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The room smelled of cheap perfume and, of course, the acrid stench of cigarettes, mixed with a heavy, almost bodily scent, as if someone had just been fucking here hard and rough, though in reality, nothing of the sort had happened. The atmosphere was oppressive, despite the bright outfits of the women working here. At least, for everyone except them and the two men in the next room, it was.
— Damn it, son, — muttered the brunette with massive tits, slouching at the edge of the bed. Her high-platform sandals pressed against the floor, her knees spread apart, and the pose, together with the bra about to burst, looked extremely provocative. — We’re fucked. Literally. I am this… this. — She shook her shoulders, and her huge breasts in the red bra bounced, squeezed tight by lace.
The blonde stayed silent, arms crossed under her breasts, staring at a single spot on the wall, as if trying to see something hidden there. In reality, her mind was running slow, strict calculations: as though she was solving a complex equation, with the variables being her new hips, tits, narrow waist, and the red dress clinging to it all so tightly that every breath came with the feeling of fabric stretching.
— Stanley, — mumbled the brunette almost under her breath, glancing up from below — don’t just sit there, say something!
The blonde flinched, as if waking from a long sleep. Her lips twitched, but no sound came. Instead, she turned her eyes to the brunette sitting at the edge of the bed and said, with a strange, almost mathematical coldness:
— Dad, panic won’t help here, — the blonde said firmly, clutching her arms tighter against her chest, — We need to think.
— Think? — the brunette on the bed jerked her head, and pink strands fell over her face. — Sure, professor, you can think all you want, but right now I can’t think of anything except the fact that I’ve got… — she gripped her thighs and shoved her elbows off her knees. Her huge tits shook, almost spilling out of the bra. — These fucking… melons!
— Let me remind you that you’re the one who brought me here, and you chose these women, — the blonde said coldly, turning her eyes away again, staring as if through the wall. His voice was steady, but there was something in that steadiness that made the brunette’s cheek twitch.
— I wanted to give you a gift! — the brunette jumped up sharply, but the insane platform heels wobbled, and she had to grab the edge of the bed not to fall. — You’d be thanking me if everything had gone the way it was supposed to!
— A gift, — the blonde repeated and slowly turned her head, examining her father in a woman’s body. Her eyes narrowed slightly. — You call it a gift that you tried to make me fuck a prostitute?
The brunette blinked, looked away, then glanced back up with a kind of defiance.
— Yes! A man should… go through this. It’s normal. I… I wanted you to become… like everyone else. You’re already 24!
— “A man should,” “normal.” All of it has always been about how you wanted me to live. You never asked what I want.
— Because you don’t even know what you want! — the brunette tossed her hair off her face and exhaled noisily. — You hide in your books, in formulas, in that… science. And life is passing you by!
The blonde sighed, clearly showing she didn’t want to continue this conversation.
— Life… — she said slowly, as if testing the taste of the word on her new lips, and a thin smile briefly twisted her stern features. — Well, it looks like that word has a different meaning now, doesn’t it?
— What meaning? — she snapped, but it came out too loud, too sharp, too feminine. Her face twisted. — God… I even sound like…
— A woman, — finished the blonde, tilting her head and watching her “father’s” every move. — Just like you look. — She loosened her arms slightly. — And that’s already a fact, no matter how much you scream...Full story (10 200 characters - 3 parts + add.images) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon