The Terminator's Daughter

He nods and smiles. "Well, guess what? We've on the same page."

Her eyes widen in surprise. "Oh my god, dad! What are you saying? That you're feeling the same thing?"

"I wouldn't have mentioned it had you not said something first. It's embarrassing for me too,

I'll have you know."

They laugh and embrace.

She kisses him, then says, "Okay, so now what?"

"That's up to you. But if you're still serious about MMA, you might want to get a different coach."

"Or," she says, adjusting her sports bra, "I can keep the same coach and see what happens. This is getting...interesting."

He shakes his head and stands up. "Hmm, that word again. Now I know what you meant when you used it last time. Well, it's probably not the kind of interesting we want to explore. Inappropriate is more like it."

"Agreed. But also fun in a daring, naughty kind of way." She stands up, smiles seductively and hikes her tight shorts up to her crotch. "Know what I'm saying?"

Her white, luscious thighs draw him in. He stoops down and starts to feel and lick them. He runs his fingers and tongue over them, licks the beads of sweat off them. She lifts her sports bra and starts to message her boobs. He reaches for her crotch.

Then...

They both jump at the sound of the door opening, followed by someone bounding down the basement steps. By the time Kendra, all five-foot two of her comes into view, Alexa is pulling down her bra and adjusting her shorts to their proper length. Jim stands there with both hands over his crotch, hiding the bulge that lurks therein.

Kendra stops halfway down the steps. "Sorry to interrupt, but dinner's almost ready. You two should start washing up." She lingers a few seconds, hands on hips, staring at her husband and her daughter, her face a picture of curiosity, if not suspicion. "Everything okay?"

Jim abruptly turns his back and starts to put away the equipment. "Sure, everything's fine. We'll be right up."

"Right. I'll, um, see you soon." She lingers a few seconds longer before going back upstairs.

"Dad, I'm sorry," Alexa says after her mom leaves. "I should have behaved myself. That was a close call."

"I'm equally to blame," he says, throwing his mitts in the closet. "What we need to do now is figure out where we go from here."

She nods and follows him up the stairs.

******************************************

Where DO they go from here? Jim doesn't know. All he knows is that he's burdened by an overwhelming attraction for his daughter Alexa. And, judging from her actions, the feeling appears to be mutual. It almost got them both in trouble, him especially, because later that night, Kendra wants to know what had been going on prior to when she called them for dinner.

"Nothing, Alexa was practicing her moves," Jim says. "Why?"

Kendra, dressed in a short, mint green nightie, sits in front of the big round mirror on her dresser, brushing back her thick mane of brown hair. "What moves? It looked to me like she was rushing to hide her titties. Was she topless down there?"

Jim, stripped to just his boxer shorts, climbs into bed and clicks on the TV to catch the ten o'clock news. "Hardly. It wouldn't play in the octagon."

Holding her brush in abeyance, she leans to the side so she can catch his impassive face in the mirror. "Ha ha, very funny." She resumes her brushing before pausing again. "Well, you were acting kind of weird yourself."

"I'm a weird guy, you know that," he says, struggling hard to maintain an insouciant facade, while his innards burn with angst. His wife's suspicion comes as no surprise. She caught him in an affair ten years into their marriage. They separated for a few months. Then, through marriage counseling, they managed to work things out, at least enough for Jim to move back in. Of course, things were never the same. They never are when a spouse cheats. A marriage is built on trust, and when that goes so goes the marriage; or at least a part of it that can never be recouped.

"So you think I was acting weird," Jim says, probing to see where Kendra might be going with this. "Weird how?"

Kendra puts the brush down, clicks off the light and climbs into their king sized bed. The TV remains on, bathes the room in a soft blue glow. She turns on her side to face him. "I don't know, Jim. Maybe you can tell me."

"There's nothing to tell. Well, there is one thing. I'm weirdly horny right now." He slips his hand under her nightie, squeezes her right boob. He's horny, all right, but not for his wife. He shutters to think that she might suspect who he's horny for. Things might be different if Kendra took better care of herself, ate right and exercised. But she doesn't and it shows. Her once firm, petite body is no more, supplanted by cellulite on an ever widening butt and waistline, the inevitable byproducts of a high-carb, sedentary lifestyle.

