a hamfisted amateur hypnotist. But even a modestly skilled practitioner can easily avoid such complications. It’s just how hypnosis works.

So, when Chani sauntered over to me, a small shopping bag in hand, she knew, without the slightest doubt, that the love and the lust she had been feeling toward her own father was NOT the result of some plot to brainwash her. Not like her mother.

No, these were her thoughts, her feelings. She was entirely in control. Indeed I wouldn’t be surprised if she had lost just a little respect for her mother today, feeling that Marsha must be somehow ‘weak’ to have been influenced by hypnosis. Not Chani, though; she was too strong.

Chani walked to me, then bent down and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. Like earlier, this wasn’t the kiss of a daughter, but the kiss of a lover. And, like earlier, it wasn’t passionate, but intimate nonetheless.

She then sat down next to me and made a couple slight adjustments to her negligee to ensure her modesty.

“Dad, I have a few things I want to discuss. And the first one is this,” Chani said as she reached into the bag and pulled out Marsha’s, or rather Ashley’s, collar.

She looked down at it briefly then handed it to me. “Here, this is yours.”

I looked at my daughter somewhat questioningly. Was she just going to hand this back? I was expecting a lot more drama.

Noticing my look, she took a deep breath and spoke, “Last night, when I saw you use this, and what happened because of it, I had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

“It was... Well, seeing Mom like that, the change that came over her. Watching the things she did. Hearing the things she said. It was terrifying.

“Clearly, she wasn’t my mother.

“But,” Chani continued, “she was so happy. She was so enthusiastic. And you. You could barely contain yourself.

“In all of our encounters, including what I did to you at the party, you have yet to ‘get off.’ And, based on what I saw with you and Mo...Ashley, you probably haven’t even been close with me.

“When I snuck out of your room last night and was lying awake in bed for hours afterward, that’s what I was thinking about.

“At first, I was angry. Not because of what you had clearly done to Mom. No, I was angry because that was her lying next to you, at that moment..., not me.

“Secondly, I was sad. I was sad, and I was hurt, and I felt lonely. Because I wanted so much to have what she had. I wanted to be able to give you that pleasure. I wanted you to be unable to control yourself because of me.

“I thought about the things I heard her say, the things that drove you over the edge, and I wanted those things. I needed those things.

“Why did SHE get to say that to you? Doesn’t she know that I am my father’s slut? That I am your whore?

“I was so mad and so hurt. You could have said, ‘No’ to mom. You could have snuck into my room. I wanted it to be US writhing on the bed. Not you and that stupid cunt!” Chani said, anger in her voice.

“Chani!” I chided.

“I’m sorry,” she calmed herself. “That’s not fair, I know. I’m still trying to figure this all out.

“When I came to you this morning, I had hardly slept, and I was numb after a night of confusion and tears.

“I had devised a ‘plan.’ I was going to ask you about the collar, and if you lied to me, then I was out. No more ‘secret boyfriend.’ No more anything. I wasn’t sure how, but I was going to move out. I’m eighteen, and you couldn’t stop me.”

Her declaration shook me deeply. I had no idea any of that was going on this morning. I had no idea how close I had come to losing my daughter.

Chani took a few moments to breathe and calm herself. Telling her story had clearly gotten her worked up.

“But,” she said, calm returning to her voice, “that’s not what happened. You were honest with me. And, more than just being honest, you actually opened up and shared something special with me.

“I was moved.

“When I left, as I was driving away, I felt so silly. Of course, you would be honest with me. I felt stupid for ever doubting you.”

She gave me a weak and bashful smile, which I returned as I took her hand in mine. Wow, she had no idea.

“So, where does that leave us?” I asked, genuinely curious how she felt.

“Daddy, I need to make two things abundantly clear to you right now. And, once I do that, then we can start figuring out what’s next for us.

“First,” she began. “I am in love with you.

“This isn’t some school girl crush. Nor is it what Mom and Grandpa shared.

“I’m not interested in learning the ropes from you so that I can go on and find another guy.

“You are my guy. You have always been my guy.

“You know how little girls often say they’re going to marry their dad, or their grandfather or something?” she asked.

“Sure,” I shrugged. “I think it’s pretty common.”

“Yeah, well, if you recall, I said that too, about you.” She seemed almost embarrassed to admit it.

“Chani, Love, that’s not a big deal; lots of little girls feel that way. They only know a couple men, so their little brains just assume they have to pick from that limited selection,” I said as I chuckled.

“No!” Chani exclaimed, irritated by how dismissive I was being. “That’s the thing. Maybe, when I was very little, I thought that way. But, Dad, I’ve felt like that my entire life.

“Imagine how hard it was for me, in middle school, when all my friends were having their first serious crushes, even their first boyfriends, and I couldn’t participate. Because I already had someone who I loved.

“Eventually, I learned to play the game with my friends, even with Mom. I’d say, ‘Billy is so cute’ or ‘OMG, I really like Jason.’

“But it wasn’t true. Because I was in love with YOU. I knew that somehow we’d be together one day. I knew that we’d find some way to love each other.

“However, over time, I began to realize it was never going to happen. How could it? I was so confused.

“And then, a couple weeks ago, everything changed.”

Chani took a breath and seemed to be gathering her thoughts. While she did, I thought about what she just said.

As I saw it, there were three possibilities:

One—Everything is precisely as she said. She’s been in love with me her whole life.

Two—Her subconscious mind had fabricated this whole story to reconcile what she was currently feeling.

Three—It was a combination of both.

In all likelihood, it was option three. I’ve known several women who were willing to admit to me that they had a mild crush on their fathers well into their teenage years.

Of course, it never went anywhere, and they grew out of it once they started dating, but it was real.

Like a lot of fathers, my relationship with Chani had diminished after puberty. Girls change a lot, not just their bodies but their interests and their personalities. Often times, as a result, fathers just naturally distance themselves.

I was only vaguely aware of Chani’s romantic life. I had heard mention of a boy here or there. But to my knowledge, she had never seriously dated someone.

And, truth be told, Chani is smart, fun, funny, and absolutely smoking hot. There had to be an abundance of boys asking her out.

Perhaps there was something in her psychology which caused her to avoid romantic entanglements thus far in her young life. And if that was the case, it would have been easy for her subconscious to latch on to that and use it to make sense out of everything that had been going on the past couple of weeks.

