Let’s just say that, since I came out at the age of sixteen, my relationship with my dad has been a bit rocky. Hell, rocky, that’s a joke really, and my coming out to him was more like him discovering my porn stash on the computer and then throwing me out onto the street that same night, after a massive argument. I ended up living with my Grandmother (on my mom’s side) until I was eighteen and could legally do whatever I wanted, and while I’ve spoken to my dad on occasion, I’ve never forgiven him for throwing me out, and he’s never forgiven me for being a fag.

Still, life goes on, right? I managed to scrape through college with a combination of massive loans and a few scholarships, with one year paid by my grandma. She’s always had a sweet spot for me, ever since my mom had passed away when I was ten, and she was the only relative left connected to my mom. She’d always tell me that she had something else to give me, but she wasn’t particularly rich, so I never knew what she meant, until she was diagnosed with cancer and moved into hospice, and she gave me the wish powder. “It can do whatever you want it to do, but only three times in your life. Use it wisely–use it justly.”

Those were her last words to me, now in my mid 40’s. What was I going to do with it? I didn’t know until my father didn’t even bother to show up for the funeral, and then I knew what my first wish had to be. By then, my father and I could speak and even be in the same room, so long as nothing unsavory came up. I paid him a visit, powder in hand, and sprinkled a bit of it into his pipe while he was out of the room for a few moments, and then sat back and watched.

So, what do you think of my new pipe slave? He’s a sexy one, isn’t he? Pretty kinky too. Sure, he still remembers his old life, and goodness, when we’re alone and I give him permission to speak, he’s generally livid, but I don’t let him vent for long. After all, I’d rather see his smoke a pipe, or suck my cock–justice sure can be sweet sometimes, eh?

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