The Daddy Games

by Adrian Amos

  I'm on nine, but when I expect Ellen to be on nine, I glance over at her to see her rush up from her father's cock. Her cheeks are puffed out, and she's clearly on the verge of throwing up. She's fighting it back while also fighting to keep her hands in the dirt, struggling with the need to cover her mouth.

  Taking my opportunity, I engulf daddy one more time, wait three seconds, come up, and hear the glorious ring of my name.

  “Megan is our winner!” My referee grabs my hand and lifts it up, signaling to the crowd the girl who was the hungriest for cock.

  Daddy sighs, melting into his seat. “Oh god, that's my girl.”

  Cheering bursts from the stands, and as painful as being ignored the previous game was, this exultation lifts me from the opposite end of the spectrum, emboldening me to stand up and wave to the crowd.

  “Megan, Megan, Megan!”

  Ellen comes over and slaps my back. “Dang, that was a close one, but congrats anyway.”

  “Thanks. I saw how close you were to chucking it all.”

  She shakes her head. “Luckily, my daddy's taught me well to keep it down.”

  Darcy, on the other hand, is sitting defeated at her stepfather's knees, his cock not even fully erect yet. She glares at me and rolls her eyes, standing and heading off to the locker room.

  “Don't mind her,” Ellen says. “The big, lanky bitch didn't stand a chance against us smaller”—she shakes her hips—“flexible girls.”

  I can't help but laugh. Even though she lost, she has this charm about her that can make any situation seem all right. I can't say I would've been as gracious about it.

  Ellen heads off, and as daddy and I are about to find our way back, a messenger pulls up next to me.

  “I have a letter for Megan.”

  “Oh,” I say, raising my eyebrow at daddy. “From who?”

  “From my employer, Mr. Morris,” he says. He hands it to me and runs off back to the stadium box of the judges. I can see the blond Mr. Morris stand up, glance toward me, and turn away to talk to the Matron.

  “What does he want?” daddy asks.

  I shrug. “I don't know.” But I feel a pang in my chest as I tear open the envelope to find a small, handwritten note inside.

  “It says he would like to see me in his office at the top of the Coliseum immediately.” I scoff, “Refusal is not a choice.”

  I swallow. He commented about how beautiful I was, said he wanted to talk to me. I'm not interested, I'm not going to do anything with him, but it still makes me nervous to even think about being alone in a room with him.

  “Well,” daddy says, his eyebrows perched. He scratches his black stubble, “That's strange, but I guess I'll see you later. Just be careful with a guy like him.”

  “Why?”

  “I wouldn't trust him. He's clearly got money, and a man with money is a far different creature than a man without.”

  He holds my chin and gives me a kiss. “Congratulations, babygirl.” He leaves me to stare at the note.

  What could he possibly want? The man was direct before, so my mind is left to wonder what he has in mind. I think daddy might just be right. I don't expect anything good out of this.

  I go in the direction opposite of everyone else, reaching the elevators to the upper echelons of the arena. The attendant knows who I am, pointing me to take it to the top floor where the suites reside.

  I step out at the top into the suite. I'm tiny in the lavish room, the size something beyond extravagant.

  The room is adorned in a magnificent compilation of wealth and luxury. It's expansive, nearly one hundred feet long with a dome ceiling. On one side of the room is a glass window stretching from one end to the other, looking down onto the entire pit of the arena. There's a giant fish tank resting against the entire opposite wall, holding an ocean's worth of species. The tapestries and rugs are red with gold embroidery, guiding the eyes to a large wood desk at the end of the room.

  Sitting on a sofa near the middle of the room is Mr. Morris, the blond, devilishly handsome judge. I can tell just from the way his eyes pierce me he's the opposite of everything my stepfather is. Confident and domineering, he moves and speaks with absolute certainty of his own personal truth.

  “Welcome, Megan.” His voice echoes through the length of the room.

  “I'm sorry,” I say, looking down at my mud-caked body. “I'm probably tracking this everywhere. I didn't get a chance to clean up.”

