*Disclaimer: This story is a work of erotic thriller fiction. The author does not condone the acts therein described. All characters are 18+. This story contains descriptions of violence against women. Discretion and caution are advised.*
**APEX PREDATOR**
1.
Things started to go bad right when my wife busted in on me jerking off into one of our daughter’s bras. Christ, when I think about it, I guess I was always going to get caught. Really was just a matter of when.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, exactly, if it was the steroids or the hard drugs I lived on all those years in the ring, but my brain don’t work right, because I’ve been wanting to fuck my little girl ever since she started sprouting titties, about four years ago, and I don’t think that’s something most daddies with normal brains ever really consider. Or, if they do consider it, they don’t spend so much time thinking about it. But with me and my busted, tangled, kicked-too-many-times mind, it’s been a whip across my soul for four fucking years.
Now I ain’t touched her, not never. I been able to keep myself in check, mostly by cranking my cock over vacation pictures of her in her bikini, or emptying my load into her laundry. Lord Alfuckingmighty, I remember the first time I did it. She was off at school—first day of high school, matter of fact. Esther, her momma, was off visiting her folks down in San Diego. I had just retired that summer, and it was slowly dawning on me that our marriage had managed to work only because, as long as I was out wrestling for the big Pay-Per-Views that bought our house, she and I never had to really speak. But since I retired, it had been one knock-down-drag-out after the next, and she’d taken more frequent trips just to get out of the house, which left me alone most of the time with Charlotte, our fifteen year-old daughter.
And so, I figured I’d feed the monster in my brain just enough of a morsel to be able to trust myself when she came home. But when I pulled up the usual pictures of her on my laptop and pulled out my cock, it just wasn’t enough. The idea struck me, then, and almost like I had no control over myself, I went upstairs, into her bedroom. I stood there for a while, savoring the smell of young sweat and perfume before sliding open her closet and staring down at her hamper. Right there, on top, was a bright pink bra from PINK by Victoria’s Secret. I knelt, scooped it up. The tag back then said 32B. Her tits have gotten bigger, since. The one Esther caught me with last week was a 32DD. But that first time, holy shit. I wrapped that bright neon pink cup around my shaft and closed my eyes, felt the silk, imagined what her tits would feel like…my daughter’s tits. I imagined my hands around her throat, the press of my lips against hers, my tongue in her mouth, her hands tied to the bedpost, body splashed in cum. Her father’s cum. Daddy’s cum. I imagined her crying, begging me to stop, and that’s what did it. White fire burned out the world and I emptied myself into the cup of her bra. I came so hard and for so long that I was almost afraid some of what came out might be blood. When my vision cleared, and I looked down, there was almost enough cum to fill the cup entirely.
Now, when I tell you that I tried every drug at least twice during my time in the WWE, you know to believe me. And when I tell you that the high of nutting into my high school freshman daughter’s b-cup bra was the singular most exhilarating, body-trembling cosmic fucking experience I had ever experienced in mind or body, you’d better believe it double.
I tossed the bra back into the laundry basket and left her room.
And then, over the next four years, I did the same damn thing a few hundred more times. It was a drug that never wore off.
Again, I don’t know what it is. Maybe I just stopped looking at her like my daughter. That barrier broke, or withered from the abuse I put my mind and body through over the years. Maybe it was never there. But I know that ain’t true. Because part of the thrill, part of the attraction is that she’s my daughter, my flesh and blood, my baby girl.
Maybe it’ll help if you knew what she looks like.
Five foot four inches tall. The raven-dark wildness of her hair she got from her mother, along with her DD tits. Her world-class ass she earned herself, running six miles a day five days a week, part of a healthy obsession with fitness she got from her old man. Her eyes are emeralds and her lips are plump and soft and her skin is freckled across her nose and cheeks. More freckles dust the tops of her breasts. Her thighs, from running, are thick and thunderous and they look like they could crush a skull between them if she tried hard enough. She’s perfect, a goddamn sex-goddess, and she’s my baby girl. I have to protect her. That’s my duty, handed down from God, and that means I have to protect her from me. And the Lord don’t give no test that a man can’t handle and that’s the goddamn truth.
