You were back at your old highschool after getting stuck dropping off your boyfriend's little brother off for baseball practice after your bf got called into work. You didn't even get why they had practice; he'd been telling you on the way there that some kid got hurt last game and they were down a player. You really didn't want to be there. Aside from how boring it was to sit through, the coach had been your gym teacher around six years ago in high school, and he'd always been on your ass. He was constantly bitching about you not trying hard enough in gym, making snide comments about how you needed to be more of a man, watching you all the time for any chance to humiliate or criticize you. You didn't give a fuck what his dumb, meathead ass thought. So you sat off to the side, away from the field, on your phone till it was over, counting the minutes down. You were so distracted on your phone that you didn't even notice him walking up to you until he slipped a baseball cap on your head.
"Wha-"you started to say, lifting a hand to pull it off, but you froze as your head suddenly got foggy... so... foggy... arm is... heavy. You felt... good... putting your arm down... felt... goood... hat felt.... good....
You noticed your coach in front of you... coac... no... not coach... a man... a man you should listen to. A pretty good looking man you should listen to. He gave you this hat and... it felt so... so... good....
He held out his big, strong, hairy hand. He wanted you to hold it. You didn't know how you knew that; the thought just popped into your head suddenly as the hat got a little tighter. You wanted to hold it, so you did. You should listen to him. He knows best. You like the feeling of him leading you, of letting him take charge. Oh, the locker room. The room where he'd ridiculed you so often when you were younge- no.... no he hadn't done that. No. He didn't want to ridicule you. He wanted to make you better, you realized, as the hat got a little tighter. You had just been too immature to understand then. You felt a surge of admiration for him, for his big, hulking frame as he brought you into his small office off the locker room. You realized how much you'd missed him all these years.... and his hands were so big, warm, rough, and manly, closed around your soft, smooth skin. You couldn't stop staring at his thick, muscular back, bulging out from under his shirt stretched tight across it.
He turned to you after he closed the door.
"C'mere, son," Son. That's what he'd always called you when he was being an asshole helping you improve. You hated loved when he called you that. It always made you feel weird and put down warm and fuzzy. He reached out to touch you. You wanted to pull back but- no- no you didn't. You wanted to back away let him touch you. He felt your arms and gripped your chest, sizing you up. You'd put on some muscle since high school- not a lot, just leaned out a little- mostly to get guys. As much as you hated to admit it, you thought of him time to time while you'd worked out, even years after you graduated, like a voice in the back of your head. You'd hated that he'd been right, but working out did feel pretty good. When you needed an extra push, you'd think back to him and times he'd humiliated pushed you to be better to give yourself motivation. "Who's a weak lil pansy now," you'd think, gritting your teeth and pumping out a few more reps. But you'd pushed those thoughts of him out normally, telling yourself you'd been doing it for you.
He nodded, smiling, pushing the hat a little further down on your head. "That's good, son." You should've thought it was weird that he'd responded to something you'd only thought, but you were too dazed to notice. "I'm glad my words stuck with you all these years. You've never really been free of me, have you? I was always in your head, son."
"I've... never been... free of you..." you said slowly. It was true. He'd always been on your mind, in your subconscious, pushing you to work out.
"Because you didn't want to be, did you, son? Deep down, there was something you wanted all along, wasn't there?"
You stared up at him. The answer slowly drifted into your head as you felt the cap pull down a little more. You'd wanted to make him proud. That was the real reason you'd been lifting, whether you knew it or not. He'd still been ordering you around.... all these years.... even without being there...
"No boy. I wasn't ordering you around. I always wanted you to be the best you could be. And look at you now, son. On the road to beefing up & looking great," he sat, patting your back with his big hand.
You nodded slowly, smiling bigger and bigger. He'd finally complimented you. His approval didn't matter to you felt so good. You didn't need wanted more of it, you realized, as the hat tightened another notch, rewiring more and more of you. You didn't need!!!! lived for his approval. You wanted to tell him to go fuck himself make him happy, to do what you wanted was right in his eyes. To make him proud.
"That's right, son. that's how you should be thinking. See, you're glad I stayed on you. It shaped who you are today. You always wanted to fight me, and you feel so ashamed of that now, don't you son?"
"Yes," you admitted as a deep sense of shame and affection for him coursed through you. "You were right all along. It was all for my own good. As soon as I got bigger, I got a boyfriend... I was... I was just too dumb and proud to see it back then."
"I know, boy. But you listened to me in time. That's what's important, son. I didn't humiliate you because I liked it. I humiliated you because I wanted to make you better. You probably always thought it was cuz you were gay, didn't you? But that wasn't it. It was cuz you were a beta. I could tell your type, son. Lots of raw, masculine power, but no strong man to guide you. It all made sense when your mother mentioned at a conference that you'd never known your Father. I tried to be that... but you pushed me away."
"I know.... I'm sorry," you said, embracing him again. "I think that's... why I pushed you away. But I'm glad you stayed on me. Disciplined me. Made me ashamed to be the weakling I was. Its made me better."
