My name is Alex, and I’ve been married to Elena for five years now. She’s the kind of woman who turns heads everywhere we go—tall, with a tiny waist, long elegant limbs, and those perky little breasts that sit high and proud on her frame. She’s like a runway model who decided to grace the real world instead. But it’s not just her looks; Elena’s the horniest woman I’ve ever known. She wakes up ready, goes to bed insatiable, and everything in between is laced with that spark. Non-sexually, she’s solid too—supportive, fun, and we’ve built a life I wouldn’t trade. Sure, she’s got a jealous streak, scarred from past cheats, but it’s not over-the-top. She just wants her man all to herself, and honestly, I’ve never given her reason to doubt.

Then there’s her daughter, Sophia. At 15 when I first noticed the flirting, she was a carbon copy of her mom—same slender build, same model-esque features. Over the years, it escalated. She’d “accidentally” expose herself, bending over in tiny shorts or letting a towel slip after a shower. Once, she straight-up grabbed my cock through my pants while we were alone in the kitchen, her eyes locked on mine with that hungry, obvious lust. It was taboo as hell, and yeah, it stirred something in me. But I never bit. Elena was too important, and risking her jealousy? No way. Most of my attraction to Sophia was just stupid fantasy kink—the thrill of the forbidden, the idea of “completing the set” with a cute girl who was so blatantly horny for me. Given the choice, I’d pick Elena every time. She’s got that extra muscle tone from her workouts, a bit more voluptuous curve where it counts, and her personality? Agreeable, loving, everything Sophia’s bratty attitude lacked.

Sophia had moved in with us a couple times before, but she was a serial deadbeat—no job, no drive, just mooching off us. I footed the bills, and it grated on me. One evening, after another plea from Elena about giving her another chance, I snapped during a heated conversation. “She’s never moving in again,” I said flatly. “I’m done paying her way. She’s 16 now; time to grow up.”

Elena pleaded, her eyes wide and desperate. “Never say never, Alex. She’s my kid. What if ... what if I offered her to you? As a toy. To make it worth it.”

I blinked, caught off guard. She must’ve sensed my lingering glances over the years, rationalizing that if it was her own daughter, it wasn’t a real threat—no outsider stealing me away. In a weird mental haze, figuring it’d end the talk, I threw out an absurd demand: “Fine. She can move in if one of you blows me every weekday, and on weekends, I get to fuck both of you in the ass—together or one after the other.”

To my shock, they agreed. Elena texted Sophia that night, and by morning, it was a done deal. Sophia packed her bags and showed up, that sly grin on her face like she’d won something.

The weekdays started simple but intense. Monday through Friday became a routine of relief. I’d come home from work, exhausted, and one of them would be waiting. Sometimes Elena, her expert mouth working me over with that loving enthusiasm I adored. Other times Sophia, more eager but less skilled, slurping away like she was proving a point. It was Elena’s idea to alternate, keeping things “fair.” I’d stand there in the living room, pants around my ankles, while the chosen one knelt and serviced me. The other would watch or join in small ways—kissing my neck, whispering encouragements. It bonded us in a twisted way. Elena’s jealousy? It melted into something possessive but shared, like she was directing the show. And me? I felt like a king, the fantasy bleeding into reality without the guilt I’d feared.

But that first real day set the tone. I walked in the door after a grueling shift, and there was Sophia on her knees in the foyer, already at work. Her lips wrapped around my cock, slurping and slobbering with wet, enthusiastic sounds that echoed off the walls. She’d moved in that morning, and this was her “welcome” payment. Elena stepped in right behind me—she’d been in the kitchen—and her eyes flicked down to the scene. Sophia didn’t stop, her head bobbing rhythmically, cheeks hollowed out.

My face lit up the second I saw Elena. Despite the pleasure glazing my eyes, I waved her over with genuine warmth. “Hey, beautiful,” I said, pulling her into a big hug while Sophia kept going below. I held Elena tight, inhaling her scent. Then I pulled back, cupped her face, and looked deep into her eyes. “It’s been a long day. I’ve missed you so much. I love you.” My voice was steady, affectionate, even as my body tensed from Sophia’s efforts. I hugged her again, squeezing like she was the only one in the room. Elena seemed distracted by the slurping sounds, her cheeks flushing, but she melted into the embrace. It was surreal—me being loving and attentive to her while her daughter paid the “rent” on her knees. No insecurity flared; if anything, it turned Elena on, seeing me prioritize her emotionally even in the midst of it.

The week flew by like that—blowjobs as greetings, the house humming with this new dynamic. Sophia griped a bit about the “deadbeat” label but complied, her flirtations now channeled into action. Elena? She thrived, hornier than ever, often pulling me aside after for a quickie, reclaiming me as hers.

Then came the weekend. Saturday morning dawned, and it was time for the real payment. We gathered in the bedroom, the air thick with anticipation. Elena and Sophia stripped down, their lookalike bodies side by side—slender, perky, model-perfect. But Elena’s slight extra muscle and curves made her stand out, her confidence radiating.

