The Resort

Chapter 1

Andrew was dozing when he heard the bell ring and the hum of the
shrinking machine fade out. The second of his three sessions was over, and he
was now one quarter of original 6'0" height. Now 18" tall, he was less than 80
minutes away from being 9 " tall, the height at which he would spend the rest
of the week, under the watchful eye and loving care of his wife Angela, who
would remain her normal height of 5'9". He pulled out of the pocket of his
robe the note Angela had left for him when he exited after the first session.

"Darling," the note began, "I won't be coming by to see you between
the sessions. I want to see you that first time in all your tiny glory. I
love you so and I'm looking forward to this week so much. We are going to
have such adventures! You are so brave and so beautiful.
Love, A."

He looked at the note and smelled her faint cologne on it. It had
shrunk with him during the second session, but still he couldn't get over how
big it seemed. Angela's handwriting was so small and elegant, and now it
looked as big as a child's first attempts to fill the double lined paper
handed out in third grade penmanship class; she must have had lovely
penmanship even then, he thought. He wanted to go out into the corridor to
stretch, to see if Angela had left another note and to get a little respite
from the heat of the shrinking room, where the radiation raised the
temperature to a very warm 92 degrees Fahrenheit. He just begun to rise from
the couch where he had dozed, and was yawning and stretching when the door
opened quickly and a golden giantess slid into the room, closed the door as
quickly and dramatically draped her enormous frame across the entrance, as if
to bar the door. She wore a blue satin robe which came to her mid thigh, the
color a brilliant contrast to her long golden hair and deeply tanned skin and
now he could see also a perfect match for her bright blue eyes. She stared
down at Andrew and looked crestfallen.
"Oh, no. You're finished, aren't you?" she said to him.
"Excuse me?" he mumbled, feeling like an actor who had forgotten his
lines at the climax of the second act.
"You just finished your last session, didn't you?"
"No. I have one more."
"Really." she said, eying how small he was already. "Wow." She
walked away from the door slowly with sultry movements, her hands behind her
back. She stood for a moment over him, then leaning down, placing her hands
on the couch on either side of his body, asked a question she certainly
already knew the answer to. "Would it be an imposition if we shared this
room for the next session?"
The largest breasts Andrew had ever seen were now at eye level, round
and perfect, covered in shining blue, the golden tanned skin visible at the
plunging neckline of the robe. He looked up into her lovely face and began to
realize this was a woman of flesh and blood in front of him, not some perfect
golden statue the gods had decided to let walk the earth. He saw the white
of her teeth in her friendly smile, the pink of her lips and tongue, the rose
glow in her high cheeks, the amazing depth in her blue eyes. She waited
patiently for him to give the only possible answer.
"No, it's no trouble. Please join me."
She flopped down on the couch beside him, his little body bouncing
slightly as her greater weight hit the springs. "Thanks. You're a life
saver."
Andrew got up, stretched and headed for the door. "Be right back."
he said, yawning a little yawn.
She leaped up and in two strides was across the room, she placed her
hand on the door, easily keeping him in the room. "Are you going out there?"
"Yeah. There may be a note from my wife."
"Okay. Let me introduce myself. I'm Brittany; you're Raymond." she
thrust her huge hand down to his level and he shook it, more than a little
confused.
"No, I'm Andrew. Pleased to meet you, Brittany." he tried to leave
but she leaned against the door again.
"If you want to go out there, you're Raymond. Got it?"
Even a little groggy, he understood that there was no point in
argument. "Okay, I'm Raymond. How long am I going to be Raymond, and what if
the real Raymond shows up?"
"There is no real Raymond. You're the real Raymond. As soon as your
back in here, you're Andrew again."
The conversation was beginning to remind him of Burns and Allen. He
nodded to himself and agreed, "Okay, I'm Raymond." The golden giantess smiled
at his understanding of the situation and opened the door for him.
"Hurry back." she said.
Andrew had taken only a few steps in the waiting area, appreciating
the coolness of the air conditioning, when a shriek pierced the room. "Oh, my
God! Look how tiny."
Before then, Andrew had always thought that the word "God" had one
syllable. But in the shriek, he distinctly heard "Ga-Odd", the first syllable
at a high pitch, and the second approximately an octave lower. The same tones
were repeated in the word "tiny". Andrew took an immediate dislike to the
owner of this awful voice.
The owner of this awful voice was another giantess, this one even
taller than the golden girl he had left in the shrinking salon. He guessed
she must be at her full size, approximately four times his current size. The
harpy now descending on him had the same coloring as his very welcome golden
intruder, but on her it didn't work. She was brass instead of gold. She
wasn't fat, but her body looked like surgery had been done; not bad surgery,
just obvious surgery. She wore too much jewelry; an ugly gold nugget necklace
with matching hideous bracelet, rings with cut stones the size of cat's eye
marbles, earrings with baguette cut emeralds as big as golf balls. Enormous
two tone eyeglasses covered a huge expanse of her harsh face, seemingly from
the bottom of her nose to the middle of her forehead. There were tacky stones
in the frames of these huge glasses; given the obvious cost of the rest of her
loot, the stones were probably diamonds, but they looked bad enough to be
cubic zirconium.
"You must be Ro-oy." The brass giantess shouted as she offered her
oversized and overtanned hand, giving the word "Roy" the two syllable
treatment.
Andrew thought as he extended his hand to have it shook like a can of
paint. "No, Raymond." said Andrew.
"I'm sure the girl said Ro-oy." the harpy countered, refusing to give
him back his hand until he relented.
"I'm sure I know my own name." said Andrew, who was not actually sure
of anything at all.
The harpy smiled stiffly. "I'm sure you do." she said, voice dripping
with snotty condescension. "So you're Tiffany's friend?"
"Brittany." Andrew corrected, for the first time certain he was right.
He began to walk toward the message board, the harpy following and hovering.
"She said you were friends; is she your girl-friend?" When asking a
question, her voice went up, then down, then immediately up again. It was
worse than the other sound, which was hard for Andrew to believe possible.
"No." said Andrew, wishing he could say "None of your Ga-Odd Da-Am
Biz-Ness!"
"That's what she said, too. So where did you meet?"
Andrew thought a moment. "She was a student of mine."
"You let your students call you by your first name? Isn't that a
lit-tle too famil-iar?"
"It's my custom. I'm sorry if it doesn't meet with your approval."
It actually wasn't his custom; it was Raymond's custom, whoever Raymond was.
Most of his students called him Professor Franklin. He reached the message
board and saw a lavender note from Angela, hanging slightly out of his reach.
He jumped up, easily grabbing the note on the way up, using the board to stop
his surprising upward momentum, landing effortlessly and turning back toward
the salon were Brittany waited, his pace quickening to make good his escape
from the brass giantess. He couldn't blame Brittany, really. After all, she
warned him.
"Oh. That was fantastic! Just like a Mexican Jumping Be-An! But
wasn't that note addressed to And-rew?"
"That's my real name. My wife calls me by my real name. My students
call me by my pen name." Andrew was legitimately angry now.
"Oh, you're a wri-ter! I love wri-ters! Maybe I've heard of you!"
"Raymond Carver." said Andrew, turning to stare the harpy down.
"No." said the harpy, disappointedly. "I've never heard of you."
"I'm not surprised." said Andrew, opening the door to the shrinking
room and slamming it as hard as he could given his tiny strength.
He placed his little body across the door, parroting the move that
Brittany had done when she first entered. She laughed appreciatively. "Was
I supposed to be Raymond or Roy?"
The golden giantess winced prettily. "Ooh. I think it was Roy.
Sorry."
"Well, it's Raymond now. Raymond Carver; I'm your English professor."
Andrew jumped up on the couch.
"Mr. Carver, I'm a big fan." said Brittany, admiringly, extending her
long lovely hand to touch her new little celebrity friend.
"Yeah, me, too." said Andrew. "Our friend hadn't heard of him."
She smiled and tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder with a
turn of her head. "Isn't lying fun?"
"I prefer to think of it as spontaneous creative writing, but yeah,
it's fun." He looked up at her and opened the note. "Excuse me, this is
private." She turned away and Andrew read.

"Andrew,
The waiting is very hard for me; I think I'll go to the gym and
exercise, and try my best not to think of you and how much I want to be with
you. See you in a couple of hours.
-A."

This note was even bigger, now the size of the examples above the
blackboard in that third grade penmanship class. Everything had grown all
around him, and soon it would be doubling in size again.
"It's hard getting used to how big everything is." he said.
"This is your first time, isn't it?"
"Yes. And you?"
"I work here. It's old hat for me. A week at two thirds, a week at
a third, two weeks at normal, then it starts all over again." Andrew was
reminded of talking to flight attendants talking about their routine. New
York, Paris, London. Ho hum.
A bell rang three times, and the door locked with a click as the hum
of the shrinking machine started. The temperature began to rise again, and
Brittany undid the sash of her robe and slid the garment easily off her
shoulders. She was wearing matching blue satin lingerie, and her body was
every bit as spectacular as Andrew imagined. Her long legs were tan all the
way up to her smooth round rear end, and there was a lovely glimpse of the
musculature of her back and stomach that held her enormous breasts in place,
floating impossibly high above Andrew's head. He wanted to continue the
conversation, but her new state of undress had him completely dumbfounded.
When she stared down at him, he felt the need to say something, anything.
"What... what do you... do here?" he asked.
"Photographer."
"How tall are you?"
"Right now four feet, on my way to two feet. Normally, I'm six foot
zip."
"Me, too. I would have taken you for a model, given your looks and
your height."
"Aren't you sweet? I've done some lingerie and swimsuit, but I'm a
little too heavy, especially top heavy, for runway and magazine."
"Some of the women in the ads I see in Angela's magazine look, well,
as endowed as you."
"Those girls have to wear bras that qualify as instruments of torture
to get a fraction of the cleavage I have when I just put on a T-shirt."
Andrew laughed, perhaps a little too long. Brittany looked down at
him. "Sorry; Angela used to call one of her bras the Iron Maidenform."
Brittany smiled. "Angela's your wife?"
"Yes."
"What are you going down to, 1/8th or 1/12th?"
"1/8th. Nine inches."
"Wow." said Brittany. "You don't see many that small around. Who's
your chaperone?"
"My wife."
"She got rated on 1/8th? That's a lot of work for a week's vacation."
Andrew was confused. "We had a couple of evenings of orientation, but
it wasn't that bad. Actually, it was kind of fun."
"Your wife would have to study... two months to be rated competent to
chaperone a guest at 1/8th." Brittany said, with a matter of fact authority.
"This is the first I've heard of it."
"The training's expensive, too."
"We have some money saved." said Andrew, intentionally leaving out
the fact that it was Angela's money that was saved. His wife's family was
very rich, and since her mother passed away last year, now Angela was very
rich. In point of fact, Angela and Andrew were now very rich, but he didn't
quite feel that way yet. She never reminded him, but it was her money; when
he called it her money, she would always correct him, but all her generosity
couldn't change the way he felt.
"Is your wife in the habit of keeping secrets from you?"
"If so, she's pretty good at it. This is the first that one has
gotten back to me."
Brittany stared down at Andrew intently. "What do you do?"
"I teach English at University of Connecticut."
"You're really a professor?"
"Well, you know what they say; when in doubt, tell the truth. It's
easier to remember."
Brittany smiled. "That wasn't my first guess. I was sure you were
a fireman or a construction worker."
"What made you think that?"
Brittany turned toward him and slipped her huge hand inside his robe,
slowly massaging his shoulders and chest. "Do you work out?" she asked
distractedly.
"I run and I play squash. Nothing special."
Brittany undid his robe, and began to massage his upper body with both
hands. "Wow. I guess you were just born this way."
Andrew reached up, placed his hand on her shoulder and let it slide
slowly down to feel the enormous swell of her gorgeous right breast. "I guess
you were born to look the way you do, too." With his open palm, he rubbed the
satin around the area of her nipple, and she shuddered and the skin under her
bra began to pucker and harden. She stretched her long neck up and hummed
contentedly. But with a jolt as though she had been shaken out of a dream,
she looked down and exclaimed "God, what am I doing?" She apologized, and put
Andrew's robe back on him, and covered herself again.
"You don't have to apologize. That was great." Andrew said.
"No. It's not that... it's just... I was getting out of hand. I
wasn't thinking."
"I don't understand."
"I let down my guard. When I'm small, this stuff doesn't happen much.
Wasn't thinking, plain and simple."
"Brittany, what do you mean?"
"Sometimes, when you are with someone much smaller than you, you stop
thinking of them as a human being. They become a toy, or a pet or a baby.
You just do what you want and give no thought to their feelings or reactions
to your behavior. The people who work here call it 'Pretty Kitty'. I just
started petting you, not even aware of what I was doing, how you might respond
to it. If I had any sexual thoughts they were unconscious... well, most of
them anyway. I was giving you the wrong signals. I'm sorry."
"'Pretty Kitty'?"
"You better get used to it; most guests your size don't spend much
time outside their rooms after a couple of days of being cooed over and
shrieked at."
"Your friend outside shrieked, but I guess you heard her." Brittany
nodded and moved away from Andrew, her arms folded across her chest, her long
leg crossed away from him. "Are you still upset?"
"We were having so much fun when I just went stupid."
"I might not look it, but I am a full-grown man. This isn't the first
time I've flirted with somebody and nothing came of it. It is the first time
the woman I was flirting with was sixteen feet tall, but I guess that's why I
decided to come on this vacation in the first place. New experiences. I'm
not angry, and it would make me very happy if you would forgive yourself. No
harm, no foul."
Brittany smiled without making eye contact, then glanced down at him
playfully. "You're wife's a very lucky woman."
"I've always thought I was a very lucky man, actually."
"What do you think it will be like married to The Fifty Foot Woman for
a week?"
"She'll actually only be forty-six feet tall, at least that's what
some math whiz at school told me. To tell you the truth, I've been imagining
it some, but I think the reality is going to be more amazing than I could ever
imagine. I went skydiving a few times; the feeling I have right now is like
the first time when the plane took off. I was excited and terrified, in just
about equal parts."
"Did you like skydiving?"
"It was quite a rush, but seemed like too much expense and buildup for
too little payoff after a while. I'm really not a 'cheat death' kind of guy.
What about you? What do you like to do?"
"Jeez, that's hard to say. You start working this job and just takes
you over. I grow and shrink for fun. I talk to my friends about what it's
like being too little or too big. I've been on this routine for a few months
now. I tried being the Poster Girl a couple times; didn't like it much."
"Poster Girl?"
"Yeah, every week, at least one employee is blown up big. Somewhere
between 9 and 12 feet tall. I was 12 feet tall once, and I felt like a
colossal klutz. Have you noticed that you're more agile? Well, when you get
bigger you get less agile; slower, clumsier. In my mind, that week was one
big apology. Is it okay if I take my robe off? It's hot in here."
"Of course. I'm going to take mine off, too." Andrew stripped down
to his baggy shorts, and stared across the long couch, admiring the towering
lingerie model who didn't want him to get the wrong idea. He wondered if this
was going to be like skydiving, exciting at first, but later routine and dull.
He smiled to himself; if this first experience was any indication, he was
going to have a seven day erection. He couldn't imagine how that could be
routine or dull.
The bell rang to end the session; Andrew could hardly believe that he
slept through it, given that he would gladly stare at the golden gargantua
wrapped in the tiny blue satin underthings for eternity, if possible.
Brittany stood and stretched and Andrew followed suit. She smiled down at
him. "That was nice. We'll have to do this again sometime. Believe it or
not, in a few days, you'll look at me and you'll think of me as being little."
"You're right." said Andrew, measuring the top of his head to the
middle of her thigh. "I don't believe it."
"Take care of yourself." She opened the door and let him go out
first.
Maybe Brittany was right. Andrew stared up at the giants and they
stared back down at him. Brittany was big, but nothing really prepared him
for these four and five storey buildings masquerading as people that were
walking by. On the floor, there were carpet swatches running parallel to the
walls, the narrow light blue nearest the walls were for people less than a
foot tall, a slightly wider green stripe was for those between one foot and two
feet, a wider still red stripe for those between two and four feet tall, then
a massive center aisle for the "normal" people, the skyscrapers in street
clothes with their four league strides. Andrew hugged the wall and continued
to gawk like a country mouse in the big city. An enormous Asian woman in two
foot heels sauntered down the middle of the huge hall, all sizes of men's
heads craning to watch her wiggle by; the hem of her leather miniskirt must
have been twenty feet up, and any view of her impressive body was obscured
tantalizingly by a living room sized handbag she had draped over her colossal
shoulder. He watched her walk by, overtaking him easily with her gorgeous
long legs, and as she passed she turned her head back over her shoulder to
look at him, smiled prettily and winked. All these giants in the room and
this colossus was flirting with him! He walked into the smallest sized men's
changing room, his mind completely boggled.
In the changing room, something like order returned. The ceiling was
less than twelve feet tall, he could push the doors, reach the sinks, turn on
a shower by himself; the only eerie thing was that he was alone, a deserted
room in a resort brimming with people. Brittany had told him there wouldn't
be many as small as him; he certainly had no reason to doubt her.
He changed into a suitably relaxed shirt and slacks and sandals,
hefted his bag over his shoulder and ventured back out into Wonderland.
Walking towards the exit, he saw a tiered system of moving walkways, blue,
green, red and white there to take the guests the last few hundred yards to
the main grounds; since this was now the equivalent of a mile or so to Andrew,
he gladly used the blue walkway. Each walkway had its own railing, and the
smaller ones moved slower than the big ones, so even though he walked at a
determined pace, he was being passed by some human skyscrapers, standing still
on their moving walkway, gliding by the midgets and mice on those funny
colored paths.
Andrew searched the reception area for Angela, but he couldn't spot
her; he was briefly distracted by seeing a seven storey surfer dude sauntering
down the center aisle, towering over even the other skyscrapers and leaving a
sea of stares and gawking faces in his wake. Andrew was watching the big
giant, the 'Poster Boy' as Brittany had called him, when he caught sight of
his wife. Angela was there, looming over him, beaming down at him, waiting
at the end of the walkway. She was dressed casually in a red short-sleeved
scoop neck T-shirt style blouse, a simple flat gold chain accenting the
gorgeous line of her lower neck and collarbone, hinting at the slightest bit
of cleavage between her small, firm teacup sized breasts. These little
perfections were now each as wide across as he was tall, and it was a thirty
foot vertical climb to get to them. She wore a very tight pair of jeans, with
zippers at the back of the ankles, a look he had always found incredibly sexy
and now considered wonderfully thoughtful since this would be about the limit
of his reach and the only way he might be able to help undress her. Her shoes
were red leather walking shoes, matching her blouse. She knelt down, still
smiling at him and he began to run toward her. She reached out and plucked
him from the moving walkway, which was most likely a violation of some safety
rule. It felt like being lifted by a crane to him, and when she stood to her
full height, the rush of wind from above was like being under a vent. She
placed him gently on her lower neck, and he listened to that first massive
sigh of his colossal wife, letting his dangling legs get his first impression
of her now enormous chest. She smirked a little laugh at his clumsy attempt
at subtle sexuality, and lifted him up so that her face now loomed close,
filling his field of vision. "I'd kiss you, but I'd smear lipstick all over
your little clothes." she whispered, still beaming.
"Kiss me; I'll save these clothes forever and never wash them."
She moved her mouth close and whispered even more quietly, "As you
wish." Her voice was like a breath shaped by moving lips, with none of the
air forced through her vocal cords, but it blew across Andrew's body so
powerfully, it felt like the bass beat rumbling through the floor in a noisy
dance club. The combination of power and tenderness sent a wave of goose
bumps down his arms and over his torso, preparing his body for the first time
his giant wife would press her enormous lips against the length of his little
body, and begin to apply pressure, first gently, then more and more firmly
until his puny moans and groans were nearly as audible as her satisfied hum.
"Would you like to put your things away and take a look at the room? It's
very nice." Angela suggested.
"What a good idea."
Andrew felt like the center of attention in the elevator, held in the
palm of his adoring wife's hand, his little legs dangling between her huge
fingers. From this vantage point, some thirty feet up, he could actually
look down on some of the smaller giants, the mere titans dwarfed by the
"normal" billboard sized people. They got off on the third floor and Angela
opened the gigantic door to their room. The ceiling was as high as an
airplane hangar to him. "Everything made for you is situated near the same
thing made for me. Your dresser is on top of mine, so is your dinner table
and your reading table. You have a separate bathroom down there next to the
bed. I guess they thought that when you have to go to the john, it was no
time to be climbing ladders. There's also a private area your size over here,
if you want some quiet time. It's recommended in the brochure that you sleep
here." She showed him to a gilded bird cage. "They even put in a little
chamber pot." She lowered him down between her breasts, and gave him a
lingering squeeze in her now colossal cleavage. "I don't think will be
needing that, do you?" Andrew shook his head in consent, his cheeks bouncing
between his wife's enormous breasts. She plucked him out and put him down on
the dining table. "Do you want anything?"
Of course, he wanted her. She was making it impossible to think of
anything else. But he recognized her voice, even at an increased decibel
range that magnified her enormous strength; she was asking about food and
drink. "I'd love a cup of coffee. I took a lot of naps in the shrinking
room."
"The coffee machine has a spigot for you. You can get it yourself;
I'm still spilling too much when I try to pour into the tiny china made for
you." Andrew got a mug his size and poured a steaming cup of coffee. It was
amazingly strong. "The machine weakens the coffee for you. If you took a
sip of the stuff I get, you'd be awake for two days. If it's still too strong
for you, there's an adjustment switch on the side."
Andrew took on the voice of a fifties movie trailer. "Shrunk to the
size of a doll, he was a prisoner of his wife's now towering desires, a
plaything in her hand, too weak to resist, too puny even ... for regular
coffee." Angela laughed, which deepened the adorable dimples in her cheeks.
Her hair was cut in a bob, but she still twisted her head the way she did
when her hair was longer. Andrew liked her long hair, but he found after it
was cut he liked to see the lines of her neck even more. Every time she
surprised him, he found she was right. Every change of something familiar
made her new, and he loved the newness all the more. In the space of four
hours, she had grown forty feet in his eyes, even though he knew that actually
he was the one who changed. She was more beautiful, more remarkable, more
powerful; she could hold him in the palm of her hand, and still she loved him,
he felt like her husband, not some 'Pretty Kitty'.
"So... first impressions." Angela wanted to know.
"Nothing looks right. Everything is strange. I look at some guy and
think, 'He could be the brother of a guy I play squash with, except that he's
30 feet tall.' Or 'She looks like the secretary over in sociology, if the
secretary were three times her normal height.' I keep wondering what these
people look like when they're normal, but of course, the biggest ones are
normal. I take that back; I saw somebody even bigger than normal, that
Poster Boy."
"Poster Boy?"
"I was talking with a woman who works here. Most of the biggest people
are employees, and the other employees call them Poster Boys and Poster Girls.
I was looking at that nine footer just before I saw you, remember? I was
thinking about all these forty and fifty foot people staring up at him, and
all I could think was 'You people should see what you look like to me!'
"And in the middle of this unknown world, there's my wife. I know
what she looks like; I see her when I close my eyes. I know it's her, it's
just that she's stepped out of a billboard or something."
Angela smiled and sang a bar from a Nina Rota jingle. "Bevete piu
latte!" she warbled.
"Bevete piu latte." he answered back in song. It was from a movie by
Fellini where Anita Ekberg came down from a poster. The neon above her
billboard read in Italian, 'Drink More Milk'.
Andrew continued. "I recognize everything, but I just can't get over
how in this Wonderland, even the one thing I know, the one familiar thing is
also so stunningly unfamiliar. My wife has long legs, and I know their shape;
their shape is the same but now they are thirty feet long. Her beautiful
breasts fit perfectly in my hands, now I can't reach both her nipples at the
same time unless she squeezes them together for me. I see the line of her
neck, the neck I have leaned down to kiss for as long as I can remember. Now
I see those lovely lines from the other side, from far below, and wonder how
I will ever reach up to kiss her there, and nibble her ear. I see her hands,
her beautiful fingers that run through my hair and rest on my shoulder when
she kisses my cheek. Now they are the size of my legs, and I see two massive
rings on the third finger of her left hand, one with an enormous stone, and I
think. 'She has a giant husband stashed away someplace; she's going to leave
me here and go back to him.'"
Angela picked Andrew up, sliding her little finger between his legs
and slowly hoisting him up as though he were a tiny skier and she was the ski
lift. She rose from her chair, aware of how impressive a change in altitude
this would be to him. She carried him to the bathroom, where for the first
time he saw the two of them together, and the enormity of their differences
became so apparent that a shiver ran through him. She looked down at his
reflection, and he returned her gaze through the mirror.
"I understand how you feel, but I wanted to reassure you. My husband
is actually here and he isn't a giant. He got these rings for me, my
engagement ring and my wedding band, and he got them in my size because he is
so thoughtful." She turned him around so that he now looked up through her
cleavage and into her eyes directly, and she began to lift him slowly. "My
husband is so handsome, and so thoughtful, and so funny, and so brave and so
generous," (he was now at her mouth level so she kissed him) "and so
incredibly fucking sexy, that even when I shrink him down to the size of a
doll, he still seems like a giant to me."
"Would you make love to me?" Andrew asked, kneeling on her massive
palm.
"Of course." she said in a huge breathy voice. "What did you think we
were going to do after a speech like that, play gin rummy?"
They both laughed. "I have a confession to make."
"I know. I made you come in your pants."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I know what my husband looks like when he's having
a climax. It surprised me so much, I came in my pants, too, so we're even."
"I thought I knew what it looked like when my wife came. Why didn't
you say something?"
"I didn't want to frighten you by screaming. Look at my chest." She
lowered him, and he saw her huge rock hard nipples jutting out from under her
shirt, the flush of red at her collar. She did have a climax.
"What's it like keeping an orgasm to yourself?" he asked.
"It's an orgasm; it's wonderful. From what I hear, you will find that
at your size, your libido is so perky you're going to be multi-orgasmic."
"What a thoughtful gift." Andrew said, purring and stroking the pink
skin of her gorgeous collarbone. "You shouldn't have."
"Believe me, it's my pleasure." Angela purred back, but more like
a lioness. She placed her thumb between his legs and her forefinger on his
back, pressing him gently nearer. She was learning how to hug him close
without overwhelming him, to comfort him without reminding him of her awesome
strength. She took a washcloth and small towel from the linen hanger, and
with her husband safe on her bosom, she carried him back to the bedroom.
"Can I ask a question, Angela?"
"Of course."
"Why didn't you tell me about the training you took?"
"I thought is wasn't an important detail. If I didn't take the
training, we wouldn't have much time to spend alone together."
"What do you mean?"
"I am your chaperone. I am responsible for your safety. There is no
staff person directly responsible, though of course I have to follow the
rules." She put Andrew down on the bed, then stretched out luxuriously on her
side. Leaning on her elbow, she loomed over him about as high as Brittany had
when the blonde stood up. "There are rules for you, too. To put them as
simply as possible, here they are. 'We discuss. I decide. You obey.' Do
you understand the rules?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Take off your clothes."
"Are you going to take yours off?"
"Yes, and you're going to help me. But first you are going to take
off your clothes."
"Is this one of those 'We discuss, you decide, I obey' things?"
"Yes."
"But this doesn't concern my safety."
"True. But you need practice. Take of your clothes."
"What about the discussion part?"
"This is the discussion part. I just happen to be certain that the
discussion won't change my mind. Take off your clothes." Her tone was very
calm. She knew he would rebel against her authority in some puny way, so she
had given him as her first order something he was sure to want to do, even if
he disliked being bossed. Positive reinforcement is always the best training
method.
Andrew began disrobing, and Angela smiled serenely down at him,
tilting her head as she admired her tiny husband's naked body for the first
time. Even scaled down, the smooth round lines of his chest and the wide set
of his shoulders tapering down to his flat stomach was a very pleasing sight
to her, as were his long muscled lines of his legs and the now puny jut of his
strong round ass. She also noticed his small moist penis was still erect,
even though he had reached orgasm not more than a minute ago. "Is Our Little
Pal on the way down?" she asked.
"No, Our Little Pal is back in business. He was down for a few
seconds during the discussion, but he is back on-line and ready for duty."
"This is good." she smiled, and offered the washcloth to Andrew so
he could dry himself. "Now you must help me. Go untie my shoes."
Andrew saluted crisply. "Aye-aye, sir!" he said, and bounded down the
length of his wife's body in four very long, bouncy strides.
"How did you do that?" she marveled.
"It's like you said. I'm a lot more perky at this size." As he put
his back into the task of pulling the knot on Angela's huge shoelaces. She
kicked the shoes off the bed, smiling slightly as Andrew was startled by the
loud crash far below. He had a harder time unzipping her ankle zippers, but
he managed it, then vaulted over her reclining calf to get to her waist,
(noticing the manhole sized wet spot at her crotch) where he was able with
difficulty to unbuckle her massive belt and unbutton the top button of her
jeans. The zipper of her jeans was hard, and even with her holding it, Andrew
made little progress, distracted as he was by the overwhelming scent of his
giant wife's sex. She took the task herself, rolled onto her back and pulled
the jeans off, and threw them to the floor.
She stretched her leg high up in the air, pointing her toe, admiring
herself, then turning to see Andrew staring up in awe. "I'm all yours,
darling. Think you can handle the job?"
"Gives new meaning to the phrase, 'the whole nine yards'." he said,
staring up the length of her leg. She began to pull off her panties, when
Andrew stopped her. "I'd like a shot at that job if you don't mind."
"You have the bridge, Mr. Franklin." she said, and rolled back onto
her side.
He surveyed the sight. "This shouldn't take much more planning than
the invasion of Normandy, and I'm going to need your cooperation."
"Aye-aye, sir." she said, saluting awkwardly with her left hand, since
she was leaning on her right arm. He pulled the high side of her panties over
the fantastic curve of her hip and vaulted over to pull the back side over the
beautiful left side of her gigantic ass. He put his hands on her bare cheek
and pushed; she rolled over slowly, letting him enjoy the illusion of strength
he did not nearly possess. She even stopped rolling when on her stomach, and
let him "lift" her onto her other side.
"That wasn't so tough." he said, panting slightly and patting her
thigh. He pulled the other side of her panties down, "rolled" her onto her
back and asked her to lift her knees and spread her legs slightly. Now he's a
tiny gynecologist, she thought and smiled to herself. He slid the panties up
her thighs, jumped slightly to lift them over her knees then rode them down
her calves.
"Mission accomplished." he said, as her panties now rested at her
ankles. He was gingerly stepping over the clothing in question, when Angela
lifted both her legs straight up in the air, carrying her panties and her
shocked husband thirty feet in the air. She laughed at his predicament.
"How's the view from up there, darling?"
"Help!" he squeaked. Seeing his terror at her little joke, she bent
her knees down to her chest, and gently plucked her husband from between her
ankles, removed her panties with her other hand and threw them towards where
she had thrown her jeans. She let Andrew calm down lying in her cleavage, as
she toweled off her wet vagina. His little heart was fluttering like a
hummingbird's wings against her chest and she tried to calm him with her own
deep slow breathing.
"Would you like to help me with my blouse and bra?" she asked when she
felt his heartbeat calm down slightly. She could feel him shaking his head
no. "Oh, now, don't be that way." she chided. "There isn't a man alive who
doesn't want to help with the bra." She squeezed her breasts together with
her elbows and slid her little husband down the beautiful valley, down so he
could reach the snap in the front that now had so little pressure holding it
in place that even he could loosen it with ease. She arched her lower back
and pulled her blouse up over her head, placed her husband back down on the
bed as she removed the bra, threw it on the pile and turned on her side once
more, leaning on her elbow in her massive glorious nakedness looming above him
even now, and gazed down at her slightly stunned but obviously aroused little
man.
He walked toward her silently, stepped up on her forearm so he could
lick and suck at her giant nipple. She moaned in quiet satisfaction and began
to finger her still moist pussy. She lifted her arm a little, and Andrew
climbed up and clung hard to her tit, grasping with his elbows and knees,
plunging his little hips insistently against her hugeness, his tiny cock
thrusting into the warm soft side of her breast. She lifted herself up to
sitting upright, grabbed his little body and placed his cock against her hard
nipple, wet where he had sucked her moments before, and felt his tiny longing
push her nipple and aureole in and out rhythmically. She shivered slightly
when he let out a moan, feeling the warm drops of his climax fall lightly on
her nipple. She waited till he stopped bucking so softly against her; all his
strength felt like a kitten batting at a ball of string to her. With the wet
hand from below, she snatched him off her tit, held him away so he could not
reach her, and with one finger dried the moistness from the tip of her nipple,
then tasted her finger, her mouth open, her eyes glued to her lover.
"Delicious." she whispered, and took a second sip, licking his cock
gently before opening her lips wide and taking his body hip deep into her
hot, wet massive mouth. He came out sopping wet, excited by her beauty and
passion, while terrified at power and seeming abandon. "My turn now." she
said, and lowered him to her pussy, hot and wet, little wisps of steam only
Andrew in his shrunken state could detect. Carefully, Angela took her
husband feet first and plunged his body inside her up to his chest.
She stopped for a moment to concentrate, to pay attention only to the
messages from the sensitive walls of her sex. He wiggled helplessly and she
bit her lip so hard, a tear formed in the corner of her eye. She shuddered
as he tried to extricate himself, gripping with all his puny might on her
wet and throbbing clitoris. It was amazing; the size was almost identical to
his penis when he was normal, but Angela wanted more. She twisted him around
so his wide shoulders ran lengthwise inside her, put her fingers on those
little muscular shoulders and pushed.
He squirmed so exquisitely she felt her feet heating up with increased
circulation as gooseflesh like chills ran up and down her arms. It was never
like this, never with anyone. His little hands reached up again, one finding
her clitoris, the other the far end of her labia. It excited her to think of
her vagina as having a far end, to think of herself as giant siren tempting
tiny sailors, shoving their helpless naked bodies inside her and commanding
them to satisfy her. She let Andrew pull his little head out, then applied a
gentle pressure locking him in, feeling him squirm, kicking his little legs
trying to swim out of her. She imagined how desperately he was struggling and
enjoyed how completely insignificant his attempts were. He was massaging her
clit so tenderly, that she could gladly keep him there for the rest of the day
and most of the evening, and he would have no say. They discuss, she decides,
he obeys.
It was actually only a few minutes of this, Andrew trapped and
squirming, Angela absent mindedly rubbing her erect nipples, when she felt a
tiny change in his helpless attempts. His swimming strokes had been haphazard
flails before, but now his technique had changed, become more concentrated.
Was it the dolphin kick, she wondered? Then she realized, he was coming
again! Those were his little hips, bumping and grinding in the last moments
before he shot another burst, this time inside her. She laughed loudly at
what a little sex maniac he had become, her puny suitor trapped in her cunt.
How many times would she make him orgasm before she let him out? Seven?
Twelve? Fifty?
A spasm stopped her in mid-laugh, froze her in the middle of a wicked
speculation of imprisonment without benefit of parole. She was coming.
Now.
Andrew felt the pressure lighten slightly, and wriggled out so that
his chest was free; breathing became easier, partly because his orgasm was
over, but still difficult in the humidity from Angela's enormous hot box of a
pussy. He felt something new, even more heat and moisture starting at his
dangling feet, quickly seeping up his legs, drenching his cock and ass, rising
to his stomach. She was coming. He pushed himself back in to feel the
torrent rise to his chest as the tremors started, followed by the first
scream, which sounded like an air raid siren to the tiny husband. He pulled
his chest out again, and saw that his little body had acted like a bottle
stopper. Now that he was no longer holding her in tightly, the torrent
splashed out. He put a hand in the puddle in front of him and tasted the hot
sticky liquid greedily. He was so taken with the experience that he didn't
even see the giant fingers which pushed him back in one more time.
Angela successfully stretched the contractions of her climax, careful
not to squeeze her beautiful lover too hard in her moment of ecstasy. The
control made for a very different experience, and she was savoring it. Even
the feeling of fading out was prolonged and heightened. She usually liked
Andrew to linger inside her, but when he was normal sized, they could talk and
kiss and tease; he was too small for that now, so she bucked her hips and slid
him out. He climbed over her thigh, slippery and wet, and walked up to her
heaving chest, leaned against her ribcage and softly massaged her breast.
"How was it for you?" she asked.
"Well, there was a flood and an earthquake and an air raid siren, then
I was pushed out into the world. And it all turned out just to be my wife
having an orgasm. How was it for you?"
"Well, first you were a dildo, then you were a sailor, then you became
a prisoner, then a dolphin, or was it a dolphin then a prisoner? Then you
made me come, and now your leaning against my ribcage and I can see that all
this time, it was my beloved, my tiny giant of a husband."
She picked him up in the palm of her hand, poured a splash of cold
bottled water on him, and dried him with a warm, soft towel, kissed him and
placed him on the pillow next to her, covered him with her hand, and they
drifted off into a nap of huge and tiny dreams.
He awoke naked and alone. The bed was made and he was still on the
pillow. He heard the whooshing sound of yards of fabric rubbing against one
another and against yards of smooth skin. He looked up and Angela filled his
field of vision, her neck stretched in beautiful seductive innocence, as she
fastened a pearl earring in place. She was a vision of sex and elegance in
her off the shoulder backless black velvet dress. "Dinner?"
"Are we going out?" he asked.
"Oh, yes. I have to show you off."
"This will be a first. You're ready to go and I'm buck naked."
"Actually, I was going to touch up my makeup a little."
"Let me see." She lifted Andrew to face level. "No one can see as
much detail as I can. You're perfect."
"Not too much eye shadow?"
"Perfect."
"Can I watch you get dressed?"
"I'd be hurt if you didn't."
She smiled at him and walked him over to the dresser. His evening
clothes were already laid out. "Shower?" she asked. He shook his head no.
"I sure am glad I wear boxers. This permanent erection stuff could
get to be a real bother in tight underwear."
"Maybe we can get a tailor to let out the inseam in all your pants."
Angela suggested.
"It's not THAT much of a bother." He tucked his shirt into his pants
and began to button up the shirt, looking at himself in the little full length
mirror. "Mirrors are a real knockout right now."
"Something wrong?"
"No. It's just that in mirrors, I can see both of us at the same
time. It's very powerful."
"In a good way, I hope."
"It's hard to explain, but yeah, it's good." He ran a brush through
his hair, slipped on his jacket, put on his socks and shoes, tied his tie and
fastened his cufflinks and he was ready. "Ta da." he said when he was
through.
"Five minutes from naked to formal." Angela sighed. "If I didn't
love you, I'd hate you."
"Exasperating little sons of bitches, ain't we?" Angela laughed at
his joke and slid the third finger of her left hand between his legs and
lifted him. "I like feeling the rings rub against my thighs." said Andrew.
Angela lifted him to her mouth and did the breathless whisper. "You
belong to me. Don't forget."
"I promise."
The restaurant was very loud for Andrew, and he was glad to put in the
earplugs to bring the roar of the happy throng of titans down to less than an
ear shattering experience. The surfer dude Poster Boy made an entrance in a
stylish formal suit with dinner jacket, his blond hair slicked down. He
looked like a star from a thirties movie, a little like Joel McCrea, his every
move perfectly watchable until he bumped his head on a hanging lantern. His
elegant air vanished into awkwardness and sheepish discomfort. Andrew caught
Angela's eye, and glanced in the direction of the giant gigolo. She smiled
in a way that told him she saw it, too, but not to laugh until he was out of
range. They were about to comment on it, when another giant came into view
next to Angela. He was "normal", only about 50 feet tall, dark and
brillantined like Valentino stepping out of the silver screen.
"I was amazed when I saw the most beautiful woman in the room was
alone, and I knew it would take all my courage to ask, so please don't refuse
me a dance." said Valentino.
"You flatter me, but I'm here with my husband."
Valentino flustered and stepped back when he saw Andrew. "Forgive me,
I... I... Let me start again. May I borrow your wife, sir, for one dance?"
Andrew was about to answer when Angela stood up. "Old manners in such
a young man. Very charming, but I'm a big girl. You can ask me directly."
Valentino knew when she stood what the answer would be. "Would you
like to dance?"
"I'd love to." and without glancing back, his giant wife walked away
from him, and into the arms of another man, a man more her size.
Andrew told himself it was nothing; Angela loved to dance. He stood
up and watched them dance, watched his wife smiling and giggling prettily in
the arms of Valentino, eyes of the other couples on the floor following them,
glad to be in the wake of their beauty. He didn't know how long he watched
them, hands in pockets waiting, when the flash bulb went off behind him. He
turned and looked directly into a colossal old style camera, held by a
ravishing redheaded titaness in a gold-braided red jacket with matching shorts
showing off her magnificent long legs.
"That was perfect. I'm going to need your signature. That one's
portfolio."
"Excuse me."
"Portfolio. Perfect composition. You looking so forlornly at the
dance floor, the champagne bottle next to you. It made me jealous, and I
don't even know you. Would you lean against the bottle? Great composition."
Another flashbulb went off. Andrew felt blind for longer than usual. "Sorry
about the flash. Who's out on the floor?"
"My wife. Black velvet dress, short brunette hair."
"My lucky day, I swear. She's in the shot. Unbelievable, but true.
Soft focus, I'd think, but completely recognizable. The champagne shot will
be good, too. I wonder if Mumm's would like it? Great advertising stuff."
Andrew was completely charmed by the redhead colossus, bubbly as the
champagne, as beautiful as Rita Hayworth. He was in a movie, he could swear
it was true, but somehow the special effects geniuses had made giants come out
of the enormous screen, or matted him into their huge world seemlessly. He
was swirling now, spinning drunk on a sip of champagne. Pathetically jealous
and suspicious one minute, entranced and bedazzled by a fetching stranger the
next.
The song ended, and Valentino returned his wife to him, the redhead
explained how she had perfect pictures of Andrew, he was being picked up by
his wife and another flash went off and blinded him. When he could see again,
the whirlpool of activity had faded and he was once more looking at his wife,
with her smiling serenely down at him as he straddled her ring finger again.
He heard a familiar tune, Jerome Kern's "The Way You Look Tonight". Angela
was not sitting down and she was not putting him down.
"May I have this dance?" Andrew asked.
"Of course, darling. I thought you'd never ask."
She carried him out onto the floor, and placed him on her shoulder,
swaying in her perfect rhythm to the song. Andrew looked up at the beautiful
line of her neck.
"Was he a good dancer?" he asked.
"He didn't step on my toes." she said. This meant he was good
enough, but nothing special.
"Did he have any interesting repartee?"
"He invited me to an orgy. Well, us, actually." Pause. "I declined
naturally."
"Why?" Andrew was curious about the possibility.
"You know about debutantes and orgies. They have a good time, but
it's all those damned thank you notes afterwards. Actually, I couldn't go.
I'd be worried about you every second."
He listened to the beat of her heart through the soft cool black
velvet of her dress, and he reached out to touch the warm skin of her enormous
arm. He started to sing in his full baritone (now a thin tenor or alto)

