The Daddy Games

by Adrian Amos

  The Matron shakes her withered head, both remorseful and indignant. “You have to work with whoever is offered to you. Those are the rules of the game. You can't always choose your community.”

  “Was it random?”

  “The judges chose for you. Mr. Morris thought it a good selection to put you two girls together.”

  I turn toward Mr. Morris, keeping my voice low. “Why would you put me with her?”

  “Why, my dear,” he sneers, “because it will be exciting to see the two girls tied in the lead working together. It gives the audience a pleasant surprise.” He smiles, and I know from the shape of it, the truth doesn't reside in his words.

  It resides in a hideous prank being played on me.

  I whisper fiercely. “Why are you doing this? I thought—”

  He leans in, his breath flowing over my shoulder and making me twitch. “You thought nothing. I do this for amusement. My own. Now do as your told.”

  He leaves the tent, relishing the discomfort I'm in. The sadistic bastard couldn't get off on just forcing me to suck his cock, forcing me to be guilty as sin. No, he had to pile on after the fact, to make me know I'm beholden to his whims.

  The Matron continues, and I step back into place. “Everyone is selected, so here are the goals. I promise you, girls, this will be the last obstacle course.”

  The contestants chuckle along with her, but I'm in no mood to play polite to a lame joke.

  “Now, down to brass tacks. Each girl in a pair will have a separate job. One will act as a carrier, the other as a mother. The carrier will move the mother on a pulled rickshaw, which itself has a rocking chair on top of it. The carrier will move through the aisles of a makeshift grocery store, gathering supplies on their grocery list, and putting them on the rickshaw.

  “The mother's task is simple. Stay in the rickshaw at all times, and do not lose any of your balls."

  Balls? The sound of confusion in the girls seems to suggest they're all asking the same question.

  The Matron beckons a half-naked employee over, who brings a pile of five, small metallic balls in his hand.

  “These are ben wa balls. The carrier will insert these into the mother's vagina before the race. All five must be in the mother at the time of crossing the finish line to be considered the winner. If you lose any of them or step off the rickshaw, you will be knocked out of the race."

  A group of men walk around to all the pairs, handing them their balls. “Please, girls, decide who will have which position and prepare with the ben wa balls inserted within the next five minutes. And mothers, no shorts or panties for the race. We need a clear few for infractions.”

  As a man approaches us, Darcy brushes my hand away as I reach out for the balls, taking them for herself instead. “You're doing the balls,” Darcy proclaims.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I'm stronger than you. The cart will be easier for me to pull. Also, you probably have a small pussy, so holding those little fuckers will be easier for you.”

  I sigh. That actually makes a lot of sense.

  “Besides, I don't want that shit up my pussy. I don't need anything weird in there.”

  Well, there's the motherly instinct we all knew she never had. “Fine,” I say, “let's get this over with.”

  I pull down my shorts and panties, placing them on the nearby table. “How are we going to do this?”

  She sneers, “Just lay down.”

  I get on my back, hiking my knees up into my hands. Darcy takes one ball and pushes it inside my pussy, the cold metal making me jolt. I bite my lip, the oddity of having this bitch push them inside me is strangely erotic, but I push those thoughts away.

  I imagine if I'm aroused and become wet, the balls are probably going to slip out immediately.

  She pushes her finger deep into me, stroking my wall on the way in, which sends an electrical pulse through my body.

  “Hey, watch it!” I yelp.

  “Oh, shut up,” she says. “We need them in deep enough, so they don't pop out the second you stand up.”

  She does the same thing with the rest of the balls, inserting them in one at a time, followed by a finger that lodges them deeper into my cunt.

  The balls give me an unsettling feeling of fullness, and when I stand, they roll and knock around inside me.

  “Keep your legs closed.” She smirks, “I bet you've heard that plenty of times.”

  “Shut up.”

  But I do have to keep them closed because the ben wa balls are not big enough to want to stay inside on their own. It requires me to clench my pussy and thighs to keep them stationary.

  An employee ushers us out, and I follow the crowd gingerly—well, every girl with ben wa balls inside her follows gingerly. It looks like half of us are healthy, and the other half have yeast infections or something.

  The crowd is excited, a wave of applause as we make our way to the field.

  Heading to the center of the arena, there's a long set up of aisles, massive and wide. It's not like your normal supermarket, the aisles wide enough to fit three rickshaws side by side.

  They guide us to the wooden rickshaws set up at the starting line. It's merely a wooden platform on wheels with two long handles for Darcy to hold on to and drag the cart with. On top is the rocking chair, large and unsteady.

  We take our rickshaw, with me climbing into the chair. The armrests are wide and disproportionate, creating an awkward, hard, uncomfortable seat. And the second I plop down in it, it starts rocking back and forth with wide strides. I can't steady myself because the arms are too wide to latch onto effectively.

  This creates a devious effect the designers of this game had in mind.

  When the seat rocks back and forth, it causes the ben wa balls inside my pussy to roll and knock into my walls, stimulating me with soft nudges in my pussy. It feels surprisingly good, and I realize I have to warn Darcy.

