"Hi, uh...Wow, god," he stammers in greeting, "you look...great." He steps back from the doorway, allowing her in, "so...tall."
"Yeah, well, I have help," she explains, showing him her thick-heeled, black leather boots. Stepping up into the house, she hands him her bags. She is easily several inches taller than him in these, her highest heels. His pulse quickens as they stand, for a moment, face to face. Little Traci...not so little anymore. He is looking up to keep her gaze as she smiles in thanks, leaving him with the packages as she turns down the hall towards the kitchen. Watching her walk in front of him, he looks her up and down in quiet admiration before commenting on her appearance. "Your mom let you out again, huh? In that outfit?"
"Well, she thinks the jeans are too tight," she replies, taking a bag from him and beginning to unpack onto the counter, "but she bought me this sweater, so she can't complain." Her white cotton sweater is indeed quite tight, hugging her curves.
They chat lightly as they continue unloading groceries, as she gathers the supplies she needs for dinner from around the kitchen. She has the flirt juice flowing, giggling girlishly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She makes it a point to stand extra close to him whenever possible, to emphasize her height. She enjoys his reaction; he seems nervous, a bit off balance. I think I'm actually intimidating him, she muses, and I think he likes it.
She lets him off the hook soon, however, insisting he sit down on a stool at the countertop island while she prepares the food. He admires her moving easily, confidently in her high heels as she flits about the kitchen. The meal she prepares is simple, something a teenager would put together. "This sauce is my mom's recipe," she explains as she spoons pasta onto his plate, "I hope you like it"
"Oh, uh...I'm sure it's fine" he says, looking over her tight pants as she turns from him. She seems to look better, he marvels, every time he sees her. Ah, the wonders of puberty. He digs into his meal, still watching her as she sets to scrubbing pots in the sink.
"Is it okay?" she calls over her shoulder, "is there anything else you need?" Her tone is positively maternal, and he has a momentary vision of her as a young mother, fixing dinner for her children. He almost chokes on a forkful of pasta as, turning at her thin waist and unwittingly emphasizing her full breasts in profile, she asks "Some milk?"
"Uhh...no," he sputters, his eyes shooting back down to his meal, "I'm fine." Stay on target.
Back to business, Traci turns once again to the dishes. Soon he has had his fill and pushes the bowl away.
"Hey, you didn't finish," she half-whines, drying her hands on a dishtowel, "You didn't like it, did you?"
"No, no," he apologizes, wiping his mouth, "it was really good. Really." Her doe-eyed disappointment begins to fade as he continues, "I just haven't been all that hungry recently." It is true; though her meal was fine - he just didn't have the appetite for it.
"Okay, well," she implores, taking the dish from him, "there'll be leftovers for you tomorrow." Putting the remains of his meal into a larger bowl of unused pasta, she adds "Y'know, you've got some bulking up to do, so you'd better eat."
"Yeah, huh?" he responds, looking over his shrunken arms, "that reminds me...I don't think I'm going to be working out anymore."
"Oh, no, really?" she says, concerned, putting food in the refrigerator and turning back to him.
"Yeah, it's just getting depressing, y'know, doing less and less weight every day." He looks at his hands, fiddling with a napkin. "I dunno maybe I'll try running again," he says, knowing very well he won't be doing that, either.
"Aw," she moans, sounding compassionate, "who's going to be my workout partner?"
"Face it, Traci," he says, "you don't need to work out."
"Mmm..." she agrees noncommittally, "well, I hope you do start running again. Something to make yourself feel better." Though still giddy from the success of the spell, she does have a little pity for him. Even if he did bring this on himself, even if it is some sort of fantasy to be shorter than her, she still feels a little bad occasionally.
And so, over the next couple of weeks as he continues to shrink, Traci makes it a point to stop by most days after school. To visit, bring some food, maybe a movie for them to watch together that evening. A bit frustrating for her, however, is the fact that - despite her best efforts at flirtation, despite all the temptations of her blossoming figure - he has not made any move towards her in the least. He just seems to stare at her when he thinks she's not looking. She, for her part, doesn't want to come across as too aggressive. He seems so depressed; she doesn't want to scare him away. Just let him look, Traci, she tells herself, let him ogle you all he wants. He'll be ready eventually.
