The Gift

The room smelled of cheap perfume and, of course, the acrid stench of cigarettes, mixed with a heavy, almost bodily scent, as if someone had just been fucking here hard and rough, though in reality, nothing of the sort had happened. The atmosphere was oppressive, despite the bright outfits of the women working here. At least, for everyone except them and the two men in the next room, it was.

— Damn it, son, — muttered the brunette with massive tits, slouching at the edge of the bed. Her high-platform sandals pressed against the floor, her knees spread apart, and the pose, together with the bra about to burst, looked extremely provocative. — We’re fucked. Literally. I am this… this. — She shook her shoulders, and her huge breasts in the red bra bounced, squeezed tight by lace.

The blonde stayed silent, arms crossed under her breasts, staring at a single spot on the wall, as if trying to see something hidden there. In reality, her mind was running slow, strict calculations: as though she was solving a complex equation, with the variables being her new hips, tits, narrow waist, and the red dress clinging to it all so tightly that every breath came with the feeling of fabric stretching.

— Stanley, — mumbled the brunette almost under her breath, glancing up from below — don’t just sit there, say something!

The blonde flinched, as if waking from a long sleep. Her lips twitched, but no sound came. Instead, she turned her eyes to the brunette sitting at the edge of the bed and said, with a strange, almost mathematical coldness:

— Dad, panic won’t help here, — the blonde said firmly, clutching her arms tighter against her chest, — We need to think.

— Think? — the brunette on the bed jerked her head, and pink strands fell over her face. — Sure, professor, you can think all you want, but right now I can’t think of anything except the fact that I’ve got… — she gripped her thighs and shoved her elbows off her knees. Her huge tits shook, almost spilling out of the bra. — These fucking… melons!

— Let me remind you that you’re the one who brought me here, and you chose these women, — the blonde said coldly, turning her eyes away again, staring as if through the wall. His voice was steady, but there was something in that steadiness that made the brunette’s cheek twitch.

— I wanted to give you a gift! — the brunette jumped up sharply, but the insane platform heels wobbled, and she had to grab the edge of the bed not to fall. — You’d be thanking me if everything had gone the way it was supposed to!

— A gift, — the blonde repeated and slowly turned her head, examining her father in a woman’s body. Her eyes narrowed slightly. — You call it a gift that you tried to make me fuck a prostitute?

The brunette blinked, looked away, then glanced back up with a kind of defiance.

— Yes! A man should… go through this. It’s normal. I… I wanted you to become… like everyone else. You’re already 24!

— “A man should,” “normal.” All of it has always been about how you wanted me to live. You never asked what I want.

— Because you don’t even know what you want! — the brunette tossed her hair off her face and exhaled noisily. — You hide in your books, in formulas, in that… science. And life is passing you by!

The blonde sighed, clearly showing she didn’t want to continue this conversation.

— Life… — she said slowly, as if testing the taste of the word on her new lips, and a thin smile briefly twisted her stern features. — Well, it looks like that word has a different meaning now, doesn’t it?

— What meaning? — she snapped, but it came out too loud, too sharp, too feminine. Her face twisted. — God… I even sound like…

— A woman, — finished the blonde, tilting her head and watching her “father’s” every move. — Just like you look. — She loosened her arms slightly. — And that’s already a fact, no matter how much you scream.

The brunette grabbed a pillow as if she was about to throw it, but froze, remembering an image in her head of girls at some girly party, tossing pillows at each other, squealing, laughing, then collapsing on the bed, naked and flushed. Her fingers clenched the fabric tighter without meaning to, and a shiver ran through her body, whether from disgust or from how easily she could picture herself there, she couldn’t tell.

— Shit… — she exhaled and tossed the pillow back, tugging up the bra straps that had slipped off her shoulders. — We’ll just rot here if we don’t figure something out.

Laughter echoed behind the wall. Their laughter. The exact voices they themselves had owned just an hour ago. Too familiar intonations — only now they sounded cheerful, dirty, smug.

The brunette flinched and looked toward the door.

— They… they’re laughing? Those two sluts think this is funny?! — the brunette cried out, almost hysterical.

The blonde gave her a long, cold, studying look.

— Are you fucking stupid? — the blonde said coldly, her eyes narrowing. — They’re right where they’ve wanted to be their whole lives. — She tilted her head slightly, as if conducting an experiment: observing her father trapped in a woman’s body, overflowing with tits and weighed down by heels. — And we… are here. In their skin.

The brunette froze for a second. Her lips trembled, her tits shifted.

— You mean to say… that those… — she jerked her head toward the wall, where the same laughter kept coming from. — Those sluts… are happy about this?!

