0 comments/ 205829 views/ 12 favorites Change of Guard By: jaybee Warning : For THOSE who like my stories for the romance in them. Unlike all my other stories, with the very liberal exception of the 'Taking Over' series, this one contains extreme content - extreme to the extent of bondage, dominance and submission. This story is based on LUST, and the only reason that compelled me to write this story is that I haven't come across such a scenario in any other incest story. However, the deviation, for those who like the variety in my stories, will be purely academic. * * * * Few mums, I am sure, have gone through being put in their places as readily as I did. Fewer still must have liked it. If you ask me, my daughter has done me the greatest favor by subjugating me; for with that, I have realized the true purpose of a mother's being, and that is to ensure that her daughter always get the best man available. If that means her husband... so be it. I suppose I should start at the beginning. My name is Heather, but nowadays, I go by the name that my daughter rechristened me with - 'bitch.' I live with my pregnant daughter and her father, who, incidentally, is my legal husband. Our house is a large farm north of Arkansas, within and still not within, the most idyllic state in the USA. Around fifty miles from our house is a town, twenty miles on the other side, a college - in fact, my college. That old building deserves a mention for that is where everything, in a way, started for me and my way of living. Twenty years ago, when I was just eighteen, some of my friends discovered that I lived on a farm. To cut a long story short, pretty soon, my family's barn became a regular party hangout for the groups from college - both the seniors and the freshers. My parents, who were the only other inhabitants of the farm, agreed to let this be our 'outlet' so long as we did nothing to upset anything. Dad warned me specifically that any damage would be paid out of my pocket. One wild night, after more than three continuous hours of partying and flirting, most of the crowd had gone their ways. Only a handful of people remained, some of the wildest in the group. A guy called Hank or Fank or something decided to liven up the thin population and went for some fireworks. Unfortunately, in his drunken state, he managed to burn up a whole bale of hay. Dad was furious. As soon as he put out the fire, my Dad stormed towards me. I cowered back, trembling with fear at the thought of physical punishment. Dad was a strong guy, used to handling the vast farm by himself, and his slaps, said the voice of experience, would be the equivalent of twenty horses' hooves crashing into your face at the same time. I tried to put on my most innocent expression, but nothing worked - Dad motioned for the rest of the gang to get out, and before he had finished, the place was deserted but for me, Dad and Mom. Silently, Dad closed the doors of the barn. "I've had enough of you, you slut," he roared. "You are worse than a sow in heat." I looked at Mom for a reprieve, but she shrugged. I wasn't worth the trouble of opposing Dad, the action told me. Grin and bear it. If you can grin and bear it when your father tears your clothes apart, piece-by-piece, be my guest. When Dad stripped me naked in front of my mother, I protested. He just slapped me once, and I didn't offer any resistance again. Mom did not utter a single word of protest as Dad tore my clothes into shreds, beyond any human repair. He grabbed me by my hair and pushed me into another bale of hay. I watched helplessly as he took off his pants and jumped on top of me, crushing my naked body with his. He mauled me with his hands, with grips like steel that I struggled, or made like I struggled, to get clear of. Then, right in front of my mother, Dad raped me. He fucked me until my pussy was raw, then teased me until I begged him to stop, and then, literally fucked the skin off my cunt. By the time he was finished, Mom had watched him rape me thrice, leaving me a bloody and torn and totally defeated self. Wordlessly, she followed her naked husband out of the barn and into the house. I slept with the pigs that night. The next day, Dad raped me again. Over the next couple of months, he would rape me at any time of the day that he saw fit - during breakfast, during lunch, even during Mass. Gradually, we started to spend every Sunday together, drawing flak for our obvious indiscretion. On one of the rare occasions that we were in Church, the priest even mentioned Lot and his daughters and asked for divine forgiveness for them and people like them. After Mass was over, Dad carried me over his shoulders to the back of our old pickup where he fucked me in front of everyone. It was his act of defiance. After a while, though, the interest in merely raping me wore off. It was around this time that Mom, of all people, suggested the idea of him tying me up before fucking. Dad liked the idea so much that for a week, he