Making My Parents My Bitches

Making my Parents My Bitches.

 

Part 1: Making Dad My Bitch.

 

Sixteen:

Yup, what a birthday. Why? What did I get, you ask? Well, what I got was another screaming argument between my parents, Jack and Mandy Morshuis. I didn’t dare come out of my bedroom, and when I finally did, I found Dad sitting in the lounge, drinking Johnny Walker straight from the bottle.

 

“She’s gone, Pumpkin,” Dad said defeatedly to my unasked question.

 

“Gone?” I asked. “Gone where? When will she be back?”

 

“She won’t be,” Dad replied. “She’s cleared out her wardrobe and taken all her makeup, toiletries, and jewellery. She says she has a boyfriend in Sydney with whom she’s going to live.”

 

Yeah, as I said. What a birthday.

 

Seventeen:

I guess this birthday was better than the last because my parents didn’t have another screaming fight. However, Dad had fallen pretty severely into the bottle. He’d stopped going to work, and had, of course, been fired.

 

In some ways, the previous year had been interesting. Mum tried to clean Dad out through her lawyer, but Granddad Morshuis had foiled that. Everything I thought my father owned was owned by The Morshuis Family Trust, of which Dad and his two brothers were beneficiaries. As Dad’s proxy at the court hearings and the trust meetings, I discovered that The Trust was worth more than one hundred million dollars. Dad’s share was one-third of that, so close to thirty-five million bucks.

 

I was able to arrange a fortnightly payment from The Trust to ensure the rates and utility bills were paid. Dad’s Mercedes and my VW Golf R were owned outright by The Trust, and all bills, including gas and insurance, were paid automatically when they came due. I also had a debit card to buy and pay for pretty much whatever I liked. However, I’d never realised that we were rich, and I was used to living frugally. My Golf R was my one indulgence. Most of my clothes were bought from department stores. I shopped at Aldi for everything I could and only went to Coles or Woolies for the few things Aldi didn’t carry.

 

Our biggest expense was Dad’s alcohol. The big, mean black dog of depression had captured my father and wasn’t letting him go. I tried to drag him out of his funk, but he preferred to wallow in it.

 

Eighteen:

Something had to change. For the third time in a row, no one acknowledged or even remembered my birthday. With my mother’s betrayal, I’d stopped trusting people. I had few friends and no boyfriend. The only thing that brought me any joy was that I’d maintained a perfect A+ grade average over the three school years since Mum abandoned us.

 

Dad’s health had declined because he drank so much and ate so little. His once jet-black hair had faded to a messy salt-and-pepper grey. Dad’s fit, leanly muscular build had become flabby and untoned, and he carried quite a paunch. He only showered when I yelled at him and demanded he do it because he stank. Plus, he only changed his clothes when I insisted, usually for the same reason I demanded that he shower. Dad was drinking himself to death, and I had no idea how to drag him out of his downward spiral.

 

In desperation, I turned to my Aunt Janet, Mother’s sister. Mum and Janet were their parents’ only children, and they are polar opposites.

 

I hate admitting it, but my looks match my mother’s. I’m a little over average height for a woman at 170 cm (5 ft 7 in). I’ve been told I’m beautiful, and those who know say I look like my mother at the same age. My skin looks lightly tanned whether I’ve been in the sun or not. My hair is naturally golden-blonde (Yes, the carpet matches the drapes), but my eyebrows are black. I have green eyes, a thin nose and wide, pouty lips. I don’t recall having a single pimple. Most commonly, I’m described as looking like an ingenue—innocent and sweet.

 

My body also matches my mother’s. My shoulders are wide; my breasts are full and firm, and my chest narrows to a delightfully tiny waist before flaring to a tightly toned, rounded ass. My legs are long and shapely, with delicate ankles and feet. My body stats are 32C-22-32, so ladies—jealous much? Men—don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me? (Pardon my trite misuse of The Pussycat Doll’s song).

 

My Aunt Janet is a short, black-haired, rotund woman who shares a mutual distaste for my mother. The sisters rarely saw eye-to-eye on anything. However, nobody knew my mother better than her, and I needed to understand why Mum’s leaving had destroyed my father so badly. It wasn’t like they’d ever had an idyllic marriage. Most of my childhood memories were of my parents screaming at each other over some real or imagined slight.

 

I called her mobile number. “Carina?” Janet asked, surprise evident in her voice. I tried to talk, but my voice broke, and I sobbed in her ear instead. “Get in your car and come straight over,” she demanded.

 

I obeyed, and thirty minutes later, I pulled into my aunt’s modest suburban home’s driveway. Janet, who hated being called ‘Aunt’, greeted me at my car’s door. Her stout arms wrapped around my back, and I was squeezed against her enormous bosom.

 

“It’s so good to see you, Carina,” Janet stated as she squeezed the breath out of me.

 

I’d been alone and strong for so long that those simple, heartfelt words tore me apart. My head dropped onto her shoulder, and I bawled my eyes out. “Dad’s drinking himself to death,” I blubbered against my aunt’s neck.

 

My aunt accepted my hug and tears before disengaging my arms and guiding me inside. She sat me in front of her kitchen table and placed a mug of tea before me. It was a camomile blend designed to soothe and relax, not that it helped with either of those things. I’d held myself together for two years, trying to be strong for my father and to get everything that needed to be done done. But his constant downward spiral made me fear I would lose him, too. Being abandoned by my mother was one thing. Being parentless at eighteen another.

 

I needed Dad to snap out of it. But what could I do? He wouldn’t go to even the doctor’s appointments I made for him. I even risked my neck and went to my doctor and pretended to be depressed so that he would prescribe me anti-depressants. Dad refused to take them. I tried to hide them in his food, but he ate so little that the taste was immediately apparent, and he tipped out the meagre amount he’d gotten for himself. I even tried to hide them in his scotch. All that did was waste an entire 1.125-litre bottle of Johnny Walker.

 

Janet listened as I cried and explained what was happening. She waited until I ran out of steam before making another pot of tea and refilling my mug. She briefly hugged me as she sat the mug on the table. I could tell she wanted to suggest some things that might help, but she wasn’t sure if she should. Eventually, I said, “Janet, if you know of a way to get through to my dad and help him, out with it. I don’t care how ridiculous or weird your suggestions are.”

 

Janet sighed before approaching things obliquely. “Do you know what the biggest problem with your parents’ marriage was?” I shook my head. “Nobody to lead,” she continued.

 

“Huh?”

 

Janet sighed again. “Your mother is innately submissive. She needs a strong, masculine man who owns and controls her to be happy. Your dad is a SNAG. You know? A Sensitive New-Age Guy. Your mother needs a Caring Understanding Nineties Type.”

 

I stumbled with the acronym for a while because the two seemed to be the same. But when I realised what the first letters of each word spelt, I gasped, and my face turned red.