"Someday,
When I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you,
And the way you look tonight.

You're lovely,
With your smile so warm,
And your cheek so soft,
There is nothing for me but to love you,
Just the way you look tonight."

He continued to sing, unaware of how far his little voice could carry.
He only had eyes for Angela, and she for him. He only noticed the attention
he commanded when the song finished, and he saw the giants around him
applauding his performance. Even the bandleader, balding and beaming with a
pencil thin moustache, tapped his baton and smiled appreciatively.
Angela gave him a breathless whisper, a little trick he was learning
to love more every time she did it. "No woman could ever hope to resist a man
who dances so beautifully." He shivered, and felt a tear of happiness roll
down his tiny cheek, which his giant wife dabbed away tenderly on the tip of
her massive finger. "Would you mind giving me a lesson in private?" she
asked.
"You dance wonderfully, Angela. What could I possibly teach you?"
"More than you might imagine." She walked back to the table, picked
up her glass of champagne, and carried both her drink and her husband back to
the room. She opened the sliding glass door to their veranda, and the music
from the patio far below wafted in. "Can you hear it?" she asked. He nodded
yes, rubbing his cheek up and down on the black velvet that covered her
breast. "What's the tune?"
"Moonglow." Andrew answered.
"Mmmm. Nice tune and a nice beat." She took him over to the dining
table and placed him down on his feet. "I noticed that you are about as tall
as my hand is long." She placed her hand next to him, resting the weight on
her two middle fingernails to prove her point. "I'd like to feel what it's
like to dance with you against my hand."
Andrew walked over to her huge hand and sized up the situation. "You
are going to have to let me lead. If you step on my toes with one of those
fingernails, it's going to be painful."
"I want you to lead; I wouldn't have it any other way." Angela beamed
down.
Andrew stepped in close to Angela's palm, drinking in the scent of the
perfume she had dabbed on her wrist earlier in the evening. He pressed his
legs against her two middle fingers, reached over to grab the side of her palm
in one arm and to bring her thumb down to his level with the other. Angela
bent her first finger and pinky up to hold on gently to his hips. He started
to sway gently and her hand followed. He began to take the first few steps,
and though now her fingers would have to mimic what she was used to doing with
her legs, the feeling of following his lead seemed very natural and easy.
Andrew twisted her hand at little farther than it wanted to go, and Angela
gently pushed her hand back into a more comfortable position.
He stopped and glared up at her. "Let me lead." he said firmly.
"My hand won't turn any farther."
"Then move your body as well." She smiled at his impatient comment.
It was so obvious to him, and obvious to her when he said it. When her three
ounce dance partner wanted to take her on a turn around the floor, she should
do as he says, or find another partner. She smiled and nodded. He danced her
masterfully around the table, pulling and pushing her this way and that. How
easily, how brilliantly he could hold sway over her, if she only consented to
a simple three word request. Let Me Lead.
The music stopped and Andrew backed away and looked up at her. "I
liked it, how about you?" he asked, fairly confident of her approval.
You little scamp, she thought. You're playing with me. She wanted to
wipe the self-satisfied smirk off his face in the quickest way possible. She
smirked back, reached behind herself and unzipped the dress, then undid the
clasp behind her neck. The dress fell and she stood before him, naked from
the waist up, which from his vantage point on the table was nearly all that
was visible.
"I was just thinking about a new way we could make love." His eyes
grew big and his mouth fell open. Who's playing with whom now, darling? she
thought to herself.
She picked him up and took him to the dresser, where he began to take
off his evening clothes. He was trying to be casual, undressing carefully as
befit a man showing respect for a handsome suit of clothes that just aided in
another conquest. He hung the jacket carefully, undid his cufflinks, loosened
his tie as though he had all night.
"You know, the faster you get undressed, the sooner we're going to
start fucking." she said, leaning down and fixing him with an intense stare
and enigmatic smile. She chortled as he stepped into high gear, like a silent
film comedy about getting naked as quickly as possible. She couldn't make it
all out it went by so fast, but it ended with a somersault in which he removed
his pants, underwear, shoes and socks all in one motion, leaving all these
clothes in a single lump on the dresser. "That's better." she said and placed
her hand, palm up. "Lay down here." He gladly complied. "When we were
dancing, I could feel Our Little Pal pressing against my hand, the way I can
feel it press against me when we dance at our regular sizes. I was wondering
what it would feel like if you would fuck in between my fingers."
Andrew turned over and squeezed his dick in between Angela's index and
middle finger on her huge left hand. "Didn't want the rings to get in the
way." he explained, and began to push himself in and out in a regular rhythm.
"It's certainly tight enough." he panted.
"Does this help?" she asked, squeezing her fingers together then
relaxing them.
"God, yes!" he shouted, causing her to chuckle. "Only thing is not
lubricated enough."
"I can fix that." she said, and began to suck determinedly on the
index finger of her right hand. She slipped the wet digit between her
husband's little legs, and into the gap between her great powerful fingers,
wetting and heating the valley for his little pleasure. She closed her
fingers again, and he entered the gap, sighing contentedly. She wiped a
little extra of the excess spittle on his cute tiny buttocks.
"Much better." he said, and she beamed down at him. She walked over
to the dining table, the dance floor he had led her so expertly around, and
picked up her champagne glass for another sip. She could feel his little
rhythm and it took only a second of imagination to feel herself down on her
own palm, her husband pushing himself into her, both of them making love on
the hand of an amused colossus beaming down at them. She was a tiny lover and
an enormous sex goddess at the same time, loving the feeling of her husband,
admiring the ardor of her pets, both feelings gently and subtly arousing her.
"Faster, darling." she said, and when he complied she inched her hand
slowly toward her breast, where he might give suck if it pleased her. He saw
his reward looming nearer, and quickened his pace. "Deeper, too. Don't be
afraid of hurting me." His thrusts became harder, the pace reaching a
crescendo. She stopped the slow ascent toward her tit. "Would you like some
champagne?"
He looked over his shoulder at the glass and wondered. The question
had broken his concentration, so he nodded yes. She placed the right index
in the glass, the same one she had lubricated herself with, then finger-
painted her nipple with the wine, and at last let her husband taste her and
the champagne together. His little grunts told her he has approaching climax,
and she ran her finger against his dick, which peeked out between the gap in
her fingers when he thrust his hardest and deepest. She smiled with half
closed eyelids as she felt the drips of his excitement on her fingertip,
tasting it when he finished, then removing him from her breast, lifting him to
her mouth and kissing the beautiful little ass that had put on such an amazing
display for her.
"That works for me." he said, stating the obvious.
"I like it, too. I have the best seat in the house."
"You have the best seat in any house, Angela."
"Very funny; that's not what I meant and you know it." A little
alcohol and no play on words was too obvious or too low for him. They often
kidded that eventually he would have to join a twelve-step program for
recovering punsters. "I hope I didn't tire you out too much."
"Fit as a fiddle and ready for love." he answered.
"Good answer. Ready for panties removal duty again, Mr. Franklin?"
"Aye-aye, sir."
"We're going to try a slightly different tack this time. Standing
up."
"Just me and gravity, eh?"
"If you need any help, just ask." she said and placed him inside the
crotch of her black lace underwear. She was also wearing stockings and
garters, but since she thoughtfully put them on first, the panties could be
removed without taking off the other undergarments."
"You know how much I love stockings and garters? Well, they look even
better now, and I didn't think that was possible."
She beamed down at him, bending slightly forward so that she could see
him better. "A little less flattery and a little more elbow grease if you
don't mind, Mr. Franklin." he saluted smartly and began the task at hand.
He began by leaning back, his feet placed on her upper thighs, his
little weight pulling the panties ever so slightly down. He moved to her right
hip, forcing the side over her hip bone, then moving around to her side.
Angela covered her breasts with her forearms to get a better view of his
progress, but Andrew yelled up at her, doing his best impression of a
construction worker, "Hey, lady! You're blocking the view." She removed her
arms from her chest and put them behind her back, so she could still see him
and he could see her tits. He gave the thumbs up sign and continued around,
lingering lovingly as the seat of her black lace panties lowered, uncovering
her very lovely right cheek. "Yep, best seat in any house." he shouted,
slapping her behind playfully.
"I got the joke the first time." she said, in an annoyed sing song
voice.
"Oh, sure! It's easy to say that now that I explained it to you."
He saw Angela's head shaking from behind, her beautiful short hair swaying to
and fro far above. She loved it when he was being obvious, Andrew thought.
The more annoyed she acted, the more she was like putty in his hands. He
continued his happy task, and now her entire magnificent ass was visible. She
had her legs spread slightly, so that he wouldn't fall straight to the ground
once the panties had cleared the curve of her ass. He successfully brought
them down to her knees, then he asked her to put her legs together slightly
and slid down her silk covered calf like it was a firepole, the panties
hitting the ground before he did.
"Much easier this way." he said standing back to admire the view.
What a beautiful woman his wife was, he thought. What a majestic creation.
"Would you mind climbing back up now?" she asked.
"Oh, I would hate to put a run in those lovely silk stockings.
They're brand new, aren't they?" he squeaked back.
She leaned down, spread her legs slightly, placed her hands on her
thighs and smiled down at him. "That's very thoughtful of you, Andy, but let
me put it another way. Climb up my leg and fuck me. Now." She rose back up
to her awesome full height, put her hands on her hips and stared down at him.
As he climbed quickly up, Angela thought how much it pleased her to
order him to do what he wanted to do anyway, giving permission as though it
was a command. The speed of his compliance was especially exciting.
As he climbed quickly up, Andrew tried to place in his mind where he
had heard that voice before, so quiet and matter of fact and feminine.
"Thank you for calling AT&T..."
"Commander LaForge is in Ten Forward."
"Climb up my leg and fuck me. Now."
Angela plucked him off her thigh when he reached the top of her
garter, walked over to one of the chairs at the dining table and put her high
heeled foot on the seat, her leg draped over the back of the chair. She slid
Andrew inside her feet first. "Can you reach the chair?" she asked.
"Sure."
"Then it's time for you to start fucking me."
Andrew grabbed onto the back of the chair, and began pushing and
pulling himself in and out of her. He found himself surprised by how many
times Angela had used the word 'fuck', a word she used very sparingly usually.
He liked it, especially because every time she said it, she meant it and they
did it. He began a rhythmic stroke, putting his legs together when thrusting
in, spreading them wide apart on the out stroke to create a little more drag.
Angela seemed to like it very much; her moan at this motion sounded like a low
growl to Andrew, and she stared down at him with her mouth slightly slack,
fire in her eyes. She began to play with her own tits, so beautiful and so
far out of reach. He looked to his side, admiring her long leg, draped
seductively over the chair, the black silk at the top of the stocking
stretching slightly as she flexed her legs and ass appreciatively with every
thrust of his body into her huge hot pussy. It was only then that Andrew
looked down, realizing he was a long way off the ground; it was a two storey
drop and he was working without a net. He felt very calm about this. In his
mind, Angela's warm wet vagina was the safest place on earth. He began to
shoot semen into her contentedly, shortening his stroke slightly to keep his
hips inside her during his orgasm.
Once his little penis had stopped spurting, he began the long strokes
again, amazed that after pulling his body in and out twice, Their Little Pal
was standing at attention. This seemed natural enough to him, since he never
could get enough of Angela, and now she was as tall as a steeple; certainly
there was more than enough of Angela now. He could hear her moans; it was no
mistake, she was growling and growling louder with each stroke, her voice
reaching crescendo when he slipped slowly out spreading his legs. He had kept
his earplugs in, and this turned out to be an excellent idea as Angela's
screams as she approached climax could easily have deafened him in his tiny
state. He felt the surge of wetness and heat, flooding down her already hot
wet tunnel. Her body shook and she screamed, once, twice, three times, four.
She wouldn't stop. She was having a climax like he had never seen before. He
came again inside her and out, his tiny ejaculation adding only slightly to
the hot wetness now pouring out of her. He heard what he guessed was a final
scream, and her panting heavily. He kept going, only to have her pull him out
forcefully, stare down at his sopping wet little body in her hand, and give
the one word command, "Stop."
She walked to the bed and lay down on her back. She brought her
husband to her mouth, and began to lick him clean. She laughed deep in her
throat, and Andrew grew afraid. She snapped her teeth at him, and laughed
again as he pulled his legs up in fear. She opened her mouth wide, and began
to lower her husband in. He widened his legs to brace himself against the
sides of her lips, and Angela used her tongue to pull his puny legs into her
hungry mouth.
"Angela, what are you doing?"
"What do you think I'm doing, mouse-man?"
"You're supposed to take care of me!"
"Maybe I changed my mind."
"Angela, put me down this instant!"
His tone surprised her and she did as he said, putting him down next
to her head on the pillow, twisting her neck to look at him, a devilish glint
still playing in her eyes.
"Angela, if you can't play nicely with your toys, you won't get any
more." She seemed to be calming down now, and with each breath her colossal
chest heaved less and less.
"I'm sorry, darling. I got a little carried away."
"What happened?"
"Have you ever heard that tomcats have little hooks on their cocks?"
Angela asked. He nodded. "When you started doing that thing with your legs,
I got to thinking, 'I'm having sex with a cat. I'm being fucked by a lion.
I must be a lioness.' I came like a lioness, and when I had enough, and I
pulled you out, I cleaned you like a little cub. Then it struck me how small
you were, and I started to think you must be a mouse. When you laid down the
law, it calmed me down." She picked him up and stood him on her collarbone so
that she could look up at him. "You turned me into a wild animal, and then
you tamed me. You are the most remarkable man I have ever known." Standing
there, Andrew felt big and important, the way love can make anyone feel. She
stretched her arms and when he saw what an awesome span that was, he felt
little again. "Let me give you a real hug." she said, and her enormous arms
began to close around him.
"Are you sure it's safe?" he asked.
"I promise." said his enormous wife, and as the back of her forearm
pushed him gently off her chest to her neck, she lowered her head and for the
first time since he had become small, she kissed not his body but his little
lips, as tenderly as love can allow.


