Olympic Swim Team is one of 26 stories included in Fit For Purpose – Stories of Sports and Exercise Erotica, now available for only $3.99 USD in e-book (link) or audiobook (link). Purchases support the creation of new, free content!
Daphne hadn’t meant to start a controversy. She just wanted to fulfil her promise to her father to qualify for the Olympic Swim Team.
But after discovering that her tits were just too large for her to be a world-best swimmer – they created too much drag and buoyancy in the water – she had let her trainer Bryan talk her into instead accepting a position as the “Siren” mascot for the men’s team.
She had been hesitant about effectively being the big-titted decoration on the sidelines, and much more hesitant when Bryan explained her duties would involve “servicing” the men for the duration of their stay in the Olympic Village. But as it turned out, it was the Opening Ceremony that was the sticking point.
The men wanted Daphne to take part in the Opening Ceremony parade, wearing a mermaid costume that fully exposed her tits, riding in a pool of water on top of a float. The International Olympic Committee forbade it – there was no way she could be bare breasted. It caused problems for their broadcasting agreements, if nothing else.
The men’s team were happy to shrug, and accept that Daphne could wear a seashell bra or suchlike, except that the news picked up the dispute and ran with it. “IOC says ‘cover up’ to national mascot,” ran the headlines. “National breasts a national shame,” ran another. Somehow, Daphne being told she couldn’t be bare-breasted in public had become an insult to the national pride.
Then some of the other Olympic nations got involved. Siberistan, who was hosting the next games, and who had long held oppressive views towards women, demanded that Daphne be allowed to go bare-titted at the Games. Mang-Hai, a wealthy authoritarian sponsor of the event, declared that it would make its women’s teams perform nude in solidarity, and for that matter would require its female athletes to openly masturbate when being interviewed or receiving medals. If the IOC had a problem with that, they said, they would withdraw from the games – and take their money with them. A host of smaller nations that depended on Mang-Hai’s patronage immediately announced similar stances.
In the end, the IOC had no choice but to allow women to not only compete and march naked, but to masturbate on camera. They revised their broadcasting deals, moving many to porn networks who had developed a sudden interest in women’s Olympic sport.
Through it all, Daphne trained. Her training consisted of being fucked by male Olympic athletes – in the cunt, in the ass, between her tits, in her mouth. At the same time, they worked on developing her pain tolerance, by slapping her face, whipping her large breasts with a belt, spanking her cunt and beating her ass.
Bryan delighted in making her watch the news during these sessions. While she was being fucked, he would have her watch footage of female Olympic athletes, nude and masturbating, crying as they explained how they had chosen to degrade themselves rather than forfeit their dream of competing at the Olympics. She would stare at the footage – which on some networks didn’t even bother to show the faces of the women, instead zooming in on their fuckmelons or pussies as they spoke. Some wouldn’t even use the audio of the women talking at all, instead just playing the audio of a man commenting on their attractiveness and fuckability over the images of them naked and humiliated.
Slowly, Daphne came to associate sexual arousal with women being humiliated, embarrassed and nude.
And for her pain training, he would show her footage of the women who *wouldn’t* be competing nude, standing fully dressed, complaining about how sexist this whole situation was, and how it had to stop. Very quickly, Daphne found herself starting to wince whenever she saw a female athlete wearing clothes, or heard someone saying it wasn’t okay for women to be forced to compete nude. She would silently beg the women to undress or stop talking, in anticipation of the pain in her tits and cunt that inevitably accompanied their unpleasant attitudes.
There were so many competing thoughts in Daphne’s head now that she found it hard to make decisions. She didn’t want to be raped every day at training – or at least she felt that she shouldn’t want that – but Bryan fed her pills that meant her cunt was always wet for men to use, and she frequently orgasmed, and the men and Bryan always told her she was a good girl. Whereas when they weren’t fucking her she was ignored and had nothing to do. Was it degrading to have spatters of cum on her face and tits, or did that make her look pretty? Bryan said he’d make sure she was covered in cum for the Opening Ceremony, so it must make her look pretty. She worried that she’d been ugly all her life before men started cumming on her face.
And Bryan had showed her a cover of Time magazine. She was on the cover! Except she was nude, on all fours like a dog, with sperm on her face, and sperm visibly leaking from her cunt and anus. “The National Mascot – The National Whore” read the headline. Should she be proud of that? She was on the cover of a national magazine. She should be proud. Would her father be proud? She was on the Olympic Team, even if only as a mascot. She tried to picture what her father would say, but for months now she hadn’t had any interaction with a man that hadn’t involved the man raping her, so all she could picture was her father taking his cock out of his pants and advancing towards her unprotected pussy…
She felt bad about all the crying women who were going to have to be naked at an international sporting event. She wondered if it would be just this year, or if it would spread. Maybe by the next Olympics every female athlete would have to go nude and masturbate – and it was all because of her. She was a traitor to her gender. She deserved all the pain in her tits and her pussy. She deserved to be raped every day by multiple men. And when she thought of how humiliated all those women were, she got wet, and wanted to touch her pussy. That was messed up. Normal girls didn’t get wet from that.
A month before the Opening Ceremony, Bryan came to her, and said, “How much do you want to succeed, Daphne?”
She knew the answer to that. She was an athlete. “A hundred and ten percent,” she told him, or at least she tried to. It was hard to talk with his dick in her mouth.
“Good girl,” said Bryan. “Well, I think you’d make a better mascot if your tits were even bigger, is the thing. And I’ve made you an appointment to have your tits enlarged, if you want.”
She moaned around his cock. She didn’t like the thought. She was already embarrassed of how large her tits were.
“Of course, with even bigger tits, there’s no way you’d *ever* be a serious swimmer,” he told her. “But you’d look like more of a fuckdoll, and that’s what you’re *really* good at, isn’t it, Daphne?”
It was. She knew it was. She felt humiliation course through her. She wanted to be raped. It was easier to stop thinking when there was a cock in her pussy.
“If you want to get big fake fuckballoons, so you’ll look like a bimbo and never swim again, nod your head, Daphne,” said Bryan.
She paused for an entire minute, sucking. But she’d committed to being on the team, and she wanted to be *good* at it. So her father would be proud. What did her father being proud of her even look like? She couldn’t picture it. He would probably want to fuck her if he was proud of her, she thought. Oh god – she wanted to be fucked *so much*….
She nodded her head, bobbing up and down on Bryan’s cock. She *would* be a fake-titted fuckdoll mascot. She would be the *best* fake-titted fuckdoll mascot.
And she knew that she had made the right decision when Bryan rewarded her by ejaculating into her stupid little fuckdoll mouth….