“The organ bandits strike again!” dad exclaims in a silky voice, ogling himself in the mirror. We could barely believe our luck.

“Organ bandits? That’s the name you’re giving us now?”

“That’s what the cops’ll be call us after this payload,” dad grins. “What a haul!”

“You sure look a million bucks,” I laugh back, staring lustfully at the staggering wealth on display.

We’d raided another medical transport and this time we’d hit jackpot - cooler after cooler of prime donor organs. Normally we'd be lucky if we got a handful of aspirin, half a cirrhotic liver or a mangy kidney but prying open the coolers we found young, quality lungs, a heart, breast tissue, coiled intestines, even a full-body skin graft, and more. We didn’t even bother doing a full inventory. The coolers would only keep them fresh for a few hours and we needed to get them installed now before they began to decay.

We found an autosurgeon, poured the organs in the hopper and sent dad inside, programming the machine to stitch our ill-gotten gains into him. He’d wear the organs and keep them fresh until we could get them to a blackmarket organ dealer.

As the automated surgical machine spat him back out, both of us were gobsmacked at just how extensive our haul had been. Was there any part of him left?

“There must be two dozen ovaries in me right now,” dad says incredulously, running his hands over his abdomen. “We could get a small fortune for each of them. Where do you reckon they got them all from? A coachload of whores went off a cliff or something?”

“Maybe, looking at those puppies. They still have the silicone in them,” I grin, gesturing at his giant, fake, whorish tits. I give a low whistle. “Goddamn, we musta robbed a gallery cause you’re a work of art.”

His laugh is edged with wariness as he covers himself. “That better not have been a pickup line, boy. I’m still your father, remember.”

“This part certainly isn’t.” I grope his plump ass-cheek. “Feels as good as it looks. Somebody would pay $100k for this peach easy. How much for just an hour?”

“Hands off the merchandise.” He slaps feebly at my hand. “I said hands off!”

I ignore him, playing with his bloated rump. “Half of everything we loot is mine. Which means half of you is my property,” I smirk, my voice low and lusty. Giving his ass parting squeeze, my fingers stroke around his body. We must have grabbed a whole skeleton looking at those childbearing hips. He gasps as my fingers slip between his legs, ticking north up the sensitive new skin of his thighs. “So you be a good girl while I decide which of your organs are mine.”

“That part is non-negotiab-eep!” he mewls as my fingers slip within his stolen labia.

“What was the name you called us before?” I muse, softly teasing his new organ. “The wet bandits?”

He shudders, tries to wriggle away, only to find his soft flesh pinned against my erection. “... the s-sticky bandits.”

“That’s what they’ll call you when I’m finished with you.” I reach for my belt.