I can't have the shame that it would take to win

I can't have the shame that it would take to win, so over the phone I tell my dad, “Tell him the woman he is looking for would be happy to have his child after she is finished with the other commitment, as long as he doesn’t find out how she is.”

Dad laughs, “Smart move, kiddo.”

My brother walks into my father’s office, and through the glass pane, I watch them start talking to each other. At first, my brother is clearly annoyed at something, probably at the fact that my father won’t tell him my identity. But eventually he calms down, and then he walks out and straight to me. “Wow,” he says, plopping down on the edge of my desk, right where my hand had just been. “I knew the last girl on the list was a huge slut, but I didn’t know she was this huge of a slut. Did you know that someone gets off on having kids with men they don’t know? Because that’s what the last woman on the list is. She’s willing to have my kid as long as we never find out about each other. I mean, how sick is that?”

How sick is that…?!? Did he really just fucking ask me that… How about how sick it is for you to describe your own sister like that? Is what my mind wanted me to scream, but I couldn’t… Keeping my identity a secret was too important, so I just looked at him and said, “You know I am not your therapist. You don’t have to tell me everything about every sick thing you do.” He laughs, “Who else am I going to tell in this perverted office?” before trotting off as if what he just said was the most normal thing in the world.

The moment he was just four feet away, I got a call from my father. Before I could even say hello, he said, “I need you in my office,” before hanging up. Just from the tone of his voice, I knew it was to have sex, and I knew wasting time would just make it worse, so I quickly made it into his office, hoping that my brother didn’t notice me sneaking off.

The moment the office door closes behind me, Dad wraps his arms around my waist, not hard, just firmly, as if to remind me that despite everything I had done for him at home, he was still unquestionably in charge at the office. While whispering into my ear, “Bend over my desk.”Know that not following his direction, especially while he is at work, will only make this worse for me. I do exactly as he says.

With my chest flat on his desk, I can feel his warm hands, hands that used to comfort me when I was sad, gently pulling my skirt up above my waist before his finger gently hooks my nylons and pulls them to the ground. Despite the procedure I put on at home, I still think every part of this is gross, so I try to distract myself from what is happening to me. But there is nothing to look at in my field of view except for a family photo, the desk calendar that still had my ovulation date circled on it, and all the nail marks, including mine, on his desk as he stood silently behind me, as if he was taking inventory of my pussy and ass.

He then leans in and whispers, “I’m sorry, kiddo, but I don’t have time to get you wet. You’re just going to have to bear through it. But I’ll make it up to you tonight.” It’s the same tone he used to say we can’t get fast food on the way home.

I honestly don’t know what is worse: going through the discomfort of having sex when you’re not warmed up to it, or having your own father try to get you warmed up for it. It’s a lose-lose situation. I guess it could be worse, I could have spent time having my father try to warm me up for sex, it would not work, and then have to have unprepared sex…

He lines up behind me and plunges in, no preamble. The suddenness of it nearly sends me sprawling across the desk. It’s like being impaled on a hot, blunt stake—sharp, then dull, then a radiating ache that wrings the air from my lungs. My legs buckle. I would collapse, but his hand clamps down on my waist, holding me in place as he works himself deeper. I can hear the wet suction of my body trying to accommodate him, the obscene squelch as he grinds against my cervix.

I bite the inside of my cheek, hard. I focus on the only thing that was in front of me, my ovulation date circle on his desk calendar.

The rhythm is punishing. He fucks me like a deadline, hard and fast and relentless, never letting up for a single blessed moment. My body fights him at first, then gives way, slackening into the rhythm. I try to count the thrusts, to turn them into numbers instead of sensations, but I lose track somewhere in the forties in under twenty seconds, my thoughts dissolving into a slurry of shame and heat and the metallic tang of my own blood on my tongue.

Twenty seconds later, I could feel some of his cum coating my inner walls, decreasing the friction of his cock in me, when, as if the universe is determined to break the last scrap of my dignity, I hear the phone ring. Dad quickly put the phone on speaker as he was still pounding into me with his hard, old cock. “Hey, son. What’s up?

My brother’s voice is loud, but even with that, I could hear the sounds of flesh smacking together over the line, and I wondered if he could hear the say. “Hey, Dad, I think I heard the desk moving. Are you having sex?”

My dad didn’t even hesitate as he answered “Yes,” while his thumb traced my asshole between thrusts.

“Cool, so am I,” my brother says, and there’s the unmistakable sound of a girl moaning in the background. “I figured I’d try to breed the first name on my list. You know, for the wager.”

My dad laughs. “Ah, you’re trying to get a girl pregnant. Same here.”

I want to die. I want to literally dissolve into a puddle of secondhand embarrassment and seep through the cracks of the oak desk into oblivion. But instead I stay perfectly still, not even breathing, as if that will make me invisible. My brother laughs, too. “Yeah, fucking a child into a slut is the best! She even asked for it! Like, straight up asked for it! No wonder the uncle loved this job. “Dad adjusts his grip, squeezing my hips tighter, and says, “If you’re trying to breed her… I am assuming you are tracking her ovulation?”

There’s a moment where the world stands still, the only sounds my own heartbeat and the squelch of my dad’s cock inside me. Then my brother says, “Yeah… It’s ah… ah… today.” I can hear the uncertainty in his voice, and even the woman he’s with can’t keep from a faint laugh.