had me bound hand and foot and naked and paraded me around the house. By this time, I had stopped college, and the fact that I was home almost full time caused Dad to take a few precautions - like tying me up behind his tractor or hanging me by my hands from a big tree so that I would not go out. And during every break, he would come to me and screw me hard. With Mom, he was gentle. With me, he was an animal. And my parents made sure that I was aware of it, always. Before I got pregnant by him, though, he died of an accident. I was heartbroken, but Mom moved in with her brother a week after the funeral. I never heard from her again. Never wanted to. It was around this time that I met Martin. He was a strong guy, having lived off the land for generations until a land-grabbing company threw him out of his hometown. We had sex on the very first night, and realized we were meant for each other. Martin was always the macho sort, and he immediately perceived my lack of power. My tendency to place myself at his disposal and his testosterone inclinations to dominate his females saw us tying the knot at the very same Church where Dad had fucked me earlier. At our wedding, he made me wear a hooker's dress, handcuffing my hands behind my back, and when he was asked to kiss the bride, he shoved me aside and kissed the bridesmaid instead. And he dragged me by my hair over the threshold. For over a year, we played master and slave, king and servant. He would tie me up with a chain across my breasts and fuck me while tugging hard at the chain. He would tie my legs to stones and fuck me until I thought he would tear off my legs. He would tie my hands to cacti and with a baseball handle as his second cock, fuck me in both holes. At night, after dinner, he would make me bend down in front of our visitors and ask them to spank me if there was any fault in cooking. And after they had gone, he would pour hot wax onto my nipples and take me from behind... And then, Monica was born. It was only after my pregnancy was confirmed that my husband and I actually made love. Her birth settled us, and abruptly, almost overnight, we became the perfect couple. My humiliations stopped and Martin became a gentleman, on and off the bed. For the next eighteen years, we were, as the statistics say, the ideal cross-section of American family life. Martin and I could never have any other children, but it seemed to us that Monica would be enough. Martin and I always slept with each other. Until the day Monica turned eighteen... In our family, we had established a tradition that the birthday eve would be spent by just the three of us looking at the clock. At precisely the stroke of twelve, cheers would be sung, presents opened and nostalgia refreshed. This year promised to be no exception, and technically, it wasn't. The only difference was that the celebrations for my daughter's birthday did not end there. She had unwrapped her presents - a ticket to the town's hottest fashion show on my behalf, and a very slinky, one-piece night-dress that her father had bought for her. I felt a twinge of jealousy as I realized how much skin the design showed - and at how much more interesting it would be for Martin to look at his daughter than at his wife. I was green that he hadn't bought something like that for me. My thoughts were broken by a tentative sound from my daughter. Her father was by her side, and a look at her eyes told me that this was going to be grave topic, something that caused even my normally neutral husband to take sides. His gift was draped over her right arm, and she had linked her left through her father's arms. They looked like a guilty couple. But the expression on Monica's face was not guilt, it was the face of uncertainty, and her eyes had the cold flame of conviction in them. "Mom," she began, "We have something to tell you." It was 'we', not 'I', not 'Dad', but 'we.' For some reason, memories of my Dad taking me almost two decades ago flashed before my eyes, even though I had not thought of those incidents in months. Unaware of the swirling in my mind, Monica continued. "You see, Dad and I are - we are - oh shit, here goes - Dad and I have the hots for each other, and you are the only thing that's in our way." She paused for a moment, apparently deciding the words for the next phase of the conversation. I tried to break in with a "What do you mean?" but I had hardly opened my mouth when she shot me a hard look. "Don't interrupt me," she said fiercely. "You will listen to what I have to say, and then, you may speak your piece. If you can't accept that, you can leave this house right now." I looked at Martin, but he just shrugged when Monica pointed towards the door. I nodded, motioning for her to continue... As if my acquiescence was irrelevant, Monica continued, "For the last two years, I have been waiting for the moment I could tell Dad how I felt about him. How every time I thought of him, my pussy would turn sogging wet. How my