Father Dearest

By Tom Gungy
published April 14, 2020
2345 words
Summary

After Lord Edwards latest reforms, more rebels rise to defy him.

Note from author: Thank you guys so much for the outpouring of comments on the last installment of this (now improvised) series. There were requests for seeing more of Edwards and less diaper-related themes, so I aimed to facilitate with a shorter addition to the last story. I tried to make this one a little less plot-heavy as well, so let me know if you’re interested in there being more!

“That’s it, my boy,” Dr. Edwards purred from across the detainment cell. “Just relax.”

“Don’t do it, Eddy!” the other would-be assassin yelped from through the bars of the adjacent cell. “Remember what he did to your family!”

Edwards smiled. Of course this was about his latest proclamation as the uncontested leader of the world. Under the aptly named “Amazonian Decree” a complete societal separation between males and females was implemented and opposite sex relations were declared unlawful. The women of the world were now collected in separate, sapphic communities while men were kept in the main society. Measures were put in place to reward homosexual relations and facilitate reproductive substitutions. While this roused rebellious factions to rear their heads from the shadows, including the minor team Edwards dealt with now, but most of the population praised the dictator for his forward thinking and creative proposals. Such things didn’t upset a public as brainwashed as Dr. Edwards and ensured they were through his cunning tactics and hypnotic propaganda.

“Mom?” moaned the young man Edwards was toying with, half-lidded as if trying to wake from a nightmare. “Dad?”

Edwards knew well the rebel kneeling before him was Edmond Davis, a former college student and member of the treasonist White Briefs. The dictator’s spy network had known about his involvement in this most recent plot in his life for weeks in advance and had been spying on him since their discovery of the ridiculously named group of insurgents adverse to Edwards’ infamous diaper policy. The doctor hadn’t had to contend with them for a while since capturing and brainwashing their leader to become just one more of his private, padded security force, so it’d been a pleasant surprise to discover a remaining branch still existed. These assassination attempts helped immensely in exciting the ruler’s day and gave him the opportunity to pursue his passion of brainwashing and mental manipulation in person.

“Relax, my dear boy, relax,” Edwards hushed, circling the nude, muscular man struggling against his trance. “Tell me about your father. Let me in. Let me help.”

“Dad,” Edmond breathed restlessly in a half-conscious stupor, “kissing a dude… not a fag…”

“Oh,” Edwards cooed in patronizing sympathy, “poor boy. That must’ve been confusing for a young man like you to see.”

Edwards approached his captive subject, clasped to the floor in his kneeling position, and applied a gentle, caressing hand to the underside of the rebel’s lightly stubbled chin.

“What you are experiencing is a complex emotion,” Edwards delicately counseled with a devilish grin, “jealousy.”

“Don’t listen to him!” Edmond’s compatriot shouted.

Edwards enjoyed necessitating rebels witnessing their comrades fall to his powers of mental manipulation and was used to their active participation. He liked the challenge of using their input against them, but he had little need for the inspiration in such a delectably simple scenario. With Edmond in such a pliable, suggestible state, he immediately did what anyone does when they’re told not to listen and began listening intently. He looked up to Edwards with tired, dazed eyes.

“Jealous?” he murmured in confusion.

“Yes, my boy,” Edwards answered with a light chuckle. “Jealousy can take many shapes, which is why it is so hard to deal with. It sounds like you thought you were angry or disgusted, when in reality you just wanted to kiss Daddy yourself.”

“What?” Edmond’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think-”

“Boys are easily confused at your age,” Edwards interrupted, “as you are often aroused. Isn’t that right, Eddy?”

“Shut up, you fuck!” the other prisoner screeched, likely enraged by the doctor’s use of his nickname for Edmond.

Fortunately for Edwards, though, it still had the desired effect of drawing his prey closer to his message, causing Edmond to connect with the words. Edwards watched with bemusement as a slight twitching that began from between the young man’s thighs. His breathing became deeper and ragged as his erection rose. A massive member for one so young, it was amazing to watch throb and rise. His compatriot hollered and shouted, hoping to snap Edmond out of his stupor, but Edwards simply offered the same soft-spoken encouragement while wearing a new narrative in the young man’s mind.

