The Bartender
by Pan



Genre: Mind Control
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04 04:23:42
Updated: 2013-03-20 19:14:59
Packaged: 2019-10-06 01:05:15
Rating: Some Sex
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,901
Publisher: storiesonline.net
Story URL: https://storiesonline.net/s/72257
Author URL: https://storiesonline.net/a/Pan
Summary: When Trisha stops into a local bar, she doesn't know what's compelled her. But after a chat with the friendly bartender, she finds herself with a brand new outlook on life...and a brand new body to go with it.





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5



	Chapter 1

Trisha blinked twice as she walked through the saloon-style doors. She smiled slightly as they swung back and forth, enjoying the 'clunk, clunk, clunk' sound that they made.

Other than the noise of the doors swaying black and forth and the light hum of the fridge behind the bar, the room was completely silent. Even Trisha's flats didn't make a noise as she walked across the wooden floorboards. The demure woman was dressed in a knee-length skirt which served to conceal most of her attractive bare legs, and a cardigan on top of her shirt that masked her almost-total lack of breasts.

_Odd,_ she thought. _I didn't know that real bars had doors like that - I thought it was just a movie thing._

It wasn't surprising that Trisha was unaware of what a real bar should contain - the closest she'd ever gotten to one was the occasional _Cheers_ re-runs she'd caught on television. A mother of one who had married straight out of high-school (and fallen pregnant shortly after) she'd never even had a drink, aside from one glass of wine she'd been offered at a dinner party.

Unsure of what had compelled her to enter the empty bar, Trisha walked over to the bartender. "Kent", his name-tag read. He was standing directly between her and the bar's mirror, blocking the view of her own shoulder-length brown hair and light, tasteful make-up as she sat down.

Trisha ordered a glass of wine, and after admiring the skill with which the bartender poured it, found herself staring at a drink that she didn't really want, wondering what she was doing sitting in the dim room at 3PM on a Monday afternoon.

Her brain couldn't supply an answer, so after a few seconds of awkward silence, Trisha picked the glass up and took a sip.

_Well,_ she thought, _when in Rome..._

Countless movies had taught Trisha that the man behind the bar was the perfect confidant - she opened her mouth to share her problems with the bartender, but nothing came out.

The trouble, she immediately realized, was that she didn't really have any problems to share. The middle-aged woman had been on her way home from dropping a box of goods to her local church when she'd decided to stop and get a drink, and she didn't have to pick her 19-year old daughter Julia up for more than an hour.

Trisha's life wasn't perfect, but she'd been happily married for almost twenty years, Julia was a perfect daughter and a model student, and Trisha had nothing that really required advice.

_What a problem to have,_ she thought with a smile. _Seems like a wasted opportunity, really._

Just as Trisha had decided to finish her drink and be on her way, the bartender spoke for the first time.

"Looks like there's something on your mind," he said in a slow Southern drawl, further reinforcing the accuracy of filmic bar scenes to Trisha.

As soon as he spoke, Trisha realized that he was correct - she'd been lying to herself about having a perfect life. Before she could share what she'd come in to discuss, however, he continued.

"Let me guess - it's about the cheating."

Trisha gasped at the bartender's astute guess. For as long as she could remember, she'd been cheating on her husband Roger. It wasn't even as if she was unsatisfied at home - her and Roger had regular intercourse ... sure, it had slowed down the longer they'd been married, but for any normal woman, it would have been perfectly satisfactory.

But Trisha, she'd realized over the years, was no ordinary woman. There was something about the rush she got from cheating that nothing else could compete with - since she'd entered the bar, she had been checking Kent out, wondering if he had a back room they could sneak into, wondering if his penis was proportionately as thick and veiny as his neck.

Twice in an hour would have been a new record too, she'd realized; after dropping the goods off to the church, she'd taken the teenaged volunteer working there out into the back room and given him the ride of a lifetime.

"Gosh," she'd cried out as he pounded into her. "Gosh, this is excellent! Oh my word, yes! Please continue to have intercourse with me!"

(Though she cheated at the drop of a hat, Trisha's religious upbringing had taught her that bad language was uncivilized, and even in the heat of adulterous passion, she couldn't bring herself to swear.)

Trisha loved her husband, but she somehow didn't feel complete unless she was engaged in the taboo act of cheating. It would crush poor Roger if he knew, she realized that, but she couldn't bring herself to stop. She'd tried, once, but her will had been broken the first time a new delivery-man rang her doorbell. Roger was just destined to live the life of a cuckold, unaware of it though he was.

"How did you know?" she asked the man behind the bar, sipping her wine in worry. He was polishing a glass, and she stared at it, wondering why he continued to clean it even though it was obviously spotless.

"With a top like that, I could tell you were looking for action." he replied slowly, taking the time to enunciate each word.

_Oh good, it's working_ she thought with a broad grin upon her face. She broke her eyes away from the man's cloth, running over every inch of the glass over and over, and checked out her own cleavage.

She'd been generously endowed since she was a teen, but it wasn't until she'd discovered the joys of cheating that she'd really begun to advertise the fact. Now it was rare for her to leave the house with anything that didn't show off as much of her breasts as possible.

For her thirty-fifth birthday, she'd bought herself implants. She'd told Roger it was for his benefit, and he'd lapped it up, but the true recipient of the gift had been herself ... and the hundreds of men who had gotten their hands on them since then.

Her new front seemed to defy gravity, and she only ever bothered with a bra when it served to further emphasize her chest-puppies.

"I'm glad you noticed," she said with a saucy smile, intending to look up at the bartender's face and see if he had that intense "I want to make love to you now" look that she so often saw on men's faces. For some reason though, when her gaze reached his hands, she stopped there, and continued to stare as he polished the already-gleaming glass.

"Well, it looks like you're cheating plenty, but ain't hidin' no bad feelings about it." the bartender drawled, and pausing to spit on the glass in his hands. Trisha wasn't sure that was hygienic, but didn't want to tell the man how to do his job. "So what brings you in here today?"

Tricia searched her brain, trying to remember why she'd come in to unload upon the stranger, but came up blank. She was genuinely happy with her life - her ample bosom helped ensure that she had a regular line-up of men to make love to, and Roger didn't suspect a thing. She'd come to terms with it long ago, and no longer even felt an inkling of guilt as she slept with strangers, even taking them home and cheating in her marital bed whenever she could.

As she was thinking, the bartender continued to stare at her, and just as she was going to admit that there was nothing wrong, he once more spoke for her.

"Unless you've realized that men alone don't do it for you any more..."

Trisha's face burned red. It was as if the bartender knew her better than she did - she'd tried to hide it for so long, even from herself, but it was true. She'd performed oral sex on more men than she could remember, and spread her legs to engage in sexual intercourse with even more, but she'd never been with a woman.

Though not super-religious, Trisha's moral compass was still based on the tenets of the church she went to, and they'd made it abundantly clear that homosexuality was forbidden. But just recently, she'd grown tired of the status quo - she'd seen so many erections that it was impossible for a new one to surprise her, and she longed for that raw feeling of something new, something that she'd never seen before.

She was in a sexual rut, even with the thrills that cheating brought her, and she knew that the only way she could get out of it was to be with a woman. Any woman.

Trisha hung her head in shame, while never taking her eyes off the glass in Kent's hand, and murmured a response.

"Whassat?" the bartender asked, annoyed, and Trisha repeated herself.

"It's true."

"Mmm," he said. "I thought so. Tell me about it."

At first the words came slowly, but as she got into the tale, Trisha sped up, until she was tripping over her own tongue trying to tell him everything, about how she'd begun to watch lesbian porn to get off, about how she couldn't see another female without falling into elaborate fantasies where the two got naked, kissed, and touched each others' genitals.

"But it's so _sinful_ ," she finally concluded. "I want to be with another woman so bad, but I just know that I'll go to hell if I do. What should I do, Kent? What should I do?"

As Kent put the glass he'd been polishing away, Trisha looked up into his kind blue eyes. Everything they said about telling a bartender was true, she realized. Just by finally vocalizing the feelings she'd been having for so long, she felt better.

Kent immediately picked up another glass, and as Trisha's eyes followed the motion of the rag, began to speak.

"Can I ask," he started, Trisha frantically nodding almost before the words were out of his mouth, "how you cope with having such a hot daughter?"

"I don't," Trisha replied straight away, not even questioning how he knew about her gorgeous teenaged offspring. "I ... oh god, it's worse with her than with anyone."

She didn't know if her newfound bisexuality was what had caused her to notice Julia's looks, or if Julia's blossoming was what had caused her to start lusting after women, but Kent had seen what she couldn't even admit to herself - she had the hots for Julia, big time.

Every time she dropped her off to class, Trisha just wanted to reach up her daughter's skirt, stroke her young legs and reach the prize between them. Every time she tucked her in at night, it was a struggle to prevent herself from leaning in and kissing her, making out with the young woman, making love to her...

Being around her daughter had started to fuel Trisha's sex drive beyond belief, and now almost every time they came into contact, Trisha had to run out and find a new man to have intercourse with. Even her husband Roger had started to notice, though he hadn't worked out what had sparked the increase in the number of times they made love.

For the most part, she desperately hoped that she'd managed to hide it from her daughter - she knew that if she ever gave in to the wild lesbian lust that ran through her body every time they were together, Julia would flee, find it repulsive, never talk to her mother again. But a small part of her wondered if Julia would return her feelings, if the young woman felt the same way ... after all, Trisha was beautiful, and if Julia had even a hint of bisexuality in her, surely Trisha would be the one to trigger it.

The bartender listened carefully as Trisha told her story, and got herself more and more worked up in the process. He interjected with an occasional "There, there," and "You're not a bad mother...", but it wasn't until the distraught woman stopped talking that he offered his piece.

"I think you should go for it," he said finally, his slow drawl dripping straight into Trisha's ears as she leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word of his wisdom. "You look like a woman who sees what she wants and takes it ... as soon as I saw you in those shoes, I knew that you weren't the kind to let life walk all over her.

"You're obviously a strong, dominant woman ... how else would you have been able to seduce all those women? You're a butch lesbian domme, love, and you can spend the rest of your life wondering if it's wrong or if you'll get rejected, but the only way to be sure is to go for it."

Trisha suddenly looked up, a glint in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"Of course," she barked. "Honestly, I don't know why I needed someone like you to tell me. Womyn like me know what we want, and we take it."

She looked Kent up and down, a sneer upon her face. Before she'd discovered that she was a lesbian a few years ago, she probably would have gone for a guy like him, but since she'd discovered the joys of pussy, she'd never gone back. Her husband Roger had been hurt by her constant rejection, but he knew that she was the one who wore the pants in their relationship, and if he dared tell her what to do, he'd soon come to regret it. She'd considered bringing one of her many lovers home and showing him her new proclivities, but had been stopped by the repugnant thought that that he might actually enjoy it. If she never brought pleasure to another man again, it would be too soon.