— And why not? — the blonde answered calmly. She uncrossed her arms, pulling them away from her breasts, and looked down with interest, as if for the first time she dared to seriously examine her own curves. — Think about it. For them, this is a win. From back alleys and cheap rooms — into men’s bodies. Strength, freedom, the chance to set the rules. And you think they’ll come back willingly?

— Of course they’ll come back! And if not, I’ll make them! — the brunette barked so loud that the laughter behind the wall went quiet for a moment, but then burst out even harder.

The blonde tilted her head slightly, watching her father with a kind of cold, almost frightening calm.

— And what will you do? Give them the best blowjob of their lives? A threesome? Or put on a strip show? — the blonde’s words came out far too calm, almost dry, but that calm tone only made it worse.

The brunette choked on her own breath. Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed, and she yanked her arms over her tits, as if her son’s words had suddenly thrown a spotlight on the ridiculous picture: her, a 48-year-old man, now in the body of a cheap bombshell, dressed in lace and platforms.

— You… how dare you… — she hissed, but her voice shook. — I’m your father!

— Father? — the blonde tilted her head slightly and, with cold curiosity, ran her hand along her own thigh, as if studying the reaction of fabric stretched tight over skin. — All I see is a busty little shorty on platforms.

— Shut up! — she shrieked, panting. — I’m still your father, got it?! I… I’m a man!

The blonde sighed, realizing there was no point in continuing the conversation. The laughter behind the wall stopped. The door suddenly creaked, and they walked in. In their bodies. Male figures filled the room at once, carrying with them the stink of cigarettes and cheap beer.

The first one, in the father’s body, smirked with a cigarette between her fingers. The powerful frame moved with a cocky ease, as if she’d lived in it her whole life.

— Well, ladies? — she drawled, letting her eyes roam over the blonde and the brunette. — Getting comfy in your new skins?

The second one, in the son’s body, casually slammed the door shut behind her, drumming her fingers against the frame.

— God, what a drama, — she laughed hoarsely. — One’s standing there like a cold doll, the other’s clutching her tits like that’ll save her. Jesus, what a sight.

The brunette jumped up, her face burning, her tits jiggling in the tight bra, threatening to spill out completely.

— Give us our bodies back! — she screamed, stepping forward, but the heel wobbled again, and she had to grab the wall. — Right now!

— As if we knew how! — the “father” laughed, blowing a stream of smoke straight toward the brunette. His male face twisted into a smug grin, with a flame of satisfaction dancing in his eyes. — I think it’s easier if you just accept it. You girls look perfect right where you are.

— You came to tell us you’re leaving? — the blonde said calmly, not even flinching.

— Bingo, doll! — the “son” in the man’s body grinned, folding his arms across his chest and spreading his shoulders on purpose. — Just wanted to grab a little something before we go.

He stepped up to the dresser, and his massive hand pulled open the top drawer without a second thought. The brunette jerked forward:

— Hey! What are you doing?!

— Relax, doll, — the “father” in the man’s body waved her off, pulling out a bundle of crumpled bills tied with a rubber band. — This is our money. Well, technically yours, but you understand you didn’t earn it. Don’t worry, you will.

— Whaaat?! I’m not going to… — the brunette choked on the words, but cut herself off mid-sentence when the man snapped a commanding gesture at her, closing his fist in a sharp “shut up” motion. Her plump lips clamped shut—unexpected even to herself—which made the man laugh out loud.

— You’re not going to? — the “father” stepped closer, towering over her. — Sweetheart, nobody gives a fuck about your “going to” anymore. When Johnny comes back, he won’t care.

— When Johnny comes back… — the brunette blinked rapidly, a shiver running down her body. — What… what do you mean?

The “son” in the man’s body chuckled lazily and snapped his fingers, like calling for a dog.

— I mean our—oh, sorry, your pimp.

— Pimp?! — the brunette gasped, pressing her hands to her tits so hard the lace cut into her skin. — You… you’re insane!

— No, sweetheart, — the “son” in the man’s body smirked, patting the pocket stuffed with her money using her former hands. — The only insane ones will be you two if you start babbling about being men.

The “father” in the man’s body opened the door, tossing over his shoulder:

— Johnny will be back soon. Try to look… appetizing.

The door slammed shut.

The brunette dropped onto the bed, curling up as much as her tits allowed, which immediately spread across her thighs, wrapping them in soft warmth. Her shoulders shook, her eyes darted in panic.

The blonde, however, stood motionless, her gaze cold, and said quietly:

— Just as I thought.

And for the first time, her lips curled into a wider smile.