Father's Recovery Pt. 01

I was a precious girl growing up. Always wanting things my way and, frankly, quite mean to my peers, especially boys. The one exception was my father. We shared a strong and abiding bond, forged by our shared grief at losing my mother when I was only six-years old. We both fell into deep depression for a time.

Unlike my father, by the time I was fourteen, I returned to my original personality. However, my dad, deeply sadden, sullen and quiet, remained that way. Consequently, his old friends had fallen away, so I became his only close companion. Puzzlingly, the more I treated him with gentleness and kindness, the more withdrawn he became.

By nature, I am a controlling person, far more concerned with my own pleasure and happiness than anyone else's feelings. By my early teens, boys were hanging around me all the time at school, drawn by my tight jock body, developing breasts, sparkling green eyes and long straight red hair. I very much enjoyed the attention. Hence, it was no easy task for such a self-absorbed girl like me to be kind and obedient to my father. Nevertheless, I tried to act the good daughter.

The day after my eighteenth birthday, dad, a dark-haired thin tall man, with troubled cobalt eyes, came to me and asked if I could clean out mom's stuff in the attic. He said, "I just can't bring myself to touch her things, too many painful memories...but it is time we moved on." Needlessly to say, I was none too happy about spending my birthday weekend at home and digging through a bunch of mom's things.

After cleaning out most of the items in the dusty dark attic, I came across a large trunk, with a heavy padlock. I thought about asking dad where the key was, but knew that it would be hard on him. So, I found a screwdriver and removed the screws on one side of the latch. I can't describe how shocked (and strangely fascinated) I was by the contents of the trunk. What I found that day changed both my life and father's forever.

The trunk held a large variety of nasty looking whips, oversized dildos, dark studded leather boots, collars, and clothing. My eyes were immediately drawn to an extremely hefty enema bag, with a set of wicked looking nozzles. I felt an unexpected stirring in my loins. When I realized my panties were getting damp, I was ashamed of being turned on by my mom's sex toys. Nonetheless, I was excited at imagining the pain involved in shoving one of those huge nozzles into a rectum.

Shame getting the better part of me, I was on the verge of closing the trunk and hauling it to garbage, when I saw a collection of flash drives. I took them out, closed the trunk, and brought my laptop up to the attic. I plugged in the first flash drive and opened a video titled, "Journal 1". I was stunned to see my mother, with her long red hair (just like mine), dressed in the leathers, circling my dad menacingly. He was naked and firmly strapped over a chair, with his naked butt forced high in the air, as his head was almost touching the floor and his legs where spread high in the air. Rope around his waist bound him securely to the chair, more ropes held his legs apart and in the air.

A mixture of emotions overwhelmed. The loss of my mother became acute again, however, at the same time I was fascinated to see my mom dominating and humiliating my father. I turned up the sound and couldn't take my eyes of the screen, as my mother began to harshly whip my father's ass with a whip. Each stroke made him wince with pain and his cheeks were turning an angry red, but somehow he seemed more alive than I seen him since mom's passing. As the video went on, my mother used an assortment of butt plugs to painfully open my dad's anus. Finally, she slowly inserted an enormous black dildo. As each inch went in, my father whimpered louder. I was truly conflicted seeing my father in such agony, yet being so turned on by the sight of the discomfort.

After my mother pumped his ass with the dildo for some time, she climbed into a strap-on harness, with an even larger dildo hanging in front of her. The dildo had a series of gnarly ribs. Just the sight of it made me breathe harder. The length had to be at least 14 inches, and once mom had pushed it into dad's reluctant rectum, she began pounding it repeatedly, burying the entire length to the hilt with each stroke. I was panting now, as I watched dad squirm, trying to free himself, but obviously helpless to stop the continued punishment.

Mom secured a red ball-gag in dad's mouth, stifling his loud moans. With each stroke of the dildo, my mom administered a stinging whip to my father's welt-covered ass. He withered in pain, my mother sneered, and said, "You deserve a lot worse, worm." She had made similar comments earlier, but I was too entranced to pay attention until now. I realized mom was purposely demeaning my father! Moreover, dad must have consented to this total humiliation. I was both excited and confused.

Eventually, mom withdrew the dildo, leaving a gaping red hole. She left my dad softly whining, as she walked off camera. I heard the water running for a long time. My father whimpered in obvious anticipation of what was coming. Mom rolled an IV stand next to dad's butt. The same red enema bag I had discovered in the trunk hung from it, now bloated with liquid. She asked, "Worm, are you ready for your icy soapy enema?" Dad only whined more. She firmly inserted a weird looking nozzle with two bulbs into his ass.

He grunted as she savagely moved the large nozzle back and forth in his rectum. Then, she pumped up both bulbs. I could see a bulge inflating just outside his ass, and it occurred to me the same most be happening inside his rectum. Apparently, the purpose of this device was to prevent dad from expelling any water. She stood up and clicked open the valve on the hose. The sound made him groan. As I sat there, watching dad's abdomen quickly expand and listening to his growing protests, I began rubbing my clitoris.

Mom whipped him ruthlessly, telling him to take it like a man. Finally, the enema bag made a gurgling sucking sound, as the last of its contents emptied into my dad's colon. She made him lay there for a good 15 minutes, all the time saying things like, "Good worm, do the suds still sting?" To which my dad shook his head affirmatively.

She eventually loosened the valves on the nozzle and yanked it out with a distinct popping sound. She untied him. But instead of letting him go to the bathroom, mom made him squat and poop in a yellow bucket, while she watched in amusement. Dad looked so embarrassed as he emptied himself into the bucket. As dad relived himself, so did I. My fingers moved rapidly up and down on my clit until I had the most rocking orgasm of my life!

Mom repeated the process twice more, apparently to rinse out the soap. At the end, dad looked exhausted, but satisfied. Released again from his bonds, he crawled over to where mom sat smoking a cigarette (I didn't know mom had smoked, now I felt less guilty about occasionally smoking too). Dad laid his head on her lap. She gently stroked his wet hair, and told him that he was a satisfactory "sub", but he needed work harder to please her. Dad assured her that he would do better next time. Mom said, "I will be the judge of how you perform next time."

Still panting, I closed the file and searched online for the meaning of "sub". I discovered that it was short for "submissive". I soon came to the realization that dad is a submissive by nature, and mom was dominating. I spent the rest of afternoon watching BDSM videos, and reading about it. As the sun set through the attic window, I had formulated a plan on how to bring my father out of his long time funk.