  “You need to be careful to not rock the cart too much.” I feel uncomfortable telling her why, not wanting to suggest I'm getting pleasure from the balls inside me. Instead, I keep the reasoning short and logical. “It's too unstable, and too much movement might cause the balls to come flying out.”

  She glares at me, but ultimately says, “Okay.”

  A referee walks around handing out lists to the carriers, which contains everything they need to pick up in the store before they can head to the finish line. The aisles are marked clearly with overhanging signs, and the starting line stretches out in front of every aisle, giving every pair the chance to start wherever would be best for their list.

  Darcy picks an aisle, not giving me any information on the list. She tells me to mind my own business when I ask, so I resolve to focus on my ride, to ensure I refrain from rocking in the chair too much.

  The bell sounds, and we take off, the sound of wheels rolling over hastily placed tiles echoing through the dome.

  We have an aisle to ourselves, and Darcy quickly grabs a box off the shelf. She checks her list and takes off again, heading down the long path.

  When she gets to the corner, she swings fast and sharply, causing the entire cart to tip onto one wheel and slam back down when she finishes the turn. This causes the balls inside my pussy to bounce around, stimulating me with the concussive force of a pool player breaking the stack.

  “Jesus, Darcy, you need to take it slower.”

  “Fuck you,” she says. “We're trying to win, not pussyfoot around.”

  “Seriously—“

  But a bump in the ride sends the rocking chair tipping, stunning me and cutting my words off. The balls roll uncontrollably, mounting the pressure in my cunt. I have to focus on my control, squeezing my muscles together to keep the balls from bursting out.

  I can't even chastise her. Every lapse of concentration is another opportunity for the balls to go flying. I just have to keep to myself and hope she can maintain her own job.

  But the further we get into the game, the wilder her movements become.
She's bumping into the shelves, sideswiping other carts, taking sharp turns with total abandon. She actually hits another cart so hard, she tips it over and knocks the mother on her ass.

  I'd be happy to have one pair out of the game, but at this point, my rocking chair is moving so much, my pussy's swollen with arousal. This has the undesirable effect of constricting my canal, which gives the balls less space to maneuver.

  It might mean less arousal as they can't move as much, but it also means less room for error as the balls are only a good push away from shooting out of me and knocking us out of the game.

  “Please,” I beg, “slow down! We're going to lose if you keep this up.” It's impossible to explain the problem, explain just how aroused I'm becoming from the constant motion of the ben wa balls inside me.

  She ignores me, and the pressure inside me starts to build heavily when she takes another sharp turn. My walls already swollen, the next step is a mounting pleasure building in the mound just above my clit.

  The sensation is so powerful, I'm gripping the armrests as hard as I can, fighting with all my might to keep the balls inside me.

  Finally, though, Darcy grabs an item and shouts, “Last item! Last item! Let's get the hell out of here.”

  And then she does exactly what I tell her not to. It's a clear trap by design, meant to catch girls at the last moment.

  “No, no, don't!” I yell at her. “Go around, go around!”

  Between the aisles and the finish line is a field of uneven ground. There's a clear path—glorious, flat, stable ground—zigzagging through the minefield. The safe way to go. The smart way for a pair of girls that can communicate with each other the hazards of the length of the bumpy road.

  But she only says, “Bitch, it's straight ahead. It'll take too long going around.”

  She takes off with a gallop, hitting the bumpy road with a smash, sending the chariot bouncing from wheel to wheel.

  Sending me bouncing from side to side.

  Sending the balls ricocheting inside me. It really isn't that long of a bumpy road, a length that could easily be traversed early on.

  But it's too late in the game, too much destabilizing terrain all at once, and we never make to the other side.

  We hit one great groundswell, which causes the rickshaw to lodge for a brief second. I stay put in the seat, but the fear of nearly being ejected from the cart rattles me, breaking my concentration. The balls hit me hard enough to finally release all the pressure I'd been holding onto.

  “No, no, no, shit!” I whine.

  An orgasm floats from muscles to muscles, paralyzing and spasming each one. The pleasure sucks the air from my chest as I let out rapid-fire moans, my fingers clutching the armrests. My legs lock, my ass bucks, and my toes curl.

  But worst of all, my pussy convulses, squeezing and releasing.

  Plop! Plop! Plop!

  I let out a cry of relief, and the energy of my orgasm fires the balls out in a straight line, causing them to bounce off the wood of the rickshaw. They unload to the audience's amusement, as we're no more than twenty feet from the finish line.

  “Aw—Aww!” Darcy shouts, a ben wa ball striking her as it launches from my cunt, followed by a splash of pussy juice all over her shirt. “Goddamn it!”

  “Goddamn it,” she repeats, “you screwed us!”

  I weakly rebut, my orgasm shattering me. “I-I told you to go around.”

  Other girls ride by us, and I realize the first ones to reach the finish line are Ellen and her partner. All I can imagine is that the small redhead probably had it easy.

  I chuckle to myself. Her pussy's probably tighter than a coin purse.

  “Of course you'd laugh about this, you bitch. I told you not to fuck this up, so I'm going to ruin you for making us lose.”

  She storms off, leaving me to catch my breath on our stranded rickshaw.