Trisha glanced at her watch - there was a lesbian bar that she liked a few blocks away, and she probably had time to find some young thing that looked like her daughter and engage in rough intercourse in the bathroom before she had to pick Julia up from school.

Instead of driving home, however, she was going to drive Julia out somewhere and tell her that she wasn't fulfilling her role as a good daughter. It was about time that Julia learned that her place was between her mother's legs.

She chugged the last of the beer (her usual), let out a belch, and flicked the bartender a few coins to pay for it. She was feeling generous, and would let the scumbag keep the change as a tip, for reminding her of who she was. Not that she'd needed it, of course.

Trisha stood up to leave, momentarily finding it hard to balance on the five-inch heels she was wearing. Her reflection no longer blocked by the large man, Trisha used the mirror to check her short, dark hair, and add another coat of bright red lipstick. _Sleaze,_ she thought, noticing the bartender glance at her DD-cup breasts, highlighted by the leather bustier she was wearing.

"One last question," Kent asked as Trisha smoothed down her miniskirt, and made sure that her pantyhose was straight. "What's with the language?"

"Fuck off," Trisha replied with a lewd grin. "Swearing is the spice of life. What cunt doesn't know that?"


	Chapter 2

As soon as Roger walked through the saloon-style doors, Kent reached for a glass. He'd never before seen a man in such need of a drink.

If the dark rings under his brown eyes weren't enough, his incorrectly buttoned-up shirt and mop of dishevelled brown hair clearly used to more attention than it was currently getting were a clear indication that Roger wasn't at his best.

He pounded the first beer that the bartender offered, and as he began to ask for a second, looked up and was abruptly entranced by the large man's eyes. They were so oddly, deeply blue, yet somehow warm. Trustworthy.

Roger was a social drinker at best (his only real vice) and so as he took a large gulp of the next drink that Kent laid out in front of him, it was already starting to hit him. He sighed; there was no one else in the bar - which wasn't unusual for a Wednesday afternoon - and he'd come here to try to cope with his new living situation.

It didn't take long for Roger to unload his woes on the friendly-looking bartender.

Without breaking eye contact, he opened his mouth, and the turmoil that had been his last few days began spilling out. Kent just nodded in sympathy as Roger described coming home two days prior to discover his prim and proper wife dressed in leather and made up like a whore.

"It was like ... Jesus, I dunno. Everything about her was just /wrong/. Even her tits seemed different! ... not that she let me near enough to see, of course. She said that I wasn't ever going near her again, and she ... oh, god ... she /recoiled/ when I reached out to touch her. Can you imagine? She felt sick at just the idea of touching me.

"I felt like someone had taken my Trish away from me, and replaced her with ... oh god, I couldn't even tell what she was. Some kind of man-hater. That's it, that's exactly it: it was like she hated me."

Even as Roger spoke, he tried to distance himself from the words coming out of his mouth. It was difficult to cope with the changes that had so abruptly taken hold of his wife, and he still wasn't quite sure that it was real. As he spoke, he pondered the bartender's strange attire - was the bow-tie part of his required uniform, or was the large man just an eccentric?

Even as his mind wandered around the room, however, his eyes never broke eye contact with Kent's as Roger explained his wife's refusal to answer any questions, the fact that she'd already made up the couch for him to sleep on ("as a special favor" - he wasn't worthy to sleep on the ground outside, she'd been quick to clarify). He'd been heartbroken and confused, but that was nothing compared to what had happened the next day...

"I came home from work really hoping that she'd cooled down a bit and we'd be able to talk. At first I'd thought she wasn't there, but then I heard noises coming from the bedroom ... geez, I mean ... I knew she was mad, but it was obvious, just from the sounds, that she'd brought someone else home and was fucking them in our bed.

"I've never heard her use such language, it was unbelievable. I opened the door, and - oh god, I feel sick just saying this - I could have sworn she was in bed with Julia. Our daughter.

"She didn't stop when she saw me come in, either, she just grinned this huge cruel grin, took a swig from a massive bottle of whisky, and kept going. The girl must have realized something was up though, because she looked up and I saw that it wasn't my baby girl being fucked by the strap-on, thank Christ. It was some teenager who looked just like her. She freaked out and left, and me and Trisha had it out.

"I don't know if she did it to hurt me, like she knew I was coming home, or if she just lost track of time. But I found out that she's been sleeping around pretty much the whole time we've been married. I don't know how I never noticed before, and she just didn't seem to care ... it was like our marriage meant nothing to her, like it never had."

Roger paused, his hollow eyes never leaving Kent's huge and passive face.

"I loved her, I really did. But I think I know why Julia's been locked in her room for the last two days. I think my wife tried to ... do something with her.

"It's been hell since then. I should be going home now, but I just ... I can't face it. I don't know what's happened to my Trisha, but Jesus Christ, I dunno. I don't know what to do."

Kent was the one to break the eye contact, his gaze running up and down the middle-aged man's fit body. He paused, as if chewing over what to say next, but when the large bartender spoke his words were slow and deliberate.

"Why don't you just admit to her that you're a crossdresser?"

"No!" Roger recoiled at the question, his eyes meeting the older man's once more. His face went white as Kent's words sank into his brain.

"You don't think ... you don't think that could have anything to do with it?"

At Kent's gentle nod, Roger lowered his head in shame. The man was right - of course his wife hated him. Of course she was disgusted. He'd never had the guts to tell her, but since he'd been a child he'd been attracted to women's clothings - frilly things; dresses, skirts, blouses ... but most of all panties.

As he'd grown, so had his obsession, and when Roger had first met his wife, he was barely able to get an erection without thinking about panties, without imagining himself wearing them - thongs, granny-panties, bikinis, boyshorts...

Even though he'd never been able to confess his bizarre fetish to his wife, she must have suspected. The drawer that he'd never let her near, his insistence on making love with the lights off. From time to time she must have felt the strap of a bra under his shirt, the silk of the panties around his ankles as they made love.

And at least once, she must have questioned where he went on weekends.

The internet had been a game-changer for Roger; they'd gotten their first modem hooked up a few years after their marriage had begun, and once he'd discovered that there were others like him, he knew he had to meet them. He knew he had to find out.

The first meeting he'd attended had simultaneously been the most freeing and the most shameful moment of Roger's life. Freeing, because he'd realised that he wasn't alone, that other people had the same urges and the same need as he did.

Shameful, because it confirmed what he'd suspected for a long time ... he was a freak.

Six and a half-feet men in tiny miniskirts, old men wearing corsets. Roger only had to take one look at them to know that there was nothing normal about what he did. The sight was humiliating and disgusting - and confirmed beyond a question of a doubt that he was one of them.

Despite the mix of euphoria and nausea that his attendance had caused, Roger had kept going back. At first monthly, then once every two weeks, until finally he'd caved and started going each and every week. He had even become a board member, showing up to every meeting in his favourite outfit, a schoolgirl's dress with "little girl" underpants and matching pantihose.

And although the meetings themselves weren't sexual in nature, they'd only served to fuel his lust for lingerie. His habit had stopped being a "special occasion" type deal, and was now his standard dress. He couldn't even imagine leaving the house without the comfort that a silk pair of panties provided him, or a half-cup bra. He wasn't whole if he wasn't wearing something, anything from his secret drawer, or the chest of clothes that he kept up in the attic.

With a start, Roger realized that he was still staring at Kent wordlessly. /I hope he doesn't think I'm gay... / he thought to himself, as one hand reached down to comfortingly stroke the pantihose he wore under his trousers.

"Oh god..." he groaned. "You're completely right. I should have told her ... at least when I started wearing her panties."

Most shamefully of all, he'd started wearing his wife's pantihose ... and, as soon as she was old enough to buy some, his daughter's as well. The delicious feeling of his family's underwear against his skin only added to the erotic thrill he got from doing everyday activities with the feel of familial silk on his genitals.

It was no wonder they'd drifted apart, Roger told himself. She wasn't stupid - she must have noticed when her tiniest pair of underwear had stretched, or at least once found a chest-hair in her favorite bra. He couldn't resist - she had such excellent taste. Even in the heat of anger yesterday, he'd found himself admiring her cupless bra, and wondering how it would feel against his skin.

Kent reached one hand out and patted Roger's shoulder, recoiling slightly when he discovered a strap underneath the crisp polo shirt the man was wearing. Roger couldn't help but get lost in the bartender's deep blue eyes once more as a whimper of sadness escaped his mouth. He'd hidden it from his wife (like most everything he found important) but wearing women's clothing had really helped him get in touch with his feminine side, and sometimes when he was alone at home, he would just sit alone in the lounge and sob, openly cry in despair at the double life he was forced to lead.

Even now, one eye was tearing up, but he swore that he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't.

"I hate to ask..." Kent said soothingly, his deep voice seeming to take more than a few seconds to rumble through the air and reach Roger's ears, " ... but do you mind putting that out?"

Roger looked down guiltily at the cigarette between his fingers, a wisp of smoke rising. He shouldn't have been smoking indoors, he knew that, but it had become such a habit that he hadn't even noticed himself lighting up. He laughed at himself, but even as he ground the smoke into the ashtray that Kent offered, Roger felt himself getting twitchy. It had been a few minutes since his last one, and if he wasn't so deep in conversation with the man behind the bar, he would have stepped outside to feed his craving.

His addiction had started as a desperate need to fit in - it seemed that the entire crossdressing community smoked, and after declining the first few offers, Roger had quickly worked out why he was having trouble making conversation. But it had quickly grown into something much more than that.

It had quickly grown to represent control.

Maybe he couldn't control his need to humiliate himself and his gender by wearing the girliest clothes he could find. Maybe he couldn't control his self-loathing, or the growing distance between his wife and himself. Maybe he couldn't control his fear that his daughter was lacking a truly masculine influence growing up. But when he lit up cigarette, held it to his mouth and felt the tar coating his lungs, he felt like at least he was in control of that.

He'd even refused to hide it from his wife - she'd been disgusted, of course, but he felt good. He felt clean, and honest ... about this, if nothing else. When Trisha had asked him not to smoke in the house, he'd refused. It was his house, his body, his cigarette, and he'd do what he liked with it.

Roger sometimes felt guilty that Julia had grown up in a house constantly full of smoke, but even the coughs of his new-born child hadn't been enough to dissuade him. Now that she was an adult, she found them so repulsive that she'd sworn she was never going to smoke, so at least something positive had come from his habit.

"So what's the plan?" Kent asked softly, picking up a glass and beginning to polish it.

"I don't know," Roger admitted. He felt empty inside, and wasn't even able to smoke to fill the void. "I suppose I could call the cops - what she's trying to do with Julia is sick. The trouble is, if they found out about ... you know..."

