Short Stacks 9a - BE Edition (Patreon)

This is a collection of flash fiction, based on reader prompts.

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Short Stacks

Volume IXa

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Flash fiction based on this prompt:
Food critic packs on the pounds, mostly in her rack, of course, when restaurants continuously bribe her with free desserts for good reviews

Contains: Breast Expansion as Weight Gain

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The Food Critic

Veronica Mendes made her plump red lips into a bow and dabbed them with a cloth napkin. With mild irritation, she pulled at the lapels of her semi-formal suit blazer. When she’d purchased the ensemble, the blazer buttoned over her front, minimizing her small tummy while emphasizing her impressive bosom. It was the perfect combination of suggestive and classy. But four months of sampling and reviewing the City’s restaurant’s fall menus had added nearly twenty pounds and three cup sizes to Veronica’s voluptuous frame.

A split-second after Veronica’s fork hit her empty plate, her server was back with the third course; roasted duck with spicy raspberry chutney. The portions were small at Élan, but the chef’s culinary artistry would earn them at least three-point-five stars in Veronica’s review.

As the juicy dark meat hit her tongue and blended with the sweet and spicy condiment, Veronica suppressed the urge to close her eyes and moan. The food really was excellent, but she’d have to knock off at least half a star for the poor wine selection.

Veronica was full after the duck, and she started to retrieve her napkin from her lap. Then the owner appeared at her table, bearing a small plate.

“Something special just for you, Miss Mendes.”

It was chocolate lava cake. Veronica had been a chocolate fiend since she was knee-high to a grasshopper. She plucked up her dessert fork and split the small chocolate mound. A river of molten fudge spilled slowly out like the liquified rock that gave the dish its name. Veronica ignored the pressure of her skirt’s waistband against her full tummy and lifted a bite to her mouth, dragging the perfectly moist sponge with her gleaming white teeth.

Perhaps Élan would get four stars in her review.

Bite by bite, the decadent dessert was brought low. Veronica made a mental note to go bra shopping again this weekend. Fully satisfied and then some, she dabbed her lips again and set down her fork.

The owner was back. This time with a large glass goblet dripping with chocolate sauce and a golden-yellow wedge topped with cherry sauce so dark it was almost black.

How did he know the only thing she loved more than chocolate was cheesecake?

“Perhaps we can tempt you with two more specialties from our dessert menu?”

Veronica Mendes had never said no to chocolate mudslide or dark cherry cheesecake in her life.

Struggling to maintain her professional decorum, Veronica slipped a bite of cheesecake between her lips. She then sipped the rich, creamy, milky, chocolatey beverage to wash it down. Back and forth this process continued, and the buttons on Veronica’s blouse strained as her tummy filled ever further.

Maybe she’d get a couple of bras two sizes up on Saturday, just in case. This was at least a four-point-five-star establishment.

Scraping up the last of the crust and cherry sauce, and draining her glass, Veronica sighed. Then caught herself as she felt her blouse strain.

Once again, the owner was back. With a glass of dessert wine and a square of tiramisu. When he named the vintage, Veronica recognized it as one that typically went for around $200 a bottle.

“An aperitif, Miss Mendes?”

Veronica undid the only button on her blazer that was still fastened and lifted her fork.

Élon got a five-star review.

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Flash fiction based on this prompt:
Woman gets growth hormones to grow her boobs. Get’s cow hormones by mistake cus sketchy Chinese website.

Contains: Breast Expansion as Weight Gain, Lactation

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Sketchy Pills

Miri sat at the small kitchen table of her apartment, wolfing down takeout food like a starving woman. Her head-sized breasts rested on the table in a once-loose tee shirt, and her lips were covered in wing sauce. Two clamshells of wings sat in front of her, with a third to the side holding nothing but a small mountain of bones.

The apartment door slammed shut, and Miri’s girlfriend Nora stormed into the kitchen. She was carrying two plastic bags containing even more styrofoam clamshells.

“What the hell is going on with you lately?” Nora demanded.

“–Mmpf– Oh hey, babe. Is that my Chinese?”

“I ran into the DoorDash guy on my way in.” Nora dropped the bags on the table, making a few empty bags of chips slide to the floor.

“Miri…”

“What?”

“I asked you a question.”

Miri swallowed her bite, depositing the small bones on the pile.

“Sorry babe, what did you say?”

Nora growled, “I said, what the hell?”

“What the hell what?”

