Honesty's Reward - Pt. 1

 

This story was originally posted more than ten years ago.  At the time it was one of my more explicit stories - which is to say, it's an excuse to shrink someone on a massage table and have a whole, whole lot of sexy fun times.

I'm also trying something new, in reposting: for the first time, I'm actually going back and re-editing one of my old stories.  Hopefully with ten additional years of wisdom, the story will be improved.  But.  No promises.

To head off any questions: yes this story used to have an audiobook component, and no, I won't be reposting it.  I don't have the rights to the recording, so call it lost to history.

CW: F/F/m, F/f/m, M/f/f, NSFW, shrinking woman, non-con, dub-con, role reversal

Chapter Specific CW: Seduction, bad bosses, retail hell

Honesty's Reward

1. “I Should've Worn Stilts”

The old-fashioned door had an old-fashioned bell, and it jingled as I entered the shop. The Pavlovian-conditioned young man looked up from stocking shelves. “Welcome to Ardeen Nutrition!  Can I help you find...oh! Hey Samantha, what's up?”

“Hey Anthony! I was hoping you'd be working today!”  I’d known he’d be, of course – my quarry always worked Tuesdays.  But I could never have planned that he’d be down on his knees like this, stocking discount whey on the lowest shelf.  I closed the distance between us in three carefully measured steps, and then I was standing over him. I flashed him a wide, somewhat smirky grin, and reached out a hand to help him to his feet. He took it, smiling uncertainly, and let me pull him up.

It took Anthony a full beat to notice – to measure me in his mind, to do a double-take. He craned his neck to meet my gaze, mouth hanging in slack-jawed wonder. “Wow Sam...you're really...tall...today.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I drawled, letting my voice slip ninety percent of the way to seductive. “I thought I might give my new platforms a try. Do you like them?” I stuck out one long, sculpted leg, inviting him to admire my choice of footwear. He did, of course. Though if I was playing this thing right, it wasn't my shoes he was admiring.

I had purchased these four-inch platforms for the sole purpose (no pun intended) of showing off for Anthony. I'm fairly tall for a woman – five ten, according to my drivers license – but a little extra never hurt. Honestly though? I could have towered over Anthony in my bare feet. He's an adorable little thing, probably not much over five four, and his reaction to even my natural height always gets my blood pumping.

Okay, so before I get too deep, I need to make some confessions.  Thing one, there's something important you need to know about me, right up front. I'm a bit nervous, saying these out loud, so hold your questions, please.  Here goes.

You’ll probably think I’m a freak for admitting this, but I have this weird obsession with...height. As in. I'm constantly thinking about it. Figuring out how tall I am compared to objects, or the people around me. And…I always get this cheap little thrill when I'm much bigger than someone. It always goes double for Anthony. For…reasons. The platforms let me, I don't know. Pretend that I had magically grown even bigger than usual? It just made that thrilling feeling in the pit of my stomach that much stronger.

I know I’m weird.

Confession two.  This one is easier. By this point, I'd been working a hardcore crush on Anthony Spielman for the better part of a year. I mean, aside from the appeal of his hobbit-height, the guy is absolutely GORGEOUS. Neat brown hair, hazel eyes, chiseled jaw. He’s super polite, and very kind, like I’ve literally seen the man unironically help old ladies across the street. Plus he’s crazy buff, I mean he works in a fitness store, duh. So maybe that explains me wanting to be the biggest thing in his world. 

Whatever. I hereby declare this a no judgment zone. Okay?

Anthony finally tore his eyes away from my...shoes. (I went with my favorite short-shorts, the ones that really show off how long my legs are. Yes, even though it was February. Sue me.) “So what brings you to our humble little shop today?” He cleared his throat, and tried to come off dignified. “The supplements you bought last time should have lasted another couple weeks at least.”

“Aw, I'm flattered you keep track of me enough to know that. But I'm just here on a whim today. Actually, I had an idea to look for something that might not even exist. I guess you’d classify it as a weight loss product.  My BMI is still pretty high….”

Anthony stepped back far enough to meet my eyes, his expression serious. “Sam. BMI is a bullshit metric. You don’t need to lose weight, and you’re not fat.”

