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 other day, I saw a gay couple walking downtown. They were really cute. Just an everyday pair of guys dressed in jeans and polos, holding hands as they walked from the parking garage to a restaurant down the block.
Heh. Jeans and polos. It’s been so long since I’ve worn anything like that, I can’t even remember what it feels like. Loose-fitting clothing? Yeah, that’s barely a memory for me. Once I’d earned enough money for my Son to buy me my first rubber uniform, the rest of my clothes started disappearing from my side of the closet.
As more and more of my paycheck went to buying rubber gear for both of us, I found fewer and fewer jeans, t-shirts, and boxers to wear. It’s like each new rubber outfit took the place of three old, normal outfits. Eventually, I went to my closet one morning and there was nothing but a row of rubber uniforms on hangers and a row of rubber boots on the floor beneath them.
“Son,” I called out. “I can’t find anything to wear.”
He’s not really my Son. Well, he is, but he isn’t. We’d only been dating for a few weeks when I invited him to move in, which wasn’t like me at all. He was my boyfriend, my partner, and then one day, he lowered that rubber boot down onto my face and told me to breathe deeply. Ever since then, He’s been my Son. My handsome, dominant Son. Which, of course, makes me His submissive, obedient dad.
“What are you talking about, dad?” He answered back from downstairs. “There’s plenty of stuff in your closet. Now hurry up and get dressed. We’ve got errands to run.”
I stared at the rubber uniforms for a minute as a battle waged in my head. This was weird. This wasn’t appropriate. This wasn’t normal. Right? Or was it? I looked down at the row of boots on the floor. I heard something, a voice speaking to me.
Pick up the boot, dad.
Put your face in the boot, dad.
Breathe in deeply, dad.
I did. There was no question. My Son ordered me to get in uniform so we could run errands. I was His dad. I had no choice but to obey.
I bounded down the stairs, the light reflecting off of my polished rubber uniform and spit-shined boots. I beamed with pride at how good I looked. I would reflect positively on my Son in front of the whole town.
As W/we stepped out of the house and walked toward the car, my Son stopped me with a forceful hand on the chest and then shoved a lit cigar into my mouth.
“Pledge your allegiance to Me, dad,” he said.
I immediately assumed the position—right hand on my meaty pec and left hand groping my shiny, rubber-covered crotch. God, my Son was so sexy. Thank goodness He kept me locked in chastity, or else I’d have been distracted by my own pleasure.
“I pledge my allegiance and loyalty to You, Son, today and for the rest of my life.”
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