Part One:

Mature Content

[minor heresy] The Book of Eve [TG/bimbofication] by Transviscera

Part Two:

Mature Content

Part Three:

Mature Content

Part Four:

Mature Content

They had found the strange invitation on the welcome mat once they'd finished hauling everything in from the removal van. Despite his family's atheism, they had decided to attend the Sunday service, if for no other reason than to introduce themselves. Besides, there was a tea-and-biscuit reception, and they'd yet to find the box that contained the kettle. They'd drop by, have a coffee, and slip away once reception was over, they decided.
The townsfolk seemed friendly enough, thought John. A little quirky perhaps but then who wasn't in these quiet backwater towns? And they positively worshipped his wife. A gaggle of women surrounded her, probing her eagerly for news on the latest big city fashions as if she was Moses bringing stone tablets to the tribe.
Many styrofoam cups of coffee and slices of homemade cake were pressed into their hands until, before they knew it, they were being shepherded into the chapel.
John looked along the pew of parishioners. His family's heads stood out among the locals, brown amidst a sea of blonde hair. The strong smell of peroxide hung in the air, seemingly emanating from the baptismal font. Maybe it is being cleaned, he pondered.
They mumbled their way through the hymns. Many of the lyrics differed from how he remembered them. His son's attention was more fixed on the choirgirls than the hymn sheet in front of him—typical teenagers. What confused John was that he could have sworn the singers had introduced them as a male choir, though in appearance they were clearly women, busty, with blonde hair that flowed to their hips and angelic voices.
As the hymns came to an end, the women of the congregation rose and began to file out, chatting relaxedly. An usher made gentle signs for her to leave with them.
"Men only, remember?" John reminded her.
"Enjoy your sermon. Try not to get converted," she joked.
"I'm more worried about them replacing you with a robot. Getting real Stepford vibes from these people," John whispered back. "It's not going to be too long, is it?"
"Didn't you read the schedule? It's like two hours long."
"Oh, Christ. Don't leave me here with these weirdos."
"See you after the credits," she laughed.
Soon only the male worshippers were left, and the young women of the choir who stepped down from the chancel to sit at the ends of the aisles, hands folded demurely in their laps, facing forward with wide, shining eyes as they waited for the sermon to begin. His son's neck swiveled to follow each of them.
"All rise for Pastor Clarence Roberts," called the usher.
Silence fell. A girl shuffled up to the pulpit, her movements slow and considered. A black gown clung to her shapely figure, while a shawl was draped over her undoubtably spectacular chest. She opened a book on the lectern before her and fumbled a pair of spectacles onto her nose with trembling hands.
The young woman took a sip of water, licked her lips...
... and the low, dry voice of an old man rasped from her throat, echoing off the walls. "For it is written that all men bear the mark of Lucifer, for they bear the serpent between their legs ever since it latched itself to them in the Garden of Eden. The terrible serpent that doth haunt him and lead him astray every day of his life. But look upon me, my brothers, for I am saved."
With that, Pastor Roberts shrugged off his shawl. A reverent exhalation rippled through the congregation as though some holy truth had been unveiled. John stared dumbfounded at Pastor Roberts' silicone-filled breasts perched atop the lectern. The surgical work on display around the man's face was remarkable - the skin shaped and stretched across his skull and painted with a thick layer of makeup, turning it into hyperfeminine mask, a parody of youth and female beauty framed by a peroxide blonde wig.
The preacher raised his arms proudly. "Look upon me. I bear myself before you, for I am cleansed!"
John found himself frozen with rising panic, only his eyes moving to study the ecstatic rapture building on the faces of the parishioners. CULT, rang the warning bells in his mind. CULT! You're sat in a cult!
Pastor Roberts lowered his arms, though he did nothing to conceal his nudity. "Now I believe we have some new members among our flock today-" Several hundred faces turned to stare at John and his son. "- so I shall begin by reading from the Book of Conception."
It was almost Genesis, as far as John could recall from the bible studies of his youth, though twisted in certain key aspects. Adam had been a flawed creation, and allowed the serpent to latch to him, filling him with lust and violence. In an attempt to salvage some part of him, God had taken his rib, fashioning all that remained noble in him into Eve. The pastor spoke passionately, with emphatic gestures that set his chest sloshing.
"I think we've heard enough," John hissed to his son, rising.
"But dad, it's interesting," his son protested.
"Of course it is, you're 18. Now I think you've stared at that old man's tits quite long enough. We're leaving"
The devotees barely blinked as he shuffled down the pew, merely craning their heads whenever he obstructed the view of their feminized pastor. The door to the chapel was closed, with two of the choirgirls flanking it. A third leaped up to block his way. He sidestepped her. There was a blur. He found himself slammed up against the church wall with her hand clenched around his throat.
"Nobody is allowed to leave during the sermon," she growled in an octave too deep for her angelic appearance.
She was stronger than she looked too. Hanging from her grip, he felt himself sliding up the wall, His feet waggled in the air above the carpet, her fingers tightening until he saw stars.