2. Tiffany On Sale
Now, I want to make one thing perfectly clear at this stage: I am not the kind of girl who gets jealous of other women. Not for being attractive at least. Because, I mean, seriously: if you saw me on the street, you would give me a second glance. Probably even a third, if you thought you could get away with it. I've already mentioned my height, and recently improved figure?
Ah, hell. It’s gauche, but why don't you let me give you a quick top-down.
I have a lovely face – high cheek bones, button nose, and full, somewhat pouty lips. Hair, a lustrous brown, shoulder-length at the moment. Then we have the first thing most people notice: my eyes. They're this really striking shade of green, like mid-summer grass. If I wanted to count the number of guys who have told me they could get lost in them, I would need at least two hands. Speaking of two hands: my tits. My weight loss had reduced them somewhat, but I still sported an impressive set – high-end B cups, and at certain times of the month, full-blow C's. There's a butt in there, somewhere, and considering that my hypertrophic squat sets were somewhere around 180 at the time, yeah, it’s a good one.. And my legs? Forget about it. Really, impressively, dangerously long, with the kind of sexy tone you'd expect from a solid year of working out.
Tiffany, though? The girl was practically from another planet. Her body was a solid mass of velvet and iron, high peaks and ridges slowly transitioning into perfect feminine valleys. Her amazon's figure was covered in a thick skeen of muscle, yet paradoxically she managed to look as cute and dainty as any star cheerleader. Large doe eyes, curly blond hair that was usually braided in pig-tails...and ugh, perfect skin. She didn't even have a tan, but somehow she exuded this healthy glow that was so powerful and alluring that it made me want to retch. And her breasts – my God, her breasts! They were both incredibly huge and frighteningly perky, like two over-inflated, fleshy volleyballs. I honestly believe that the girl must have applied for an exemption from the laws of physics for those damn things. They stood out firm and proud on her chest, drawing the attention of every male – hell, female even – within a hundred meter radius.
But worst of all, from my perspective at least, was her height. This probably won’t track, since you don’t spend all day every day thinking about how tall people are but…do you ever see someone who looks like they should naturally be really tiny, and diminutive? But their body has this…I don’t know…thing about it, where you could imagine they just magically got really big all of a sudden? Never mind, don’t worry about it. Anyway. The girl completely dwarfed even my five ten, and she wasn't ashamed of it either. On the contrary, Tiffany seemed to delight in standing just a little too close to me, making sure I had to crane my neck far upward or be forced to speak to her tits.
Back when I had first started coming to her store, she had thought it necessary to boost her height with a pair of tall, stiletto heels. Shoes are an interest of mine, and complimenting hers came natural – they WERE pretty nice. But when I had, she'd just smirked in that self-superior way of hers.
“Thank you sweetie. But I won't be needing them much longer. Because you see, I'm still a growing girl.”
At first I thought it was a put-on. Tiffany looked to be in her early twenties, well past the age where she could be expecting a growth spurt. Yet as the weeks and months passed, I watched in fascination as her footwear changed. From stilettos, to pumps, to evening shoes. And now? Flats. Throughout the long process, she’dd never been afraid to tell me exactly how tall she had become, down to fractions of inches. In the year I had known her, the girl had gone from a daunting six-one, to an eye-watering six foot five. Plus? Her freaking boobs seemed to be increasing even faster than her height! Not to mention her muscle tone. No matter how much time I spent at the gym, the girl managed to outpace me there, too.
Oh, and it gets worse. I was fairly certain that, at least on the sub-conscious level, Tiffany understood my obsession with height. Each update on her growth had filled me both with excitement and envy, and I bet this was written all over my face. When she talked to me about being tall, she'd had this gentle, almost teasing way about it...like she knew exactly how to toy with that secret desire of mine.
But you know what? If she could read me, then I could read her, too. And however strong was my need to measure myself against the world, whatever thrill of excitement I felt when towering over another person? Tiffany had it at least twice as bad.
The giant girl led me to the back of the store, where she stepped up behind the counter. The cash register was on a raised platform, maybe six inches higher than the rest of the store. When she was back there, it looked eerily as if she had grown even taller. Probably that's why she had it built that way – so she could look like an utter giantess to everyone in the store.
That day though, I remember the perspective shift being a little different, as she stepped up behind the counter. It sounds stupid I know, but the rapid increase in her height honestly made me feel as if I was the one who had changed – like I had shrunk.
“So,” she began, grinning down at me, dropping her elbows on the countertop and her face in her hands. “Samantha. You're looking to lose a couple inches. Off your waistline.”
“That's right,” I said, nodding like an idiot, and trying not to stare down her dress. “You have something that can help with that?”
“Of course I do sweetie! Here, let me show you.” The amazon bent further, flashing what looked like an acre of cleavage. She rummaged around behind the counter, finally producing a small, green plastic jar. The only marking on it seemed to have been drawn by a black sharpie. A hyphen? Or maybe it was supposed to be a minus sign.