Something similar had happened with Marsha. Using hypnosis, I caused her to FEEL like she had a relationship with her father, and her subconscious modified her memories to match those feelings.

It’s a ubiquitous phenomenon and doesn’t need hypnosis. All of us subconsciously modify our memories, to a certain extent, to align with our current feelings and beliefs.

“I realize,” Chani began again, “that I’m rambling a bit. But I want to be clear that I love you, Dad. I love you, and I’m IN love with you. It’s not some phase. It’s not some teenage crush. Do you understand?”

I looked into her eyes for a moment before responding, “Chani. I do understand. I mean, as much as I can. I don’t know what you’ve felt over the years or how that affected you. But I believe that you love me. And I love you too.

“I need to be honest with you, though. My feelings for you are a little confusing too. I love you. I mean it, I love you with all my heart. And in addition to those feelings of love, there’s a deep physical attraction and desire,” I allowed my eyes to roam her body for just a moment before continuing.

“The weird thing is I don’t have those ‘new love’ sort of feelings. The butterflies and the sweaty palms and the sleepless, ‘is she thinking of me’ nights.

“The love I feel for you is more profound. It’s like the love that I feel for your mom. It’s not new and exciting; it just is. It’s been such a big part of my life for so long that it’s just part of who I am.

“Usually when one says, ‘I’m in love,’ it implies all these other feelings. But I don’t have those. Am I making any sense?” I implored.

“I think so, Dad. I mean, I do have a lot of those ‘new love’ feelings. But I think I understand what you’re saying. In fact, that’s partly what I wanted us to get out of this evening,” she said.

“This evening?” I asked, a bit confused.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Just the two of us, hanging out, having fun. It was light, it was easy, it was natural. Earlier, you said that you and Mom are friends, real friends.

“As I thought about it today, I realized that we used to be friends, and I want that again.

“Which,” she added, “brings us to the second thing I want to be clear on.”

I raised an eyebrow to let her know I was curious for her to continue.

“I’m yours, Daddy. I said it last night at the party, and I meant it. It’s not going to change. I’m not going anywhere.”

Again she paused and took a deep breath as I looked at her, confused.

“Good, sweetheart. I don’t want you to go anywhere,” I said tentatively.

“Oh, boy,” Chani sighed. “Daddy, I know you love Mom, and of course you do, and you should. You’ve been together for like two decades. But...

“Well, a big part of your relationship is built on a lie. You laid it out for me this morning,” Chani was barreling through her speech, intentionally not giving me time to interject.

“You told me that to be with Mom, you had to either give up a huge part of yourself, or...well...there’s no delicate way of putting this, or you had to brainwash her.

“And you know what, that seems to have worked out, so I’m not mad about it. But again, she’s not the perfect partner you say she is.

“But, Daddy,” she reached out and took both of my hands in her’s then looked me in the eye, “I can be that perfect partner.”

“We’re great friends, and that will only grow. We already love each other completely. And,” she looked away, bashfully, “I am your slut, Daddy. I am your whore.

“And, while I don’t know exactly where that’s going to lead me, I know I’ll go willingly, and you won’t need to brainwash me to do it.

Daddy, you don’t need to deny any part of yourself with me.”

I was taken aback. When I started down this road a few weeks ago, I never, and I mean NEVER thought that it would lead to my daughter effectively asking to take over my wife’s spot in my life.

“Chani,” I asked slowly, “what exactly are you saying.”

“I don’t entirely know,” she responded truthfully. “I love Mom. With all my heart, and I have no desire to hurt her. But I feel that I’m a better fit to be with you.

“I’ve given this some thought, not a lot to be honest but some, and I think that it should be a gradual process. I’ve got a lot on my plate over the next few years with graduating high school, then college, then finding a job.

“I think that during that time, you allow me to step up and allow Mom to step back.

“I mean, think about it. She was never very sexual to begin with, and she’s only getting older. She’ll be going through menopause soon, and she may lose interest in sex altogether.

“Even Ashley won’t be able to keep up forever. What if I just step up to fill that role. And, if over time, we find other ways that I can step up, more domestic ways, then we allow that to happen naturally,” she finished.

“And what’s the end goal here, Chani?” I asked, almost suspicious.

“I don’t know,” she said, somewhat frustrated. “I just don’t want to be in second place to a woman who has to be brainwashed to be a good wife.”

“Whoa, Chani, that...,” I started before she cut me off.

“What, Dad? That’s what? Entirely accurate?” she said, a hint of anger in her voice.

“Look,” she continued, much calmer, “I know I’m asking a lot, especially since I don’t know exactly what I AM asking. So, for now, just allow me to be what I know I am. Let me love you, and let me show you that I can be the slut and whore you deserve.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be with Mom physically or with Ashley either, but make that your second choice. Use me, like I want to be used.

“I have a suspicion that we can figure out the rest in time.”

“Look, Chani. I...”

“I know, Dad. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it for now. You know how I feel. I’m yours either way. I told you, I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. This isn’t a demand or an ultimatum. I put it out there, and let’s just leave it there for now. Okay. Please...,” her eyes pleaded with me.

“Okay. Okay, Chani,” I said resolutely. “Let’s just...give me some time to...you know what, we’ll talk about it later,” I smiled at her, not knowing how I felt.

Man, this evening had taken I turn I never could have predicted, and it was about to do it again...

“Well, there were two other things I wanted to talk with you about, Dad,” Chani said, looking at me somewhat apologetically.

Oh boy, I wasn’t sure I could take much more of this. “Okay...?” was all I could say in response.

“The first one is easy,” a genuine smile returning to her face. “I want a collar. Like Ashley’s.”

“You want a collar?” I asked, somewhat perplexed.

“Yeah, not the brainwashing,” she said with a teasing tone. Wow, how fucked up are we that we’re joking about brainwashing.

“I just want the fashion accessory. And I want you to give it to me. I want it,” her tone became much more serious, “to be a symbol between us.

“When I watched you and Ashley last night, I was so jealous. I saw the way you owned her, how she obeyed you. That’s who I am now, and I want a collar as a symbol of my place by your side.”

Wow. “Alright, Chani. Ashley’s collar is very utilitarian. I want to get you something more special. It might take a few weeks, so be patient.”

She literally squealed with delight. I hadn’t seen Chani do that in years.

