The chill of the tub’s edge shocked Marco, and then it siphoned nearly all the heat out of his little body. If the restricting spell Dorris held over him would have permitted it, he would have gasped in shock, an inverse scream at transitioning from her ass, from the warmth of her foot. All that was permitted him was to gape at, without really seeing, the bathroom ceiling.
The middle-aged, frumpy giantess slipped out of her clothes and let them drop out of his range of sight. She turned this way and that, attending to things he couldn’t readily perceive, except for when she held still, massaged her breasts, and frowned intensely at something far beyond Marco’s head. Despite the chill spreading throughout his body, he was able to recognize this as staring into the mirror, probably over the sink. That was so familiar and universal, it penetrated his biological alarm.
Holy fuck, holy fuck, he thought. Freezing. Bitch is freezing me to death.