CW: Brief physical altercation, attempted physical harm
For the first few seconds, no one moved. We all just stared in silence at Tiffany. The girl looked like the largest, most muscular bukkake star that ever existed. Standing there with that slack-jawed, faintly dazed expression you see on girls who have just taken a hard one to the face – if you know what I mean.
Tiffany was covered from nose to navel in a thick layer of greyish cream. She was trembling. Her breath coming in little gasps, her pupils much too large. Her lips parted in a soundless whimper. And then, faster than I would have imagined possible, she started to shrink.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, fighting panic as her body dwindled. The girl's sleeveless crop top had been skin-tight, almost to the point of circulation loss, and cut to reveal massive swaths of cleavage to anyone tall enough to actually look. Suddenly the garment wasn't close to form-fitting. Within a few seconds, she was practically lost in it. She held her hands to her face, trying to watch herself shrink. I knew from experience that was futile, and against my better judgment, felt a wave of sympathy.
“Lower ranking employee, my ass,” Anthony sneered. The giant watched the fruits of his labor with satisfaction for another moment, then turned to regard me. Then immediately blushed and looked away. Oh – I hadn't thought to cover myself yet. Or for that matter, even gotten around to closing my legs. “Sam? Are you...okay? I heard somebody moaning, and I sort of assumed Tiffany was…like…torturing…you….”
“Ah? No? Not torture, exactly.” My voice was a mouse's squeak, coming from a tiny throat constricted with embarrassment. I gestured wildly at the shrinking girl – hey look, a distraction!. “I guess you turned the tables on her though, didn't you?”
Tiffany's waist had already sunk beneath the level of the massage table, and as I watched, her belly button slipped past it as well. That mysterious steam was coming off her in thick, puffy clouds. Slowly, it was filling the room with a strange, sweet-smelling fog.
And it seemed like height wasn't the only thing she was losing. I had been jealous of Tiffany's body for a great many reasons, not least of which, her muscular physique. Her toned gym body, her well-defined biceps and abs...they were...evaporating! She was no longer ripped, merely 'in shape.' Then less. She was...well, still as beautiful as ever, perhaps even more so. But now she had an almost willowy appearance. One might even say, ‘cute.’
She looked down at herself, watching as her body melted. “No....” she groaned. Then, much louder. “NO!”
Tiffany wheeled, almost tripped over her too-large sneakers, snarled down at Anthony. “It took months of steady gain to get that height, that strength! And you've ruined it! I'm right back to where I started at five foot ten!”
Anthony cleared his throat. “Ah, actually I think...you might be a bit shorter than that.”
From where I was sitting it was hard to tell – they both looked like giants to me. That, and well, let's just say that I wasn't clear-headed right then. There was still that buzzing, tingling feeling from when Tiffany had stopped touching me so suddenly. It was half afterglow, half blue balls. Even so, I thought Anthony might be right. After a few more seconds I was sure of it. She was only a few inches taller than his five foot four – and going down fast.
Tiffany looked at her still-dwindling body, mouth agape. And when she returned her gaze to Anthony, there was fury in her eyes.
“Fuck!” Tiffany inhaled, screamed, and charged forward, fist drawn back. Anthony drew away, raising his arm to block...too slow. The girl launched a devastating right-hook directly at his jaw – and it sundered the air a millimeter in front of his face. The girl had been shrinking even mid-punch, and good luck for Anthony, she had misjudged the distance between them.
The force of the blow-that-wasn't was so great that it threw Tiffany off-balance. She stumbled forward, her legs tangling in the cuffs of her jean shorts, and she fell.
If I had been in Anthony's place, I would've just gone ahead and let her hit the ground. In retrospect, this would've made everything that happened next much easier. Besides, she was still bigger than him, clearly knew how to fight, and was in the mood to do some serious damage. Despite the muscle she'd lost, I'd still have bet on her..
But if Anthony didn't do what he did next – catch her, grab her by the shoulders, pull her into his arms – well, he wouldn't have been my knight in shining armor.
She fought him, teeth bared, struggling in his grip. Trying to bash head head against the bridge of his nose, clawing at his arms. Anthony really had the tiger by the tail now. If he let her get enough clearance to throw a punch, he was in for it big time. Yet every second it was getting easier. Tiffany shrinking in his grasp. Two inches taller than him...then one...and getting weaker all the time. Her shirt slid down her chest, the waistband of her shorts drifted lower. They were the same height for a moment...and wonder of wonders, now she was looking up at him.
“I hate you! I hate you!” she cried, though her voice seemed to have lost some of its raging edge. She almost sounded on the verge of tears. Her face was flushed, sweat dripping from her bangs. Her breath came in ragged, panting gasps. This was from the struggle, surely. But there was something else to it. I knew from personal experience that the shrinking gel had certain mood-altering effects, and tended to make a person pretty excitable – not to mention open to suggestion.
And with that understanding, I saw a way out of this.
“Hey Tiffany. Knock off the hissy fit.”
I stood up on the massage table, actually tall enough this way to stare the both of them down. My arms were crossed, a sarcastic little smirk on my face. “Yeah, so listen. There was a time not so long ago when I was in your shoes. Remember? I thought the only thing I wanted in the world was to get bigger. Then you shrank me. Against my will, I might add. I said I didn't want it and – any of this ringing a bell? You just laughed. Why? Because you knew me. And you told me to be honest with myself. Now I'm asking the same of you.”