Roger unzipped his hoodie to show the blouse he was hiding underneath, and Kent nodded understandingly.

"Well, no court in the world is going to think /she's/ the bad guy, not with a pervert like me living under the same roof. I guess I'll just have to try to protect my daughter from my wife. Sentences you never thought you'd have to say, hey?"

Roger swallowed the last of his final beer, and pulled out his card to pay. He needed to get home, but even more pressingly, he needed a smoke. He wished that it was the weekend already, that he could put on the new dress he'd bought and leave his troubles behind.

"Before you go..." Kent said, just as Roger's hand reached the door. He paused, eager to hear what the older man had to say. " ... you know I'm not gay, right?"

Roger nodded.

"Because you've been checking me out since you stepped in," Kent drawled, with one eyebrow cocked. Roger's cheeks went red. Had it been that obvious?

At first he'd told himself that it wasn't men he was attracted to, it was their confidence, their ability to wear masculine clothing and be comfortable, something that he'd never had. But even to himself, that excuse hadn't held up as he increasingly found himself drifting to gay porn sites during his spare time, waiting until his wife was asleep and then stroking himself raw.

It was hard to pretend he was admiring their dress sense when they were naked, sweaty, and furiously taking each other in every position imaginable.

Since then, he'd been unable to look at a guy without torrid fantasies running through his head. It wasn't gay, he told himself - he still loved his wife. It was just the panties, the stockings, the dresses ... he'd gotten in touch with his feminine side, and a big part of that involved being taken roughly by a big, strong man.

"I'm not gay..." Kent continued, to Roger's disappointment, " ... but I think I can give you what you need."

Roger squealed with delight as his cock got harder than he could remember it ever being. He'd been genuinely worried that he was going to have to walk out of the bar unfulfilled.

"I'm not gay either..." Roger weakly protested, as he obeyed Kent's gesture and jumped up on the bar. It was oddly sticky, but somehow that just somehow added to the wrongness of what they were doing.

He was relieved that Kent had known exactly what he'd come into the bar for, because Roger certainly didn't have the guts to ask for it. It was such a specific fetish, but when it came to anything sexual, Roger was as nervous as a lamb, unable to bring himself to make exact requests, and the vast majority of the time no one picked up on his vague hints and signals, and he'd go home, alone, and fantasize about all the ways the evening could have ended.

As he wriggled out of his trousers, exposing his pantyhosed rear to the bartender, he smiled. The anticipation was almost as good as the main event, and he'd been anticipating this one since he'd first laid eyes on the bartender.

"Please Daddy," he said in a high-pitched voice. "I know I've been naughty..."

"None of that shit," Kent replied brusquely, and firmly planted his hand on the school-teacher's rear.

SMACK.

As the shockwave rippled through Roger's body and his pain receptors lit up in excitement, he couldn't hide the huge grin on his face. This, this was what he lived for. This was what he trawled bars for each and every night. He'd been fighting his growing attraction to men ever since he'd started going to his weekly meetings and first seen a hairy biker with a skinny middle-aged man in a ballerina outfit on a leash. He didn't know what was happening or why, but he knew that he wanted to be on a leash.

SMACK.

He wanted to be dominated by an older man. He wanted to be spanked, to be degraded, to be someone's bitch. It was the only thing (other than smoking) that he truly enjoyed, that made him feel like he had a place in the world.

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

Writhing in pleasure, Roger was finally able to admit that on top of all of that, he wanted to be fucked. There was something about Kent - possibly the bartender's similarity to his own father, or the authoratitive way he'd taken control of the situation - but at long last, Roger was able to admit that he was gay ... or at the very least bisexual.

SMACK.

Even through his pleasure, past the joy of getting his "fix", Roger spared a sad thought for the crumbling of his marriage. Perhaps if he'd been able to admit his submissive nature to his wife, she'd have indulged him in it, instead of taking it out on random women from bars (and attempting to seduce their daughter) - but his secrecy had meant that she'd grown into a man-hater, a lesbian domme bitch.

SMACK.

All Trisha wanted to do now, Roger knew, was abuse him ... and he didn't even have the courage to tell her that he shared her fantasy, that he wanted her to use him as a doormat, treat him like a dog, degrade and humiliate him for his sick fetish, and tell him that he was scum.

SMACK. SMACK.

Maybe he should let her?

SMACK.

As the impact of Kent's hand resonated through Roger's body, it felt like it was readjusting his brain, clearing everything up. Who was he to say that Trisha was wrong for wanting to fuck Julia? He was nothing but a wimp of a husband, a perverted bisexual with a panty fetish lacking the guts to tell his wife and child. So what if she was cheating on him? He didn't deserve any better. So what if she wanted to fuck her own daughter? It was hardly unusual - Julia was hot!

SMACK.

He was just a sicko who deserved to be punished. Roger accepted this now. He wasn't there to stand between mother and daughter ... if anything, he should have been helping his wife do whatever she needed to be do to be happy.

SMACK. SMACK.

As Kent gave him the punishment of a lifetime, Roger lifted himself off the bar just enough to give his erection, straining through his panties, a bit of air.

That was all it took.

SMACK.

One final smack, combined with Roger imagining the position he was in - pantless on a dirty bar with an older man spanking him as hard as he could - was enough to set him over the edge, and without so much as touching himself, Roger came, shooting his load halfway across the bar. Kent looked away, disgusted, and Roger collapsed once more, landing in his own fresh semen.

"Get out," the huge man growled, and Roger fled, knocking over the white wine he'd ordered and leaving behind the heels and skirt he'd worn into the bar, hoping to tempt someone into punishing him for his attire. He'd needed it, to help clear his head, and it had confirmed his new place in the family. Trisha was in charge, and his only job was to ensure her happiness, and endure her punishments.

He'd fallen in love with his wife for her brain and her creativity, and it was this creativity that he was looking forward to now. If anyone could constantly think of new and degrading punishments, it was his Trisha.

As Roger minced out of the bar, his butt still glowing with happiness, he wondered how he could help his wife get in his daughter's pants. Maybe a chat with the local bartender would help Julia loosen up...


	Chapter 3

As the young woman stormed into the bar, Kent couldn't help but admire her body. The girl was stick-thin, with a perfect face - cheekbones that a model would have killed for, surrounded by long and curly black hair. Though she was conservatively dressed, the large bartender could imagine exactly what she'd look like unclothed; like a pixie, lithe and graceful, slender without ever being bony.

The room was empty - the Friday night crowd wouldn't start drifting in for another hour or so, but though Kent could tell that the angry girl wasn't here for a drink, he asked her anyway.

"What can you _get_ me? What can you GET me!? You can get me my parents back, you sick fuck!"

Tiny though she was, Kent had to admire the girl's efforts to tower over him. She'd reached out and grabbed his bow-tie with one hand, and in an attempt to pull him toward her, had only succeeded at bringing herself over the bench, her furious countenance inches away from Kent's passive face.

He didn't move at all, and when his face didn't even show a glimmer of recognition or understanding, the brunette's anger subsided slightly, only to flare up again when she saw his name-tag.

"Kent!" she thundered, and Kent nodded in response. "I know you had something to do with this! My father said that I should talk to you, and he wouldn't have done that if you weren't up to ... up to something!"

Slowly, Kent pulled out a glass and poured the girl a glass of water. His calm manner relaxed her, somehow, and after sniffing to make sure that there was nothing unusual about the beverage, the girl took a sip.

"Now," he said, his deep Southern drawl unhurried and relaxed, "why don't you start by telling me your name, and then fill me in on what you're talking about, little lady?"

She continued to glare at him, but as his hands went to adjust his bow-tie, she found her eyes strangely drawn to the red accessory. _It was odd,_ she couldn't help but muse, _how infrequently you saw bow-ties these days. Such a big man, such a small piece of clothing ... and what color is that? It's not quite red, but I don't know what you'd call it..._

While she stared at the bow-tie, the girl took a deep breath and started to explain what had happened to her.

"I'm Julia," she said, not realizing that it had been more than three minutes since either of them had spoken. "And I don't know how, but I think you've done something to my parents..."

* * *

It had all started at the start of the week, when Julia's mother Trisha had come to pick her up from school. She was late, which was unusual for her, but it wasn't until Julia jumped in the car that she realized that something was wrong. Very wrong.

Trisha reeked of alcohol, she was dressed like a street whore, and her breasts had somehow more than doubled in size. Julia would have suspected surgery, but that morning when Trisha had given her a lift to the community college she attended, everything had been normal ... and she knew that at least a few days' recovery was needed after implants.

"Mom?" she'd asked, and when Trisha had turned to face her, recoiled in shock. It was as if she'd gotten into a car with a stranger - her mother had a wild, lustful look in her eyes, one that Julia had never seen in anyone but criminals on the news, or drunken jocks at frat parties.

When Trisha had smiled, Julia's skin had crawled, and another smell hit her - the smell of sex.

Her mother had just been fucked.

There's only so much weirdness you can cope with before a tiny bit of you shuts down, and Julia simply sat in shock as her mother began to drive. She didn't comment on the recklessness of the driving, and she barely noticed that they were going the wrong way.

Only when they parked under a clearing in the woods outside of town did Julia attempt to say anything, and even then she was barely a few words in before her mother interrupted.

Though she couldn't remember the exact wording of the conversation, there were two things she knew she'd never forget: the strange, lustful sound of her mother's voice - raspy, yet somehow stronger than Julia had ever heard it. Forceful, dominant ... proud. It was alarming, but not nearly as worrying as the content of what her mother was saying.

As Julia stared at the bartender's sparkling bow-tie, she recounted her mother's insistence that it was the role of a good daughter to please her parents, to please her mother. It was her job to serve her, sexually, and in that job, Julia had failed. She had failed as a daughter.

She'd shied back in fear, considered getting out of the car and running, but there was nowhere to go, and her brain still wasn't quite coping with the fact that her mother - her dear sweet _mother_ \- was lewdly telling Julia of the lesbian acts she wanted to engage in with her. Before that conversation in the car, Julia would never have even guessed that Trisha _knew_ the word "felching", let alone wanted her own daughter to do it to her.

Again, Julia would have suspected that it was an extremely good disguise, or perhaps someone else wearing her mother's body like a suit, except that she was still Trisha. She had the same mannerisms, the same facial expressions (though thickly coated with lust) and, except for the swearing, the same turns of phrase that her mother had always used.

As Trisha had wrapped up, she'd even become a bit emotional.

"I love you, Julia." she'd said, the first sentence since Julia had gotten into the car that didn't contain any curses. " ... and I just want to fuck your sweet young cunt."

Trisha hadn't been threatening, either verbally or physically, and aside from the passion with which she'd described a number of the sexual acts she wanted to share with her daughter, hadn't been aggressive at all either. To Julia's relief, that didn't change, even as the young woman sat there numbly, not saying a word, not sure _what_ to say.

