![Synthskin: Kindermis [TG/Age Regression] by Transviscera](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/87684d17-8b34-4054-a6cc-9b9e97dcb44a/dgjaahf-08a3b7ea-06d7-4035-852f-b1805ea4abe7.jpg/v1/fit/w_150,h_150,q_70,strp/synthskin__kindermis__tg_age_regression__by_transviscera_dgjaahf-150.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9Mjk3NiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzg3Njg0ZDE3LThiMzQtNDA1NC1hNmNjLTliOWU5N2RjYjQ0YVwvZGdqYWFoZi0wOGEzYjdlYS0wNmQ3LTQwMzUtODUyZi1iMTgwNWVhNGFiZTcuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTM4OTIifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.DaQwG-CusWc0zr1C5HwZDZOxm4wMEsj0MW26-1QUXz0)
The dermatologist placed the full-length mirror before his patient. Albert reached trembling fingers to his utterly altered face. He yanked at the unrecognisable mask. Where had once been loose, wrinkled jowls and drooping double chins was now smooth, tight skin that resisted painfully to being stretched. His pretty, feminine face sprang back into place when he let go, wincing.
"Wh-what the devil have you done?" Albert croaked, his deep voice, hoarse and phlegmy from a fifty year smoking habit, coming incongruously from lush pink lips. His head swam from the shock of it all, and he clutched his zimmer frame for support. He levelled a trembling finger at the dermatologist. "I only came here for a skin treatment!"
"And your skin was been treated to being tossed in the medical waste where it belongs. You're quite welcome."
The dermatologist turned away to start clearing away his surgical implements, rinsing the gore off the debrider and the peeler. The patient's outburst wasn't a total surprise. He'd suspected something was amiss by the old man's oblivious attitude when he arrived at the clinic with his paperwork already conveniently filled in. But a job was a job, and he took pride knowing the world was that tiny bit more beautiful than before he began sheathing the old man in synthskin.
"Let me guess, someone referred you to us, yes? Gave you a voucher for a spa day?"
"M-my boy," Albert stammered. "For my 70th birthday."
The surgeon nodded in understanding. "Your son is... what? Forty years old? Round about that age?" Albert nodded. "Middle aged men and their doddering fathers. A match made in hell. We get these a lot. It's not uncommon for men of a certain age to want to trade their old man in for a newer model. Staves off the mid-life crisis, having a nice piece of ass to show off at the family reunion."
"He... he told me I'd be getting a facial," Albert gasped.
"Of course he did," the surgeon sniggered. He flicked through a stack of blood-splattered paperwork beside the operating table. "Here, the treatment that was requested. A full-body kindermis covering, caucasian, nineteen years old, Type 4 skin tone with a pair of... - ah. It gets rather vulgar from here. Are you sure you wish to hear it? He was very explicit about the size and shape of your new breasts."
Bracing himself, Albert looked down. Over the swell of his bosom was emblazoned name of the clinic - 'Synthskin'. The loop of the y coiled around his large, right nipple. Albert pawed at the lettering but it didn't smudge at all, as if it was tattooed deep into the soft flesh of his breasts.
"You've been made one of our brand ambassadors. We use pigmented cells for the lettering. It's part of you. You could rub at it for years and never remove it," the synthskin surgeon said. "They'll be coming to take you back to the retirement home soon. Be sure to show it off to your fellow residents. I'm sure I'll be seeing them soon."