They were both staring at me. Anthony, eyes shining. Tiffany, face squelched in a glare, perhaps three inches shorter than him by now, still shrinking. I was vaguely conscious that I was waist high to both of them, and clad in nothing but my birthday suit. I should have been embarrassed. I wasn't.
“Look Tiffany. Whether it's what you want or not, you're shrinking. Face it. You're already shorter than the vast majority of girls. You're probably going to get a lot smaller. Since there's nothing you can do about it, you might as well be honest. Do you really hate Anthony for shrinking you? And more importantly...do you hate this?”
Tiffany's eyes swam, a near-infinite series of conflicting emotions playing across her face. She looked back and forth from my miniature form, up into Anthony's eyes, craning her neck higher to do so each time. Her formally tight pants dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Her shirt dangled, almost big enough that her shoulders could slip through the collar. And still she shrank.
By the time she spoke, her head was beneath the bridge of Anthony's nose. Her voice was calm, even. Under the circumstances, the control this must've required spoke of a tremendous strength of will. “Your logic is backward, Samantha. What does it matter, whether I hate this or not, if there's nothing I can do about it? Either way, I'll just have to deal with it.”
She turned, the ghost of that old smirk on her smaller face, and looked to Anthony – now dwindling past the level of his chin. “So tell me, stock boy. Did you follow the nuances of what she just said? In between the parts where she was lambasting me for the fictional crime of lying to myself. She…” Here Tiffany stabbed an accusing finger in my direction. “Loved shrinking. And more, the way I was touching her while she shrank. You weren't defending her honor when you burst in here, you idiot. She wanted to be tiny.”
“You're lying,” Anthony told her flatly. He shot me a glance, blushing again at my nudity. “Isn't she?”
I hesitated. Sighed. “No Anthony. She's not.” I began to climb down the side of the massage table, waving him away when he moved to help. It was pretty difficult, given my miniature size and the way my newly enlarged breasts were throwing off my center of gravity, but all those pull-ups at the gym had their advantages. The floor was cold under my feet, the ceiling high, so high...and Tiffany and Anthony absolutely towered over me. Still, I moved bravely, stood at his feet, and looked up at my crush with all the dignity I could muster.
“Anthony, I like...no, I love being small. More than that, I loved being shrunk. Tiffany was right about… well, everything.”
“Are you....” He paused, swallowing hard. “Clarify. Are you trying to tell me that you like shrinking, or that you like...Tiffany? Is she part of this package?”
“No! I mean yes, she is, but...God.” I trailed off, trying to think of an elegant way to say this, failed. The truth was I didn’t know the answer, and how was I supposed to say that in front of both of them? I knew she was attractive, that she’d made me feel things. That I would let her put her hands on me again in a heartbeat. But did that mean I liked her? The gargantuan size of the man I was addressing wasn't helping my thought process. Anthony looked easily ten feet tall now, and now that I was standing on the floor, that age old desire of mine was starting to come to life again. Making my mouth dry, my knees weak.
“Samantha. What are you trying to say?”
In desperation, I said the one thing I was sure was true. The words were forced almost violently from me. “Anthony, I like you more!”
His eyes went wide, body going slack. “You...?”
If you're going through hell, for God's sake keep going. “Yes Anthony, I do. For like, a whole year at least. So look. It all comes down to you. I've known...I mean I think that you like me too and...all I need to know is....” I gestured at my shrunken little body, threw up my hands. “...How do you feel about this?”
He looked at me, his expression impossible to read. His mouth closed slowly, the sound of his teeth coming together an audible 'click' in the silence. And that silence lasted so long that I began to count it. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand...all the while feeling like a tiny little moron for baring my heart like this. What had I been THINKING?
It was on twelve-one-thousand when I felt a huge hand come down on my shoulder. I looked far, far up into the face of Tiffany Ardeen. Not as big and menacing as she'd been ten minutes ago, but from my vantage point, still freaking enormous. She was perhaps four feet tall now, which looked closer to eight to me. If she was still shrinking, it was no longer noticeable.
“Alright both of you, enough of that,” she said. The words had the air of a school teacher who is tired of watching two students bicker. “I'll tell you how we're going to handle this situation.” She turned, wrapped an arm protectively around me, and pointed up at Anthony. “You, Mr. Spielman, are about to have two lovely, if rather petite ladies as house guests. This will likely continue for the foreseeable future, while Samantha and I recover enough height in order to make ourselves presentable.” She stopped, glared up at him evilly. “I trust you have no objections to this arrangement?”
Anthony laughed, though there was some nerve in the sound. The girl was shorter than his armpit, but she still apparently scared the bejesus out of him. “I suppose not, no. My place is a little messy at the moment, but....”
“That will do fine,” the little giantess interrupted. Tiffany spared him one last look, then turned, bent down to one knee, and surprised nearly three years off my life by pulling me into a hug. “Thank you for talking me down, sweetie,” she whispered, low enough that only I could hear.
“Any time,” I replied, struggling to put down the powerful twinge of excitement I felt as the much larger girl pressed her naked body against me.
She stood, and once again addressed Anthony. “Get us anything you can find that we can dress ourselves in. I'll pack some growth serum, and later tonight Samantha and I will take our first dose. It’s going to take weeks, and possibly even months to recover from this. So we’ll just have to get used to each other.” Tiffany glanced at the clock over his shoulder. “And for God's sake, who's minding the front counter? It's almost five o'clock. We'll be getting our evening rush any minute!”