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.