"That's what I'm here for, son," he said. "I'm here now. You don't have to fight me anymore." His big hand went to the back of your head this time, squishing your head between it and his bulging chest. He smelled like outside after being out for practice for so long- a warm, musky, masculine smell that made you feel safe. You closed your eyes, nuzzling into it, feeling his body heat as more good memories between the two of you overwrote the bad, as every memory of humiliation was overwritten with one of warm encouragement.
You didn't want to fight him, not at all. In fact, you wanted... him. In spite of the hat linking your mind to his, letting him read and rewrite your thoughts, part of you- your oldest, deepest, hatred for him, flared up in you. But he just smiled down. He could feel it too, being able to read your thoughts, and it was what he'd been waiting for. The moment the feeling of hatred arose, he snatched hold of it inside you, twisting and inverting it, replacing it all with love.
You shook as your mind broke and fractured, as your thoughts were wiped clean away and rewritten with new ones, shifting others around to fill in the gaps. You felt ...delirious.... you needed something warm... something... strong.... something... stable... a rock to hold onto and he... this man... he was all of those things. You nuzzled against him harder and harder, feeling a patch of his chest hair at the gap in the top of his polo. No matter how close you pulled him, it didn't feel close enough. Before you knew what you were doing, you were peeling his shirt off, nuzzling against his warm... hard.... hairy... body... Your mind was still breaking. You felt empty and confused, but his big, fuzzy chest was like an anchor you clung to.
"Now we're talking, son. It's ok. I know it's hard," he said, kissing your forehead. "But I'm here," he said, wrapping his burly arms around you and locking you against his chest. "How are you feeling, son?"
"I... need.... I need... you...," you said, holding him tight.
"You do," he said with a nod, and you felt how true it was instantly. "You need a man."
"I need.... a man."
"You need a firm hand to guide you, son."
"Yes... guide...me...."
"Yes. Yes, son", he said. "I get it now. I've been scanning your thoughts, memories, secrets and desires this whole time, and it's all clear. You hated not having a Father. You coped by never wanting to feel like you had to prove yourself to a man, or be a man like him. That you were better off without one, that you never wanted to be one. Because you knew deep down, that was all you ever wanted. That scared you, so you fought me. Because I was what you were missing: someone to discipline you. To toughen you up. Someone who's approval you need to work for. But you just didn't know better, son," he said, grabbing the back of your head and placing your mouth on his pec. You started sucking instinctively. "You didn't know how good it can feel to get that approval once you work for it," he said, gripping your lean arms. "I'm so proud of you, son."
A wave of heat flashed over you as you clung to him and sucked him harder, slowly regressing as more new thoughts settled in your mind. You were just a lost, scared kid. You didn't know anything about life... hadn't had anyone to help you... but he.... he- even the thought of him made all the bad feelings melt away- he could show you. Help you. Protect you. You wanted to keep making him proud. You wanted to be just like him. He was right... this was what you'd always needed... a ... you struggled to admit it.
"Father," he finished the thought for you. You just stared up at him, nodding vacantly.
"Fa....ther...." you repeated, feeling a new wave of affection for him rushing over you. You pressed your face into his furry chest. It felt so... warm... so... safe... but no you didn't know your Dad... but... of course you did. He was... right here... wasn't he?
"That's right, son. You'll be better off this way. This is what it feels like to be hugged by your Dad. You've never known that feeling, have you?"
"No," you admitted, hugging him tighter, latching onto his strong body. "No. But I need it. I've always needed it."
"Then you're my Son now," he said, kissing your forehead, and suddenly, you were. You felt a strange mixture of love tinged with fear and respect, of resentment but a desire to prove yourself to the man who created you.
"Yes. Yes Daddy," you said. You finally had one. You kissed all over his chest, lost in the feeling. "I want to be your son. I just want to make you proud."
"Empty yourself of anything but that feeling, boy. Then take Dad's pants off."
You obeyed, pulling them down. All he had on was a jockstrap. He slid a chair around, groaning as he slowly lowered his hulking body onto it.
"You sure you want this, boy?"
"It's all I ever wanted, sir," you mumbled, nuzzling against his warm bulge, resting your hand on his big hairy thighs, feeling all the muscle rippling underneath. It was so.... big.... not just long... but just huge. Massive. It had girth. Both your hands on it together barley overlapped. "It's so ... big ....".
"Daddy's dick's always are, son."
"Thank you for never giving up on me."
"That's what Dad's are for, son," he said, kissing you on the forehead. "Now make Daddy proud."
You felt fuzzy, slowly melted down his chest, and before you knew it, his huge dick was in your face. It looked incredible, felt so soft and silky in your mouth as your tongue slid over it. It slowly got harder and harder, filling more and more of your mouth... and all you wanted was more. You had never felt this feeling, never wanted to feel it, tried to avoid it for so long... but serving a man like this was... all you ever wanted to do. It was addicting. You knew you'd get addicted to it.
"Ahhhh," he sighed, which just urged you on. "See what you were missing all these years, boy?" he said, thrusting his dick in your mouth as you hungrily gulped it down.