“What the hell is going on?? You’ve spent double our monthly food budget on takeout in the past two weeks!”

“Sorry baby, I’ve just been so hungry…”

Nora pinched her nose and took a deep, calming breath. In the ensuing silence, the two young women heard a grumbling. It was coming from Miri.

Miri looked down at her chest, as did Nora. Miri’s overworked tee shirt got slightly tighter as the flesh within visibly plumped half an inch larger.

“Miri! What the actual fuck!?”

“It’s my um… late growth spurt…” Miri said lamely.

“Growth spurt my ass! Look, you know I love your body. I loved it when we first met and you were a C-cup—”

“I thought you liked my boobs!?” Miri interrupted.

Nora sighed, “Yes. Far be it from me to complain that you’ve gotten bigger lately. But this isn’t normal!”

“Some women keep growing into their twenties, Nora. It does happen…”

“Okay, sure! But I can literally see you growing bigger as we speak! That doesn’t happen!”

Miri decided it was time to come clean.

“Alright, you’re right. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew how you’d get.”

“How I’d g—“ Miri cut Nora off with a raised hand.

“I found these hormone pills online. They’re supposed to make your breasts grow.”

“You what—“

“I didn’t think they’d actually work!”

“Oh, they work! I’d say they work a little too well!”

“Heh, yeah…”

Nora stepped closer to her girlfriend, squatting down to put a hand on her shoulder. “Where are the pills? Let me see them.”

Miri pulled a small bottle from her pocket, handing it to Nora. While Nora examined the bottle, Miri went back to eating.

Nora saw with frustration that the print on the bottle was all in Chinese. She pulled out her phone and pointed the translation app at it. Nora mumbled as she tried to parse the broken machine translation into coherent phrases, then blurted, “Miri! These are bovine hormones!”

“–Ulp– What?”

“Bovine, like cows! These aren’t meant for humans!”

When Nora looked back at her girlfriend, Miri’s breasts had plumped up another inch. The seams on her shirt were straining under her arms, and there were dark patches on the front.

Nora’s voice was soft and low for the first time since she’d entered the apartment. “Miri…”

“Hmm?”

“I think you’re… leaking…”

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Flash fiction based on this prompt:
Day in the life of a nondenominational convent with one super busty nun who is getting in trouble even though she’s the sweetest, most chaste and polite nun in the convent

Contains: Chounyuu, Nuns

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Sister Chastity

Chastity awoke to the sound of bells ringing for Vespers. She sat bolt upright on her hard cot, making her head-sized breasts wobble in her rough woolen nightgown.

“Oh, shoot!”

She clamped a hand over her mouth and sent a silent, apologetic prayer to The Goddess for her “profanity.”

Chastity jumped out of bed, stripping off her nightshirt and donning her black and white robes. As always, the heavy material rubbed against her nipples, and she prayed for forgiveness for how good it made her feel. She tucked her long blonde hair under her habit, genuflected before the small carving of The Goddess on the wall of her cell, and dashed toward the chapel.

Chastity’s breasts bobbed and bounced as she ran, sending tingles all over her body.

“Sorry, Goddess… Please forgive me…”

Rounding a corner, Chastity nearly collided with two older nuns. It was Sister Prudence and Sister Grace. They were kind and longsuffering but stepped back in shock as Chastity appeared.

“Sister Chastity! No running in the cloister!” Sister Prudence said.

“If the Reverend Mother catches you, you’ll be doing penance for a whole cycle!” Sister Grace added.

Chastity bowed a curtsy, “Sorry, Sisters, you’re right, so sorry.”

As she spoke and bowed, Chastity stepped backward, bumping into a stand tucked into an alcove. Spinning in surprise, Chastity’s bosom collided with the stand, sending a bust of The Goddess teetering.

“Oh, no!”

The bust was carved wood and likely would have survived the fall, but Chastity just barely caught it. Unfortunately, the bust of The Goddess fell down face-first into Chastity’s own bust!

“Oh, Goddess! Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Sister Grace put a hand on Chastity’s shoulder, lifting the bust with the other.

“The Goddess is fine, child. Get to Vespers. If you’re late…”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry, thank you!”

Chastity trotted off again, hearing Sister Prudence call, “Don’t run!”

The convent bells rang as Chastity made her way through the cloister, down the refectory, and to the chapel. The last clangs were reverberating as she stopped short, took a breath, and tried to look calm and serene as she entered.