nipples would get hard every time I thought of him teasing them. For two years, I have watched the two of you with enough jealousy to kick you out of this house myself. The only thing that kept me from doing that was that you were, after all, my mother. You had me eighteen years ago, and in spite of the fact that we hardly get along nowadays, I love you for the love you have been giving me. But I am afraid my love - my lust - for Daddy is stronger than anything else I've ever felt. "Moreover, I thought you might be able to adjust to the new arrangement. "To put it simply, Mom, there's going to be a - let's say, change of guard. The husband you cherish, the man you shared your life with for nearly twenty years, the man who is my father, is going to leave you for me. I am going to take your place beside him, as his wife, lover and partner. Simply put, Mom, I am moving in with Daddy and you are moving out!" The last statement was delivered with such confidence that I had no doubt she was serious. These two were not pulling my leg with a joke, and I was sure that Martin wouldn't have a word in defense on my behalf. It was two against one, obviously unwinnable odds. I was under no impression of success. "It's up to you," Monica offered sternly, "To decide whether you want to live with us or move out of this house. But keep this in mind - this house can't stand two mistresses, and I am not going to back out now. So even if you do decide to stay on, remember that at the most, you are going to be our servant - a slave, if you want the right word. We will treat you as we please, so rough and unfair that you might even regret that decision, but be warned that if you go to the authorities, we will testify that YOU raped me eight years ago - on top of rape, it's pedophilia. Your life will be finished. So if you don't like our little affair, get out and never come back. "If you stay here, you will never again get to sleep with Dad, you will never again have any of the control you had till now, and you will take orders from us and execute them without failure. You will be my bitch, you lousy lay of a mother!" Then she turned to her father, throwing her arms around him. The two lovers beamed at each other and kissed passionately in front of me. Martin swept her off her feet literally and carried her to the bedroom that had so far been ours. The bedroom that was no longer mine. Like newlyweds, they giggled all the way to the room, when all sounds turned to squeals and moans. They left the door open, either by accident or by design - the latter to let me know what I would have to endure if I stayed. Whatever the case, I knew what was happening by the sounds they made as if I was in the room itself. For the better part of an hour, the two of them kissed, moaned, licked, sucked and groped each other to loud sounds of pleasure. Judging by the sounds, I surmised that Monica had come at least four times, within fifteen minutes. After that, I lost track of time and the academics of their frenzied loving. Animal moans filled the entire house as the two finally consummated their lusty union. It was only when they had finished that I found the resources to think. I hadn't moved an inch since I sat, and the sounds had been so distracting that even when I closed my eyes, erotic thoughts of their naked bodies plunging towards each other in rhythm was the only thing that came to mind. I decided to stay - my only excuse is that my submissive nature finally came to the front, placing myself at the feet of my daughter, my mistress. I was going back nineteen years of marriage to that same shameless slut who let her husband treat her as he pleased. The only difference was that with him would be my daughter to dominate me. Abruptly, Monica came out of the room. She was wearing just her panties, her breasts being decorated with so many teeth-marks that I had a fleeting thought as to how Martin had covered so much space in so little time. Her nipples looked like they were ready to burst open, swollen and hard to the point of appearing explosive. On the other hand, her thighs and legs looked virginal, as if her father had never ventured below her belt. Only the mixture of sperm and female cum trailing down her legs spoke otherwise. Martin followed. He hadn't bothered with any underwear, and his erection was like a proud salute to the beauty that was just in front of him. He placed his arms on her waist and pulled her close to him, her ass on a collision course with his dick. Monica started to protest, but withdrew silently into her father's embrace. Her eyes rolled over with lust for a moment, and then turned towards me with a look that was both challenging and contemptuous. Her father stood quietly behind her, trailing his hands along the contours of her body until she stopped him with her hands. "Daddy!" she squealed. "If you don't stop now, we will never get to ask Mom her decision... Be a good boy and we will be back in that wonderful bed in a