Still smiling, Chani reached, once more, into the bag, “And, speaking of collars, this brings me to my final topic for tonight.”

She produced a second collar, not too dissimilar from Ashley’s. It was clearly a leather dog collar.

As Chani held it wide for me to examine, I saw that it was covered in faux gemstones, and the name ‘Crystal’ was spelled out in ruby red ‘gem’ encrusted letters.

It was much more dazzling than what I had done with Ashley’s collar.

“What’s this?” I asked, genuinely confused. “I thought you wanted me to pick out a collar for you, and why ‘Crystal?’”

For the third time tonight, Chani took a deep breath and sighed. Here we go again...

“I told you that I wasn’t interested in other boys because I had you, right?” she asked.

“Yes...,” I prompted her to continue.

“And I told you how I eventually came to the realization that it would never work out between us, right?” she continued.

“You did...”

“Well, I’m still a human being, Daddy. Even though I wanted to be with you, I still felt lonely from time to time. And even though I hoped we could be together, I still had...needs,” she hesitated before continuing.

“The thing is, even the thought of being with another man turned my stomach. It was you and only you.

“But, the thought of being with a...woman...that never bothered me. It gave me comfort. I thought that it was okay if I couldn’t have you because I could find love elsewhere. And since I seemed to like girls more than I liked boys (other than you, that is), well, I ended up experimenting a bit,” she looked at me with questioning eyes.

I looked back into those eyes, and suddenly it all made sense.

Over the past few years, there had been so many hints, so many clues.

Sidelong looks. Fitts of laughter. Lingering hands and flushed faces.

Then two weeks ago. When Chani had come home crying. She said that she had opened up to Jessica, said too much, and that she had ruined their friendship.

It was so obvious now. Chani and Jessi were best friends and a little more. But, I guessed, the ‘little more’ had meant something different to Chani than it had to Jessica.

They weren’t fighting because Jessica was mad about Chani being interested in that boy. They were fighting because Jessica was interested in that boy. I bet Chani tried to talk her out of it, told Jessica that she didn’t need a boy; they had each other (or something equally sad and cliched).

Then when Jessica and Chani had met for coffee. It was going so well, and Chani decided to lay her cards on the table. Jessica rejected her again, probably more forcefully this time.

Finally, at the party last night. Jessica was so surprised that Chani had a boyfriend because she thought Chani was a lesbian.

I just looked Chani in the eyes and said in a sigh, “Jessie. It’s Jessie. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Chani’s head dropped, her shoulders drooped, and she immediately started sobbing.

On instinct, I pulled her close and held her, rocking her gently and petting her head.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I love you, I do. I thought we couldn’t be together,” she continued sobbing.

“Jessie and I used to mess around, practice kissing, and stuff. For her, it was just harmless, but for me, it meant something.

“I pushed things, and a couple times, we went farther than kissing. I thought maybe she was feeling something for me like I felt for her.

“I was too afraid to say anything. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But we were so close, I was sure it would work out.

“With high school ending soon, I was afraid I might lose my chance. The other day I told her how I felt.

“She doesn’t feel the same way.

“That was the same day that you and I shared our feelings.

“It’s been so confusing. I’m so happy that you and I are finally together, but I’ve still been sad that Jessie doesn’t want me,” abruptly, Chani pulled herself together, and her voice steeled.

“Last night, I saw what you could do...

“Do it to Jessica. Give her to me,” Chani looked at me with such intensity it was almost frightening.

I stared back and thought about it.

This evening, Chani had offered me something unique. To take over Marsha’s role as my sex slave and to do it willingly. Further, she offered to stick with it for the long term.

If things worked out as she predicted, my sex drive would give out long before her body would.

And, I still got to keep and play with Ashley.

Nothing ever goes exactly to plan, but it was shaping up to be a perfect second half of my life.

I had wanted to corrupt my daughter, turn her into something depraved, like me. And here she was, requesting her own brainwashed sex slave.

I must have been taking too long because before I could say anything, Chani spoke up once more.

“She would be mine, Daddy. And I am yours. So...ultimately, that also makes her yours,” she said with a sensual promise in her voice.

I’m not going to lie; I had thought about Jessica’s tight little brown body many times.

“It’s going to be difficult,” I finally said.

“That’s okay!” Chani beamed.

“It will take time, maybe months,” I added.

“We have until next fall,” she replied helpfully.

“The hardest part will be finding a reason for me to hypnotize her. And to get her to go along with it,” I said, rubbing my chin.

“I’ve given that part some thought already,” Chani replied before climbing into and straddling my lap.

“But,” she added as she began to kiss me with abandon, “the planning can wait.

“Mom’s not going to be home for hours,” my daughter purred.

It was time to be honest with myself. A few weeks ago, in a moment of weakness(?) I decided to begin the process of hypnotizing my daughter.

My stated goal was to bring Chani to the barriers of her own morality and smash through them, over and over again, until what remained was someone utterly devoid of limits and inhibition.

We were getting there, making fantastic progress. And her revelation that she wanted her own plaything...it was magnificent.

Marsha had been my partner in life, and what an amazing partner she has been, but Chani...Chani was poised to become my partner in depravity.

Ashley had toyed with the roll, but the limitations of her very being made her a poor substitute at best.

Last night, and again today, Chani stated her desire to be my slut, to be my whore. Oh, the poor child, she didn’t have the slightest inkling of what that meant.

She had been playing at authority today. Acting if we were almost equals. She was mistaken, though. She would learn. And the lessons would start right now.

“Get off me and stand up,” I growled at her.

I could tell it startled her because she went rigid for a moment before relaxing again. Did she think I was playing?

“Now!” I barked.

She was confused, but she complied, climbing off to stand in front of me.

“What are you wearing?” I continued sternly.

She clearly didn’t know how to respond, and her words reflected the fear and uncertainty in her voice. “Did I do something wr...”

I didn’t let her finish. “I said, what are you wearing?”

Chani looked down at her alluring but modest satin nightwear. “It’s um, I wanted to look pretty, so when I was out, I... Don’t you like it?”

“You saw your mother wearing something like that last night, didn’t you?” I demanded.

“Yes,” Chani answered uncertainly.

“Why would you ever think,” I started low anger in my voice, “that I’d want you to dress like your mother?”