 

“You’re mum needs to be dominated and owned. To be with someone who won’t put up with her bullshit and will put her over his knee and spank her when she carries on like a pork chop, as she often does. Your dad’s too weak to do that.” Janet watched me for a bit before adding. “Do you know what blew your parents’ relationship up?” I shook my head. When Mum and Dad fought, I hid in my room, put my earbuds in, and turned the volume up until I couldn’t hear them argue. “Your dad wanted her to fuck other men so he could watch and masturbate. Mandy told him if she was going to do that, she might as well live with that man full-time. So, when Jack insisted, she did.”

 

“Dad is submissive, too?” I ventured.

 

Janet sighed again. She wasn’t comfortable telling me these things, but she was determined to because she knew only I could save my father. Well, Mum probably could, too, but it didn’t seem likely that she was coming back. “Hasn’t your father struck you as being weak and quite effeminate?” She asked.

 

I hadn’t really considered it. Dad was just Dad, that’s all. He always spoke quietly and kindly, except when he was arguing with Mum. Before depression and alcohol grabbed him, Dad was always immaculately dressed and clean-shaven, and he smelled good. I thought about things and knew he always deferred to Mum when it came to finances and where I was schooled. Of course, that all changed when she left.

 

Now that I thought about it, I realised that Aunt Janet was right—my dad had a submissive personality, and I would have to take the dominant role in our relationship to save him from himself. I needed confirmation even though I already knew what I had to do. “How do I bring him back from the dark hole he’s spiralling down?”

 

“You’ll have to become his Top,” Janet stated carefully, uncertain if I’d know what she meant.

 

“Be his Mistress?” I queried, although I also knew that answer, too. Janet nodded. “Sexually?”

 

Janet sighed, knowing I was talking about the sin of incest. “Ideally, yes,” she admitted. “I assume that your dad masturbates two or three times a day?”

 

“More,” I explained. “Eight or nine times a day and probably in his bed at night, too. It’s disgusting because he just drops the tissues to the side of the sofa chair he sits on. Often, when I come home from school, the whole house stinks of stale cum, and I have to clean up.”

 

“There’s to be no more of that,” Janet stated sharply. “You must take control of him and make him your bitch. Do not ask him; tell him, and do not take ‘no’ for an answer.” Janet hesitated before saying, “Give me a sec.” Janet disappeared from the room shortly before re-emerging, holding something I’d never seen before. I took it when she offered it, but seeing my confusion, she took it back from me. “This is a chastity device, more commonly known as a cock cage,” she explained. She undid the small padlock and opened the cage so I could see how it went on.

 

My experience with cocks wasn’t very extensive. However, I wasn’t a virgin, and I could figure out how it enclosed the penis and balls and held them apart, making it virtually impossible for the wearer to cum. I gulped, thinking about having to put it on Dad. However, I thought Janet’s idea at least gave me a chance to control and then reverse my father’s slow descent into the hell he’d find at the bottom of a bottle.

 

I looked at my aunt and saw she was biting her tongue, and I knew there was more. I asked, “There’s more you need to tell me. What is it?”

 

“Lawd, spare me from these tasks,” Janet muttered before steeling herself. “Your dad isn’t only submissive; he’s quite effeminate, too. The reason you’re an only child and one of the biggest reasons your mum left was because your dad was impotent with her. The only time he could get it up was when your mother played with another man simultaneously with him.”

 

‘Well, I guess that explains the many weekends away they took,’ I thought. From age twelve, when my parents could legally leave me home alone, they regularly took off on Saturday afternoon, not returning until late on Sunday. They clearly didn’t want to expose me to their perversions, so they left me at home and experienced them elsewhere. I probably should have been shocked, but I suspected they were swingers for quite some time. “Is Dad my dad?” I asked fearfully.

 

“Yes,” Aunt Janet stated. “Your mum had a strand of your hair analysed, hoping that you weren’t because it would have put your position as his representative at the various court cases and trust meetings in doubt. It would also have given her a better chance at forcing some money from your grandfather’s trust. The proof you weren’t a Morshuis could damage The Trust. Mandy hoped she could extort some money with that knowledge.”

 

I sighed. “So, you’re telling me that my father is not only submissive, but he’s gay as well?”

 

“I’d say he was bisexual with a preference for men. But, essentially, yes.” Janet bit her tongue again before saying, “Jack might be happier if he became …” her voice faltered before she added, “even more effeminate.”

 

It took me a few minutes to process what my aunt meant. “Dear Lawd! You’re saying that he’s transgender?” ‘Jaysus!’ I thought. ‘I mean, this is 2024, and my school, as most did, rammed inclusiveness down my throat, and I was okay with that. But having the occasional guy or girl in your school decide they were of the opposite sex to what their genitals indicate is one thing. Discovering your father is transgender is something else entirely!’

 

“I don’t know,” Aunt Janet admitted. “However, it gives you somewhere to start from.” She looked as if she’d caught a glimpse into Dante’s Inferno for a second before adding, “When Jack’s ready to experiment, call me, and I’ll introduce you to someone who might be willing to help him.”

 

Stunned and numb from my aunt’s many revelations about my parents, I stood and unawarely walked to my car. I didn’t become aware of my surroundings until I got out of my car at home. I walked inside, and my nose wrinkled. Dad smelt so badly of alcohol, urine, stale sweat and cum that I almost vomited.

 

I stepped across the room, narrowly avoiding the crumpled tissues and dropped bottles, and stood before him. Dad took another gulp from his whiskey bottle and blearily tried to look around me at the TV. I couldn’t see what he was watching, but it was porno. That much was unmistakable. So, remembering what my aunt said, I took the bottle from his hands and put it on the table. Then I growled, “You will take your stinking carcass to the bathroom and shower. Once you’ve washed your body and hair, you will shave. After that, you will return to the lounge and await further instructions.”

 

Dad continued to look at me blearily, and I was at a loss and unsure how to make him do what I wanted without shrieking at him like Mum used to do. Then, I remembered a maths teacher I’d had the previous year. Mr Dougal was an older Indian man who had a severe, intimidating mien. His glare alone was enough to quell even the most rebellious student. I affected that look, complete with a glare and my hands on my hips. “March your useless ass to the bathroom, Jack,” I growled. “Do not return until you have completed your tasks.”

 

Dad blinked several times before my demands got through the mush whiskey had turned his mind into. He got to his feet shakily and weaved his way to the bathroom. I heard the shower turn on and sighed with relief. I cleaned the lounge as I waited for my father to return. I also opened the doors and windows and sprayed air freshener to get rid of the smell. I suspected that his sofa chair would need to be thrown out because it stunk so badly and was covered in lawd knows what. Cum, spilled food and whiskey, at least.

