Punching Bag

Weeks later, Heather ran in excitedly, showing me the blue color on the home pregnancy test.

Heather: "Well, crank up the camcorders and a camera, Heather is going to be a sexy mommy! Aren't you proud, dad? Your little baby girl, blonde, fair, and white, will soon have a swollen belly. Growing inside will be at least one, though we can pray for two or three, strong black babies. Just think of that delivery room, where the doctor and nurse will stare at the black baby, the fertile white womb it emerged from, and her pathetic father cowering in the corner." (She didn't punch me for once, merely slapping me six times, each with increasing intensity. As usual, a daily occurrence, I was having a slight nose bleed.)

Heather for her part had finished her senior year in high school. She had set records in football as well as weight-lifting in her weight class, for men or women. There was even talk of her going pro in the NFL. I had to admit, if I ever saw Heather line up and run in the NFL, I think I would really get off to that.

Some months later, after dealing with me day after day, performing vignette after vignette, Heather kicked it up another notch. Each vignette was designed to mete out punishment to me. I would be an allied airman, being interrogated by Ilse Crotch, Nazi interrogator. If Ty was around, I was a cruel overseer on a plantation until a slave revolt put me under THEIR punishment. Whatever the scenario, it always culminated with a pumped up and excited Heather knocking the hell out of me. She'd conclude matters with hard slaps to the face, punches to the gut, and at least twice, a devastating full-power knee to the family jewels.

It was the fifth anniversary of the car accident that took my wife's life. Heather promised a whole festival of events. Sure enough, she came in to the room and pumped up. God, her arms looked unusually huge, bulging, threatening, powerful, and damn sexy. My little 'wonder woman' was so fucking strong and healthy! It was almost worth taking the incredible pounding I took, day after day, to experience, to feel her power. But, there are costs to everything in life.

Here I was on the fifth anniversary of my negligent accident where my blood count (about .016 or twice what was legal) locked away in those vials hung over me like a sword of Damocles. Heather came in and pumped up as always. With her arms sporting eye-popping veins and folds normal for such huge biceps, she opened a brief case and put a forest of papers on a breakfast table.

Me: "Wait, what are all these?"

Heather: "Oh, it's nothing. Just a quit claim on the house. Transfer of your bank accounts to me. Also, there's a title to the car, ownership of stock, and some other things. Today, on the anniversary of you 'getting rid' of that troublesome female, mommy, your other female is going to get rich. Coincidentally, on this important day, YOU are going to get poor."

Me: [I laughed, pushing the tray table away] "You can't make me sign anything, you little tramp. I have put up with all of this for too long...I am putting an end to this, now!"

I forgot that my little girl had already pumped up. Incensed that I was standing up to her, she told me to stand up and face her like a man. I did.

Heather: "Which arm daddy? Which do you prefer? The one you choose will deliver a message from mommy!" [Heather flexed her mountainous biceps; it was like some live, 3D, adult Popeye cartoon. Only I wasn't Popeye but Bluto, about to feel the wrath of the pumped up hero, in righteous indignity.]

I tapped the right arm. She nodded about the wisdom of my selection, flexing and unflexing it as I watched in quiet awe. But, then I felt that right fist plunging into my gut, like a baseball star had just hit me with a Louisville slugger. She came at me with a barrage of blows, putting me on my knees, both eyes blackened, three teeth lost, seven more loosened. She kept shrieking "for mommy!" as the blows rained down upon me. Finally, I lay on the floor.

Me: "Please, Heather, stop. Did it occur to you that you might be killing me?"

Heather: [breathing heavily, now smiling] "Well, the thought HAD occurred to me. Besides marking mom's anniversary, I just wanted you to sign those papers. Sign them, and I will stop doing this." [she couldn't resist and gave me one last pop in the nose, once again making it crooked.]

I broke down and signed every single document, making my baby girl wealthy (for her age at least) and me officially penniless. I was now even more at her mercy, totally dependent on her.

For a year, this clever young woman did a series of exchanges and transfers, disguising how and where she got the money so it could never be recovered. There was a reason for this. Once she contacted the law, if she ever did, she would have had to disguise the fact that she was the chief beneficiary of my funds, much of which was from the $1million policy I had on my wife.

It was the sixth anniversary of my wife's passing, and one year since Heather used fear (of the law, and of her incredible hitting power) to make me sign everything I had over to her. I was sitting on my bed, expecting Heather to do her traditional pumping up. Sure enough, she came in the usual white leotard, and proceeded to clang clang her 'guns' into mile high atomic reactors, delivering frightening power in the form of titanic blows to my face and gut. Since it was a special holiday (my wife's passing anniversary) she was as usual kind enough to hit between the legs with her knee, using her running back speed and power to deliver a literally crushing blow.

On this that fateful anniversary, with all of my assets transferred to her and safely sent down a labyrinth that no one could unravel, I lay on the floor. My loving little girl had kneed me into the next county, punched me till my face was swollen, eyes blackened, teeth down to eight original and 22 plastic replacements. I had my customary nose bleed as she walked over to me, wearing her sexy white leotard. She grabbed me by what few hairs I had left. With a snap, snap, her leotard bottom opened up. She grabbed me by the back of my head and compressed me flush with her feminine area.

Heather: "Daddy, I don't want to hurt you, for the moment, so please open your mouth and do not close it until I say to. If you disobey, I will be forced to hit you, hard. I can feel the strength and power in my arms today. I just lifted 500 pounds on the barbells downstairs. I am superstrong today, so don't mess around, OK. Just open your mouth and I have a beverage I want you to try. Just think of it as British ale, served warm."

