A Dangerous Game

Author's Note: A big thank you to RelentlessOnanism, my writing partner for this story.

*

Let me make one thing clear, right from the start...this wasn't about love...

Actually, as I write that down in front of me, those words look pretty stupid. Of course it was about love. How could it not be, bearing in mind who we were and what we meant to each other? I loved her more than I loved anyone else in the world. More than my wife, more than my sons, more than anything.

What I mean is, this was not some silly romantic novel. This was not about hearts and flowers. We didn't whisper sweet nothings into each other's ears (although we did whisper plenty of the most depraved filth you could imagine). We didn't canoodle in front of open fires, or plan to run away together. We didn't gaze up at the night sky, hand in hand, pledging our eternal souls to one another.

None of that could touch what we already had. I was her Daddy and she was my baby, my princess, my little girl. My weakness, my Achilles Heel. My #1 precious angel, my sugar & spice. Love was baked into the cake, so to speak.

So keep that in mind when I tell you what this was about: lust.

Pure lust, the kind of lust I had never experienced before, not even as a teenager who was horny 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. This was like a hurricane, a tsunami, an earthquake; whatever natural disaster you can imagine. . . times a thousand.

I was 45. Not exactly a spring chicken. Do you think that mattered? I was a rock star with my cock. The merest thought of her made me boiling hard. I had a perpetual iron rod attached at the groin, primed and pumped and ready to go.

Jesus, I'm hard now, thinking about it. I can smell her, taste her, feel her. I can remember the tiniest shudders of her pussy when she was coming as if it was yesterday. Jen's pussy. My daughter's hot little snatch. I was obsessed with it, and so was she. It united us in mutual adoration and worship.

You know the best part? I'm military. Let's just say I'm a high-ranking officer and leave it at that. We live in a gated community for officers' families, who all know each other and socialize together. In the midst of that this upstanding pillar of society was fucking his daughter on a regular basis, for months, and would be now if she were here.

She's in college, now, a few states over. Doing quite well as a matter of fact. Has a boyfriend—a weaselly little shit, if you ask me, but what can I say, I'm biased. He doesn't stop her from jumping on my cock the minute she's home and we pick up right where we left off.

When it started, a year ago, Jen had just graduated from high school. Yeah. She was 19, but still. Fucking high school.

Am I a shit? Could I have said No?

I don't know. Maybe you can tell me.

The Beginning

Some girls just have it. An inborn sex appeal. Jen had it, and she was not beautiful, not by any means. But that didn't matter. She was still invitingly, adorably sexy with her mane of russet curls, creamy freckled complexion, and gorgeous, infectious smile. Her body was unbelievable, though she was not the type to emphasize it. She didn't have to. Her perfect figure spoke for itself.

There was also something else, something undefinable. Her confidence to the point of smugness. The way she carried herself. The tempting way she looked at you with her tiger eyes as if she had a secret you couldn't wait to find out. I don't know. Whatever it was, it was electric and drew people to her.

I was aware of it, of course. No heterosexual male could not be aware of it, being around her. She always had a pack of boys sniffing around. My wife and I used to talk about it.

"I worry about Jen," my wife, Lisa, would say.

"Don't be ridiculous," I would say. "She's doing great. She's happy."

"Craig," Lisa would say, giving me a "look." "You know what I mean. She's very . . . 'attractive.'"

"So what? It's the boys you should be worried about, not her."

Prophetic words, at the time.

I knew she was irresistible, in an objective way. I can't say I didn't find myself contemplating her body, now and then, but it's not like I was jerking off to thoughts of her in the shower every day. At least, not yet.

+++

It started with a hug. Just one hug. That's all it took.

It was late June, and Jen's 19th birthday. It so happened that I had just returned from a long assignment overseas, so Lisa decided to combine everything into one and have a Welcome Home/Birthday/Beginning of Summer Party. Really it was an excuse to invite over as many people as she could, schmooze and show off.

The night was desert-hot in San Diego. Lisa had turned the back deck into a luau, with Tiki torches around the pool, catered food and a bar for the adults. People were wearing Hawaiian clothes and leis. Relatives had showed up, Jen's friends were there, and Lisa had of course invited everyone from our neighborhood. Since I was the highest-ranking officer around, they took any opportunity to suck up, so I always spent these kinds of events surrounded by people trying to impress me.

