"Yes, Sir," you ask, not wanting to know what more he wants from you.
"Let me escort you back to the kitchen."
Over in the kitchen, he tells you to prepare your plate of food. When you turn around, plate in hand, you see that he's dropped his pants. His cock is fully erect, a huge specimen, at least by your now diminutive stature. "Come over here," he commands. "Go on, touch it." You do as you're told, your arousal completely overriding the fact that you used to be a heterosexual man. That the man in front of you used to be your father. It's thick, hard against your soft, dainty hands. Pulsing. You pull it a couple of times, and it twitches, a small drop of precum glistening at its opening. You lick your lips, wondering how it tastes. You expect you'll get to know soon.
"Down on your knees," he commands. His cock is inches from your face, bobbing a bit. Then, instead of pushing you down on it, he gets the plate. "Hold this up." And you realize what is about to happen. He strokes himself, grunting, and after a while he starts squirting out thick streams of cum over your food. Done, he wipes his dick on your chin, giving you a whiff of his musky aroma, before telling you to put your plate down on the floor and eat your dinner.
"The camera's recording, by the way," he adds as he leaves the room.
You bend over, your face down in your cum-soaked dinner, your chastity belt-covered privates exposed in the air, and start eating, tears rolling down your chin, your entire nether regions in a knot of unreleasable sexual tension.
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