So, I fed the devil in me morsels, busted off in her bras and panties, humped off on her pillow, then jerked off in the shower or before bed thinking about how she would sleep on that pillow, wear those bras and panties, and how in a way, that was as good as fucking her, and I told myself that she was safe.
Of course, then Esther comes home from one of her massage sessions early to find me standing in our daughter’s room, a leopard print DD bra cup wrapped around my cock, and that was really the beginning of the end.
I didn’t argue with anything that came after. The divorce, the money she got, the house and the sportscar she bought with it, her taking Charlotte away from me, as long as she didn’t go to the press or the cops, I didn’t care. She promised she wouldn’t, only because to do otherwise would make things harder on Charlotte. I told her I was sick, that I hadn’t been in control of myself, that it was probably all the drugs and the steroids and the kicks in the head. I promised I would get help, see a doctor, get it taken care of. I lied.
Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have talked to someone. Because what I didn’t realize was, without that outlet, without those morsels, the devil in me would start to starve.
And believe me, I tried everything. I tried the vacation pictures. I tried buying bras and panties identical to the ones my daughter wears and jerking off into those. I even tried finding a prostitute that looked like her, but there aren’t any. Girls that look like my daughter don’t hook. They’re either models or porn stars or, these days, both.
I ain’t gotta tell you that none of that shit worked.
And the devil in me just got hungrier and angrier until I couldn’t sleep. Until I was replaced entirely by the hunger, by the need, and my dick wouldn’t go soft until it was assuaged.
Like I said. There was no high greater, and I ain’t never fiended for nothin’ harder.
I started driving around their new neighborhood in dark sunglasses, waiting to catch a glimpse of my little girl on one of her runs, careful to stay out of view. The restraining order Esther got was a doozy. Took me a few days, but I finally spotted her.
Goddamn, what a sight my daughter is in motion. Everything moving in all directions at once, like water, like light.
She came down the quiet suburban street around 7pm, the sun’s ass just starting to touch the horizon. Her freckled tits bounced in her Fendy sports bra, and her sweat-slick thighs glistened in the streetlights as they winked on. Her hair was done up in a tight bun and as she passed my car, I pulled my cock right out of my jeans and tugged it watching her ass jiggle in her tight black shorts. It felt good. But it still wasn’t enough to make me cum. By then, I was terrified of what would be. I guess I already knew the answer.
She completed this loop six times before stopping, checking her FitBit, and walking in through the front door of the brand-spanking-new ugly-as-sin McMansion her mother bought with the divorce settlement. The time was 7:45pm.
When I got home that night, I wept, naked in front of the mirror, pawing uselessly at my cock with a fistful of panties no one had ever worn or would ever wear.
It was no use.
I was hopeless.
And then, right there, it hit me. The man in the mirror. I met his eyes. I took in his frame. The wide, muscled globes of his shoulders, the enormity of his arms, the veins that ran through him thicker than pencils. His solid, square chest, his throbbing red cock. Every inch of him had been conditioned and abused for three decades to athletic perfection. And, when perfection had been achieved, the steroids had taken him the rest of the way, carried his physique into realms of brute strength that mankind was never meant to achieve. It was an old body, now. But it was still mighty.
It was then I realized what I am, and what I am is a beast. A predator.
Apex! That’s what they called me, in the ring. That was the trademarked name on the action figures of me on Walmart shelves. The word tattooed on my right forearm in blood red gothic font.
*Apex! Apex! Apex!*
An Apex goddamn Predator is goddamn right, and I am not to be denied.
So I made my plans. They weren’t complicated.
2.
I bought the ski-mask in cash from the Dick’s Sporting Goods in Anaheim. Rope and duct tape I got from the Ace Hardware in the shopping plaza across the street. The knife I already owned.