“I...I was just...,” she tried to answer, but I talked over her.

“Chani, she is my wife, the mother of my child. And, as I told you this morning, she is a prude with little interest in sex.

“Is that what you want to be to me? Do you want to talk about the mortgage with me? Do you want to ramble on about office gossip with me? Do you want to lay next to me in bed and tell me all about your latest efforts to increase the fiber in your diet?

“Tell me right now. Because I need to know before we do anything else. Who are you to me? TELL ME!”

Chani stood, staring at me in shock, breathing heavily and visibly trembling.

My eyes bore into her, and as a way of helping to guide her answer, I reached down and adjusted the lump in my pants.

Her eyes followed my hand, which, after adjusting myself, firmly gripped my hardening manhood.

Still fixated on my crotch, she spoke in a wavering voice, “I’m my father’s slut.”

Her eyes moved back up to look into mine, “I’m my father’s whore.”

It was at that moment I realized she wasn’t shaking in fear. She was trembling in arousal.

“Lift up the hem of your nightie,” I said calmly but leaving no room for objection.

Chani complied without breaking eye contact. She reached down, gripped the hem, and lifted it to her waist.

She wasn’t wearing any panties, and even from here, I could see her wetness matting her trimmed pubic hair.

“You’re not wearing panties,” I noticed aloud.

“No, I...” she started before I again interrupted her.

“No...,” I raised my inflection, indicating she had left something out.

“No...da...no, sir,” she responded audibly sighing. Then stopped, realizing I wasn’t interested in her explanation.

“Good girl,” I said with genuine praise in my voice. “That’s something a slut should do.”

She smiled broadly, then spoke up, “Um, sir...there’s something else...”

I simply raised an eyebrow indicating she could continue.

With that, she turned around, bent at the waist, and spread her ass cheeks. There, nestled between those perfect orbs, was a glittering piece of jewelry.

Well, not jewelry exactly, but rather a glass butt plug with a red “gem” in the shape of a heart.

“Is this something a whore would do?” she asked a hint of pride in her voice.

“Chani, Love, that is so sexy. Where did you get that idea?” I asked with honest curiosity.

“Last night, when you were with...Ashley...I heard you both talking about anal. And, the other night, when you...lic...when you...,” she hesitated and quickly gathered herself. She knew what I expected from her; she was just adjusting to the reality of it.

“...when you ate my slutty cunt...”

Okay, it was a bit stilted, but she’d get better.

“...you also played with my ass. I kinda figured that you must be into butt stuff,” she grinned impishly.

Guilty as charged.

“So when I was out today, I picked this up,” she finished.

“Well,” I began, fully mollified, “the lingerie was a poor choice. But, considering how new you are to this, it’s understandable.

“And,” I continued thinking out loud, “you do look sexy in it. Plus, your mom won’t be too upset with you wearing that around the house.”

Chani looked back at me. I saw just the hint of an evil grin on her face, and it turned me on even more.

“All in all,” I continued, “you did well. You’ve dipped your toe into being a good slut for me, but there’s a long way to go.”

The grin left her face and was replaced by a look of determination as she stood up and turned back to face me.

Once again, I looked her deep in the eyes, “Chani, you know what’s about to happen, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Tell me,” I instructed.

“We’re going to...we’re going to fuck,” she responded, clearly excited.

With that, I stood and stepped next to my daughter. Reaching out, I placed my hand at the base of her skull and pulled her toward me.

“We’re going to fuck alright,” I agreed. “But that’s not all. You’re my whore, Chani. But it’s not about saying it. It’s about living it.

“You’ve got a lot to learn and a long way to go before you’re truly living it. Tonight you’re going to take your first steps down that road.

“I’m going to use your body,” I pulled her hair, forcing her to look me in the eyes. “I’m going to use your body for my pleasure, Chani. Your father will use your mouth and your cunt, and I might even use that tight little asshole of yours. Your father is going to use you for his pleasure, you nasty slut, you filthy whore!”

I reached out with my other hand and grabbed her sopping pussy while simultaneously leaning down and kissing her hard on the mouth.

At my touch, her knees went weak, and she shuddered in my hands. It wasn’t an orgasm, but she was certainly feeling good, and she was definitely into everything I had just said.

With that, I took Chani by the hand, and we walked to her bedroom. I probably would have preferred to do this in my own bed, but I didn’t was to chance leaving any evidence for Marsha.

Standing next to her bed, Chani was again trembling. There was excitement in her, but also no shortage of fear. Naturally, this was her first time. And, whether it was real or just a side effect of the hypnosis, she believed it was about to happen with the man she had secretly loved for years.

I wanted her first time to be special. If I came on too heavy with the ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ stuff, it might scare her more than it turned her own. So I toned down the aggressiveness and tried a more loving approach.

First, as she stood there, arms crossed, nervously holding herself, I walked around the room and got things ready.

I turned on a dim lamp and turned off the bright overhead light. I then cleared a few random objects—a couple articles of clothing and some makeup—off her bed then turned down the sheets.

I hugged my daughter and kissed her gently on the forehead before stepping back and removing my pants and socks, leaving me standing in my boxers and a t-shirt.

I then looked at Chani, my daughter, and said, “Undress for me.”

It wasn’t a complicated affair—simply lifting the nightie over her head—and I had already seen her naked, but even so, she hesitated.

I thought about ‘commanding’ her or repeating myself, but instead, I simply smiled warmly and nodded.

With my encouragement, she reached down and pulled the thin, pink, satiny material over her head, revealing her perfect eighteen-year-old body to me.

She made to cover herself back up with her arms—for all the good that would accomplish—but she must have thought better of it and awkwardly allowed them to drop to her sides before every so subtly thrusting out her chest.

(She may have even sucked in her stomach, which was just silly, she was very trim. Not particularly athletic, nor ‘fit’ perse, but certainly trim, youthful, and voluptuous—in all the best connotations of the word.)

“Now,” I said, “undress me.”

She moved toward me, clearly forcing herself not to look away, and lifted my shirt up and over my head.

Dropping it to the floor, she took half a step nearer and placed her hands on the waistband of my boxer shorts.

I found the whole display of bashfulness to be silly, bordering on absurd, even if it was incredibly endearing.

We had literally slept next to each other, in this very bed, multiple times, and each time I was in only my boxers.

Further, just last night, she was on her knees at the party sucking my cock.

