Date: Thu, 14 Apr 2011 16:27:40 -0700 (PDT) From: Paul Vanden Boogard Subject: Role Reversal (Part 2) The next few days were a little awkward at home, so I spent the evenings working on building the wall. A lot of the rocks were large and very heavy, and I strained and struggled to get them into place, coming into the house at night dirty and sweaty. Dad always had a clean towel ready for me, and a pair of shorts or pajama pants to put on afterward. He continued to look for a job, but spent the rest of his time doing laundry and keeping the house clean. When I went to bed at night I would find my clothes laid out for me for work the next day. I only had one pair of decent slacks, but Dad's pants fit me perfectly, so he had given me several pair of his. I wondered if Mom had always laid his clothes out for him. When I received my paycheck the following week my jaw almost dropped. It was five times what I had been making as a part time stock boy. When I got home I was so excited to show Dad what I had made, but as I pulled my little Nova into the driveway I noticed that he was gone. Maybe I was a little irked that he wasn't home getting supper ready, but when I opened the front door and found the mail, I saw that two of the envelopes had "final notice" stamped on them. Scowling, I tore them open. One was for the telephone, threatening disconnection. Dad hadn't paid the bill for four months. The other was for the gas and electric. This, too, hadn't been paid, and we owed nearly a thousand dollars. I laid them open on the kitchen table. When Dad walked in half an hour later I was sitting at the table waiting for him. He came through the door carrying a pizza and smiled when he saw me, walking over to set the pizza on the table next to me. "What's the meaning of this?" I pointed at the bills angrily. He looked down and saw the bills, blushing as his lips formed a fine line. "I've been trying to save a little money until I got back on my feet," he replied. I don't know what came over me, but I just blew. "What have you been doing with the money I've been giving you?" I shouted. He opened his mouth, but I never gave him a chance to answer. "You can't not pay these bills. Sure we can do without a phone for a while, but we've got to have heat and electric!" Rather than respond, he hung his head and looked down at the floor, which simply furthered my fury. "Jesus Christ, if you're going to be so fucking irresponsible, then from now on I'm taking over paying the bills. You've been pissing around this house for four months like a woman, you can't get a job, you don't do anything but sit on your ass and watch TV, and now this!" I swept my hand over the bills, sending them flying onto the dining room floor. My Dad's eyes were wide and his face ashen, but I was so upset that I didn't care. "I want the checkbook and the bank books. We're going down to the bank and putting it all under my name." He looked at me, his jaw dropping open. I just glared back at him. "Listen," he pleaded, "I can handle the bills and..." "No, you can't!" I cut him off, snatching one of the papers off the floor and waving it in front of him. "Now I want all the money in this house under my name. Now!" "But the pizza..." "Fuck the pizza. You can heat up in the microwave when we get home." He stared at me, but didn't challenge me, turning to get the checkbook and his account card from his bedroom. Sliding my shoes on at the door, I had him drive us down to the bank. He was ashamed and embarrassed when I had him close his accounts, moving all the money into a new account for me. The teller gave us some strange looks, but I ignored her, pushing my signed check forward and telling her to deposit into my checking account. Once we were home again, I sat at the table and started going through the last four months of transactions. "Take my shoes off," I said as Dad set the re-warmed pizza back on the table. He bent and pulled them off my feet. "Why are so many of these checks written out for cash?" Sighing, he sat down in the chair next to me. "Well, I couldn't find a job, and was trying to make some money..." I looked at him, waiting for him to finish with his answer, when I realized what he was implying. "You were gambling?" I asserted. He turned away and blushed again. I was livid. "Jesus fucking Christ!" I shouted, flinging the check register across the room. "No wonder we don't have any goddamn money!" I stared at the congealed pizza, my thoughts running a thousand different directions. "That's it. From now on, you're staying home and you're taking care of me. The only money you get is what I give you for groceries." I pushed myself out of my chair with such force that it fell over behind me. I was too upset to eat, and too angry to say anything more. Stomping to the back door, I pulled on my boots and went back out into the back yard, throwing stones onto the wall like there was no tomorrow and working out my frustrations. It wasn't until it started getting dark that I finally went back in, filthy and sweaty. Dad was still sitting at the table, though the pizza had been thrown away and the chair had been up righted. My shoes were set neatly in the front hall as well. I have your shower ready," he said as I walked past him, peeling off my shirt and throwing it onto the floor in the hallway. The hot water coursed over me as I threw my head back and closed my eyes, thinking about all that had happened in the last few months. I had suddenly gone from a carefree teenager to becoming the head of the household, my Dad dwindling down from a high paid executive to a meek and wishy washy little man. And it seemed that he had brought it on himself, always doing things for me and acting like my servant. And now he had shrugged his responsibilities off on me as well. Well, if that's the way he wanted it, then that's the way it was going to be. Rather than picking up my clothes and dragging them to the laundry, I left them on the bathroom floor, wrapping a towel around my waist instead of pulling on the pajama bottoms Dad had set out for me. He was sitting on the couch watching TV when I stepped out, my dirty shirt still lying on the floor in the hallway. "Go put my dirty clothes away," I said as I kicked my shirt at him. His jaw dropped open at my command, but I turned and went to the kitchen to get myself a soda. Rather than protest, he obeyed, shuffling off to the bathroom while I took his place in front of the TV. When he returned, he stood over me, as though expecting me to move. "I'm not your servant," he said placidly. I didn't even look at him. I still loved my Dad, but in the last few hours I had lost all respect for him. "Yes you are," I stated, pushing the button on the remote to change the channel. "From now on this is my house, and you live here under my good graces. If you have a problem