Planning the next event

My dad brings groceries, even though I have never asked him to. He does it for the show, bags on his arm, big fatherly smile, as if I’m just any other daughter on maternity leave and not his living trophy. The apartment is new, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, everything in shades of neutral, but nothing in here feels lived in except for the breast pump and the baby bottles that fill the kitchen sink.

The baby is asleep in a bassinet, tight as a burrito, perfect as the day she was born. I’m the one who looks like I’ve survived a war, because I have. My tits hurt. My back hurts.

Dad sets the groceries down and before pulling my bra up and starting to suck on my tender nipple as if he had complete control over everything, which frankly he does. He gives it two sucks before popping off “Not much is coming out, kiddo,” he says, “are you holding back on me?”

I don’t look up from my phone. “It’s only been four hours since the last time.”

He pulls up and looks me in the eyes, “Well, maybe we might need to adjust your diet again.” He taps my thigh with two fingers, a little signal to get my attention. “You know how important it is to keep the supply up.”

“I know,” I say, but my voice cracks anyway. It doesn’t matter; he’s already reattached his mouth and is sucking harder.

When he’s done, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gives my breast a little pat. “At least I got something,” he says. “You always did taste sweeter than your mother.”

He checks on the baby, then sits at the counter with his phone, dialing my brother. I can only hear his side, but it’s enough.

“Yeah, I got the invites sent out. We’ll have her ready. No, she won’t know until the last minute. Trust me, she’ll do it. You know how she is. It’s her fetish, even if she says it isn’t.” Dad looks up and winks at me. “We’ll make a party of it. And if you don’t knock her up on the first try, I’ll buy you that car. Deal?”

I stand, shirt still half-open, and go to the baby’s room just to get away from him, but I can still hear him talking in the kitchen, laying out my future like it’s a weekend football game. He’s not even hiding it, because he knows I can’t do anything about it.

That night, when he comes in with the bottle for the baby’s night feed, I stop him at the door. “Can I ask you something?”

He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

“What’s the deal with the party?” I say. “You keep talking about it, but you won’t tell me what it is. Am I supposed to just show up and let it happen, or what?”

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “That information is not free, kiddo. Not in this family. What are you willing to offer in exchange?”

I want to say, “My whole fucking life,” but instead I bite my lip and try to think. I know he wants something. He always does.

“What if I make it interesting for you?” I say.

His smile sharpens. “Interesting how?”

“If you tell me about it, I could add a game to it.”

He smiled, “I game…?!?”

I try not to sound ****. “Yes, a game… If I can win… I’ll agree to have either your child or my brother’s again after the next one.”

He’s so happy he can’t even hide it. “More wagers… You never learn, do you?” he says, shaking his head.

“I know,” I say, “but this is all too gross for me… and for the life of me I will never understand how it’s not gross for you… Either way, I will always do anything I can to try to never have **** sex again.”

My dad: “So I am assuming if you win whatever this game is, you would want to change the contract where you would be made to have sex with us again?”

“Yes… No more parties, no more contracts, and most importantly, no more sex!”

Dad agrees, but under the condition that if they win, there is no limit to the number of times my brother or he could breed me. I don’t like it, but it’s my only chance out.

He considers, looking at me in that way, that means he’s already made up his mind and is just enjoying the extra seconds of power. “All right. Here’s the terms: if you win, you’re out. No more **** anything. But if you lose, there’s no limit to the number of times your brother or I can breed you. We can do it again and again… and again.” He gave me an evil grin as he stared directly at my stomach.

I don’t like it, but it’s my only chance out. “Fine. Deal.”

The party is two weeks away, which just happened to fall on the day before I was supposed to go back to work. He says I’ll know what’s expected of me when the time comes.

My dad circles the date on the wall calendar in the apartment like it’s a major holiday. I try to ignore the calendar, but the day eats through my mind like battery acid.