The Final Domino

I didn't, not until spring came and Alexa entered the octagon for her first match. Along with her trainer from Westwood 10, I was in her corner, cheering her on, giving her pointers between rounds. She was doing great going into the third and final round. In fact, she was leading on points when she got careless, let her guard down, and got popped with a roundhouse kick to the jaw. Down she went, out cold for a half minute as her opponent danced joyously around the cage in celebration. I whispered encouraging words to her as she cried in my arms on the parking lot. "It's your first fight," I told her, "don't get discouraged. You'll get them next time."

Well, the next thing I know, we're starting to kiss and, pardon the cliché, one thing led to another. She smelled great after her post-fight shower, and she wore these sexy red shorts and a tight white top. She was also starting to tan from studying on the lawn of her college between classes. Her luscious thighs, white in the winter, glowed shiny and tawny, felt smooth as silk but firm from all that training, her miles of road work and her high-rep front squats. It was an unusually warm, balmy night for May, the sort of weather that jacks up a guy's libido. After pulling down the seats in my Subaru Forester, we climbed in back and indulged ourselves, released all those months of pent-up frustration and denial.

Over an hour and two climaxes apiece later, I drove for home, anxious about facing Danielle and Kendra, worried sick they might pick up what went on. "Must have been a long fight," Kendra said to me. "Either that or Alexa fought last." She also noticed my scent: "Alexa is all over you." If she harbored suspicions of hanky-panky, I allayed them, telling her that because Alexa was knocked out, she needed to be examined by medical personnel before leaving the arena. As for her scent, it was "all over" me from handling her while she perspired. Both alibis were true, though Alexa seemed to perspire just as much in the Subaru as she did in the cage. Of course, I left that part out.

Alexa continued to train, determined to fight again, to avenge her loss. The only thing she didn't do, that led to what happened to our family weeks later...Well, she has a way with words that I can only wish for. So I'll let her tell the rest of the story.

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The only thing I didn't do, referencing what my dad wrote, was keep my hands off him. But first, back to fight night.

I was really psyched. After months of hard training, most of it at my club, Westwood 10, I was in superb shape. I had the moves down pat, at least for a newbie, and confident I could win my maiden voyage into MMA fighting as a bantamweight (135 pounds). My confidence grew as the fight progressed. Although I couldn't see the judges' score cards, it was obvious to me and my corner that I was ahead by landing more punches and almost pulling off an arm bar submission in round two. She escaped, though barely. Perhaps I was overconfident, because she clocked me a little after a minute into round three with a kick to the head. Getting knocked out is a unique experience. Dad, per my request, once chocked me out, and I passed out in our gym basement after climaxing from dad's tongue setting my clit on fire. But getting knocked out is something else. I didn't see it coming, nor do I recall feeling any pain (not until later, that is). I just remember coming to on the mat, woozy and confused, seeing the ref and my people around me. Now I know how Ronda felt when she was on the receiving end of Holly's foot.

The loss devastated me. Dad's hugs and words of encouragement soothed me. Neither one of us planned to have sex, though I now wonder if subliminally I encouraged it by not wearing panties under my red short-shorts. As he wrote, we started to kiss and, well, instead of using his well worn cliché, I'll call it a case of the domino effect. Again, I was the aggressor, starting things off by unzipping his pants, grabbing his already hard cock and then putting my mouth around it. It didn't take him more than two minutes to come. It's a good thing there were tissues in the car, because he shot quite a load that first time. So the dominos were already falling when we hopped in back. Dad went wild when he took down my shorts, when he saw nothing underneath but my pussy, by then, ready, willing and able. Dad joked that I was knocked out twice that night—once in the octagon and once in the Subaru after his tongue worked its usual magic and my climax sent me into the stratosphere, seeing stars.

There was no turning back at that point. Those dominos kept on falling, one after the other. Dad's a big guy, yet somehow he was able to maneuver his muscled, six-foot two frame on top of me, kissing me and sucking on my hard nipples while pile-driving his tireless appendage into me as if there was no tomorrow. The warm, balmy air blew the sweet smell of spring into our open windows as we made love in the peaceful darkness of that deserted parking lot. Dad kept whispering nice things, how I smelled like roses and lilacs, how much he loved me, how he could make love to me forever. Words fail me when I try to convey what I felt that night. I loved him, of course, but that sounds so prosaic, so, well, so-so. Simply put, I was on fire, experiencing a coalescence of eroticism and heartfelt emotion that I had never before experienced—a weird, wild, wonderful juxtaposition of having this man as my lover as well as my dad. What sickened Danielle sent me into a rare exhilarated state of being. Dad and I were in sync, and not just emotionally. We both climaxed in tandem, thanks to his patience and discipline, waiting until I got there before he pulled the trigger—synchronicity in all its orgasmic glory.

