Date: Sun, 17 Apr 2011 17:36:51 -0700 (PDT) From: Paul Vanden Boogard Subject: Role Reversal (Part 3) I slept like a rock, but I still woke up a little after seven with an incredible urge to pee. Opening my eyes, I was momentarily confused by my surroundings, but it all came back to me in a rush. My god, had I actually done those things? Said those things to my dad? But here I was, waking up in his bed. I listened a bit to see if I could hear him moving about, but all I could hear was an occasional car passing on the street. I really needed to pee bad, but I had to get my thoughts together. Yes, now I remembered. He'd been gambling and not paying the bills. For all I knew, there were other bills that hadn't been paid either and I just hadn't seen them yet. I wasn't sure what I should do. I felt very guilty for being such a jerk to him, and for treating him like shit. I wasn't even sure what had come over me. Worse, now, was that I was going to have to face him. My bladder was starting to hurt so bad that I had no choice but to get out of bed. Hopefully he wasn't awake yet, and I could at least make it to the bathroom before confronting him. Tossing off the covers, I crept to the door, opening it as quietly as I could. I didn't see him in the living room, so made my way down the hall, glancing quickly toward the kitchen before turning into the bathroom and closing the door. I didn't catch sight of him, but he could have been just around the corner. I tried to stifle my groan of relief as my stream burst into the toilet. Even that seemed loud enough to wake up an entire household, and I grimaced, trying to decide what to do. Why had I gotten so angry? I knew why. Dad had disappointed me big time. I had been looking up to him as being strong and self assured, falling in love with him and wanting to be like him. Then suddenly he became this soft little man, putting my shoes away and preparing my shower, having supper ready for me every day and conceding his place at the table, even sucking my cock without expecting anything in return. And then to go and make such stupid choices. That was not my Dad. That was not MY Dad. I had felt hurt and betrayed, and had wanted to treat him like he was acting. The problem was, how should I treat him now? It couldn't go back to the way it was. Deciding to handle things as they happened, I stepped out of the bathroom and made my way to the kitchen, still wearing nothing but the boxer shorts. I could see that my Dad hadn't gotten up yet, because there wasn't a pot of coffee ready and waiting. Grabbing a bowl and some cereal, I sat at the table and started to eat. It was only about five minutes later that my Dad came quietly down the staircase. He glanced at me, then turned to go down the hallway and into his bedroom, emerging several moments later fully dressed. Pulling on his spring jacket, he took out his keys. "Where are you going?" I asked. "I'm going to look for a job." I clenched my jaw, but I didn't say anything as he paused a few moments before opening the door and stepping out. I was almost glad he left, because I wasn't ready to deal with the situation yet. Putting my dishes away and pulling on some clothes, I wandered out into the back yard. The left half of the wall now rose about three and a half feet high, and I had started leveling it out at four feet. There were concrete caps for it stacked in the garage, and I could probably complete it by the end of the day, so I pulled out the hose and wheelbarrow and went to work. It was a cool and breezy morning, but in no time I was hot and sweaty and deeply involved, my mind free to ponder the situation. In essence, I had taken control, and Dad had let me. There were any number of times he could have said enough is enough and put me back in my place. But he hadn't. He had conceded to every demand, even to being consigned to my bed instead of his. Yes, he had shown some resistance, but it was almost as though he had been testing me to see how far I would take it, how far he could push me. I shook my head and tried to convince myself otherwise. No, Dad wouldn't want that. He wouldn't want me to take over and start bossing him around, take control of his life. Or would he? That may have been why he had paused before leaving this morning. He was waiting for me to tell him what to do, whether or not he could leave. I had almost told him, no, that it was a waste of his time. Now I almost wish I had, just to see what his response would have been. But I knew what his response would have been. He would have obeyed. He would have sighed, and perhaps argued, but if I had held my ground he would have listened. I was the man of the house. I chose the last few stones and fit them into place. Now that wall just needed its cap, but I would build the other wall first and lay all the capstones at the end. The trench Dad had dug for the right half was filled with leaves and debris and needed to be cleaned out and dug back up, the sides of it having collapsed over the winter. Though I knew it wasn't noon yet, I decided to go in and get a bite to eat, and get to that afterward. When I walked in my Dad was sitting on the couch, drinking a beer. "I thought you were out looking for a job?" He