Regardless, he'll have to stay horny. Pushing his hand away, she says, "Sorry, but I'm weirdly not. Another night perhaps."

He clicks off the TV. "Okay, suit yourself." He turns over and peers into the darkness, asking himself again: Where does he go from here? Into Alexa's room if he had his druthers, if he was the total incestuous maniac one reads about in the tabloids. He isn't, but neither can he completely ignore the attraction that calls to him like trumpets blaring in the night.

********************************************

Alexa's ambition to fight in the octagon hasn't dimmed. Not by a long shot. She still trains at Westwood 10, and is even starting to spar with other young women with the same goal. The only thing on hold is whether to retain Jim as her primary coach. It's hard to beat the individualized, one on one attention that her dad can provide. Westwood's got decent coaching too. However, she's just a face in the crowd. She's usually there in the late afternoon or at night along with others just getting off school or work. Jim, unlike Westwood, could give her the luxury of time, not to mention something else that she finds herself craving more and more with each passing day. She fights it, tries to put it behind her. But it won't leave her alone—the fantasies won't, those vivid, erotic fantasies that she can't get out of her head. They keep her doing herself while she thinks of doing him.

And so, on a Sunday afternoon, she decides to make her move. The timing is good. Her mom and Danielle are out shopping and her dad is in the basement watching football. She throws on her MMA workout gear. Not a pretense because she really would like to show him what she's learned at Westwood over the past two weeks. She checks herself in the mirror. Lipstick? No, don't need it. Perfume? Okay, a touch of White Diamonds, Liz Taylor's iconic brand. Hair? She normally pins it up before getting physical. This time she decides to keep it down, letting her auburn locks fall below her shoulders in wavy, cascading layers.

Upon entering the basement, she sees by the color of the uniforms that the Green Bay Packers are playing the New York Jets. "Good game?"

"Boring game," he says, "unless you like low scoring, defensive slug-fests." He lounges on the sofa in jeans and a white T-shirt, one hand in his lap, the other draped over the back of the sofa.

"That's great. I mean, I'd hate to tear you away from an exciting game to show you what I've been practicing at Westwood. I think I've got a variation on the rolling armbar down pat. But I'll need your help to demonstrate."

"Sure, no problem. But do you think we can get through it without things getting—what's your pet word to describe it—interesting?"

She laughs. "Well, I don't know about you, dad, but I want things to get interesting."

He sits up and runs his hands along her bare legs. "As long as we're careful. I don't need a repeat of what happened last time. And I'm not sure when your mom and sister will be home."

They go to the mat and Alexa proceeds to show Jim what she's learned. He offers no resistance as she works a few variations of the arm bar maneuver. He gives her pointers, offering up his own variations culled from his years of fighting experience. This segues into choke holds, something else Alexa has been learning at Westwood. In most MMA fights, an opponent will tap out before being chocked out, before going unconscious. It doesn't always go that way because sometimes the ref fails to stop the action in time. Just last week, Alexa saw a You Tube video of a famous jiu-jitsu coach demonstrating the art of the choke-out on a cute MMA girl named Joanne. Joanne actually went out for a few seconds, then came to and laughed about it. Alexa found it fascinating. More than that, she found it wildly erotic in a sadomasochistic way, and now wants Jim to play the jiu-jitsu coach to her Joanne. The request startles him. He's choked out his share of guys in a fight. But to do that to his own daughter? How can he?

"Please, dad, I just want to know what it feels like. You won't hurt me, I swear."

After much pleading, Jim finally gives in, sits down behind her and wraps his arms around her neck. His forearms form an x, with his right hand on his left shoulder, his left hand behind her head. Then he applies the squeeze, slowly upping the pressure until her eyes roll up into her head and she falls back. He gently lowers her to the mat, staring at her unconscious form, lovely and innocent. Sexual sadomasochism never appealed to him. Leather, whips, chains, etc. were never his thing. It still doesn't. Even so, he's becoming aroused watching Alexa laying there, all sweet and beautiful.