 

Chapter 2

As Angela looked out from the bathroom, she saw Andrew dancing on the
bed, taking what were for his size prodigious leaps, first a long one, then a
high one, spinning and strutting exuberantly to the giddy tune of Fats
Waller's "Handful of Keys" playing on the hi-fi installed in their suite. The
bed was as big as a gymnasium floor to him, and he threw himself into his
dance like Baryshnikov dancing a Tharp choreography. She walked to the bed,
admiring his strength and grace, holding her hands behind her back as she
beamed down at her adorable little husband. The song ended and Andrew stopped
dancing; she expected him to be winded, but instead he placed his hands on his
hips and stared up at her.

"What, no applause?" he demanded.

"Bravo, darling; I would applaud but my hands are full."

"A surprise for me, I hope?"

"More like Good News, Bad News." she wrinkled her nose.

"Bad news first, I guess." he said, and she sat on the bed. The
springs bounced so that Andrew did a little somersault. She lowered herself
down onto her elbows so that her hands could be on his level. She opened her
left hand.

"I was drying your dress shirt with the blow dryer when this happened.
I swear it was on the lowest setting." The shirt had a rip down the middle of
the back, and Andrew could see that there were singes at the cuffs as well.
"Your stuff is as thin as tissue paper now, and I don't know how much
protection it's going to give you when we go out."

"Well, I did bring more dress shirts so it isn't a total loss. Does
your right hand have the good news?"

"I think so. I made you these." She opened her palm and revealed a
white silk sailor's shirt and grey silk pants with a purple satin string belt,
which looked like a rope to Andrew. "If they aren't too heavy or too rough
for you, I think you'll find them much more durable than your regular street
clothes."

Andrew tried them on. The silk felt nice against his skin; even
magnified eight times its size, the smoothness of silk was a wonderful sensual
experience. "It feels nice, but isn't the stuff a little loose fitting?"

Angela prodded his tiny thigh with her fingertip, playfully rubbing
her husband's bulging crotch, lifting him to look at the back of pants as
well. "It's tight enough where it needs to be, and loose everywhere else. I
like the way the shirt fits; I get to look at your chest anytime I want, and
you know how much I like that." She pressed his exposed pectoral cleavage to
her enormous lips and gently massaged him against her massive mouth. "I like
fantasizing about how you got so little. One of my favorites is to think of
you as being a tiny shipwrecked sailor."

"So now I'm Gulliver and you're Glumdalclitch."

"Glumdalclitch was a little girl, darling; I'm a woman."

"Yes, I am aware of the difference. I like the fabric; where did you
get it?"

"The pants I made out of a silk scarf; the shirt is made out of one of
my bras."

Andrew rubbed the shirt with his little hands, smelling her perfume
faintly, thinking of when his big hands might have pressed this same material
against Angela's breasts. "Miss, you have a sale." he said.

"We're always glad to have a satisfied customer, sir." she said. She
pulled the lapel of her robe back and rubbed him and his new little outfit
against her erect left nipple. "I do like the feeling of silk." she cooed.

"And you like a man in a uniform." he countered.

"There are so many things I like about this, it's hard to know where
to begin." The hi-fi began to play Waller's "Jitterbug Waltz" and Angela
started to sway her enormous frame in time to the gentle beat, pushing her tit
firmly into Andrew's little body. She felt his little hands grab on tight and
felt his body push against her in its own rhythm, and she beamed down at him
with her most contented smile. He looked up sheepishly.

"This premature ejaculation thing is getting to be a nuisance." he
said.

She shook her head and smiled. "Not to me; I like watching you come
more than anything."

"Did you have an orgasm watching me?"

"No; it doesn't surprise me like that now. But the feeling I get...
well... now that I've had it a few times, I'd have to say it's better than an
orgasm."

"Better?" he asked incredulously. She nodded happily. "That's hard
to believe."

She held him close to her mouth and spoke in that perfect breathless
whisper. "Darling?" He nodded. "Is it my imagination or do you have an
erection again?" He nodded again. "My perfect little man, you have no reason
to apologize for the pleasure you get being near me, and I have no reason to
lie to you about the pleasure you give me when I hold you close." She then
kissed his body deeply, her hum shaking him into ecstasy again.

"If you're going to keep doing that to me, I'm going to need a diaper
or there will be stains all over the front of these silk pants you made me."
Andrew said, sternly.

Angela carried him to the bathroom and handed him a tissue, which he
ripped into a small towel that he then put down the front of his pants. "Are
you ready to go out now?" she asked.

"You're not dressed." he said. She was wearing a robe and nothing
under it.

"That's right." She replied. "I forgot my hat."

"Where are we going?"

"Sunbathing."

"Nude sunbathing? That isn't like you, Angela."

She picked him up his favorite way, her huge left hand ring finger
sliding in between his thighs. She held him chest high and beamed down at
him. "We're on vacation. There are no rules here."

Andrew was getting used to riding in his wife's hand, and found he
liked the attention they attracted as a couple, though he wondered if the men
were just looking at Angela, estimating their chances of sweeping his stunning
wife off her feet now that her husband was smaller than a Ken doll, a puny
refugee from the top of a wedding cake. Out on the patio along the enormous
bright blue pool, Andrew admired the many sunbathers, gorgeous women of every
shape and size (except of course none were HIS size), all gleaming with oils
and lotions, the sweet tropical scents rising off their giant bodies. Angela
found an empty chaise lounge, put her bag down on the ground, put Andrew on
the table, then took off her big floppy hat, her sunglasses, then dropped her
robe, standing proud and tall in her glorious nakedness. She pulled a little
lounge chair out of her bag for Andrew and put it on the table next to him.

"Angela, are you sure this is okay? Some other women are topless, but
no one else is naked."

"I guess I'm going to start a fashion then, won't I? Will you be
joining me?" Andrew realized how willful his wife was now, how blissfully
aware of her power she was. She was never shy about stating her opinion
before, but now her opinion was law, and she liked it that way. Andrew felt
how much he liked it, too and he stripped out of his little silk sailor suit.
She picked him up between her thumb and forefinger and laid him lengthwise in
her hand on his stomach. He turned over and stared at his wife, her giant
naked body towering over him, her massive shoulders and long neck, her
magnificent breasts. He had always appreciated the perfect firmness of his
wife's lovely little breasts, and would never let her complain about not
being big enough; now her gorgeous little tits, still so firm and perfectly
shaped, weighed a more than a half a ton each by his puny way of measuring.
She chuckled at his obvious fascination with her gigantic form, and let him
stare at her for a very long time, as she enjoyed staring at his little body
lying so perfectly in the cup of her hand. "Turn over, darling." she
commanded at last, and Andrew obeyed. He closed his eyes, and heard the sound
which must be the lotion bottle being opened. He felt the gush of warm sweet
oil fall between his shoulder blades, the overflow making a puddle between
Angela's huge hand and his tiny armpits. She massaged the oil into his back
and down his legs with the tip of her colossal finger, lingering exquisitely
as she rubbed from his heel to his ass over and over again. The oil was
rubbed in as well as it could be, he thought? What was she doing? Why all
the attention to my legs and my ass? He realized she was petting him to make
him come again, and he lifted his upper body up on his elbows, and quietly
thrust himself into the slick puddle in her palm, bucking his little ass
muscles for her pleasure as well as his.

"Thank you, darling; I knew you'd figure it out." She whispered to
him as she finally put him back, face down into his own little lounge chair.
Still lying there, ready to drift off, he turned and watched her stand, rising
above him oiling the backs of her elegantly shapely legs, greasing her
spectacularly smooth ass muscles. Andrew thought of how perfectly her ass fit
into his hands when he was big, how readily he could lift her when they made
love standing up, how appreciatively slowly she would slide down on his cock,
how it felt to have her legs wrapped around him, her thighs tucked so
comfortably at his elbows as he thrust into her. He wept a little tear to
think of it; he knew she was happy with him, playing with her new little toy,
but for how long. Wouldn't she grow tired of games played with a doll and
want a man again, he wondered. He knew the answer must be yes, but what if
she decided to have a man before he was full size again. He thought of her
statement from the night before.

They would discuss. She would decide. He would obey.

A bellboy walked by. "Excuse me... Tony?" Angela asked.

"Yes, miss?"

"Do you have time enough to oil my back? I would let my husband but
it might take him all day."

Tony looked down at Andrew and smiled. "I'd be glad to, ma'am."

Andrew laid on his stomach, still close to drifting off in the heat
and the intoxicating smell of the oil, but he kept his eyes open to watch Tony
rub oil into his wife's back. The bellboys had a very uniform look. They
were all bodybuilders shrunk down to the four foot tall range, and they wore
denim cutoffs and orange sweatshirts with the sleeves removed. To normal
sized patrons, they must have seemed amusing, but of course to Andrew, Tony
was still over thirty feet tall. Andrew wondered about what it was like to
have Tony's job; he was so small that most men would no longer think of him as
a threat, but his build was so incredible that Andrew imagined that Tony and
his fellow bellboys were getting more pussy than the smug six foot male
patrons could imagine. Andrew bristled when Tony, rubbed the sides of Angela's
ribcage, gently massaging and oiling the sides of her breasts as well, but no
one, not Angela or Tony or Andrew made any comment. When Tony rubbed her
lower back down and let his hands wander down onto Angela's ass, Andrew was
relieved to hear her protest.

"I believe I already oiled there, Tony."

"I think you missed a spot, ma'am."

She paused and breathed in. "Thank you for being so... thorough."

"Anything else, ma'am?"

"I know it's not your job, but could you get me a bottle of water?"

"Yes, ma'am; glad to do it."

"There's some money in my purse."

Andrew eyed Tony as he searched the bag for the purse. He took it out
and looked inside. "Ma'am, there's nothing but twenties in here."

"Take what you want; whatever's left after that is your tip."

Andrew rose up and caught Tony's eye, and held up his index finger to
signify one. Tony smiled and nodded, took a single twenty and put Angela's
purse back in her bag. Angela could have her fun, but Andrew was not going to
let some giant gigolo take one hundred dollars for payment for oiling his
wife's back, no matter how buff he was.

Andrew turned back to look at his giant wife, laying on her stomach
some five or six yards distant, watching her body rise and fall with her
slow breaths. He looked at how her breast made a beautiful hemisphere where
it pressed against her ribs and the blue cushion of the lounge chair. Only the
side was visible, but he hungered to squeeze her tit, to suck her huge nipple,
his tiny arms barely able to encompass the incredible warm roundness.

Angela saw Andrew staring through half closed eyes at her; he couldn't
fool her that he was asleep yet. She moved her elbows up and lifted her upper
body slightly so that her husband could see her massive breasts in their
spectacular entirety, hanging sweetly down so far from his reach. Moments
passed before she saw him look up into her eyes. She smiled sweetly at him
and made a little kiss for him play across her lips, then smiled and cocked
her head at a seductive angle. She knew he would orgasm again in moments,
and smiled contentedly as she saw his ass bounce up and down as helplessly as a
puppet on a string. Would he ever know how wonderful it felt to her to see
his reaction to her simplest seduction? He was a clever fellow; she was sure
he'd figure it out soon enough.

Andrew closed his eyes and drifted off; cleaning the jism off himself
made no sense since he was nearly swimming in tanning oil now. He wanted
sleep now; his mind was so full of Angela he thought his brain might explode.
The way she teased him, and touched him, how she towered over him and gave him
commands, how she enjoyed the orgasms she could pull out of him as easily as
she might take a Kleenex from a box. He wanted to be a man again, and he
wanted to remain a toy, or whatever he was to her now. It was too much, she
was too much. Sleep beckoned like Angela could beckon; was she there, waiting
in his dreams as well? He could no longer choose and sleep embraced him, warm
and inviting and soft and overpowering.

He awoke under a canopy of darkness. The only light came in through
small holes at regular spaces nearly at eye level in the circle that
surrounded him. He could smell something, not just the oil he swam in. It
was part of Angela's scent, not her perfume, not her sweat or sex scent. It
was the smell of her hair. He was under her hat.

Lifting the brim was a massive struggle for Andrew, so he decided to
crawl out from under it. Angela was still lying on her back, a slight steam
rising from her gigantic glistening body.

"Angela, what was the big fucking idea of that?" he demanded in his
pipsqueak tenor voice.

She woke surprised, but did not move for several seconds as she stared
down at him. "Oh. The hat. You were getting too much sun; your skin is much
more sensitive now."

"I am not some fucking toy for you to play with!"

Her eyebrows rose and fixed him with a stare. She sat up, her head two
full storeys above his now, still staring down wordlessly. She reached toward
him with her left hand, and in moments he was rising, straddling her great
ring finger once again. He could not make out her expression; she wasn't as
angry as he was, but nor was she apologetic or amused or any other easily read
emotion.

"You're not?" she asked, as though the ridiculousness of his
statement would sink in when he felt her power.

"No, I'm not. I'm your husband!"

"Anything else?" she asked. It dawned on him that there was
something she expected of him, but he did not know what it was for the life of
him. He shook his head slowly and defiantly, putting his hands on his hips
for tiny emphasis. "Darling, I meant no insult. I was looking after your
welfare, and I did not mean to embarrass or anger you at all. Do you forgive
me?" Andrew nodded sheepishly and Angela kissed him and smiled. "Time for
the other side." she said.

She put him back down on the table and began to put the oil on herself
again. He stretched and looked around and saw that Angela had indeed started
a fashion; naked men and women were everywhere, blissfully soaking in the heat
all over their huge bodies glistening with oil. When he looked back Angela,
who had started with her face, was now oiling her foot. She appeared to be
done, when Andrew noticed - how could he fail to notice - that her breasts did
not seem to be glistening. She saw him looking and they exchanged one of
those glances that replaced several sentences that married couples everywhere
exchange. "You wouldn't mind, would you?" she smiled, and he in reply ran
to the edge of the table and jumped straight at her, making a spectacular
leap that landed him around her neck. She laughed at his wonderful display,
drowning out his plea for help.

"Angela! Too much oil! I can't grip!" He was afraid of the fall
from her neck to her lap, but he needed have been; at his new size, what
would seem like a fifteen foot fall was no problem. She looked down in
surprise. "Too oily. Couldn't grip." he said calmly.

"Does that mean you don't want oil my breasts?" Andrew shot a look
at her that meant he knew her question was silly and so did she. She
reclined on the chaise again and he walked up he stomach to her breasts.

She poured the oil from well above onto her right tit, and Andrew
threw himself into the task, spreading the hot sweetly scented oil with great
care and slow precision.

"You know, this isn't a government contract. You don't have to be
quite so exact or take so long."

"Hey, lady! I'm working here!" he said in his construction worker
voice, and he loved feeling her laugh rumble within her as well as its
powerful roar pierce the relative quiet. It was wonderful to have a giant
wife, to notice so many things he loved about her now so huge and powerful as
to be almost unrecognizable at first, but then to become familiar and lovable
again. He was so completely enthralled by oiling her colossal tits, that the
click and whirr behind him shocked him completely.

"Nice work if you can get it." He whirled to see a camera being
lowered. It was Brittany, the golden giantess, wearing a gleaming white
bikini, smiling down at him. He was unable to speak.

"Yes." answered Angela. "I had several applicants for the position,
but after considering experience and enthusiasm, I decided my husband was the
best qualified man for the job."

"Sounds like nepotism to me." said Brittany, and she winked. "So,
Professor, aren't you going to introduce me to your wife?"

"I'm sorry. Brittany, this is my wife Angela. Angela, this is
Brittany. She works here as a photog... well, of course, she works here, you
can see that. We met yesterday. I was shrinking, well we both were shrinking
so we shared... well, we didn't have to share, but she needed protection...
not that I'm protection for anybody..."

Angela extended her hand. "Let me apologize for my husband; he is
usually very good at finishing sentences. It's very nice to meet you,
Brittany."

"Nice to meet you, Angela. Everything okay so far?"

"Fantastic. Quite a place. Just wonderful."

"You two have fun. See you 'round, Professor."

"Yeah... nice to see you again, Brittany." Andrew was almost not
flustered anymore as her shook hands with her (actually he shook two of her
fingers), then watched her walk away, her spectacular long legs accentuated by
white satin pumps.

"She's very pretty, isn't she?" Angela said.

Andrew cocked an eyebrow. "Does the witness have to answer, Your
Honor?" He could not count how many times answering that question put him in
hot water.

Angela smiled. "No, really. It's obvious, I mean it. I think she
likes you, too."

Andrew shrugged. "Pretty Kitty."

"Did she tell you that? I heard that phrase during training. It
might be more than that, though. She liked flirting with you."

"Oh, yeah. I'm going to chase after some sixteen foot blonde behind
the back of my fifty foot wife. Good idea." said Andrew sarcastically.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." said Angela playfully.
"Anyway, we're supposed to be getting tans. Why don't you lay down here?" and
she laid him down gently on her stomach, his head just below the swell of her
breasts.

"Won't I leave a mark? Your tan won't be even."

"It will be my little souvenir to myself."

"What about my skin? Won't you have to cover me up?"

"I'll use sun block."

"But, Angela, what about..."

"Darling, I would like it very much if you would lie there on my
stomach, give my tits a little squeeze and get a nice tan. Would that be all
right?" She stroked him gently with the tip of her forefinger, and he of
course agreed.

We discuss, she decides, I obey. Good system, Andrew thought to
himself.

Andrew woke up on his little lounge chair, in the shade of a parasol
that looked like it had been plucked out of a giant tropical drink. Waking
up was the most disorienting time; his dreams seemed more realistic - or just
more reasonable - than reality now, and there was always that moment when he
had to acknowledge to himself. Yes. I am very small now. I am living in a
world full of giants. My wife is forty-six feet tall. Angela looked over
from her lounge chair, dressed in her robe, reading a book. "Would you like
to towel down? It's about lunch time." He nodded yes, and toweled off with
his big soft beach towel (roughly the size of a handkerchief) and put back on
his sailor suit. Angela packed their belongings into her huge handbag, then
picked her husband up in her left hand, once again straddling her ring finger
with his tiny legs dangling carefree between her massive fingers, his little
body leaning back against the warm soft skin of her palm. They found a table
in the shade, enjoying a gentle cool breeze after their hours in the sun.
They had not even gotten their menus when Andrew heard a familiar but
unwelcome voice.

"Look, Chuck, I told you! Look how ti-ny." The brass giantess was
now barely tall enough to see over the table top, and she had her full-sized
husband in tow.

"Yeah, yeah, DeeDee, you made your point. Hi, how are ya? Chuck
King. Mind if we join you?" He pulled up a chair without waiting for a
reply.

"Chuck, you knucklehead, where are your man-ners? I need he-lp. The
chair's too big for me." Annoyed, Chuck pulled a chair out for his wife
without standing up. She climbed up and sat down, only her head and shoulders
visible above the table.

"So, having fun? 'Course you are, 'course you are." continued Chuck.
"Hey, pal, if you need any help with the little lady, just give me a buzz."
Chuck winked, pointed his finger at Andrew and made a clicking noise.

"Oh, Chuck, sto-op!" DeeDee protested in her annoying sing-song whine.

"So, you made your tape?" Chuck asked.

"Tape?" asked Angela.

"Your tape. you know, the tape." continued Chuck.

"You have to have a ta-ape." sang DeeDee in counterpoint.

"We taped ours yesterday; first thing out of the gate. Got to have
your tape; got to make your copies. It's like a ... you know, a ... calling
card. You give someone your tape, they give you theirs. You get introduced,
introduced real good." He winked and clicked again.

"Oh, Chuck, sto-op!"

"It's not just sexy, though. It's not just hot. It's educational."

"We learned so mu-uch!"

"The editing process was fascinating."

"We learned so mu-uch!"

"You can let them do it, but do it yourself. It's worth it, and it's
cheaper."

"Things here are so ex-pen-sive." DeeDee chimed in.

"Get a photog. They're worth it."

"It's the ang-gles."

"Angles. Zooms. Pans. You know. The arty shit. We got that
redhead, ah, whatsername?"

"I don't re-mem-ber! You're the one who liked her! You're the one
who propositioned her, for God's sake!" DeeDee was obviously still upset
about this.

"Don't believe what you hear; they aren't just photographers. Take it
from me."

"We haven't heard anything." Angela piped in.

"Well, now you've heard it and you can take it from me. All of 'em.
The people who 'work' here. Well, yeah, they 'work'. They're hookers." Chuck
said emphatically.

"Who-ores." said DeeDee. In DeeDee's language, 'whores' rhymes with
'skewers'.

"She wouldn't join in with us, but she was just trying to negotiate a
better price. Take it from me; I know negotiation."

"Chuck, she said 'no-o'." DeeDee reminded him.

"It was a bargaining position! Anyway, the editing. Best part. Lots
of fun, take it from me. We had plenty of work stoppages, and it wasn't
because of union trouble."

"Oh, Chuck, sto-op!"

"No trouble with UNIONS at all, if you get my drift." He clicked and
pointed again.

"Oh, Chuck, sto-op!"

"Excuse me," asked Angela, once more able to get a word in edgewise.
"Are you from California?"

Chuck was stunned. "San Bernardino. How'd you know, and don't say it
was the accent, 'cause Californians don't... have... accents."

"You both have such... lovely tans." Andrew had a hard time keeping
his composure. He knew her reason for asking. Angela had a theory that when
you go on vacation, the loudest and most obnoxiously friendly people you will
meet will be from California. He saw the satisfied look in her eye as they
shared a smile.

A waiter wafted into view. "Good afternoon, I'm Luis. Have you had
time to look? Would the lady like a taller chair?"

Angela took command. "No, she would not. She and her husband sat
down without asking permission, and they are about to leave. My husband and I
would like menus, please." Luis walked away.

"We asked. Didn't we ask?" asked Chuck.

"He asked." piped in DeeDee, unable to make 'asked' a two syllable
word.

"You asked, but you did not wait for an answer. The answer is no.
You cannot join us. We do mind." Angela was explaining this in a very calm
voice. Chuck and DeeDee were shocked, but Angela's calm demeanor kept them
from giving any answer. They just got up and walked away. They had gone only
a few steps when Chuck decided that it shouldn't end like that.

"Who the fuck are you, you fucking freaks? You think you're fucking
Grace Kelly or something, with your little Ken doll-dildo of a husband?
You're too good to break bread with us, you fucking wierdos?" He started
walking back and Angela rose to her feet to get between the now irate Chuck
and her tiny Andrew. "Get out of my way, bitch, it's your fucking
boyfriend..."

Chuck didn't get a chance to complete his thought. He sidestepped
Angela on his way to confront Andrew, and he never saw her grab his wrist.
Andrew saw it and he couldn't believe the speed at which it happened. Chuck
fell to his knees like a toppled tree, a giant humbled in less than a second
by Andrew's all-powerful wife. He could see the towering anger in her eyes,
as she held another enormous human skyscraper completely at her mercy with
three fingers of her right hand. Andrew thought how about safe her felt in
her hand, and it dawned on him that she could turn him into a cat toy with a
snap of her huge fingers. DeeDee began to hit Angela's leg with her handbag,
and Angela's attention turned to her. They're like bugs to her, Andrew
thought. It they continue to annoy her, she'll squish them both out of
existence. His wife could swat giants like they were gnats. He felt afraid
of her and proud of her at the same time; she was a massive conquering
titaness, and her only thought was to protect her little husband.

It was only seconds before Luis returned, and several other waiters
released Chuck from the painful lock under which Angela had placed him, and
restrained the completely ineffectual DeeDee as well.

Luis spoke to Angela. "You know about the cameras. You know there
will be a report."

"Yes." she answered, still calm but obviously in protect mode. "You
heard me ask them to leave."

"I thought you did that well, but remember that you can't be
territorial. Protection of your charge comes first. If you have to retreat,
do so and do it quickly."

Angela looked him in the eye. "I understand. If you need me to make
a statement for the report, I'll be glad to comply."

"No, I have enough authority to make a decision now. I think it would
be best if you had lunch in your room."

"Will we be allowed to leave the room soon?" Angela asked.

"I'll give you a call. Should be cleared up quickly." Luis smiled
a little and Angela turned towards the table, reached over and gently
surrounded her husband in her huge hand, holding him close to her chest as she
lifted the huge handbag onto her other shoulder. The patrons rose to applaud
her, just as they had applauded last night. Last night, Andrew felt like they
were Astaire and Rogers, but now she was like a conqueror, cheered for her
power and authority, like a Roman general in a tribute parade. Andrew could
hear how fast her pulse was still racing. They said nothing until they were
alone in the elevator.

"Californians! What can you do?" said Andrew, throwing his hands up
in disgust.

Angela laughed for a second, then stopped. "Don't make me laugh. I
feel too miserable."

"What's the matter?"

"I could have lost you. I got mad and did something stupid. I could
never forgive myself if something had happened."

"Angela, God's honest truth. I never felt like I was in danger. Not
for a second. I was kind of scared for Chuck and DeeDee for a while there."

She giggled again and began to weep. She held him to her cheek, and
he tried to catch her enormous teardrops in his hands. "I love you so much."
she said.