 

Dad returned about thirty minutes later, wearing only a towel. His hair was wet, he smelled clean for the first time since I don’t know when, and he was clean-shaven for the first time since before then. I looked at him sadly because the remnants of the handsome man he was before his descent into the bottle remained. I hardened my heart and pointed at his favourite chair. “That stinks and is disgusting,” I told him. “Take it outside and leave it on the footpath for the rubbish men.”

 

“It’s my chair,” Dad protested.

 

“It stinks, and it’s unfit for human use,” I told him firmly. “It’s so disgusting that I wouldn’t even let my dog sit on it.”

 

“You don’t have a dog,” Dad pointed out.

 

“Jack, I’m not arguing with you about this. You will take the chair outside, and you will do it now.”

 

“Don’t call me Jack, Carina. I’m your father. Call me Dad like you always have,” Dad protested.

 

I promised myself I wouldn’t shriek at him like Mum did, but lawd, it was difficult not to. I gritted my teeth, and in as a deep a voice as I could manage, I growled, “I will call you ‘Dad’ when you start acting like a father again. For over two years now, you’ve acted like a spoilt brat who has lost her favourite toy. Now, you will drag that sofa chair outside and put it on the kerb, and you will do it right this minute!”

 

“But I’m only wearing a towel,” he argued.

 

“That does it!” I snarled, grabbing Dad by the hair and dragging him over the couch’s armrest. I ripped the towel aside and spanked his once firm ass. “You will not argue with me again, Jack. Or I swear to Gawd, I will take a belt to your ass.” I continued walloping his ass as I snarled at him. Releasing him, I stood back and waited to see how he’d respond, and, good lawd, he responded by humping the armrest! I felt a strange mixture of disgust that he would do that in front of me and of power that I could make him react that way.

 

Dad got control of himself and stood. His meagre 4–5-inch cock stood out from the tangled mess of his black and grey pubic hair, and his hand reached for it.

 

“You will not touch your cock in your daughter’s presence, you disgusting pervert,” I growled.

 

Dad blinked owlishly, but I could see that he was slowly fighting his way through his alcohol daze. He seemed more aware of me and his surroundings than he had for weeks. Dad said, “Let me go and put some pants on, and I’ll take the chair outside.”

 

I almost agreed, but then I wondered if he’d lose himself in his brain’s mush again. “No,” I demanded as I pointed at the front door. “You had the chance to maintain your modesty when I first asked you to take your disgusting chair outside, and you chose to disobey me. Now, you will take it outside as you are.”

 

“But Carina, I’m naked,” Dad protested. However, I noticed that his erection hadn’t flagged at all.

 

“Naked with an erection in front of your daughter. Yes, I noticed that even though your dick is barely long enough to peer past your pubes. I didn’t ask you, Jack. Now get to it.”

 

The fear of being seen naked outside didn’t quell my father’s erection either. Either that or being dominated by his eighteen-year-old daughter kept him stiff despite being naked. He huffed and puffed, and I had to help him get it through the door, but Dad eventually moved the sofa chair out onto the curb outside our home. I watched through the front window as he scurried inside. I was tempted to lock the front door. You know? Just for giggles. But his embarrassed blush coloured Dad’s pasty-white flesh from his face to his belly, and I knew he was mortified by being seen naked.

 

Dad came inside and stood shame-faced before me. I examined him, wondering how to initiate the changes I knew we’d have to make in our relationship and who he was to drag him from the pit of despair he wallowed in. My aunt’s words that he was effeminate as well as submissive played through my mind, and even though Dad’s current ill health hid what used to be a slender figure, I could see what she meant. Dad’s bone structure was light, his face was more pretty than handsome, and he had fine features, with a thin nose, wide eyes, and full, plump and pouty lips. I briefly imagined them painted bimbo pink and realised he’d probably make quite a pretty girl.

 

However, he was thickly covered with hair. I remembered that even when he shaved in the morning, he had a heavy five o’clock shadow when he returned home. Still, there were bones that I could work with. Dad hadn’t been to a barber since Mum left, so his hair was long even though it was shaggy and unkempt. I considered where to start and knew I needed to get his drinking under control before anything else.

 

Remembering he had a lockable tool chest in our attached garage, I sent him to empty it out and bring me the padlock and key. Dad opened his mouth to protest, but I crossed my arms under my breasts, glared and pointed. Two things happened. 1) Dad’s eyes lowered submissively, and 2) His erection roared back to life. So, it was confirmed—being made to submit and obey turned him on. I could use those things to control and guide him and begin dragging him back into a life worth living.

 

It only took a few minutes for him to return. His erection had faded, and I saw precum leaking from his cock’s eye, which meant he’d tossed off in the garage. Seething, I snarled, “You are not to masturbate when I assign you tasks! Jack, I do not trust you to obey that order, so you will return to the shower and shave your entire pubic area. Now, get!”

 

While Dad was in the shower, I gathered every bottle of alcohol I could find and, except for one Johnny Walker bottle, put them in his tool cabinet before padlocking it shut and putting the key in my purse. I knew that Dad was too deep in the bottle to simply ‘cold turkey’ him off his drug. However, I needed to find a level he could cope at and then start lowering it until his head surfaced above the whiskey. It would take time, and I wasn’t sure how to handle it when I was at school, but I had to wean him off alcohol before it killed him.

 

I hid the bottle that I kept out in my panty drawer. Opening that and seeing my panties offered the next step forward in controlling my father’s self-destructive behaviour. I took out a pair of pink bikini-cut briefs I wore when my monthly visitor was here. I took them and the cock cage my aunty had given me back to the lounge.

 

Dad returned about five minutes after I’d sat on the sofa. His cock was soft, but as soon as he saw me, it began inflating again. Which, as you can imagine, was pretty off-putting. I mean, normal fathers don’t get erections over their daughters, do they? I internally sighed because I remembered that Janet said I might have to cross that barrier, too.

 

I summoned Dad closer, and when he reached me, I used the heel of my palm to hammer his balls. I’d seen a girl at school take down a bully using that method, and I imagined being whacked there wasn’t conducive to having erections. I was right because my father’s erection immediately wilted. I took the opportunity to place the cock cage around his balls and shaft and lock it in place. I put that key with the other in my coin purse.

 

Dad looked down at his caged cock and balls horrifiedly. “What have you done, Carina?” He imploringly asked.

 

Steeling myself, I said firmly, “You will not look after yourself, Jack, so I will do it for you. You belong to me now, Jack. Your cock, your balls, your orgasms, your entire body and mind belong to me. The porn you watch is degrading your mind and spirit. You’re not eating enough and drinking way too much. That stops now.” I tossed him my panties. “You’re acting like a little bitch. Therefore, I will treat you like one. Put those on because they’re all you’re allowed to wear now.”