shook his head. "I couldn't find anything." I stopped and regarded him, but he wouldn't look at me. "Did you even stop anywhere?" He stared down at his beer can, took a swallow, then shook his head again. "So you just pissed around all morning," I said it as more of a statement. He didn't answer, but just stared at the TV. "Jesus," I scoffed, turning away. I was pissed again. He wasn't putting forth any effort. "Fine," I turned back on him. "If that's the way you're going to be, then go make me a fucking sandwich. At least you'll have some use around this house!" I stomped off to the bathroom to wash my hands and take a pee, coming out a few minutes later to find him behind the counter making me lunch. Slumping down at the kitchen table, I saw the two past due bills still sitting on the side board. "Give me those bills and my checkbook," I told him as he set the sandwich down in front of me. I opened my new checkbook and wrote out my first two checks, my cock growing hard in my pants. I was in control. I was the man of the house. I could have things go however I chose to, all I had to do was decide. I licked the envelopes closed and told him to put them on the bureau in the front hall, then sat back to finish my sandwich. "All right, first things first," I said to him before he could wander away. He stopped in the front hall, waiting for me to continue. I turned my chair away from the table so that I was facing him. "First, you're going to move all of your shit out of my bedroom. Leave your clothes, they're mine now. Since you're acting like an irresponsible teenager, you can were my clothes from now on. And if you have boxers on, take them off. Only men wear boxers." I watched his reactions to see if there would be any resistance. He scowled, but didn't say anything. "When you're done with that, there's laundry to do, too. Fold it and put it here on the table so I can pick through it. Dust and vacuum my bedroom too. Shit, you live in a pigsty." I took the last bite of my sandwich and got up from the table, not bothering to see if he was going to do what he was told. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I didn't want him to see me break my resolve, so I turned and strolled back out the door and into the yard. I had peeled off my shirt earlier and was just in a wife beater, and shivered at the brush of the cool spring air, but knew that soon I'd be working up a sweat again. Grabbing the garden rake, I returned to my work and prepared to lay down the first layer of stone. Choosing the largest as the cornerstone, I squatted down to heft it up, noticing how my arms and chest bulged with the effort. Building the wall had been giving me quite a workout, and it was starting to become obvious by the size of my muscles. Even the rock I had just lifted I wouldn't have dared to try to move just a couple of weeks ago. I settled several more into place, then stripped down to my skin, flexing my muscles and turning in the sunlight, admiring the way the sweat and the shadows highlighted my body. I felt very strong. Smiling, I turned my gaze toward the house, catching my father standing in the back door watching me. We locked eyes a moment before he turned away. Again my cock started rising in my pants. Strolling to the back door, I opened it just a crack. "Bring me a soda, bitch!" I yelled into the house. It was only a couple minutes later when he came out with it. Uncertain where to set it, he just held it until I took it from him. "You got your shit out of my bedroom yet?" He cleared his throat. "Just about." "Well, what the hell are you standing in the doorway watching me for, then. I gave you work to do." He sighed with frustration, then puffed up his chest. "It doesn't have to be this way, you know," he protested. "I am a capable adult." "No, you're not, and yes, it does," I turned on him, making my final decision. "Like I told you yesterday, if you don't like what it is, then leave. But you can't, can you? You don't have any place to go, and you don't have any money. In fact, you never have. Mom always took care of the money. Mom took care of the house, Mom took care of the bills, Mom took care of the groceries, Mom took care of me, and Mom took care of you. All you ever did was go to work, and come home, and do whatever Mom told you to do. I don't know why I never realized it before, but now I can see that that's exactly the way it was. Well, now I'm telling you what to do." His face turned beat red in the sunlight as he listened to me, his eyes falling to his feet. I had struck on a truth. It was Mom who had always given him confidence and bravado, and without her, he was lost and wandering. "Go finish the work I gave you." I knew I was right. I could feel it. However much he protested, he both wanted and needed my guidance. My cock swelled uncomfortably inside my jeans. My Dad was going to become my little bitch. I finished filling the trench, then went inside to pee, kicking my muddy shoes off at the back door. There was a pile of folded clothes on the dining room table, and I could hear the washer and dryer still running in the other room. Leaving the door open, I let my stream hit the water with a rush, watching to see where my Dad was and what he