Aisle 13

Tom hated his job. Mopping up the never-ending messes of inconsiderate shoppers in the rundown grocery store was hardly the highlight of his life. The flickering fluorescent lights, the endless beep of registers, the smell of old produce—it all blended into a dull, miserable existence.

Tonight was no different. Just another shift, just another mess.

The crackling speaker overhead buzzed to life:

“Tom to Aisle 13. Spill on Aisle 13.”

Tom sighed, grabbing his mop and bucket. The wheels squeaked as he pushed it along the tiled floor. Aisle 13—where they kept the baking goods and syrups. Probably some kid knocked over a bottle of honey or something.

As he turned the corner, his stomach churned at the sight.

A thick, white fluid was splattered across the tiles. It glistened under the buzzing lights, unnaturally bright and almost… alive. The scent was oddly sweet yet unfamiliar.

“What the hell is this?” Tom muttered. He bent down, scooped up a tiny drop with his finger, and—against all better judgment—tasted it.

It was creamy, thick, but the flavor was indistinct. Not quite milk, not quite syrup. It left a strange tingle on his tongue.

Tom shook his head and started mopping, following the irregular trail of liquid. It led further down the aisle and around the corner, becoming thicker, as if something had dragged itself through the store, leaking this odd substance.

And then—his foot slipped.

His world spun. His head cracked against the hard tile.

Everything went black.

---

A deep, wet breathing filled his ears as Tom’s consciousness returned.

His eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was a shadow looming over him—round, wide, and massive. The air was thick with heat and the faint scent of sweat and sugar.

Then—a voice.

“Oh, sugar. Sorry about that! I can’t help it sometimes.”

Tom’s vision cleared, and his heart leapt into his throat.

Towering over him was a woman—if she could even be called that.

She was huge. Her purple dress barely stretched over her vast, heavy body, clinging to her sweaty, jiggling skin. Her arms were thick and bloated, her fingers like swollen sausages. Fat rolls bunched behind her neck, and her double chin quivered as she spoke. Her legs—tree trunks of flesh—pressed together, overflowing her sandals.

Her privates were exposed, the source of the strange liquid.

Dripping. The liquid was dripping from her.

 

Juices oozed on the supermarket floor at Tom’s feet.

“Oopsie,” she giggled, stepping closer.

Tom tried to scramble back, but his palms sank into the slick, wet floor.

She extended a massive, bloated hand toward him. “I’m Marisa, by the way. Let me help you up.”

Her hand extended,

Then—she slipped.

Her colossal body fell forward, and before Tom could react, she crashed down on top of him. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, crushing him beneath her smothering weight.

The meaty thud of her body filled the space. Her fat rolls slapping into the cold wet floor.

Her oozing orifice contacting his face, the strange sweaty smell filling his nose. As he tried to take a breath his lungs were met with fluid.

His mouth filled with the strange, warm liquid as it seeped from her.

His arms tried to wrap, to push her away but his hands could not reach midway around her mass.

Tom gagged, choking as Marisa groaned and rolled her gargantuan body off him.

His chest burned. His head spun.

Something wasn’t right.

 He stumbled to his feet and ran—staggering, sweating, shaking. His body felt wrong. His stomach twisted, skin prickling, burning.

“Hey wait! where can I find the weight watchers shakes?” she said then laughed.

He shoved through the stockroom door, slamming it shut and locking it behind him.

His breath came in ragged gasps. His heart pounded.

Then—it began.

The first pop came from his feet. A sharp, searing pain as his bones compressed. His spine cracked, sending a jolt of agony through him as his height shrank—5’11”… 5’7”… 5’4”… 5’0”.

His limbs ballooned outward. Flesh swelled, thickened, jiggled.

Tom screamed as his belly expanded forward, slapping against his thighs—a heavy, hanging double-belly, the sheer weight of it tugging at his frame. His chest ached, tingled, burned, but when he looked down, his pecs did not swell into a woman’s full breasts. Instead, his chest remained disproportionately small, overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of his belly and back fat.

“MOOBS!” Tom grunted

His shirt exploded off his body, the seams unable to contain his growing mass. His pants split apart at the seams, leaving him naked, vulnerable, monstrous.

His arms thickened, his fingers puffing into bloated digits, useless and stubby.

His legs began to ripple outward, soft yielding flesh encasing his once muscular legs. Rolls forming, draping his knees in fat. His legs met in the middle and squished together.

He grabbed his swelling gut, lifting it, feeling the taut, stretched skin. It was smooth, perky, as if defying the weight it carried. His back rolls bunched and sagged, sweat collecting between the deep creases.

His neck thickened, merging into his heaving shoulders, a double chin forming and jiggling with every horrified breath.

Then—his face shifted.

The pain was sharp, stabbing, bones rearranging, cheekbones softening, lips plumping. His masculine features melted away, leaving behind an undeniably beautiful, feminine face. Big, blue eyes. Full, pouting lips. A delicate nose.

His scalp prickled as long, silky brown hair cascaded past his shoulders, tickling his exposed, blubbery back.

Tom stared at his reflection in the stockroom mirror—at her reflection.

A grotesque, enormous pear-shaped woman stared back at him.

“No. No, no, no!” he gasped, voice higher, softer, undeniably feminine.

She—he—whatever he was now—staggered back, her massive thighs rubbing together, each step a struggle.

Tom, or whatever he was reached at his belly, pulling it up and feeling for anything protruding down there. His reflection showed the last of his manhood slip back inside of her.

“SLORP” it responded with a wet slurp.

Her hands were met with a wet void, the same white liquid dripping to the floor.

Plop…..Plop….

The stockroom door creaked open.

A shadow fell over him.

Marisa stood there, smiling.

“Look at you, sugar,” she purred. “You turned out even fatter than I would’ve guessed.”

Tom’s breath hitched as she stepped forward, her immense, jiggling body pressing against the doorframe.

“Now lets get you cleaned up, I’ve got a lot to explain.”

-END