The Transfer - Part 5

I fucked up. In my rush to get myself into shape and have a little revenge while I was at it, I hadn’t really thought of what I’d actually do after I’d transferred all my flab away. For some reason I’d thought that after I was done he’d just be an immobile blob without any agency of his own, but now it turns out that he was anything but. He was huge, but a lifetime of weightlifting had prepared him to carry the hundreds of pounds I’d now saddled him with.

On top of that, I’d never known litheness before in my life. I had no idea what my body was capable of now that it wasn’t encumbered with all that extra bulk. I could probably outrun him, maybe, only I’d never run a step in my life. I had no idea how to move with alacrity.

Not that it mattered. He was so huge he blocked any possible path between me and the shower stall door. From one end of my vision to the other was just immense flesh, and unlike my former body, he wasn’t just a jiggling mass of quivering fat.

Somehow, the fat had integrated with his musculature in a way that it was like he’d become a well-marbled slab of beef. Very well marbled: his huge gut still folded in the middle where it sagged over his waist, and he had more folds where his pecs had become far more like tits and where the flesh of his neck bunched up like a carpet that had long since run out of floor space, but rather than every part of him wobbling individually like ripples in a pond, all of him shook and quaked like a massive thing.

He was a single, enormous edifice. And even if I were given the time to learn, there was probably no way I could climb over him.

“Um. I uh-,” I stammered, trying to buy time. I couldn’t make out his face, but I could somehow sense the fury in the way the very tips of his form trembled with barely restrained rage.

That rage soon broke. He reached down, grabbed me by the shoulders, and easily hoisted me so that I was against the wall and pinned there by his own bulk. I couldn’t move from the waist down and his torso jutted out far enough that my arms could only beat uselessly against his chest. It was like what I’d imagine it would be to hit a rhinoceros: I’d never bruise my knuckles, but it was utterly useless to convince him to stop.

“You’re gonna fix this,” he said, his voice deep and menacing. “Now.”

“I can’t!” I shouted. “I have no idea how--this took me months to figure out. I don’t think it can be reversed.”

“Really.” There was a note of resignation, but then a coldness that scared me more than anything else. “Then I guess we’re going to just see what happens when I fuck you this time.”

My blood went cold. I wouldn’t have the benefit of a spell making me incredibly horny and accommodating this time. He was going to fuck me, raw, and without mercy. And in this tiny form, I didn’t know if I could take it.