After more than fifteen minutes of silence, Trisha had seemed to take the hint. She'd taken another swig from an unmarked bottle in the back seat, and begun the drive home, neither mother or daughter saying a word for the entire trip.

Julia hadn't told her father - how could she? - and when he came home, she was locked in her room, holding her knees and rocking back and forth, over and over again. Something had happened to her mother, something bad.

Two days later, it happened to her father as well.

Her sensible, manly (if quiet) father had disappeared for a few hours, and when he'd come home, been dressed in nothing but a blouse and a pair of panties, sporting a pierced nose and a number of camp affectations that wouldn't go away. Though Julia hadn't spoken to her father about what had happened in the car on Monday night, there had been an unspoken solidarity between them, a shared confusion about what had happened.

Trisha had barely acknowledged Roger as a human since her grotesque transformation; it seemed to Julia that her newfound love of women was matched (if not exceeded) by a sudden hatred of men, and Roger seemed to be the one to bear the brunt of it. Julia's father had been patient, and though he'd tried - unsuccessfully - to get her to talk to him, he wasn't able to break through, get to the bottom of whatever was happening to her mother.

That day, when he arrived home wearing ladies' garments, Roger had become just as bad as Julia's mother, if not worse.

Where Trisha had seemed quite happy to leave her teenage daughter alone in her room, the new Roger was constantly pushing for her to come and join the family. He was obsessed with the idea that Julia must obey her mother, and seemed to get off on the disgust that Trisha poured his way.

And most horribly of all, though he never overtly said so, he seemed to want Julia to sleep with her mother.

The idea disgusted her, her new home situation scared her, and the fact that both her parents seemed to be acting completely out of character ... Julia was exhausted by the whole thing.

And so that morning, she hadn't gone to school. For the first time in her life, she'd just lay in bed, and listened to her parents fighting. Well, fighting was hardly the word for it - her mother was simply debasing her father, who seemed to be grovelling in apology, and barely concealing how much he was enjoying his punishment.

This went on for a few hours - there was nothing that Trisha could say, no term of abuse that was too far, nothing that Roger didn't lap up, while all the time crying out what a naughty boy he was, what a piece of human filth he was, and how he should be punished.

Just when it all seemed to be over, when Julia was thanking the stars that it had finally ended, her door opened. She held the covers up in fear, but it wasn't her mother, finally giving into temptation and taking her daughter by force - it was her father.

"I'm sorry, darling," he said sadly, and for a second it was like Julia had her father back. "This must all be very confusing to you."

When Julia nodded, he stepped forward, suddenly more confident than Julia had seen him in days. If it weren't for the cheerleader outfit he was wearing, a skirt so short it barely covered his ass, and the obvious welts from Trisha's beating, she could have pretended that nothing was strange. She could have pretended that her life hadn't abruptly been turned into a strange kind of hell that she never could have dreamed of, not in her wildest fantasies.

But then Roger spoke, and any thought of life being normal was dispelled.

"Here," he lisped, and held out an address. "Go here. Talk to the bartender, Kent.

"He'll help you understand."

With that he was gone, slinking out of the room as if he'd been walking on platform heels his entire life. He paused briefly by the underwear drawer, and when Julia checked, she tried to pretend that the pair of panties she'd left on top weren't gone. She tried to pretend that her father hadn't stolen them while standing directly front of her.

* * *

"And that's how I knew," Julia said. Her voice was no longer loud and angry, but had gradually become quieter as she'd told the story. Now it was gentle, almost reflective. "That's how I knew you had something to do with it - neither of my parents have gone to a bar in their life, and I remembered mother mentioning that she'd stopped by here before picking me up from school that day."

Kent had waited patiently as the girl said her piece, polishing a glass and enjoying the trance that Julia had let herself fall into as she stared into his twinkling bow-tie. Now that she was done, he leaned forward sympathetically.

"I'm sorry that you're mad," he said, his soft tone matching Julia's. "But there's one thing you haven't explained."

"Mmmm?" Julia replied, all of her anger gone. "What's that?"

"You haven't explained why you need to seduce your father."

Julia nodded sadly, and then looked up, snapping out of her stupor.

"What?? How did you know about that?" she said sharply. She obviously still didn't trust the bartender, but he didn't seem offended, and with a casual shrug, he gestured for her to continue.

"I guess..."

Julia trailed off, and her brow furrowed as she got lost in her own wonderings. Why _did_ she want to seduce her father so badly? It was a need that had always been there, as long as she could remember - there was just something about him that was so _sexy_.

Even now, the college student could feel her pussy getting wet as she remembered her younger years, trying desperately to peek at him in the shower, sitting outside her parents' room late into the night in the hope that she'd hear them - hear **him** \- having intercourse. One time, she'd seen a glimpse of his member as he got changed - she'd been hidden in his wardrobe for hours, and not for the first time, but it had finally paid off.

She'd almost rubbed herself raw that night, the split-second of soft flesh enough to fuel a thousand masturbation sessions. She'd cum screaming his name, unable to contain herself, simultaneously scared that her parents would hear ... and hoping that he would, that he'd come in to investigate, and that she could finally stop living a lie and tell him how much she wanted ... no, _needed_ his cock inside of her.

It wasn't healthy, Julia knew that. It was sick, some kind of subconscious Freudian thing. It would never go anywhere - **could** never go anywhere ... but she didn't care. She lusted for her Daddy, and there was nothing she could do about it. No other man compared; she'd tried sleeping with them, but the only time she could get off was when she imagined Roger storming her bed at night, ripping her clothes off and plunging his thick meaty cock into her wet pussy.

Finally, one day, just a few months back, she'd given in, and accepted that her desires weren't going away any time soon. She'd started wearing less and less clothes around the house when it was just the two of them - so that her mother wouldn't suspect anything, she acted normally when both her parents were home, but if it was just her and Roger...

At first it had been vaguely-acceptable nightwear. A teddy that didn't even go down to her knees, and showed off what little cleavage she had; a man's T-shirt that she could "innocently" pull tight against her body to show off her hard nipples.

Roger, to his credit, hadn't said anything. He hadn't even seemed to notice. And so Julia had started to push it, more and more: wearing nothing but underwear. Wearing nothing but her sexiest underwear. Wearing nothing but her sexiest underwear and asking to sit in her Daddy's lap.

Wearing nothing but her sexiest underwear, asking to sit in Daddy's lap, and grinding against him, pretending she was just getting comfortable.

To her continued frustration, however, she got no reaction; not even as much as an erection. Either he had more self-control than any other man in the history of the world, or (and the alternative was so terrible that Julia rarely allowed herself to think about it) - he didn't find her attractive.

She'd managed to find a way to up the game, while still remaining his perfect innocent little daughter: she'd allowed him to catch her topless, calling out "come in" while she was getting changed in the bathroom. When he'd just apologised and left, she'd followed him, hoping that he'd head straight to his room to jerk off, hoping for some sign that he was human enough to notice the sexy little minx throwing herself at him.

Instead he'd sat down to watch the football game.

Most girls would have given up at that stage, but Julia wasn't most girls. If her obsession wasn't enough of a driving force, Julia could never back down from a challenge.

All pretence of innocence went out the window that day - if the innocent little virgin daughter didn't do anything for her father, Julia reasoned, perhaps showing him how hot and horny she could be would.

That day, she'd gone out and picked up the first guy she could. He had been a bit uneasy at going back with her to her parents' place, but not enough to turn down the opportunity for an easy lay. She'd marched him right past her father, still sat in front of the game, and taken the stranger to her bedroom. Without shutting the door, she'd stripped him, and begun the noisiest bout of intercourse of her life.

"Oh!" she'd shouted, desperately wishing that she could see her father right now. "Yes, ride me! Ride me like an animal!"

The boy (all men were boys in Julia's mind, at least when compared to her hunk of a father) she'd picked up couldn't believe what was happening to him - as Julia rode him, begging loudly for his cum, he didn't even connect her actions to the man in the lounge-room.

Despite her best efforts, however, Julia's open door remained empty, and her father didn't even come to investigate.

After several increasingly noisy rounds with the stranger, whose name Julia never even bothered learning, she kicked him out of her bed, and went to check on Roger.

He'd moved into the kitchen, and started preparing a meal for the evening.

After that, it was game on. Any time Julia and her father were alone together, she'd either bring a boy home, or just sit in her room and loudly masturbate, screaming her Daddy's name over and over. The intercourse became more and more public, moving from the bedroom to the hallway to whatever room was closest to where Roger was - one time, he'd accidentally walked in. Julia was sure this was her chance, that he wouldn't be able to resist the sight of her fornicating body in the flesh, but he silently excused himself and left, leaving her more frustrated than ever before.

That was what had infuriated her so much - when her mother had hit on her, she could have screamed to the heavens. The wrong parent was trying to seduce her.

Trisha's odd behaviour had delayed Julia's plans, but not stopped them entirely - she'd been planning on having her Daddy walk in on her masturbating in his own bed, but ever since he'd started acting strangely himself, she wasn't sure what to think. So often she'd dreamed about him stealing a pair of her panties, but in her fantasies it was to jerk off with, not to wear.

Ultimately, it was her father who turned her on, not his clothes or how he acted. Even the fact that it was her Daddy she had the hots for was sexy to Julia, and she knew that it wouldn't take long for his cross-dressing fetish to become sexy to her as well.

"I guess that's it," she said finally, and Kent nodded understandingly at her answer. "I'm turned on by the fact that my Daddy turns me on."

"That doesn't explain the ink..." Kent said, and Julia looked down at her wrist.

At the same time as she'd started to get hot for her father, she'd started to resent her mother more and more. Why did _she_ get to be the one who fucked him? She was an old hag, not worthy of Roger's magnificent cock. And so Julia had rebelled.

She'd started swearing, knowing that her mother hated foul language. She'd started breaking her curfew, getting bad grades ... but the piece de resistance had been the tattoo.

It had made her laugh when she'd seen it, and then the thought of how her mother would react had made it a must-have. A tattoo above her excellent butt, what they called a "tramp stamp" - of a pair of tits.

"This way," she'd explained to her father saucily, "they'll be thinking of my tits no matter what angle they're looking at me from."

A disappointing "That's nice, dear" had been his only response, but her mother's had been much louder, much angrier ... and ensured that it wouldn't be the last tatt that she got.

A tattoo of her pussy on her ankle, of her butt on her collar-bone ... and, as Kent had noticed, a tattoo of a cock on her wrist. She'd drawn it herself, based on the memory of that brief glance she'd gotten of her father's.

Truth be told, she didn't even like tattoos. She hated the process - Julia was never one for pain - and she wasn't crazy about the fact that it was permanent (especially considering the crude nature of her tattoos) but it was like an addiction - if it pissed off her mother, she had to have it, and if there was even a chance that it would make her father think of her in a more adult way, she found it impossible to resist.