minute - be bad, and we will have to push Mom off that sofa and make love there." Martin stopped all movement, but his hands were still very close to her snatch. Monica grinned as her father's fingers lightly brushed against her sparse pubic hair. "And no naughty stuff! Mom, so what have you decided?" I lowered my eyes to the floor. This was it, the moment when I sold myself to this little minx. "Whatever you decide." "Good! I was hoping you would want to stay. It's so hard to get good help nowadays. If you want, you can sleep in my 'old' room for tonight, but from tomorrow, you will sleep in the kitchen. And, by the way, Dad told me you had something going with BDSM adventures... Tell you what, as part of the introduction, why don't we let you watch the two of us knock the wood apart tonight? What do you say, O Daddy lover?" Martin grinned. He must have almost creamed her back, I thought, thinking about his own wife seeing him screw his daughter. My husband nuzzled Monica's neck and murmured his approval. Almost immediately, Monica moved over to me. "Get up, you slut," she almost shouted. Clutching my hair painfully from behind, she shoved me towards the door of the bedroom. She tightened her grip when I tripped, and I gave a cry of pain, but that only encouraged her to be rougher with me. As soon as we were inside the door, she flung me inside, the physical force enough to send me crashing into the side of a wooden chair. "What a good idea," my husband said. "She wants to be tied to the chair..." Moving over to me, he righted the fallen chair with one hand and with the other, practically lifted me by my hair to the seat. With brute force, he slammed me into the cushion, my rump almost bumping off the chair. "Get me my belt," he told Monica, and as it was offered, whipped my arms to my back expertly and tied me up. "And your panties." Without hesitation, Monica whipped off her panties and handed it over to him. In the sensuous light of the bedroom, I could see that it was dripping the juices of their bodies. It was a mixture of their secretions, a symbol of their conjoining. In a second's time, Martin had the panties secured around my mouth as a gag. I couldn't stop the fluids - their fluids - from flowing down my throat and into my stomach. I was being made to drink the cum of my husband and my daughter, mixed together as miscibly as they had mixed with each other. With a pair of handcuffs, Martin secured my legs and stepped back to observe his handiwork. "Gee, Daddy," my daughter commented, "That's a fine trussed up chicken you have there. What's the price for this turkey, my good butcher?" "A dime - actually I ought to pay you to take her off my hands." Monica flung her arms around him. "Then start paying," she said huskily, an invitation that he accepted readily. Completely ignoring me, Monica and Martin kissed each other. In the heat of passion, they knocked against the chair I was sitting on, and I fell down along with the chair. By then, they had reached the edge of the chair and were madly kissing each other with a passion that had eluded even Martin and I for the past years. Strangely, though, there was no jealousy now - only the satisfaction that everything was as it should be. I watched sideways from my fallen position as the two important people in my life gave themselves to each other without any recriminations. I watched as my husband and my daughter bonded... By the time I had raised myself to a sitting position, the two were locked in a 69, drowning each other with their liquids. Monica was on top, and when an orgasm struck her, she plonked down, her pussy embedded firmly in her father's mouth. After stabilizing herself, she raised herself, only to have her father attack her legs now. With a gusto that I found surprising in a forty-year old man, Martin licked and savored every inch of her tanned, lithe legs. At her foot, he started to lick her heel, and by the moans emanating from Monica, it was pretty obvious that her father knew her g-spots well. Then Monica reversed the situation, and it was Martin who was groaning like a man possessed. Monica sucked him dry, only to have him at full mast barely five minutes later. He had never refilled like that with me before... but I could understand it. The thrill of fucking your own offspring must do it to people, I thought. Monica then started to tease his balls, taking them in her mouth! Martin's hands found her wet hole and he stuck a finger inside. There was a slurping sound as Monica tried to swallow his balls, followed by a sound that was almost a scream when his finger started to tease her cuntal walls. There were no words exchanged as they changed their positions for the 'final assault.' Martin lay back on the bed, and even as they kissed again, Monica impaled herself on his cock. For a few minutes, they just rocked back and forth, no doubt enjoying the fit of their bodies. I could see that I had made the right call in handing over my husband