The drive out to the new house was nice. I kept the windows down, let that sweet desert twilight into the car, let it cool the sweat that covered me. I parked the car in a cul-de-sac two streets over, took my duffle bag full of supplies out of the trunk and walked casually through a couple yards until I got to my daughter’s front door. There was only one car in the driveway, the little Mazda sportscar Esther had given to Charlotte. Esther’s was gone.
This simplified things. My ex-wife would be gone.
It would just be me and my daughter. The way it should have been all along.
I walked around back and put on the ski-mask and the black hoodie that covered my tattoo—she would recognize it if she saw it—and checked the time. A little after 7:30. She’d be home from her run, soon.
I broke the back sliding glass door open with the butt of my survival knife. The alarm went off, which I had counted on, but the code was the same it had always been. Charlotte’s birthday.
The alarm went silent.
Then, footsteps on the stairs. My heart stopped.
“Mom?”
I looked up, and there she was. Charlotte. Standing on the stairs in her shimmering gold sports bra and black running shorts. Her hair was loose and wet with sweat, and cascade over her shoulders, stuck to the freckled, blood-flushed tops of her sweaty breasts.
She saw me, a masked man, dressed entirely in black, standing in her kitchen.
My daughter screamed and ran up the stairs.
She was fast.
I was faster.
She was able to make it to her room, but I was right behind her. I caught the slamming door with my left hand. I tossed the blade into my left hand and, with my right, I grabbed her by the hair.
“No!” She screamed, spinning, flailing her fists. They bounced off me harmlessly. Muscles that have been abused to failure six hours a day six days a week for thirty years don’t give into much, and they sure don’t give against a teenage girl’s panicked fists.
With my free hand I hit her, hard across the face with the but of the knife. Hard enough that she went limp from the shock, dropped her arms to her sides. I spun her around, pressed her back to me. Her perfect ass pressed against my aching cock. I tasted the sweat in her hair and with my right hand, I groped my daughter’s breasts through her sports bra. I savored this for an instant because an instant was what I had. I could have stood there and mauled those tits until the sun burned out.
I threw her onto the ground, onto her stomach.
It was at this point that I realized I had left my duffle bag downstairs, in the kitchen. The one with the rope in it. My whole plan…
Panic hit me like lightning.
I was forced to improvise.
I leapt onto her, pinning her beneath my weight. She struggled, flailed, thrashed, screamed. “GET THE FUCK OFF ME!”
While I had her pinned, I was able to work my cock out of my boxers. I straddled her back, keeping the flat of the blade in my left hand on the back of her head, pressing her face to the carpet. I didn’t really want to hurt her. I just wanted her to feel the steel. To know that it was there.
“PLEASE STOP!”
“Oh, fuck,” I moaned. Then I stopped, panicked that she had recognized my voice. But she gave no indication that that was the case. She just went right on screaming.
“PLEASE!”
I slid my cock underneath the spandex of her sports bra, started grinding against the sweat-slick flesh of her back.
I grunted, roared like an animal, and the pure and blinding light lent by lust illuminated the whole of God’s creation.
I had failed in my duties as a parent. Failed to protect her from the beast.
And now that that line was crossed, I was truly free. Free to do whatever the fuck I wanted.
I humped her back, watched the shaft of my cock slide under the gold fabric.
“WHAT…THE FUCK…WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” She managed between sobs.
There was still the problem, I knew, of binding her without the rope.
Inspiration struck.
I pulled my cock from the sports bra, lifted the knife from the back of her head and slashed the bra from her body. I pulled it out from under her.
“Don’t fucking move,” I grunted, disguising my voice as best I could. It was good enough, though I’m sure I heard her voice catch against it. I had to move fast.
She didn’t struggle while I used the torn sports bra to bind her hands behind her back. She just went right on crying.
“Why…” she sobbed. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Once her hands were tied, I tugged the shorts off of her, revealing a sweat-soaked ass as round as a fucking apple. Pale flesh flushed rouge.
“Oh god,” I moaned. I couldn’t help it. My face fell into her flesh and she screamed. I licked and bit my daughter’s ass-cheeks like a wild man, as if committing this act is the only thought I’d had for years. And, in many ways, it was.