Even so, her ‘virgin bride’ routine—which I believed to be entirely genuine—was so charming.

With another nod of encouragement from me, Chani pulled my boxers down, and I stepped out of them.

We stood before each other completely naked, and I realized that this actually was the first time we were both naked in front of each other.

Suddenly, and somewhat uncharacteristically, I too, felt a little nervous.

I looked Chani up and down. She was incredible. Hips, thighs, legs, everything about her was perfectly proportioned to her petite frame. The only feature that stood out, quite literally, was her ample breasts.

They weren’t comically large; in fact, I doubted she was much above average in terms of cup size. However, they looked big on her.

I’m not obsessed with boobs like a lot of other men; even so, I couldn’t help but stare. Everything about them was perfect, from the size and shade of her nipples to the slightly conical shape.

Chani noticed my admiring gaze and repositioned herself accordingly so that I could take in the curve of her backside in addition to the curve of her bust.

That too, was perfect.

Sure, sure, in a couple more years, Chani would have to become much more diligent about diet and exercise if she wanted to maintain her jaw-dropping feminity. But for now, she was enjoying the gifts of youth. And, by god, youth had been very generous.

The allure of her perfect ass was only enhanced by my knowledge of the pretty glass toy resting between those glorious cheeks.

I wasn’t the only one gawking, though. The spectacle before me had an effect on my manhood, which Chani was in turn appreciating.

Look, I’m middle-aged; things just don’t work as well as they used to. As a result, it usually takes direct stimulation to bring ‘mini-me’ to full attention.

Tonight was different. I felt 15 years younger as my body prepared for what was about to happen, and that boost of youthful vitality was on full display.

“Is that for me?” Chani asked in a playful yet still somewhat shy voice.

“Why don’t you climb onto that bed and let’s find out,” I replied...Okay, maybe Chani wasn’t the only one with corny sex-talk tonight.

She did as instructed, though, and positioned herself seductively on the bed.

I laid down next to her, scooting close until my cock was resting between her legs at mid-thigh. The warmth of her smooth skin against it felt good, but I knew it was a poor imitation of what was waiting for me.

Almost instinctually, Chani and I began to kiss and hold and caress each other. It was familiar, something we’d done a few times already, here in this bed. Our total nakedness made the act much more intense, though, so it only took a couple minutes before we were both panting with desire.

I really wanted Chani to relax and allow herself to let go, to embrace this moment. I decided to focus on her for a few minutes and help her ‘take the edge off.’

I pushed her onto her back and began to kiss my way down her torso, paying particular attention to those glorious nipples, before finding myself level with her groin.

As I like to do, I first teased her inner thighs and labia. Then, using my breath, I teased her until she was squirming, attempting to grind her snatch into my face.

Finally, with Chani on the edge of frustration, I flattened my tongue and licked her from her taint to her clit.

I was rewarded with a mouthful of her thick juices, which I happily swallowed.

Several more long strokes had Chani melting into the bed before I picked up the pace and focused primarily on her clit.

Soon she was grinding against my face and using her hands in a vain attempt to push my face deeper into her cunt.

She was already close to cumming, but I wanted it to build a little longer. So, I slipped a finger into her incredibly wet cunt.

‘What?!?’ I hear you asking. Doesn’t more stimulation mean she’d cum faster? No, and if you think that I feel sorry for your partner. Women love a variety in their stimulation...until they get close. Then it’s all about maintaining the same movement, the same location, and the same speed.

By introducing my digit, Chani’s rhythm was thrown off, and her impending orgasm temporarily subsided.

I started slowly with one finger, and when I felt she was ready, I worked in a second. As far as I knew, Chani was a virgin, but she’d been physically active and sexually experimental through her teenage years. I didn’t expect that there’d be any problems with penetration, and it looks like I was right.

It took a couple more minutes, but soon enough, Chani was again nearing orgasm.

As she moaned and writhed, I continued to work my tongue and fingers, bringing her closer and closer.

It dawned on me, though, that she was still wearing the butt plug. That might make vaginal sex more difficult for her, being her first time and all, so I should probably take it out.

Such a maneuver could be tricky as even if she thoroughly lubed it up before insertion, it had been some time, and her body had likely absorbed any lube she’d used.

I slowed my pace, prolonging her buildup, and began working a combination of my spit and her pussy juiced around the toy.

Then with small movements, I slowly worked the toy in and out, just a millimeter at a time, trying to get it to carry some of our natural lubrication back inside with it.

My efforts were rewarded, and slowly the toy began to move easier. Soon I was able to pull it out farther and farther. As I did, I realized that Chani had likely purchased the smallest size toy they had. (Hey, you’ve got to start somewhere.)

My mission accomplished, I worked the butt plug into my rotation. Tongue, fingers, butt plug. Up and down, in and out, sucking and slurping the whole time.

Chani grew closer and closer until I felt her vaginal walls grip down on my fingers. I held them fast inside her, sucked hard on her clit, and—in a feat of dexterity—pulled out the butt plug in one tug.

At that, Chani grunted hard, and her torso came up off the bed as her whole body convulsed.

She bucked and trashed for what felt like minutes while I just held on doing the best impression of a rodeo cowboy that I could muster.

Once she started calming down, I deftly extracted myself from between her thighs and climbed up to lie next to my flushed faced daughter.

She was still panting, and her eyes seemed a bit unfocused, but after a few moments, she turned her head to smile at me. Then, likely noticing the sheen on my mouth and chin, she rolled closer and began to kiss me passionately.

I use the word ‘kiss’ loosely, though, because it was more like she was cleaning my face with her lips and tongue. She threw in a deep kiss, our tongues dancing, but would quickly go back to removing the remnants of her own effluence from my face.

As the moment passed and the orgasmic energies subsided, Chani relaxed into me, snuggling deep into my chest. She seemed to delight in the tickling sensation of my chest hair against her nose.

“Daddy, that was wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Thank you.”

I kissed the top of her head and held her, with one arm, as my other hand reached down, gently stroking her pubic hair.

It was a simple technique to keep her aroused and a subtle hint that we were far from finished.

However, my machinations were unnecessary as just a few moments later, Chani spoke up, unprompted and imitating the speech patterns she heard Ashley use the night before.