“That’s it, boy,” he purred. “Young men get all boned up over anything, don’t they? Feel all your concerns and worries wash away with every warm throb of that unwieldy cock of yours. Being so young, I doubt you even know how to handle a beast like that do you? It probably controls you more than you control it. Sure the other boys at school or maybe even your dear old dad has explained to you how to pleasure yourself, but your inexperienced hands never seem to do the job. You’ve been frustrated and leaving your bed sheets sticky since puberty, haven’t you?”

Edmond’s mind, increasingly soft from the redirection of blood flow to his nethers, soaked up Edwards’ farcical story as if it were a sponge. Memories conjured out of nowhere to confirm the fictitious history. He recalled the time his friend had offered to help him in the locker room after school. Edmond’s endowment had impressed him, yet while he’d finished himself off around ten minutes into the impromptu hate session, Edmond jerked himself in frustration long after his friend had left.

He falsely remembered talking to his blushing father after staining his sheets from nocturnal emission for the eighth night in a row after his eighteenth birthday. His dad had assumed Edmond had developed a minor addiction to self-pleasuring, and he made clear while he’d been lenient through Edmond’s adolescence, he expected his son to clean up after himself if Edmond continued to keep the habit. Edmond, in turn, shared that he’d never intentionally reached his climax, a fact that’d caused his normally brazen father a bright, blushing red to learn. The burly, muscular man had stammered out an apology, offered to continue cleaning his poor son’s sheets (a generosity that made Edmond blush as well), and after an awkward pause, his father began to share his own masturbatory techniques. Edmond remembered being mortified as his own dad explained to him the intricacies of “stimulating the head” and the specifics of “getting in the mood”, yet later that night, he’d tried everything his father had recommended, always thinking of his dad.

“You need an experienced hand to help you,” Edwards patiently suggested. “You need an older man who can explain your body and feelings to you. You need a man who can make you feel good, boy.”

Edmond moaned as his erection came to full hardness at the hope of release after a manufactured lifetime of unsatisfied arousal.

“You need a daddy, dear boy,” Edwards cooed. “Do you want me to be your daddy?”

“Y- Yes, Daddy,” Edmond moaned from the floor, gazing up to the dictator with pleading affection.

It was hard to refuse that Edwards had perfectly slotted himself into a similar fatherly role for most of the world he held so magnetically under his sway. He was an older man, the fringes of his dark hair haunted by a light graying and his masculine stubble sporting a salt and pepper coloration, yet his toned, muscular form and stately dress, often a luxurious suit, emanated a dominating power anyone would be inclined to heed. This intimidating visage was plastered onto screens and posters all around the globe, propaganda specifically designed to hypnotically and subconsciously lull the population into obedience, yet Edwards smiled, always gratified to see his work in effect so directly.

“Edwards, you bastard!” the other prisoner shouted. “Go to hell!”

“Son?” Edwards sweetly addressed Edmond. “Why don’t you try those techniques I showed you for your nineteenth? I need to speak with your friend, but no ejaculating without daddy’s say so, okay?”

“Yes, Daddy,” his brainwashed subject cheerily replied.

With a snap of Edwards’ fingers, the clasps around the young man’s wrists clacked open. Edmond’s mind was already tearing itself apart as he placed his hand on the youthful, throbbing cock before him. His memories of his actual father rushed to be replaced with recollections of Edwards, guiding the boy through his life and tending to his every need. Edmond could no longer recall his biological dad, and his mind became fractured upon being faced with the memories of Edwards as his father and Edwards as the dictator. His entire mind rewrote itself to account for the dissonance, yet Edmond’s general ignorance of Edwards before his rise to power left the masturbating boy with countless blank pages in his personal history, each waiting to be filled by “Daddy”. Through the bars separating the cells, Dr. Edwards saw the enraged face glaring at him with undamped malice. His name was Luis Cross, a former armed forces member that left the service just before the forming of the world government, thus narrowly avoiding the standard conditioning all of Edwards’ soldiers routinely underwent in the present day. He was still combat trained, however, which was enough of a concern to submit him to surveillance since day one of Edwards’ rule. The muscular, thirty-six year-old man was covered in a thick matting of masculine body hair and reminded Edwards of the legendary Samson from the way he was bound and kneeling on the floor. The doctor smiled to himself, making a mental note to have the rebel shaved smooth once he’d been thoroughly brainwashed.

