&nbsp; &nbsp;Say that again about my chest, creep. Go on, I dare you. Oh, what's wrong? Are you struggling to speak? Unable even to scream?<br /> Here, let me pick you up before I accidentally step on you. I can tell by the way your little fabric body is starting to squirm that you're starting to realise something is wrong.<br /> Let me carry you over to the mirror so you can see the sports bra you've become. Yep. That's you. That's all that's left. Just a scrap of cloth dangling between my fingers. Here's a tip - don't heckle a witch while she's working out.<br /> Ahhh, so stretchy. I'm pulling you as hard as I can and you've not snapped yet. Congratulations, that means you don't go straight in the trash. Instead you get to serve me.<br /> I just have to try you on right now. It's okay, it's just us here - nobody to see me naked, or to see you being transformed. Ahhh, doesn't it feel so good snapping into place against my tits? I'm sure it does. Welcome to the rest of your life, cradling my breasts with your entire being, drinking in my sweat. Isn't this what you wanted?<br /> Anyway, that's enough talking to a sports bra. I've two hours on the treadmill ahead of me, hehe. Buckle up. Because things are going to get bouncy.