 

Tears leaked from Dad’s eyes, but I held my resolve. I could not, would not let him drink himself to death in his despair. If he wouldn’t remake himself without my mother, then I would remodel him myself. Aunt Janet was convinced he was a submissive tranny. Well, if that’s what it took to keep him alive, then that is what I’d make him. “If you want a taste of your whiskey this afternoon, you won’t fight me on this, Jack,” I growled.

 

Dad reluctantly pulled my panties up his hairy legs. Although his pelvic area was clean-shaven, the rest of him was still as hirsute as ever, and my tiny pink panties looked ridiculous amongst all that hair. However, even though I would make him shave the hair from his body, it was too soon to insist that he do so now. Today had already contained as many shocks as I thought he could handle.

 

Dad stood awkwardly in front of me. His hands instinctively hid his bulge even though the cock cage prevented him from going hard. The next few hours were crucial to my plans. Despite his discomfit, Dad was already licking his lips and longing for his next drink. I wouldn’t be able to dry him out all at once on my own, and I didn’t have anyone to help me, so I had to wean him off his addiction slowly. I needed to keep him distracted for increasing periods of time between the small sips I allowed him. I needed to be back at school in a week, and I had no idea how I’d handle him for the six-plus hours I’d be there.

 

But for now, there were things that had been neglected over the last two years that only my dad had the skill to fix. The mower wouldn’t start, and although I’d arranged a mowing service to come in once a week to do the lawns, I wanted Dad to re-take that task. Plus, I don’t know when he’d last changed his sheets. I suspected his mattress and pillows were as gross as the sofa chair outside was. I sent him to address that first.

 

“Tell me, Jack, when did you last change your sheets or wash your duvet cover? I bet it hasn’t been done since before Mum left your sorry ass.” Dad’s wince confirmed that I was right. I didn’t want to know, but I sent him to drag his mattress and bed coverings out to join the sofa chair.

 

I could smell the reek from the mattress when Dad dragged it through the lounge. He hesitated at the front door, seemingly even more embarrassed about going outside in pink panties than he was naked. However, I mimicked my maths teacher and stared at him sternly as I imperiously pointed towards the curb. He reluctantly opened the door and dragged the mattress out to join the chair. The sheets, covers, and duvet joined them soon after.

 

“I hope you’re satisfied, Carina,” Dad grumped when he came back inside. “Now I don’t have anywhere to sit or sleep. What’s next? Do you take away my plates and cutlery and make me eat with my hands like an animal?”

 

“Don’t tempt me, Daddy,” I growled fiercely. “You may wish to wallow in your self-pity until you drown in a sea of whiskey, but I need my father. Therefore, if you won’t save yourself, I will drag you kicking and screaming through this. You’re my bitch now, Daddy. You belong to me. You will beg for everything you want. Crawl on your knees to get it if I demand that you do. Do you hear me, Daddy? You are my bitch! Mum was too weak to control you? Well, I am not! Now, kneel and kiss my feet!”

 

Dad’s eyes flashed fire momentarily, and I thought I’d finally gotten through to him. Unfortunately, though, he groaned, and his knees buckled, collapsing him to the ground. I discovered later that trying to become erect when wearing a cock cage was a significantly bad idea! He crawled across and kissed my toes.

 

“I need a drink, Carina,” he pleaded.

 

“No, you don’t,” I sneered. “You want a drink because you’re beginning to feel again. But, Daddy dearest, I want you to feel. I want you to understand that Mum’s gone, and she is never, ever coming back. However, your daughter remains here, and she needs you, Daddy. I need you, Daddy. You can make it through this, and you will make it through it even if I have to prod you every step of the way. Look at the clock, Daddy. In one hour from now, I will get you a shot glass of whiskey, but only if you’re my good little bitch for that time.”

 

Dad sighed defeatedly before resignedly saying, “What do you want me to do between now and then?”

 

“You’re good with your hands,” I sneered as I looked at his caged cock. It twitched under my gaze, and Dad groaned. “I know we have a service coming in, but I want you to fix the mower and start doing them yourself again.”

 

Dad fidgeted but couldn’t deny it was something he could do. Dad was an accountant by trade, but he used to spend most weekends fiddling with his small-engine projects. The most significant being a racing go-kart he’d made. He looked at the clock as if burning what time he could have a drink into his brain. Then, he shrugged resignedly and turned towards the garage. He turned back. “May I wear my overalls?” He asked.

 

That seemed like a reasonable request, but I wanted him to obey me instantly rather than equivocating as he’d been. I considered what I needed most urgently. I hoped I wouldn’t have to break him as Janet intimated I’d probably have to, but I would if I needed to. I decided to compromise. “Only while you’re in the garage. If you come out for any reason, you’re to take them off and remain in your new panties. They suit you, don’t you think, Jack? Don’t they look pretty on your scrawny body?”

 

Dad blushed and hurried into the attached garage. I heard him tinkering and muttering shortly after. Satisfied he was doing what I wanted, I went to my bedroom and lay on the bed. Dominating my father had me hotter than a recently stoked furnace, and I needed some relief.

 

My fingers and imagination quickly brought me to a minor climax that left my needs unsatisfied. I tried again and enjoyed another minor orgasm before giving up and imagining my father kneeling before me as I sat on the couch with one leg casually tossed over the armrest and my other foot on the cushion. My fingers had parted my pussy lips and exposed my clitoris to his avid gaze. My orgasm hit when my imagination created my father’s lips descending onto my engorged pussy lips.

 

After that climax, I took a shower and changed into fresh panties. Then, I got on my phone and ordered a new lounge furniture and a new bed and base for Dad. Having money meant I could expedite the delivery, assembly, and installation, and they’d be over with our new furniture and bedding tomorrow afternoon.

 

After putting on an opaque white singlet micro-dress that barely covered my shapely ass and left my nipples showing, I poured a shot glass full of whiskey and returned to the lounge. I looked at what remained of the four-seater, three-seater, and two sofa chairs set a little sadly. It was the only lounge set we’d ever had. But I couldn’t find another sofa chair to match our existing set, so I bought a whole new one. I know. It’s fun to be rich, right?

 

I’d just sat down when the mower roared to life. Dad’s triumphant yell followed, and I smiled because it seemed he’d made a small step towards redemption. My happiness was diluted only seconds later when he walked in urgently. He looked like shit and was clearly suffering from the early effects of alcohol withdrawal. Dad’s face was grey, and his hands shook.

 

He crossed to me quickly and knelt before kissing my toes. Then he pleaded, “Please, Carina. It’s been an hour. May I have a drink now? I need it badly.” I reluctantly handed him the shot glass, and he gulped it straight down. “More!” He demanded.

 

I shook my head. “In one hour. Go to your room and sort through your clothes. Bring me any that still fit and are suitable for wearing in public, and bag the rest.

 

Dad started crying, begging for more whiskey. I held firm before saying, “Of course, Jack, if you continue to disobey your daughter-Mistress, I could make it two hours before I allow you another alcoholic drink.”