“Sir...?,” she inquired coyly, “can this filthy slut suck sir’s hard cock.” There was a hint of mirth in her voice, telling me she was having fun experimenting with this submissive role she found herself in.

“By all means,” I replied, rolling onto my back.

The lull in activity had allowed my dick to soften, and I think I saw a hint of disappointment cross Chani’s face when she noticed it.

“I want you to use those sexy lips of yours to suck my cock. Because once it’s good and hard, I’m going to take your virginity, Chani. Your father is going to slide his rock hard dick into your wet little cunt and make you a woman. How does that make you feel?”

Maybe it was a little over the top, but Chani seemed to really get off on this whole ‘father’ thing. Why not play it up a bit?

In response, Chani snaked her way down my torso until she was positioned between my legs.

Her eyes were fixated on my cock, and she held an almost manic visage. If she hadn’t wrapped her lips so firmly around my cock I might have stopped her, to make sure she was okay.

But, I quickly lost any interest in stopping her as she began bobbing up and down on my tool.

She was doing good, certainly an improvement over just last night, as she used her lips and tongue to pleasure me.

Every few strokes, she would pull off my dick and lick the saliva off my shaft. And, unlike last night, my balls were free, so she even tried to lick and fondle them a bit—though it was clear she was unsure of what to do with them.

I’m not much for excessive ball play, so I didn’t bother instructing her on the matter. We’d save it for a later date.

It only took seconds for my cock to reach its full turgidity, yet, contrary to my statement moments before, I allowed Chani to continue.

I realized after an entire minute had passed that I might actually be delaying.

Chani and I had already broken several taboos. And, based on my perverted tastes and her willing whorishness, I knew we had many more to go. Even so, we were about to have vaginal sex: a father and a daughter.

I was about to be ‘inside’ my own daughter. So yeah, I guess I was hesitating.

Chani must have noticed it too because she looked up to make eye contact with me, her eyes clearly asking, “Now, Daddy?”

I stared back at her, frozen.

Perhaps she sensed my uncertainty, or maybe she was just speaking off the top of her mind, but the mood changed drastically when she broke the silence.

“Daddy,” she began, “are you going to pump my womb full of your seed tonight...?” her inflection indicated that the act was inevitable, only the date was in question.

As she continued, she looked up at me through lidded eyes, one hand wrapped around my shaft, the other moving in the junction between her thighs. Her lips were pouty and red from the work they had been doing on my pole. “...or are you going to make me swallow every last drop of it?” Her voice was husky and her breathing shallow.

Whether intentionally or not, Chani had just erased any remaining doubt in my mind.

“Chani, my little slut,” I smiled at her, “I’ll cum wherever I want. Now climb up here.” I patted my hips, indicating where I wanted her.

Slowly, but without hesitation, Chani climbed onto my thighs, moving to straddle my hips.

“Reach down and grab my cock,” I instructed. “Now, rub the head in your slit, get it wet.

“Good...”

She did as instructed and worked the head of my cock back and forth, coating it in her moisture.

“Use your hand and guide it in.

“Go slow.

“Just the tip.

“Good, girl,” my praise caused a smile to break through the mask of intense concentration she currently wore.

“Now, pull it back out...and put it back in, just a little more than before.

“That’s it. If we go slow and get it wet, it’s going to feel much better than just shoving it in...for both of us.”

Following my instructions, Chani worked my dick in and out of her cunt an inch at a time. I could tell she was near to taking me completely when she froze and stiffened.

“Daddy! Oh my god, Daddy. It’s in. You’re inside me.” She was holding both hands up as if afraid she might do something wrong. “What do I do?”

“Relax, Love. Put your weight on me; you won’t hurt me, I promise,” I reassured her.

She did. Releasing the tension in her thighs, she allowed her full weight to come down on me. And, based on her grunt and brief expression of surprise, I could tell she hadn’t actually taken my full length like she thought she had.

I decided to continue my ‘dominant daddy’ role I had been playing, on and off, all night. “How does it feel, you little whore, to have your father’s cock buried to the hilt in your filthy cunt?” I asked forcefully.

The previous look of surprise was replaced by something else, shock, horror, disgust...? I couldn’t tell.

And, as if my words had hammered home some terrible realization, Chani lifted her hands to cover her face as she started sobbing uncontrollably.

Oh, fuck!

I stared completely helpless for several long heartbeats before I tried, in vain, to comfort my only child. “Chani, Love. Please. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

I didn’t know what to do or what to say. Suddenly the whole twisted fantasy lost its appeal, entirely. I was there when she was born. I had changed her diapers, bandaged scraped knees, held her during storms, and looked under her bed for monsters. But now I knew the truth: I was a monster! What had I done to my daughter!?!

“Oh, Chani,” I began, “I am so sorr...,” but before I could finish, Chani pulled her hands from her face and flung herself forward, hugging me tightly.

I hadn’t finished my sentence and was still at a loss as Chani buried her face in my neck, coating me in a sheen of tears and snot (not one of my many fetishes).

Her chest continued to heave as she tried to catch her breath and speak. All the while, she held me so tight it actually hurt.

“Da...Dad...Daddyyyyy...,” she continued sobbing. “I’m so ha...hap...happyyyyy...”

She squeezed me even tighter, then released me and pushed herself back a little. My dick had almost popped out of her when she embraced me. But, as she sat up, it slid back in a little deeper, causing it to throb and pulse.

The sensation took Chani by surprise, and the shock of it allowed her to compose herself a little more before she finally sucked in a prominent snot bubble and began to speak.

“Oh, god, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. When I realized that you...YOU, Daddy...were INSIDE of me—something I have dreamt about for...well for longer than I should probably admit—I was just overwhelmed.

“I am so happy.”

She leaned forward and kissed me deeply, which caused my cock to slide out a bit. Then she sat back up, which caused it to again plunge deeper.

“Ooh,” Chani realized what was happening.

“Ooh, Daddy,” she started rocking her hips back and forth, riding my cock.

After five or six slow strokes, she started to get comfortable with the movement and increased her speed.

“Ooh, Daddy...we’re fucking. You’re fucking me.”

The smile on her face was infectious. It wasn’t one of happiness, but rather it was a smile of the purest joy. I couldn’t help but smile back.

Crisis averted, and with Chani finding a confident rhythm to her gyrations, I was soon lost in the ecstatic pleasure of my daughter’s warm and luxurious pussy.