Can this actually be part of his fantasies, she wonders, taking a glimpse of his dwindling body one day as she helps him rearrange his closet, being a helpless twerp? My, he's getting so small. It seems like just a few days ago, she thinks as she pulls clothes from an upper shelf for him, when we realized we were the same height. But what is he now, like, five feet tall? If that? And so skinny, so weak.
Traci, on the other hand, has never felt so good. So full of energy, full of life. Her figure, she’s noted proudly, seems to become better by the day. The changes are truly amazing. Not only her breasts - which have swelled their way through another set of bras and are becoming honestly spectacular - but indeed her entire body. Her legs, her rear, her hips. It’s like an extra blessing from puberty - always kind to her to begin with, this is like a bonus package.
Smiling, looking in the mirror, she basks in her own beauty. And, look at me, she thinks, I've grown three inches. I'm getting tall. And so much prettier. And so...stacked. It's no surprise I won the school election, that I'm doing well in all my classes. She continues stroking her own ego as she reapplies her makeup, before heading over to Rich's for the afternoon. The boys, the teachers, all seem to follow me around like little puppy dogs, staring, hanging on my every word - or just drooling from a distance. I could have any guy I know, she realizes, putting the finishing touches on her lipstick, and if he's too shy, well, I'll just have to do it myself. I'll just hand him what he wants, she resolves, smacking her newly painted lips, looking herself over one final time, I’ll make it so easy for him. An unusually warm autumn afternoon, she had decided on a tight pair of brief, khaki shorts and a midriff bearing, grey cotton tee-shirt in which to flaunt her curves as she did her chores, cleaning around his house.
Look at the poor thing, slumped in his big easy chair, she thinks as she goes about her tasks, he can't keep his eyes off me. Strutting before him purposefully, she asks "do these shoes go with this outfit?" He shrugs, glancing down at her feet. She turns her back to him. "The high heels, I admit, might be a bit much. But," she continues nonchalantly, stretching to reach a top shelf with her dusting rag, displaying her taut muscles, "I like the way they make my legs look." She can just imagine what his view must be like.
"Uh, sure, and...you can really reach those high shelves, huh?"
"Yeah, but, give me a little while," she answers, lowering herself off her tip-toes and spinning to face him, "and I won't need the heels."
He swallows dryly, pausing before speaking. "So...you're still...getting taller, huh?"
"Yeah, it's weird, I thought I had pretty much stopped growing last year," she replies, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "guess not." She approaches, moving to clean the coffee table in front of him. "Not that I'm complaining, of course," she says, bending at the waist to dust off the tabletop, suddenly displaying her breathtaking rear, "I always wanted to be taller."
My god, he marvels, goggling at her rondure, it's huge. "Oh,yeah...?" he responds, struck nearly dumb, "Really?" He struggles to find his tongue. "How much bigger h-have you gotten?" he stutters, squirming a bit in his seat as he watches her firm flesh jiggle as she scrubs at a stain, "I-I mean...how tall a-are you, now?"
"Oh, I dunno," she replies, standing to her full height above him, blowing a wisp of hair from her face, "five-nine or so. Last time I checked." She notices him swallow again; he looks nervous.
With hands on hips, she peers down at him. Her expression changes, her head tilts as she puts down her rag and crouches down in front of him. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says, trying to fill her voice with compassion, "how insensitive of me. Talking about how tall I'm getting, with you...still shrinking." She brings the back of her hand up to his face, rubs his cheek.
"S'okay," he mumbles, looking into her bright eyes, "no big deal."
"Oh, but it must be weird, watching me grow, getting bigger as you...y'know...get smaller." Her lips part moistly as her hand slips down to his neck, tenderly stroking his throat, a child with a pet.
"Well, yeah, but...no, I mean, I'm happy for you, I guess," he stammers, as he struggles to keep her gaze. He is so aroused; she is so young, so pretty. "If you want to be taller, that's...that's great."
"But, I feel so bad for you," she continues, her other hand coming to rest on his knee to comfort him. She watches his eyes flit downward, nervously, and then back to meet hers. "You're getting so small," she says, her hand moving up his leg, grasping his shrunken thigh through his sweatpants, as if testing it for size. "So very, very small."
