This choice: Your wife doesn't like Jane's change, but approves teaching Michael investment. • Go Back...Chapter #4Your wife doesn't like Jane's change, b... by: Yote   First thing's first, you will have to see about buying your daughter more appropriate clothing, you think as you peer into the rear view mirror. She is wearing the ass-hugging leggings now popular among girls her age, clothing that you hardly approved of when you set off for the Bureau, less so now that she is wearing your penis between her legs. The tight stretchy fabric adheres obscenely to all seven inches of her engorged manhood and hugs snugly around each of her sagging, forty-five year old testicles. The head of the thing gives a little quiver each time her hand creeps a little further up your son Michael's leg, her fingers tip-toeing their way higher like a spider creeping towards a fly.
Ah well. Like father, like daughter, you chuckle, savoring the feel of your own new cock, satisfied that you have at least an inch or two over her still. It feels fantastic. Though your entire body is brimming with the energy of youth, your cock in particular is just overflowing with spunky virility. Currently commando for comfort's sake (you had slipped your Y-fronts off in the Bureau's toilets), you sense every thrum of the engine through the car seat. You flick the button for the heated seats and feel a pleasant warmth begin to permeate your private parts.
Who the hell knew that Michael had so much masculinity hidden inside him? Your own son, your weedy, bookish young son, has been carrying around a small fortune in masculinity all this time, 23,460 masculine-credits. On the open market, you wouldn't be surprised if it would have sold for enough to pay off the mortgage. What a waste, he had never truly used it - neglecting sports for study, and you're not sure if he's ever even had a girlfriend. It's good parenting of you indeed to take all that wasted potential and invest it where it can be of some use.
For a brief moment you wonder if they left any masculinity in him, but a quick look back is enough to reassure that he is truly cleaned out. The human body is a curious thing - possessing the potential from birth to be either male or female, there but for a tweak of hormonal chemistry. Such a fact is evident in how women given testosterone can become male and vice versa with men and estrogen. There is always some aspect of the opposite sex in the background, the anima or animus if you will, subtly influencing the biology and behavior, and which if not for the other dominant aspect would come to the fore.
And come to the fore it has with Michael. With not even two credits of masculinity to rub together, all that is left is 100% woman. And quite some woman at that. The boy must have been hiding quite a stash of femininity credits in his DNA. A pity you can't bank those too, though to deprive a person of both masculine and feminine attributes leaves them as sexless individuals, listless, strange things devoid of the aspects or organs of either.
You wonder what other attributes he has hidden under his unassuming facade. The kid could have mountains of untapped Strength or Fertility. He could be a positive gold mine. Next time you're at the bureau, you will get them to do a full financial breakdown of him.
Certainly he has come into possession of a nice handful of Cup-sizes, you realize, your gaze shifting southwards to the breasts that are squeezed into his Mario and Luigi t-shirt - mature breasts, maternal breasts, breasts that could feed sextuplets if they had to. Already there are two dark, wet circles spreading across the fabric of his t-shirt above his wide, fat nipples - the boy, suddenly thrown into the age and sex of a grown woman, is lactating like a new mother. You weigh those swollen orbs in your mind's eye, estimating them to easily be DDs, each cup-size worth a month's pay. And productive too. Dairy farms will pay good money for attributes like that.
Distracted by the view in the rear view mirror, the car hits the curb as you pull into your driveway, setting those bountiful breasts a'jiggle like his mother's trifle. At the same moment, as your eyes flit up to focus on parking, Jane's hand darts upwards, finding its goal between his legs.
"We're here!" Michael squeaks suddenly, almost leaping from his seat. Jane looks up in surprise and break into a grin.
"Alright, we're home! I can't wait to show mum!" she crows, leaping out of the car almost before it has come to a halt and dashing for the house.
It had started to get dark after a long day on the high-street. Your headlamps illuminate the peeling paint of the garage door as you pull up in front of it. Twisting in your seat, you say "Mind getting the door for me, champ?"
Sullenly he nods and slinks out of the car, walking with an awkward gait round to the front of the car and twisting the handle on the garage door. As he bends down to lever his fingers under the door and heft it upwards, you give a low whistle to yourself. "Mikey Mikey Mikey, where have you been hiding that all these years," you whisper to yourself.
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Bent over, caught smack-bang in the beam of the headlights of your car, his big, plump buttocks waggle back and forth as he strains to lift the garage door. "We need to get you measured up," you mutter to yourself, unable to tear your eyes away from the resplendent wealth in each of those juicy ass-cheeks. "For a keister like that, I could get a new bathroom or kitchen installed. Just a question of getting him to part it- part with it, I guess," you ponder.
Then it occurs to you - as his father, his assets are yours! If you want to sell, for his good of course, you can in a heartbeat.
Finally he manages to get his shoulder under the garage door and strains with all his weak might to lift it up fully. Shielding his eyes against the light of the car, he steps to the side, waiting. He looks like he has a question for you. You pull the car into the garage and climb out, and he steps closer, his eyes full of concern.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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