 

Dad raised back onto his haunches. For the first time, he actually saw me instead of only seeing some vague person who held his whiskey. His eyes widened when he saw my thick nipples pushing against my dress and my barely covered pussy. He winced, and I didn’t know why. I eventually learned that when he winced, it was because his cock had tried to stiffen inside its cage. He lowered his eyes before saying, “Yes, Mistress.” Then he got up and walked to his bedroom.

 

‘Oh, lawd!’ I wondered. ‘Why did having my father call me ‘Mistress’ turn me on so much?’

 

I contemplated rubbing one out on the couch but decided against it. In a small way, I was grateful that my libido had returned. I hadn’t even masturbated very much since Mum left, let alone felt like having a lover. The stress from my mother’s abandonment of us and my father’s subsequent collapse had quelled any typical teenage yearnings that I’d had. So, it was nice, if frustrating, to feel horny again. Instead, I returned to my room and refilled Dad’s shot glass.

 

Dad returned when the hour had passed. He’d found something he could wear, even if it was too tight, and had put it on. I glowered at him until he meekly removed his clothing and added them to the still-decent pile. There was a copper lockbox beside the imitation fireplace that actually burned gas. It was a gift from my grandmother, who had used it to hold firewood. As the name implies, it’s lockable, so I locked Dad’s remaining usable clothes in it. That key joined the others in my purse.

 

Dad knelt and kissed my toes again. “Please, Mistress. May I have a drink?”

 

I gave the glass to him, and he quickly swallowed the alcohol. It was scary because the pallor immediately fell from his skin, and his hands stopped shaking. However, that small amount wouldn’t keep the cravings away for long. It wasn’t midday yet, and I needed to find something to distract my father for another hour until it was time for lunch. I also needed him to drink more than just whiskey, like he had been doing for the previous two years. Dad would need lots and lots of water to flush the alcohol from his blood and kidneys.

 

“You will go to the fridge and drink two glasses of cold water. Then, you will take the lawnmower and mow the lawns. You may return after an hour even if you haven’t finished mowing.”

 

I followed Dad into the kitchen to ensure he drank the water before sending him out to mow the lawns. He looked at me beseechingly at the garage door, not wanting to mow the lawns in a pair of his daughter’s panties. I did consider how long I’d let him stay out in the sun, but it was early June in South East Queensland, and the UV index was at its lowest, so an hour should be safe. Besides, Dad needed the sun’s rays to replenish his Vitamin D, so I steeled my heart and gestured for him to hurry up.

 

I wanted to keep an eye on him so that if he passed out, I could rescue him immediately, but watching someone push a mower back and forth is about as boring as it gets. I moved the other sofa chair in front of the TV and opened Dad’s laptop, which was also connected to the telly.

 

I opened the last few closed tabs and saw evidence that my aunt was right. Dad was not only extremely submissive but probably a closeted homosexual because every tab was either of a Trans-Mistress brutally assaulting and fucking a bound man or of a captured man who was forced to watch his wife being gang-raped. The second film type’s end was almost always the man being forced to eat her rapists’ cum from her pussy and ass.

 

Although those two genres did nothing for me, my sweet, rarely-used pussy throbbed when I imagined someone being forced to eat another’s sperm from my freshly-fucked pussy. I climaxed when the ‘eater’ looked submissively up at me, and I saw that he wore my father’s face. I knew I should be disgusted with myself, but Janet had warned that I might need to go down that route to save my father, so I chose to believe that I was merely preparing myself for that eventuality.

 

Noticing that an hour had almost passed, I made myself decent and fetched another shot glass of whiskey from my panty drawer. Dad walked shakily through the door a few moments later. He looked flushed and tired, but his eyes were clearer than they’d been for ages. Although he took the glass hurriedly, he only took a sip before going to the kitchen and got himself a large glass of water. He sculled that down before drinking the rest of his whiskey. Dad looked at me longingly and then sighed, knowing I wouldn’t allow him another. He sighed again before forcing a smile and saying, “What horrid task do you have for me this hour to earn my drink?”

 

“You will shower before returning to your bedroom and dressing in the clothes I have laid out for you,” I said coldly. “Your behaviour is unbecoming given that all I’m trying to do is to stop you from drowning in a Johnny Walker bottle.”

 

He lowered his eyes and muttered, “Sorry, Mistress.” Before weaving down the hall to the bathroom.

 

While Dad was in the shower, I laid out another pair of my bikini briefs, a singlet top and a midi jean skirt. Then I returned to the lounge to see how he’d react. I was forcing a lot on him all at once, but I knew he needed a strict intervention immediately. Otherwise, it would be too late. It might already be, though.

 

As I'd expected, Dad carried the clothes I’d laid out into the lounge. His protests died when I told him that he could either put them on or I’d make him finish mowing and edging wearing only his cock cage. Muttering imprecations under his breath, Dad pulled my panties, top and skirt on. My top was a little narrow across the shoulders for him, and the skirt was a little too big. However, they fit well enough for what I wanted, so I remained silent.

 

I told him to get another glass of water and made us a light lunch. All I made was some sliced, skin-on roast chicken breasts and a Caesar salad with dressing and diced cheese. I insisted that he eat a small portion. It wasn’t anywhere enough, but it was more than he had been eating, so I let it ride.

 

Dad drank another two glasses of water as we ate, which made me happy. However, a slight sunburn had risen across his face and shoulders by the meal's end. I sent him to get some Aloe Vera gel from the fridge and helped coat his face and body with it. Sunburn wasn’t ideal, but I thought the extra colour made Dad look healthier than he had in months. The additional water had washed most of the yellow from his eyes, and I’m sure his kidneys appreciated that he’d drunk quite a lot of it today.

 

“I need to pee,” Dad informed me.

 

“So, go pee,” I stated, confused by his statement.

 

“Don’t I need your permission, Mistress?”

 

I mean, WTF? Right? I needed Dad to make better decisions, but I had no desire to control every aspect of his life. “If you need to pee or do anything else similar, you do not need my permission. Your orgasms are mine to control. So is your drinking. You will be my little bitch, or I will punish you. But you know when you need to pee or take a dump, and you don’t need my permission to do so.”

 

“I’d prefer a TPE,” Dad stated.

 

‘WTF was a TPE?’ I wondered. “I don’t know what that is, but it does not sound fun. So, no. You’re my bitch, and will do what I say when I say it. There’s no need to go beyond that.”

 

“Total Power Exchange,” Dad explained. “I submit all my power to you, and you make every decision for me—when I get up. When I use the toilet. When and what I eat and drink. What I wear, what I do, etc.”

 

“Okay, so that’s a firm ‘no’ from me,” I told him. “Not going to happen because it’s way too much work for me. I need my father back. Not some mindless automaton who only does and says what I tell him to. Nup. Not happening!”

