Mature Content

Intern In Turn [Cheating Dad to Girl] by Transviscera

Wet paint dripped down the walls of her husband's study. Much like her husband, the room was been repurposed, converted into something abundantly, excessively feminine. The sheer vibrancy of the pink paint stung her eyes.

Their son lowered the paintbrush and turned to them, splattered with paint but beaming with pride. The prospect of his parents' divorce had frightened him enough that he'd thrown himself into 'assisting' with his father's treatment however way he could, if that was what was needed to salvage their marriage. He made whatever alterations his mom asked of him. He'd already helped deliver two more bin bags of his father's clothing to the incinerator that morning.

Now he was preparing Candice's new bedroom. After all, it wasn't as though she wanted the girl sleeping in her bed. In the place of her husband's antique mahogany desk sat a bed befitting a bimbo, piled high with stuffed toys.

"What do you think? Does it need another coat?" he asked.

His father squeaked in response, his painted lips hanging open, aghast. Like all his altered orifices, the surgeons had been overeager when they tightened his vocal cords. The inflammation around his Adam's apple had receded (the scars concealed beneath a pink choker) but even still, the folds of his vocal cords were sutured together so securely that he could only talk in a high, breathy whisper. And when his emotions got the better of him (which, to be honest, was all of the time these days), the only sound he could enunciate was the shrill squeak of a chew toy.

"Squeak!" he whimpered, staring round at his defiled mancave.

She was learning to differentiate between his subtle tones. She could tell his horror-squeaks from his anger-squeaks. She smiled. This particular squeak was one of abject humiliation.

"She says she loves it," she lied to her son.

Her husband whirled at her, trembling with indignation, his implants quivering. "[You can't do this to me!]" he conveyed through body language alone. "[You've degraded me enough already!]"

"Oh, but you haven't seen the best part, my dear," she crooned, taking his wrist and guiding him towards the wardrobe.

As she opened it, he recoiled. A wall of silk and satin assaulted his senses. She reached within, and he shook his head in silent denial as she held his first bra up against his augmented chest. "I understand," she soothed sweetly. "A girl's first bra can be an intimidating thing. But an important step into womanhood."

A defiant glower burned in his eyes. He'd submitted to so much to save his marriage, to make amends for his infidelity. He'd endured implants and tummy tucks and had the cartilage of his face beaten and ablated until he had the appearance of his mistress, but this was a humiliation too far. He spun on one heel, his dark pixie locks fluttering.

"And where do you think you're going, little miss?" she snapped, seizing him and pulling him back with ease. The daily hormones still would need time to fully erode the hard contours of his male physique, but already they had sapped his strength, leaving him weak as a kitten. His squirming was pathetic. She unbuttoned his blouse and pressed the bra against his exposed chest. Her deft fingers lifted his softened, silicone-filled pectorals, and slipped them into the silken cups, clasping the garment closed behind him.