Seconds later, she opens her eyes, sits up and shakes her head. "Wow! You really did it, didn't you? That was wild!"

He stoops down and holds her. "Honey, are you okay?"

"A little woozy but yeah, I'm okay. I'd be more than okay if you'd do something else. Something...interesting. And if you won't, I will."

Before he can respond, she throws her arms around him, then pulls him on top of her. This is what she's been waiting for, a chance to act out what her imagination refuses to let her forget. She kisses him passionately, shamelessly. Sure it's wrong, but that's what makes what she's doing so fucking exciting. She lifts her sports bra over her small but firm boobs, loving the erotic, tactile sensation of his hands and tongue on her hard nipples. She dry humps her pelvis into him, giddy with the anticipation of receiving inside her the hard cock she can now sense getting harder by the second. She peels off her top and shorts, waits flat on her back, legs spread, while he disrobes, and then pulls him on top of her once again. She loves the route his tongue takes, from her nipples to her tummy and then, its ultimate destination, to her pussy—shaved, hot and very wet. It only gets wetter when he puts his head between her legs and begins to lick her clit. "Oh my god! Oh my god, dad! That's it, keep going." He does and she begins to lapse into a semi-conscious state, with her fists balled up and her body arched halfway off the mat.

She can feel and see it coming—her climax and then the blackness that she senses will follow, not unlike the blackness that enveloped her from the choke-out, this time courtesy of the friction and torque of Jim's tongue. The sound of the TV fades, then darkness falls like a sudden eclipse.

"Not again. Wake up, honey, wake up." Jim's voice gradually comes into focus. She feels him shaking her.

She sits up and shakes out the cobwebs. "Oh my, another pass out. Stupendous, dad, you're stupendous. And that's a word I don't use lightly. If you can do that with your tongue, I can only imagine what your cock can do."

"I'm almost afraid to find out."

She soon finds herself on all fours with Jim behind her, his hands on her boobs, his stiff cock thrusting into her still wet pussy. "Give it to me, dad, give it to me. Shove that big thing of yours into your little girl's hot cunt." Her senses all but shut down: Her eyes barely see the sit-up board just feet in front of her; her ears barely hear the voice of sportscaster Al Michaels broadcasting the Packers-Jets game. "Oooooo, that feels so good, so good with you inside me. Oh my god! Oh fuck! You're gonna make me come again. Come with me, dad, come with me." She knows he's had a vasectomy, so she's able to take the full measure of his hot jizz when he finally shoots it into her. His timing, while not perfect, is close to it, as her climax comes at the tail end of his.

They lie together on the mat, breathing hard.

"I hope you're not disappointed."

She laughs. "Yeah, right. I should always be so disappointed." She pauses, then says, "But there is one more thing I'd like you to do, something I've fantasized about."

"Okay."

"Can we do it on the sit-up board?"

He chuckles. "That would definitely be a first for me. Just give me a few minutes to replenish myself."

"Oh, I can help you with that." She rolls over and puts her mouth over his half-flaccid cock.

He lays back, hands behind his head, watching her perform, watching the deft way she coordinates her mouth and hand.

"My little girl's had some experience, I see."

"A little," she says coyly. "I guess I'm still better at this than arm bars."

"If you performed arm bars like you perform this, you'd be queen of the octagon. Nobody would stand a chance." She continues until he's once again at full staff. "Okay, I think I'm ready."

She gives his erection a final couple strokes. "I'd think you are too."

She lies down on the sit-up board, upholstered in red vinyl and slightly elevated. Then she spreads her legs wide, takes him in and closes her eyes. "Fuck me daddy, fuck me hard. Oh my god! Whoever said that fantasy is better than reality doesn't know what the hell they're talking about."

"I'll second that opinion," he says, breathing hard. "Come on baby, work them abs."