She thrashed and screamed. I tasted the salt of her sweat. I pressed the knife’s flat edge against her.
“Stop moving,” I grunted.
“GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!”
This time, it was my turn to yell.
I flipped the knife around and cut a small scratch into her right ass-cheek. Just enough for her to yelp in pain, draw a little blood.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I howled.
I drove the knife into the carpet inches from her face. Her face went blank for a moment, stunned into stillness.
I used this moment to flip her onto her back, presenting me with a full view of her tits.
My God, they were better than I could have imagined. Her nipples were wide as silver dollars, stiff and reddened from chafing against the carpet.
I spat and slobbered and groped, glad for two free hands to lift my daughter’s breasts to my mouth. I bit and licked and sucked. She whimpered and begged me to stop, which only made me bite harder.
At last, I backed away, pressed her tits together and slipped my cock in between them. There was nothing she could do to escape. She looked up at me, face wet and red from tears, bruised and purpling where I had hit her. She was so goddamn pretty it hurt.
I spat onto her tits, adding lube for my cock. I couldn’t believe this was happening. That I was doing what I was doing. That it felt so good. So right. I spat again, this time onto her freckled face. She winced, but kept staring at me. Terror washed over me, then. That she knew who I was. I panicked.
“Don’t fucking look at me,” I grunted.
She didn’t listen.
Her hands appeared in front of her, pushing me away…
She had freed herself from the knot!
Nails raked down my face, hooked into the ski-mask’s eye-holes.
The mask fell from my face as I scrambled backwards.
“D…dad?”
I looked up.
The look on my baby girl’s face, sweaty, bruised, cannot be described. She started to shake, her arms trembled as she lifted them to cover her breasts. Her eyes darted around the room.
“Dad…dad…” she kept repeating. “Dad…”
“I’m…I’m sorry, Charlie.”
Her eyes landed on my cock, still erect, followed it as I stood up. Her stomach heaved, and she bent over, looked like she was going to vomit.
“NO!” she screamed. “WHY!?”
“I’m sorry, baby girl.” I knelt, pulled the knife out of the floor. “But I’m not done yet.”
Her eyes flashed up to meet mine.
“What…what are you…”
I grabbed her by the throat, pressed the tip of the knife to her bruised cheek. I bent over, brought my mouth to her ear. “You have no idea how long daddy’s wanted this.”
She started to cry again.
“Did you know?” I asked. “Did you know daddy’s been jerking off into your underwear?”
“What…what?” she gasped. “No…”
“Since your were fourteen years old, you pretty little cunt.” I dropped the knife to her tits, dragged the cold steel across them, tracing red lines between the freckles. “You’ve been wearing daddy’s cum for the past four years.”
“No,” she moans. “no no no no. Mom said…mom said…she said you were sick…”
“Mom was right.”
I touched my tongue to her cheek, dragged it up the side of her face.
“Don’t fucking move,” I said. “I’m gonna make this last.”
“Dad, please—”
“I’m gonna use every fucking inch of you.”
I positioned himself behind her, tucked my cock under her armpit, grabbed her by the shoulders, put the knife to her throat and took her by the hair. I fucked her armpit like a pussy. Her tits bounced all over the fucking place. I howled with laughter.
“Dad…dad…What the fuck are you doing?!”
“I can’t stop, baby girl,” I watched the head of my cock poke out above her bouncing breasts. “You’re all I think about. All I want to do is RAPE YOU! It’s all I fucking think about anymore.”
I almost came, then, but I stopped, pulled my cock from her armpit, my fingers buried in her hair. I leaned in close again.
“You weren’t supposed to know it was me. In a way, this is all your fault.”
She whimpered. “I don’t want…I don’t want this. Dad….dad PLEASE!”
Standing behind her, my hands lashed downward, flung her arms away from her breasts and seized them. She screamed.
“I don’t care what you want anymore. This is what I want. And I’m gonna take it. Whenever I fucking want it!”
