slutty single bottom dad

“I wish I was like my neighbour,” you breathe, rubbing the mysterious thrifted lamp with near-desperation.

There’s a burst of thick smoke that stinks like gasoline and smoke. “Well, he had to earn it, boy,” says a genie right out of a Tom of Finland fantasy, with a bulge the size of your head and a lantern jaw to match. “He had to fuckin’ train for it. And I think,” the genie pauses, hearing the revving of a motorcycle engine outside, “he’s ready to take on his own apprentice.”

There’s a rush of wind on your face and, when it fades, you find yourself in an alien bedroom. Racks of leather gear line the walls, black and shining to match the dozens of boots lined up neatly in front of them. The sight and smell of all that leather has you chubbing up in the confines of your leather jock…

You look down, and gasp to see a pale, slender chest and belly leading down to a slutty leather jockstrap. You rush to the full-length mirror at the foot of the bed, unstable in your creaking chaps, and look at the leather boy you’ve become. Handsome, but in a pretty way, with angelic curls framing your face and barely hardened by the sluttiest possible leather gear.

Loud footfalls on the stairs. Gruff voices in the hall. You remember you’re in Daddy Tom’s house, your boring old bedroom in the next house over. The door swings open, and Daddy Tom looks you over, his muir cap shadowing his eyes so that he’s all bushy handlebar moustache. “Ready boy?” he asks.

Behind him, a leather daddy who looks suspiciously like the genie steps into view, a cigar clamped in his jaw.

“Time for your special training,” your daddy purrs, and your cock and hole twitch.

Another wish fulfilled.