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.