to our daughter - their bodies were made for each other. They were made for each other... Change of Guard An hour later, the two lovers were asleep in each other's arms, entwined so intimately that they were kissing even in their sleep. They hadn't bothered about me at all - after all, one doesn't bother to pollute such a beautiful experience by talking to slaves. I accepted my slavery happily - at least, I still had my family. A servant has some semblance of dignity; a slave has none, deserves none. I slept on the floor that night, still tied up and gagged. I woke up the next morning when Monica poked me in the gut. She was naked, as was her father beside her. They looked at me angrily, as if I had done something wrong. On the contrary, I had done nothing - and that was exactly what infuriated them. Pulling me up to my feet, my daughter stormed at me. "Why the hell haven't you made breakfast, you whore? Do we have to tell you everything? This is your last warning - don't screw up again. If you do..." She let the threat hang in the air. Meanwhile, Martin had taken off the belt that had tied my hands. Almost simultaneously, as if on cue, Monica slapped me in the face and Martin whipped his belt across my butt. The double blows caused me to lose my balance and I fell at my daughter's feet. She laughed, her father joining her almost immediately. Reaching down, she craned my neck back by pulling on my hair. "Remember that, next time! Now get out, you good-for-nothing bitch!" On my way to the kitchen to make breakfast, I allowed myself a moment for reflection. Yesterday, I had been a normal mother - possessive, plodding, stubborn, even old-fashioned. I had been a normal wife - loving, helpful, slightly plump and slightly horny. Now I was a mere slave, a plaything for my husband and my daughter, someone not even worthy of the lowest dignities acceded to humans by humans. I had no rights, only duties. I would be treated accordingly as I executed them. As our daughter learnt to dominate me, I learnt to obey her. As she learnt to strike me, slap me, punish me, I learnt to accept, beg and accept even more punishment. Martin's shot with the belt was having its effect - I doubted whether I would be able to sit down for a couple of days. After they had had their breakfast, Monica and Martin threw me some crumbs. Hopping to the table, for my legs still had the handcuffs, I bent down on the floor to eat the food. However, the gag of her panties across my mouth prevented me from ingestion. Monica and Martin were amused by my predicament, and when I reflexively lifted my hand to remove the underwear, she kicked me quite firmly in my stomach. I fell down on my stomach, my wind knocked out by the blow. But I got the meaning - even my body wasn't mine anymore... As had been the custom, Monica would be having her party tonight. It was a night she had looked forward to, as she had mentioned earlier, and a lot of her friends would come. Before long, the party in the barn would be a whorehouse of orgies, with a lot of skin and flesh. My husband decided to put in a special prize - me. There would be a contest, and after that, for the night, I would be the property of the winner. Martin wouldn't intervene unless my life was in danger, but Monica was strictly off-limits to everyone else. Without any warning, Monica moved over to me and tore my clothes off - literally. She wasn't going to fuck me, she told me, I wasn't worth it. Before I could have even turned away, she had stripped me of my dress and my underwear, and I was standing in front of them, nude and ashamed of my ageing body. "Tsk, tsk," Monica smiled at her father. "You were right Daddy, this woman is hardly worth anything on the market. Look at these - ugh - tits, they look like a cow's, don't they?" "Worse, my darling," her father answered. "I don't know why I hadn't chucked her into the barn earlier itself. Oh well, at least her cunt is better - I did not have to look at that so often." He chuckled to himself as a brainwave struck him. "Say, honey, there are some piercing tools in the shed. What do you say we give our sorry slave here a breast-lift? I am sure there are a couple of chains as well." Monica's eyes lighted up at this suggestion. "Sounds wonderful, Daddy! These packs look like they could use a lot of help." She gave my left breast such a hard squeeze that I wanted to cry out with pain. Her slap silenced me. I was dragged to the shed the old-fashioned way, and by the time we had reached the little wooden shack, my head hurt like hell. Monica and Martin were dressed comfortably, but the only things I had on me were the gag and the cuffs. Inside the shack, Martin produced a long needle, four shiny rings and a couple of short chains. He tied me to a corner post and ensured that the gag was still secure. Without any other preparation, he plunged the sterilized, unused needle right through my nipples, one after the other. Deftly, he inserted the rings into the holes