“Chani, you feel amazing. This feels so fucking good!” I exclaimed.

I expected her to reply in kind but looking into her face revealed that she was lost in her emotions and physical pleasure.

Her hands groped and pulled at her breasts, almost instinctually, as her hips rocked and her lips worked in silence.

I stared at those lips, trying to figure out what she was whispering to herself. It took only a few repetitions before I realized the pattern she was mouthing. “I am my father’s slut. I am my father’s whore.”

Seeing her mouthing that depraved mantra caused a shift within me. All the fear, guilt, and confusion I had felt just moments ago completely sublimated, leaving behind only lust.

The change was so powerful I physically felt it. I felt a weight lift off my heart. I felt my spine straighten. And, I felt my cock surge with renewed life.

Through this lens of lust and resolve, I looked at Chani. It was like I was seeing her for the very first time.

She was no longer my daughter, with the diapers, scraped knees, and nighttime frights. Neither was she the strong and accomplished young lady who regularly made me so proud. No!

She was my slut, my whore...MINE!

In my mind’s eye, I saw her standing over her mother, not Ashley, but Marsha, forcing the woman who birthed her to eat my seed from her dripping cunt.

I imagined her placing the ‘Crystal’ collar on her friend Jessica and presenting her tight gymnast’s body to me.

I imagined coming home from work to Chani on her knees, begging me to do terrible and depraved things to her.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

With some effort, I sat up, gripped Chani, and managed to roll us over, leaving my daughter on her back with my cock still buried inside her. (It was quite the maneuver.)

I’d had enough of the gentleness and tinder emotions. Without a word of warning, I started fucking my daughter. Seriously fucking her hard.

The ferocity of it took Chani by surprise, but within moments she was grunting in time with my thrusts, her legs wrapped around my hips trying to pull me in deeper, and her arms clinging to me, gripping and clawing my flesh on my back.

The erotic reality of everything that had happened tonight—Chani’s renewed pledge to me, the revelation of her bisexuality, her desires to replace my wife and dominate Jessie—it was all too much. I could feel my balls beginning to boil.

I growled into Chani’s ear, “I’m going to cum, whore. Tell daddy where you want it.”

The ruthlessness of my carnal onslaught made it difficult for her to speak, “I...uh...uh...uh...I...waaa...want...uh...it...in...uh...uh...uh...in...my...uh...cuuunt!”

“You slut,” I continued to growl, “you want your own father to cum inside you?” I asked with something like anger in my voice. Just the thought of it was making it near impossible to hold back. It was taking every ounce of concentration not to blow my load.

“Oh...yes...uh...uh...Daddyyyy! Please...do...uh...uh...do it...uh...uh! Maaark meee...uh...uh! Fill...meee! Maaake...meee...yours...uh...uh!”

That was all I could take, and it was all the reason I needed, “Take it all, my whore!”

I thrust to the hilt and held on tight as I shot my load deep into my daughter’s womb. It was a big one, and it felt amazing.

The sensation likewise set Chani over the edge, for the second time tonight, as she executed a hold straight out of the UFC in an attempt to ensure I planted every drop as deep inside her as possible.

After coming down, we untangled ourselves and laid in each other’s arms for several minutes, basking in the afterglow.

It was a wonderful feeling, and I might have even dozed off except that Chani gently removed herself from our embrace, crawled back down between my legs, and said, “I’ll clean you now,” before taking my limp member into her mouth.

I can only assume she saw Ashley do something similar last night and reckoned I expected such treatment from my whores. She was correct.

At first, she was just a little too enthusiastic, but after I told her to do it gently, she slowed and calmed.

Under the right conditions, I love some rough throat fucking, but I will never turn down a slow and gentle blowjob. I love a bj that keeps you right on the edge—so relaxed that it might put you to sleep, but also so erotic all you want to do is fuck. God, what a fantastic feeling.

That’s what Chani was doing to me now, and I just let go and enjoyed it. No, she wasn’t the best, but as long as it’s slow and gentle, warm and wet, it’s kinda hard to fuck up.

I allowed Chani to continue to the point I could tell her jaw was hurting. She was being a champ and trying not to complain, but I could tell she only had a few more minutes in her.

“Chani,” I got her attention, “pick up the pace. I want to cum down your throat.”

She immediately did as asked and began excitedly bobbing on my slobbery knob.

It was an incredible sight, but I wanted this to be quick, for her sake. So, I closed my eyes and allowed my imagination to run wild.

I thought about all the things I had instore for Chani. I pictured all the taboos we would break. And, the closer I came to climax, the more depraved my imagining became.

It didn’t take long at all—especially considering I had cum only a few minutes ago—before I was close to popping.

“I’m about to cum, Chani,” I warned my daughter.

She momentarily froze, and I realized she had no idea what to do.

“Keep working the head,” I grunted at her. “And grip the base.” She complied.

“When I cum,” I said, now actively trying to postpone the inevitable, “pull back so that only the tip is in your mouth. (I didn’t want Chani to choke so early in her head-giving career.)

“Oh, fuck,” my hips were starting to buck involuntarily.

“Here it comes. Take it all, you fucking slut, and hold it in your mouth!”

With that, I climaxed a second time in less than twenty minutes. Years ago, that was just par for the course; today, it was a rare occurrence. Youth truly is wasted on the young.

After I finished, I propped myself up on my elbows and addressed Chani, who sat unmoving, her lips wrapped around my cock.

“Sit up slowly. Don’t spill a drop.”

She did just that and looked at me expectantly, her lips pursed, and her cheeks slightly bulged.

“Good girl. Now, open up and show me.”

She angled her head back a little and partly opened her mouth to show me the pool of semen and saliva residing within.

“Good. Now swallow it.”

She closed her mouth, shut her eyes, took two deep breaths, and swallowed.

Finished, a look of pride came over her face; she then smiled and looked at me, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue.

“Aaaah,” she intoned, “all gone. It wasn’t bad. Everyone said it’s terrible, but I didn’t mind it at all.”

I just smiled at her, a proud papa. The truth is I prepared for this.

Gentlemen, if you want your semen to taste good, it’s pretty simple. Avoid too much red meat and eat pineapple for a day or two before you’ll be alone with your woman.