"There, there." he said, doing his best to comfort his giant
protectress, gently stroking the lovely curve of her enormous cheek. "Can I
ask a question?" she nodded, tears resting on her lower lids. "When he told
his stupid joke about 'union problems', I realized that I must sound like that
when I repeat my stupid puns. Tell the truth, am I that bad?"

Angela started crying and bit her lower lip. "You're so thoughtful
and I'm so careless." She kissed him again, soaking him in her tears. "God,
I love you. God, I love you."

Angela calmed down after a few minutes. They had lunch and waited for
the call. Angela wanted to rest, and Andrew went into the little private
quarters and relaxed in the reclining chair that was his size. He was
awakened by the giant tapping on the ceiling. His eyes opened and he saw the
ceiling of his room rise up on a hinge, his wife's giant hand plucking from
his little world into her giant world.

Waking up is the hardest time, Andrew thought.

"The call came, darling; we can go out again if you'd like." Angela
said.

"What do you want to do?"

"I thought we'd go for a swim." Andrew realized it was a stupid
question when he could see she was wearing her one piece white swimsuit, cut
in the style of olympic swimmers. It showed a lot of leg but covered her
chest completely, cutting down on drag. Angela was a serious swimmer.

"In the pool? Sounds great."

She shook her head, and her short hair swayed in a way Andrew always
found tremendously attractive. "In the ocean."

"The ocean? Are you sure it's safe?" She nodded and grinned. Andrew
saluted. "Aye, aye, captain."

She kissed him and giggled. "You're a brave little sailor, Mister
Franklin. You are going to have to wear this as a safety precaution." She
produced a little harness and Andrew slipped into it, Angela securing her
end of it to a wristband. She grabbed a towel and they left the room for
the beach.

Andrew rode in her right hand for a change, and mostly he was sight
seeing. Even a slow paced walk by Angela would have been difficult for him
to keep up with, unless he took to the great foot long leaps he was now
capable of at his tiny size. All the giant women at poolside were naked now.
He thought one might be the Asian woman who winked at him yesterday, and when
she sat up and took notice of him when he and Angela passed, he was almost
certain. Her body was spectacular, and he craned back to get a better look at
her as Angela walked all too quickly past her. He saw the beautiful woman
smile at him, her brilliant white smile shining out from her dark tanned face.
Andrew thought about asking Angela to stop, but he couldn't imagine how he
would put the question.

"Darling, there's a stunning naked colossus back there I'd like to
flirt with some more. Do you think you could carry me over to her?"

Not bloody likely, mate.

When they passed the pool, Andrew began to hear the crashing of the
waves. They were still a mile or two away to him (less than 300 yards to his
wife) and an enormous sound wall was between them and the ocean. The sound
started to make him anxious. It grew louder as they got closer, at first it
was softer than his wife's footsteps, but the sound grew in intensity and
when they turned the corner and actually saw the beach and the waves,
Andrew's little heart was beating furiously. Skydiving, he thought. It's
like skydiving, except there were no lessons, no special instructions. All
he had to do was trust his giant wife when she said she knew what she was
doing. He thought of how she handled that enormous asshole Chuck, how he was
now sheltered in the same right hand that had brought a giant to his knees,
helpless as a kitten; she was powerful and confident and competent. His heart
was still beating hard, but he could no longer taste fear in his mouth.
Angela dropped her towel on the beach and walked toward the breaking waves.

The waves at their crest were taller than his wife, and even in her
hand thirty feet up, Andrew felt more than a little helpless. No turning back
now; they had discussed, she had decided, he must obey. She dipped him in the
water of the waves rolling in, in water barely coming up to her ankles. She
saw his concern and smiled down at him.

"Ready?" she asked, and he nodded quickly. She walked confidently
out and her body quickly disappeared under the water; the waves were even
higher now that his enormous protector was half submerged and an already
breaking wave now looked like a much greater problem to him. Angela simply
held her breath and stretched her hand above her head; the wave washed over
her but didn't even touch him, held as he was, sixty feet in the air. She
waded out to where the next wave would break.

"Hold your breath!" Angela shouted, and they both went under the
massive tsunami, down below to the sandy bottom; even below, the wave was
still an incredibly powerful force, but Andrew felt the power of his wife's
right hand, holding him firmly but not uncomfortably. It was hard for him
to hold his breath at this smaller size, and he almost gasped when he felt
his wife rocket forward, pushing off the bottom with her gigantic legs, rising
up out of the waves like a beautiful Venus the size of a whale. The breaker
was past them and she swam a backstroke kick out a ways so that the next wave
just lifted them easily and placed the back gently in the next trough.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Angela asked, and Andrew shook his head
in disbelief. "I'm going to need both hands now, so let's hook the harness
to the middle strap on my back." Andrew unhooked the belt, and Angela put him
behind her neck, where he reconnected himself to the safety of her swimsuit.
"I'm going to swim past that big rock." Angela said, and with both hands
free, she began to swim in earnest. Andrew was amazed how fast they were
going, and watched with an admiration equal parts awe and horniness at her
gigantic arms windmilling through the ocean waves, their splash spraying him
with every stroke, her massive ass swaying back and forth as her legs churned
against the water below. He could hear her breathing and feel it in her
back, her ribcage rising and falling with every breath. His wife could swim
as fast as a sailboat would move in a brisk breeze, he dreamed of his Venus-
whale-wife swimming against the America's Cup regatta, toying with them by
carrying one of their little marker buoys far out to sea, tearing the
mainsail off and using it as a sarong, leaving their multimillion dollar toys
out stranded in the ocean, as helpless as a boat in her giant bathtub. God,
but she is spectacular! Andrew thought.

Soon, Angela rounded the giant rock; behind it was a protected lagoon,
as incredibly calm as the wave break beach was incredibly violent. Angela
conserved her energy in the calmer waters, changing to a slow easy breast
stroke, gliding through the still blue waters at a slower but still remarkable
pace. Andrew enjoyed not being splashed and took in the gorgeous view with
a peaceful contentment. Angela stopped when she could stand on the smooth
sandy bottom, unleashed her puny husband and let him swim around in the
protected cove she made with her arms. She beamed down at him, so small and
blissful under her protection.

"This is going to sound strange, but this reminds me of something."
Angela said.

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"I remember when I graduated from prep school, and I wanted to go to
college. The week after graduation, two of my girlfriends announced their
engagements; one to a jock pinhead who just finished at Groton, the other to
a man twice her age, some guy who played golf with my dad. I thought, 'I have
to get out of here. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I am not going to
marry anyone I know in Providence.' So I went to college and it was great; I
met so many interesting people, people who could talk about books and art and
politics other than Republican. And then I would take my interesting friends
home." She made a face. "It was awful; I was so used to money, I didn't even
think about it at first, but I saw how they changed. The boys I brought home,
for Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter, they would see all this money around
and they would get defensive and argumentative, or they would become the worst
kissups you ever saw.

"I brought you home Easter of my sophomore year, so you must have been
the fifth boy from college I brought home. I remember I went home alone at
Christmas that year, thinking about becoming a lesbian. Men were such a
disappointment." Andrew laughed, as he treaded water, staring up at his giant
wife's beautiful face, remember how beautiful she was when they first met, and
how much better she looked now. "Then that Easter, I took you home. You were
'Angela's new friend' that weekend. And I was stunned at how you acted. You
were so natural there, even though you were a fish out of water. You liked
the nice people in my family. You tolerated the bores. You saw how nasty the
nasty people were, and you even gave them the needle when they said something
stupidly offensive in a large crowd. I took you to a place where you should
have been helpless, but you were the same there as you were in your own back
yard. When I brought you again on Thanksgiving - seven months later -
everyone knew this must be serious, and my father asked you to join the firm.
You said you wanted to be a professor, not a stockbroker. When you told him
that, I knew right then, that if you ever asked me to marry you, I would say
yes before your knee hit the ground.

"And now I've brought you here, and you're little and helpless again,
and all the things I love about you are bigger than ever." She lifted him out
of the water and kissed his sopping wet little body. "I love my little sailor
very, very much."

"Could you put me down for a second?" She did as he asked and he
swam backwards away from her. "See that cliff behind us? The top of your
head and the top of the cliff are now on the exact line from my vantage point.
To me, you are as big as that cliff."

Angela turned around and looked. "Wow. Thanks. I haven't been able
to imagine how I must look to you. When I look in the mirror, everything
looks normal except you look tiny. Good visual aid, professor; brings the
point home. Tell you one thing, though; I'd never sass back to that cliff."

"If you wanted to impress that cliff as much as want to impress you,
you might surprise yourself." She laughed and looked at the scenery. Andrew
looked down and saw something in the clear light blue waters below him.
Something big and purple and moving.

Moving up towards him.

"Angela, help!" he screamed, but she had decided to say something and
could not hear him. He screamed again and swam toward him, but the big purple
thing in the water below him swam much faster. She turned her head back,
still talking and saw the situation immediately, spinning and plucking Andrew
from the water in one graceful, powerful move.

Her protective scowl turned into surprise. "It's one of those! They
must have imported them." She placed her free hand on the top of the water,
and Andrew saw the big purple thing rise again to rub its shiny scales against
Angela's waiting fingertips. She hummed appreciatively. "It's one of those
petting fish. They're from Australia. Look at him; isn't he pretty? Would
you like to pet him?"

"He looks awfully big to me, and I'm sure he would love a snack."

"Oh, take a good look." She leaned down and held Andrew over the
water, and the big purple fish rose again to be petted. "Look how small his
mouth is, how puckered; bottom feeder." Angela was a big aquarium fan; Andrew
knew she was probably right, but he couldn't help think that the fish's little
mouth was about the size of his foot. Andrew imagined the harmless bottom
dweller sucking in his foot, pulling him down to the bottom, then feeding on
him.

"Are you going to try?" Angela chided him, her huge body now blocking
out the sunlight to make her fish more comfortable and to make her tiny man
feel even tinier. He let her lower her hand with him in it, and he petted the
the purple fish, waiting for its mouth and eye to be well past him when he
would reach down and feel the slick, bumpy texture of the shiny tropical
fish's scales. Andrew was reminded of a 4th grade aquarium excursion, his
face pressed to the glass of the big tank, and how he was startled - no,
shocked - by the grouper, the enormous 500 pound bass-like fish that would
pass every minute or so when he was distracted looking at something else.
Groupers. They were the reason he didn't share Angela's enthusiasm for
aquariums. Now, under her gentle gigantic tutelage, he was petting a grouper,
or something quite like it. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her now.
Her command, so loving and gentle, was law to him, and he couldn't think of
disobeying. He looked up at her, blocking the sunlight, staring down at him,
licking her lower lip distractedly. He knew what the look meant, but they
were in a public place. Even though they were alone now, Angela's sense of
propriety would never let her do anything here.

"Something the matter?"

She rose to her full height, letting the sun shine again on her little
lover. "You know what they say petting leads to." she said, smiling.

"Not here, though."

"Why not?"

"You wouldn't do it; I know you."

"You have a lot to learn, my little husband. And I'm just the woman
to teach you." She undid the fastener to her swimsuit behind her neck with
one hand, and began to slide the tight shiny whiteness of the suit off her
body. In this light, Andrew could see how much the sun had browned her skin
earlier that day. She had a light complexion, but the sun could give her a
pleasant glow, though she was usually very careful. She hadn't been this dark
since college, and she had never had an all-over tan in all the time he had
known her. Her beautiful breasts now appeared in all their glory, a pale
brown he had never seen. She shook her legs, scaring her little fish away,
then tossed her little husband gently but playfully into the lagoon, freeing
both her hands to remove her suit. She threw her suit toward the shore, and
put her hands on her hips, laughing at Andrew treading water so far below her.
"Where's your little boat, sailor? How did you get so far from home?" She
laughed wickedly and snatched him up in her hand. "And now that I have you,
how will you ever return?" She laughed at him as he began to strip, readying
himself for the sex he knew was moments away. She took his clothes and threw
them toward hers. "Time to batten down my snatch, little sailor." she
chortled, then she plunged her shipwrecked slave into her, feet first, pushing
him in up to his little head with her forefinger.

Andrew began to dance inside her the way she knew she liked it,
spreading his legs on the way out, legs together on the way in. He could hear
and feel her moans, smell the change in her sexual arousal. He loved how
overpowering her slightest change towards climax was, not allowing himself to
actually be overpowered, staying ready to sense the next change in the amazing
sexual climate of his huge horny wife. It was harder to continue this move
without an external object to grip, so he yelled up to her, "Can you lend me
a finger?"

"Kind of busy right now." she said, and when he twisted his body
out enough to get a good look, her could see her pinching her nipples as hard
as she could. Having to improvise, Andrew pushed himself into her cunt again,
then grabbing her clitoris and lower edge of her labia, began to slither out
of her like a sidewinder snake. She moaned or screamed - at his size he
couldn't tell which - and when she finished, she said panting, "That works,
too." He thrust into her and squirmed out several times, when he heard her
moans change. Was she crying? "Look down." she commanded, and in the clear
water, he could see something purple down near her feet. "They're sucking
my toes. Dear God, don't let them stop! Don't stop, my little fish. Don't
stop, my little sailor." Andrew continued until another sound until startled
both of them.

"Mind if we join you?" the new voice said. Angela squeezed her knees
together, nearly suffocating Andrew and frightening her little fish with the
sudden movement. One hand covered her nipples, and the other reached for her
pussy, pulling her husband out and washing him quickly in the lagoon a few
yards below, as though making him clean could hide what someone had already
obviously seen. Angela and Andrew turned as one to see the people who had
spied on them, two people they already knew, or at least had seen.

It was Valentino, Angela's dance partner last night, and at his side
was the giant brown Asian woman. "She was the one I was dancing with last
night, the one who wouldn't come to the party." Valentino said to the Asian
beauty.

"He's the one I saw yesterday; I saw them both today. We followed
you; we knew you'd come to the lagoon. We walked over the hill." Both Angela
and Andrew felt as though they were being split up at an auction. Naked and
alone, even Angela felt small as the taller giants walked towards them. The
man extended his hand.

"Angela, this is my friend Nina. I don't know your husband's name."

"Andrew, this is David." Angela said. Each of the giants shook
Angela's hand and extended a finger to Andrew in the form of greeting. The
woman leaned over and whispered in her companion's ear, causing him to smile.

"I'm usually 5 foot; on our vacation, I'm 6'3", like my Davey is.
Everyone looks small, but no one looks as small as you." said Nina, grinning.
Andrew didn't know if this was a compliment or not. He still felt as though
these two were predators of some kind. "Would you like some company?"

"If you want to look after him, 'sokay. Nina won't bite." said David.

"Do you mind if we discuss this?" asked Angela. David and Nina
nodded consent, and Angela turned her back on them and walked away a few steps
deeper into the lagoon. "What do you think?"

"Your call. They kind of spooked me."

"Yeah. Me, too. Do you think she's pretty?" Andrew looked up at her
with a that's-a-stupid-question-darling look on his face. "Yeah, okay. You
promise not to be jealous?"

"Can't promise." said Andrew. "I can only promise not to say
anything right now."

"Okay, fair enough. I can promise to that, too." They turned back
and Angela walked up to Nina. Andrew stared at her brown curvy body, barely
covered in a bright red string bikini. Angela was lean and smooth, but Nina
was much more voluptuous. Angela was a small B cup when she was at her
heaviest and most luxurious, but at her current weight her breasts were small,
between A and B. Nina was at least a C cup, and her big brown jugs had next
to no sag, given that her string bikini obviously was giving her no support.

"He's like a little monkey." said Nina. She squeezed her tits in
her huge hands. "Does the monkey like coconuts?" She fondled herself as
she stared at Andrew. David undid the string in back of her bikini top, and
as she fondled, the suit slid off her, revealing her huge tits and small erect
nipples. Andrew, so used to Angela's body, wondered in his mind if they were
fake, they looked so much like the typical tits in men's magazines. He didn't
know and right now he didn't care; he wanted to rub against them and find out
everything first hand. She threw top aside and began to pull her bottom down.
Angela stopped her.

"Let the monkey do it. It's one of his best tricks." Angela placed
Andrew on Nina's hip and he began to pull the string down, revealing her tiny
strip of perfectly shaved pubic hair. Andrew found this little detail very
exciting, and he climbed around to touch it, but Nina had not spread her legs
very wide, and he fell quickly to the sand below. Angela bent down and picked
him up, afraid the slightly clumsy Nina might step on him accidentally. She
held him carefully, thumb and forefinger under each armpit and placed him very
near Nina's beautiful boobs. Nina tried to grab him, but Angela stopped her.
"Your nails are very long. Be very careful when you touch him." Angela warned.
Nina reached for him gingerly, and petted him with the fleshy part of her
forefinger. Angela placed him on Nina's breast, and Andrew clung for dear
life to it.

It was much bigger than Angela's; he was holding on, his dick rubbing
against her hard nipple and rough dimpled aureole, and no part of him touched
anything but tit. When he hugged Angela like this, his hands could grab her
ribs if he wanted, but now he was like a pasty on Nina's enormous left boob.
She swayed a little, watching how he swayed a little longer, her breast
jiggling then coming to a full rest before she would start shaking him again.

"Fuck me, monkey. Fuck my titty, monkey." Nina laughed at him and
shook her body again. Andrew saw David's giant hand grab Nina's other huge
breast, squeezing her nip between thumb and forefinger. He turned around to
see David's other hand full of Angela's tit, both his giant wife and her new
giant boyfriend smiling dreamily down at him. Angela's finger pushed his ass,
plunging his whole body deeper into Nina soft, yielding flesh.

"Yes, monkey." said Angela in a playful but commanding tone. "Fuck
her pretty titty. Show her how much you like it." Like a reflex, Andrew
started to come. Nina shrieked in surprise, then cooed at him happily.

"Davey, he's coming already. He's all finished. He's cute, but not
very useful." Nina and David laughed, but Angela raised an eyebrow and pulled
Andrew of the big brown perfect tit.

"Give him a little kiss." she told Nina, and Nina did. "Rub your
nose on him." When Nina finished, Andrew's hard-on was back. Nina shrieked
again and David gave Andrew a thumbs up sign. Angela went down on her knees
and began to massage Nina's pussy with Andrew's feet. After a few passes,
she checked with a finger and saw that Nina was moist enough for penetration,
so she pushed Andrew in up to his chest, then offered her finger as a perch
for Andrew to use as leverage as did his best little trick. Nina began to
moan, and David, showing a little annoyance, took this as his cue to stop
squeezing Nina's tits and to get behind the now kneeling Angela and fuck her
doggy style. Angela moaned quietly and Andrew looked up at his wife. David
couldn't see her expression and Nina was too busy playing with her own tits
and howling at Andrew's expertise to notice. Angela was looking straight at
Andrew, and even suspended upside down out of a strange woman's cunt, Andrew
knew what his wife's expression meant. She was smirking, showing him what she
thought of her new giant lover who was taking her from behind.

He wasn't stepping on her toes. Nothing special.

"Davey, I need you." gasped Nina. "Back door, baby. Back door."
David pulled out of Angela, who was left to orchestrate as Nina now was coming
to climax, fucked from both sides, a giant up her tight little asshole and a
monkey deftly filling and teasing come out of her massive hot twat. Andrew
found it a little disconcerting to see a cock the size of a mailbox appearing
out of and disappearing into a hole that was within his reach, but he did his
best to keep his tiny concentration on the job at hand. Angela must be bored
with all of this, Andrew thought looking upside down at his massive wife
kneeling next to him. Any hope of Angela that her little fish might come back
to nibble her toes was dashed; David's thrashing style of fucking and Nina's
orgasmic screams had frightened them far away. Nina, David and Andrew came
together, the giant's jism dribbling out his colossal girlfriend's ass, while
streams of her come juice soaked little Andrew to the bone. One of those hard
to read Mona Lisa smiles came across Angela's face, but Andrew couldn't tell
what it meant. Not a smirk, that was certain, but what was it?

Angela pulled Andrew out of Nina, who begged for them to stay. Angela
apologized, and said that she was worrying Andrew might be tired, an out and
out lie but Nina and David couldn't tell, and Andrew knew that this was her
decision, and he would have to obey. He didn't mind that much; exploring the
body of an exotic giant beauty was fantastic, but it was his wife's knowledge
and skill, her commanding voice and perfect touch that had brought him to
climax.

They dressed and he donned the harness once more, riding Angela's
massive shoulders out of the calm lagoon, back into the choppy sea then into
the surf again. She rode the back of a wave in, avoiding the break then
diving down, touching bottom and springing back up. Andrew felt the
difference of riding on her back, to riding in her hand when she walked; her
huge steps were more jarring, even when she walked through the hot soft
sand. He was glad when she toweled off and held him in her hand again, his
tiny thighs rubbing against the smooth cool metal of her rings.

When they got back to the room, Angela was obviously starting to show
some weariness from her incredible exertion of the day. She put Andrew down
on the dresser and they both stripped. She peeled off her swimsuit, and he
began to admire her body for its muscularity, something her almost never
thought about when he was normal sized. She had a lovely sleek figure, and he
knew that exercise kept it that way, but he began to put the thoughts
together. The lovely curve of her calf was a muscle, the line of her neck he
found so entrancing was from muscles and sinews, her shoulders were wide
because of muscles honed by swimming. Her beautiful rear end was two huge
muscular mounds. Her power was astounding to him now.

"Darling?" Andrew said, his little pipsqueak voice cracking.

"Yes." Angela said and smiled at him.

"There's something I wanted to tell you." She grabbed him gently from
the dresser and laid him in her left palm, stroking his naked thighs softly
with the index finger of her right hand. "I felt something today. I felt it
several times, but I remember it especially when we went through the waves.
You can't imagine how huge those breakers looked to me, and when you carried
me over the first one, then held me as we went under and I felt how powerful
the wave was, and how you held me so safe in the palm of your hand, it was
like..."

Angela's eyes widened. "Yes?"

"I could only imagine that you were... a god protecting me."

Angela threw her head back and moaned loudly. Andrew was startled to
see her huge nipples harden in a split second. She looked back down at him,
lifted him to her lips and kissed him. "You are so clever. You guessed my
little secret. Being a god is better than an orgasm. I first felt like the
goddess of love when I could make you come with a whisper, and when I protect
you I feel like a god as well. I can't describe how it feels, but it builds
and builds, and unlike an orgasm, it never reaches a crescendo. I love being
a god." She licked his little cock slowly, and he came. "I love being your
god. I am your wife and your god. You are my husband and my high priest.
You know, in Greek mythology, the male gods were all over human women, but
the goddesses didn't have many affairs with human males. You are one very
lucky little human."

"You can read my mind. Is that another godly power?"

"That's a wifely power."

"Well, okay, my god and my wife. What's the next thing I was going to
suggest?"

She stopped licking him for a second, raised her head and looked him
in the eye. "You want to make a videotape."

"Oh, Chuck, sto-op!" Andrew said, doing a frighteningly good
impression of DeeDee's awful voice. Angela chuckled at his little act. "How
did you know?"

"A tape proving the existence of gods? Anyone would want that. It
was elementary, my dear Andrew."

He shook a finger at her. "You know the rules. If you start talking
like Holmes, it's no more Next Generation re-runs for you."

"A human who can make a god laugh. I chose very wisely when I was
looking for a high priest."

"I always thought I chose you."

"Gods have ways of putting thoughts in human heads." She licked his
thigh and he shuddered. "Wives have ways, too." And with that whisper, he
felt himself coming again, brought to orgasm all too easily by the massive
lips and tongue and fingers of his wife, who was now a god.

Chapter 3

Andrew paced restlessly on the table top, watching Brian, the
photographer Angela had hired, set up the lights for the shots that would take
place in the middle of the room. Angela sat at the table in her dressing
gown, calmly reading a novel. Andrew when over to her and hugged her huge
bicep, his tiny wingspan unable to surround the distance even halfway around
his gigantic wife's slender upper arm. He gave her a squeeze and started to
read along with her. It was an Isabel Allende novel, which wasn't surprising,
as Angela was very fond of the South American writers and the style of magical
realism; Andrew could take the magical realists or leave them alone.

"Are you reading over my shoulder?" Angela asked.

"Under your shoulder, to be technical."

"You know how I feel about that."

"I just wanted to give you a little hug and talk to you about the
video shoot."

She petted his back and rear end gently with her free hand. "You
shouldn't worry your pretty little head about that." Angela said.

"Are you going to be the director?" he asked and Angela nodded.
Andrew spun around and draped himself seductively across her arm, twisting
his head upward to maintain eye contact. "Well, then! I'm ready for my
close-up, Mr. DeMille."

"Don't put on airs, darling. I am going to be the star of this little
venture, too."

"Well, that's what you think. At my size, I am a natural scene
stealer. As bad as a child star and an animal put together." He began to
walk away from her, strutting and ignoring her. She snatched him up rather
roughly in one hand and brought him up to get a better look at him. He still
had an impudent look on his face.

She spoke to him in a friendly, chiding voice, the way one might
address a kitten who has charmingly misbehaved. "Andrew, is it my imagination
or do I detect some tiny note of condescension in your voice?"

He spoke matter of factly. "I'm playing with you; I would have
thought you would be used to that by now."

"You are playing with me? That's rather... counter-intuitive, don't
you think? After all, you are the size of a toy to me, and I am the size of a
building to you. You certainly are a cocky little thing."

He rubbed his crotch against the enormous finger he was straddling and
smiled. "It's nice of you to notice."

Angela could hardly believe him. "Brian, Andrew and I are going to
discuss some ideas about the video in private. Let us know when you need us."

"Still about five minutes away." Brian answered. Angela stood up to
her full height and carried her puny groom into the bathroom and closed the
door. She walked to the mirror so that Andrew could get a better view of the
situation he was in.

"How exactly does someone like you play with someone like me?" she
asked in a majestic tone.

"I can do whatever I want to you, Angela, while you always have to be
so careful because I'm so small. I can use all my strength, all my
imagination, and I can intrude on your privacy so provocatively that you are
forced to pay attention to me. I'm always thinking of new ways to excite you,
and so far I haven't failed. Isn't all this obvious?"

She brought him to her lips and blew a hot breath on him. He squirmed
slightly and Angela knew that she had achieved the desired effect of arousing
him to a point where she could bring him to orgasm with one well chosen phrase
or gesture. She whispered low. "If you're playing with me, why is it I can
make you... come whenever I want?" She moved him away from her lips to watch
his little body shake, her huge, throaty chuckle drowning out his puny moans.
"Ever come twice in ten seconds, my little love? Your giant wife commands it
of you, and you must obey." she teased, and her massive mouth descended on
him again. Helpless to stop her, he felt a new orgasm start almost before his
first one had ended, his heart rate accelerating to a level where the sound of
the blood rushing through the veins in his head was nearly deafening. "Why
not three? They're very small. I can hardly notice them at all." she
laughed, and undid his satin string belt with her teeth, then slid her titanic
tongue powerfully down his now loosened pants, the hot wet roughness bringing
on yet another ejaculation, this one too much for him to bear, and Andrew
passed out in the palm of her hand, completely undone by his cruel kindness of
his enormous goddess/wife.

He awoke in her palm to the sight of her beautiful face smiling down
on him, no anger or playful cruelty in her expression.

"Who is the toy?"

"I am." Andrew answered.

"Who is the director?"

"You are."

"Who is the star?"

