Title: A Father’s Proudest Experiment
The basement lab hummed with an eerie, electric energy, the scent of ozone clinging to the air. Tubes of glowing fluid bubbled in the corners, casting shifting shadows across my father’s face. His eyes—wide, alight with a giddy spark of scientific triumph—locked onto me as the final adjustments to the transformation device clicked into place.
"Ahah! Excellent choice!" he crowed, rubbing his hands together with barely contained glee. The sly smirk on his lips sent a shiver down my spine—or what was left of it, anyway. Was that excitement or something darker flickering behind his glasses?
He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear as the machine whirred to life. "Now, focus. Really focus."
I swallowed hard, shutting my eyes as the process began. A strange, tingling warmth spread through my limbs, followed by a disorienting sense of compression—bones shifting, muscles reconfiguring, skin stretching into unfamiliar contours. The sensation wasn’t painful, but it was... intimate. Too intimate.
Then—a sudden stillness.
I blinked, glancing down.
There it was.
My father’s penis, rigid and unmistakable, standing proudly where my legs should have been. The weight of it was foreign, yet disturbingly natural. I could feel the pulse of blood beneath the skin, the subtle twitches of involuntary movement. Heat rose to my—well, to whatever parts of me were left that could still blush.
Dad let out a low whistle, circling me like a predator admiring its prey. "Fascinating," he murmured, reaching out—
I flinched.
But before I could protest (assuming I even could in this form), he abruptly straightened up, clapping his hands together. "Right, then! Enough science for one day."
With shocking nonchalance, he grabbed his discarded pants—discarded before the experiment, I realized, with a fresh wave of mortification—and yanked them back on, zipping up with finality.
"W-Wait—!" I wanted to scream, but all that came out was a faint, confused twitch.
Dad flashed me another grin, patting the bulge in his jeans reassuringly. "Don’t worry, champ. We’ll figure out how to turn you back eventually."
Then, with a cheerful hum, he turned and strolled out of the lab.
Leaving me—his son—trapped in his pants.
Thrilling? Debatable.
Disorienting? Absolutely.
And as the reality of my situation sank in, one desperate thought echoed in my mind:
Why did I agree to this?
—
(Option Selected: Bullet He puts his pants back on to get ready.)
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