 

Sighing disappointedly, Dad walked around the table and stood before me. “What?” I asked.

 

“I need you to take the cage off so I can pee,” Dad replied.

 

However, he must have thought that I was a moron and couldn’t see that the cage had a hole to piss through without needing to be taken off. “Nice try, buster.” I caustically growled. “Piss through the hole like everyone else who wears one has to. Then clean it at the sink and dry yourself off. You were hoping to toss off in the toilet, but I’m onto you, you dumb bitch. Now rack off before I decide to spank you.”

 

I moved back to the lounge after refilling his glass. Dad returned a short time later and knelt at my feet. I ignored him until it was time for his hourly whiskey shot. Then I sent him to get a glass of water and drink it in front of me before I gave him the glass. After he did, I made him sit between my feet. I opened Netflix, and we chose a movie to watch. Dad suggesting Notting Hill was probably another indication of his underlying effeminateness. Instead, we watched Rebel Moon Part 1.

 

I didn’t need to keep track of time because as the hour between drinks ended, Dad would fidget, and his body would shake. If I tried to extend past the hour, he’d break out in a clammy, smelly sweat. I didn’t want him to realise that I’d hidden a bottle in my room so I wouldn’t have to unlock and re-lock the toolbox every time I needed to get his shot. Instead, I got up, walked to the garage before returning with his glass, and pretended that was what I did the other times.

 

After the movie, we chatted until it was time for his next shot. Then, after I’d given it to him, I retrieved a short nightie from my room and made him take off his top and skirt and put it on. I accompanied him to the spare bedroom and helped him into bed. I refused to give him back his mobile phone because I didn’t want him watching any more porn, but I set up an alarm clock so he could keep track of time. I told him I’d set an hourly alarm, too, and promised that if he was a good boy and remained in the spare room, I’d bring him his shots.

 

Of course, I knew I’d have a sleepless night because Dad would wait until he was sure I was asleep and try to break into the locked toolbox. Sure enough, Dad was gone when I opened his door an hour later. I walked to the garage and opened the door. He was sweating and mumbling, trying to lever the drawer open. Fortunately, his lockbox was top quality, and he’d barely scratched it, let alone opened it.

 

I leant against the door, watching him mutter, huff and puff for several minutes before sternly asking, “And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

 

“I need a drink, Mistress,” Dad pleaded. “Please! I’m dying here.”

 

“You’re due one about now,” I agreed. “But I will not allow your disobedience. You will follow me to the lounge, and we will chat until another hour has passed, and then I will give you your glass of whiskey.”

 

Dad tried to tackle me to the ground and grab the key he knew I must be carrying. However, in his weakened state, I could easily evade his attack and throw him onto his back. Furious, I grabbed his hair before dragging him into the kitchen long enough to pick up Mum’s rolling pin. After pulling my father into the lounge, I sat on the couch and forced him over my knees. Then, I flipped his short nightie above his skinny but flabby ass, pulled his panties down, and walloped his bottom with the rolling pin.

 

“You will not ever assault me again,” I yelled, whacking Dad’s ass viciously. “I’m pretty sure I can get an incompetency hearing and have your share of the family trust assigned to me. Then, I will buy myself a house and leave you to wallow in your filth and drunken self-pity. I’m trying to save your damned life, and you assault me?” I continued as I whacked his ass. “Never again! Do you hear me?”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” Dad whimpered.

 

Suddenly shocked and dismayed by what I was doing, I tossed the rolling pin aside and pushed Dad off my thighs. He lay on the floor, whimpering. He sounded in pain, which was fair, given that I’d hit his ass nine or ten times with the rolling pin. But he wasn’t holding his ass as I expected. Instead, he had his hands over his cock cage. ‘He’s aroused and trying to go hard,’ I realised. ‘That’s why it hurts so much.’

 

I took out his cage’s key and undid the cage, and took hold of his dick. Dad’s puny <5-inch cock roared to fully erect in my hand in less than seconds. I gripped it in my hand, and he orgasmed onto my wrist almost immediately.

 

“Thank you for my orgasm, Mistress,” Dad panted.

 

But despite him just cumming. His dick remained wholly erect. A vague part of my mind was disgusted by myself. Still, my conscious mind believed that making him reliant on me for sexual relief would tie him more fully to me and make it easier to control his self-destructive behaviour. I gripped his throbbing cock more firmly and slowly jacked him. It didn’t take long before Dad climaxed over my wrist again.

 

“Thank you for my orgasm, Mistress,” Dad repeated.

 

A perverted, resentful part of me made me push my wrist against his mouth. “Clean your disgusting mess off me,” I snarled. To my surprise, Dad moved onto his knees and then used his mouth to clean his spunk off me and the floor. Luckily, we have faux-wooden floors, so cleaning up was easy. Unfortunately, being made to serve me by licking his cum up restored Dad’s erection. I knew that the only way to get him back in the cage was to cancel his erection. I’d done it previously by hammering his balls, but if I was going to bind him to me through his orgasms, then I couldn’t make him frightened of me when his cock was stiff. I jacked him until he climaxed again.

 

“Thank you for my orgasm, Mistress,” Dad repeated for the third time. He returned to his hands and knees and used his mouth and tongue to clean that mess up, too.

 

I looked at the clock and realised it was over two hours since Dad had had a drink. ‘There you go,’ I inwardly giggled. ‘All I have to do is continually jack my father off until he dries out. As long as he’s having continuous orgasms, he won’t notice that he’s not drinking.’ I ordered Dad to go to the kitchen and bring two glasses of water back. I made him drink one before I gave him his shot of whiskey. Then I made him drink the other one.

 

After putting his cage back on, I told him severely, “Go to bed. Do not leave your bed unless you need to piss. If I catch you anywhere other than your room, the toilet, bathroom, or the hallway between them, I’ll put you back over my knee.”

 

I took the glass off Dad, returned to my room, and reset the alarm. I felt like I’d barely gotten to sleep when it beeped again. Staggering across the hall to the spare room, I turned on the light and examined my father. He was whimpering again, and I felt terrible because I thought that I’d hit him too hard in my anger at him. But then, I realised he was cradling his cock cage again.

 

Dad rolled to face me. “Please, Mistress. May I have another orgasm?” He begged.

 

“Most definitely not!” I disgustedly said. “I’m your daughter, for goodness sake. A father does not plead for his daughter to give him an orgasm!”

 

“You gave me three earlier,” Dad reasoned.

 

“To distract you from the dry terrors,” I replied primly. I offered him the shot glass, but he refused.

 

“If I can make it another hour without a drink, will you masturbate me again?” Dad asked.