"We both are?" He ventured hopefully, raising his tiny eyebrows in an
adorable way.

She smiled and nuzzled him gently; she was glad to see that she had
not crushed his little spirit completely. "I love you very much."

"I love you, too."

"Sorry I was so rough."

"Don't be sorry; it was fantastic."

She raised one eyebrow. "You did learn your lesson, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes. Very clearly."

"Good. Let's go make a movie."

Brian was still taking light readings and preparing the area where the
first shots would take place; he was normal sized, lanky and intense, wearing
a ripped t-shirt and faded jeans, sporting a few days growth of scraggly blond
beard, which matched his long unkept blond hair. He might be cast as a bad
boy in a soap opera, except his oval framed glasses and ability to concentrate
gave him the demeanor of an audio-visual geek. Film school student, Andrew
thought. Just about to graduate or just finished this spring. Brian was on
his knees taking a light reading, so since he was nearly at Andrew's level,
the little husband decided to start up a conversation with the enormous
photographer.

"Where do you go to school?" Andrew asked.

"S.C." said Brian, not looking up from the reading.

University of Southern California, Andrew assumed, not South Carolina.
"Hmmm. A lot of famous alums." said Andrew, impressed.

"Also a lot of guys who now sell insurance. I'd like to finish this
reading so we can start the shoot. If you could stand on your mark and not
say anything, I think we're almost ready."

So much for small talk with Brian, thought Andrew.

Brian clicked the light meter closed. "Okay, showtime. You ready,
Angela?"

"Yes. Where do you need me?"

"Just hit your marks and follow the cues. This part is going to be
silent so don't worry about my directions being picked up by the microphone.
Easier to overdub any dialogue later." Brian laid on his belly. "Andrew, walk
past me. Don't look at the camera. Good. Camera's on Andrew's back, he's
walking away. Angela, follow him slowly; okay, Angela stop. Andrew turn
around and look up."

Andrew did as he was told. There was his wife towering over him,
wearing black satin pumps, sheer black silk stockings held up by garters and a
belt and nothing else. Her hands were on her hips and she laughed at his puny
amazement.

"Still think you're going to steal scenes from me, darling?" she
asked, mocking his now shrinking confidence. His gorgeous skyscraper wife
easily outshone him in power and size and sexuality. It was a good thing she
loved him, Andrew thought, because he felt completely vulnerable and
unimaginably small.

Brian had slid in behind him, and framing the shot from behind Andrew,
began to pan up the awesome length of Angela's fantastic body; she laughed
seductively. "Time for a climb, darling. Come up and give me a kiss." she
commanded, and the camera moved back down to include Andrew in the shot.

He quickly scaled her stockings up to the outside of her thighs,
grabbed her massive fist, then grappled up the inside of her huge forearm,
then switched to the outside of her bicep, climbing until he stood on her
shoulder, now at eye level. She smiled and plucked him from his perch with
her hand.

"Very good, darling. Now you get your reward. You get to be naked
and I get to undress you. Does that make you feel even more helpless and
small? I can see you shrinking by the moment. Do you have stage fright,
dearest? If you get any smaller, we're going to need a zoom lens and tweezers
just to find you." She slid her massive finger under his shirt, pulling up
and over his stomach and chest effortlessly, then pulling it over his
outstretched arms, lifting the tiny garment over up over her head and letting
it fall the forty feet to the ground. She used her thumb and forefinger to
undo his little belt this time and pulled the little trousers off of him,
exposing his tiny erect genitalia to the scrutiny of the camera for the first
time. She lifted his pants above her head and dropped them.

Brian panned around, capturing Andrew's puny discomfort from several
angles. "I liked that little drop move." said Brian. "Let's do it again in
an 'up shot'." Brian went down to ground level, handed Angela the tiny sailor
costume and shot up at her from a dramatic angle as she dropped the shirt and
pants again, one at a time.

"I promised you a kiss, didn't I, darling?" Andrew nodded. "Brian,
come back up here please." Brian stood up and focused on Andrew sprawled so
tiny in Angela's hand. "Do you have him in the shot? I wouldn't want to miss
my husband's first big scene." She smirked and waited for Brian to give the
sign, then she began to gently kiss her puny husband's body, playing with him
in ways to postpone his inevitable orgasm; blowing on him, licking him,
humming a little just to frustrate his desire and tantalize him, making the
final stroke of her titanic tongue on his little prick, the last slurp of
massive lips engulfing his helpless hips, the ultimate hum beginning down in
her throat and shaking his whole puny body when it played across her mouth,
stopping the hum just to hear his helpless little moan before drowning out his
tiny orgasm with a contented chuckle, intensifying her shrunken husband's
sexual pleasure.

"That's a wrap for this set-up?" Brian asked, as Andrew sprawled on
Angela's palm, completely sexually spent.

Angela smiled and cooed at her husband. "Everyone expects you to be
so weak, darling; show him what a little superman you are." She blew on his
cute puny crotch and his tiny erection returned, as Andrew sighed at the
delicious sensation of his nearly constant arousal, controlled entirely by the
goddess of love who wore the wedding ring he gave her.

Brian adjusted his glasses as he peeked out from behind the lens. "I
heard there were some porn stars who could come on cue, but getting a hard-on
on cue has to be a first." Andrew and Angela shared a smile.

"My little husband has some more tasks to complete before we strike
this set." Angela placed Andrew on the ground and rose back to her full
height; she put her hand on Brian's shoulder. "You'll have to go back down to
get a good angle on him. Another climb is in order, darling; the last one was
so easy, I'm going to put my arms above my head to make it a little more
difficult."

Once again, Andrew scaled his wife's pillar-like legs, this time
climbing to the garter belt, then using her belly button as a hand hold,
stretched across to anchor his feet on her hipbone. Her breasts were in
reach, but he was uncertain if they would be the best place to grip, being so
soft and giving. He decided instead to use her ribs as ladder rungs up to her
armpit, finally throwing his tiny legs around her nipple for the final ascent
to her collarbone. Another successful climb up Mount Angela preserved for
posterity, he thought; and now would come his reward.

"First time a kiss: this time a handshake. A special handshake."
said Angela, placing Andrew face down in her palm so he could fuck the slit
between her long powerful fingers. Brian came in close as Angela brought
Andrew to her breast, so that supporting his weight on his elbows he could
suck her huge hard nipple while bumping and grinding against the space where
Angela's fingers met her palm. She placed the massive fingertip of her free
hand on her lover's puny ass, and easily increased his rhythm and the depth of
his stroke. Brian bent down to get Angela's face in the shot; she loomed high
above her hand-humping husband. She blew him a little kiss and smiled. "Fuck
me harder, darling. I can take it." She laughed at his puny effort and he
felt his orgasm begin again. Would he ever be able to hear her wicked laugh
again and be able to control himself? That was the price a man would have to
pay, and would gladly pay, if he was to be the consort of a goddess.

Andrew rested face down on his giant wife's palm, recovering from yet
another orgasm she had coaxed out of his insignificant body. It seemed to him
that he was always catching his breath, though at his tiny size his powers of
recuperation were remarkable, though his actual stamina - his ability to
endure without any effect - were shrunken down to the ridiculous size of his
body. His mind wanted rest, but his body craved action again. He knew this
little debate would be of no importance, because whatever his wife would order
him to do, he would do. His mind resisted being a robot, a puppet, his huge
lover's little toy, but his body loved it, craved it, wanted her to ask more
of him. Make me smaller! Humiliate me down to nothing! Crush me with a
thought, a smirk, a command! He was a glutton for her clever and wicked
mental abuse, a slut begging for more of her orders. He didn't know to what
depths he would sink for her, but at the same time he desperately wanted to
find out. Only his puny mind stood between Angela and her complete command of
him. Only he knew how close his mind was to complete surrender. Or did she
know too? Little that went on in his head seemed to be a secret to her now.

His eyes closed, he could feel that his goddess was bending down, her
giant hand descending from its impressive height down to the floor where she
meant to place him. His body braced for its next task, driven by an
adrenaline level he had never approached before. What does she want now? his
mind thought. What can I do to please her again? his body responded, easily
winning the argument.

"That was too easy for you." Angela said. "Let's see how you do on
the south face." He rolled off her hand and looked up from his position on
the floor. Brian dropped to his knees to get a better shot of the helpless
Andrew lying on his back on the carpet.

"Don't look at the camera." Brian reminded him, and so Andrew stared
up at the length of his wife's giant body rising so far above his puny prone
form. Her perfect long legs, her fantastic ass, her colossal back and neck,
the beautiful line of her short cut hair some forty feet above him. He now
was bidden to climb the south face of Mount Angela. Though he was still
uncertain how he would perform this task, he leapt to his feet and began the
climb.

Climbing her legs was relatively easy; he could jump up over the curve
of her calf and work his was up to standing on the ridge where calf met her
knee without any problem. It was a small stretch to lodge his hand between
her ass cheeks, and this turned out to be a perfect climbing spot. Her
unclenched buttocks still had a soft pleasant grip on his tiny arm, and her
huge, tight, powerful asshole was a perfect handhold. She hummed softly as
he lifted his inconsequential weight by this grip, and by pushing his back
against one of her huge ass cheeks, was able to nestle in between her huge
muscular mounds for a rest, which calmed his heart rate and raised his libido
in equal parts.

"Are you planning to make camp there, Sir Edmund?" she asked
playfully, squeezing him ever so softly with her colossal rear end muscles.

"Just a tiny rest before the final assault, Your Majesty."

"Very well. You may continue at your leisure. Don't stay too long,
though. I like it so much I may hug you too hard." A little more forceful
squeezing of her powerful ass convinced Andrew that his safe haven could be
dangerous anytime his gargantuan wife decided his welcome was worn out.

The next obvious hand hold were the dimples of her lower back. Andrew
always liked resting his thumbs in these adorable little indents when her held
his wife close and gently massaged her bottom when they hugged, naked or
clothed; at his present size, he could cram both his hands into one of these
curves, but chose instead to grab one in each of his feeble fists and pull his
body up. This slow work brought him to orgasm again, his tiny cock rubbing
slowly against the soft smooth skin of her fantastic crack as he pulled his
tiny torso and legs out from between her incredible butt muscles. He could
hear her chuckle; he had no secrets from her now. She held his entire mind
inside hers as easily as she could keep his body in her hand, or inside her
snatch or between her ass cheeks. He was hers entirely, and he was starting
to get used to it.

He looked up; her shoulder blades jutted out from her beautiful back
but he didn't see any clear hand holds from his position. He thought for a
moment. "Darling, would you mind arching your back?" he asked. She complied
and he jumped straight up, grabbed her hair and pulled himself to her shoulder
effortlessly. He heard his wife gasp, when an unexpected jolt pulled him back
down to his wife's ass.

"Whoa!" said Brian. "I didn't expect that! Let me get a better
angle and do that again." Brian knelt down and Andrew repeated his feat for
the camera.

"I didn't expect that, either." said Angela, turning her head to look
Andrew in the eye as he stood triumphant on her shoulder.

"Easy jump for me. Just needed a little open space."

"Got the shot. Great stuff." said Brian, on his knees far below.
"What's next?"

"Transition to the bed." said Angela.

Brian stood to his full height. "Okay. Go." Angela gently grasped
Andrew in her hand and walked to the bed. "Back to the mark. Let me get it
from the front." Brian walked around to the bed and Angela walked toward him.
"Wrap." said Brian. "On the bed now?" he asked. Angela nodded and Brian
turned off the camera and looked at his watch with an intense stare. "Give
me... twenty minutes."

"We'll be on the veranda." She put Andrew down and slipped back into
her robe.

"Could I put my clothes back on, too?" Andrew asked.

"I like you naked." said Angela.

"Please?" he asked again. No explanation or begging, just the simple
magic word. Angela was surprised by his directness.

"How about just the pants?"

"Fair enough." Angela knelt down and picked Andrew's pants up from
the floor where she had dropped them, and when he cinched them up, she cradled
him again in the palm of her hand and carried him out to the veranda. The
heat of midday was quite a contrast from their cool air-conditioned room, and
even in the shade from the awning they could feel the hot tropical air warm
their already excited bodies. Angela sat down on a chair at the outside table
and placed Andrew on the table top. He climbed up her arm to stand on her
shoulder. He wanted to talk, and because he had questions but did not want to
feel like a supplicant to his colossal goddess/wife, he stood where he could
at least be at eye level, instead of staring up at her. It seemed to him that
the only time he wasn't looking up into her face over the last few days was
when she held him in the palm of her hand, and caressed him with her huge
mouth, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of him at her slightest whim. It was
tremendously exciting, but any semblance of an equal relationship between them
was long gone.

"Can I ask a question, sweetheart?" Andrew whispered in his wife's
enormous ear.

"Sure."

"Why Brian as cameraman. Why not Brittany?"

"Not tall enough. I wanted someone who get more angles."

"How about the redhead? She's tall."

"Would I be right in paraphrasing you, my darling husband, if I said
that you wanted some beautiful woman to be part of the festivities today? I
want all your concentration, all your focus to be on me. I thought you would
be too tempted with one of the women photographers. You might start thinking
about what Chuck said, that they're all call girls. No, Brian makes things
much simpler."

"Very easy for you to say, Angela. When I have to do a climb, I can
see he has a bulge in his pants the size of a sea turtle."

Angela smiled. "You exaggerate so charmingly. But don't worry; I'll
protect you from him."

"Brian's gay?" She nodded. Andrew raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Goes to show you can't always tell."

"That's what Brittany told me, at least. Sea turtle." she laughed.
"I'm afraid that little comparison is running a very strange nature show in
my head."

"It's no exaggeration from my point of view. I can't even tell you
what David's cock looked like when he and I were both inside Nina yesterday."

"You have no reason to be jealous. When he was fucking me doggy-style
in the surf, all I could think of was the way you make love to me like a lion
or that little snake wriggle you do. Sex with you is more than any woman
could ask for. I was jealous when you were inside Nina; she was definitely
getting the better of the trade."

"Will you still love me when I'm full-sized? I'm not going to be your
little shipwreck victim forever, you know."

Angela paused. "I hadn't thought of that. My six foot husband is
going to have to measure up to my tiny nine-inch sailor. I really don't know.
Maybe I'll have some tennis instructor shrunken down and I'll see him on the
side. Don't worry, though. I'll be very discreet." She smiled wickedly at
the thought.

"I better be your only little sailor; I have no interest in sharing my
goddess with anyone."

Her huge hand surrounded him and plucked him from the perch on her
shoulder. "Don't worry; one worshipper is enough for this goddess... for now.
Anyway, I forgot to congratulate you on your climb of the south face." And
with that, she slid her husband inside her robe, gently placing his tiny body
on her massive breast, where he contentedly rubbed her huge nipple to its
full erectness, then sucked its hardness and, when his orgasm beckoned, thrust
his miniature dick into her nipple and aureole, hearing the satisfied hum of
his gigantic goddess rumble throughout her titanic torso, rustling the satin
of her beautiful robe which covered him like a tarpaulin, pushing him and the
huge hand that held him snugly against his wife's perfectly beautiful,
perfectly powerful and perfectly enormous body.

Brian peeked out onto the veranda a little sheepishly, adjusted his
glasses on the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. "Lights are ready for
the bed shot."

Angela looked at him serenely, her little husband obviously in the
hand hidden from view inside her dressing gown. "We'll be right in." she
said.

Angela pulled Andrew from under her gown and walked back into their
cool air-conditioned suite. They disrobed and approached the bed.

"Let's take that transition shot again with the new lighting." said
Brian, and Angela walked to the bed several times as Brian tried different
angles to capture what could not amount to more than three seconds in the
final tape. Andrew felt admiration for Brian's thoroughness but more than
anything he wanted to be in bed with his giant wife, and this cameraman was
getting in the way of his enjoyment.

Angela knelt on the bed and extended her arm, admiring her tiny
husband dangling from between her fingers. "Ground floor; watch your step."
she smirked, and turned her palm down, surprising Andrew who felt well over
ten feet to the soft down comforter below. She loomed over him quickly, her
massive torso now suspended over him like a canopy. "You don't mind if I get
on top, do you, darling?"

"Angela, be careful! I could have broken my neck on that fall! And
no you can't be on top. You could crush me!" Andrew rose to his feet and
put his hands on his hips, showing his anger and defiance.

Angela smiled and leaned down, pressing down on him with one of her
beautiful tits, then with a twist of her shoulder, slapping Andrew down with
the opposite breast. "Didn't see that coming, did you?" she laughed, pinning
him to the bed with one huge hot naked tit. "I could crush you, that's true.
Kind of makes this little game more exciting, don't you think?"

"This isn't a game!" said Andrew, struggling vainly to lift her breast
off his helpless little body.

"Of course it is. It's a game when a kitten plays with a ball of
string, even though the ball of string doesn't have much say. You've spent so
much time playing with my tits, I think it's high time my tits got to play
with you." She laughed wickedly and rubbed her body seductively from side to
side, rolling Andrew against the bed over and over. She rose back up,
blocking all the light from him, her nipples erect and breasts now glowing
with a devilish excitement. Andrew struggled to his feet. "What do you think
of my knockers, husband? I never liked that word but now it seems appropriate
since..." (she swiped his body with her tits and he crumpled) they can knock
you down!" He rose again and she pushed him down again, laughing at his help-
lessness. Andrew curled in a fetal position, keeping one eye peeled on the
titanic tease who was inventing new cruel games to humiliate him with every
second.

"Awww. He doesn't want to play anymore. He's a little turtle in his
shell." Angela said mockingly. "I can still play with a turtle." She used
her hard nipple to push his body around, first using it to press against his
back, then under his bent knees, then against his tiny arms wrapped around his
little legs, turning him over onto his back where she placed her teat to his
mouth, prodding him playfully until he relented and sucked. He was still
edgy and couldn't believe the game was over, but her huge nipple rubbing so
insistently against his little lips was irresistible. She looked down on him
at her tit, serene and happy and he relaxed. She waited until his eyes were
closed before flicking him some five yards away with a shoulder turn.

He stared up at her angrily. She put her huge face next to him and,
imitating the mouse in the Warner Brothers cartoons, whispered. "Ssssucker!"
Both Angela and Brian laughed loudly, forcing Andrew to cover his tiny ears.

"Help!" Andrew screamed when they finished laughing at his expense.

Angela cocked an eyebrow. "Just who are you talking to?"

"Help!" Andrew pleaded again, staring at Brian.

"Don't look into the camera." said Brian, completely deadpan.

"Does my little husband think he's going to use the videotape to
incriminate me? Do you think you can prove that your big bad bride abused you
to some tiny little jury? Let me tell you, the only abuse that the tape is
going to produce is when you watch it and practice self-abuse. That is if I
let you. I can see in your face that you're learning the fear of God; this is
what that curious phrase is all about. You're having a close encounter with
God right now, and your God has decided to fuck WITH you before actually
fucking you. There's nothing you can do to stop me."

Andrew fell to his knees on the huge bed and clasped his hands
together. "Angela, Dearest God, I beg you."

Angela fixed him with a stare. "Do you beg for more or for mercy?"

"Dearest God, mercy."

"God answers all prayers." She leaned over and kissed him gently,
then whipped him to the ground with her titanic wet tongue. "This time the
answer is no." She laughed at his puny struggles to resist her mouth and
tongue, as she grabbed his body between her tongue and lips and lifted him
high in the air, three stories in the air by his puny reckoning, held only by
her slippery mouth. He felt himself falling, but she caught him in her hand.
His little panting screams amused his huge God/wife. "Your little heart must
be pounding; you just can't help but be terrified, can you? The doctors told
me in training that your heart could safely beat nearly 600 times a minute,
but your racing pulse must be convincing you you're going to die. Your little
heart won't explode, darling, it just feels that way. You see what a god can
do. I can bring you to ecstasy, I can protect you from the elements, and I
can scare you out of your tiny fucking mind." She smiled and petted him, but
the panic did not fade. "I'm going to make you come now, darling. It will
make you pass out, but you'll feel better when you wake up." And with that
she brought her mouth near him, and her huge lips caressed his puny quivering
body and began to hum; even in his panicked state, he could not stop the
orgasm and - as she predicted - he blacked out soon after his dick began
bucking with uncontrollable delight.

He regained consciousness held in her palm, waking up once again to
the sight of his gigantic wife watching him with a certain detached amusement
at his momentary confusion. He looked up at her and said the only word his
tiny memory could find. "Mercy?"

She smiled quietly at him and her eyebrows rose as she studied him.
"Granted." He cuddled adorably in her hand, hugging her huge fingers and
kissing the massive soft tips of the digits that held him so secure so high in
the air. "Andrew, I hold you in my heart as I hold you in my hand. You fill
my thoughts as completely as you fill my body with yours. I promise to love
you, protect you and honor you forever. Do you promise to love me, honor me
and obey me in all things forever?"

"I do."

"By the power vested in my by the Creator of the Universe, I declare
you to be my priest, my consort and my husband." She smiled and giggled as
she nuzzled him and studied his tiny body closely. "The bride is going to
kiss you now." The gentlest, softest, sweetest orgasm of Andrew's life warmed
his tiny body as Angela's gigantic lips pressed lightly and slowly against him
and rocked him with a dreamy rhythm.

"I never had an orgasm which calmed me before; this has been quite a
learning process." said Andrew.

"I've learned quite a few things this week, too. And now we even have
our second wedding vows on tape." Andrew had completely forgotten that Brian
was filming.

"Very natural, great style." Brian said. "May need a little overdub,
Andrew's voice is hard to pick up, but then he only had one line."

Angela looked at Brian and laughed. She turned back to Andrew and
nuzzled him, all trace of her wicked humor gone, replaced with the gentlest
love a giant bride could have for her new toy groom. "You are so puny, and so
pretty and so precious to me."

"And you are so gargantuan, so gorgeous and so giving to me."

"Nice alliteration, darling."

"Just following my wife's lead."

"Ready for the honeymoon?"

"I thought we just had it."

"No, on the honeymoon you must consummate me. Are you ready to
perform your husbandly duties? I promise to let you be on top."

"I am yours to command." Angela nodded in agreement.

"Are you up to a little foot worship? I'd like you to kiss my toes."

"I think I can handle a big job like that."

Angela leaned back from her crouch and rolled onto her shoulders,
holding Andrew still in her hands. She put him on the bed and placing her
hands in the small of her back, she lifted her massive legs high into the air,
strectching them to their full overwhelming length, towering far above her
husband. "Time to climb again, Sir Edmund."

Andrew took a deep breath and began his ascent; her body was at an
angle that made it easy to walk up her shoulders and breasts and using her
belly button and her pussy as hand and footholds. The climb up her leg was a
little more challenging, because Angela swayed slightly in this somewhat
difficult position; climbing up her standing body was very simple now, where
the only extra motion he had to contend with was her slow powerful breathing,
a rhythm he had grown so used to that he could hardly sleep the night through
unless he was curled in the space where her ribcage met her stomach, safe in
the shade of her giant breasts. But now it was like flagpole climbing in a
strong steady breeze, and his confidence was wavering. He could only look up
on the ascent, his gaze fixed on her black satin pumps pointing heavenward.
Her stockings made for a good gripping surface for his tiny hands, and soon he
had grabbed the enormous spike heel and pulled his body up so that he
straddled the hard shiny heel and for the first time had the courage to look
down. There was his giant wife, smiling at him from so far below. He felt
safer and more confident; even sitting atop this precarious perch, he realized
she would not let him come to harm.

"What should we do about your shoes?"

"Let me take care of that." She pulled her knees into her body, and
to Andrew it felt like being on a roller coaster ride beginning its first
descent. She reached up and he watched her huge hand remove the beautiful
massive shoe from the foot he was not sitting on top of, then she switched
him over onto her bare heel. The warmth and aroma were overpoweringly strong
and very sexy; he was never a foot fetishist, but gladly massaged his wife's
feet and playfully kissed her toes when he was full-sized, happy to perform
this task since she was always so appreciative of the attention. Now,
clinging onto the hot giant bottom of her foot, suspended high in the air,
hearing the monstrous crashing noise of her massive shoes clattering onto the
floor so far away, the sensations of her awesome power and spectacular beauty
began to swallow his mind once again. Was all fear gone, he wondered? Was
that what made him so horny so quickly? No, he could feel a taste of the
fear, and it made his arousal all the more intense. It was like she had said
when she pushed him around with her half-ton plus breasts; she could crush
him, but she won't. It adds spice.

He rubbed his whole body against the sole of her foot, using her toes
as handles as he mimicked the motion of fucking against her instep. He heard
Angela's wicked laugh far below. "Are you fucking with me, darling? Are you
trying to make me want you? Well, it's working. I want your whole body in
my cunt in the worst way. But that's going to have to wait until you fuck my
other foot, too. I wouldn't want you to play favorites." Her other enormous
foot loomed into view, rubbing against the side of the foot he was sprawled
across, pointing beautifully towards the ceiling. It was a lovely shape, a
shape he never really noticed when he was a man and not a toy. He thought
about all the new ways he had found to have sex with his wife now that he was
shrunken into insignificance, and realized that these were his wife's ideas,
new ways to bring pleasure to both of them that she devised and he performed
at her command.

They discuss, she decides, he obeys. Excellent system.

"I'm ready for you, darling. Time for our second honeymoon." She
plucked from the sole of her foot, her hand gripping him more firmly than
usual. He wondered what made her so insistent, until he saw the swamplike
wetness pouring out of her massive Mound of Venus. She shoved him into the
hot dampness unceremoniously, feet first but pushing his whole body in, up
to his head, then with one huge finger pushing down on his head, she lowered
his body deep inside of her, only his tiny hands holding onto her labia. He
knew she wanted him there, so he wriggled very slowly out of the hot wet
darkness, breathing calmly in the humid atmosphere; he fantasized that
somehow he had become amphibian to survive in the new steamy environment he
found himself in. He heard distant sounds from inside her, and was not able
to make them out till his head broke the surface and reappeared outside her
pussy again. Her finger was waiting for him and she was moaning repeatedly,
"Be a lion for me. Fuck me like a lion." He grabbed her finger and began his
masterful motion that brought his colossal wife to the brink of sexual slavery
to his tiny will and whim. She wanted him and he could not disappoint her;
what would be the point of some puny petulant strike? What could a little man
want that his giant wife had not given him in abundance? Andrew began another
of his countless orgasms as he continue his stroke, legs together on the way
in, legs spreading on his way out. He hardly paid any attention to Brian the
cameraman; the huge intense film student was so familiar a part of what was
going on that he had become - at least to the concentrating Andrew - nearly
invisible.

It finally struck Andrew what was going on. He was fucking his wife
and filming it. Nice people don't do that, do they? What would they say at
the faculty meeting? What would his wife's friends in the Junior League
think? He began chuckling to himself, careful to keep the rhythm that was
bringing his wife to her climax.

Her orgasm was a long time in arriving, and when the waves of hot
wetness began to overflow, it seemed to Andrew that they might not ever end.
It was hard to judge such things at his new puny size, but Angela's climax
seemed unprecedented to him; her huge legs bucked him powerfully into the
air again and again, and the trickles of moisture were like a river in flood.
Her contractions had a strange quiver to them, and though he had lost track,
she must have had thirty of forty of them before her rhythm slowed and came
to a halt, her gigantic ass finally landing back on the bed, moist with her
own hot juices. She removed her finger from in front of her pussy and gently
squeezed Andrew inside her, her smallest contraction of her whole snatch
easily powerful enough to trap him inside her.