  He smirks. “Nonsense. It's exactly how I like you.”

  I blush, looking to the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with the clearly lecherous man.

  “Afraid I might bite?” he asks. “It's not so far fetched to say a girl such as yourself is quite the catch. You took to submission quite easily.”

  I clear my throat. “Thank you.”

  “I mean, look at those curves. A young thing like you deserves to be spoiled in the worst ways.”

  Confused, I say, “I'm sorry, I'm already in love with someone. That's why I'm here: To be with him.”

  He chuckles. “Who said anything about love?”

  I swallow. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to come closer.”

  I step forward, but he cuts me off. “No, I want you to come closer on your hands and knees.”

  “What?”

  His teeth grit as he grins. “I particularly liked you in that position. You seemed perfect for it.”

  I shake my head. “I told you. I'm not interested.”

  He leans forward on the couch, his hands folded together. “And as a judge in this competition, I can have you thrown out.”

  My eyes go wide. “You wouldn't.”

  “I certainly would. After all, the games are all about submission. If you can't submit now, here in this room, then you're not worthy enough to compete. I will disqualify you in an instant.”

  “That's not fair.”

  He laughs. “For a girl to wander into this thinking of fairness is rich. You're giving that up so your stepfather can have his almighty orgasm. I know what you're willing to do to win.

  “Now, once more, on your hands and knees.”

  Suddenly, I feel queasy. To think I showed even the smallest bit of attraction to this son of a bitch makes me want to retch.

  I bite my lip, my hands clammy as I squeeze them into balls, but eventually, without much recourse, I drop down to my knees, dropping my head as my hands fall to the ground.

  “Good, now crawl to me.”

  I shuffle along the gold and red carpet, my knees sore already from the game. I wince as I move closer to him, but he can't see it as I stare at the ground, too embarrassed at my submission to look up at him.

  When I reach him, he puts his foot on my forehead, stopping me from continuing. “What a good little girl,” he says. “So, you want to stay in the Games, don't you?”

  I say through a scratchy throat, “Yes, I do.”

  He lowers his foot to the ground. “I have the power to make that so. All I ask is a favor in return.”

  My skin prickles at the nasty intonation.

  “My dick needs to be sucked. A pretty girl like you needs to pay her dues before she can go on.”

  I look up at him, biting back my tongue. “Why? Why me?”

  “I told you already. I like a girl who knows how to beg. So beg me to keep you in before I change my mind.”

  I weigh my options. Do I really want to be thrown out? I've come all this way, all these months fantasizing about having a child of my own, about getting daddy back his ability to come. Do I really want all of this to be in vain?

  I can't—I won't—even if it costs me. This has to mean something; otherwise, I'll go back to the life where I'm afraid for our future.

  I'm sorry, daddy. I need to do this.

  “Please, Mr. Morris,” I say, “can I suck your dick, please?”

  The faintest smile crooks the corner of his lip. He rests his chin in his hand, pretending boredom. “You think I just give it to
any girl?”

  “I—I really want to suck your dick. It'd make me happy if I could please you.”

  He stares at me, his eyes calm. He raises his hands in the air in an annoyed gesture, mocking me. “Well, I'm not going to do the work. You want it that badly, then you better take it out.”

  I blush, frustrated. I reach between his legs as he spreads them, unzipping him and shifting his trousers down. Reaching into his underwear, I pull out his cock.

  Knowing I'm past the point of return, I lower my mouth on him, drawing his soft tube in. I suck, pulling on his foreskin, absorbing the saltiness of his skin and sweat.

  “There you go. Go on, let's see you suck my dick as good as you suck your stepfather's.”

  I flinch. I don't want to think about daddy now. It's not right. I don't want him to even know about this. I'm doing this for him, but he doesn't need to know the details.

  Bobbing my head up and down, Mr. Morris's cock throbs with every pull on his shaft, growing into a monster in a matter of seconds.