Usually I found that irritating, but that night I was grateful. It meant I could stand around looking busy while I admired Jen.

I didn't think anything of it. I was just admiring her from an "aesthetic perspective." Trust me, it was a million times more pleasurable than trying to make small talk. I zoned out the toadies, pondering instead the much more interesting question of how Jen had managed to make a shapeless sarong the sexiest garment in existence. Everyone else was wearing flowery garb but her dress was pure white. You couldn't help but be drawn to her. A few inches of cleavage peeked out from the bust and the smooth, pert globes of her ass were occasionally visible when she moved. It was subtle. Enticing. It made you wonder if she was naked, and then feel like a perv for wondering. Most enticing of all was wondering if she had planned it that way.

And then of course there was that glorious mane of copper hair shining in the light of the torches, falling in soft curls over her bare shoulders. Goddamn. There were plenty of gorgeous women at that party—my wife included—but no one could touch Jen.

I didn't talk to her throughout the evening, but I caught her eye now and then. It was a little odd after it happened a few times, but I didn't think too much of it. I just chalked it up to not having seen her in a while.

My idle appreciation of Jen's sexiness was interrupted when the cake was brought out and Lisa made a big deal of bringing me up in front of everyone. Of course, I played the role to the hilt. Daddy's Little Princess was growing up, and Daddy was a Very Important Person. You'd never guess in a million years that the humorless guy in the uniform had just been thinking about his daughter's hot ass.

Now might be a good time to tell you about me. I'm the military's wet dream—a former Marine with the face of a goddamned Boy Scout. I stand ramrod straight, not a hair out of place. 220 pounds of solid muscle. I have baby blue eyes, black hair just going gray, and deeply tanned skin. Handsome devil with a disarmingly charming smile. She gets that from me.

I gave the appropriate remarks, beaming with pride for our lovely daughter, then drew a set of shiny new keys out of my pocket.

"Your present is sitting out in the driveway. Happy Birthday, honey."

"Ohhh! Thank you, Daddy," Jen squealed, and threw her arms around me.

And that was it.

Obviously, it wasn't the first time I'd held her in my arms, but it was the first time I was so intensely aware of touching her body—too aware of how light and slim and delicate she was and how fucking good it felt to hold her. A tense, electric energy leaped from her body to mine. She stayed there, for several seconds too long, pushing her big tits into my chest. My hands tightened on her waist as I instinctively drew her closer, before I abruptly let go, and we stood there frozen looking into each other's eyes.

What the fuck just happened?

For a few seconds in the midst of that crowd we were the only two present. We may as well have been two strangers in a bar. Didn't matter that she was 19. Didn't matter that she was my daughter. I knew that look. It's the same look I'd exchanged with countless women I'd fucked in my lifetime. What's more, she damn well knew it, too.

We were briefly interrupted when Lisa appeared, and then I watched as a mask of gooey innocence immediately descended on Jen's features.

"Thank you, Mommy!" she said, teary-eyed. But I didn't move. I stood there as she continued to gaze at me curiously over my wife's shoulder.

I'd like to tell you I was mortified, but I wasn't. Surprised and shocked, yes. I had not seen it coming. But horrified at the mere idea? No. I'd had too much experience to be freaked out by the mere notion of a father and daughter being attracted to each other. Didn't mean you would act on it.

As I looked into her eyes, I really had only one thought: "Well, fuck. Ain't karma a bitch."

Let me explain.

I hate to burst your bubble, but the military is like anywhere else. The same shit goes on—intrigue, backstabbing, blackmail, lies, betrayal, cheating, you name it. The only difference is it's much more hidden. Image is absolutely everything—the image of perfection, of honesty, honor and integrity. It's our creed and our "brand." So the number one rule, especially among officers, is

don't get caught.

Do not get caught doing something stupid. Don't bring disgrace onto the uniform. Don't cause embarrassment. Do what you must on your own time, but woe betide you if you tarnish the Image in any way. Your colleagues will forgive anything but fucking up. It's the Golden Rule.

Unfortunately for me, I grew up with a single mom I adored and three beautiful sisters who doted on their baby brother, which left me with a pronounced weakness for the female gender. I love women. I mean, I fucking love women, and they love me. Do you think a little thing like the precious honor of the US military would stop me from getting what I needed? I knew way back in high school, when I was contemplating my choice of career, that traditional monogamy was not in my future. Fuck no. I liked sex too much. I liked women too much. So, I adapted.