“Tell me, Luis,” Edwards spoke politely, “what do you want from life?”

“Drop dead,” the livid man flatly answered.

“Oh, come now,” Edwards laughed as if Luis had simply given the doctor a light ribbing. “It seems you’re particularly angry at me for something, but is it possible that you’re redirecting your anger from somewhere else? Maybe it’s not me you’re angry with, but yourself?”

“You,” Luis sputtered in outrage. “How dare you, you-”

Luis was suddenly cut short as the various tiles surrounding him on the floor suddenly illuminated with bright, dazzling colors. He jerked his head to the light, his reflexes honed to react to immediate danger with immediate speed, yet his training, while valuable for combat purposes, failed him in this instance. His eyes became glazed and unfocused as he vaguely stared at the vibrant hues surrounding him. The expression of rage and resistance remained, but it became mingled with a tinge of fear as Luis found he couldn’t avert his gaze. He clenched his fists and strained his neck, desperately struggling to free his focus, yet the effort only served to exhaust his willpower. Slowly but surely, the rebel’s face went slack. His eyes softened, and his mouth lazily fell open, allowing a thin line of drool to stretch down to his awakening manhood.

“There we are, Luis,” Edwards purred, his velveteen voice filling the increasing vacancy in the captive’s mind. “A man of action like you, it must feel so good to just relax, letting someone else worry for a while. You weren’t angry, just frustrated from the countless burdens you’ve been shouldering. You’ve been planning how to stop me, protecting Eddy, and even thinking for yourself, but now you can let me take care of all your worries.”

An increasingly shrunken portion of Luis fought against the doctor’s corrupting words, recognizing the danger he was in, but this part of him had little pull from within his mind anymore, his consciousness largely stunned into compliance by the enthralling colors he found himself immersed in. He found himself sighing in relaxation, heeding Edwards’ reassurance and lapsing into thoughtless bliss.

“Good boy, Luis,” Edwards commended with a devilish smile.

The dictator regarded his subjects in smug satisfaction. Edmond was still stroking himself, his pace a good deal more desperate and reckless since he’d begun. Without the euphoria of release, his pleasure built like a shaken champagne bottle, and he lacked the corkscrew to open it. The weight of a sexually frustrated adolescence crashed into his libido, sending it spiraling into unfulfilled heights he’d never experienced before being inflicted with his new, artificial past. An abundant pool of precum, drooling generously from the tip of his cock, oozed outward from between his stooped knees, coating them in the boy’s own sticky fluids. His face, a rosy red from exertion, expressed an electric combination of both pleasure and discomfort. He gasped and sputtered, worn ragged by his dogged pursuit for release.

Meanwhile, Luis’ mind had become entirely blank, a fact clearly illustrated to Edwards by the huge, dopey smile the rebel wore and that he’d become so familiar with over the years. He’d effectively become a blank slate, completely subject to whatever whims Edwards had for the man, yet in considering a fitting punishment for the traitor, the dictator found Luis’ mindless state befitting. Clearly the brains of the former outfit, it was poetic that the strong, muscular leader was without a single thought of rebellion, his military experience and combat training rendered useless by his insufficient brainpower.

Edwards allowed himself a smug smile as he left the two. He might use them later, shape them into something useful, but for now they needed to be left to simmer in their own juices, so to speak. Luis would be left perfectly mindless in those cascading colors and Edmond in his own boyish fluids.

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