and the destruction of my buds was complete - barely enough of the nips remained. "Don't worry," Martin assured my daughter while giving the rings strong tugs. "The rings will hold. The skin of the nipples is an incredibly strong material. You could tie this to a tractor and her to a tree, and nothing short of her breast being torn away will allow the tractor to move forward. Here, see for yourself!" Monica tweaked the rings as if it were the ignition. Once again I realized why they had kept my mouth covered - the pain that stunned me was so intense I would have screamed all the way to China. My eyes clouded over with pain but since no blood came, Monica was happy. They would hurt me, but they wouldn't bleed me. At least, not to death. Martin then punctured the skin of my shoulders and inserted two more rings. My entire upper body throbbed with pain as Monica kissed her father for his expertise in piercing me so efficiently. My husband then passed the chain through the rings, connecting them in such a way that my breasts were lifted to a height enjoyed when they had been firm. Apparently, this was not enough for him, so he crisscrossed my entire chest with chains until my breasts looked like the latticework of the Golden Gate Bridge. The uplift, literally, was as successful as the suspension of the bridge. Then Monica wanted another ring just above the crack of my ass, from which a chain would be hung so that I could be the real bitch, complete with leash and tail. The chain that Martin chose as my tail was a heavy stainless steel piece, and all through the way back to our house, it kept getting lodged inside my ass. On a couple of occasions when I slowed down, Monica used the tail as a whip to speed me up. Welts covered my ass-cheeks when we finally made it to the house. During the party, Martin and Monica made no effort to hide their incestuous relationship. I was conscious of her peers' eyes as they glanced at me every time the two kissed or squeezed intimately. They were probably wondering why I said nothing, allowing the affair between father and daughter to go on. If they had known that I was the prize for the evening, their questions might have found answers. The suspense was maintained throughout the night, until the last leg of the contest, when there were just three guys left in the contention. "That's enough," my husband ruled. "It's been going on for too long. I say we just divide the prize among the three of you - and your friends, if you want to." A loud cheer went up in acceptance of his suggestion. With his signature force, Martin swung me into the center of the group. The crowd gasped as he undid the single strap that had held my thin pink gown together. The dress collapsed into a heap at my feet, exposing me in all my nakedness to the teens. I still had those chains on me, both the ones on my breasts and the one near my ass, and it must have been this evidence of such blind subordination that turned them on like never before. Without waiting for feedback, my husband whipped my hands behind my back and cuffed them tightly. Then my daughter moved in. She smiled at the crowd, reassuring them that I was okay with it. Just to show the extent of her power over me, however, she slapped me thrice. My cheeks stung as she pushed me down into the hard floor, the fall causing the tail-chain to get firmly lodged into my crack. I jumped up instinctively, and was rewarded with another slap and a rebuke. "Stay down, you bitch! Now be a nice little slut and fuck all those who want to screw just about any cunt they get... and lock this place up when you are done!" With that, she turned to kiss her father. Cheerfully, the two of them wished the rest of her remaining friends a very happy night, and gave them full permission to do me as they pleased. The last thing I remember before everything blurred was three boys and a girl moving towards me, obviously to 'do' me at the same time. I don't know how late it was when my cunt was finally free of a cock, but I knew I smelt disgusting. A couple of the girls had vomited over me, and the last guy had fucked my mouth until my gums had bled. Another guy had stuck the wooden handle of a brush into my ass, preceded by the chain. I could barely walk as I closed and locked the barn doors and knocked on the door to our darkened house. It was quite some time before Martin and my daughter opened the door, and their grimace was an indication of how bad I looked. In the crisp morning air - for it was past midnight - the incestuous lovers shoved me all the way to the pigsty. They gave me the old heave-ho into the stinking pit, and I heard Martin remark that people like me belonged to places like this. As a very naked and oversexed female body was flung into the midst of its brood, the male boar, raised for his prowess in reproduction, moved towards it. My fucking for the night was hardly over - in fact, it had hardly begun. I slept with a stuffed cunt in the pigsty that night...