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Cerise turned over in bed with a slowness, a sense of ponderous mass, that made Tina think of a lunar eclipse. Or maybe the tide rolling out before a tsunami hit. She had stretched taller and wider over time, retaining the pear shape she’d started with when she had been the shorter of the two. But then, by fits and starts, she had ascended. The initial waves had been pleasant, little surprises here and there, the occasional snapping of a thong or little comments on how tight these clothes felt. Would Tina like to see?

She would, in fact.

Tina kept seeing, more and more and more. Now it wasn’t little articles of clothes snapping from strain, it was furniture. Her clothes weren’t just tight now, Cerise was straining the doorframes. There was a financial element of concern by this point, but on the other hand, she could only watch, spellbound as Cerise grew larger and larger. She snuggled in close, her own leg, skinny by comparison, snaking between the two much larger, softer, but undeniably more powerful ones. There was a tiny influx of pressure as Cerise squeezed her legs together, ever-so gently, wiggling backwards an inch, smothering Tina up to her neck in divine softness and letting out a rumbling, blissful sigh.

Nine feet tall and she still couldn’t get to sleep unless she was the little spoon.