  I shake my head. I'm not happy we lost, but god, I just had an incredible orgasm. It's wiped all the bad feelings of the day in a single, brilliant moment, relaxing me to contentment, if only for a minute.

  Can't a girl be somewhat happy after that?

  GAME 4

  The night after losing was colder than usual. Daddy was distant, extending the briefest moment of commiseration before turning in early. He didn't even want to look at me, and when I woke up in the morning, he was already gone.

  Nothing pulls you down like knowing the person you love is so angry at you they don't even want to be in the same room with you. It clouds everything, and even when I arrive at the prep tent with all the other girls, I can feel how out of place my energy is.

  I'm morose whereas everyone else is pumped.

  I might be doomed before I even start.

  Ellen says something to me, trying to play nice after her latest victory, but I barely register her. Her voice is muted against the backdrop of doubt fishing around in my mind for any reason to drop out.

  It hurts so much to be here right now while daddy is off feeling horrible by himself, but I'd feel just as bad if I up and quit out of nowhere. None of this would've meant anything. My mistake wouldn't have meant anything.

  I can't have sold myself to that pig judge for no reason.

  “Girls,” the Matron says, having walked in at some point during my numbness. Her tone is always both gentle and condescending. “Please, settle down so I can explain the next game between those of you left.”

  Those of us left? I look around, realizing that the room has shrunk considerably, down to maybe a dozen girls. Others have either quit or been disqualified, and I can't imagine anything worse than being thrown out against your will.

  “Our last contest was about cooperation, this one will be quite the opposite. This one will be about conquest.”

  A murmur through the crowd interrupts her.

  “Now,” she says, silencing them, “this will be a gladiatorial match. Wrestling. Only grappling, no direct strikes.”

  The murmur becomes a complaint, a weariness from the girls on par with being asked to kill a puppy. It doesn't go over well with the beaten submissives, to say the least.

  “You might wonder why you girls would be subjected to such a thing. Well, as much as you are to support each other in the time child rearing, you will find women willing to steal what is yours.

  “Willing to steal the man you love. You see, the gift here when you win is a gift bestowed to the man in your life. It is not yours to keep merely for having won it. A man with flowing semen is a man with active testosterone, and he might be willing to forget about you in pursuit of something different. He may be at fault, but it is also possible that your rare man—a man capable of producing children—might draw the attention of unscrupulous women.”

  I swallow. I hadn't even thought of that. Would I actually have to be fighting women off to keep daddy all to myself?

  “Many women desire children, and if they don't have the power to earn it, they might have the power to steal it. Today, your objective is to keep them at bay. The losers will challenge you, and you must claim your man for your own.”

  “We have your first challengers, and I will call them out.”

  I feel a tall presence looming next to me, and when I glance over, I find Darcy, her eyes piercing and unflinching, staring me down.

  I jump for a moment, frightened by her silent posture. “Jesus,” I say, “what do you want?”

  “I told you I'd pay you back for making me lose.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The Matron calls out the first pair: “Megan Sternach, and Darcy Fillmore.”

  “What?” I mutter. “Again? How is that possible?”

  Darcy clues me in. “My daddy has some sway with the judges. I told him I wanted to humiliate you like the stupid bitch you are.”

  After calling out the names, the Matron says, “Now strip. This contest will be in the nude. This will give your opponent nothing to grab onto, like the Romans once adapted.”

  Darcy's movements a
re as precise and as intimidating as getting undressed can be. She drops her clothes as if they only weighed her down, stripping to complete nudity in a matter of seconds.

  Her eyes never leave mine as she bares herself only a foot away from me.

  I hesitate but eventually undress, leaving the two of us facing each other naked.

  Her body is well-toned, thin but muscular, and shockingly beautiful. Her breasts are smallish, and her curves don't show much fat, but instead contour mainly through the guidance of defined muscles.

  “To win, you must pin your competition to the ground for five seconds. If you lose, the winner will claim you and your man,” the Matron says. “Your man figuratively; you literally. The winners will be given a strap on and show you what happens to a woman who can't defend herself and her family properly.

  “Our previous games have been lax, but from here on out, orgasms without permission mean instant disqualification. If you happen to orgasm during this event, you will be disqualified. Showing weakness like that will not be tolerated.”

  Darcy takes a step closer to me, so close I actually have to crane my neck upward to see her six additional inches on me. “I'm going to ruin you. My job is going to be making you come so I don't have to be bothered by your face again.”

  Normally, that type of talk would—well—I think I'd handle it better. But the figure of this girl in front of me tells me this contest of strength is one I might just have to forfeit. Get through it and get to the next games. I can't let her knock me out of the Games entirely.

  This defeatist attitude is only going to make things worse for me.

  “Megan and Darcy, you're up first.”

  Darcy bares her teeth at me before heading out the tent flap, showing her to be the wild animal I thought she was.

  The crowd cheers excitedly as two naked girls walk out onto the playing field.

  Two half-naked men guide me to my side of the dome-shaped object in the center of the Coliseum. It's a metal wire cage with two hatches on opposite sides of the dome.

  The men usher me in through the hatch before closing and locking it behind me.