Boobs Behind the Wheel The Remote of Transformation chapter 8 by ThePanswapticon

The block and a half to Dylan’s car felt like a slow-motion nightmare. Dylan carried Steph against his chest like a sack of flour, stumbling in bare feet now that he’d ditched the heels. Each step was a reminder that this wasn’t some hallucination—his hips swayed like a metronome, the clingy red dress rode up his thighs, and the weight of his chest pulled forward every time he moved.

“Stop walking like you’re at a strip club,” Steph snapped, her tiny voice buzzing like a squeaky chew toy.

“I’m not—” Dylan stumbled again, boobs bouncing in front of him. “This isn’t my fault! My center of gravity is different now. And you’re heavy for a baby.”

Steph gave him a withering look that somehow carried over even on a pudgy toddler face. “Excuse you, I’m like twenty pounds of rage and charm.”

They rounded a corner and passed a group of guys leaning on a black sedan, all in snapbacks and cheap cologne clouds. One guy cupped his hands.

“Hey, baby girl! You free tonight?”

Dylan froze. His cheeks burned instantly, which only made the guys howl.

“Damn, that dress is fire! Give us a spin, blondie!” another yelled.

Dylan’s grip tightened on Steph. “Don’t say anything. Just keep walking.”

Steph grinned. “Oh, this is rich. You’re always telling me to ‘take a compliment’ when I get harassed. How’s it feel now, sweetheart?”

“Shut up.” Dylan marched faster.

Another guy whistled low. “Yo, you ignoring us? That’s cold, babe!”

Steph, naturally, couldn’t help herself. “Eat a diaper, losers!”

Dylan’s heart stopped. He whirled around, glaring at the guys. “She didn’t—! I mean—forget it!” He bolted the next block, boobs bouncing violently as Steph howled with laughter.

“Welcome to my life, Dylan! Men are pigs! You see? You see?! This is karma in its purest form!”

By the time they reached Dylan’s car—a silver Toyota Camry—he was panting like he’d run a marathon.

“Okay,” he muttered. “We’re safe. Let’s just… get you buckled in.”

Steph stared at the backseat. “You don’t have a carseat, do you?”

“No.”

“And you can’t exactly strap me in with the regular seatbelt unless you want to break my neck at the first stoplight.”

Dylan sighed. “Then… you’ll have to sit in my lap.”

Steph’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, this I gotta see.”

Getting into the driver’s seat was an ordeal. Dylan climbed in, feeling every brush of the dress against his thighs. Steph wriggled onto his lap, her little legs straddling his hips.

“Oh my God, your boobs,” Steph said immediately. “I’m basically sitting in a pillow fort.”

“Just sit still,” Dylan muttered, face red as he adjusted her position. Her diapered butt pressed down against his now utterly smooth groin.

“Ohhh,” Steph drawled. “That’s… weird, huh? No familiar equipment down there anymore, is there?”

Dylan shifted uncomfortably. “It’s—yeah, it’s weird. Feels like… like my whole lower half is soft. Like there’s nothing to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Steph said with a smirk. “Just drive.”

Dylan turned the ignition. The engine roared to life, and he adjusted the seat. His chest immediately hit the steering wheel.

“Damn it.” He cranked the seat back.

Steph giggled. “Boob problems already? Welcome to the club.”

“Steph, please.”

He pulled out into the street, hands tight on the wheel. The sensation of her tiny body bouncing slightly against his lap with every bump made him tense up.

Steph leaned back, resting her little head against his chest. “You’re really warm. Is that a chick thing? Or are you just nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You so are. Your heart’s going a mile a minute. And you’re sweating.”

“Steph, if you don’t stop—”

“Whoa, slow down! You’re taking that corner too fast!”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “You can’t even see over the dashboard!”

“I can still feel your terrible driving, Dylan! My diaper isn’t a shock absorber!”

Every stoplight became a humiliation exercise. Dylan kept glancing in the mirror, paranoid someone would see this freaky setup—a hot blonde driving with a talking baby riding her like some weird kangaroo pouch.

At one red light, a guy in a truck next to them leaned out. “Hey, babe! That your kid? You look amazing!”

Dylan’s head whipped forward like he’d been shot. Steph, of course, cackled.

“Oh, this is the best day of my life,” she whispered.

Dylan gritted his teeth and drove on.

When they finally reached the apartment lot, Dylan slumped against the wheel. “Okay. We made it. We’ll… figure this out inside. I just need a drink.”

Steph smirked. “Drinks were in the top cabinet. Good luck reaching them now. You're 5' 1" tops.”