At the end of the week, she had another appointment - her most ambitious yet, a big tattoo across her shoulder-blades, simply reading "Daddy". She knew that it would finally clue her mother in on her incestuous lust, but in Trisha's current state, she couldn't work out if she'd even care.

Even if her mother barely noticed, Julia knew she'd be back for more ink. Ever since her first tatt, she'd become fixated on them - it was true what people said; you never just got _one_ tattoo. Already, she was imagining every inch of herself covered in tattoos, each more obscene than the last, until it was obvious at a glance that she wanted her entire body to scream sex, that she was nothing but a slut for her Daddy.

Kent smiled as she told him this, and before she could begin rapidly describing the next four or five tattoos she planned to get, cut her off with another question.

"How," he said, looking down at the diagram she'd drawn to show tomorrow's new tattoo, "did someone like you manage to spell Daddy right?"

Julia's thoughts slowed right down as she processed the pretty man's question. Pretty man. Red bow tie nice.

She lost the next few minutes of her life staring at it, marvelling at its pretty colors, grinning like a loon. Kent had to repeat the question to get her back into gear.

"Oh no!" she said, staring at the napkin she'd doodled upon. "Whoops!"

Slowly, carefully, she picked up the pen, and crossed it out.

"There!" she said with a big grin, one that Kent matched as he saw her correction. "DADY", it now read.

"Good girl," he muttered, and her vacant smile somehow seemed to broaden. She didn't know why she was in this beer-house, but the beer-man seemed to like her, and that was all that mattered. Maybe the beer-man would be able to help her fuck Dady. Julia didn't know much, but she definitely knew that she wanted to fuck Dady. Dady had a big cock.

She wasn't sure how she was going to get beer-man to help her, but in her experience, showing men her boobies meant that they were much more willing to help. Or if not help, at least fuck her, which was nice too.

Kent reached out and played with the small tits of the topless girl sitting in front of him. He'd been planning on asking if she really thought fucking every man she ran into helped her cope with the fact that her father wouldn't touch her, but it seemed like a stupid question now ... and one that she might not understand, at that. Instead, he enjoyed the feeling of her hard nipple as he rolled it between his fingers, and as she got up on the bar, undid his fly.

The evening crowd would be in soon, and they'd be sure to enjoy being pleasured by Kent's latest customer. It had been a while since they'd had a Daddy's girl in.


	Chapter 4

The bar was empty. It was almost odd, Kent mused, that a bar as successful as this one could spend so much time with no one in it. Not that he was complaining, of course; it gave him time to collect his thoughts. And he never got bored - he knew that, given time, someone would walk in. He was never short of entertainment.

As if summoned by Kent's reverie, the door swung open at that very moment and a family of three walked in. It took the large bartender a few seconds to recognise his visitors; each of them had gone through radical changes since he'd last seen them.

Trisha led the way; when she'd left the bar, she was dressed in quite a scandalous outfit. In comparison to her current garb, however, it had made her look like the Virgin Mary.

The middle-aged housewife was wearing a corset that just screamed danger. Covered in spikes and highlighting her already prominent cleavage, it immediately told you that she was here to fuck ... and that it was going to hurt you. Around her waist was a belt, with numerous whips and chains hanging off it, and her long legs (already accentuated by the spiked heels that she'd somehow managed to force her feet into) were clad in a leopard print set of pantihose.

Dominance, danger, and sex. The way she walked, the hard (yet lustful) look on her face ... everything that Trisha had been when she first entered was wiped away, replaced with the scariest woman that Kent had ever seen ... and the sexiest.

She held a leash in her right hand, and three steps behind her, being jerked along by her taut, musclular arm was Roger. The formerly-straight, masculine father was unashamedly wearing a corset - with no need to hide his proclivities from his wife, he'd embraced all the trappings of the opposite gender - piercings, make-up ... the pink thong he wore even showed that he'd begun waxing his legs and ass.

His hair was in pigtails, and he grinned with pain as Trisha tugged on his leash, causing him to collapse on the floor. Julia almost didn't notice him as she wandered through the door, her eyes widened as she looked at all the bright lights. Although she'd been there before, everything seemed new to her ... something that Kent suspected was the case anywhere she went.

Julia's changes were the most obvious. When she'd stumbled out of the bar two weeks ago, well-fucked by Kent and all his patrons, she'd looked essentially the same as when he'd first laid eyes on her, barring the addition of a few tattoos - a sweet, pretty, skinny young girl. But now ... well, in addition to the half-dozen new tatts that she'd gotten since then, she'd grown significantly more muscular, her bust size had been artificially doubled, and the innocent young girl was dressed in an obvious imitation of her mother.

After carefully steppng over her father's prone body, she seemed to remember something, and turned around to kick him. Unlike her mother, however, Julia posessed no natural (or implanted) cruelty, and the result was more of a nudge, from her huge black platform heels. Her corset was black, but where Trisha's drew equal parts fear and arousal, Julia's looked more like the type one would see a lingerie model wearing. Sexy, not scary.

Julia turned around with a smug look on her face, which immediately faded as she once more became overwhelmed by the new environment. She spotted her mother on a barstool in front of Kent, and joined her. After a few seconds, Roger began crawling over to sit at the girls' heels.

"What can I get you?" Kent drawled, curious to see where this was going. Julia had a docile smile on her face - again, something that he suspected was a regular occurence - but Trisha looked absolutely furious.

"Don't you fucking speak to me like that, you ... you ... you /man/," she spat, the final word clearly the worst possible insult that she could come up with. Kent privately wondered how she balanced her man-hating ways with her lust for Julia, whose newest tattoo clearly proclaimed her status as "daddies slutt".

"You know exactly why we're here," Julia added, trying - and failing - to match her mother's dominant stance and angry tone. Kent continued to polish his glass unworriedly, wondering where this was going. It was clear from Julia's tone that she didn't know either, try though she did to sound sure.

"You're trying to pull shit and ... and fucking undermine me," Trisha continued. "If this is because I wouldn't fuck you ... Jesus fucking Christ, get over it!"

"Why don't you explain what you're talking about," Kent said slowly. His soft words briefly calmed Trisha, and he could see the whole family begin to relax, but she immediately shook it off and continued to glare at him.

"You really are a fucking piece of work, aren't you? You stupid cunt ... I know what you're doing, okay? Your bullshit won't work here. Jules, why don't you tell this fuckwit what happened when you came home last week."

"Okay mommy," Julia beamed, and in her own slow way, began to tell her story, her parents occasionally interjecting to add or correct small details.

After being taken by the several dozen patrons of the bar last week, Julia had spent over an hour redressing. Trying to remember which items of clothing went where was a real effort, and so she'd had plenty of time to think. A small part of that time was spent on the idea of a tattoo with a "how to dress" diagram ("Everyone should have one!)" but most of her slow pondering was dedicated to Kent's final piece of advice, the suggestion he'd whispered in her ear while he was using her hair to wipe his cock clean, after cumming inside her ass for the third time.

It had been a fairly simple suggestion, but as a fairly simple girl, Julia needed a lot of time to process it. After an hour of getting dressed, and two hours of remembering how to get home, she'd had a good night's sleep, and when she woke up in the morning, she'd finally processed what he'd told her.

When she'd walked into her mother's bedroom, Julia had a plan.

"Mom," she'd said, ignoring the two teenaged girls that her mother had somehow acquired and brought home with her, "I'm going to fuck you."

She'd paused to savor the look of delight that had crossed her mother's normally-unhappy face, and gotten distracted by the look of disgust shared by her two guests, and so it was more than a minute before she remembered to add her condition.

" ... but only if you let me fuck Dad."

There had been a huge fight - screaming, cajoling, plenty of swearing - and by the time the mother and daughter had finished, the two teenagers had decided to explore submission somewhere else. Trisha was cunning, quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and used every trick that she had ... but Julia had the advantage of stupidity, and stubbornly refused to understand anything that her mother threw at her. She'd had one idea that day, and wasn't going to let any other thoughts enter her head.

Her hatred of men, her /particular/ hatred of Roger - even her concern for what had happened to her daughter's IQ, or the sudden tattoos she'd acquired ... all of this was ignored, as Trisha realized that the chance had finally come for her dream to come true. She was going to fuck her daughter, and as she eventually admitted to herself, nothing else mattered.

Roger was summoned from his chores, and Trisha laid out the ground rules. He was going to fuck his daughter (no one in the family even questioned the idea that he had any kind of say in it), but only when Trisha was there to supervise. And she made it clear to Julia that after each fuck, she was to do everything and anything her mother said for the next few hours.

In a twisted way, everyone's dreams came true that day.

As Julia lowered her father's bikini-bottom, she finally got to come face-to-face with the cock that she'd been fantasizing about for as long as she could remember. To her disappointment, it remained flaccid, even as she reached out and slowly started stroking it up and down. Taking it in her mouth, she thought she felt a slight plumping, but after more than a minute of sucking on her father's limp member, there was still no change.

"Oh, for fuck's sake..." Trisha muttered - while she'd enjoyed the look of agonizing horror on her husband's face as his daughter tried to inexpertly fellate him, every second that he wasn't fucking their daughter was another minute /she/ had to wait. She disappeared briefly, and when she returned, was holding one of the scariest whips that Julia had ever seen.

Roger's eyes lit up at the sight of it.

With a flick of her hand, the cat o' nine tails snapped into action, coming into contact with Roger's bare back. He whimpered in pain, and Julia was delighted to find the meaty morsel in her mouth suddenly responding, hardening as the pain seeped into his body and combined in interesting ways with the velvety contact from his daughter's enthusiastic tongue.

Trisha watched as her daughter worshipped her father's unworthy cock ("unworthy cock" - practically a tautology, as far as the leather-clad woman was concerned), occasionally giving Roger another lashing if there was any sign of his erection beginning to fade.

Once Julia felt that it was sufficiently lubricated, she stood up, removed her panties (but left her skirt on) and gave them to her father. She felt more than a little disappointed that he was only aroused by her mother's actions, and hoped that the panties would help focus her father's attention back on her, without lessening his excitement.

As Roger began to rub the panties across his face, she immediately regretted handing them to him - his eyes were closed, his face in a horrible grimace, and it seemed that he was using the panties to distract him even further from what was happening. Still, she knew that she had to take what she could, and so she slowly began to lower herself onto her father's hardness.

She moaned with pleasure as she felt him parting her still-sore pussy; he wasn't as big as any of the men who had given her a hard pounding the night before, but to her mind, her father's cock was perfect. Beyond perfect. Super-duper perfect. Super-duper-DUPER perfect.

