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.
My brother Dan exhaled his smoke. My other brother Rick and I both leaned forward to breathe it in. Wasting good cigar smoke was a sin for us leather brothers, and if our Handlers noticed our transgression, we could be turfed out to one of the other wings, like house dad. God, those guys were insufferable, baking and vacuuming all day long, although they do have the tidiest bunks in the place. The space my brothers and I live in can get a little gamy.
With any luck, one of us would be chosen today. It would be sad to say goodbye to my brothers, but if it meant getting chosen, separation would be worth it. Worth it, but bittersweet. We’d been bunking together in the leather wing of the dad reassignment center since—well, for as long as I could remember.
“I hope he’s thick and hairy, like us,” Dan said, palming his engorged codpiece.
“The ones that have been coming by lately have been little twigs,” Rick said. “I’m afraid if one of those little guys chose me, I’d snap him in half the first day.”
We all laughed gruff, gravelly laughs, and I reached my hand inside Rick’s jacket. His thick pecs stretched his leather shirt and caused the space between the buttons to expand. I wasn’t wearing my gloves—a departure from protocol, I know, but cut me some slack here—so I ran my bare fingers through his furry pelt of chest hair. Damn, I loved my brothers so much. I wanted so badly to twist Rick’s nipple, but that wasn’t allowed—not when a visitor was on the way, that is.
“What are you hoping for, Mike?” Dan inquired.
I took my cigar out from between my teeth. “Same as I’ve always wanted. A handsome little jock who knows how to take daddy’s punishments like a man. Maybe a gymnast or something.”
My brothers grunted in agreement. With any luck, each of us would get chosen by the son of our dreams.
The door swung open, and one of our handlers, an average-looking dude in his twenties named Kevin, was making a face in the doorway.
“Gah,” he said, “it stinks in here. Can’t you guys please use the deodorant we give you?”
“Heh, ’fraid not, boy.” Rick said. We all laughed. Kevin rolled his eyes and stepped into the room, followed by another plain-looking man in a polo shirt and khakis. He could easily have been Kevin’s brother.
“These are the leather dads we told you about,” Kevin said to the visitor and then pointed at us each in turn. “Mike, Rick, and Dan. Any questions?”
The visitor looked at us. He didn’t have the same nervous fear that most sons get when they consider a leather dad. We have a well-earned reputation for being strict disciplinarians, and a lot of sons think they want that, but when they take us home, they can’t hack it. Kevin had told us stories of leather dads getting returned to the center after a few weeks, or worse, driven out into the country and left to fend for themselves.
“Mike,” the visitor said. I perked up at the sound of my name.
“Yeah, boy? You think you got what it takes to be my son?” I groped my crotch. “You know dad likes to work hard and play hard.”
The visitor looked at Kevin. “I like Mike, but his attitude sucks. Can we do something about that? Maybe tame him a little?”
My handler bit his lip and thought for a moment. “Well, we really don’t like to reassign dads to other wings unless there’s a good reason. We evaluated Mike to be a perfect leather dad.”
“No,” the visitor said, then looked me straight in the eye. “I want him to be a leather dad, just not this obnoxious.”
“Why don’t we continue this conversation outside?” Kevin said and ushered the visitor back out into the hallway. As the door closed, my brothers and I shared a smirk and a growl.
“Damn,” I said. “Another one bites the dust.”
“Good morning, Son. It’s time to get up.”
I’d long ago taken over the duties of my hot Son’s alarm clock. Every morning at 6:30, I came into His room in full uniform and kneeled at the side of His bed, gloved hands behind my back and head respectfully bowed, and then I recited the words I’d been instructed to say at regular intervals.
Son rolled over and placed a hand on my shoulder. I shuddered with pleasure. He wasn’t usually so demonstrative.
“Good morning, dad,” He said. “Is breakfast ready?”
“Downstairs and waiting for You, Son,” I said. “I think You’re going to like it.”
Son swung his legs over the side of the bed, and I placed a slipper onto each foot. He grabbed my head and pulled it into His crotch, nudging my leather cap out of position. I inhaled His scent, and my eyes rolled back into my head.
“You cook better than I expected you to,” He said.
“Thank you, Son,” I said, my voice muffled as I spoke directly into His tight white briefs. “I spent some time training with the house dads before You brought me home.”
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