Will do some extra work on the image - rendering a woman strangling a guy against a wall seemed surprisingly tricky to do.

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

John hung in the choirgirl's monstrously strong grip. Two more had seized his son, who seemed more confused than panicked as one blonde beauty pinned him into a headlock, his head wedged between her voluminous breasts.
John had never hit a girl before. He wasn't about to start now. Partly because he was begun to doubt that this was a girl; mostly because his body was going limp as a ragdoll as her fingers tightened around his windpipe, and darkness flooded his vision.
"Leonard! Put him down at once! These are our guests!" the voice of the pastor rang out across the chapel. "Let him go at once! We are not violent! Only men are violent."
The hand released his throat. John slumped to the ground, gasping.
The nubile form of the pastor was hobbling towards him, wringing his hands apologetically. "My sincerest apologies, sir. Please, I hope you won't think this is how we greet all our guests," he pleaded in his deep southern drawl.
With a crackle of arthritic joints within his youthful facade, the pastor knelt to help John back to his feet. The old man's skin was dry as parchment where his fingers touched and taut as a drum as if stretched tight to banish the wrinkles of age. His jutting silicone breasts pressed against John's arm, close enough that he felt the lines beneath the skin - dozens of faded surgical marks.
"There, no harm done," the Pastor said, furtively brushing the dust off John's clothing. "Once again, I can only apologize. Leonard here, he's a good boy, a devout boy, but is passionate in his beliefs. And more than a little overeager in his duties. I tell him to watch the doors and he suddenly thinks he's Cerberus himself," he muttered, shooting the choirgirl a withering glare. She flinched away like a whipped dog.
"Leonard," John croaked in disbelief, rubbing his bruised throat, feeling the indentations of "Leonard's" fingers in his windpipe. "That's a man?"
The pastor scoffed. "Why, of course! No women are permitted in the chapel during the service. Or rather, they have no need to be here. They are already clean."
He turned to smile fondly at his choir, who had moved to flank him protectively, their fists clenched and jaws set in expressions of surly beauty. The one holding his son in a headlock had relaxed her... his headlock, although for whatever reason his son seemed reluctant to escape it.
"These are our finest young men. Our most faithful. Each of them strives to emulate the mother of us all, walking the path that leads to equality with Eve. Leonard here... Hm. Well. While in appearance he may resemble a bride of Adam, in attitude, alas, he leaves much to be desired. Meekness is not one of his virtues," he sighed. "Still a rash man in many ways. But you know how boys are. As a father yourself, I'm sure you understand? Yes?"
John stared incredulously, unsure what to think. The pastor's expression was unreadable. Only his mouth moved on that pretty mask of a face - no muscle twitch betrayed his inner thoughts, those nerves severed long ago. Only the brute strength by which Leonard had lifted him made John believe the pastor's words.
While the old man's words sounded apologetic enough, his choir exuded only an aura of menace. Each of them seemed coiled, ready to pounce at the first signal. There was a terrifying intensity in their glassy stares, a fervor that told him they were true believers. They might do anything, might burn the unbelievers at the stake if told to, and would sleep soundly in their beds knowing they had done the right thing.
The parishioners were watching, hundreds of faces turned towards John. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck. The old pastor was expecting a response, the church silent.
And the door was still bolted.
"... boys will be boys," John croaked.
For a moment the pastor appeared confused by the idiom, then simply smiled. "I'm glad we agree. Tell me, was there something you found objectionable about my sermon? It isn't every day we get visitors. Our fair community has been out here practicing our, hm, little idiosyncrasies for nearly two hundred years now." For the first time, he seemed to remember his nudity, hiding his nipples with his hands in a show of embarrassment. "I imagine our ways must appear mighty peculiar to outsiders."
"N-no, no, not at all," John lied. "Your sermon was... interesting. Really, really... interesting." He cleared his throat, wincing at the pain. These guys are cracked! John thought in alarm. A Christian cult of crossdressers! If not for the pastor's command, would that thug have ever stopped squeezing? "My apologies for disrupting your service. We were just... looking for the bathroom. Please, continue. I'd love to hear more."
For the sake of his son's safety, he decided, he would smile and nod and go along with whatever wacky rituals they had. Once they were safely out of there, they'd just not return. It wasn't as if the entire town could be in on it, surely.
"I am delighted to hear that," the pastor exclaimed, taking John's arm and leading him back towards the pews. His doddering steps faltered and John swung an arm around the man's slender waist instinctively to steady him, the two of them almost resembling a couple soon to be wed as they walked down the aisle, arm in arm. "It is around this time in the sermon that the weekly purification is performed. It would be my honor to cleanse you. That is, if you truly are interested in how we do things here...?"
He was being led towards the baptismal font. The stench of peroxide grew thick as they approached.