  He lays his head back. “Fuck, yeah. Suck that dick, you nasty, little slut.”

  My face burns, but not entirely from embarrassment. No, the humiliation is provoking a secondary reaction, and as his cock thickens in my mouth, I can feel the moisture in my pussy build once more.

  Oh no, I can't believe this is turning me on! I need to get it over with. I just need to.

  I grab his shaft with my hand and beat him off, following the strokes of my hand with my mouth, swallowing the rest of his cock. I make long, gliding motions with my head, feeding his entire length into my mouth, running my tongue the entire distance of him.

  “Tell me how good it tastes.”

  “I-It tastes really good.”

  “Come on, slut, tell me how much you love sucking cock.”

  “I love it more than anything. I love feeling the thickness fill my small mouth.”

  His muscles tense when I say that, his butt lifting from the couch. “Fuck. The things I could do to you with this dick. The holes I could fill.”

  I pull my mouth off him, stroking him rapidly, intent on making him finish before he gets the idea to switch up his demands on me.

  His hand wraps through my brown locks, pulling them tight, while his other hand guides his cock back into my mouth. He forces it to the back of my throat, making me gag on his length, a much more horrific reaction after fighting it back while I was on daddy.

  Holding me stationary, he lifts his ass from the couch and thrusts into me, spearing me. His thrusts are fast and brutal, the sadist taking his joy in fucking my submissive mouth. I'm helpless to his will, only able to push my hands on his hips.

  My resistance is futile, my gesture pointless as I can't slow him down.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” he grunts, punctuating each thrust with a primal shout.

  He pushes deep into my throat, holds it there, and groans. His cock pulses, but my eyes go wide when something I've never experienced before happens.

  A salty concoction launches from his cock, coating my mouth in a sticky liquid. His cock throbs a number of times, expanding and releasing, dumping a huge load of cum. His ass twitches as he deposits his seed.

  When I try to pull away, he pulls my head back into him.

  “Swallow,” he commands.

  I don't even think about it. I swallow because that's what my body's telling me to do with the liquid filling my mouth. It slides down my throat, the salty taste both disturbing and shockingly erotic.

  Jesus. Is this what cum is really like? The sensation leaves me wanting more, like a rare treat tantalizing me to the core.

  But then it annoys me the first cum I taste is of the judge abusing his power over me.

  He releases me, and I pull back to breathe, wiping my lips of the last few dribbles of semen escaping my mouth. I can feel the warm cream traveling down to my stomach, and I start to feel queasy again.

  “You like that, don't you? A girl like you will probably never taste it again, so enjoy. A reward for a job well done.”

  I glare at him, and he says, “I don't need any of that.”

  “You're a sick bastard, you know that? I can't believe you came in my mouth.”

  He pushes me back onto my ass and stands up, zipping himself up. “You can go. Be glad I don't make it worse for you.”

  I stand and head over to the elevator, a sinking feeling in my stomach. I didn't want to tell daddy about this, but the fact that I swallowed that man's cum somehow makes this different. Somehow makes this more serious.

  It dawns on me in a soul-crushing way.

  I did something I shouldn't have done.

  I can't keep this from daddy.

  GAME 3

  Standing awkwardly in the prep tent before the next game, daddy eyes me up and down, scratching his stubble as I stay silent for far too long.

  “Is everything all right?” daddy asks. “You look a little shell shocked. You have been since yesterday.”

  I clear my throat. I swear I can still taste the salty residue of that bastard in my throat. As much as I enjoyed the taste—the luxury of rare cum—I hate that I was forced to drink it. I feel guilty for even enjoying it a little bit.

  I've been ready to give up my independence since the start, but I didn't expect it to go awry so quickly. Not with another man. And tasting his cum makes me feel like I cheated on daddy, and I can't stand the thought of hiding it from him.

  “I—“ I swallow, cutting myself off with dry nerves.

  The concern in daddy's face is heart-rending. “What? What is it?”