"Can I get out now?"

"I don't think so. I want to keep you inside me for a while."

"Are we going again?"

"Not in the near future."

"I'd like to talk to you if I could."

"And I'd like you to stay inside my cunt, be quiet and let me enjoy
the fresh memory of the greatest fuck of my life."

No point in arguing this one, Andrew thought, as he let his little
naked body get acclimated to the hot wetness of the sanctuary of his wife's
completely satisfied snatch.

She released her grip after a few minutes and he crawled out of her,
and walked the length of her lean sweaty torso to see her beautiful face oddly
contorted with a tiredness he didn't recognize.

"Please don't ask anything of me right now. I'm exhausted I couldn't
do a thing, but I want you so badly I would do it anyway. Anything I have is
yours. Don't be greedy."

"That's what men are supposed to say." Andrew laughed, hands on hips.

"Women don't get fucked like that every day. I imagine most women
don't get fucked like that once in their entire lifetime. If that's any
indication of what our new marriage will be like, it'll be heaven for me."

"Turn over." Andrew suggested.

"Why?"

"I really like being between your cheeks during the climb up your
backside. I just wanted to cuddle a little in there."

Angela chuckled and winked. "Yes, sir, darling; anything you ask."

Andrew watched as her giant body rolled away from him, looming high
above him when she was on her side, but returning to a more manageable
altitude when she lay on her stomach. He climbed onto her back and began to
slide his feet into the top of her rear end cleavage, insinuating his whole
little body in between her enormous beautifully rounded cheeks, their gentle
pressure holding him firm inside the warmth leaking unmistakably from her
asshole and rising from her pussy. It was a much less stifling environment
than his wife's pussy, and he was completely used to that now; he imagined he
could fall asleep here, but he was so wired that sleep seemed an impossibility
right now. He wriggled seductively and Angela sighed with contentment.

"Darling, would you put your feet inside me there?"

"In your ass?"

"Um-hmm."

"I didn't think you liked that."

"What can I say? You've turned me into the fifty foot slut."

"I don't mind being your dildo, Angela, but I'd rather not become your
gerbil."

"Don't make me give you an order. I promise to be gentle."

His feet began to press against his wife's huge hot asshole, and her
sex smell began to be mingled with a more pungent but not overpowering aroma.
Andrew expected to be disgusted, but he found himself enjoying his wife's
obvious pleasure with his slow gentle prods arousing her; it was like when he
massaged her feet, when he was full sized, a task he was glad to perform
knowing what joy it brought to her. He wondered if this was what he wanted
when he began this little expedition to the crevasse in the south face of
Mount Angela. She lifted her ass off the bed and began to finger her clit.

"God, I love you. You're the greatest. I've never had anyone like
you. I will fuck you forever. I will fuck you anytime, anyplace. I feel
like the biggest slut on earth, and all I want is to be bigger and sluttier.
Where else are you going to fuck me, my little love? I'll do anything for you
now."

Andrew couldn't believe his ears. Angela was always a fantastic sex
partner, but she never talked like this, and it definitely was a revelation
and a turn-on. There was even a stranger in the room hearing her, recording
her every moan and filthy thought on videotape! But also he had some worry;
what if he had started a fire he couldn't put out? She had nothing but praise
for him now, but what if he couldn't continue this frantic pace? His little
body had its limits, and if he had turned his lovely demure wife into a
gigantic insatiable sex monster on a rampage of desire, how could he possibly
stop her if his puny lovemaking skill turned out not to be enough?

He slid down her butt crack and stared at her huge vagina, empty and
inviting as her massive finger massaged her huge hot clitoris. He saw his
chance and dove in head first. He knew he could breathe in there, he had done
it before, and he felt the need to satisfy his wife overwhelm his senses, even
his common sense. He couldn't bear the thought of her fucking another man,
the thought of her rolling in the bed with some other colossus while he
watched from that tiny cage, helpless. If he didn't satisfy her immediately,
she would see through his little tricks and find herself a real man. His body
was inside her up to his waist when her colossal finger insinuated itself
between his thighs and pushed him deeper inside her giant cunt. He found
himself immersed inside of her, and in the hot darkness he discovered to his
chagrin that he had no idea how he would get out. The hot wet sticky skin of
her pussy produced no good hand hold, and no amount of squirming seemed
capable of extricating his from his wife's pussy. He tried not to panic -
after all, he thought of this as a perfectly safe haven - but the pressure and
heat and humidity made breathing difficult, and when he felt his wife's new
sudden climax roll over him like a massive wave, Andrew slid helplessly and
blissfully into unconsciousness. At least I made her come again, he thought
just before oblivion swallowed him whole.

Oblivion was like his wife; it beckoned him and he had no choice.

Sleep was like his wife; so overpowering and sweet and comforting.

Death must be like his wife; it waited for him like a patient angel;
come, my servant, with whom I am well pleased; come and rest in the bosom of
your Lord.

"His feet aren't moving; you better pull him out." said Brian, his
camera taking in the scene from between Angela's legs. She extricated her
tiny husband from the passionate embrace of her sex, once more laying his
lovely helpless frame in the palm of her hand. She put her ear to his body,
and was relieved to hear his unlabored breathing, his tiny heartbeat so quick
but slowing down. Brian adjusted his glasses and stared at the tiny naked
man he had been filming for hours. "He doesn't seem to be afraid of anything,
does he?" the cameraman said.

"No." said Angela, not sure whether she should be proud of his bravery
or worried sick about his foolhardy behavior. It was only moments before
Andrew regained consciousness again, once more waking in her hand. "I think
that's a wrap, Brian. We have enough footage now." Angela said.

Brian turned off the camera. "Okay. Transfer to video will take a
couple of hours. The portable editor can be brought up to your room then.
Angela, Andrew, it's been a pleasure; you were both very natural on camera."

"Thanks, Brian; I forgot it was there most of the time." Andrew piped
in.

"That's a sign of a natural born actor." said Brian.

"I'm afraid I was always thinking about where the camera was." Angela
confessed.

"That's a sign of a natural born director." said Brian, and all three
of them shared a little laugh. Brian started to strike the lights and pack
the equipment.

Angela took Andrew into the bathroom, and let him used the little
shower, while she cleaned off in the normal sized shower. Angela put on her
robe and Andrew his sailor suit. They walked back out to the main room of the
suite. He climbed up to the top of the dining room table and she sat down at
the table and leaned down, staring at him. Andrew was reminded of lovemaking
sessions throughout their marriage, how he loved to see his wife in her robe
after hours spent with both of them naked, how often he stripped her bare one
more time after a shower made them both so warm and soft and fresh and they
would make love. He hadn't the size or strength to disrobe his wife now, and
the memory of his lovely, sweet, vibrant, God-like wife having fucked him into
unconsciousness three times in as many hours flooded his mind with contradic-
tory thoughts. There she was so beautiful and sweet, so enormous and
powerful, his darling demure wife, his jealous, insatiable sex goddess. He
needed a rest, if only to calm his confused thoughts.

"Hungry?" asked Angela, in the sweet and innocent tone which only
meant food. Andrew nodded. "I'll order lunch. Why don't you take a nap?"
Andrew agreed and climbed down from the table and into his quarters for some
well-deserved sleep.

Andrew woke up and to his surprise Angela was nowhere in sight. He
was in the reclining chair in his quarters, and everything in sight was built
to his scale. Wasn't he tiny? How did the world get back to normal so fast?
He saw the hinge that connected the ceiling to the far wall, and his confusion
ended. He was still the size of a doll, and he could hear the faint sound of
Edith Piaf singing from outside his quarters. Angela loved Piaf. He felt
safe and comfortable again, knowing his giant wife was just outside the door
to his little chambers, her loving protection standing guard over him as he
slept.

"Lunch ready?" Andrew asked in his little pipsqueak voice as he
walked out of his little rooms into the enormous hangar-sized suite which he
shared with his giant bride. He walked toward where she sat, towering several
stories above him as she, still dressed in her robe, read and sipped her tea.

"It's been here for awhile, but I thought you could use your sleep.
Why don't you come up and join me?"

Andrew decided to climb Angela instead of the ladder installed near
the table leg. An easy ascent up her gorgeous calf put him on her lap, where
it was just a short walk to her torso towering above him. He jumped high and
grabbed the lapels of her silky robe, pulling himself up to just below the
level of her face. "Kiss me, you fool." he said, in a mock melodramatic
tone, tossing his head back in an irresistible - or so he thought - way.

Angela just laughed at first, mocking him in a way that made him want
her more. "I am a fool for you, aren't I? You do play with me. What is to
become of a sweet young thing like me, now that I have fallen under your
spell?" Angela brought him up to her level and kissed him gently on the
mouth.

Andrew, once again in the loving embrace of her huge hand, played the
villian to the hilt. "Now that I have you where I want you, child, and you
must submit to my every whim..." He laughed with melodramatic wickedness.

"Take off your clothes." Angela interrupted.

"That's my line." said Andrew, a little crestfallen.

"I beat you to it. You know how you play with me and I play with you?
Well, this time..." (she put her huge forefinger on his chest and pressed
firmly) "I beat you to the tag. You're it. Take off your clothes." Andrew
obeyed. Angela turned Andrew around so that he could see the spread on the
table. "I thought finger foods would be best. I wanted to try some of the
dips. You don't mind, do you?" Her hand descended and pushed her husband's
tiny legs up to his knees in a cool creamy white sauce with green specks, then
just as quickly he was rising again, rising to her mouth where she sucked the
gooey liquid off of him and let it slide luxuriously down her throat. "Mmm.
That will be good on the vegetables. Let's try the salsa, shall we?" Again
he descended, this time waist deep into a bowl of spicy red and green. He
wriggled helplessly, his flailing stirring up the salsa bowl. "Darling, stop
trying to escape, and bend your knees. Now bring them together; I want to try
some of the tomatillo chunks." He obeyed, and his body now covered with salsa
and holding cut vegetables the size of volleyballs between his legs, rose once
more to be slurped and cleaned in Angela's massive mouth. She lifted him out
of her mouth and smiled. "There's a good boy. Don't worry; I'm not going to
eat you. You are much too valuable as a lover to waste as a mere snack. Are
you ready for one more?" Andrew nodded, reassured of the harmless nature of
this game. "A little plum sauce, I think." Angela said, and she lowered
Andrew into the thick dark purple sauce, which was the consistency of wet
sand. She laid his little body down on his back in the sweet dark liquid, and
waited for him to sink slightly before retrieving him. He loved the feeling
of her massive hot tongue cleaning his little legs, lingering on his ass and
lower back, slurping the sauce off his arms. When he was clean, Angela turned
him over and smiling said, "The sampler was wonderful; I think I'm ready to
dig in now to the main course now." She kissed him one more time before
putting him down on the table top. "There's a little knife you can use to cut
off pieces your size. Enjoy. I'll be right back with the main course."

Andrew cut off a few pieces of celery and dipped them in the ranch
dressing, listening to Angela in the kitchen working the microwave. She
returned with a huge silver platter, held too high for him to see what was on
it. He could see steam rising, and he made out the top of a jar of some kind.

"Darling, could you move to the other side of the table so I can put
the platter down?" Andrew scurried to obey, and Angela lowered the platter.
Two huge hot dogs, unadorned in their buns lay there, aromatic steam pouring
off of them. Jars of mustards and relishes, as well as sliced onions and
tomatoes, were laid out attractively on the plate as well, their massive size
turning their ordinariness into something otherworldly to tiny Andrew. He
remembered hearing somewhere that a foot-long frank was actually smaller than
that, but as he looked at the two huge curved sausages in front of him, he
knew that each of them was longer than he was tall, and likely outweighed him
by a few pounds.

"One for you and one for me?" Andrew joked, his tiny voice cracking
at this dramatic display of how puny the real world made him.

"I was thinking that I would have one, and help you finish the other."
Angela said patiently. "I brought a choice of condiments. What would you
like?"

"Just a dog with mustard, I think. The relish and the onions and
tomatoes are too big for me to enjoy."

Angela opened two mustard jars, and lifted Andrew up. "Which one
would you like?" She dipped a giant finger in a dark, thickly spotted dijon
and let Andrew grab a little bit off her finger and taste it.

"Nice taste, but the seeds are going to be trouble for me. Too big."

Angela took the rest of the mustard on her finger and smeared it on
Andrew's chest, then licked it greedily off of him. "I like this one. I
think I'll have it on mine." She let Andrew try a dab of the second mustard,
a smooth bright yellow sauce that he liked better. She smeared some more on
his body so that she could try it, too, but stuck with her first choice. She
put a little of the yellow mustard on one end of one of the dogs for Andrew,
and let him down on the table so she could make one with all the fixings for
herself. Andrew sliced off tiny cuts of the juicy frank, smothered in
mustard, and crammed a few crumbs of the bun in his mouth to get as much of
the hot dog experience as he could at his diminutive size. He watched in awe
as Angela prepared her dog not more than a few feet from him, her giant hand
descending with a huge knife to slather her lunch with gallons of mustard,
laying on onions the size of beach umbrellas cut in half and tomato slices as
big as Andrew's torso onto the colossal dog, then covering it in so much
relish it looked to Andrew like a spill from an overturned relish tanker. He
had been eating distractedly watching this mundane task which had become a
disconcerting spectacular to him. She finally raised this massive masterpiece
to her mouth, and nearly a quarter of it entered her mouth and disappeared
with one huge chomp, chewed in her jaws as powerful as a cement truck.

My head and shoulders and my upper torso; that would be one bite for
my wife, Andrew thought. He looked down to where he had been carving out his
lunch. Even with half a dozen slices eaten, he had only made an unnoticeable
nick in the giant hot dog. He looked up at her almost forlornly.

She looked down at him, looking so sad; even his ever present erection
had faded. She swallowed and smiled to reassure him. "Don't worry; I'll take
a breath mint after I finish." He thought he could almost smell her breath
from fifteen feet away, but of course her breath would smell like the food
that was all around him. He lost his appetite and put down the tiny carving
knife.

"What's the matter, darling? Indigestion?"

"No, not that."

"How do you feel?"

"Watching you eat a meal that weighs more than I do? Insignificant."

Angela made a little sympathetic face, put down her lunch and picked
up her puny, gloomy groom in the gentle grip of her massive fingers.

"Darling, you are tiny, and maybe even helpless, but you are not insignificant
to me. Nothing of the sort." She took her other hand and peeled her robe away
from her breast, revealing her huge beautiful erect nipple. "See what you do
to me? Whenever you're near, I can't stop thinking about you, how much I love
you and want you to be my man, and mine alone. That's very significant to me,
don't you agree?" He nodded. "Would you kiss my nipple, darling? It wants
to feel you near." Andrew wrapped his little lips around the hard huge nipple
and slurped contentedly. "Are you still hungry?" she asked and he nodded
yes. "Oooh, I like it when you nod. Every little gesture you make hits me so
hard, it's absolutely fantastic." She dipped a finger in the ranch dressing
with her free hand, pulled Andrew off her tit, and smeared the sauce on her
nipple and aureole, then let him return to slurp the creamy tangy sauce off
the lovely tip of her massive breast. "Does being close to me make you
happier too, my little darling?" He nodded and she sighed. Her huge little
finger began to sway back and forth between his tiny thighs. "Show me." she
commanded, and no sooner had she spoken than Andrew's puny legs gripped her
finger, and his body began to buck against the underside of her tit. To him,
the first orgasm in well over an hour felt like a flood of jism, but to Angela
it was one wipe of her fingertip to clean it off her chest, and one little
lick of her enormous tongue to clean it off her finger. "Do you know how that
makes me feel, Andrew?"

"Yes, goddess."

She smiled and nodded. "Exactly. With everyone else, I'm just a
woman, but with you I'm a goddess. Nothing insignificant about that."

"To everyone else, you are a regally beautiful, serenely joyous,
amazingly brilliant, kind and generous woman; any man on earth would be glad
to make you smile, even for a moment. You are the paragon of your sex, and I
am the luckiest man in the world, whatever size I find myself."

She beamed blissfully at her tiny groom, so eager to curry favor with
his wife and goddess, and obliged him by putting him back on her tit to suck
and slurp like a happy baby while she finished her lunch.

The editing equipment was wheeled into the room, two copies of the
tape and a blank tape on which the finished product would be put. Andrew
stood on the portable editing table, gazing at the impressive equipment, all
the dials and switches, while Angela went into the bathroom to change. When
she came out, all Andrew could see in the way of change was that she had put
on a bra.

"I thought you were going to get dressed." said Andrew.

"I put on my bra for a reason." She lifted Andrew gently and placed
his legs straddling her bra strap between her breasts. "When I'm editing, I
don't want you in the way, so I decided to give you a place to sit out of
harm's way, but where you could still watch."

"Can't I be of any assistance?"

"Of course, I want your input, but I am the editor."

"We discuss, you decide, I obey."

Angela gave him a giant cuddle between her tits. "Are you complaining
about our arrangement, darling?"

Andrew rolled his hips in her soft warm cleavage, drifting into climax
one more time. "No, goddess."

"What a good little husband you are. Now let's see what we have on
tape, shall we?"

The tape started to roll, Andrew walking silently towards the camera,
then past and away, then Angela entering the frame, towering so impressively
above him in her sexy black lingerie, laughing at him. Then the climbs and
her sexual rewards, walking to the bed several times, her rough-housing with
him, teasing him and knocking him about with her tits, lifting him with her
tongue and dropping him, her sucking his panicked little body into oblivion.
Andrew had a hard time watching this particular scene without his heart rate
climbing again; the sight of his unconscious body in his hand was also discon-
certing. The new wedding vows cheered him up, but he looked up into his
wife's face and saw that she looked concerned, and possibly unhappy.

"Something the matter, Angela?"

"I guess I'm surprised at how big I am."

"You're spectacular."

"Well, every flaw and blemish is magnified, too."

"Angela, stop the tape. Pick me up so I can look you in the eye."
His wife obeyed him for a change. "Darling, when you look at a redwood tree,
do you compare it to a pine tree, and think 'you know, the bark isn't as
smooth.' No. It is a beautiful tree, and it's fantastic size makes it more
majestic. To me, you are not only incredibly beautiful and astoundingly big,
you are also incredibly powerful. When I sit in your hand, where I spend most
of my waking hours, it's like being in an external elevator of a hotel. When
you lift me, my perspective changes by a couple of storeys inside of a second.
By my way of measuring, your body generates a few hundred horsepower. I can
never stop thinking about your power. When I wrap my arms around your huge
fingers, I think about how they are as long as my legs and much more powerful.
I don't worry about a chip in your nail." Angela smiled. "Have I heard the
last of your bellyaching, Ms. Franklin?" Angela nodded. "I have a request
then. Could I be the music editor? I have some ideas for the soundtrack,
and we could set the CD player up away from your stuff so I wouldn't be in
your way."

"That's sounds like a fair distribution of labor." She got up,
brought the CD player over to the table and set it up, then carried a
selection of discs over and set them up so that, with some effort, Andrew
could carry the discs himself and set up the music tracks.

"Okay, lady, this is my territory now." Andrew growled up at Angela,
seated but towering over him. He growled and barked and snarled to protect
his little territory.

"Was that a Great Dane, darling?"

"I was going for more of a Doberman/pit bull kind of sound."

"Ah." Angela replied. He seemed so happy actually being given some
responsibility, she didn't want to tell him he sounded like a Pekingese to
her.

They continued to watch the tape, Andrew's climb up Angela legs to her
feet high in the air, her massive shoes being removed, his little sex massage
of her gargantuan soles, and the entrance into her pussy and the sex leading to
her climax. Andrew wandered from his post to Angela's enormous arm, her elbow
leaning on the table. He cuddled against her seductively, staring up at her
with a glance that could only have one meaning. "Does that give you any
ideas, Angela?"

"You mean for editing?"

"No." he said, rubbing his tiny body against her.

She smiled at him and lifted him easily in her hand. "Men have such
weak little minds; except for sex, you can barely concentrate at all, can you?
Well, since you won't be happy till I satisfy you, let me show you a new way
to have sex." She pulled the draw string to his pants and exposed his little
cock to the air. She raised him up to her face, holding him about a foot away
then blew a concentrated breath on his crotch and laughed as he came so
helplessly at even this simple gesture. "That's a giant blow job, sweetheart.
What do you think of it?" She laughed at him again. "Do you think you'll be
able to keep your little libido in check until we review the rest of the tape
now?" Andrew nodded his consent. She put him back down at his little station
and continued the tape.

Andrew was trapped inside his wife on the tape, and she was talking in
a remarkably filthy way. Angela blushed to hear herself on the video. Then
there he was playing with her asshole, then sliding headfirst into her crotch
and being extricated unconscious. There was a lot of passing out on this
tape, Andrew thought.

"Well, I think I know how I want the tape to go." said Angela
confidently. "The entrance is great, and then the climbing scenes. We'll
leave the little rewards for later. Then I'll knock you about for a little
bit - we'll leave out the screaming and the passing out. Then we'll exchange
vows, I love that part, then you'll play with me, the scene between my cheeks
and your little headfirst slide, then the leg climb, the foot fucking, the
hand fucking, the oral sex, then you make me climax. How does that sound?"

"That isn't the actual order it happened in, you know."

"Big time directors always shoot scenes out of sequence." she said,
smiling at him.

"You're the director." he agreed.

"Yes, I am." She leaned down a little closer and whispered at him.
"The shots also give me some ideas for later but we'll wait until the break."
She winked suggestively, but turned back to her work. "Any ideas for the
soundtrack?"

"In general, I want to go with instrumentals and songs with lyrics in
foreign languages, with maybe one exception. Music to capture the feeling,
but less intrusive lyrics. It depends how much film you use, of course."

"Okay, let's get started."

Andrew and Angela started to mix the shots together, different angles
and reaction shots; they had some disagreements on how much the visual cutting
should follow the rhythm of the music; Andrew, as music editor, felt that it
was natural that the cuts should follow the beat of the songs, but Angela,
possibly feeling that her puny husband was trying to usurp power from her in
subtle ways, was resistant. Andrew chose "Anapse To Tsigaro", a very dramatic
Greek song by the English World Beat band 3 Mustaphas 3, for the entrance of
Angela; it was a whirlwind of strong beats and swirling melody lines, with a
beautiful vocal by the Mustaphas female singer, Lavra Daviz; Angela was
actually flattered that her husband considered her entrance to be such a
spectacular event, but it changed her view of how the rhythm of the scene
should go. She couldn't come up with a good alternative track, so the first
scene became the entrance of Hurricane Angela, punctuated by her awesome
laugh, which Andrew thought should be enhanced to give it the majesty it
deserved.

The climbing scenes were edited at a slower pace than Angela's
original vision when Andrew chose Brian Eno's "Taking Tiger Mountain" as the
soundtrack; Angela agreed that the lyrics "we climbed and we climbed, oh how
we climbed..." were perfectly fitting, but again the pace was different from
her first thoughts of how it should go.

Andrew, seeing that Angela was not completely happy with the early
decisions, chose David Bowie's "Warsawa" as the music for the scene where
Angela pummeled him with her massive tits and lifted him with her tongue; he
figured that the slow, ponderous beat would let her draw out the length of the
scene to a satisfactory conclusion for her. The more time she could
concentrate on the humiliating rough-housing, the greater her cathartic
release. Pleasing a goddess is sometimes more subtle than constant groveling
and being at her constant beck and call.

To change the mood, the Wedding Vows came next. Andrew selected Edith
Piaf's "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien", which he knew would please his wife, who
was a great fan of Piaf's work. Andrew felt that peace had been reached in
their new working relationship.

Next came Andrew's visit to his wife's rear end cleavage. Here the
music was Elvis Costello's "A Town Called Big Nothing", a long instrumental
with a flamenco guitar and trumpet that was recalled the Spaghetti western
music of Ennio Morricone. Andrew's solo work was represented by the guitar,
and Angela's self exploration was started when the trumpet entered the piece.
Angela was very happy with this scene.

Andrew's headfirst entrance was set to Tom Waits' short intro to
"Flash Pan Hunter", an eerie little piece with strange background noises and
unusual harmonies slightly obscuring a simple haunting melody; the scene
continued with no music until Andrew was extricated. It was a very odd
experience to see yourself unconscious on tape, and he was struck by Angela's
puzzled concern at his actions. Angela was also having a strange reaction to
the scene.

"This would be a good time for a break." said Angela, and she lifted
Andrew from the table and walked over to the bed where she laid down.

"We've made great progress, I think." said Andrew, and she nodded.
"How long have we been working, an hour or two?"

She looked at her watch. "More like four hours."

"Jeez. What have we done, about a half hour of tape?"

"More like twenty minutes."

"Maybe the progress isn't as great as I thought." Andrew said.

"Time flies by when you're doing this stuff. Are you tired?"

"No. I feel great."

"We most likely have about four more hours at least."

"A little coffee and I'll be fine."

"Well, let's try something new." She put Andrew down on the bed,
opened her robe and slipped the long silk sash belt out of the loops, and
pulled her panties just a few inches off her crotch and let them rest tightly
on her thighs. She picked up her tiny husband and tied one end the sash to
his little ankles, laughing at his confusion. "I liked that little headfirst
dive you made, but you didn't do a very good job of getting out, so you're
going to dive in and I will fish you out. Doesn't that sound like a fun
game?"

"How long are we going to play this little game?"

She kissed him gently. "Until you make me come, of course." He
crossed his arms petulantly and she laughed at his puny defiance.

"I am not your tampon, Angela."

She laughed again. "Oh, does my little dildo feel demeaned by being
put on a leash around his ankles? Don't think of yourself as a tampon, sweet-
heart; you're more like a one-man chain gang, and the big boss has decided
you're going to work in the swamp. Do men on chain gangs have a choice of
duties?"

"No."

She lowered him slightly so that the angle at which she looked down at
him was made more dramatic. "What choice do you have?"

"None... boss lady."

"I knew you'd understand, darling." She said, while lowering him to
her crotch, placing him at the entrance, threading the sash belt under her
panties so that she could pull on it while sitting up in complete comfort. A
simple push shoved her husband headfirst into her crotch, where she could feel
him wriggling upstream. He began to use his arms in a way that mimicked his
legs movements during his lion fucking action. She tugged on the string and
felt him coming out slowly, played with him as though he were a fish that
might dart away if she fought him too hard. When only his arms were still
inside her, she pushed him in again with one massive finger, laughing at the
lovely luxury offered by having a toy for a husband. She still felt love for
him, of course, just as she had all week, but the games played for her
pleasure alone were just too delicious to resist. She was sure he understood,
though in all honesty, if he didn't understand he would be made to understand,
since she could fulfill his sexual desires with the smallest gesture. Making
him come was the easiest way to end any puny dispute he might have on his
mind. Savoring her power was a terrific aphrodisiac, and in only ten or
fifteen minutes of using Andrew as her little dildo husband, she had another
colossal orgasm. His presence inside her cunt was incredible, but it was the
thoughts that he had helped to place in her mind that made the climax so
spectacular.

Her cunt was a swamp. She was Hurricane Angela, Mount Angela, the
woman who was the size of a redwood, the Fifty Foot Slut, a goddess and a
whore in equal parts. Tiny men would pay for her favors with the only coin
they could own that could possibly interest a god and prostitute of her
unique stature.