From the outside I'm the quintessential officer, husband, and father. I excel at my job and I love my family. I love my wife, who I treat like a queen. It's not an act, either. I'd do anything for them.

But I also maintain a life on the side, where I indulge my needs to their utmost extent. I have never had the slightest problem attracting women who know what I want, and what they want. The world is my oyster, really, in that respect.

My life became a delicate balancing act, carefully constructed over many years, a dangerous game which I really, really liked to play.

I'm not a selfish pig. I'm not in it only for myself. I like nothing more than pleasing women. I have willing partners who want the same exact thing I do. It's never been anything but a mutually beneficial arrangement that leaves all parties highly satisfied.

And for 20 years it worked out beautifully, as long as I was extremely careful, kept the two sides of my life separate, and lived by the Golden Rule.

You see what I'm getting at? How was I know to my daughter would share the same tastes and proclivities? That she would be the only one to see through the mask? That she understood the game?

I didn't know all of that, not yet, but I knew enough to know that the two sides of my carefully crafted life had just collided together in a big way.

Karma's a bitch.

+++

I lay wide awake that night, next to my sleeping wife. The house was dark and silent. I lay on my back, hands folded under my head, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Jen, replaying our little encounter.

There wasn't a doubt in my mind about what had happened. I didn't need any convincing to know that Daddy's Little Princess had been up to no good. That's what we had understood, in front of all those people.

You're just like me.

My cock was at stiff, alert attention, and the primitive part of my brain—the little devil—was rumbling with interest. The fact that it was my daughter was of no consequence—except for noting how fucking hot and dangerous it would be. That was the meaning of the longer look Jen and I had exchanged over Lisa's shoulder. I had no doubt she had been thinking the same thing, consciously or unconsciously I wasn't quite sure.

But again, it didn't mean anything. I was just entertaining thoughts. I wasn't the shrinking violet type. Shit happens. No one asked for this.

I fell asleep resolved to keep an eye on Jen, see how she acted. I didn't think so, but maybe I was making too much of it. Besides, not a thing had been said. Everything was perfectly under control.

Christ I was so naïve.

The next day made that perfectly clear.

I didn't see Jen at breakfast or for much of the day, which left me feeling mildly annoyed.

My wife and sons went somewhere and I had the afternoon to myself. I decided to clean the pool and do some yard work, so I changed into fatigues and an old US Army t-shirt and went outside.

It was hot, tedious work. I dredged the pool, raked up the palm fronds and sticky jacaranda and eucalyptus leaves from the back yard, then hauled out the lawn mower and started it up. I didn't see a peep of Jen. After a while I made a little bet with myself. Here we were, entirely alone. Perfect time to make a move. If she didn't show up I would write it all off as a mistake. But if she sent me any kind of sign, well then I would know.

When I was done mowing I ducked into the pool house to change, looking forward to cooling off in the nice clean water. I was just tying my suit when I heard the sliding door on the deck open and close and someone coming outside. I paused for a minute, smiled and reached for a towel.

I can't deny there was a bit of bubbly nervousness in my stomach as I walked up the ascending stone staircase to the pool. It was a nervousness I was very familiar with, the difference being it usually happened in hotel bars. But here I was in my own back yard.

When I saw Jen, my first reaction was total, jaw dropping shock. After that, I had to laugh silently to myself. Well, well, well. I was impressed. Very very impressed.

My little angel was half naked in a teeny string bikini—and a body—that would make Kate Upton proud. She was lying on her side, casually flipping a magazine, her wild curls piled on top of her head. Her tits were barely constrained, her crotch covered by a tiny triangle of fabric. She was gorgeous, all smooth curves and soft, feminine voluptuousness.

The little devil in my brain cheered in victory, but it wasn't because of some knee jerk physical response. No, it was deeper than that. It was that profound recognition that we were exactly alike, and that she knew me. Maybe not the details, but she knew I wasn't the Boy Scout I pretended to be. I perked up with the sense—perhaps the hope—that I had finally met my match. Jen had thrown down the gauntlet, and she sure as fuck came to play.