“Today, huh?” my dad says, eyebrows arched in an expression that could almost pass for professional if not for the way he’s holding my hips like handles.

My brother quickly tries to cover up his lie by asking, “So, since you know who I’m breeding, who are you trying to breed?”

I feel my whole body tense as I was terrified that my dad was going to be honest and say my name, outing me as the last whore on the list, and the person that my brother thought was the biggest slut ever. But instead, he lets out a low, rumbling laugh and says, “What I’m doing right now is the reason you can’t breed the last person on your list yet.”

My brother’s voice squeaks, “Wait, you know who she is.”

My father, “Of course I know who she is… I am looking at the back of her unmasked head as my dick is deep inside her pussy, knocking on her womb right now!” I can feel more and more of his cum coating my inside with each word he says as if he was enjoying the shame this was bringing me.

My brother scuffs, “If you can know why, can’t I?”

“Because it’s part of her, you know, sluty fetish.”

I want to reach through the speaker and punch both of them. But all I can do is dig my nails into the groove on my dad’s desk, because if I make the faintest of sounds over a moan, it might give away who I am to my brother.

“She’s the biggest slut ever, isn’t she?” my brother says. “Like, this is next-level.”

I can’t see my dad’s face, but I can feel the smile in the way he leans in, his voice practically a purr. “Son, you have no idea. Sometimes I think she gets off more on the embarrassment than the sex. I bet she will secretly cum when you see her with a pregnant belly and you don’t know it’s yours.”

My entire body wants to scream. Instead, I close my eyes and listen to the meat-market banter of the men who own me by contract, trying to count the seconds until this is over.

They keep talking, and every word is a new spike of humiliation, each one driving me deeper into the fucked-up fantasy my dad has built for me. The phone call is like an echo chamber of my worst nightmares. Somewhere on the other end, my brother’s partner is moaning, probably faking it for his benefit. On this end, my dad is hammering me hard enough to leave bruises. I can hear the wet slap of skin, the slick sounds of my own body, the unfiltered joy in my father’s voice as he tells my brother, “You hear that, kid? That’s the sound of a woman who wants it.”

I try to blank out, to dissociate, but my body has other plans. Every time my dad slams into me, my clit throbs, my thighs clench, and I feel this horrible, traitorous twist of pleasure, like my nerves are actively sabotaging my self-respect. I want to die and cum at the same time.

There’s a long silence on the line. Then my brother, panting, says, “Shit, Dad, I don’t think I can last much longer.”

My dad just laughs. “Don’t be a quitter. When you get to the last one, you’re gonna have to go at least three times in a row if you want to impress her.”

“Yeah?” my brother says, sounding like a prepubescent dork again. “You think she likes it that way?”

“She’ll let you know. That’s a promise.” I look up at my dad and mouth ‘NO SHE WON’T but he just grins back at me.

My dad is close to finishing. I know the signs: the tightness in his grip, the way his breathing hitches, the sharp, animalistic grunts he makes as he picks up the pace. He’s got one hand on my hair now, fisted at the base of my skull, the other still on my hip, and he’s fucking me so hard I can feel the desk shimmying across the floor with each thrust.

“I’m almost there,” my brother says, voice strained. There’s a faint noise, like a body slapping flesh, and then he just groans, “Fuck, yes.”

At the exact same moment, my dad pulls me tight against him and buries himself inside me. I feel the hot flood of his cum fill me, the wet warmth leaking instantly as he keeps moving, not stopping until every last drop is milked out. He lets go of my hair, strokes my back almost tenderly, and says, “That’s my girl. Take it all.”

I don’t move. I just breathe, counting my inhales, trying not to think about the fact that this is my actual life now.

On the phone, my brother is still basking in the afterglow. “That was fucking amazing. I bet I’m gonna knock her up on the first try.”

My dad laughs, but doesn’t answer, just hangs up the phone before telling me, “You did great… Now, clean yourself up and get back to work. And don’t forget, if my next appointment comes in, offer her the good coffee before sending her in.”

I stand up on shaky legs, my skirt bunched around my waist, my pussy dripping with cum, and my dignity somewhere deep in the Mariana Trench.

“Okay, Dad,” I say, voice numb.

He smiles, kisses my forehead, and heads into his private bathroom.

I take a moment to gather myself, adjust my clothes, and use the tissues from his desk to mop up the worst of the mess. I have to work fast; there’s no telling who might walk in on me, and the last thing I need is to have to explain why I look like I just got railed by a tornado.

As I walk out my dad’s door, I nearly bump right into my brother and Amelia as they exit his office together.

My brother is grinning like an idiot, but the look on Amelia’s face is something else entirely. Her eyes flick to me, down to the rumpled hem of my skirt, then back up. There’s a sharp, knowing gleam in her gaze, and for one horrible second, I think she’s going to say something, expose me right here.

But instead, my brother says, “Ah, come on. You know who the woman is, not me? That’s not fair.”

I clamp my teeth together, refusing to say a word. Amelia says it for me: “Wait, what?”

My brother shrugs, the cocky little shit. “I’m not stupid. Dad had her in there taking notes while he was fucking the last woman on my list. So, of course, she knows who that woman is.”

Amelia just looks at me, eyebrows raised, and then bursts out laughing. She shakes her head and walks away, leaving me and my brother standing in the corridor, surrounded by the ghosts of a thousand workplace humiliations.