As Julia got louder and louder, it became more and more difficult for Roger to tune out the reality of what they were doing - he had no problem with the fact that she was his daughter, but the fact that she was a woman was killing him. While Roger lived for the humiliation his wife doled out to him, he'd come to accept that when it came to sex, it was men that he wanted. He only ever wanted to be touched by men. The distraction of the panties, the pain from the whip ... as long as he was able to pretend that it was a man's mouth around his, he'd been fine, but now that he was balls-deep in his daughter's wet pussy, he was struggling to pretend that it was anything than what it is.

Gritting his teeth, and non-verbally indicating to his wife that he needed to be punished if he was going to get through this, Roger was able to ignore the clenching of his daughter's pussy as she came, again and again. Some part of him knew that she wouldn't be satisfied until he came inside her, and he thanked the stars that his wife had, in an attempt to make him suffer, forbidden him from cumming for the last few days, even as she restricted him to his new bedroom (a Barbie's Playhouse-like room, where gay pornography played 24/7 and posters of beefy men hung on the walls, perversely contrasting the pink walls and the huge closet, filled with his new wardrobe: skirts, blouses, and heels so slutty that not even a stripper would be comfortable with them.)

He pretended that he was back there now, alone in his room, listening to the grunts and moans of men as they fucked each other silly. Instead of his daughter's pussy, he pretended that he was fucking a fleshlight, while being pounded from behind by a huge, sweaty lumberjack ... surrounded by a pack of sailors, jerking off at the sight. Roger filled his mind with images of men, men fucking, men with muscles bigger than his head ... anything other than the image of womanhood who was currently bouncing up and down on his cock and having the time of her life.

Finally, after more than half an hour of pain and pretending he was anywhere else, Roger grunted, and his cock pulsed once. A tiny amount of cum dribbled out the end; barely an orgasm, as far as he was concerned, but he knew that it would be enough to satisfy his daughter.

She thanked him profusely, told him that she was his naughty little girl and that he could "use her whenever he wanted" (he shuddered at the thought) and after a terse nod from his wife, left the room to have a long, cold, shower.

* * *

As Kent refilled Trisha's beer and watched her throw a peanut to the floor for Roger, he wondered where this was going. The family seemed calm enough, but he hadn't been expecting a return visit. He poured Julia another glass of soda, and as she choked on the bubbles ("I forgot it was fizzy!") Trisha picked up the story where her daughter had left off.

* * *

Julia's post-coital bliss hadn't lasted long ... Trisha hadn't let it. The girl had barely had time to sigh in happiness when she opened her eyes to find her mother standing over her, a hungry look in her eyes.

Over the past few days, Julia had grown accustomed to her mother's lustful gaze, but never had it been so intense, and it had certainly never been so close ... she jumped in shock, and a cruel look came across her mother's face.

"Now," she said, "it's time for good little girls to fuck their mothers."

At first, it wasn't too bad. While her mother spanked Julia's perfect ass, she was able to close her eyes and pretend it was her strong, dominant father of years gone by. As her mother fingered her, she pretended that the slim digits belonged to the current, feminine version of her father. And when her mother's tongue slipped between the young girl's pussy-lips, just the fact that her father's cum was still buried deep inside her was enough for Julia to get through it.

But over the next few hours, Julia began to discover exactly how deep her mother's depravity went. Although Julia had no interest in lesbianism, her mother insisted that she "take her place" between her stockinged legs, and Julia unwillingly had her first taste of another woman's sex. And after Julia asked if she could just go back to being spanked...

Though Julia had seen (and heard) elements of her mother's tastes, from walking in on her with other women, and of course the constant interactions between Trisha and her father, she hadn't realized how much her mother enjoyed seeing people suffer.

So Trisha had agreed to another spanking. But this time, she'd pulled out a thin cane, and made sure that it hurt.

In her position, Julia knew that her father would have loved every second of what was happening ... and perhaps that was why Trisha never went all-out with her husband, because he would have enjoyed himself too much. But Julia obviously hated it, and that just got Trisha off even more.

The spanking was followed by Julia going down on her mother once more, as Trisha ground her pussy against Julia's face, visibly enjoying the look of discomfort. And after that a strap-on was procured, with Julia feeling like she was going to split in two as her mother slowly slid it into her ass.

Depraved act followed depraved act, and eventually Julia's brain just turned off. The simple thoughts that she normally allowed herself turned into a simple repetition of "a promise is a promise", the only thing that got her through it; Julia knew that if she backed out now, she'd never get the chance to fuck her father again. And that thought was enough to get her through everything that Trisha threw at her, from making her sobbingly admit that she was a stupid whore, to being forced to lick out her own mother's asshole.

Though the experience with her father hadn't quite been everything she'd hoped for, it had still been a mind-blowing experience. The culmination of a lifetime of wanting, Julia knew that it would get better, the more they did it ... and she wanted to do it a /lot/ more.

And so she endured the most humiliating, disgusting and perverse acts she'd ever encountered, until her body was singing in pain, she couldn't taste anything but her mother's cum and sweat, and her eyes were so red from tears that she was worried that she'd never look normal again.

Finally, after almost half the day had passed, Trisha fell asleep, satisfied, and Julia dragged herself up to her room. Her father came in to comfort her, perhaps hoping to bond with another of Trisha's "victims", but all she could do was hold him and sob.

He stroked her hair and kissed her on the head, and when the crying finally stopped, she looked up at him and smiled.

"I love you, Daddy." she said.

"I love you too, baby girl," he replied, but when she went to kiss him on the lip, he recoiled.

"No," he lied quickly, as a look of despair began to return to her face. "You remember what your mother said ... only while she's in the room.

"You wouldn't want to anger mother now, would you?"

Julia nodded, and as she drifted off to sleep, Roger slipped out of the room, and went downstairs to wake Trisha. Hopefully having her sleep interrupted would make her so mad that she'd tie him up and beat him silly, or force him to eat dog-food again.

* * *

The next few days continued in the same vein. In the morning, Julia would force a reluctant orgasm from her father, and then as he went off to recover, spend the next several hours as the sexual slave to her mother. She always meant to specify an end-time for their deal, but would get so excited at being filled up by her daddy that she'd forget until her mother's fun had started.

A promise is a promise.

Her father's lack of enjoyment bothered her, and so as her mother put her through the most unpleasant tasks her creative mind could come up with, Julia distracted her simple mind by trying to work out a plan. She knew her father liked ... stuff. But what stuff? And how could she ... do ... stuff.

It was a tricky one, but after almost a week of sexual servitude to her mother, the once-bright young lady came up with something.

While her mother slept, Julia raided her parents' closet. Though he was smaller than either of them, she managed to find a few items of clothing that fit, and after an hour of trying bits and pieces on, had an outfit. Not a perfect one, but it would do, at least until she could order something more suitable from the internet.

The next morning, she came downstairs, and both her parents gaped at the sight of her. Everything she wore was black leather (most of it was meant to be tight, but her small frame ensured that some of the effect was lost.)

She walked over to her mother, looked her defiantly in the eyes, and said "I'm going to fuck Daddy now. Anything you want to do about it? Bi ... bitch? Bitch-face?"

As Julia yanked her father up by his nipple ring, a slow smile crept across Trisha's face. So her daughter wanted to play? She clearly had no idea who she was up against...

For the first time, Trisha's whips weren't needed as Julia fucked her father. Though she clearly wasn't an expert like her mother, she'd worked out some of the buttons to push, and was doing an adequate job of it.

"You poopy face," she was muttering, trying to ignore the waves of pleasure that swept across her body as her father, for the first time, seemed to actually enjoy the tightness of his teenage daughter. "You stupid poopy face. You're just crap, aren't you? You're a crap, stupid poopy face.

"Do you like fucking your daughter? You don't, do you? Well you know what? I like that. I like that you hate it. Yeah, Daddy. Yeah. I hope this is really bad for you. Oh, god ... yeah ... I hope this is ... ugh ... just ... crap!!"

Roger's balls tightened as he joined in with his daughter's orgasm, cumming inside of her at the idea of how much he hated cumming inside of her. Somehow, she'd stumbled upon the key. He hated fucking her ... but he loved being forced to do things he hated.

Looking up at his wife, Roger gulped at the look of fury on her face. He pulled out of his daughter and left as quickly as possible. He enjoyed pain, he enjoyed suffering, he enjoyed torture ... but even /he/ didn't want to be there for what was going to come next.

That day, Trisha did everything she could to try to break her daughter. For the first time, she drew blood. For the first time, she whipped until her arm could whip no more. For the first time, she spent an entire five hours with her daughter without either of them cumming.

She wanted to show her daughter what happened when she tried to outsmart her mother. She wanted to show her daughter what happened when she tried to beat her at her own game. But more than anything, she wanted to destroy her daughter, to reduce her into a quivering mess who would never try to mess with mommy again.

But finally, she had to admit defeat. Perhaps because Julia knew she had won, perhaps her morning fuck had been so good she was immune to Trisha's efforts, or perhaps just because Julia's brain wasn't big enough to be susceptible to pain ... at the end of it, when Trisha was too exhausted to move, Julia still had that stupid, vacant little smile on her face.

Over the next few weeks, though Trisha agreed to help Julia out, the fury never left her eyes. She helped Julia work out, as the tiny girl added muscle to her lithe body; partially so that she could more easily inflict pain on her whimpering father's back, before forcing him to fuck her, but also so that she could look more like the men that she knew that he craved.

Her packages arrived in the mail, but while Trisha knew exactly where to find sexy leather, Julia had just typed in "corsett" into google, and bought the first few that had come up - as a result, where Trisha's were form-fitting and spiked, Julia's were silky, frilly affairs, and her almost-complete lack of tits caused them to sit strangely on her body.

It hadn't been hard for Trisha to trick the simple-minded teen into getting implants to ensure that they'd fit - Julia had wanted to upgrade her small B's to a C, but Trisha managed to talk her into D-cups, bordering on double-D. On the girl's thin frame, they looked huge, and completely dispelled any chance of Roger visualising her as a man, but Julia seemed quite happy with them nonetheless.

Her new, more muscular frame; the huge fake tits; her new wardrobe of black; her severe make-up ... it resulted in Julia strongly resembling her lesbian bitch-domme mother, but a smaller, more feminine version (though not, of course, nearly as feminine as Roger.)

On the rare occasion that the two went out together, they attracted stares, Trisha's glare the only thing stopping them from being constantly hit on. But though Julia could never provide Roger with the pain that Trisha did, the young girl was getting alarming close to cutting her mother out entirely, depriving her of her pet man /and/ her young, sexy daughter.

* * *

" ... and I know you're to blame," Trisha said, her angry eyes burning into Kent's as Julia tried to mimic her mother, and threw a peanut into her father's ear. "You came up with this plan in the first place. You told her what to say, how to act ... and all to get back to me. All because I wouldn't fuck you."