Dad had called mom right after the match, so she and Danielle knew the results before we got home. Like dad, they tried to comfort me, encouraged me to keep fighting if that's what I wanted (mom was never crazy about the idea). Facing Danielle wasn't easy. We had always been close, had always been there for each other. And here I had violated her trust. It was the first time I felt any sort of guilt about what happened. Of course, I kept my mouth shut. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her, I figured. I mean, why add more pain to that which still lingered from that business in the kitchen? Besides, I thought, naively it turned out, that what happened in the Subaru would be the end of it. We both knew it was wrong, knew we should cease and desist before it wrecked our family beyond repair.

What's that shopworn proverb? The road to hell is paved with good intentions? Yes, well, we had every intention of resuming the normal father-daughter role. And we did too, at least on the surface. I dropped my former efforts to tease and tempt him, keeping myself well covered in his presence. You'd think that the discipline I brought to my MMA training, plus dating Bradford, this nice MMA guy I met at Westwood 10 would have, metaphorically speaking, kept me out of my dad's bed. In fact, it did; that is, until the four of us took a long weekend trip to the South Jersey Shore in July.

Mom and dad stayed in one room, Danielle and me in another. Most of the time, Dannie and I did our own thing, while mom and dad did theirs. We usually had dinner together, and spent part of the day together on the beach or around our hotel's pool—all routine stuff that families do on a vacation at the shore. Not so normal was the sexual tension between dad and I that simmered like a volcano ready to erupt. Perhaps I was projecting, but I was sure that mom and Danielle sensed it also. I knew damn well that dad did, responding to my suggestive looks with suggestive looks of his own as we checked each other out in our swim suits, him in his decorative surfer trunks, me in my thong bikini. Unlike at home, there was no covering up here.

Yet we managed to behave ourselves for a full forty-eight hours. Then came that fateful third day. Our hotel had a sauna housed in a cabana near the pool. The four of us were lounging around it, when dad decided he wanted to try the sauna. A few minutes later, I got the same idea. I figured dad wasn't the only one in there. Turns out he was and, well, you can probably guess what happened next. The heat from that sauna in combination with the heat that coursed between us was akin to throwing gasoline on fire. Dad kept his distance—or at least he tried until the irrepressible yearning inside me forced my hand, so to speak. In no time, it was on his cock, jerking him off while I worked my wet pussy with the other hand. Dry heat, saunas might be, but we sweated profusely in this impromptu, very naughty thing we created for ourselves, sizzling and uninhibited. I wanted him to fuck me on one of the hard wood benches, though knew we didn't have that kind of time. This would be another quickie:I'd jerk him off and that would be it. But, we weren't quick enough. Not quite, because just as I was licking off dad's jizz, who should wander in but Danielle and mom. Bedlam ensued. You'd think a bomb had gone off. I'm sure that's what the hotel's guests thought when the noise commenced, when Dannie and mom ran out yelling and screaming and crying. The onlookers, so relaxed on their chaise lounges just seconds before, cringed in horror watching our swimsuit-clad family disintegrate before their blinking eyes. To call it a mean and ugly scene would be a gross understatement. I call it the final domino.

It took hours for them to calm down enough to where they could even look at us. Already, mom was talking about calling her lawyer, while Danielle excoriated me for betraying her—me, the big sister she once looked up to, who she once thought of as her best friend. As a precursor to what happened when we returned home, we changed rooms. I roomed with dad, Danielle with mom for the one day we had left. The Buick Enclave was a tinderbox of tortuous silent tension on the drive back.

Weeks later, in mid-August, dad and I moved out, though not together as you might expect. He got his own place in an upscale apartment building, while I moved in with Bradley, who also became my coach. In September, I returned to the octagon, and this time I won, doing to my opponent what was done to me months earlier. Mom and dad never reconciled, never really tried to after that awful trip. They communicated through lawyers. It took months before either mom or Danielle would speak to me, and then more out of a sense of obligation than anything else.

A year later finds me still living with Bradley and finishing up my last semester of college. I still keep in shape but haven't fought since my second match. Bradley knows nothing about the Terminator and I, other than he once coached me. Dad found a new partner of his own, a tall, attractive, forty-something divorcee he's been dating for a few months. He still lives alone, which makes it convenient for us to get together every so often. Sex with Bradley is decent enough. Still, it pales beside the fireworks that dad creates inside me every time he takes me into his arms.