was doing. It was a few minutes later that he brought an armload of my things down from the bedroom upstairs, taking them into my new room and laying them on my bed. I flushed the toilet and followed him in. "Stay here," I said. I started opening up the dresser drawers, sorting through the clothes he had left inside. There was a pile of old t-shirts in one, which I would never wear, as well as some very ugly shorts. "Go get me a garbage bag." I picked out the things I wanted for myself and threw the rest into the bag, moving next to the closet. Of the twenty or so shirts that were hanging inside, I only kept five, the rest following the other stuff into the bag, my Dad standing to the side and watching without protest. I sorted through his shoes, too, tossing some of the older pairs and keeping only the best. Then I moved to the bed, looking at all the items he had brought down. So much of it was just immature junk. I picked out a few important items and swept the rest into the bag. "Garbage," I thrust it at him. Taking it from me, he went outside to deposit it in the garbage can while I made my way upstairs. Once again I started going through every door and drawer, taking the few items of my own clothing that I still wanted to keep and leaving him with very little, mainly the stuff that was old and worn out. He wasn't going to need anything fancy anyway. Putting it all away, I went back outside to continue my work, grabbing a soda on my way out and checking to make sure he had thrown the bag of clothes into the garbage can. It was four o'clock when I decided to take another break, and I had two courses down on top of the foundation. Using my wife beater, I wiped the sweat from my body and went back inside. He was standing by the table folding another load of clothes, his third can of beer resting on the corner. Sitting down, I fingered each pile, picking up this and that and throwing it onto the floor. The rest I sorted into stacks. "These are mine, you can have those. The rest you know where it goes. Put it all away and start supper. The stuff on the floor is garbage." They were more of his shirts and pants, as well as several pair of old boxers, which I had no intention of wearing. Stretching and moaning as I rose, I picked my wife beater off the table and threw it at him. "Bring me a clean pair of boxers." I went into the bathroom and stripped down for my shower, emptying my pockets onto the counter. I heard the door open a few minutes later as he stepped in, finding my dirty clothes had been picked up as I stepped out of the shower, a clean pair of boxers on the counter next to my keys and my wallet. Yup, my Dad was going to make a good little bitch. I heard the pots and pans clanging as I drew on some deodorant, then went to sit and watch TV in my boxers while I waited, pulling my cock out through the fly so I could fondle it. I wanted my Dad to see it, to understand that he'd be down on his knees sucking it later. I could tell by his demeanor that he got the idea. Flipping some burgers, he set the table, then came to tell me my supper was ready. "I want your car keys next," I told him as I started to eat. "Wha...what for?" he protested. "Because you don't need them," I said, taking another bite. He mumbled a bit, trying to work up an argument. "From now on you're not going anyplace without my permission, and then it will probably only be to go get groceries. You can make a list of what we need and give it to me, and I'll give you a check to cover it. But I'll want the list and the receipt when you get back, and you'll give me your keys back as well." "But...but then I won't be able to go out and look for a job." "You're not getting a job," I looked him straight in the eye. "Nobody wants to hire your sorry ass anyway, so you're just going to stay home and be my bitch. Got it?" "No," he said, pushing himself away from the table. "No. I can't believe I let this get this far. I'm not going to be your `bitch.' I'm your father!" My heart leapt in my throat at his sudden assertiveness, and for a moment I worried that I had made a huge mistake. I have no idea what expression I was wearing, but I do know that I just sat there and stared at him. He met my eyes fiercely for a few moments, then suddenly he turned and looked away. I broke out laughing. I had to. It hurt too bad to see how weak my father really was. He turned a deep shade of red, which just strengthened my resolve. "Go get your keys," I rose to tower over him, flexing my hardened muscles unconsciously. It was the moment of truth. If he obeyed, then the decision was made. If not, I was going to have to do some heavy back peddling. Hanging his head, he turned and walked away, returning a few moments later to place them on the table. "Now finish eating and clean this shit up," I said, taking the rest of my burger to the couch and turning on the TV. I left the keys lying on the table just to see what he would do. He glanced at them several times while he ate, but at last got up and started clearing off the table, leaving them to sit on the corner. "What now?" he asked once the kitchen was clean, coming to stand a little to my left in front of me. "Now you strip down to your underwear," I said, taking