The Reverend Mother, Sister Temperance, was waiting by the door as each of the nuns entered. She was a heavy-bodied woman, and her robes showed hints of her breasts and belly weighed down by age. Through wire-rimmed spectacles, she glanced down at Chastity’s bosom, which, despite her lack of a bra, rose high and firm on her young chest.

Chastity nodded at the Reverend Mother, making another wordless prayer of apology for having such a sinful body.

She stepped down the aisle, genuflecting again before the full-size carved statue of The Goddess. Arms spread wide beatifically; The Goddess was the Ideal for all of her daughters. Long, golden tresses fanned out from her head. (The statue was wooden, but Chastity always pictured The Goddess as a blonde.) And a loose collection of cloth covered her Sacred parts, carved so artfully Chastity often thought she could see them fluttering in the wind.

Chastity reached her place on the pews, kneeling down to pray. As she did, her breasts bumped the back of the pew in front of her, making her let out a tiny squeak. Chastity looked down at the floor penitently and began reciting the Vespers with the other nuns.

She’d already decided to volunteer for P´ennance.

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Flash fiction based on this prompt:
A pirate crew keeps finding themselves in need of new ships, not because the old ones get wrecked but because they end up outgrowing them.

Contains: Breast Expansion, Pirates

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The Buxom Wench

Captain Aurora Scarlett stood on the quarterdeck of The Ripped Bodice watching her crew haul sacks and chests of gold from their quarry. It was a Barque bound for Spain with a load of treasure from the New World, and the Bodice caught up with them before they reached the open Atlantic. The prize had been well worth the cost in gunpowder and a few lives, but the price exacted by her crew’s curse was every bit as heavy. Aurora felt the seams of her own bodice growing tighter as she watched her crew of buxom salt-bitches send the booty down to the hold.

“Cap’n,” the Navigator said, “be this wise?”

“What mean ye, Essie?” Captain Scarlett barked.

“Well, Cap’n… The curse, y’see?”

Aurora glanced down at her Navigator. The stocky redhead’s own buttons were straining at her bulging chest.

“I see very well, Essie. You just be lettin’ me worry about the thrice-damned curse, aye?”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n…”

Aurora looked back down at the deck, where two crewwomen were carrying a particularly large chest of gold coins between them. The taller of the two, a blonde, let out a squeak. Her muslin shirt ripped down the front, letting her head-sized breasts flop out into the salty air. She let go of the trunk, and the other crewwoman stumbled, spilling doubloons all over the deck.

“Argh!” The Captain yelled, “The next one o’ ye bitches spills booty on my deck’ll be on swabbin’ duty ‘till we make port at Tortuga!”

The two women scrambled, scooping the coins back into the chest with cries of “Aye, Cap’n” and “Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n.” The blonde’s teats were still out, bouncing in the breeze as she moved.

“And cover yerself up, Tressa!” The Captain called, “If ye want to be givin’ a free show, do it at port, see?”

“Aye, Cap’n. Sorry, Cap’n.”

Tressa pulled the torn ends of her blouse together, tying them in a knot to cover herself.

***

It took six weeks to reach port, and the ship’s seams-wench was kept plenty busy. The crew and officers of the Bodice continued to swell larger and bustier as they sailed. Corsets were re-boned, bodices were let out, and she even resorted to using bits of old sail to enlarge a few blouses.

Captain Scarlett strolled through the ‘tween deck of the empty Galleon. She smiled as she imagined the extra-wide hammocks her crew could string in the massive vessel. The merchant showing her the vessel mopped sweat off his brow, clearly trying to avoid looking at Aurora’s powder-keg-sized breasts.

“If ye don’t mind me asking, Captain…”

“No?”

“This ship be not as fast as yer own. I’m wonderin’ why you do be lookin’ to buy ‘er?”

“Ah,” Aurora grinned. “The Bodice be gettin’ a mite… cramped, for me and me crew.”

“Very good, Captain, very good. And the price do be, suitable?”

“Aye, very suitable indeed.”

The man put out a calloused hand, which Captain Scarlett accepted, and they shook on the deal.

“Will you be givin’ her a new name, Captain?”

“Aye, that I will be,” Aurora said. “I be thinkin’, The Buxom Wench would do just fine.”