He swallows, drawing a deep breath, dropping his eyes once again to his lap, watching her hand massage his leg, feeling her light caresses on his throat. He is hard beneath his loose clothes, stiff against his inner thigh; he prays she doesn't notice - but she is so close, and it feels so good. Unwittingly, his eyes drift up a bit to her full chest. Jesus, she's big.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" she breathes, moving in closer to him, her hand slipping from his throat around to the back of his neck. "Anything at all? To help, to make things easier? To make you..." her hand inches up his thigh, "feel better?"
He looks away, to the side, his eyes roaming the room but aware of her slowly approaching body. "Oh, uh...no...I mean, you've been doing so much for me already," he says, trying to appear calm, trying to ignore her hand, so close now to his swollen, twitching member. He knows he should end this, ask her to stop. But he can't. "With the cleaning, the cooking...I don't want you to start feeling like, like, my maid..." his heart begins to race, his toes curl, as she moves nearer. He smells the perfume of her hair, feels her breath on his cheek. "...or..." he stutters, "...or..."
"Or what...?" she breathes in a low whisper, "...your mother?"
Oh christ. "Uh, yeah...y'know...uh..."
"Oh, that's okay, Rich," she replies, her hand now poised over his stiff erection, "I don't mind..." She grasps him once again, now squeezing his hardness into his leg through his sweatpants. Amused, she watches his shiver of pleasure, hears him gasp quietly, even as he tries weakly to back away from her. "I don't mind at all."
She smiles, having struck him speechless. "I like helping you out," she purrs as she squeezes him again, her mouth close to his ear, "I like taking care of you." Massaging him now, so very slowly, through the soft cotton of his clothing, she feels him tensing beneath her grip, trying to resist rolling his hips into her. "And anyway, did your mother ever do this for you?" She giggles, pressing him more firmly into his thigh, making him groan.
With the hand she has rested on the nape of his neck, she gently begins to turn his head, back again towards her. "You like big girls," she whispers knowingly, "don't you, Rich?" Her pressure on his swollen manhood becomes more rhythmic, running up and down its length.
He struggles half-heartedly, trying to resist, attempting to ignore the first hints of a looming climax. But he is entranced by her voice, her luscious, all-to-close body, and is slowly giving up his will to fight. "Oh...god...Traci..." is all he could muster as she turned his lips, against his half-hearted protests, towards hers. "We...we shouldn't."
"Come on," she breathes, her lips moving towards his, ”kiss me."
"No..n-no.."
"Oh, why not, Rich?" she whispers as she inhales a swelling breath. He turns his face down, away, avoiding her kiss but finding himself staring directly at her inflated breasts. "Aren't I pretty enough for you? Aren't I big enough?"
His eyes goggle at her fullness, exaggerated by his shrunken size, her thin frame. That does it. His breath catches in his throat as he suddenly realizes he is over the edge, so quick. Overcome by the sight of her buxom curves and the ministrations of her insistent hand he comes, with a withering sigh, in his pants.
She feels him twitching and pulsing beneath her hand, and smiles to herself as she massages him gently into his own leg, proudly arching her back a bit more.
"Oh...christ...Traci..." he moans, nearly sobs, as he feels himself run hot and wet onto his thigh. He is embarrassed not only that it happened, but that it happened so easily, so quickly. His shame wells as he continues to watch her displaying her big breasts to him.
She milks him through his climax, leaving her hand upon him, hushing his protests, until she feels his pulses dwindle, his breathing slow. She leans in a fraction more, whispering once again, her question in his ear, "Did your mother ever do that for you, hmm?" She feels him shiver, speechless.
With that she draws back, taking her hand from his leg. They both look down at the wet stain, spreading slowly on his inner thigh. Unable to help herself, she giggles, hand covering her mouth, exclaiming in mock surprise "Oh, Rich! Look at you...!"
Readjusting his pants, grabbing a magazine to cover himself in modesty, he flushes and stammers "Uh...um...yeah...Traci, I, uh..." He could not bring himself to meet her searching gaze. "...better get going...I, uh, have to make dinner..." He couldn't believe he let this happen. He feels mortified, sitting there in his own sticky filth.
