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.
I disappointed my Son. And for that, I am sorry. For that, I am being punished. Every hour that I lie here, immobilized and bored, is well deserved. I am my Son’s submissive father, and I must obey Him. When He says, “Kneel and be My footstool, dad,” He means now. Not in five minutes. Not in five seconds. Son deserves my full attention and my immediate, eager service.
Now He’s going to get it.
I failed Him. For some reason, I thought I was capable of making decisions for myself, of choosing when, where, and how I served my Son. I am being cured of that. Every hour I lie here completely encased changes me even further. Dismantles my identity and reconstructs me as an object of service for my Son.
I was wrong to think I was a person in the first place. Sure, I may be a dad, and I may obey my hot, dominant Son, but that doesn’t make me a person. If I could move, I would bring my hands up to my face and touch my new, smooth, black rubber skin. I don’t need to, though. I know how it feels, and more importantly, what it represents.
It will never go outside in public again. It will remain indoors, transformed from a submissive dad into an obedient thing. It exists to serve and obey Master. Master is no longer its Son. Master will find another dad worthy of serving as a person. The object’s purpose is to serve as an object.
It has no identity. It has no will. Son is now Master. Dad is now it.
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