Kent's face remained passive as the woman softly ranted at him. The deal, he had to admit, had been his idea - agreeing to allow Trisha whatever she wanted, in return for time with Roger - but everything else stemmed straight from Julia's head. Even with a reduced IQ, she was smarter than anyone expected.

"So ... fine."

He thought he'd been around long enough that there was nothing left to startle him, but Kent couldn't hide his surprise at Trisha's words.

"Stop what you've started," Trisha specified, "and I'll fuck you. Just once. And I won't enjoy it. But I don't want to lose her. I ... I don't want to lose my daughter to my husband."

In all his years of lending an ear to his patrons, Kent had never before been at a loss for words, but it was a good thirty seconds before the large man's mouth opened in response. The offer had thrown him for a loop, but his line of work had meant that it had been years since someone had offered him sex without him setting it up, and curiousity took him the rest of the way.

"Okay," he said simply, and Trisha nodded, and reluctantly began taking off her clothes.

"I suppose you'll want to see everything," she said, contempt dripping from every word that came out of her mouth. "Typical fucking man. Julia, turn away. I don't ... I don't want you to see your mother like this. Roger, get me the lube."

It was fast (Kent hadn't had a customer all day) and Trisha obviously hated every second of it. After they were done, he did as he promised, and had a quick word with Julia ("Do you think," he asked, "that your love for your father is what makes you want to be just like him?") and as the family left, was surprised at how satisfied he felt.

As he wiped down the sink, he wondered if he was growing lazy. Perhaps there was something to be said for stepping back and letting things take their course. Perhaps he'd enjoyed the woman because he hadn't seen it coming - surprise, he'd once heard, was the spice of life, and his life may just be too tightly controlled.

Perhaps it was time to hang up his towel, live life as it came, and see if he continued to get pleasure from simply letting people surprise him.

Kent looked up as the door opened, and at the sight of the pretty young teenage girl walking in, lost his train of thought.

"You," he drawled, pouring her a drink, "have got something on your mind..."

"Well..." the girl replied, strangely fascinated by the bartender's haircut, "I suppose I do..."


	Chapter 5

"Please," Julia moaned as her father pounded into her, "Please, Daddy, I ... I want you to suffer."

They'd been fucking for almost half an hour now, and as Julia raked her nails across Roger's back, he cried out in pain, and finally came. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure as her father's cock spurted into her unprotected pussy.

But as Roger pulled out of his daughter's pussy and slinked off to his room, tucking his cock back into his pantihose and hiding it beneath short, tight stretchy skirt that so perfectly matched his six-inch platform 0heels, Julia watched him go, and sighed.

She just wasn't feeling it any more.

The teenaged girl looked down at her garb; she wore a striped black-and-white corset, that pushed her huge, fake tits up until they were almost under her chin. She could barely read the words that she'd had tattooed on the top side of her breasts ("Peers" on the right boob, "me, Daddie" on the left) but even the prospect of her father putting rings through her nipple wasn't as tempting as it had seemed when she'd gotten tattooed.

Ever since watching her mother get reluctantly fucked by the big bartender just a few days ago, the incestuous relationship she shared with her father had just seemed less and less enjoyable. It was the next morning, when she'd been back at home choking Roger ... a part of her had realized that she wanted to feel what he felt.

Julia just loved her father so much that she wanted to emulate him in every way she could, and that included liking what he liked. Unfortunately for the young girl, her father was a total submissive, and there was no way she could persuade him to give her the spanking that she suddenly craved. Even the allure of getting to pierce his daughter's huge, fake tits hadn't inspired anything more than a shrug.

Roger had been the subject of Julia's fantasies for as long as she could remember, but it suddenly seemed that she would need to go elsewhere to get what she needed.

But what her father wasn't able to provide, her mother was more than happy to supply.

Snapping out of her daydream, Julia turned to Trisha, her strong, dominant, lesbian mother. In return for allowing Julia to fuck her father, Trisha demanded several hours of sexual servitude each day - at first, Julia had despised it more than anything, but as she grew increasingly aware of the erotic potential of pain and humiliation, she'd been surprised to discover that the time she spent under her mother was become her favourite part of the day.

If the huge whip in her mother's hand was anything to go by, today was going to be intense.

Julia couldn't wait.

* * *

_One week later..._

"No," Roger moaned, as his daughter coaxed him to continue plunging into her wetness. "No, no, no, no, no..."

He shuddered with a curious mix of revulsion and intense erotic pleasure as he came, flooding his daughter's fertile uterus with his seed. His dick was almost immediately flacid, and within a few seconds he was mincing back upstairs to his room, the middle-aged man's tight rear end emphasized by the swishy short floral dress and tan nylons that he was wearing that day. (He'd seen the dress while watching _Project Runway_ , and knew that he just **had** to have it. He'd ordered it several sizes too small, and despite having shed most of his muscle mass in recent weeks, it had been a struggle to force himself into it that morning, but for Roger, pain was definitely not a problem.) 0 Julia looked down at her own apparel and sighed. She knew that if she wanted her father to enjoy intercourse with her, she had to dress dominant, scary. But more and more, she found herself attracted to clothes more like his - silly, frippy things. Even though on her, it could never look as silly as the tiny, girly dresses that he squeezed himself into, that was what she craved - she, too, wanted to look ridiculous. She wanted people to look at her and immediately smile, laugh at the little girl outfits that she wore.

That evening, after Julia had spent an intense three hours having her ass pounded by Trisha's largest strap-on (and then another few hours recovering) she sneaked into her father's room. Trisha and Roger had gone out to dinner with Roger's parents - pretending, for the first time in weeks, to be a normal couple. It was exhausting for both of them. Trisha had been forced to wear a wig to cover her crew-cut, and one of her old pantsuits from work (which now barely fit her steroid-enchanced frame.)

When Roger had forced himself to slip out of his fishnet stockings and babydoll nightie, he'd cried, body-shaking sobs that didn't subside until Trisha slapped him out of it. He was wearing a polo shirt, and a pair of pants, and was only manage to get through the evening by reaching down and stroking his silky panties as often as possible.

The nipple clamps were an extremely helpful distraction, and whenver Trisha thought he was going to crack, would reach over and brush them, causing an intense pain in her husband under the guise of brushing food off his shirt.

Throughout dinner, Trisha constantly fought the urge to curse, which was made more difficult by the constant stream of fantasies that went through her head - she wanted to tear off Sylvia's dress, maul her tits, and tongue-fuck her 60-year old cunt. Roger barely managed to go the whole meal without a cigarette - only by imagining slipping under the table to wrap his lips around Gerald's cock did he resist the temptation.

The image of swallowing down his own father's cum almost caused him to cum, and at the end of the evening, when Trisha suggested that Gerald and Sylvia visit the new bar downtown, he had to excuse himself and find a busboy to suck off.

Julia had taken advantage of her parents' absense to finally given into her urges, go into her father's wardrobe to pick out the most ridiculous outfits she could find. The "sexy" Sailor Moon costume that managed to evoke images of the anime, without covering more than a few inches of skin (it was barely more than a bikini with trimmings.) She'd seen her father wear it on multiple occasions - it was no more designed for a man like Roger than a suit is designed to be worn by a walrus.

On Julia, however, it ... looked good. She had the exact kind of body the costume was built for, and hard as she tried to make it look anything but sexy, it somehow managed to mesh with her slender frame. Even her ridiculous tattoos seemed to set it off, and she reluctantly had to admit that she looked like an anime fan's wet dream.

She'd tried several other costumes - the tight pink lycra mini-skirt, the black nipple-hole bra, the polka-dot one-piece swimsuit so tight that that Roger had to tuck his cock back just to fit into it ... no matter what she wore, however, she looked amazing. Her body made men hard by itself - in Roger's outfits, she could have gotten the Pope to renounce his celibacy.

When she put on the kitty-cat outfit that had wrought a smile even from her man-hater of a mother, Julia broke down and cried. On her, it didn't look silly, it looked ... fun. Hot. Like she was a sexy minx, doing all she could to show off her body. She could have worn it to a Halloween party ... hell, she could have worn it to a job interview. She was irresistable.

All she wanted was to look stupid, to closer resemble her father, to be the object of ridicule and humiliation. But her perfect body, her huge, fake tits, the tattoos that were starting to take over every inch of visible skin ... she was a walking wet dream, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She began to take the outfit off, when a thought occurred to her. She'd long since learned of her father's "hobby" - going into a bar, dressed like a silly little girl, and convincing the biggest, strongest man to punish him, to spank him and (ideally) cum in his ass or mouth.

It was a struggle for Roger; more often than not, he simply got thrown out. On nights when he particularly pissed someone off, he would be taken outside and beaten up (truth be told, he enjoyed those nights almost as much, so strong was his desire for pain... ) - it was rare for him to actually find someone whose proclivities matched up with his.

But Julia...

Standing up and looking at herself in the mirror again, the sight that she'd seen earlier suddenly wasn't depressing. It gave her hope.

She looked like a slut, a whore, a sexual creature good for one thing and one thing only. But more than that, she looked like the absolute epitome of desireability. She was _hot_ , and since most men were more interested in fucking horny teenaged girls than middle-aged cross-dressing men, the odds were in her favor.

Her desire to be punished by a father figure, her desire to be spanked and treated roughly ... perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing that she looked so good in her father's outfits. Perhaps it meant her desires could finally be fulfilled.

Julia practically danced with excitement as she picked out a few of her father's hottest outfits.

It was going to be a good night.

* * *

_Two weeks later_

"Don't be such a snivelling little twat, Sylvia," Trisha growled into the phone at her mother-in-law. "I said I'd take you shopping for new clothes, you stupid cunt, and I will. Yes, goddamnit, we can go to Hot Topic, Rue 21, wherever the fuck you want."

Trisha smiled, and rubbed her pussy at the thought of her new lover prancing around, a 60-year old squeezing herself into sexy little teenybopper outfits, hitting on young boys and then coming home to Trisha to be fucked like she so desperately needed. Sylvia's husband Gerald had already begun trading in his rayon slacks and knit shirts for leather shorts, motorcycle boots, and fishnet tops, much to the delight of his "favorite bitch", his son Roger.

Hanging up the phone, she picked up her riding crop, and turned to the two figures laying on the floor in front of her.

"Is this what you fucking want?" she asked, towering over Julia and Trisha, hog-tied with gags in their mouths.

"You want to be punished with your faggot father? You want to lie next to him, you pathetic little cunt? You want to both be pussy-spanked at the same time?"

Trisha slapped the riding crop against her left palm as she waited for an answer, enjoying the pain that it caused, knowing that it would soon be felt by the pair laying in front of her on the ground. The once demure, devout and devoted wife and mother no longer looked anything like her former self. Her now heavily-muscled body rippled with power, her biceps and broad shoulders bulging, her mammoth EE-cup breasts almost bulging out of the sleeveless leather top she wore.

