Mad Monday
by Pan
Chapter 41:
Mary’s body was two steps into the kitchen before I even realized she was home.
“Belle!!” she exclaimed, and my daughter’s body froze.
“M-mum?” she stammered in response.
“What…what are you wearing?” she asked, and both of us suddenly relaxed.
I’d decided fucking my daughter was too risky; by sticking to head, we could both remain fully-clothed, and if we heard someone coming, I could quickly hide my cock and Belle could act as though she’d just dropped something.
Just a few minutes later, I was smiling contentedly as I watched my daughter swallow down my seed. Not unexpectedly, I felt a whole lot more relaxed—I still had no idea how to come to terms with the situation, but as Belle’s body stood up, I was able to attack my sudoku without being distracted by the uniquely bizarre situation we were trapped in.
“Oh, you like this?” she asked, turning from side to side.
I knew it was risky, but I couldn’t help but stare. My daughter’s body was unbelievable, but it was more than that. My wife clearly got so much pleasure from showing it off—there was an exhibitionistic energy, a palpable haze of lust eminating from her as she drank in my gaze.
She was subtle about it, of course—my wife made sure that our daughter’s eyes never so much as flicked in my direction—but we both knew what was happening. She was enjoying my attention…and god help me, I was enjoying giving it to her.
“It looks amazing,” Belle said, using her mother’s hand to reach out and touch her own side. I shifted uncomfortably—despite having just released my tension a few minutes ago, the sight of the two most attractive women I’d ever seen, touching each other…
It forced erotic images into my brain that were very, very unwelcome.
“I didn’t realize it was new,” I said, slightly louder than I had intended. Both women jumped, and I saw a guilty look cross my daughter’s face.
Ah. It seemed that Mary had been shopping. A part of me wanted to be annoyed that she’d been spending money to expose our daughter’s body, but…well, of everything that had happened in the last week, that particular act was pretty low on the priority list.
Besides, it had worked. I couldn’t deny it—I found her outfit hot as hell.
“I made dinner,” my wife said brightly, and for the first time in a long while, the three of us sat down to eat as a family.
It was a delicious meal, but I think we were all too distracted to truly appreciate it. Probably for the best—if Belle had put serious thought into it, she would quickly have realized that she didn’t have anywhere close to the culinary talent required to put a meal like this together.
I spent the meal staring at my wife’s body, trying to read her mind…what was she thinking about? Was she remembering what it had been like in the back of Scott’s car, sandwiched between his greasy skin and skanky girlfriend? Was Belle feeling as guilty as I had for the first ten days of this situation, trying to mentally reconcile what she’d done with her mother’s body?
Or was she remembering how good it had been? And planning to do it again…
It was this thought that really got to me, and I found a bite of my wife’s delicious pasta going down wrong. My eyes widened, my face turned red, and I gestured to my throat.
Before I could say a word, I could feel my daughter’s hands around my stomach. The Heimlich has been outdated for decades at this point, but when someone of my generation notices that someone’s choking, it’s the first thing that comes to mind…and hey, it still works.
As a soggy chunk flew from my mouth onto the table, I could see Mary’s eyes looking at me, wide.
“Are you okay, Da...uh, dat looked like it hurt.”
“I’m fine,” I wheezed, pushing my plate away. “I think that’s enough for me for the night. I need to catch up on work.”
I wasn’t lying, either—after sleeping the day away, I really was behind. Neither woman said anything as I took my plate to the sink and made my way to my office, spending the next few hours buried in my laptop.
A full stomach, recently-emptied balls, and a near-death experience somehow mixed to provide the exact right level of energy to have a productive evening. I totally lost track of time as I completed invoices, sorted statements, and replied to impatient emails from my most demanding clients.
I was getting ready to wrap up when I heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” I said automatically, rolling my eyes when I saw my daughter at the door, still wearing the provocative outfit she’d had all evening. “Mary…”
“Andrew,” she said, and I suddenly noticed the serious look on her face. “The police are at the door.”
* * *