my attention from the news broadcast. He peeled off my old Led Zeppelin t-shirt and dropped his shorts around his ankles, stripping off his socks as he stepped out of them. His cock was swelling inside the tight pair of my old white briefs. I chuckled at the fact that he had obeyed me even in that. "Go throw all that I the laundry. You're not going to need it any more tonight." Picking it all up he pranced away, then returned to stand in pretty much the same spot. I looked him over, noting the size of his arms and his chest. He wasn't small, but he wasn't as large as me, and he had started to develop a little bit of a pot belly. I looked down at myself and flexed my muscles, comparing. He took it as a purposeful display of my strength and looked away, blushing again as he did so, as though I was stating my power and he was submitting. His cock now stood at rigid attention, pushing the fabric out in a graceful six inch arch. I dug in my fly for my own hardening cock. "Bring me a soda, then drop your mouth down around this," I shook my cock at him. He turned away, pulling his underwear up into the crack of his ass, then tugging it back out again as he went to fetch my soda. He held it out to me, then stepped between my legs and went to his knees, taking my cock in one hand to guide it into his mouth. "There, bitch. That's where you're going to find yourself from now on," I said down to him. He bobbed his head up and down on my cock. "Uh-huh," he agreed, his lips still wrapped around my shaft. My cock swelled painfully with his sudden submission to me. "Tomorrow I want you naked while you clean up this pig sty. I want every floor swept and scrubbed, every counter washed, and every shelf dusted. I want the toilet and the tub scrubbed too. You'd think by now you'd know how to do that." "Yes, Sir," he spoke around my cock, his right hand between his legs as he squeezed his own. "Do you want to play with your dick, bitch?" He looked up at me, his tongue out as he rode his lips up and down. He nodded, pleadingly. "Go ahead, jack that cock. But your attention better be on sucking mine." He slipped open his fly and pulled out his cock, never pausing at sucking mine, and started to stroke. Within moments he was moaning softly, and I knew he was really getting off on it. That simply fueled the fire. "Take off those underwear and go get me some chips. I want to see those balls swinging while your jacking off." He rose up quickly to obey, stripping off his underwear as he went to the kitchen cupboard and leaving them on the dining room floor to hurry back with a bag of potato chips. "Don't leave those there," I pointed at the discarded underwear. "This isn't a fucking barn, go put them in the laundry." He frowned at my disapproval, confused by the expectations of his new role. "Yes...yes, Sir," he stuttered, turning back away to obey. When he returned he went immediately to his knees between my legs. "You understand how it's going to be from now on, don't you?" I said down to him as he slurped on my rock hard cock. He nodded, his face tingeing red again. Spreading my legs a little wider, I put my arms up and rested my head back, watching my wet cock sliding in and out of his lips. His hand had found his own cock again, and he was beating it like a piston in high gear, his balls bouncing up and down with each stroke. "Yeah," I said, looking down at him, "I think I'm really going to like it this way. I kept my eyes open and just watched, concentration on the sensations my cock was feeling. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold back long. This was only my third blow job, and they felt fucking wonderful. "Are you ready bitch? "Cause you're getting a mouthful," I said, fighting to hold back from cumming as hard as I could. It was a futile effort, but it made my orgasm painfully sweet as I erupted into his mouth, a long groan of release escaping my lips. He started groaning as well, soft little grunts that got louder and longer as he held my cock in his mouth and beat on his rod. I stuffed his head deep into my crotch. "You like that bitch?" I asked. His response was a long, loud moan as gob after gob of cum shot onto his chest and arched onto the carpet. I laughed. "Well, there's another mess for you to clean up," I said. He was panting and heaving , but crawled away to get a rag, his ass muscles clenching as he stood to scamper down the hall to the linen closet. "Go get me another soda," I directed him as he started scrubbing at the carpet. He ran to fetch it, then came back to finish his job. "When you`re done with that you can watch the TV, but you might as well stay naked. That's how you're going to be all day tomorrow anyway. "Yes, Sir," he replied submissively. I sent him back and forth several times that evening, fetching me different snacks or refills on my soda, and when the news came on at ten I turned off the TV. "We're having bacon and eggs tomorrow. Wake me up at seven and have them ready by seven thirty." I didn't wait for a response, but went to brush my teeth, then crawled into my bed. I didn't care what he did, but I could hear him as he locked the front and back doors and creep up the stairs to his bedroom. Fuck, what a weird day it had been.