Margaret The Remote of Transformation chapter 17 by deleted_user

Margaret kept one massive hand hovering protectively over her crotch, face beet-red under the thick beard. “This is mortifying. Every time I take a step it… shifts. And it’s getting warmer. I do not like how this body reacts to movement.”

“Welcome to the club, Maggie,” Brandon chirped, twirling once on his tiny sneakers. “At least you’re tall. I have to jog to keep up with your and Paul’s long legs. Speaking of—Paulie, that sway is criminal. You sure you don’t want to keep those hips a little longer?”

Paul turned and shot him a glare, breasts jiggling with the sudden motion. “Focus. We find Margaret’s body, swap her back, and keep going until we’re all fixed.”

They rounded the corner near the bookstore when Margaret suddenly pointed one sausage-sized finger. “There! That’s me!”

Sitting on a bench outside the bookstore was a perfectly ordinary-looking woman in her late forties: sensible cardigan, reading glasses, practical bob haircut with a few gray streaks, modest C-cup chest under a blouse, and a sensible knee-length skirt. She was reading a book as if nothing was wrong, though occasionally touching her own cheek like she couldn’t believe the skin was smooth and soft.

Margaret sighed with relief. “That’s my body. Oh, thank heavens.”

Paul raised the remote, aiming carefully. Click. The hum rolled out again. Both figures flashed.

A second later, the real Margaret gasped in her own calm, mature feminine voice. She patted her modest chest, adjusted her cardigan, and let out a long, relieved sigh. “Oh my. Much better. No more… equipment. Thank you, dear.” She gave Paul a polite nod, then glanced at the construction-worker body now occupied by someone new.

The big bearded man blinked, looked down at his massive hands and the tool belt, then let out a loud, crass laugh that sounded completely out of place coming from the rugged face.

“Well hot damn! Look at these guns!” The new occupant flexed one huge arm, making the safety vest strain. It was clearly a young guy—early twenties, bro-energy radiating off him. “Name’s Tyler. I was mid-bench-press at the gym when everything went sideways. Now I’m… this? Sick. I’ve never been this jacked in my life. And holy shit, check out the package down here.” He grabbed the bulge through the jeans without shame, giving it a proud squeeze. “This thing’s huge!”

Brandon clapped his tiny hands. “Excellent. We traded a polite librarian for a gym bro. Balance restored.”

Tyler-in-construction looked at the group and grinned, still casually holding his new crotch. “So… what the fuck is going on? One second I’m curling, next I’m a barista, then an old lady. You guys got the magic clicker? Can you hook me up with my real body?”

Paul rubbed his temple. “We’re trying. Tyler, you’re coming with us for now. We’ll find your original body too. Just… maybe stop groping yourself in public?”

Tyler shrugged, massive shoulders rolling. “Can’t help it, lady. This thing’s got a mind of its own. Feels awesome though.”

Margaret gave the group a polite little wave. “Best of luck, everyone. I’m going to find a quiet corner and pretend none of this happened. Try not to break reality any further.” She walked off with dignified steps, clutching her cardigan like a shield.

Tyler looked Paul up and down, whistling low. “Damn, you’re fine as hell in that body. Those tits are—”

“Focus, bro,” Paul cut him off, voice sultry despite the irritation.

Brandon grinned mischievously, pigtails bouncing. “He's not actually a woman. So if you're attracted to that, you're gay.”

"Bullshit," Tyler said.

"Lucky for you, I'm gay too," Brandon said, eyeing Tyler's jacked body. "So maybe we could..."

Tyler ignored Brandon and turned to Paul, cracking his massive knuckles. “Lead the way, hot stuff.”