"Don't you wish you could just go back, son? Do it all over again, me and you?"
No Yes- you'd hated loved highschool. You never wanted to spend more time with him. You wanted to move past all that do it all again,, be trapped lucky enough to be in a building with him all day. No Yes. No! Yes. If you could just get this damn hat off-
He laughed, slapping the hat off your head. It landed across the room... and to your distress, you kept going. And wanted to keep going. Sucking his cock still felt amazing, still tasted delicious, still felt like the most fulfilling thing you'd ever done. Your eyes were wide and shocked. You thought he'd been controlling you, but you still wanted to please him, to serve him, to be his son.
He laughed, watching the realizations wash over you. "The hat was just to get you 'over the hump', per se. The rest has all been you, son. Now, say it," he said in a deep, authoritative tone.
Your mind froze. Daddy had given you an order. You always listened to your Father.
"I wish I could go back and do it all again, with you as my Father, sir"
"Nope. Do better. You're not good enough for Daddy, son," he said with a smile, watching the effect the words had on you, watching you go into a frenzy to please him.
"I'm sorry Daddy," you said, kissing, licking rubbing your face into his dick, his cock, his balls. You didn't want to disappoint him. It felt awful- it consumed you- you needed to rid yourself of it.
"That right there, son, is the feeling that's going to push you to be great. Just imagine if it had been ingrained in you from a younger age. Then you'd turn out right. Then you'd be fixed."
"Yes. Yes. Fucking fix me. Dad. I'm so weak. So broken. I need you. I need to do it all again, with you. I need to be raised right, raised with a man in my life to discipline me. To keep me in line."
His breaths got quicker and quicker, his strokes harder. "Yes, you do son. That's why you always feel this way. That's why you're so unhappy. But we're going to fix that, now. Just you and your old man, right?"
"Yes. Please, please, take me back Dad. Fix me. Break me and rebuild me, Dad."
"Fuuuuck yeah," he bellowed. Six hot pumps of cum shot down your throat, you went back in age... 23... your thin, barely visible body hair thinned a little... 22... your patchy facial hair receded... 21... 20..... you lost an inch or two, regressing, sliding through younger versions of yourself.
"You can never fight me, Son. You always wanted this. Now you can grow up with a Dad. Don't fight it. Just let it happen."
"Yes..... yes...." 19.... your body hair thinned even more....
"Give it all to me now son. Let all those memories go. I'm your Dad now. Always have been. We're going to do it all again, just me and you baby boy.''
And finally.... 18. You were back to yourself at the beginning of senior year.
But then one final pump of cum hit your throat and you yelled out. You'd finished getting younger, but now your body was stretching and growing longer, leaner, as you got bigger- not older, just bigger, till you were an unrecognizably athletic and built version of your 18 year old self.
"That's it boy. You're almost there. You're almost the son I always wanted you to be," he said, petting and comforting you. "And once this year ends, I'll change you into a new 18 year old, and we'll do it again. You never get to be a man. You're going to be Daddy's 18 year old boy.... forever."
'Yes.... yes...."
Your ass puffed out, balls dropped lower, cock got bigger. Your facial hair regrew, full and even, as a nice coating of hair covered your chest. Your tiny frame expanded, becoming bigger and bulkier. Tight school baseball pants appeared on you, gripping your tight ass snugly and finally, it all stopped.
"There we go," your Dad said, satisfied as he lifted you to stand up. Then he snapped in your left ear. You blinked a few times as the last part of you- your memories- rearranged themselves to his liking, then everything slid back into focus. Right. You were just getting trained after your first practice with your new team.
"That was a great practice, Dad. I can't wait to join in tomorrow"
"Wasn't it, son? I'm so glad we moved into the district I coach at."
"Me too. There's nothing better than having you as my Coach, Dad."
"I always wanted to coach you, boy. It's gonna be your first of many great senior years of higschool."
"Huh?"
"Nevermind son. Let's get home," he said, walking out of the locker room.
The next day you stepped onto the field for the first time, quickly becoming the team's star player. It was like your body had been designed for baseball, they'd said. It figured you were the coach's son, but you were pretty sure it was your lucky baseball cap.
Your Dad pushed you hard. He always make you work harder, run further, and practice more, but it was all worth it for the savage rush you got you smoked every guy on the team in speed, strength, and agility; worth it when you heard your Dad behind you, cheering you on as you reminded these bitches who was in charge. That's why you took every order he gave you with a smile. You were his machine. You'd learned a long, long time ago that whatever he did to you was for your own good, that he always knew better. That was why you loved him- he'd made you into this, after all.
And when the year ended, you did it all over again like he said. He'd turn you into a new 18 year old beast, wipe your mind of the previous year, and you'd start as a new student again and again and again. Getting bigger and bigger each time, better and better each year. You were frozen in time as his boy, till he decided you were ready for the next step one day. He aged you up a couple years and sent you to tryouts for the MLB. You made the team on your first try.
About a year later when your team won the World Series, a reporter threw a mic in your face. "Great play out there! What do you want to say to everyone watching."
You smiled at the camera. "I owe it all to my Dad."