with that, you're free to leave. Otherwise you do what I tell you to do." He gasped. "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?" I rose up off the couch and stood to face him, my body a scant foot from his. I had never noticed it before, but I was actually taller than him. "I'll tell you who I am. I'm the one who has the money. I'm the one who has the job. I'm the one who's going to pay the bills and keep this household standing. I'm the one who's in control." He looked at me, struggling to say something. "Am I right?" "Yes," he said as he dropped his eyes. "Yes SIR," I commanded. I could see that he didn't actually believe that I would make him call me "Sir." He started to turn away, but I stopped him. "What was that?" He looked back at me pleadingly, almost tearfully. "Yes Sir," he conceded. "Good, now get over here and suck my cock," I said as I sat back down onto the couch. "After all, you seem to enjoy it so much." I spread my legs and pulled the towel apart, hefting my cock up and down expectantly. He stood there stupidly, unable to believe that I truly expected him to listen. "Well?" my voice boomed. He jumped, then slowly fell to his knees. I watched as he moved between my legs and took it into his mouth, then took a drink of my soda and sat back to enjoy it. He started out taking barely half of it in, but was soon driving his lips down around it to bury his nose in my pubic hair, his hand moving between his legs to stroke his own cock. "I didn't tell you that you could play with yourself," I said. "You can wank off in the bathroom later if you want. Right now you're sucking my cock." He reluctantly pulled his hand away, and I pushed down on his head, burying my cock deep into his throat. Once again I was mesmerized, watching my cock slide in and out from between his wet lips, thinking how much I deserved his gratitude for taking over his life and his responsibilities. I bet he had made Mom suck his cock like this too, and decided it was time pay him back the humility. "Yeah, that's right. Make that cock feel really good." I was on a power trip, watching my Dad as he rode up and down, knowing that I hadn't given him a choice, that he was sucking my cock because I had told him to. He had become such a wuss, and I had every intention of using that to my advantage. "Come on bitch, suck the cum from my dick." I saw the look of shock on his face at being called a bitch, but he kept on sucking, my orgasm starting to build at the base of my balls. He'd be sucking my cock a lot from now on, whether he realized it or not. He had put me above him, had called me the "man of the house," and from now on that's just what I was going to be, with him as my cock sucking little servant. "Yeah," I said as I grabbed his head and started driving my cock in deep. "Yeah, take that cock you little bitch." I stuffed it down his throat again and again, the pressure in my balls shooting up to explode from the tip of my dick. I moaned aloud, pushing his head down into my crotch as my cock pumped and throbbed. It wasn't until he began to struggle that I let him go. "That...wasn't very nice," he said as he wiped his lips on the back of his forearm. "Huh," I laughed at him. "Well, get used to it." He got up off his knees and pursed his lips at me. "I don't appreciate being called a bitch either." "Really," I said as I got up off the couch, determined to settle things for once and for all. "Because that's the least of what I'm going to call you," I poked him hard in chest, sending him back a step. "In fact, from now on, that's going to be your name. I'm certainly not going to call you Dad." He sputtered, his mouth open and his eyes wide. "You don't get it, do you? You think this is just a game? Like I said before, if you don't want to be here, right there's the door. Otherwise you do what I tell you, when I tell you, and how I tell you, and I don't give a shit if you like it or not. You took my money, and you pissed it away at gambling. You put my house and my life in jeopardy, and now you want me to treat you with respect? You're lucky I don't throw you out on your ass!" He stared at me, his body frozen. "Don't just stand there," I admonished. "It's nine o'clock and I haven't even eaten yet. Go make me a sandwich or something." He wavered a moment between refusing and obeying, finally turning away and roaming into the kitchen. I slammed down the last of my soda and whipped off my towel, throwing them toward him as I headed up to my room for some clothes. "Put those where they belong, too," I said as the can clattered across the tile floor. I pulled on a pair of briefs and my robe, sliding into my old slippers before returning to the couch. He had set my sandwich on the dining room table and was making another for himself. "Bring my sandwich here. And get me another soda." I could see him sigh with resignation, but he put down the knife he was using and hustled over with my soda and sandwich. He wouldn't look at me as he gave them to me, and I thought that that was just as well. Flipping through the channels, I found one of my favorite old movies and sat back to watch it. It was Friday, finally, and I didn't work the weekends. My dad came over to sit next to me, carrying his sandwich, but sat way to the side on the couch. I chose to just ignore him. I was still angry about the whole financial affair, and still way high on my power trip. When I was done with my sandwich I held the plate out to him until he took it, then later sent him to get me another soda, getting up to go to the bathroom while the commercial was on. I tossed down the rest of that one too as the movie came to an end, then flipped the empty can at him as I went to brush my teeth. When I came out he was in his bedroom pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, the door slightly ajar. I pushed to door open and walked in. "You're sleeping upstairs from now on," I told him, hooking my thumb over my shoulder. His face contorted into anger, frustration and sorrow. He knew that he had given up everything to me, and could no longer fight me, and he found that he didn't like it one bit. Sighing, he brushed past me. "That would have been a good place for a `Yes, Sir,'" I stated flatly. He started to look at me, then turned away. "Yes, Sir." He mumbled, ducking out the door. I smiled, my cock growing hard in my shorts. I reached down to adjust it, then considered the briefs I was wearing. Boys wore briefs. I wasn't a boy anymore. I was a man. Tearing them off, I opened the dresser drawers, searching for a pair of the boxers my dad always wore. My hard cock tented them out, but I decided they were far more comfortable, and crawled into the big king size bed that, until that moment, had been my dad's. Once again, let me have your feedback. And thanks to those who commented on part 1.