She impatiently tapped the toe of her black, platformed, stiletto-heeled boot in front of Julia's face. She wondered if the young girl could see her look of fear reflection in her mother's shoe, tongue-polished by some annonymous tramp she'd picked up at a club.

Through the ball-gag, a muffled affirmative could be heard coming from Julia's mouth. A slow, cruel smile spread over Trisha's face, and she shifted slightly, enjoying the feel of her bulky thighs rubbing against each other. Each of them were now nearly the size of Julia's waist, her leather chaps doing nothing to hide their size ... and of course, they were open at the back to show off the butch, man-hating lesbian's hard, muscular ass.

"But wait a goddamn second ... I thought you wanted to fuck your Daddy? Didn't my little slut of a daughter want to feel her father's fat, disgusting cock sliding inside of her? Wasn't that your dream, to get Daddy inside your dripping gash? Isn't that the only fucking reason you're doing this?"

Tears sprung from Julia's eyes as she fervently shook her head.

The quality of her sex with Roger had steadily declined ... more so, since that first night that she'd gone out and gotten fucked by a stranger. She'd found a huge biker in a bar out of town ... he'd treated her so bad, called her a dirty little slut, spat on her during sex, and not even made any effort to get her off at all.

She'd cum harder than she had ever cum in her life - even the first time that she'd felt her father slide inside her couldn't compare to how tiny the big man had made her feel. She'd finally understood why her father liked it so much, why he enjoyed being made to feel like a little girl.

The next morning, she and her father had just been going through the motions. She'd half-heartedly spanked him a few times, just until he was hard, and then she'd sat on his cock, slowly riding it for half an hour while Trisha watched. Julia and her father had silently come to an agreement, and he'd faked an orgasm shortly after. They knew that it - the magic, the forbidden allure, the erotic nature of what they were doing ... was gone.

It had just grown worse and worse since then, until Julia wondered why she even bothered. If it weren't for the fact that as "payment" for getting to fuck her father, she got to be used and humiliated by her mother, she'd have rather spent that time alone in her room, trying on her father's frilliest underwear, one hand between her legs as she imagined yet another big, hairy, stinky man taking her every hole and treating her like a whore.

Finally, Trisha had called Roger and Julia on their lack-lustre performances, and Julia had admitted that she would be happy to skip the incestuous fuck with her father, and go straight to being punished and degraded by her bull-dyke mother.

That morning, by chance, the pair's outfits had matched - Roger was dressed as an Indian squaw, a single feather in his hair (now bleached blonde, with pink streaks running throughout) and a brown dress that started below his arm-pits, so short that if he wasn't erect his cock dangled down below the hem. Julia, quite separately, had chosen to dress as a cowgirl - knee-high cowboy boots, a short, denim skirt and a red checkered shirt that tied up in front. It was a "shirt" in name only - it failed to hide any of her cleavage, the swell of her breasts could clearly be seen underneath it, and since she wasn't wearing a bra, her nipples poked through.

Julia had never seen her mother so happy as that moment, when she was informed that her daughter no longer wanted to fuck her father. Within a minute, she had them both naked, on the floor, her heels pressing into their skin as she literally walked all over them.

"I seem to remember, my sweet little slut of a daughter," Trisha growled, "that you wanted to fuck your father. Wait, no ... wanted isn't the word for it, is it? Needed. That's right, you fucking told me that you _needed_ your goddamned father inside of you. Couldn't fucking live without it, if I remember correctly."

Julia remained still. Her pussy was dripping, and she couldn't even work out why. She'd been tied up by her mother every day for almost a month now, but something about today seemed special. Perhaps because she was doing it voluntarily, perhaps because she hadn't had to sit through half an hour of uninspired sex with her father first ... or perhaps it was that, for the first time, her and her father were being punished together. Simultaneously.

Roger and Julia. Julia and Roger. Father and daughter. Dressed identically, going through everything as one.

The idea not only made her happy, but it had practically set her pussy on fire. She loved her father so much.

"Well, unfortunately for you, my little pets..." There was a pause, as Trisha rolled the word around her mouth, clicking her tongue stud against her teeth. Pets. She liked that. " ... unfortunately for you, you little shit stains don't make the motherfucking rules around here. I do, and you have to fucking follow them.

"And the rule is, before I can punish you, you have to fuck your father.

"Now."

As Trisha leaned forward and undid the knots restraining her daughter and husband, Roger and Julia gave each other a confused look. They'd just offered Trisha what she'd wanted from the start - complete reign over her daughter, without anyone or anything standing in her way. A submissive slut, at her command, ready to be punished however she liked. Roger wouldn't get in the way, Julia would willingly submit to anything she wanted. And in response, she'd...

The light dawned in Roger's eyes before Julia's, but despite her greatly diminished IQ, the young girl wasn't too far behind. Trisha was doing what she'd always done, what she did best - she was putting them through hell

In the past, the father and daughter had gone through the motions, pretended to enjoy their privates meeting. Today, however, they could be completely honest, and show their revulsion at the idea. Julia had truly become her father's daughter, only interested in being dominated, abused, used by huge, hairy men (and, of course, her mother) - and since she didn't have to put on an act, she didn't even need to cause Roger any pain, the only thing that had let him enjoy their sessions in the past.

For the first time, Trisha's hand wandered down to her steaming pussy as she watched her husband and daughter fuck. It took ten minutes for Roger to even get hard - everywhere that Julia touched him, he noticeably flinched. Julia had a look of revulsion on her face as she attempted to stimulate her father's cock, finally resorting to wrapping her mouth around it. There was even a moment when Trisha thought that her daughter was going to throw up.

The combination of hating what they were doing, loving how much they hated what they were doing, and knowing that Trisha loved watching them hate what they were doing caused a strange mix of arousal, disgust and fear in the pair. Over the next hour, it didn't get any better - an intense combination of emotions ran through Roger, as he finally got erect enough to slip into Julia's unlubricated entrance. The pain of his penetration was the only thing that aroused her at all during the early stages of their intercourse, and only by reaching down and stroking a pair of his panties laying on the floor next to them was Roger able to maintain his erection.

Finally, clenching his eyes shut and pretending that he was being taken by the entirety of the Hell's Angels did Roger manage to cum, spilling his potent seed yet again into his daughter's unprotected cunt, collapsing back and taking deep breaths to try to get past the unpleasantness of his actions.

Less than a minute later, Julia and Roger were both on their knees in front of Trisha, looking up at her expectantly, silently begging her to tell them what to do next. Her hands were still stroking her pussy; she'd cum a few times watching their unhappiness, but she wasn't even close to finished yet.

_I'll have to get them collars_ , she reflected, before an evil idea came into her head, and she realized exactly what she wanted her matching pets to do next.

"Again," she said, and another orgasm swept her body at the mix of horror and disappointment that appeared in their eyes.

* * *

_Six months later_

"So let me get this straight," the burly man replied. He didn't look stupid, but he was clearly struggling to understand what the young girl in front of him had just propositioned. "I get to fuck you, however I likes ... as long as I get off inside him, as well."

"Yes," Juicy confirmed. Her mother had long since had Julia's name legally changed, as well as Roger's. She ignored the signs around the bar, and lit up - seeing how sexy her father looked when she smoked, Juicy had been unable to resist taking up the hobby as well. Every drag she took made her feel closer to her father.

If they were going to be kicked out, it wasn't going to be for smoking.

"Don't forget the thpanking," Roxy lisped, flushing red at the embarrassment of actually speaking up. He couldn't believe he was doing this - propositioning strange men in a bar, with his daughter. No matter how many times they did, it never failed to embarrass him, knowing what a cheap tranny slut he'd become, and give him a strange thrill as the strangers stared at him in disgust.

"Oh yes," Julia added. "Thanks, Dad. You want to fuck Juicy, you have to take us both, spank us as hard as you can, and get off inside my father.

"We cum as a package deal."

Juicy waited patiently as the hairy man drank the rest of his beer and mulled over his options. Juicy wasn't worried - Juicy had long since learned that men found Juicy impossible to resist, and with the outfit that Juicy was wearing, even if this man said no there'd be another in the bar who would agree.

Her and Roxy were both dressed as naughty nurses - tight, white, rubber minisdresses, matching caps with cutouts at the sides, and hems so short they bared half their asses and most of their sex. The outfit was topped off with sheer, white, over-the-knee stocking with satin red crosses at the top, and red platform sandals with open toes and 6" spike heels.

The entire bar had turned to stare at them as soon as they'd entered, something they were used to.

Ever since Trisha had bought the two of them matching collars, they'd fallen into the habit of matching their outfits - they particularly enjoyed the contrast between Juicy's natural (and augmented) good looks, filling out every costume she bought, and Roxy's ridiculous appearance while wearing the same, a grotesque parody of both manhood and femininity as both his cock and newly budding breasts pressed against the thin latex.

When they went up to solicit someone, it could take them a few minutes to notice that Roxy was even there, such was the allure of Juicy's juicy body. Not only was she clearly built to fuck, but the tattoos that adorned every visible inch of her offered suggestions for exactly what men could do. "Treet me lik ur bitch," her latest tatt said, tattooed across the back of her neck.

On her right cheek, a cock had been inked, pointing directly at her mouth, like a set of X-rated instructions. Her forehead simply read "SLUTT". And of course, she'd finally gotten those nipple piercings - rings so heavy that even a thick top couldn't conceal them. (not, of course, that she'd ever be caught wearing a thick top.)

The stranger didn't take long to reply.

"Okay," he said. "but I wants to fuck her first. He can suck her juices off my cock for all I care. And ... no funny business."

Juicy idly wondered what business he'd find funnier than having a father suck his daughter's juices off a strangers cock, but Juicy didn't want to push her luck. Juicy had picked this man because of his massive hands - Juicy couldn't wait to feel them against Juicy's body. Juicy hoped that they would hurt, a lot. At moments like that, when Juicy was truly being used by a large man for his sexual pleasure ... Juicy felt more like her father than ever.

Glacing over at Roxy, she smiled, suddenly shy. She loved her father so much, loved sharing these moments with him. Loved knowing that he didn't find her actions, her thoughts, her hobby perverse ... it was a unique bond that they shared, and she loved every second of it. She loved it as much as she loved the life that he'd recently planted inside of her - as much as they both detested fucking, when she'd realized that it was the only way that she could carry her father's child, Juicy knew that she had to do it, she had to show her Daddy how much she loved him.

Trisha would inevitably find out that they'd snuck out to pick up again - she'd threatened to come up with a truly horrific response if she caught them leaving the house together, but it was an itch that the pair needed to scratch. They weren't able to stop ... they'd never be able to stop.

Roxy glanced back at his daughter, and the two shared a moment. No matter what horrible punishment Trisha concocted for them, they knew that they'd go through it together.

And that they would love every minute of it.

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