M4M kink writing. Control and transformation of men. 18+ only.
This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
The windowless room was thick with the smell of cigar smoke, leather, and sweat. My brothers and I had roughhoused enough for one day. It was time to relax and wait for our visitor to get here.
“What do you think he’ll be like?” I said.
This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
My boyfriend and I lived together, but you’d never know it for how little time we spent with each other ever since he got that stupid computer game. As soon as he came home from work each night, he’d go straight to his laptop and sit, hunched over and glassy-eyed, clicking and typing for hours. Whenever I’d walk by, he closed the screen. When I asked him what he was playing, he mumbled something about it being “kind of like The Sims.” When I asked if we could play together, he shooed me away, saying he wasn’t ready for two player just yet.
This went on for a solid month, and I was getting frustrated. One night, after lying in bed for hours waiting for him to join me, I’d had enough. I stormed into the living room and slammed the laptop screen down. He looked at me like I’d just robbed him at gunpoint.
This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
My cell phone just buzzed over on the table nearby. I’m only sitting a foot or two away, but I can’t reach over and check it. Not that I need to because I know exactly what’s going on.
It just buzzed again. That was the sixth buzz since my Son tied me up and left me here. He told me that I needed to keep count and that there’d be a penalty if I told Him the wrong number of buzzes when He got back home.
This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
Hello. My name is dad. I am a dad. I like to stand here and dad all day long.
I used to wear dad clothes, but then my Son gave me this dad uniform for when I’m performing my dad duties. Like standing here with this cigar between my dad lips. Maybe one day, my Son will actually let me smoke it. I’d do it myself, but I don’t know how.
This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
“Hey, man, is anyone sitting here?”
I looked over the top of my sunglasses and saw a bulge in red trunks. I followed the beefy torso and meaty pecs upward and involuntarily licked my lips when I saw his handsome face and mostly-pepper-with-a-hint-of-salt beard. I was reminded of what my Son always says whenever I enter the room: “Woof, daddy.”
Continue readingThis is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
The end credits rolled. I removed my VR glasses and looked at my best friend Paul, who was sitting next to me on the sofa. “I actually liked the sequel better,” I said, referring to the actifilm we’d just played together. “The characters were more interesting.”
Paul half-nodded. “I guess. What’s taking your dad so long with our snacks?”
I leaned back and looked into the kitchen. It was empty. I pressed the call button on the coffee table, but there was no response.
Continue readingThis is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
My grandfather always told me I would get more conservative as I got older. He told me about how he voted for Roosevelt in 1944 and Kennedy in 1960, but as he eased into middle age, his priorities changed. Voting for Reagan made sense in 1980 and even more sense in 1984. He said it was only natural. “You’ll see, my boy. Happens to everyone.”
I never believed him. As I got older, the opposite seemed to happen. I became even more enthusiastically liberal with age. My grandfather was wrong about me.
Continue readingThis is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
“Take a deep breath in, dad.”
I comply, and immediately I feel a wave of pleasure and relaxation rush from my head down to the soles of my feet. My chest and belly expand and stretch the fabric of my tight shirt, a sensation I instantly associate with pleasure and obedience. I hold my breath—my Son didn’t give me permission to exhale just yet—and look at my image on the computer screen.
Continue readingThis is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
I look stupid, and I feel ridiculous. But I have no one to blame but myself.
I was newly single after 15 years, on the rebound and vulnerable. Jack was young, handsome, and interesting. He took an interest in me and made me feel wanted. Aside from the physical attraction, we had almost nothing in common. I was an executive VP, and he was a college dropout. I liked hiking and antiquing and he played video games. I enjoyed dragging my tux out of the closet once a year to go to the symphony and he… well, he liked cosplay.
Continue readingThis is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.
Everything changed when I turned 40. The day before my birthday, I was at Buddies, my local leather bar, drinking a glass of scotch while a pup serviced my boots. I’d always been dominant, the one in control, the one calling the shots.
What a difference a day makes.
I set my empty glass down on the bar and felt a hand grip my shoulder, the friction causing my leather jacket to creak. “Hey, dad,” I heard someone say.
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