They would pay with the promise of their complete, unquestioning
worship and obedience. They would pay with everything they had. And she,
being a huge hooker with a heart of gold, would take their useless lives and
bestow her godly grace on them.

Andrew was drenched to the bone, his body a pinkish red from the heat
and pressure of her cunt chasm. Angela looked down at him, exhausted in her
palm. She was still feeling the delicious power. Did he need to cool down?
Did he want to be cleaned? Well, what was that to her? If her miniature man
didn't like his duties, she could easily find another to take his place. It
was several minutes staring at him and fantasizing about what captains of
industry would take the place of this first unworthy, how they would bankrupt
themselves to buy a bracelet that would fit around her massive wrist, beg to
be her favorite cunt slave, demean themselves in any way she could devise just
for one orgasmic kiss. Yes, she had married this one, even renewing the vows
only hours ago, but who had presided over that ceremony? Gods make covenants
with humans, but after all, they are still just humans. The only possible
drawback in the plan to toss this tiny, helpless, sopping wet pink toy aside
was the undeniable fact that she loved him with all her heart, all her mind,
all her soul and all her strength. She beamed down at him, rose to her full
height and took him into the bathroom, where she soaked his puny overheated
body in a cool sink full of water. When he began swimming around on his own,
she fished him out of cool clear water, rubbed her nose against his chest
playfully, and smiled in a sweet and friendly way at her puny, obedient
husband.

"I haven't thanked you yet." she said, and was surprised that even
this simple statement and gesture brought an orgasm from her squeaky clean
little toy. She laughed at his expense, at his ecstasy, and said it again.
"Thank you, darling; you're a treasure." Another little orgasm gripped his
tiny body, and he wriggled seductively against her huge fingers, which caused
her to coo and giggle at him again. "What a little slut you are. We make the
perfect couple now, you the little slut and me the gargantuan slut. Maybe
I'll just train you to come when I snap my fingers. Would you like to learn
little tricks we can show our friends?" She laughed again at his new climax.

"Please, Angela, let me catch my breath." She stopped teasing and
pleasing him, and studied his adorable body as he closed his eyes and tried to
calm himself.

"Back to work?" Andrew looked at her questioningly, not understanding
the question. "On the video, I mean." He nodded consent.

The next scene was a collection of quick cut images of his performing
foreplay on Angela, climbing her leg, having sex with her feet and her hand,
Angela performing her sexy tantalizing oral sex on him after his first ascent
of her titanic torso. Andrew chose the steady beat of David Bowie's "A New
Career in a New Town" for the background music, and Angela found that this
choice actually made her job easier, the rhythm making certain choices much
easier.

Then came the big finale, for which Andrew and Angela agreed the tango
music of Astor Piazzolla was the perfect choice. Most of Piazzolla's work is
instrumental, but the selection used for the climax was "Vuelvo al Sur", sung
by Roberto Goyenche.

"Andy, you speak Spanish; can you make out the words?"

"Yeah, he has good diction and the lyrics are fairly straightforward."
Andrew began to translate and explain.

"I return to the South (Argentina),
As I return always to my love.
I return to you,
With all my desires and my fears.
And back to the South,
with the destiny of my heart.
I am the South,
like the South is held in the sound of the bandoneon.
(That one is tricky.)
I dream of the South,
The immense moon climbing over the hills,
I find in the South
The open time (no, free time) and the time afterwards.
I love the South,
Your good people, your dignity,
Always the South,
Like your body in an intimate moment.
I love you, South... I want you...
(Something like that. I might have missed a few.)" Andrew stopped
translating, as the instruments swelled back up.

Angela surprised him by lifting him bodily and quickly to her lips,
enveloping his hips and lower torso in a very passionate kiss, again and again
sucking his little body inside her mouth, where her enormous rough tongue
licked him into bliss. She lowered him slowly after a few moments of this to
see him both satisfied and startled in the palm of her hand.

"Needless to say, I like the lyrics." Angela said in a breathy voice,
clearly reaching some godlike sexual epiphany of her own.

"I never got paid so much for a translation before. Or paid so
quickly." They both laughed and when they had finished the editing, Angela
took Andrew to bed, laid his precious little body on the pillow on the left
half of the bed, took off her clothes and climbed under the covers.

"Good night, darling. I'm very happy with the work we've done. Let's
get a good night's sleep and see what we think of the tape in the morning."
And, tucked in under the pillow case, Andrew went to sleep on the pillow on
his half of the giant bed, drifting off peacefully to the sound of his wife's
breathing, as powerful and as calming as the sound of waves on a shore.

Chapter 4

Andrew awoke from peaceful dreams, opened his eyes and squinted into
the darkness. He felt the sheets and scented blanket around him and sensed
the bed giving slightly under him as he moved his weight. As his eyes
adjusted to the dim light in the room, mostly supplied by the moon glimmering
gently in through the curtains, he realized where he was. His soft bed was a
pillow, the sheet was a pillow case and the scented blanket was one of
Angela's silk scarves. He twisted his head and looked over at Angela, her
beautiful face, so enormous and calm, sleeping so peacefully, filling the
space of the other pillow on the huge bed they shared. Even when he was
normal sized, the experience of waking in the night to see her near filled him
with joy, but now the sensation was more like awe as he took stock of his one
Brobdignagian blessing.

Angela was so beautiful, he thought; not some amazing pneumatic film
star or untouchable cover girl, but a very believable beauty. Her facial
features were strong but soft, no harsh angles but instead a very pleasing
composition in which the most noticeable features - her eyes and her lips -
were ever so slightly larger than normal. When she slept, Andrew could study
her face at rest, unanimated by her playfulness or her intelligence, as though
she were a sculpture, and appreciate that which drew him to her first. Andrew
wondered how envious other men must be of him, what their true feelings must
be when they complimented her, flirted with her, danced close to her at a
party. In his mind, he wanted to shout, ATTENTION ALL MEN! MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE
ANGELA, WITH WHOM ALL OF YOU ARE SECRETLY IN LOVE, HAS BECOME A GOD, AND SHE
STILL LOVES ONLY ME! YOU MAY NOW CONTINUE WITH YOUR HUMDRUM LITTLE LIVES!
Were he normal sized, he would reach out and gently touch her shoulder or run
his hand through her hair, draw her closer to him and snuggle a little before
going back to sleep, but now that was out of the question. Angela, his lovely
angel in repose, might - very reasonably in her sleep - mistake his touch for
that of some unpleasant little vermin, and without a thought swat him away
with the force of a piledriver, inflicting serious or even lethal bodily harm
to him without even waking. He saw the digital clock on the nightstand beyond
Angela's side of the bed. 4:37 AM. Andrew decided he should get up.

He climbed down from the bed, found his silk clothes and dressed, and
walked across the darkened room to the little pet-sized door that led out of
their suite into the hallway; even this small door, which was designed to fit
guests two feet tall and smaller, towered over him like a palatial entranceway
to some grand ballroom, but Andrew was getting very used to this, or so he
told himself. Out in the well-lit hallway, Andrew covered his eyes to let
them grow accustomed to the glare. He could make out the striped floor motif
when he looked down, so still covering his eyes, he followed the light blue
path nearest the wall. The deserted hallway was hundreds of yards long to
him, and the ceiling a dozen storeys up at least. He began to run with his
long strides; he found he could do this with almost no exertion at all, and
the plush but not too thick carpet cushioned his footfalls very nicely. It
was a giddy feeling to run so fast, to feel the wind in his face like he would
when riding a bike. To him, it felt like he was running a pace for a two
minute mile, and he could go faster if the need arose; had a normal sized
person been there, he would have seen that he would just be keeping pace with
a slightly quick walk.

Andrew pushed the pet door open that led from the hallway to the
outside stairwell. Again the light changed, this time from the bright glare
to the soft moonlight and widely spaced lamps on the patio below. A breeze
wafted a scent of tropical flowers and the hint of the sea. Andrew stood and
gazed out for several moments from the landing before descending the two
floors - more like twenty stories to tiny Andrew - to ground level. He walked
on the hard asphalt of the patio and stared at the enormous pool, the ghostly
blue light glowing from the several underwater bulbs. The water was as still
as could be and it reflected the enormous hotel on its glass like surface. He
thought about going for a swim, but the faint sound of the waves crashing far
off drew him from this man-made wonder to see the power of the sea which his
wife and goddess had successfully protected him from. He wanted to see the
waves break, to see what they looked like from his eye level.

Andrew found that the gate had no special entrance for little people,
and he couldn't see a way to get over the huge cement wall until he noticed a
vine twisting its way up the wall's face. He began his ascent, like Jack
climbing his beanstalk, and made easy progress. The wall and the vine were
much easier to climb than Angela, much more still and he had no fear of
holding on too tight. He was well over halfway up when he heard a rustling
slithering sound on the wall. In the dim light, he could see some huge lizard
winding its way straight at him across the vertical face of the wall. He was
only a little startled, even though this creature was the size of a very large
iguana or small alligator. He thought about it for a second and figured it
must be a gecko. Geckos climb walls. Geckos eat bugs. Andrew was much
larger than a bug. Andrew growled and the gecko stopped in his tracks. They
stared at each other for a moment before Andrew screamed again, twisted his
body and kicked the gecko in the nose. "Scram, bug eater! I'm not lunch!"

The gecko made a sound kind of like "Eep!" and scurried away, easily
navigating the sheer face of the wall. This was the lizard's territory and
Andrew had scared him off; the tiny man thought to himself that in the
survival game, brains and attitude must go a long way.

Andrew made it to the top when he realized he would need another vine
on the other side of the wall to get down. When he couldn't see one, he went
to the gate and slid down the edge to the hinge. The drop to the next hinge
was much longer and it forced Andrew to grip as hard as he could to slow his
descent till he felt he could fall safely onto the second hinge, from which it
was a simple jump onto the soft sand below. He crossed the walkway and hopped
down the stairs.

Even in the dead of night, Andrew with his tiny sensitive body could
feel the last wisps of radiant heat escaping from the coarse sand below his
feet. It was not in the least uncomfortable; in fact, given how quickly heat
escaped from his body at his small size, it felt wonderful. He was surprised
that he sunk slightly in the sand with each step. He figured that his body
was so light that he would make no mark, but the sand gave a little underfoot
and he sunk in barely up tops of his feet. He tried stepping softly to see
if he could leave no mark, and so he skulked like a cartoon character down
towards the waves for a few steps. "Be vewwy quiet. Huhuhuhuh!" he said to
no one in an easily recognizable voice. Once he demonstrated to himself that
he could leave no mark, he tried running and leaping like he had in the hall-
way, and as he had on the bed a few days before. Here he found he could sink
very deep into the sand on the high jumps, halfway up to his knee. He got the
best results by taking two steps, springing off his right leg, landing quickly
left-right, then springing again, beating the sand to the punch, already being
airborne again before it had time to trap him in its coarse grasp. This was
fun! It was fun to be out on his own, enjoying the great outdoors, just to
experience the goofy exhilaration of doing whatever came to mind. Just then,
he heard a wave crash far down the shore, and he remember why he came out on
this little excursion.

The wet sand was much cooler to his feet, and its hard pack reminded
him of running on a cushioned track at the university. The smell of the salt
in the air was much stronger, and the other smells of the sea, the seaweed and
the fishy smells also filled his nostrils, he walked to where the waves gave
up and rolled back and stared up at the massive breakers, shining a ghostly
white in the moonlight. How incredible they were! He thought of the pictures
in the National Geographic of the tsunami damage after the '64 Alaska
earthquake, and thought that these waves must actually be larger and more
fierce, given how little he was. If people his size took it into their tiny
heads to make a civilization, how puny their efforts would be. The sea would
rise up and smash their pointless toothpick towns, wipe out the matchstick
monuments they would build to celebrate their useless pride in their picayune
powers of reason and skill. Nature would be too much for them to conquer, and
they would be swept away on to the dustheap of extinction. Lucky for him
Andrew was married to a god. The sea was nothing to her; it could not conquer
her might and skill, or even steal her tiny treasure away. Her power was
greater by far, and she had sworn to love and protect him. He felt a great
inner calm watching the big waves break.

The roar of a wave was waning when Andrew heard a bony clatter off to
his left. Nonchalantly, he turned his head to see what had made the sound.
Just a few yards off, reflected in the moonlight, Andrew saw the crab, a giant
multi-legged monster standing very still, its body raised to sense a nearby
lifeform, trying to figure out whether it was a predator it should flee
or prey that it should attack. The object of the monster's attention was, of
course, Andrew himself.

"Holy shit." Andrew said under his breath. He spun his head around
left and right to see if there were any more giant crabs in the area. He
couldn't see any. The crab took that movement as a sign; Andrew was prey.
The monster scuttled quickly forward, much quicker than Andrew anticipated.
Panicked, Andrew began to run. Without thinking he ran like a man at first,
trying to get his legs to move as fast as he could and not stretching his
tiny stride. The crab closed ground on him at a frightening pace; the bony
clatter grew louder and Andrew turned his head to see. The crab struck.
Instinctively, Andrew leaped away, one of his prodigious leaps he was capable
of at his new size. The crab's lunge missed wildly, but its eyes on their
weird alienlike stalks followed Andrew's path and immediately it was in
pursuit again. Andrew, thinking for a split second through his panic began to
run in his long, high, ground-covering strides, and he started to pull away
from his pursuer. The only problem keeping him from jumping even further was
the visibility; He could hardly make out what the ground was like where he
would land.

"Shit!" Andrew yelled when he saw that he was about to land on
another crab. If they are hunting in packs, he thought, I am completely
fucked. A quick twist in the air, followed by a high somersault over the
clicking claws of his new mortal enemy saved his life for the moment, but now
he had to change direction, head away from the sea directly instead his first
path, which was directly away from the first attacker, but at a shallow angle
away from the waves. Andrew didn't dare look back, but he heard the crash.
It sounded like two cars made entirely of bone smacking together in a head-on
collision, grinding and popping and stopping with a sickening thud. He heard
what must be a crab screaming; he prayed he would never hear the sound again
in his life.

The battle between the crabs was over quickly, and the winner followed
Andrew up the beach; Andrew, still taking strides longer than safe given the
visibility, was startled when he landed in the dry sand, and sunk in up to his
waist. He couldn't help himself; he looked back and heard the clatter growing
louder, nearly on top of him, like a truck ready to run him over. He grabbed
and kicked his way out of the sand like he was swimming out of it. The crab
lunged a split second too late, for Andrew was out and running again, using
the two step leap he had been practicing just for fun not more than two
minutes ago. The crab sunk into the dry sand slightly, but with the greater
power generated by its five pairs of legs, it was quickly back in pursuit,
slowly gaining on Andrew and his unorthodox gait.

Andrew's pulse was racing with fear; he knew he would be caught if
he did not jump farther, but to jump farther was to risk another fall due to
the poor visibility. He couldn't see but a few feet in any direction, but
then a glimmer of reflected light some ten feet ahead, maybe twenty degrees
to the right, caught his attention. It wasn't moving; it wasn't a predator.
It was a beer bottle; it was a weapon.

Andrew changed course, and in three hop-steps, he landed right in
front of the giant beer bottle. He thought it would be a struggle to stand it
up on its end, but using a little leverage, the bottle was standing at atten-
tion like a sentry. The crab, still in full pursuit, stopped when its prey
turned to attack, and seemingly grew twice as massive, for the beer bottle was
about Andrew's height. The crab's hesitation was short-lived. It lunged at
Andrew, its body raised high and its one oversized claw extended, screaming
that awful crab scream. Andrew waited, then flipped the bottle toward the
crab, first stopping the forward progress then pushing the monster backwards.
Andrew watched as the animal fell onto its back, screaming in astonishment,
then slowly righting itself with one mighty push of its enormous claw. Crabs
weren't like turtles; they could recover from falling on their back.
Andrew grabbed the bottle again and the combatants faced off for a second
time.

The crab attacked and Andrew parried, the exact same moves, the exact
same scream, the exact same result. It was a standoff and Andrew, if not the
crab, knew it. The problem was, if Andrew mistimed his counterattack just
once, he was dead. If he made a move that pushed the monster into a more
difficult position, he gained just a few seconds, seconds he did not know what
to do with. If he just had an offensive weapon, something sharp; he soon lost
that notion; there wasn't a weak point on the crab's entire body. Except
maybe its eyes, so exposed on those ugly stalks. How does a crab keep sand
out of its eyes? He gave up on this thought, too. The monster's vulnerable
eyes were protected by its ugly sideways snapping mouth and its huge deadly
claw.

Maybe if there were some beer in the bottle, he could get the crab
drunk. Crabs and beer go well together, he thought. He would have laughed at
this silly thought if he weren't so scared. His pulse was racing and the
pounding in his temples made it hard to stay conscious; he forced himself to
be alert and not pass out with all strength his tiny outmatched body could
muster. Again the crab attacked, and again Andrew parried. If only the ugly
bastard monster would STOP... THAT... FUCKING... SCREAMING! It sounded like
a cross between a pig's squeal and nails down a blackboard. Andrew, panting
and gasping for air, had had enough. He let out a long, blood curdling yell,
a hunter's yell, the sound of a cornered beast. To human ears, it would sound
like a weak smoke alarm going off, one whose batteries needed replacing. But
to a crab, it was a confusing sound. His closest attacker backed off
slightly - why Andrew was not sure - but Andrew could hear what sounded like
an army of skeletons scuttling up the beach from the waves toward him. Did
they think that was his death rattle? His original attacker was in full
flight and Andrew thought that in the confusion, that would be his best course
of action, too. He had been so focused, the gigantic knee not two feet behind
him shocked him so that he gave out a scream when the huge fingers wrapped
roughly around his torso and snatched him quickly and violently airborne.

He did not even need to see her face in the dim moonlight to know that
Angela was his rescuer; somehow she had found him, she must have heard my
scream, he thought. His pulse began to slack and he leaned back into her palm
closed his eyes and threw his head back to catch his breath. When he opened
his eyes and looked into her gigantic face, his alarm grew again. She was
pissed. Her eyes would have bored straight through him if they could.

"What in the name of FUCK! are you doing out here?" she shouted, and
Andrew covered his ears with his hands. "Get your FUCKING! hands out of your
ears and answer me, you little FUCKING! moron." Andrew recalled that he liked
it when Angela used the word fuck at her new size. Needless to say, he didn't
like it much at the moment.

"I thought I'd..."

"You thought NOTHING! What you do cannot be CLASSIFIED as thinking!
You wake up in the morning and follow your puny erection around all day!
Until now, your erection lead you to me, but now EVEN YOUR COCK IS TRYING TO
GET YOUR USELESS LITTLE BODY KILLED."

"Don't play high and mighty with me, Angela!" Andrew squeaked back at
his raging goddess/wife. "You've pulled a lot of shit you shouldn't have
done, too!"

"Here's something else I'm not supposed to do." Angela said, with a
clinical coldness.

"Now you listen..."

This was all Andrew could get out before he felt the pressure. His
wife's fingers and thumb now wrapped around his upper body like some giant
constrictor and Andrew could not get his lungs to work.

"Having trouble breathing? Let me explain. I waited for you to speak
and then I started squeezing until I couldn't hear you anymore. Then I just
kept the pressure constant. If I squeeze a little harder, we'd start to hear
your little ribs crack, and we wouldn't want that would we?" She spoke to him
as though he were a disobedient and rather stupid child. His tiny hands
gripped her huge fingers with a thought towards freeing himself, but of course
it was a futile attempt. "We wouldn't want your little ribs to crack, WOULD
WE?" she asked, giving him a shout to get his attention. He shook his head
quickly in fear to show that he did not want to be crushed. She released her
death grip on him and once more he was in the safety of the palm of her hand.
She was still angry, but seemed to be calming down. Andrew was having a hard
time sorting out his thoughts; moments ago, he was fighting for his life with
a monster who wanted to eat him, and now he was an argument with his wife, as
drab an experience as he could imagine. It was then he felt and looked at the
huge fingers holding him safe so high in the air that he realized this no
argument with a spouse; here was the physical, sensual tactile example of
experiencing the fear of God, to feel what an Almighty power could do if one
was foolish enough to incur Her wrath. Andrew twisted his body around, and
knelt on Her palm, laying himself so that he could kiss Her palm and pray to
Her properly.

"I will rejoice and be glad in Thy loving-kindness,
Because Thou has seen my affliction;
Thou hast known the troubles of my soul.
And Thou has not given me over into the hand of my enemy;
Thou hast set my feet in a large place."

Andrew bowed his head and kissed his God's hand in deep humility. He
dare not look up so he could not see the smile playing across Her face. "The
psalms." Angela finally said. Andrew looked meekly up at Her. "Excellent
choice. Tell your God what you were doing so far from Her protection."

"I thought..." Angela made a noise to interrupt. Andrew bowed his
head and understood. He shouldn't use the words 'think' or 'thought' for a
while. "I wanted to see the ocean."

Andrew again did not look directly at Her, nor did he make any further
explanation of his actions. For Angela, no further explanation was needed.
Her little priest and husband was trying to understand his God more deeply,
to comprehend how great was Her power and how helpless he was without Her.
"Well, let's go see the ocean." She said, and began to walk down to the
shore, Her little man riding in Her palm like Aladdin on his magic carpet.
From this great height, he could see scores - maybe hundreds - of crabs
scurrying away from his wife. No possibility they would mistake her for a
meal; even crabs knew a God when they saw one.

They got to the shore, and Angela, surveying the area to see that all
the crabs were giving her a wide berth, placed tiny Andrew down on the wet
sand. They both looked out at the sea, glimmering in the moonlight, grumbling
and roaring, marking its territory as if it were a living thing. It didn't
fear Angela, for she was just a woman to the sea; it could not claim her, but
the sea does not concern itself with such things; let Gods and mortals think
about such things, the sea would say if it chose to speak.

"It's so beautiful." She said, and Andrew looked up, way up at his
wife and his Goddess; a slight breeze played with Her dressing gown, and he
could see a long expanse of Her beautiful leg shine softly in the moonlight.
He saw Her footprints lead down to the sea, how deep they were, how little his
prints were in comparison. Andrew walked over to Her foot and knelt in the
sand, and there he kissed Her and hugged Her foot. She made no effort to stop
him, or praise him, only the slightest acknowledgement of his action was made
in Her gentle sigh. Let him continue his act of contrition, She thought.

"Excuse me? Uh, hi! Oh, it's you two! Sure who else? Nobody else
his size around." Andrew and Angela turned at the sound of this new voice,
coming down to the shore towards him. It was another giantess, dressed in
jeans and a jacket. "I don't know if you remember; I took a picture of your
husband in his tuxedo a couple of nights ago; he was leaning against a
champagne bottle."

Angela smiled in recognition. "Of course, I remember now. Your name
is ...?"

"Margaret Cantrell. I just saw the two of you, and I wanted to say
that it's not a real good idea to have your husband down on the ground. The
fiddler crabs must be drooling to get their claws on him."

"Oh, of course, you're right. Up you come, darling." Angela beckoned
and Andrew jumped up and climbed her dressing gown up to her thigh, where
Angela snatched him up. "I thought it would be safe, so it's my mistake; I
saw all the crabs running away and thought that he'd be safe if he stayed
close."

"Just takes one to circle around and you might be too late to help the
little guy. He's quite a climber, isn't he?"

"Yes he is. Where are my manners? Margaret, I'm Angela Franklin and
this is my husband, Andrew."

"Nice to meet you, Andrew. I was kind of surprised to see anybody
else out here at this hour. I've always liked to get up early and walk when
it's quiet like this, and I almost never run into anybody. This is a strange
time of day, the change of a shift. The nocturnal animals are going to bed
now and the day shift will be up and about soon. Soon the sea gulls will be
out. They're worse than the crabs for a little guy like you. They are
completely fearless." Margaret pointed at Andrew and talked very matter of
factly; the seriousness of his transgression was starting to sink in.

"Yes, we should be getting back." Angela said.

"I'll go with you." The two giantesses strolled leisurely back up the
beach, chatting amiably. Margaret bent down and picked up the beer bottle;
she looked for a while at the sand around the bottle, then smoothed it with
her hand. She sounded like quite the naturalist; could she make out what had
happened, the fight and the rescue? "I'll never understand litterers. It's
so amazingly thoughtless." Maragaret said, and both Angela and Andrew nodded
in agreement. They passed through the gate and walked toward the hotel;
Andrew could see the three of them in the mirror view of the still swimming
pool. Suddenly, he heard a cry and a swoop behind him. He turned his head
to see a huge bird of prey on top of the wall he had climbed; the bird took
off with something - most likely a lizard - in its talon.

"What was that?" Andrew interrupted.

The giantesses stopped walking and talking and turned in the direction
Andrew was pointing. Margaret looked at the bird flying away. "Barn owl.
They nest up in the sheds; they eat the geckos. The geckos eat the bugs.
A lot of the animals around here are imported from other places, but the eco-
system has been thought out very well." Andrew looked up at Angela, who
stared down at him impassively. He gulped and thought about what could have
happened on his little stroll. In his suite, he was the special favorite of
a goddess, a treasured harem of one; outside, he was a cold, lonely and
helpless straggler living in the unfashionable section of the food chain.

Angela said nothing to Andrew on the elevator ride to their floor, and
he wisely did not to start conversation. She was not in a rage as she had
been when she found him, but her mood was still not good. Best to say nothing
for now, Andrew thought. Let her speak first; if she was still angry, he
would wait until he knew, and then begin his special pleading.

Angela closed the door to their suite behind them, and at long last
brought her hand up to her face and stared at her wandering husband. He could
not look her in the eye for more than a few moments, and hung his head and
waited for her to speak. It was agony waiting; if she would just say
something, he thought, he would know were he stood. She walked to the middle
of the room, and as she opened the door to the birdcage with her free hand,
she finally spoke.

"I had thought we wouldn't have any use for this, but I guess the
people here know more about how little men must be treated to make them obey
simple rules than I do." Angela put Andrew in the cage and closed the door.
"These are your quarters until I say they aren't."

Andrew ran to the bars and reached his arms out, clasping his hands
together to plead to her. "Please, Angela, I need you; I need to be near you.
I can't possibly sleep here not knowing if you love me, not being close to
your beautiful body. I need you so desperately tonight. Please don't torture
me this way..."

"SILENCE!" Angela shouted, and the thunderclap of her voice sent
Andrew to his knees in a flash. She spoke to him in a derisive tone, mocking
his pleading. "Don't torture YOU, you witless ingrate? Do you have any idea
what it was like for me when I woke and couldn't find you? Does your pea-
sized brain have enough capacity to think about how frightened I was? How I
panicked and worried when I couldn't find you? How my heart leaped into my
throat when I saw the light on the door that showed that you had left the
room, and then I saw that you had left the building as well? I saw you dead a
dozen different ways. I was in HELL! They say God protects drunks, children
and idiots, and now I have to admit it must be true. It was a plain and
simple miracle that you survived twenty minutes out there, and that I found
you before those crabs could eat you. Now your little dick tells you to plead
with me. What an amazing amount of gall you pack in such a ridiculously puny
body! You can't sleep? You're wound up? Jerk off. That's what prisoners
do, isn't it?" She looked at her captive, staring at her with a mixture equal
parts desire and fear. "That wasn't a suggestion, little man; it was an
order. Beat off now."