  “You were right about Mr. Morris. He's not a good man.” I clear my throat again, unable to dislodge the lump in my throat. “He made me... suck him off, and then he came down my throat.”

  “He what?”

  “He came in my mouth. I swear, I didn't know he could even do that.”

  The descent of his heart down to his stomach is visible in his face. He runs his hand through his hair. “Why?” is all he can mutter.

  I shake my head. “I don't know.”

  His eyes shift. “I'm asking why you did it.”

  My face burns. “I'm—I'm sorry. He was going to kick me out if I didn't do what he said. I'd be disqualified immediately.”

  Anger flashes across his face. “You still shouldn't have done it. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I didn't want this to be for nothing. I didn't want to lose, didn't want to keep you from getting your cum back.”

  He shakes his head. “I don't care about—“ he clenches his jaw. “You think that matters to me? You drank his cum? Really?”

  I can't look him in the eye, disappointed in myself. Did I really do something so fucking stupid? Did I even really do it for daddy, or was I just doing it for myself? The line seems so blurry looking back on it.

  I look at him, pleading, “I just wanted to have a family with you. I didn't mean to—“

  “Anyway,” he sighs, dispirited, “the game's going to start soon. I'll talk to you after.” He exits the tent, leaving with his good luck kiss, leaving me stranded with my own guilt.

  He doesn't even want to fight about it. That's not good, and without his kiss, I suddenly feel alone.

  “Fuck,” I say under my breath. “What the fuck did I do?” I know I did the right thing telling him, I just didn't do the right thing yesterday. I'm such an idiot. I'm such a fucking idiot. I could have just said no, couldn't I have?

  I catch Ellen staring at me, but she darts away in a panic.

  Great. Now I look like a slut who can't control herself.

  It's a strange and awkward ten minutes. I feel the chill of depression looming over me, my arms instinctively crossing to my shoulders, trying desperately to protect myself from the pressure, shivering at my own naivete. The loneliness eats away at me, and I stand off further to the side, determined to exist in that loneliness completely.

  The Matron enters the tent, addressing the contestants. “Girls, if you please,
I'd like to go over the next game.”

  Everyone turns with purpose, but I can barely usher the strength to pay attention. Mostly because standing next to the Matron is Mr. Morris, his teeth showing through a sly grin as he studies me. His eyes judge me harsher than I would like, and I focus on the dirt in front of me, not giving him the pleasure of seeing me squirm.

  “This next game is all about cooperation. A good mother knows how to work with the women around her, using the community as a pillar of support to offer assistance whenever it can. Raising a baby is no easy task. It is a group effort, and you must be prepared to ask for help when needed. Even if you do not end up winning and not having your own child, it's important to learn how you can be of use to women who do carry the burden of motherhood.

  “I shall call out names of those who will work together as a community.”

  She calls out my name. “Megan Sternach, and Darcy Fillmore.”

  My breath hitches, a sudden pulse of energy shattering my entire nervous system. I look over to Darcy, the tall girl making her way toward me.

  She's everything I'm not. Up close, she towers over me, her frame large and intimidating. Her hair is short and dark, whereas mine is long and brown. My skin is pale, hers is as tan as any outside profession. She has the aura of the world belonging to her, someone who has adapted to being both woman and man, an aura much different than mine.

  If anyone makes me feel like an incomplete child, she does.

  She glares at me. “I can't believe I have to team up with you.”

  I scoff. “It's not like I wanted it.”

  “Just don't fuck this up. Don't think because you won one game against me you're any good. I'm not expecting much from you, just like any of these other twats.”

  “That's a good way to lift my spirits.”

  Her voice is low and gravelly. “I don't give a shit. Don't drag me down with you.”

  Before, I didn't even need her to speak to know I didn't like her but hearing the venom in her voice, it only substantiates the icky feeling I had previously. The woman is nothing but trouble, and I sure as hell want nothing to do with her.

  Before the Matron can move onto the next part, I push through the crowd to speak to her. “Is it possible to switch?”