Tifa could hardly hear her own long, tired yawn over the roar of the propeller blades overhead. The little helicoptor may have been one of the quickest ways to travel, but it was far from the quietest. Not that it mattered. There'd be plenty of time to sleep once she got back- provided she kept her hormones in check.
For what she swore was the tenth time that evening, she ran her hands along the sleek curve of her back, and slowly over the tight sides of her still-growing stomach. Her giantism was gone- barring a few rather obvious bodyparts- and her skin had slowly dulled pink. She hadn't spoken for hours, but she expected that the accent and thick, foreign language that flowed so freely from her lips, had disappeared.
As her mind dwelt on such things, her fingers instinctively wove their way around her secret places, and pulled free the source of all- or at least most- of her permutations that night. A small marble, no bigger than her eye, of translucent pink glass, now hot and sweat slickened. Materia. The little bauble was a thick knot of magic threads that allowed her to grow, swell, bend and bloom to the desires of another individual. The flame of desire could change the colour of her skin, the sound of her voice, and almost everything else.
And what curious desires they were, this time, she thought to herself, inspecting her white tanktop carefully. A dish-sized damp patch of pink had soaked through near the front, making the weak fabric translucent and revealing her throbbing nipples. Her curves were always the last thing to change back after using the Materia, and each time they kept a little bit more of their change- her breasts always larger, now often flowing with milk- her buttocks always softer, and her hips eternally rounder. Not that she bothered. She would say she did, of course, but secretly it was one of the perks of the job. She looked over her endowments, and wondered if they would shrink back another cup size tonight, or whether they would remain as they were, each as big as her head, tight and patterned with almost invisibly blue veins. She'd have to buy a new top regardless; not only did this one smell of strawberries and milk, it looked ready to burst.
Not that the rest of her outfit was doing any better. The shot-shorts she wore these days were incredibly capacious around the backside, but she had no choice but to undo the buckle and unzip when the small mountain of her stomach sank down between her legs. This was especially bothersome on nights like this, when she hadn't bothered with underwear. The old cups in her bra- H, G, whatever- had been useless when she was dressing, and she couldn't be bothered with threading a sweaty ribbon 'panties' through her nether regions. But now another bother presented itself in the form of her undone lower zip. An enticing thought purred in her head. 'Maybe I'll leave them undone and pay Cloud a little visit...'
Her dreams were interrupted, though, as the pilot's voice called from the cockpit of the little gunship.
"Miss Lockhart, we've got a call coming through..."
Fri Apr 20 21:22:39 2007