I win

My heart filles with great joy as my brother slam’s his cock. There’s a wet slap as his balls hit the back of her thighs, as the woman arches her back and a muffled moan to squeak from under her mask. But my brother doesn’t seem to notice. He grabs her hips, thumbs digging in, and starts fucking her like he’s late for a flight.

That’s when my dad loses it.

He slams a fist onto the banquet table, rattling the half-empty sake bottles and sending a chopstick rolling off the edge. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he yells, his voice cracking over the room’s din. “You can’t even recognize the woman you already bred? She’s literally been in your bed multiple times and you still fucking picked her!”

My brother freezes, mid-thrust. His ass is pale and goosebumped under the buffet lights. He blinks, then peers at the woman’s ass, squints at the curve of her lower back, as if her identity might be tattooed there in invisible ink. “Wait… what?” he says, half to himself. “No way. There’s no fucking way.” He reaches forward, grabs the edges of the mask, and yanks it up.

Miranda’s face blinks into view. Her eyes are wild, her mouth stuffed with a neon-pink ball gag, but even through the drool and the panic I can tell: she’s as shocked as he is. As my brother yells “Miranda!!!” Before taking a step back, allowing his cock to slip out of her

I almost break out in laughter at the fact that that bitch is the one who freed me, and not only that in doing so she had to be take my brother cock again, as my brother looks back at his father “Dad, she was under a mask! How was I supposed to know?”

Dad throws his hand in the air “I don’t know… maybe in the time you spend fucking her enough to get her pregnant you should have… well I don’t know remember what she looked like naked!”

I lose it. I start laughing so hard I **** on my own spit. It’s not a polite laugh, or a girlish giggle. It’s the raw, wet bark of someone who’s just seen a dog fall through a glass coffee table and can’t stop replaying it in her head. Miranda turns her glare on me, but that only makes it funnier as I climb off the table, allowing the leftover food that was on my body to fall to the floor.

With a huge smile hidden by my mask, I start walking towards the exit. About have away their, Dad catches my eye. For a second, I think he’s going to drag me back onto the table, **** me to resign a contract before fucking me again. But instead, he just gives me the smallest nod, as if to say: Well played, kiddo.

I nod back, turn on my heel, and walk out of the room. Every step leaves a little footprint of fish and whipped cream on the slick tile. I don’t look back, because I don’t need to. I’ve finally won, and nobody can ever take that away from me, not even him.

The next Monday, I go to work like nothing ever happened. I wear a blue blouse and black slacks, hair in a bun, nails painted the faint pink of plausible deniability. My brother sits in the VP’s office, taking it out on Miranda for not making her body more memorable.

My father calls me into his office just before lunch. He’s got the blinds drawn, the air heavy with that spicy cologne that always made me feel like a child in the back seat of his car. He gestures to the chair, and I sit.

He doesn’t waste time. “Well I never thought,” he says. “You showed you smarts and won.”

I raise an eyebrow, wait for the catch.

“There’s just one thing,” he says, sliding an envelope across the desk. “If the origins of your daughter would come out it wouldn’t be good for me or you. So I have made some preparation.”

I take the envelope. Inside is a check—enough to pay off my student loans, my car, maybe even the mortgage if I ever bought a house, an a already sign fake adoption paperwork with a sticky note on top: “For your service. —Dad.”

There was nothing else to say, if try to openly say that my daughter belongs to him, I know there has to be some hidden part of the contract about damages that would **** me back into fucking him so I take the paperwork and the check.

He grins, all teeth. “Good girl.”

I stand, fix my skirt, and walk out of his office for what I hope will be the last time. The air outside tastes clean, even in the industrial corridor of our floor.