I had them lay prone on the bed, asses up, side by side. Sophia went first. I lubed up generously—didn’t want real harm, just the sting of consequence—and positioned myself behind her. She was tight, resistant at first, her face buried in the pillow as I pushed in slowly. “Ow, fuck,” she whimpered, her long limbs tensing, tiny waist arching. The pain etched across her features—eyes squeezed shut, lips parted in a grimace. It was payback for all the mooching, her “sins” laid bare as I sank deeper. She gasped, “It hurts, stepdad ... but okay, I’ll take it.” Her voice cracked, a mix of submission and that lingering horniness.

Elena watched from beside her, not a hint of insecurity. Instead, she fired up, turning it into a competition. “Come on, Soph, take it like a good slut,” she teased, her hand reaching over to spread her daughter’s cheeks wider. “Show him you’re worth the rent.” As I started thrusting—slow at first, then building rhythm—Sophia’s face contorted more, tears welling from the stretch and burn. She bit the pillow, muffling cries of “Ahh, too deep!” But she pushed back eventually, her body adjusting, the pain mixing with reluctant pleasure.

Once Sophia was spent, panting and red-faced, I switched to Elena. She was ready, ass presented eagerly. “My turn,” she purred, glancing back with that competitive glint. I slid in easier—she was more experienced, her muscular frame handling it with grace. But she played it up, moaning louder than necessary, “Fuck me harder, baby. Show her how a real woman takes it.” Her face showed pleasure-pain too, but she wore it like a badge, eyes locking on Sophia’s. “See that? That’s how you keep your man happy.” I pounded away, the bed creaking, Elena’s perky breasts jiggling slightly as she rocked back.

We alternated a few times—me pulling out of one, into the other—until exhaustion hit. Sophia’s pain was the highlight for me, that twisted satisfaction of her “paying up,” while Elena’s enthusiasm kept it from feeling cruel. By the end, both were sprawled, asses red and leaking, but Elena pulled me into her arms, whispering, “You’re all mine,” with a satisfied smile.

Sunday was a repeat, but ramped up. We did it together more—me behind Sophia while Elena straddled her back, kissing me over her shoulder. Sophia’s face was a mask of agony again as I reamed her, prone and pinned. “Please, not so rough,” she begged, tears streaking her cheeks, but she didn’t stop. Elena egged her on: “Be a better slut than yesterday, honey. Earn your keep.” When it was Elena’s turn, she went prone next to her daughter, their hands linking in a weird show of solidarity. I took them one after the other, the room filled with slaps, grunts, and whimpers. Sophia’s pain was raw—wincing, sobbing softly into the sheets—but Elena turned it competitive, orgasming loudly to “win.” “Feel that, Alex? That’s what you get from me every time.”

By Sunday night, we were all drained. Sophia limped a bit, her “rent” paid in full, face still flushed from the ordeal. Elena cuddled up to me on the couch, no jealousy in sight—just pride in our twisted family unit. I’d completed the set, the kink satisfied, but Elena remained my choice. The arrangement held, weekdays oral, weekends anal, a taboo balance that somehow worked.

Escalation

The weekdays after that first intense weekend settled into a rhythm that felt almost normal—if normal included coming home to alternating blowjobs from my wife and her daughter. Elena and I grew closer, our bond strengthened by this shared secret. She’d often join in, her hands guiding Sophia’s head or taking over when she wanted to remind me who was queen. Sophia, for her part, played along, her flirtations now formalized into daily service. But old habits die hard. By mid-week, she started slipping—skipping chores, blowing off job searches, and one night, I caught her sneaking out to party with friends, leaving a mess in her wake. Elena and I discussed it in bed that night, her body pressed against mine. “She’s misbehaving again,” Elena sighed, but there was a spark in her eye. “Maybe she needs more ... discipline.” I grinned, the idea igniting that dark kink. We found fun in the thought of punishing her, turning her into our proper toy sex slave. Elena, surprisingly, showed an amazing cruelty toward her silly daughter—rationalizing it as tough love, but I could see the thrill in her cruelty, a side of her I’d never fully explored.

We let the week play out, building tension. Monday: Sophia on her knees as usual, but I was rougher, grabbing her hair and face-fucking her until she gagged lightly, a preview. Elena watched with a smirk, whispering, “That’s for the mess you left.” Tuesday: Elena’s turn to blow me, but she made Sophia kneel and watch, hands tied behind her back as “practice” for the weekend. Wednesday: Back to Sophia, but I edged her denial—pulling out before finishing, leaving her frustrated. “Earn it properly,” I said. Thursday: Elena again, but we tag-teamed, her sucking while Sophia licked my balls, humiliated. Friday: Sophia’s final weekday service, but Elena gagged her with a ball gag first, making the slurping muffled and messy. Drool everywhere, her eyes watering. “For sneaking out,” Elena hissed, her cruelty shining through as she slapped Sophia’s cheek lightly. By evening, we laid out the rules: Starting this weekend, Sophia was our toy sex slave. No more just rent payment—full submission, or she was out for good.