I nodded at the little guy. “You're right – not anymore. I've dropped a full thirty pounds in the past year, thanks to your advice – and plenty of hard work at the gym. I’ve almost got that hourglass figure I’ve always wanted, you know? But as it turns out, the excuse I've been giving people for my entire life turned out to be true. I am actually, factually, big boned.” My hands traced a line down the ample curve of my hip, demonstrating. “I do a thousand sit-ups a week. Thirty minutes a day on the elliptical. Yet no matter how hard I try, I still can't lose these last couple inches!”

“You look...ahh...really good, though,” Anthony said, self-consciously examining a bottle of creatine. “Really.”

“Thank you for saying so,” I told him, suppressing a grin. Everything was going to plan. “Really though, I would feel much better about myself if I could trim down a bit more. And it's not as simple as just losing more weight. Because, well, when you said that I'm not fat? You were right. See?”

Before I could remember all the things that my mother had taught me, about what a good girl should and should not do...I just did. I lifted my shirt provocatively, flashing him a glimpse of my tight, early stage six-pack, 'accidentally' going high enough to show him the underside of my lacy black bra. 

A red flush of excitement faintly touched Anthony’s cheeks.

I beamed down at him knowingly. That move had turned the trick – he wouldn't be able to resist much longer. “So you see what I mean,” I went on. “I almost need something that could, I don't know, change my body type. That's probably beyond the scope of a supplement, but maybe, if you wanted to take some time and work out a program with me....”

“Did somebody say magic?” a voice boomed – deep, rumbling, yet obviously feminine.

I grimaced, swearing under my breath.  She wasn’t supposed to be working today.

From behind a stack of protein shakes stepped Tiffany Ardeen, owner and namesake of Ardeen Nutrition. The girl looked down at the two of us, arms crossed over her chest, wearing her usual arrogant smirk. It was the kind of expression you might see on the statue of a Greek goddess – one meant to convey both contempt and benevolence as she regards the insignificant mortals who grovel at her feet.

“Why Samantha Millers! Good to see you! How's my best customer?”

“Fine, thanks for asking,” I replied, forcing a smile. My plans for seducing Anthony were out the window, for today at least. With her around, it was foolish to think I could be 'the biggest thing' in his world. If I had wanted to compete with Tiffany for that honor...forget the platforms. I should've worn stilts.

The girl gave me a sweet, almost impish grin. It was hard not to be enchanted by that smile, when it came from a face as lovely as Tiffany's. And just looking at someone as tall as her was already making my insides feel funny. 

I told you it gives me a thrill when I'm taller than someone? Well, it can go the other way too.

“I couldn't help but overhear you pouring your little heart out to my stock boy. Maybe you should call me 'Genie,' because believe it or not, I might have something that can grant your wish. We can have you slim as a runway model in no time, without sacrificing a bit of muscle tone.”

“Are you kidding me?” Anthony shrilled. “We have products that can do that? Then why have I never heard of them?”

Tiffany turned her head, peering down at him as if he were a smudge of dog poo on her favorite Gucci sandals. “I'm not in the habit of divulging company secrets to low ranking employees.”

“Low ranking? I'm the only person who works here besides you.”

Tiffany let out a long-suffering sigh. “Anthony, the big people are talking. I'll be kind and not count this as your break. But I pay you to stock, not chit-chat. Get back to work.”

At once Anthony snapped to attention, giving me a sidelong smirk. “Yes ma’am, yes ma’am.  I’ll finish marking down this expired protein in half a jiffy.  You may need to help me figure out how to apply the twenty percent discount you wanted.  I can’t count that high, unless you let me take off my shoes.”

The giant girl turned to face him full-on, her expression neutral. “Anthony, do we need to have another closed-door discussion about your unprofessional decorum? As I recall, you didn't much enjoy the last one.”

He met her gaze, looking up at Tiffany.  She was well over a foot taller than him, and probably outweighed him by a hundred pounds a least.  There may have been a lesser species of fear in his eyes. “No ma'am,” he answered.

“Good.” She turned on her heels and headed toward the back of the shop, beckoning me to follow with one long, well-manicured finger. “It is so hard to find good help these days,” she said, her voice adopting a patrician drawl.

I spared one final, sympathetic glance for Anthony. Then hurried after.