“No…Oh my God…Oh my God…”
I pushed her forward so that she fell onto the bed, her still-clothed ass presented to me.
“No…please! What are you doing? Oh my God!”
I paused only briefly, the head of my cock pressed against that sacred heat.
“Dad! Don’t!”
But I didn’t listen.
I plunged my cock into my daughter’s pussy.
Ironically, she didn’t scream. Everything tightened. Her fingers curled and spasmed like two dying spiders. Her voice became a breathless staccato in her throat.
I pulled out, plunged back in, sending shockwaves through the flesh of her ass.
Again.
And again.
My thrusts were violent. My fingers dug into her flesh, squeezing and smearing the blood from the cut I’d made. I grunted and roared like an animal.
Like a beast.
“This is love, BABY! DADDY LOVES YOU! DADDY LOVES YOU!”
I lost all control, then, and in that clarity, as I dragged my fingernails down my daughter’s back, I think I saw God. His cock was rock hard and he was cranking it to me raping my daughter and he was chanting my name.
*APEX! APEX! APEX!*
“Please…” my daughter managed to gasp. “Please…” but the plea is shallow and lifeless. She knew there was no hope of stopping me.
“Here it comes, baby girl!” I grunted.
“No!” she screamed. “Not inside…not inside me!”
“Shut the fuck…UP!”
I fell forward with my last few thrusts, bit deep into her shoulder, hard enough to draw blood.
“DADDY NO!”
It was too late. I came hard, deep into my daughter’s pussy.
But, to my horror, it wasn’t enough.
I lay on top of her, sweaty, gasping, feeling fresh sobs wrack her body, and I realized even this hadn’t been enough. My cock was still hard.
I was still hungry. The demon had starved for too long to be sated on only one meager meal.
I pulled out of her, furious, as though it was her fault. And maybe it was.
I spun her back around to face me.
“No, dad! It’s over! You came!”
She slid down the side of the bed to sit on the floor.
“It’s over when I say it is, bitch!”
I pulled her face up at me, pressed my cock against her lips, smearing them with her own juices and her daddy’s cum.
“Look at me! Look at what you do to daddy!”
She shut her eyes, tightened her lips.
I dropped my cock to her chest once more, started grinding against her sternum, her tits.
My hands knew what to do, then. They moved to her throat. My fingers closed around it as I thrusted, as my cock slid across my daughter’s scratched and luscious flesh.
Her fingers clawed at mine. Her eyes went eyes, panicked, breathless, reddening. I felt things start to give under my fingers. Start to break.
“I’m sorry, baby girl.” I grunted. “This is what I want.”
My fingers tightened, held their grip.
My thrusts against her increased in violence as she went limp, and when her eyes finally rolled backwards into her skull, when the last bit of life fled her features and her as collapsed to the floor, when it became clear that she had died, and that I was now molesting my daughter’s corpse, titfucking her dead body, only then did I cum again.
I roared, bellowed.
“YOU BITCH! YOU BITCH! LOOK! WHAT! YOU! MADE! ME! DO!”
Ropes of cum launched from the head of my cock, slapped her dead chin, splashed across her freckled tits.
There. That was it. That was the heaven I had hungered for. The gratification the beast needed to be sated.
I stood up slowly, stared down at her corpse.
It was so beautiful. And it would be a shame to leave it here for her mother to find.
I knew what I was, now. And I knew what I needed.
I dressed and walked back to the car, drove it into the driveway and parked with the trunk open. Then, I went back upstairs and wrapped my daughter’s corpse in the sheets from her bed and carried her downstairs and put her in the trunk. No one saw me.
Before I shut the trunk, I leaned down and kissed her exposed face.
“We’ve only just begun,” I told her, and flecked a bit of drying cum from her chin. “Just wait till we get home.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/jm1xug/apex_predator_incest_fatherdaughter_noncon_home
This was excellent. Made me cum a few times.
Great story, made me hard the whole read
That was… intense. Well written though.
What the fuck was this, well written but what the fuck man