I haven’t tasted the results personally, but I’ve been told by multiple women that the pineapple actually makes it taste good. (At least good when compared to what it usually tastes like.)

Celery also seems to have an effect, though pineapple is the clear winner.

The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful. Chani and I cuddled and talked a bit more before we showered together. (During which I got Chani off with my fingers as we made-out under the hot water.)

Fully satisfied and all cleaned up, I was happy to crawl into bed, marveling how Chani’s and my relationship had grown exponentially tonight. (And confident that Marsha would be none-the-wiser, at least for the time being.)

EPILOGUE

Looking out the window of my office, I enjoyed the hints of green poking up through the melting snow. It was spring.

And, while early April often liked to tease us with a few such beautiful days, the truth was we’d likely have at least one more big snowstorm before Winter fully retreated.

I was woken from my reverie by a knock on my office door.

Turning my highback leather chair around, I responded, “Come in.”

“James, your three o’clock is here,” my assistant announced with a little grin on her face. She always got a kick out of calling me ‘James’—which I insisted on, at the office.

“Thank you, Chani,” I rolled my eyes as I responded. “Please show her in.”

Chani was on spring break.

She generally preferred to be by my side lately, so Marsha had suggested she come work in my office rather than sit around the house.

Chani stepped aside and motioned my client into the room.

As usual, Jessica was wearing yoga pants and an athletic top, which seemed to be painted on. I’m glad she had, though, because unlike so many of my middle-aged, overweight female clients who dressed similarly, Jessica had a tight and toned body, sculpted through years of gymnastics training.

“Hey, Jessie!” I said, genuinely happy to see my daughter’s best friend. “I’m so glad you made it. I’ve had a few cancellations today. Probably because of this amazing weather,” I thumbed over my shoulder, indicating the scene out the window.

“Hey, Chani’s dad,” she smiled. She’d always called me that and hadn’t bothered to stop now that she was a client.

She took a seat across my desk as I flipped through her client file.

“So,” I began. “We’ve been at this for what...8 sessions over the past...10 or 11 weeks. Why don’t you give me an update.”

“I was just telling you yesterday about my latest meet,” she said, rolling her eyes.

It was true. I’d seen a lot of Jessie lately. She and Chani’s friendship resumed months ago, and lately, they’ve been spending a lot of time together. Even the most prudish father might suspect that their friendship had... ‘evolved’ recently.

“True, true,” I acquiesced. “But, I was not acting in my professional capacity then. Please humor me.

“After all,” I smiled conspiratorially and winked playfully at her, “if I didn’t pad our sessions, I’d never be able to bill your mother for the full hour.

She chuckled at my ‘dad trying to be cool’ sense of humor and began talking about her recent experience.

It had taken the girls a couple months to patch up their friendship, so it wasn’t until February that Chani suggested to Jessica that I might be able to help with the stress she’d been under.

It was Chani’s idea, and it wasn’t just a pretense either. During our first few sessions, I helped Jessica cope with the stress of graduating, national championships, and navigating the world of scouts and scholarships.

Truth be told, stress and anxiety...those are my bread and butter. I’ve helped lifelong sufferers of debilitating anxiety overcome their condition in a matter of weeks.

Getting Jessica calm and focused was, by comparison, quite simple. Which left us plenty of time for...other ‘therapies’ during our sessions.

Jessia had only been talking for about thirty seconds when I reached under my desk and produced a pretty leather collar emblazoned with the name, ‘Crystal.’

Upon seeing it, Jessica’s voice faltered, her eyes glazed, and her body slumped in her chair.

Then, likely cued by the silence, the door to my private study, a small room off my office, opened, and Chani stepped in wearing only her rather revealing underwear.

She crossed the room toward me, took the collar, and proceeded to begin fastening it around Jessica’s neck.

As she did, I stood and moved to my office door, verifying it was locked. “You checked the lock to my study’s other door?”

“Of course, Daddy,” she glanced in my direction and smiled before turning her attention back to Jessica.

The collar firmly fastened, an immediate change occurred in Jessica as she sat back up, looked at Chani, and cried out, “Oh, mistress. This one is so happy to see you!”

As the two girls shared their mantras and reaffirmed their pledged loyalties—just like I do with Ashley—I reflected on my work.

I was so proud of myself. With Jessica, I had accomplished in weeks what had taken months with Marsha.

It made sense, though. Jessia was young and nearly a clean slate. She had known me for years and trusted me implicitly. And, of course, I was just a much, much better hypnotist than I had been twenty years ago with Marsha.

This would likely be our final session in the office. Jessica was ready to assume her role as mine and my daughter’s plaything.

I felt bad that she’d be turning down a gymnastics scholarship to her preferred school. But, she had come to realize recently that she could receive just as good an education locally, even if she wouldn’t earn the same prestige competing for our nearby state school.

Plus, as their relationship had blossomed, Jessica found the thought of being away from Chani overwhelming. Oddly, it was the one area that our hypnotherapy sessions just couldn’t seem to fix.

Coming back from my thoughts, I found the girls, both collared and kneeling before me. Both mostly undressed.

Chani was still herself as her collar was purely ornamental. Jessica, however, had been replaced with ‘Crystal,’ Chani’s sex-slave.

I looked at Chani, indicating she should speak.

“Sir,” she began in her sensual and submissive voice, “with your permission, I would like to take Crystal into your bathroom. My bladder is full, and she looks so very thirsty, doesn’t she?”

I glanced at Crystal, and she was grinning broadly.

“When we’re through,” Chani continued, “Crystal has requested that you fuck her slut asshole.”

“Wow,” I responded. “You’re not pulling any punches today, are you? Did Jessica do something to upset you recently?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Oh, not at all,” Chani replied. “Quite the opposite. She has been so sweet to me. This is her reward.”

I raised my eyebrows in response.

“To be totally honest, Daddy, Crystal is just doing what Jesica wants to do but is too afraid. She and I have already played around like this a little. So I know she’s into it. But she’s not ready to go all the way.

“I’m happy to do this for her, even if she only gets to experience it through Crystal...for now,” she grinned mischievously.

I smiled at Chani, a look of absolute pride upon my face, then nodded my assent.

Having secured my permission, Chani stood, took Crystal by the hand, and led her into my study.

As I turned to follow them, I took in the sight of their delicious bodies—young, fresh, firm, and all mine.

It’s good to be a hypnotist.