Summer with my strict military trained Dad proves to be a baptism by fire, immersing me in a strict regimen of obedience and discipline.
Every command is met with an automatic response, conditioned into me through repetition and reinforcement.
“We say ‘Yes,Sir’ and ‘No, Sir’ around here, Don’t we boy?” he reminds me if I accidentally forget my manners.
Whether we're hurtling through the wilderness in his 4x4 Jeep, its tires screeching against the rocky terrain, or standing stark naked in the garage, ready to indulge in a forbidden passion, I react instinctively.
At his slightest whim, I spring into action, eager to please.
“I like to fuck after we take the Jeep out, get your ass in the garage, get naked and wait for me.”
Before I can respond he reminds me of the rules.
“Um…” I begin to form a sentence question him.
“And don’t you tell me no. You do what you’re told, remember? I’m the boss around here.”
But I know better. When Dad orders me to undress, I comply without hesitation, responding with a crisp, military-style
"Yes, Sir."
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