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Flash fiction based on this prompt:
Cat burglar comes out of retirement for one last job, uses her new calorie-enhanced boobs to her advantage

Contains: Large Breasts, Peril

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Cat Burglar

Felicia worked her way slowly up the massive highrise. The suction cup grips in her hands made a rhythmic “thwop, thwop” as the rubber toes of her black lycra suit kept her steady.

“I should not have agreed to this…” Felicia muttered at the empty space around her, thirty stories above the city street.

“thwop, thwop”

Felicia’s breasts mashed against the tempered glass as she spider-crawled ever higher.

“‘One last job,’ they said, ‘one-third of a twenty-million score’ they said…”

“thwop, thwop”

The zipper on Felicia’s suit crept slowly down, showing more and more cleavage as her overfed orbs pushed their way upward.

“At least they could have given me six months to drop some of these pounds! And cup sizes…”

Felicia had been enjoying her retirement. A quiet penthouse apartment under a false name, endless entertainment, a stable of rotating “bed-warmers,” and access to whatever room service or food delivery at just a few taps of her nimble thieve’s fingers. Glancing down at the medicine-ball-sized knockers swelling against the floor-to-ceiling windows, Felicia regretted using those delivery apps quite so often.

“thwop, thwop, whiff”

Felicia’s hand found empty air as she reached the top of the building. She scrambled onto the roof, wincing as her cleavage scraped the metal edge of the building. Standing in the breeze of the skyscraper, Felicia stowed the suction cups in her bag and zipped herself back up. She ran silently across the rooftop, heading for the ventilation shaft.

She’d been amazed the suit had even still fit when she agreed to this mission. Sure, the material had creaked in protest when she stuffed her massive mammaries into it. When she’d pulled the zipper up the first time, she thought the damn thing was going to burst open. But it stayed closed. Now that she was running, her boobs bounced and swayed, making the zipper slide down even faster than before.

“Damn it! Stay in there, you two!”

She reached the shaft and connected her cable to the ledge.

“Once momma finishes this job, we can go home, and you can have all the cheesy bread you want.”

It turns out that paying for an off-the-books apartment, a string of escorts, and an endless supply of delivery food can eat into a bank account from a lifetime of professional burglary pretty fast.

Felicia spread her limbs wide as she floated down the wide shaft. She came to a stop just above the floor, where her breasts collided with the linoleum. The impact sent a thrill of pleasure through her body via her nipples, and Felicia cursed softly. She disconnected the cable, retracted it, and crossed the large room.

The server banks were directly adjacent to the vent shaft, and Felicia quickly unscrewed the grate barring her way. She dove through the square opening as she’d done many times before her retirement and came to an abrupt halt halfway through.

“Whu–what?”

Felicia wriggled in place, but her hips and bubble butt refused to pass through the opening.

“Not you too!?”

“Who’s there!!”

Felicia whispered a curse. The server room was supposed to be empty!

A wiry, balding man stepped around the corner of the server racks and spotted her. Felicia tried to slide back the way she’d come, but now her plump breasts held her pinned on the other side of the wall.

“Hey there, handsome,” Felicia said sultrily, “Wanna help me out? Give me a pull?”

She wriggled in the narrow opening, making her zipper slide down a few more inches.

“I’ll make it worth your while…”

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Flash fiction based on this prompt:
A busty young astronaut endures a year of dieting for her upcoming mission to Mars, overcoming her sleep-eating habits. But on the mission, her hunger pangs have her leaving her deep-sleep chamber…

Contains: Breast Expansion as Weight Gain

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Cryo-Sleep-Eating

The mission to Alpha Centauri was the most prestigious Space Force mission of the decade. Ayla had been a backup on the list of selected astronauts for the deep space mission but nevertheless had dieted and exercised her way down to a D-cup just in case. Space Force’s requirements were quite strict, and she knew to even have a chance, she must exceed their physical standards. She even went so far as to obtain experimental sleeping pills to deal with her frustrating habit of sleepwalking and, more importantly, sleep-eating.

Then one of the A-List astronauts came down with a nasty case of pneumonia, and Ayla was called up. She called and shared the news with her family, then the big day came. Ayla could barely contain her excitement as she strapped into her seat for the launch. The massive vessel broke the atmosphere and floated their two-day trip to the Lunar orbital base. They took on fresh water and fuel and set off for Deep Space.

Ayla zipped up her jumpsuit, enjoying the rare feeling of baggy clothes over her breasts. She controlled her breathing, laid on her back with her arms crossed, and waited for the cryo-sleep chamber to activate. Then she drifted off to sleep.