She looks up at him, from her crouch, still quite pleased with herself. "Oh, do you want me to fix something for you?"
"No, uh...that's okay...I have some, uh, leftovers. I'll be alright."
"Are you sure? It's no tro-"
"Yeah, it's okay, Traci..."
"Oh," she replies, sounding a little confused as she stands up in front of him, "okay, if that's what you want..."
He still could not look her in the eye. "Yeah, I'll, uh...talk to you tomorrow." He felt so embarrassed, so weak, so...small.
"Okay...bye, Rich. Call me if you need anything." Traci leaves quickly, climbing into her car with her thoughts. What is up with him? she wonders, Like, he's older than me and maybe not feeling all that great, pretty weirded out. But obviously he's attracted to me - I mean, I just made him come in his pants! But he's being so...shy, is it? I dunno. There's got to be a way, she tells herself as she pulls from his driveway, to find out what he really wants.
Rich, in the meantime, hurries to clean up. Berating himself as he strips off his soiled clothes, he curses his own weakness. How could he let this happen? He, a veritable recluse, sprawled out on his easy chair, had let the little girl with the crush on him feed him, clean up his house, and then jerk him off through his sweatpants. I am so pathetic, he tells himself as he wipes himself clean. And everyone else is going to know it, too, as soon as they find out about this. He imagines Traci on the phone to Emily, gushing over her conquest. Emily nonchalantly mentioning it to Mark. Mark whispering in hushed tones, over a glass of beer, to their friends, the other guys, "Did you hear Richie-boy is getting...serviced...by my little sister's friend? Yeah, yeah...they say he's shrinking...that he can't do anything for himself anymore...that she's taking care of him. I'll say she's 'taking care' of him alright!"
Mark's family, thankfully, is still away, he thinks, but, Jesus Christ, I'm going to look like such a loser. And all because I have absolutley no willpower. No power at all to say no to this girl, this girl who obviously just wants to see if she can score the guy she had a crush on as a kid now that she's a major hottie. Damn, she knows it, doesn't she? She knows what that body of hers can do. Did you see that outfit she was wearing today? he asks himself as he gathers his laundry. Man! Those legs, those gams! In all his fantasies about her breasts, he had nearly forgotten about her legs...were they that fantastic, that muscular, last time he'd seen her in shorts? At their last workout a couple weeks ago? Where'd she get those things? And that ass...holy smokes!
It probably makes her feel pretty darn good about herself, he thinks as he closes the lid to the washing machine, pumps up that ego of hers even more, to have me - the older boy, always so unattainable - fall to her charms just like everyone else. Well, this is going to be the end of it, he decides as he looks through the refrigerator, I can end up with some of my dignity intact if I can stop it here. Before Mark gets home. Then he could blow the whole thing off in some macho boast, he figures, a little conquest for himself. Or, if that isn't believable (how macho can a guy be at under five feet tall?), he could paint her out as some sort of predator, a psycho chick, preying on him in his weakened condition. That would be pretty embarrassing, too, though. Kinda emasculating.
Figuring out he's not hungry after all, he closes the fridge door. But, that's really what she is, he tells himself, right? She's trying to seduce me, isn't she? Against my will? With that bright, knowing smile, those curvy hips, those huge breasts. Just a kid, a vain girl seeing what she can do.
He catches himself, his mind conjuring images of her body, with his hand absentmindedly fallen to his member, beginning to swell again. No, stop it, he thinks, dropping to the couch with a glass of water and the remote. No more Traci tonight.
As the evening wore on in front of the television, however, he finds himself thinking about her more and more. God, he thinks, she did look good today, didn't she? That body's like a fucking wet dream...is he being an idiot, not taking advantage? How bad would it be, actually, if he let her seduce him, gave in to her? Let her win her little game? Imagine seeing her try to fight off that triumphant smile as he acquiesced, as she lays him into bed. As she shows him the body he's about to enjoy, crawls on top of him in her bra and panties. Or, or what if she's bought some silky negligee, her first, just for him? And...what was that she said, earlier today, about feeling like his mother? Oh god, what if she knew? What if she took him to her breast, as she sat above his shrunken body, cooing to him in the dark...pretending...Flipping the television off, he leaned his head back against the couch, closed his eyes, and undid his belt.