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.