***

Red lights flashed across the ship, and an artificial voice reported, “Warning! Food supply critical!”

The Captain was awakened early from her cryo-sleep by the ship’s computer. She sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes and reaching for a pouch of water.

“Computer, mute alarm.”

The klaxons went silent, but the flashing lights continued. The Captain pushed off from her pod, drifting toward the cockpit. Climbing into her seat, she buckled herself in and tapped at a display to her left. Fuel supply was at seventy percent. Oxygen was at eighty. Engines were all operating normally, as were the air recycler and the cryo-sleep systems.

Then the Captain found the food supply readout. The ship’s stores were cataloged and monitored by RFID tags. Any pouch or package that was retrieved and consumed was recorded. Their food stores were at nineteen point nine percent.

The Captain cursed, forcing the system to refresh. The number didn’t change.

Unstrapping herself from the chair, the Captain floated back to the living quarters, drifting toward the food locker nearest the cryo-beds. She found nothing but empty pouches and wrappers.

“What in the moons…?”

The Captain pushed herself to the next locker, where she found the same result. It was as if a family of raccoons had snuck onto the ship and eaten every crumb.

She made her way closer to the cockpit, further from the sleeping bay, finding one emptied locker after another.

“How could this happen? Computer!”

“pling”

“Have any of the cryo-pods malfunctioned?”

“All cryo-beds are functioning within established parameters.”

“Did any of the crew wake up?”

“All Crew but one have been asleep since cryo-sleep was last initiated.”

“Which one?”

“The Captain.”

She cursed, then continued her search. One food locker almost to the cockpit was intact, with bins full of liquid pouches and solid rations in wrappers. The Captain sighed in relief, then drifted across the ship to a matching locker on the port side.

She heard… chewing.

The Captain floated through the door of the food locker to find Ayla, eyes closed, ration bar in hand. The zipper of Ayla’s jumpsuit had slid all the way down to her pelvis. A truly enormous pair of breasts stretched her undershirt to its limit, bobbing and undulating in the zero-g environment. The pair of them together must have weighed as much as Ayla herself.

“Ayla!” The Captain shouted.

“Buh-wha?” Ayla’s eyes snapped open. She saw the Captain’s irate expression and took in her surroundings. Then she glanced down at her lap-filling breasts.

“Uoah… not again!?”

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Flash fiction based on this prompt:
Indiana Joni held the so-called cursed fetish idol in her hands and laughed. That’s when she felt her chest tingling

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Indiana Joni

Joni stepped cautiously around the corner in the stone temple. A straight corridor was the only thing between her and the artifact. Her guide from the village had only gone as far as the temple entrance, and she’d had to scare the man off with her pistol. He’d been desperately trying to stop her from going inside, raving about how the idol was cursed. But Indiana Joni knew that if she left the idol here, Major Toht and his jackboots would storm in and steal it. She was sure the idol was part of some Nazi scheme, and they’d likely destroy a few dozen priceless artifacts in the process. Artifacts that belonged in a museum.

Joni took off her fedora, fanning her face as she got ready to go the last hundred feet to her prize. She took a few steps, then felt a stone tile shift under her weight. She jumped back as a hail of darts whizzed across the corridor. Most of the darts missed her, but one caught a sleeve of her leather jacket, leaving a small tear. Joni put a finger through the hole, then rolled her eyes with a sigh. She stepped forward more slowly, testing each tile with one toe before putting her weight on it.

The corridor ended in a chasm. Inexplicably, it split the temple, thirty feet across, and extending down into the darkness below. Joni pulled out her bullwhip, giving it a few wide swings. Pitching the forked end above the chasm, her whip found purchase in the stone above. Joni gave the whip a few testing tugs, then stepped back. With a running start, she jumped off the ledge, swinging across the chasm on her whip. Hair flying behind her, Joni reached just shy of the opposite side when the stone cracked above her. Her whip fell slack and she lunged for the ledge. Catching herself with the fingertips of one hand, Joni groaned, pulling herself up until her other hand, still holding the whip, could clutch the stone surface.

Joni scrambled up the ledge, then stood to brush the dust off her khaki pants and tan button shirt. Shrugging her jacket back into place on her shoulders and straightening her hat, Joni climbed the few steps to her goal.