 

I thought that was a safe bet because, despite offering, Dad was looking at the glass and licking his lips. Besides, I needed to stretch the time between drinks to dry him out, and maybe this was a way to do it. It was pretty gross having to wank your father off, but if it got him dry and out of his depression cycle, then why not? I agreed to the bet.

 

Amazingly, despite constantly licking his lips, fidgeting and sweating, Dad made it another hour without swiping the drink from the dresser and consuming it. Figuring that it was a bet worth losing, I undid his cage and took his swiftly swelling cock in my hand. I’d barely pumped it once before his cum spurted over my hand again. I continued jacking him until he came again, and then I made him use his mouth to clean me.

 

Dad was hard again when he finished cleaning me, and I’d had enough. I’d had very little sleep, and whacking off my father was as close to sex as I’d gotten in quite some time. I was horny, although I denied it to myself, and I wanted to stretch out on my bed and give myself some relief. So, to get him back in his cock cage, I hammered his balls again and, when he softened, locked him back into chastity. Then, I gave him his shot and went back to bed.

 

Even though I was exhausted, sleep would not come. Giving in to the inevitable, I lay on my back and spread my shapely legs. My fingers roamed over my luscious breasts, across my toned stomach, and down onto my sweltering pussy. My body ached with need, and my nipples and clitoris throbbed with arousal. Despite knowing better, my mind recalled how my father’s meagre cock felt in my hand. It was hot in my palm and felt strangely soft and rigid simultaneously.

 

My mind recreated how it felt when Dad came and how his hot seed splashed onto my skin and set off thrills of excitement in my nipples and pussy that I denied. My fingers hurriedly circled my nubbin as I dipped two more into my juicy pussy. I was close, teetering along my climax’s edge, when I felt a hot breath on my inner thighs. I opened my eyes and saw my father lying between my pornographically spread legs, admiring my fingers working in my sweltering pussy.

 

I screamed, “Dad! What the fuck are you doing?”

 

“I could hear you masturbating, Mistress, and I wanted to help,” Dad replied. He was annoyingly calm.

 

“I do not need my father ogling me when I’m masturbating!” I said firmly. However, Dad ignored me, and because stupidly, I hadn’t rolled over and moved away, his face was still close to my pussy. He lowered his head and kissed my juicy entrance. My hips lurched, and I drove my pussy into his mouth.

 

“Hmm,” my father moaned, then inappropriately added, “You taste sweeter than your mother.”

 

‘As if having my father licking my pussy wasn’t already weird enough,’ I thought inanely. ‘Having him tell me I taste better than my mother definitely ramps the weird factor way up there.’

 

Unfortunately, though, my hands were tangled in his shaggy hair, and I was holding him to my pussy instead of pushing him away. Dad’s lips moved from my dripping gash to encircle my throbbing clit. He brushed long, wet licks over that as he worked his middle finger inside me. Then, Dad curled it back and stroked my G-spot. I’d done that to myself, of course. But no one else had ever found it. It was too late, and I was lost in the divine sensations. My mind blanked out who was so expertly servicing my near-virgin pussy, and I simply revelled in the feelings the lips, tongue and fingers on and in me elicited from me.

 

My first orgasm struck with the force of a runaway rugby prop—the second like a freight train and the third like a Category Six cyclone. I passed out and slept until dawn.

 

Loud snoring woke me up, and I blearily opened my eyes. Dad had rummaged through my drawers and found the scotch bottle from which I’d been pouring his drinks. The 1.125-litre bottle had been more than three-quarters full, but now it lay empty on the floor beside Dad. My weakness when I allowed Dad to service my needs had returned us to step one. I was angry and disgusted by my weakness. I was angrier at Dad.

 

Getting out of bed, I sunk my foot in his ribs. “Get out, you disgusting pig!” I screamed. “How dare you come in here and lick my pussy?”

 

“You weren’t complaining last night, Carina,” Dad said smugly.

 

So, I kicked him again. “You will call me Mistress and obey my orders,” I continued to scream. “You will never enter my room without an invitation again!” I’d lost it. Seriously, Dad was lucky that I’d put the rolling pin away because if I still had it, I’d be beating him over the head with it. However, he was still drunkenly lying on my floor, so I kicked him again. “Go and sleep it off,” I snarled, then maliciously added, “I hope you’re happy because your alcohol is cut off until midday.”

 

Dad staggered to his feet and stumbled out of my room. I watched him go but found myself admiring his ass as he walked out. WTF was wrong with me?

 

The day passed slowly. In my anger, I’d told Dad I’d make him wait until midday before I’d let him have a drink, but by 10:30, he was shaking and dry-retching. His corneas had turned yellow again, and his skin was grey. I made him drink water, but all that did was change his dry-retches into vomiting water. I gave him a glass of whiskey, which settled his stomach and calmed the shakes.

 

I needed to purchase a latch and padlock for my door to keep my father out, but I didn’t want him alone in the house. I knew, despite any warnings from me, that Dad would try to open his toolbox and access the liquor in there as soon as I left. Also, I wanted to discuss with my aunt what to do with Dad when I had to go back to school.

 

My marks were towards the pinnacle of academic performance, and I was an almost shoo-in for The School Dux (valedictorian). I wasn’t letting that slide, no matter what. Despite my desire to save him, I had to face the fact that he might not be redeemable. Ruining my ticket to future success and vocational happiness on a wasted cause wouldn’t help me in the long term. However, I wasn’t ready to quit yet. I called Janet and explained the problem.

 

“Have you begun feminising Jack yet?” Janet instantly asked after I’d voiced my concerns and needs.

 

“A little,” I admitted. “I’ve put the cock cage on, made him shave off his pubes, and I dress him in my panties and one of my tops and skirts.”

 

“He still has his body hair, and you haven’t taken him to a hairdresser yet?”

 

“Yes, he still has his body hair, and no, I haven’t taken him to the hairdressers,” I replied. “I doubt he could last long enough to get his hair cut without his drink.”

 

“What are you doing about that?”

 

I explained how I was only allowing Dad a shot glass of whiskey every hour and how he had to do something for me to earn it.

 

“That’s good, Carina,” my aunt said admiringly. “Good, strong, and positive actions. Tell me, has he asked you for sexual relief yet?”

 

I’m sure my aunt could feel my blush through the phone, but I bravely described the masturbation episodes and how I’d jacked him off a few times. I didn’t mention that he’d snuck into my room and performed cunnilingus on me and how his doing that had given me the best orgasms I could remember having. Janet expressed surprise that Dad hadn’t tried to make me do more or tried to do more to me, but she let it pass without further investigation.

 

“I have a friend who will come over and look after your father, Carina,” Janet informed me. “It’ll cost you eighty dollars an hour, but his services are worth that and more.”

 

I hesitated because if I employed him for the school term, I was committing to $2,400/week for thirteen weeks. I knew The Trust could easily handle that much, but I didn’t know if I had the right to spend that amount myself. I told Janet to send him over for the afternoon so I could leave the house to purchase the things I needed, and I’d pay him for that time, but I needed to call The Trust’s lawyer to confirm I could contract the man for the school term.