“Violá! What do you think?”
I thought, to be honest, that she had taken a bottle of Vaseline, pulled the label off, and was trying to trick me into paying top-dollar for some bullshit placebo.
“Interesting,” I said.
Tiffany smiled in a cold way, making me think she knew what was really on my mind. But she went on pleasantly enough. She unscrewed the lid, held it so I could see inside. It was a thick, rubbery gel. Grey, almost the color of wet plaster. Not too impressive, though it smelled nice. Like lilacs.
“This, my dear, is the answer to your prayers. Just one little dab of this will find you slimming down faster than you would have imagined possible. I'm not talking about weeks, or even days, mind you. Try minutes.”
I raised my eyebrows, completely certain she was trying to sell me snake oil. “Minutes, you say? And how do I apply this stuff, exactly? Just rub it wherever I want to get smaller, I bet?”
Tiffany nodded. “Uh-huh. Your stomach, your thighs. Or any part of your body really. Except for poor absorption through your palms and fingers, it really makes no difference. You can even eat it if you want. But, just between us girls....” Here she paused, looking over my shoulder to make sure Anthony was still occupied, and too far away to hear us. “I’ve personally had the best results when I've used it, shall we say...internally?” Tiffany's gaze dropped suggestively to a spot some six inches beneath my navel. She giggled, covering her mouth in a gesture that was startlingly girlish for someone so huge. With her size, it was sometimes easy to forget she was only a few years out of high school.
Obvious flirting aside, something else she said had caught my attention. “Wait a second. You’ve used this stuff? Like, on yourself?” After watching her amazing transformation over the past year, this bit of news immediately gave her sales pitch some credibility.
Tiffany let out a short, tittering laugh, patted my hand. “Not this formula, silly! But only, you understand, because you're interested in losing inches from your figure. And I've been more concerned with gaining. You might not believe this, but a year before you met me, I was practically a waif. I couldn’t put on weight to save my life, never mind muscle tone. The results….” She flexed. “Speak for themselves. And besides helping me fill out my figure, there are, shall we say, other benefits.” She casually rested her hands on her over-stuffed bosom, and shot me a wink.
I made a face. “Wait, if what you’re taking made your breasts bigger, does that imply this stuff is going to make mine smaller? Because that might be a deal breaker.”
Tiffany laughed again, a sound that was making me feel a tingly sort of unease. “On the contrary! Even the reducing formula should give you a bit of a boost in that department. Through the simple expedient of reducing everything around them. I've always wondered what you would look like as a D-cup, Samantha. Well, we might just find out.” As she said this, the girl was staring directly at my chest. For just a second, I think she was about to give her lips a sensuous little lick. If she was, she thought better of it.
It wasn't the first time Tiffany had come dangerously close to hitting on me. And also not the first time that I had been forced to fight down a strange excitement at the idea. I'm straight, okay? My body's reaction DID raise some interesting questions, I'll admit. But for now at least, I was much more concerned with the delicious carrot the giant girl was dangling in my face. I could worry about the rabbit hole later.
“Okay, I'll give it a shot. Ring me up.” I began to fish around in my purse. “How much is this stuff anyway?”
Tiffany smirked. There was something different about that expression, something I couldn't quite identify. “For you, Samantha, this one is on the house.”
My jaw dropped. “What? Really? Why? What's wrong with it?”
Tiffany's perfect face darkened in a frown. “I’m wounded. Nothing is wrong with it. It is free, simply because I want you to have it. Is that so terrible? To be perfectly honest…I like you, Samantha. You're such a cutie, and you always brighten my day when you come to visit. If I can do something to make you happy, well....” She smiled, spreading her arms in a shrug. “The only thing I ask is that, when you see the results, you come back to show them off for me. And Anthony too, I suppose.” She rolled her eyes.
She just had to bring up Anthony. I felt myself start to blush. If I could somehow make myself less intimidating, maybe he would finally…
I thought for a moment. Or tried to. I’m not stupid, okay? I knew there was a trap here, and that I just couldn’t quite see it yet. But really, I was beyond any kind of rational consideration. The starving man thinks with his stomach. The pudgy girl, with her waistline. “You've got a deal.” I reached up to shake her oversized hand.
A few minutes later I was leaving the store, the jar of cream tucked safely away in my purse. “It was good seeing you,” Anthony said, grinning at me sheepishly as I floated by. “Come back soon, Samantha.”
“Yes, please do!” Tiffany called from her perch at the back of the store. “I can't wait to see how it turns out...little one.”
At the time, I was almost certain that I'd misheard those last two words. Even someone as big and ballsy as Tiffany Ardeen wouldn't dare call ME 'little.'
No comments:
Post a Comment