The idol sat on a pedestal. Solid gold and in the shape of an improbably buxom woman, the idol shone from a beam of sunlight through some seam in the stone. Joni examined the pedestal. She pulled a pouch of sand from her belt and made the swap. The pedestal did not move, and she sighed in relief.

Indiana Joni held the so-called cursed fetish idol in her hands and laughed. That’s when she felt her chest tingling. Looking down, Joni saw her apple-sized breasts grow to coconuts, then melons. The buttons on her tan shirt strained and popped, skittering across the temple’s stone floor with hollow echoes.

She ran for the exit, both hands wrapped around her swelling bosom to steady herself. The echo of her boots on dusty stone interspersed with the sounds of skin stretching and fabric tearing.

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Flash fiction based on this prompt:
Road trip! A family of 4, mom, dad, older brother, younger sister, all hop in their RV for summer vacation. The only problem? The youngest has trouble getting in.

Contains: Chounyuu

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Road Trip

Dad walked around the perimeter of the family motorhome one last time. He tapped on hatches that were already locked and tightened hose plugs that were already tight. Mom was in the passenger seat, half-engrossed in a book even though they hadn’t left the driveway.

“Come on!” Stephen called from the back seat, “It’s gonna be dark before we get there!”

“Calm down, son,” Dad said, “Better to arrive late than not at all.”

Stephen groused, but knew better than to argue with his dad’s little “words of wisdom.”

Dad poked his head in the RV’s narrow doorway, “Where’s your sister?”

Stephen only shrugged.

“Ceecee!”

Cecilia was waddling from the house, carrying her massive breasts in both arms.

“Can’t we just fly there like normal people?”

“Yeah right,” Stephen snorted, “Like you’d fit on a plane.”

“Don’t talk to your sister like that!” Mom snapped.

“Come on Ceecee, let’s get this show on the road!” Dad said cheerily, jogging back to the house to lock up.

Cecilia approached the motorhome, eyeing the side door dubiously. She put one foot on the extended step, grabbed the handrail, and hefted herself upward.

Then stopped. Ceecee’s breasts completely filled the narrow opening, soft mounds of flesh pressing against both sides of the boxy RV.

“Haha, are you stuck!?” Stephen teased.

“Stephen…” Mom said.

“What?”

“Try backing in, sweetie.”

Cecilia turned around, stepping into the motorhome. Her small body fit through the opening easily, but her behemoth breasts refused to compress.

“They won’t fit…” She whined.

“Maybe if you hadn’t gobbled up both pans of brownies last night,” Stephen said, “Those were for the road!”

“I’m sorry, okay!” Ceecee said, “I was just really hungry…”

Mom marked the place in her book with a tissue, then climbed out of the motorhome. She took in the situation, eyeing her youngest’s breasts as they mushroomed out of the narrow camper door.

“Alright Ceecee, I’m going to give you a little push. You pull when I say three, okay?”

“Okay…”

“One, two, three!”

Mom pushed a hand against each of her daughter’s breasts. Inside the camper, Ceecee pushed against the wall of the RV, grunting and straining. Cecilia still didn’t move.

“What’s the hold-up?” Dad asked.

“Just a little trouble with the door, Hon,” Mom said, “Go ahead and finish your checks.”

Dad shrugged and circled the RV again.

“Stephen, we’re going to need your help.”

“What!? I’m not touching my sister’s… you know…”

“You most certainly are not!” Ceecee snapped.

“Don’t be childish, you two. Stephen, just put your hands on Ceecee’s shoulders, and pull when I say three, okay?”

Stephen undid his buckle and stepped up behind his sister, grumbling and muttering the whole time.

“Alright,” Mom said, “One, two, three!”

Mom pushed, Cecilia pushed, Stephen pulled. Ceecee slid back into the RV maybe an inch, but no further.

“Maybe…” Ceecee said slowly, “Maybe we could have a ‘stay-cation?’”

“What’s the matter?” Dad asked, finishing his third unnecessary check.

“Ceecee won’t fit,” Mom said.

“Oh,” Dad said, face falling.

The family stood in silence for a few moments, waiting for Dad to fix everything. Maybe they would have a staycation. Maybe they’d leave Ceecee at home “to watch the house.”

“Well,” Dad said, “You can just ride up front with me, sweetie!”

Cecilia stepped down out of the RV and climbed into the passenger seat. Her breasts filled her lap and smooshed against the dashboard.

Nobody asked what Dad’s plan was for when they actually got to camp.