To my horror, she held me tightly. Risking a beating that I might not survive at the hands of my super girl, I had no choice but to open wide and take whatever she gave me. Well, it wasn't long till she filled up my mouth to overflowing while relieving herself. I had no choice but to swallow that stuff, and then swallow gulp after gulp as it just kept coming. I fell over when she released my head, half of my hair remaining in her hand.

I remained on the floor overnight, recovering. The next morning, bright and early, I saw the sexy bare feet of Heather, tormentor numero uno. As I looked up to her, awaiting her fresh punishment, she had an announcement and some introductions. First, I had to get decent. [She had me get some clothes on.]

Heather: "Daddy, on the sixth anniversary of the accident that did in mommy, I remembered those vials taken from you the day of that horrible car crash. You know, the ones that might show that you were driving drunk. We had them tested before they degraded, certifying the BAC, as they say, as point oh one six, or double state law. So now, daddy, I will soon introduce Vernon, from our lovely state attorney general office. If you're wondering the statute of limitations is only five years for accidents, EXCEPT for ones this serious. Then it is twenty years. Oops, sorry about that. I guess you will be spending, what, ten years in the state prison outside the capital. But don't worry about me. I sold this house and got a newer and better one. I didn't want the insurance company to be able to show that that was your asset and should be theirs. So while you are safely put away for what you did to mommy and me over the years, and mommy on that eventful night, I will be in my own home, with my own car, my own bank accounts, stocks, bonds, and even mom's jewelry. All thanks to you. So I say, thank you daddy!"

As a final sign of her appreciation for what I did to her as she was growing up and her loving mother, she came up to me, put a petite hand on my cheek, and brought her knee up to my family jewels with lightning speed and express train power. As I lay writhing on the floor, she put a beautiful smooth bare foot on top of my prostrate carcass, flexed her huge bulging biceps in conquest and triumph, and grabbed her cell phone. Hitting a pre-set button, my new friend Vernon came in. A nice black gentleman who had been enlightened by Heather about my diary entries, he promised her solemnly that there would be no probation, no bond, and some really hard time with hard cases in the state pen.

Years later, on the tenth anniversary of the accident that took Heather's mom's life, I was amazed that Heather was coming to visit me. I didn't want to feel her wrath on this tenth anniversary of that sad day. I didn't want to drink her warm beer, or feel her love taps to my face, and gentle massage of my gut. Frankly, I was afraid of that musclebound daughter of mine. Her incredible physique, which was at the same time perfectly voluptuous but also contest-ready chiseled, defined, and massive, would be with me again. Would she be bringing me succor...or a powerful sucker punch?

Heather: "Well daddy, it's the tenth anniversary. I just wanted to see you, in the privacy of this conjugal trailer, where we could be alone. I didn't think that you would still be here in jail by now." [I brightened at this...was she going to work to get me freed?]

Heather: "Well, I'm here today to show you that I'm as strong as I ever was...even stronger." [She flexed her humongous biceps, just as mountainous as always. She noticed that part of the trailer roof structure had three inch thick solid re-bars in case of rollover. She pulled it out of the wall and bent it. It made a loud groaning sound in protest as the solid 3 inch steel was bent and twisted in the hands of my super strong little girl.] "I came here today to tell you about the eleventh anniversary celebration in this trailer. If I have to go to Vernon and offer to have ten babies for him, I will. But I will see you here next year on this very day. Don't worry, I will be super pumped up, my 'guns' at least 20 inches round, and hard as steel. I will start the festivities with a slap to that face of yours, then my first tribute to mommy with a powerful punch to your gut. A few hard slaps to that face. What then...oh I guess I would give you a little jab in the right eye...we'd wait till the lovely blue color emerges, then I would tastefully punch the other eye, hoping for a contrasting red tinge. Finally, I would serve you my favorite warm brew, fresh and hot. Once you swallowed it all down, without spilling a drop, I would let you absorb it all in. After we both rested, I'm sorry to say, I would have to switch directions and actually hurt you, just a little, to punish you for what you did to me and mommy of course. I would hit you with a left, a right, an uppercut, a right cross, and if you were still conscious, just to get your attention, a knee to your microscopic family jewels.

Unlike our other little sessions, daddy, I wouldn't stop my celebration of that anniversary with you, until you were with mommy. If it took blow after blow, punch after punch, I would deliver it. And every time I hit you, I would think, 'this one is for mommy!' At the end of our little visit, your disgusting pathetic carcass would be on the trailer floor. The guard would come and I would cry about their failing to protect me and my having to fight you. Vernon would have already gotten to the guard; the investigation would start and end in an hour. Your remains would be cremated, with your loving daughter getting the urn. Tearful about your fate, I would honor your remains, putting them securely in a white porcelain holding tank. There, I would make my offering to those ashes. It might take me a few minutes to make that offering, but I would be reading the newspaper while I waited. After making two offerings to honor your ashes, what I would label number one and number two, I would make a final tribute, hitting the sparking chrome lever of that spotless white holding tank until everything, your ashes, tributes number one and number two, all were washed down the drain. I would wash my hands, appropriately, and leave that room, knowing that you ended up where you belonged. That's what will happen NEXT year IF you are still here, that is."

Jim could take a hint, even one as unsubtle as that one. He made sure that she did not have a chance to torment him anymore. The day before that eleventh anniversary, he was found in his cell for the last time. Heather received the call while on top of Vernon and his huge, black, married cock. She had the biggest orgasm of her life when she heard the news. Just before he gushed a huge load of potent African seed deep inside Heather's unprotected, and very fertile white womb, Vernon promised her that she would get the remains. He was as good as his promise, and she got to give her beloved daddy the white porcelain tribute that Jim was trying to avoid. To balance out the world, Heather had been impregnated. It was by a black man, in tribute to her late father, and she would name the baby: Jim. Even though he was definitely male (and better equipped at birth than his namesake), she decided to treat him well. And she did.

The End.