 

“A word of warning, Carina,” Janet said. “Gordon is hyper-dominant, and if you show him any weakness at all, he’ll have you on your knees and sucking his cock. I recommend him because he’ll handle your father easily and won’t allow Jack to backslide.”

 

‘Why is my pussy frothing at that thought?’ I wondered, after telling my aunt I’d be careful.

 

Gordon arrived about an hour later. He was older than I expected, probably around the same age as my father, so nearly fifty. But Gordon was built like he could step out this afternoon and play front row for The Brisbane Broncos. He had thick salt-and-pepper hair in short curls that framed his handsome, strong-jawed face. His eyes were steel-grey and piercing.

 

When I opened the door, Gordon examined every inch of my superb frame. He wasn’t the least shy about letting his eyes linger on the deep vee of my white singlet dress and the inner breast mounds deliciously exposed there. Nor was he embarrassed about openly studying my dress hem, thighs, and barely covered pussy.

 

“Shame that you’re not my charge today,” Gordon said with a supercilious smile.

 

He pushed past me despite not being asked inside and confronted my father. I hadn’t allowed Dad to change, so all he had on was my nightie and a pair of white bikini briefs. Gordon looked him over as Dad, despite looking ridiculously effeminate, tried to staunch up.

 

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Dad glowered.

 

“To be spoken to politely to start with,” Gordon said mildly. However, there was a dangerous undertone to his voice. “So, you’re my victim today, huh? A girlie, effeminate wuss who has allowed a woman to destroy him. How pathetic.” He moved closer to my father, who backed back until his calves hit the couch, and he fell onto his ass on it. “Tell me, is it just Jack or Constantly Jacks Off? Your sister-in-law says it’s the latter, but what do you say?”

 

“You … you ... you can’t talk to me like that,” Dad stuttered.

 

“I can, have, and will,” Gordon stated calmly. “Stand, you sad-sack excuse for a father. Stand and face me.”

 

Dad glared at him and didn’t move, despite the withdrawal shakes making his hands tremble. He shook his head and folded his arms across his chest.

 

“You do have some spine left. That’s a surprise,” Gordon said drily. “I didn’t ask you, however.” Then he roared, “I said stand up, you drunken imbecile. I do not want to repeat myself again!”

 

Dad looked away, but his jaw set in that hard line I recognised when he was being incredibly stubborn about something, usually something to do with Mum.

 

Gordon chuckled, but his meaty hand shot out, and he grabbed a handful of Dad’s hair. He dragged Dad off the couch and onto his feet, and then he casually stripped Dad’s nightie and panties off. Gordon shook my father like a rag doll as he examined him. “Alcohol sweats. Ass not properly wiped. Urine stink because you didn’t wash properly after you pissed through your cage. Teeth unbrushed. Unshaved this morning and covered in body hair. You’re a disgrace, Jacks Off. This lounge smells of stale cum, and I saw the couch chair and mattress on the curb. At least your daughter had the balls to make you throw those out.”

 

Gordon looked at me to gauge my reaction. I was shocked, but Dad’s stubborn refusal to obey showed there was still some resistance in him and, therefore, some hope. I shrugged and gestured for him to continue.

 

Gordon shook my father again before saying, “You will shower and wash yourself properly. While you’re in there, you will shave and remove all body hair. When you have finished, you will return to the lounge, where I will inspect you. If I decide you haven’t adequately cleaned yourself, I will drag you back to the bathroom and use a scrubbing brush to clean you myself. Are we clear, Jacks Off?”

 

“Fuck you, asshole,” Dad growled despite the tears flowing from his eyes. He was embarrassed to be made to do this in front of his daughter and was trying to ‘man up’.

 

“Wrong answer, Jacks Off,” Gordon said firmly. He sat on the couch and forced Dad over his knees. He effortlessly held Dad down and spanked his ass viciously until Dad begged for him to stop. Gordon stood, dumping Dad onto the floor before hauling him up by his hair again. “Now, Jacks Off. What are you going to do?”

 

Dad swung at him, which only earned him another series of forceful spankings. When Gordon dropped Dad onto the floor this time, Dad started crawling towards the hallway to the bathroom. But that wasn’t enough for Gordon. He hauled Dad to his feet by his hair again and asked, “What is it that you’re going to do, Jacks Off?”

 

“I will go to the bathroom and shower, ensuring my ass and cock are clean. Then, I will shave all my body hair off before shaving my face as closely as possible. After that, I will return to the lounge, where you will check that I have followed your orders correctly.”

 

“See?” Gordon said facetiously. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” He turned to me. “I’ll need his cage key and the key to the liquor cabinet so I can give him his whiskey. However, I’ll probably keep him occupied until you return and not let him have a drink.”

 

I opened my purse, gave him the two keys, and left. I went to Bunnings first to purchase two latches for my door, one for inside when I was in there and one for outside when I wasn’t, and then added another for the garage door, too. I did the shopping that needed doing and purchased more Johnny Walker for Dad. I hoped I could wean him off the drink, but I knew I didn’t have the fortitude to ‘cold turkey’ him as Gordon had hinted he was doing while I was out.

 

Tired of dealing with my father, I stretched my trip out to nearly four hours. I backed the car into the garage and released the hatch. By the time I got to the back, Gordon and my father had gathered the bags and were taking them inside. I used the spare key to open Dad’s toolbox and put the two bottles I’d bought him inside before following the two men to the kitchen.

 

I’d only seen Dad from behind when I got out of the car, so I gasped when I saw him in the kitchen. Gordon had dressed my father in one of my spaghetti-strap shift dresses. I could see the straps, and Dad looked like he had small breasts, so I knew he had one of my bras on, too. He also wore a pair of my sheer black stay-up stockings and a pair of my 4-inch heels.

 

He looked at me sheepishly, and I noticed that someone, presumably Gordon, had done his makeup. Dad’s eyes were carefully outlined, and his lashes had been extended with mascara. Gordon had shaped his eyebrows by plucking a lot of the hair out and colouring in a more arched shape. Blush highlighted Dad’s cheeks, and foundation smoothed and enhanced his features. Someone, again, presumably Gordon, had blow-dried and styled Dad’s messy locks. All in all, Dad looked like a mildly attractive, middle-aged school mum.

 

“Show your daughter,” Gordon commanded.

 

Dad shyly lifted his dress, and I gasped again. There was no sign of the cage or his cock and balls.

 

“His shaft is taped away along his perineum, and his balls have been forced back into their canals and then taped there, too,” Gordon explained. Then he chuckled, “If he thought trying to go hard inside a cock cage was painful, well, that’s nothing compared to stiffening when your cock and balls are taped away.”