Your move, Daddy.

I went up to her like I was entering the lion's den.

It was reckless. I wasn't thinking ahead or contemplating the consequences. I was still maintaining the notion that it wasn't serious, that nothing would ever really come of it. At least that's what I told myself. I think that's what we both told ourselves, at the beginning.

I couldn't have sounded or appeared more normal when I went to her, leaned over and gave her a chaste peck on the cheek, exactly as I usually would.

"Hi, hun."

But my palm rested on her hip, curved so aggressively under a sweet pink string tied in a bow, as I did it. Long enough to feel her ass, subtle enough to be nothing out of the ordinary.

"You want to come in?"

"Mmmmm, not now," she said.

"Well I need to take a dip. Been working up a sweat out here."

I plunged in with a splash, then did some laps. I knew Jen was watching, intently, and I maybe did a little showing off. When I was done I grabbed an inflated raft and slid on top, flat on my back, spread eagled, arms and legs dangling in the cool water, knowing that the soaking wet nylon of my gray trunks stuck to my cock like a puckered second skin. What the fuck. Two could play this game.

I could see out of the corner of my eye that Jen had scooted forward and was curled up, watching me, as we talked.

"You glad school is done, sweetheart?" I asked.

"Oh God, yes. If I never see another nun in my whole life I'll be ecstatic."

"Ah, the Sisters of Mercy. Well, it was a very good school. Best in the city."

"'Sisters of Mercy, Sisters of Mercy,'" she said, mimicking me. "What kind of person—girl, woman, whatever—becomes a

nun?

I could never—"

"Now, now. I'm sure they were all very pious."

"Ugh," she said, with a groan. "It wasn't just that. I didn't ever seem to

quite

fit in there."

"What are you talking about? Cheerleader, honor society. . . you were very popular, you know that."

"Hmmm, yes, but . . . that's just what you have to do. It's high school."

"Tell me about it," I said, without thinking. "You could be describing my job."

"You? Mr. 'Military'?"

"Hmmm, well . . ."

"Yes?" she said.

"Well, it's like you said. . . you just sort of . . . do what you have to do."

"I don't think everyone sees it that way."

"No, they don't."

I closed my eyes against the dazzling sun. I was enjoying myself—enjoying knowing she was checking me out, enjoying the conversation and the situation. We were being honest with each other, admitting we were neither of us exactly what we pretended to be, exposing ourselves to each other literally and figuratively. There was something extremely intimate and seductive about it.

"So do you have any plans for the summer, hun?" I asked.

"Hmm, not really. Just hanging out. What about you?"

"Well, I'm off for a month, then it's back to desk duty for the foreseeable future."

"Oh, so you won't be making any more trips then?"

Something about the way she asked it made me think she knew about my "secret" activities when I traveled—or was making a calculated guess.

"Not up to me. I go where the brass sends me. But if I have a choice, no. Looking forward to just . . . 'hanging out'," I said as I looked at her and gave her a dazzling smile.

"Oh, well maybe we can go riding sometime."

Our place was not far from a horse farm that rented out rides for the day. It was something just Jen and I liked to do. Neither of us were great riders, but we liked to amble the trails along the beach. It started when she was little as Lisa's idea—something special for just Daddy and his Little Princess to do, since Daddy was always away at his Very Important Job. But we'd kept it up, over the years, just the two of us.

There was something so perverse in the way she said it. Maybe the tone of her voice, or the allusion to our special Daddy Daughter time. Whatever it was, it made the blood rushed to my groin and soon I was in imminent danger of sporting an erection, right there in front of her eyes.

"Uh . . . "

I slipped off the raft just in time to hide my now tented shorts under the water.

"Uh, I'll have to see, hun. My schedule. . ."

My voice trailed off as I mumbled something unintelligible.

Score one for Daddy's Little Princess.

+++

That night, the whole family gathered—Jen, my three sons and my wife—for a quiet "family dinner," meaning the kind of dinner we always had when I returned from a long trip. We'd missed it the previous evening. It was a chance for me to brag and be a man, hinting at the mysterious and important things I did for the government. Lisa would gaze rapturously at me, but it was mainly for my sons, who hung on my every word. My oldest, Chris, was home for summer from the Air Force Academy. The twins, Chad and Colin, were two years younger than Jen.