This choice: The father settling a bet with his daughter • Go Back...Chapter #3The father settling a bet with his daughter by: Yote   *written by Tivanenk*
"Ah... hello, I am here for..." You glance around towards the plastic chairs wedged into the floor of the building, your children still playfully waving their legs. You make a quick motion with your hand, beckoning them to come to your side. The two quickly jump off their seats and scamper to you – your daughter from excitement, your son from fear. "...my daughter Jane here."
"What's the purpose of your visit?" The teller states, his eyes shifting downward to meet the sky blue eyes of the 16 year old blonde girl. You hesitate, also shifting your eyes downwards, begging her to change her mind.
"C'mon, dad! Let's do it! A bet's a bet!"
Ungrateful, little brat. You think, your milky white teeth grinding from anger, your eyes narrowing in response. You work, so that you may feed her, pay for her clothes and her school, and this is how she treats you? Why, oh why did you take the bet in the first place? It was an innocent little thing, a cute quirk. You didn't really think she would be able to win the National Girl's High School Tennis Championship – she just began playing a year ago, for crying out loud! But the inner talents of your daughter betrayed your expectations as you currently stood in the massive complex of the Repository.
"Uh... I am here to trade my genitals with my daughter."
The uninterested teller simply nods in response. "Certainly. Do the both of you have registered accounts?"
"Yes. She's under mine – a child's account. Account ID should be 7778403942. Could you confirm?"
"Let's see. 7778403942... yes. She is registered under the user ID 5389342080. George Brooks, I assume?" He confirms on the bright screen of the monitor, before turning back to you. "May I see your ID?"
You don't say anything in reply, reaching into the pockets of your jeans to promptly fish out the slim tri-fold wallet. A quick glance at your driver's license and it is given back to you, before a series of clicks of the keyboard resound through the air, the fingers navigating through the various menus and icons on the screen.
"Everything's ready. Just enter your pin and hit Enter." You nervously punch in the password to your account, glancing back to your daughter, the excitement still visible on her face. You sigh, wondering how you ever got into this predicament. A quick press of the button and you feel your hefty 10 inch penis slowly pull within your body, feeling it disappear and forming the birth canal, along with the uterus, ovaries, and Fallopian tubes. You groan almost immediately as you feel something gushing out of your newly found vagina, sticking to your new briefs. You know what it is: blood.
Your eyes flick to the body of your daughter, noticing that it looked no different other than the very tight and noticeable bulge within her short shorts. Very noticeable. Devious brat, you think, wincing from the pain shooting through your stomach. She just had to give you her vagina on the day of her period, ruining your brand new underwear and bringing you misery.
"Is that all for today?" The receptionist asks, remaining as monotone and apathetic as ever. Sometimes you even wonder if the people who work for these companies have things called "morals" and "ethics".
"Ah... I think we're... oof..." You grunt, the prickling feeling returning back to your stomach as you keel over from the pain. It was like a rapid waterfall torrent was coming from your crotch, the liquid penetrating the thin fabric of your underwear to seep into your jeans. The stain had instantly become recognizable, the dark spot clearly visible to all observers around you. Jane was snickering while your 14 year old son tilted his head, his green eyes scrunching in confusion as the matted brown hair followed his every motion, the wind cutting through it.
"Dad, whats wrong?"
You only throw a sharp glance towards the little tyke as you groan once more, your knees buckling on the spot as you unsuccessfully attempt to stop the flow of period blood by clenching your legs. Only a moment of silence goes by before the teller interrupts your little dance. "Sir? Is there more to your visit or shall I call help in escorting out of the blood.
Ungrateful stooge. You think, finally seeming to stop the blood from seeping through the fabric by creating a pocket of air in your underwear where the blood pooled, collecting slowly in a crude-made vessel. All these companies were worried about one thing: profit, and nothing else. Customer satisfaction, problem resolution, nothing else mattered to them. Not that that was that bad, after all, it meant that transactions were conducted in a swift and efficient manner. But you were quite peeved about his attitude towards you.
You groan as the cramps settle in, stinging your stomach like a scorpion's tail, bringing with it a never-ending pain. How did you daughter operate under these conditions? No wonder that she always gets moody whenever it's that time of the month. Speaking of conditions, how will you function in this situation, steering your refined blue Ford Focus through the chaotic traffic as the other vehicles blur past while hastily trying to avoid your swerving as you fight off the vicious cramps?
You glance back at your children, Jane excitedly grabbing at your (well, her's now) crotch - squeezing it in very rapid motions - and your son Michael, looking bored as he looks at the drab, white ceiling. You furrow your eyebrows, disgusted by the displayed attitude. Here you are, suffering in great pain, while he looks completely nonchalant, like he doesn't even care! You bring home the food, pay for his clothes and shelter underneath the roof of your house, yet this is how he treats you?
A light bulb suddenly goes off in your head, illuminating the far ends with rapidly-flowing ideas. Perhaps your son needs to be taught a lesson. Maybe it was the video games influencing his thoughts, twisting them into ones that dare rebel against his parents. Clearly, he needs to be taught a wise lesson; a lesson of utmost respect.
"Actually, I would like to transfer my son Michael' masculinity and 25 years of his life into my account for safekeeping. I think it's time to teach him how to manage assets."
Michael's eyes widen as the clerk briefly nods his head, mouthing 'Certainly', before beginning to scribble with an electronic pen onto some touch pad. "But dad, I don't want to!"
"Quiet, boy! Your mother and I have discussed it and have agreed that we should teach you something called investment. I want you to realize that this is for your greater good."
"Actually, sir, a transfer is not considered an–"
"Be quiet while I give my son a lesson, please," you say, the hurried scribbling resuming pace as you give the teller a stink-eye. "Anyway, you better follow what I say, or I will not let you play Hyper Luigi Universe!"
-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-
Your car races along the highway, you now-smooth hands controlling the wheel with meticulous precision. Ah, the joy of youth! How you missed it. No creaking sounds of the bones, no balding head, no wrinkly skin. Just your handsome self at the young age of 20, and a hefty 8-inch penis between your legs, rubbing against the car seat as the car sputters back and forth.
"Hey, stop it!" A high-pitched voice interrupts your concentration. A quick look in rear-view mirror shows that Jane's hand is steadily creeping at the thigh of your son. A meaty thigh, turning the heads of any man that gazes at it, connected to a well-endowed rump. You are quite surprised by how he turned out, he certainly made a better woman than man!
https://i.redditmedia.com/lq3KA9TJ5MHhcf...
"Sorry, sorry!" Your daughter Jane apologizes, clapping her hands together. "You just don't how aroused I am right now."
"Whatever! I just want to play Hyper Luigi Universe!"
"Or we could play in my room..."
Your attention turns away from the children as your car torpedoes out of the highway, navigating the narrow maze of streets and roads. A left turn, and you can see your house right ahead, smoothly drifting into the parking spot. As you hop out of the car, you reckon that you should probably explain Jane's and Michael's situation to your wife before she sees them, to minimize the damage if nothing else.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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