She laughs out loud. "Workouts like this should earn me a six-pack, yes?"

"I would think so." They keep going for another few minutes before he says, "Okay, now it's time to work your quadriceps."

"Huh?"

She gets it when they change positions, putting her on top facing away from him, doing half squats on his cock. He helps, lifting her up and down, his hands tucked under her butt. Her hands alternate between her boobs and the edge of the board, the wood creaking in rhythm to her sweat-drenched body and burning quads. "This is truly a multipurpose gym, huh dad?"

He laughs so hard he almost loses his erection. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." He manages to hold on until he comes a second time. It's a bit too early for her, so he finishes her off with his tongue, joking that they've come "full circle."

By the time they get dressed, the game is in the fourth quarter. Jim suggests they take a shower. "The smell of sex can be quite pungent," he says. But they don't have time, at least right away, because just then they hear the sound of Kendra and Danielle coming through the front door. Both anticipate that either Kendra, Danielle or both of them will come down to see what's going on. Therefore, they plop down on the sofa, tactfully keeping their distance.

Sure enough, Kendra makes an appearance. She wears white slacks and a yellow blouse, a sunny combo that matches her mood. She stands on the bottom step, happily telling her husband and daughter where she and Danielle had lunch and what they bought. "And I can see that you two either had another workout or plan to after the game."

"We worked out during the game," Jim says. "We're now on cool down."

Alexa nods. 'Yeah, mom. Dad and I worked on choke-outs and armbars. He taught me a lot." She slaps her hand over her mouth, struggles not to laugh.

Kendra folds her arms against her chest; her mood darkens. "That funny, huh? Anything else? I mean, you look like you did more than just choke-outs and and armbars."

"Squats and sit-ups. But that came afterwards," Jim says. Unlike Alexa, he's not close to laughing.

Kendra glances over at the sit-up board, still damp with perspiration. "Squats and sit-ups. Right. Well, I hope you had fun. Meanwhile, I need to fix dinner."

Alexa looks warily at Jim. "You don't think she suspects anything, do you?"

"Well, with that laugh of yours..." He slaps her on the leg to reassure her. "Nah, how could she?" His worried look suggests otherwise. "But let's hit the showers before she might." He clicks off the TV and they head upstairs.

***************************************

Later that night, Kendra tells Jim she's horny. It figures. Of all nights she picks this one, just hours after he'd been with Alexa. What's that lyric by Toby Keith? "I ain't as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I ever was." Earlier, he was good twice, and now Kendra wants him for a third round. Of course, she knows nothing about that. She blows him, rubs her pussy against him, squeezes his cock between her big boobs. Still, half-mast is the best he can do.

"Look Jim" she says, "I know I don't turn you on like I once did. But you should be able to get it up for me at least once. It's been a while. Like a full two weeks. So what's the problem, dude?"

"Too bad we don't have any Viagra in the house."

"You've never needed it before. Now all of a sudden you do? Even after two weeks of abstinence?"

He shrugs. "Hey, it happens. I can't explain it."

She turns on her side, props her head up on her elbow. "I have a theory."

He tenses up, not unlike he did before a match in the octagon. "Okay, I'll bite. Let's hear your theory."

"You've been getting it somewhere else."

"Oh, come on."

"And, if the source is who I suspect it is, then..." She shakes her head, brushes away a tear.

"Then, then what?"

"Then I'll not only divorce you, I might kill you."

"You're way off base, Kendra. There is no other source. Tonight you're horny and I'm not. Last week it was me who wanted it and you didn't, remember? Yet I didn't accuse you of fooling around. Look, let's agree to a rain check and call it a night."

"Sure, we can do that. Fair enough. But just remember what I said."

She rolls over, leaving him with thoughts that seem obvious. She knows. Worse, she knows he knows she knows. He needs to tell Alexa. Then they'll cease and desist. She'll get another coach and things will return to normal. Only they won't. They never do after these kinds of things. A sick marriage is like a sick heart after multiple heart attacks: weak from scar tissue, awaiting death.