Andrew undid his satin rope belt and his pants fell to his ankles as
his hand surrounded his aching dick and began to rub it as he stared at his
enormous wife and warden, laughing at his helpless predicament and his quick
obedience.

"I would have thought you would have come by now." said Angela in a
mocking tone. "Of course, you don't have a magazine. Maybe you'd like to
watch me dance." Her huge body began to sway before him, tantalizingly out of
reach. She turned her back on him and began to disrobe, still swaying to a
sultry rhythm inside her head, so powerful and seductive that Andrew would
later swear he could hear it himself. The fabric of her dressing gown slid
off her massive shoulder, and her dance was like a giant snake shedding its
skin, all slinky and writhing. She turned her head to look at him, throwing
her short cut hair back over her shoulder, then having it bounce back into
place. Her mouth was open in a surprised look, as though she were unaware
until that moment of the tiny man spying on her; she covered her breasts with
one gigantic arm and continued her writhing striptease, with a special
emphasis on the tease. The robe fell to the ground and Angela stepped out of
it, walking sexily toward him, her steps crossing in front of each other in a
way that emphasized her gorgeous long legs, showing off their power to bewitch
him as well as their power to crush, should she take such an idea into her
head. She pulled her arm slowly across her breasts and revealed them to her
tiny prisoner, then in both her massive hands she seized the birdcage, and
began to move it slowly back and forth, as though it were her dance partner.

"Even monkeys in zoos can jack off, darling. Are you having trouble
concentrating? Are you so addicted to my touch that you can't even manage a
simple thing like masturbation anymore?" She laughed out loud at his efforts;
far be it for her to tell him that she was very carefully manipulating him,
exciting just so much, then belittling him, distracting him, keeping him from
orgasm with the same delicious power she used to bring him to orgasm when he
was a good little man. She brought the cage closer and began to rub her tits
against the bars of the cage, well out of Andrew's reach, her hard nipples
making the metals bars ring like plucked strings as she rubbed insistently
back and forth against the tiny jail where her husband would spend the night.
Andrew, driven wild with passion clambered up the bars of his wildly swaying
prison, and nearly had Angela's left nipple in his hand when she roughly
bumped the cage with the force of her shoulder, dislodging Andrew from his
high perch, falling down onto the pillows below.

"Did I give you permission to climb?" Angela asked sternly, her
hands on her hips. Andrew shook his little head no. "I told you to jack off.
Do it." Andrew obeyed and massaged his hapless cock once again. His wife
stopped dancing and leaned down, her hands resting on her upper thighs, her
beautiful breasts in a position that just begged for them to be fondled and
sucked, were it not for the prison bars that separated her little helpless
husband from her. She laughed at his efforts, knowing that the combination of
her seemingly willing body language and her derisive laughter would make
climax impossible for Andrew. She was enjoying this new way of being a god,
this new way to make her puppet jump when she tugged on the strings she had
wrapped around his mind and body.

She leaned a little lower and closer, his body now at eye level. "You
really are a useless little thing, aren't you?" He nodded in agreement, still
beating off. "You can't do anything without me, can you?" He nodded, then
shook his head, realizing that the question was worded negatively. "Are you
brave enough to stick your dick outside the cage?" Andrew slammed his body
forward, his little sex protruding from captivity, obeying without question.
"Oh, yes. You're very brave and you can be very obedient. We just have to
keep these silly ideas from getting lodged in your tiny brain, ideas that get
you into trouble. Answer three questions for me, darling. Who insures your
safety?"

"You do, Angela."

"What can you do without me?"

"Nothing, Angela."

"How should you obey my orders?"

"Without question."

"Well, you've been very naughty this evening, but you did do well on
the oral exam. I guess I should reward you a little." Her enormous lips
wrapped around his tiny cock and hummed, only to pull away when his breathing
began to speed up. She waited for his pulse to calm, then turned her huge
head to the other side, and sucked his puny dick again, again breaking off her
kiss when he seemed close to climax. Then she faced him directly, stuck out
her tongue and slid it through the bars, rubbing it between his thighs,
lifting her head until her tongue reached his crotch, then lowering her upper
lip gently so that his dick was surrounded both top and bottom, began to move
her tongue back and forth as she lifted his entire body up from the birdcage
floor, using only the power of her mouth. Andrew screamed his tiny scream of
release, and his tiny jet of jism fell on Angela's massive hot tongue, causing
her to chortle deep in her throat. She lowered him to the floor of the cage
and he fell backwards, exhausted and momentarily satisfied. Then he rose to
his knees and pleaded with his giant wife.

"Please, Angela; let me return the favor."

"No. You're staying there for the night."

"I won't be able to sleep; I need to be near you."

"You run away and now you need to be near me. I swear, you must have
the attention span of a gnat." Angela answered crossly. "I guess I could let
you have one more moment, something that would help you sleep." She rose up
and put her tit against the cage, her nipple protruding in through the bars.
"Suck. Suck hard, little man." Andrew obeyed, wrapping his tiny mouth around
her big nipple and slurping with his little lips and tiny tongue. "Use your
teeth. Your little bite can't hurt me." He bit down and a small drop of milk
came out of her nipple. "Let me help." she said, and squeezing her breast
between her thumb and forefinger, Angela let loose a squirt of hot sweet milk
into her husband's tiny mouth. Andrew nearly gagged; it seemed like he had
chugged a gallon in less than a second, and the excess still in his mouth
began to dribble out of his lips and down Angela's massive tit. She squeezed
again and he sucked in another gallon, then fell away, exhausted and full to
overflowing with Angela's rich, warm nectar.

Angela smirked at her tiny naked man. "When I heard you scream on the
beach, I knew you must be in trouble, but my breasts started to lactate. My
body seems to think you're a helpless little baby, but don't worry. I know
you're a naughty little man, and when you learn to behave, I'll let you be my
husband again. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She laughed and smirked at
him as he rose to his knees to beg once more.

Angela crossed the room and turned off the main light, then crossed
back to Andrew's cage, her huge nakedness looming over her helpless captive in
the dim light of the darkened room. "That was fun, wasn't it? Playing with
you whetted my appetite for more; there's nothing I'd like to do more than
snatch you out of there and make you do my bidding until I was satisfied, but
if I'm not firm with my discipline, you might lose respect for my authority."

"Please?" Andrew begged.

"No." said Angela.

"You could use me, then put me back. Just a little furlough, and then
I'd gladly serve the rest of my term."

"Interesting proposal, counselor." She thought for a moment. "Appeal
denied. Good night." She blew him a kiss and laughed at his tiny insistence.
She turned and walked away, her massive body swaying suggestively; she put one
giant knee on the huge bed and turned back to look in his direction, trapped
helpless in the birdcage prison. He could see her in silhouette suck two of
her huge fingers, then turn away from him and begin to coo and hum at the
sensation of rubbing her twat, the big hot cave where Andrew wanted to be,
squirming and pushing and performing his little tricks for her amusement.

Andrew fell back into the pillows that covered the floor of the
birdcage and tried to cover his ears to escape the sounds of his wife's sexual
self-exploration, but it was to no avail. The warm milk was beginning to make
him drowsy, and if he could only fall asleep he'd be able to escape his prison
if only in dreams. The milk took a long time to do its work, but finally he
fell into a fitful sleep.



 

Chapter 5

Andrew ran hard, but when he looked over his shoulder, he saw the
alligator still in full pursuit, its leather reptilian body twisting as it
ran, its huge cruel jaws snapping and slathering. Andrew saw a tree, a very
tall one and ran toward it, leaped to a low hanging branch and began to climb.
Alligators don't climb trees, he thought, but he was wrong; this one did. He
scuttled up the tree as fast as he could, but the alligator was much faster
than he was. This was a bad idea; at least on the ground they both moved
about the same speed.

Andrew made it to the top of the tree, and found that he could
actually move about by crawling on the leafy surface. This was fortunate
because the huge jaw of the alligator popped out of the leaves, and the big
hungry reptile followed him out onto the tree's surface. Andrew was sure he
was trapped, and was about to dive off, certain suicide he thought, but better
to die quickly of a broken neck than to be ripped to shreds in a monster's
jaws. Andrew did not have time to act on this impulse, though; the shadow
overhead was the only warning. Suddenly the tree shook like a typhoon had
hit. A giant eagle, a bird the size of an airplane, plunged down from the sky
and grabbed the alligator in one massive talon. The reptile roared and
squirmed to no avail, but was able to sink his jaw into the bird's other leg.
The bird cawed in surprise, but stood its ground and twisted its head down to
get a better look. With one sickening rip of its huge sharp beak, the giant
eagle decapitated the alligator, and swallowed the massive head whole. It
then finished the rest of the body in another gulp. That was when it saw
Andrew.

The giant bird scrunched down to get a better view of its next meal.
It screeched and waited for Andrew to move so it could pounce. Andrew dove
back into the tree, and twisted into the fetal position as he fell. He landed
very softly, but did not dare look up. He heard a rustle of wings, and the
giant bird squawk, and another sound.

"Shoo! You go away! Nothing for you here!"

He opened his eyes and saw that he was in a cradle, big enough for a
giant baby, much bigger than he would ever need. Peering down on him was
Angela, all dressed in white. He couldn't tell if she was a gigantic guardian
angel or a colossal wet nurse, but when she smiled and the light than glowed
from her face hit him, he felt better. He climbed the to the edge of the
cradle and saw that he was still in the tree. A cradle in a tree.

"What's the matter, little one? Why so frightened?" Angela cooed,
her voice as soft as the blankets, but loud as thunder. She picked him off
the side of the cradle between her thumb and forefinger. She had grown, even
bigger than before! Her thumb was as big as a bed, and it gently pushed
against him as she put him back down on the downy comforter. "I know. You've
been reading too many nursery rhymes. Well, don't worry; the bough won't
break and the cradle won't fall. I'll see that you're safe. Don't worry about
those silly little lizards and annoying birds; They're no match for me, I can
assure you." The giant angel in white rocked the crib back and forth, her
voice soothing his troubled little breast.

"Andrew? Darling? Wake up, sweetie." Angela rocked the birdcage
slightly, trying gently to wake her tiny husband, snoring so sweetly. Angela
marveled at how adorable he was at his small size; even his most annoying
habits like snoring were reduced to cute little quirks. A firm little jolt
woke him finally, and he stretched and yawned and smiled sleepily as he rubbed
the sleep from his eyes.

"I hope I didn't interrupt a pleasant dream." Angela smiled sweetly
down at her little prisoner.

"I have the feeling it wasn't sweet at all until you did interrupt.
Now you're even rescuing me in my dreams."

"I'm sorry about last night." she said, tilting your head and leaning
down so that they could be at a nearly equal eye contact level.

"You have nothing to be sorry about; I'm the one who screwed things up
and almost got myself killed."

"Yes, but I got a little carried away with the whole punishment thing;
I didn't need to come on quite so strong."

"You've probably just seen to many of those "Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS"
movies.

"I don't think I've ever seen one of them."

"Oh. I guess it's me who's seen too many then."

Angela smiled. Even at full size, Andrew's train of thought didn't
run too well before his first cup of coffee. She opened the cage, and plucked
her little treasure out, carried him to where she watched him have his
breakfast of coffee and the crumbs of a crumbcake.

"Did you sleep well?" Angela asked; Andrew grunted and nodded as he
drank in the hot rich coffee. "I didn't keep you up with all the noise?"

"I heard you for a while, but the milk went to work and I was out.
Did you sleep well?"

Angela made a face. "No, I hardly slept a wink; I'm afraid I made a
mistake. I should have let you out when you asked, but I was too wrapped up
in being The Big Bad Judge to listen to your good idea."

"We discuss, you decide, I obey. It's worked so far."

"Well, if I don't listen, it's not really a discussion."

"So what did you do all night? Read?" Andrew asked between sips of
coffee.

Angela blushed. "I played with myself."

"Have a good time?"

Angela stretched her hand to its full width. "I was about this far
away from having a good time." Andrew looked at her with a puzzled look.
What did she mean? She was five fingers away from having a good time? That
didn't make any sense to Andrew. He was about to ask, when she turned her
hand and rested the tip of her pinky on the table next to Andrew and lowered
her head to see if the measure was valid; Andrew saw it then, as the top of
her thumb was level with the top of his head. She was about nine inches away
from having a good time; the missing ingredient was her tiny husband. She
undid the slip knot on his satin belt and pulled his pants down around his
ankles with the fingers of the hand she had measured him with. "Do you mind
if I... press you into service?" Andrew nearly did a spit take he was so
surprised by her directness. He quickly shoved a last crumb in his mouth and
washed it down with a great gulp of hot coffee. Angela smiled and laughed
wickedly at his quick response to her request. She waited for him to put down
the cup when her little finger slid between his legs and she lifted him to her
mouth.

"I'm sorry I don't have much time for foreplay." Angela breathed
between licks, moistening his tiny legs with her thick hot tongue. "I'm as
horny as a three-balled cat."

"Not even a little foreplay? You know how easy I am." Andrew asked.

Angela smiled and continued licking his little body. "You are my Don
Juan, my Casanova, my Valentino. You've ruined me for other men. I can't
even play with myself, I keep thinking about you so much. No matter what size
you are, you are the only man who will do. And I'm going to make you do..."
(a kiss) "and do..." (a long lick) "and do... " (a hot breath) "right fucking
now." Angela took her entire little finger into her mouth and sucked hard.
At her size, it was almost an afterthought that Andrew's tiny erect dick was
resting comfortably against that finger he was straddling, as he felt the
pressure of her huge upper lip squeeze his cock against her finger and the
incredible power of her suction slowly lift his tiny body off her palm.
Andrew screamed as loud as he could as he came, but Angela only laughed, deep
in her throat. It was nearly too much for Andrew's tiny mind to comprehend.
With her words, she made him feel so special, and her actions brought him to
ecstasy, but her reaction to his height of passion made him feel even smaller.
She lifted her mouth off her finger and kissed his chest one last time.
"My turn now." she said and smiled wickedly, lowering him the length of her
towering body, opening her dressing gown and pulling down her panties, then
inserting her puny husband feet first into her overstimulated pussy, pushing
him in up to his little armpits. Andrew got a grip on a few pubic hairs in
one hand resting his elbow on her clitoris, while his other hand grabbed the
edge of her huge tight asshole. He was about to start sliding his body in and
out when Angela pressed two huge fingers on her shoulders, holding him in
place with ease.

"I just want to feel you inside me. Relax, darling." Angela said,
her powerful voice rumbling down from above.

For Andrew, it was hard to relax; the coffee and the adrenaline from
the first orgasm of the day had him on edge. Doing nothing was torture, even
in the soft wet warmness of his beloved wife's sex. He began to sway, first
from side to side, then back to front. "Is that okay?" he asked, yelling at
the top of his tiny lungs.

Angela gasped. "Oh, yes. That's much better than okay." She rose to
her feet and began to sway with him, in which ever direction he moved his puny
body inside her. It excited Andrew to feel the giant body in which he was
trapped follow his lead; he felt bigger than some little mouse, some tiny toy
for his towering wife's amusement. It was like they were one, one titan
having sex on a monumental scale. She was like his puppet, some Brobdignagian
extension of his will. He moved his body slowly, and she followed his lead
exactly; it was so fantastic that he came again inside her. She hummed with
satisfaction when he did so, and Andrew didn't even ask if she could feel it.
In his mind, she was completely in tune with his every gesture. He craned his
neck to look up and he saw Angela, running her hands through her hair, her
head pointed towards the ceiling, her eyes closed and a satisfied smile
playing on her huge soft mouth. Andrew smiled as well; he knew that look from
when they danced, when he was a giant like her. This was like a heavenly
dream for her.

Angela opened her eyes and looked around. "Walk me over to that chair,
would you, darling?" Andrew moved inside her to get her long gorgeous legs
moving in the direction of the chair. "Grab onto the back of the chair; it's
better when you have something to hold onto other than me." Andrew grabbed
the giant chair back and began to pull his little body out of his wife, then
pushing himself slowly back in. He squirmed in and out like a little snake,
insinuating his body into her then slithering back out. He figured he would
save his spreading leg trick for the climax. A quick look up on his way out
revealed that Angela was hugging herself seductively, rubbing her arms,
shoulders and breasts with her long elegant fingers. She licked her finger
and rubbed the moist spittle on her erect nipple, humming and cooing at the
slow luxurious rhythm her tiny husband was keeping. Over and over he slid in
and out of her, twisting and squirming inside of her. She licked her licked
her huge finger again, and brought it around to her backside, toying with
her own asshole, turning tiny circles over and over.

Angela whispered seductively. "Pussycat?"

Andrew looked up. "You talking to me? Are you... talking to me?" he
said in his best Robert de Niro impression.

Angela smiled, ignoring his silliness. "Meow."

This Andrew understood; time to be a lion for his lioness. He began
to spread his legs on the out stroke, and her could hear her growl and purr
so far above him. She went up on her tiptoes and Andrew nearly fell out of
her as he tried to keep a grip on the chair and stay inside her pussy.

"Angela, you're making this harder on me." he complained.

"Shut up and fuck me, you little prick!" she roared, and the whole
show ground to a halt. She looked down at him, blushing at what she had just
said. She reached down and petted Andrew's chest with the hand she wasn't
using to massage her rectum.

"I meant that in the nicest possible way, darling."

Andrew laughed very hard and Angela slid his body inside her as far as
it would go. "Oh, it's wonderful when you laugh; you're like a little
vibrator. I wish I knew some jokes, but I'm an awful joke teller. If I
tickle you, I have to take you out. Andrew, keep thinking of funny things.
William Shatner doing Shakespeare." Andrew began to guffaw again. "Meat Loaf
Sings Cole Porter." Andrew laughed heartily and slapped Angela's massive rear
end, though his strength was such that she hardly felt it at all. "Professor
Lonaghan giving a naked poetry recital." Lonaghan was a very thin old man and
the biggest prude on the entire English faculty. Andrew was in stitches;
Angela was seconds away from ecstasy.

"Keep thinking of funny things, darling. I can't talk right now."
Andrew had reached that state where it seemed nearly impossible to stop
laughing. He closed his eyes and Shatner, Meat Loaf and Professor Lonaghan
were on the same stage together, singing three different songs from "Kiss Me,
Kate". He was nearly in tears, when he felt the contractions of his wife's
giant orgasm squeezing his chest and abdomen. The breath was pushed out of
him with each twitch of his wife's groin muscles, and her moaning drowned out
his little laughter.

"Brush up your Shakespeare..." he panted.

"Oh, Kiss me, Kate..." he wheezed.

"It's too darn hot." he sighed, laughing his last laugh, willing
himself to remain conscious.

Angela could almost breathe again. "Are you all right, darling?"

Andrew grabbed the chair and began lion fucking her again; she wailed
like a banshee and started a new orgasm, just seconds after her first. Andrew
came inside her, feeling powerful and useful once more. "Are you all right?"
Andrew asked in return.

"I'm perfect now." Angela said, gasping a little. "Let's clean you
off." She grabbed for him but he slapped her hand away.

"Let me walk you over to the bathroom." He began to sway from side to
side inside of her slowly, and she followed his lead into the bathroom. There
she extricated him from her vagina with a lingering motion, ran a cool bath in
the sink, and kissed his little body gently as she waited for the basin to
fill. She put his hot little body in the cool pool, and laughed as he swam
around. She pushed him around the sink from left to right, and even dunked
him with one finger. He was so much fun to play with she couldn't resist. He
stared up at his giant naked wife, looking so happy and playful. Swimming in
a sink, her torso towering more than two stories above him, Andrew had one of
those perfect blissful moments, one of those memories he would be able to lock
into his mind many years from now, a moment that would last as long as he
wanted.

After a while, Angela fished him out of the sink, and dried his little
body with a thick absorbent washcloth, which to him was as big as a beach
towel. Carrying him in her hands, still drying his little body, Angela walked
back into the bedroom, threw back the sheets and stretched out on the bed and
readied herself for a little nap.

"You don't want to play anymore?" Andrew pouted.

"No. Now I can finally get some sleep."

"I'm wide awake. I have a fresh cup of coffee and a ton of adrenaline
running through me."

Angela sighed, opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. He had a
point; she had used him for her needs without thinking of what it would do to
him. What could she do? "Would some warm milk help?" she asked, cupping her
breast with her hand.

Andrew grinned. "It might. Let me do it myself, though; I felt like
I was being force-fed last night." Angela nodded and let him suck at her teat
and knead her breast with his tiny hands, drips of milk seeping from her body,
only to be lapped up hungrily by her little doll of a husband. He finished in
a few minutes and let out a tiny belch; she instinctively patted his little
back, then laid him between her breasts.

"I want to sleep on your stomach." Andrew demanded. "I spend so much
time on your breasts, on in your mouth or your hand or your pussy; let me
spend some time on your tummy." Angela pulled his little body down to her
stomach with an easy grasp between her thumb and forefinger. There he rested,
her hand covering him like a comforter, his little feet snuggled into her
navel for warmth, and soon both of them drifted off into sleep.

When Andrew awoke, he was on the pillow, the pillow case and Angela's
scarf wrapped around him like sheets and a blanket. He looked around for
Angela but couldn't see her. His little "sailor suit" was laid out for him on
the other pillow, so he got dressed. He was about to climb down when Angela
came in from the bathroom, wearing a floral pattern sun dress, putting on her
earrings; she looked like she was ready to go out.

"Hello, sweetheart. Glad to see you're up. It's well after noon;
we've been very lazy."

"We're on vacation; we're allowed." Andrew answered.

"Could I ask a favor?" Angela asked. This struck Andrew as odd,
since she was usually not shy about giving orders at her new size. He nodded
agreement. "I'd love a little afternoon concert."

"Would you like me to sing?"

"No, I'd like you to lip-synch and do your little air guitar."

Andrew was very surprised. "I didn't think you liked to watch me do
that; I didn't even know you watched me."

"I watch sometimes. It's exciting to see you get into it, and at your
present size, you'll be so cute, I won't be able to stand it."

"Oh, great. I'll be cute, That's what every man wants to hear."

Angela picked him and held him near to her face, the way she did when
she wanted his complete attention, and spoke to him in a very sultry and
commanding tone of voice. "Darling, if I think you're cute, you're cute. If
I think you're sexy, you're sexy. I happen to think you're both. Am I making
myself understood?" Andrew smiled and nodded. Angela put him down on the
dining room table and walked over to the stereo. "I think you know this one."

From the speakers, Andrew heard the distorted bass and crisp drums,
the wavering farfisa organ sound; there was no guitar in that part for him to
mimic, but he knew the words so he wandered over to where the 'microphone'
would be on the stage, singing directly into Angela's beautiful gigantic face
leaning down attentively over the table top. In that moment, Andrew became
Elvis Costello.

"My science fiction twin
Is doing better than expected,
He captured a little blonde trophy wife who is
Really very well connected."

Andrew strummed his air guitar, and Angela joined him on the next
lyrics.

"And when he comes home with his alibis, she says,
'Is this really necessary?'
For she knows that a man can't be a man,
'less he's punishing his secretary."

Andrew turned his back on his audience, communing with his imaginary
band mates, letting the woman in the front row - the woman who WAS the front
row - get a good look at his rear end. He strummed like Pete Townsend, duck-
walked like Chuck Berry and at the mike he stood bow legged like a young John
Lennon, and bounced up and down with the rhythm. He always found that a very
subtle and subversive sexual movement, but of course that's what musicians
like Lennon and Costello were best at; subtlety and subversion. Andrew sang
and strutted; he realized why Angela had chosen this particular song.

"My science fiction twin,
Escorted by his lovely nieces,
Filled up his purse dictating verse,
While painting masterpieces.
His almost universal excellence
Is starting to disturb me.
They asked how in the world he does all these things,
And he answered, 'Superbly.'
He's trapped in his own parallel dimension,
That's why I'm so forgiving,
But how could I possibly forget to mention (Andrew pointed at Angela)
THOSE FIFTY FOOT WOMEN!
Who put the fascination back into
My science fiction twin.
My science fiction twin...
My science fiction twin..."

Angela's applause for her husband's little show was interrupted by a
knock on the door. "Oh, that'll be room service; I brought you a little
surprise." She went to the door, and came back with a rolling tray, topped
with a large rounded silver serving dish.

"I've been thinking about your little escapade last night..."

Andrew interrupted. "Angela, don't worry. I got that scared out of
my system. No more adventures."

"But you're supposed to have adventures on a vacation. I just want to
make sure you'll be safe on your next one."

"That's very sweet, but I can't think of anything I'd like to do
except be with you."

"Oh, no man wants to be underfoot all the time. Think for a second.
There must be something you want to do on your own." Andrew shook his head.
"Come now, think. Let me give you a hint; why do men become rock stars in the
first place?"

Angela lifted the cover to the serving dish. There, sitting with her
arms wrapped around her legs, was the photographer Brittany, dressed in a
tight white sailor's tunic style blouse with navy blue trim, a pleated skirt -
navy with white trim - that stopped well above her gorgeous knees and bright
white pumps with wedge heels and ankle straps. If Andrew were a cartoon
character, his jaw would have hit the floor. She stretched seductively and
rose to her feet, then walked toward Andrew slowly, her heels clattering on
the silver tray.

"I have to go out and run some errands, do some shopping - you know,
girl stuff - and Brittany was nice enough to agree to... look after you while
I'm gone."

Andrew was dumbfounded; To Angela, Brittany was a little thing she
could sneak into the room under a serving dish, but to Andrew she was a
dazzling sixteen foot tall sexpot, smiling down at him with a devilish glee.

"Hello, professor, nice to see you again." Brittany smiled.

"Am I to understand that Brittany is my babysitter for the afternoon?"

Both of the women laughed, and Angela leaned down so she could be
almost at Andrew's eye level. "Darling, I think we're all aware that you
aren't a baby. While I'm gone, though, Brittany is in charge. Follow her
orders just as you follow mine."

Brittany leaned down, her hands on her knees, still towering over
Andrew, her long blonde hair falling over her huge shoulders, her spectacular
breasts almost in reach. "A gorgeous little man who follows orders! Sounds
like heaven." she laughed.

Angela smiled serenely, leaned over and kissed Andrew on the top of
his head. "Well, I'm off. Have fun." she said, and with that grabbed her
purse and walked out of the room.

Andrew stared up at Brittany, his eye level just below the hem of her
short skirt. She stood there with her hands on her hips, mentally savoring
just what a little man at her command would be able to do for her. "I think
we'd be more comfortable on the bed, don't you?"

Andrew nodded, still a little stunned. "The ladder's over there."

Brittany nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'm used to ladders when I'm at this
size. I should go first, I'm going to climb a lot faster than you; don't want
to run you over. Brittany started down the ladder and Andrew followed. The
blonde titan looked up at the little man following her down. "Nice ass." she
said. "I was just fixated on your pecs when we were in the shrinking room,
but you've got a great little caboose, too, professor."

Andrew blushed beet red. He was going to have sex with this woman,
and his mind was completely boggled at the prospect. He couldn't remember
being this nervous before sex in a very long time. "Th-thanks." he
stammered.

They both got to floor level, and Andrew had to take his long strides
to keep up with Brittany's much longer legs. Andrew felt like returning the
compliment about her ass and legs, but words were very hard to form in his
mind right then. They came to the ladder leading up to the bed, and following
the same logic that she was a much faster climber, Brittany started up the
ladder first, and Andrew followed. Now was the perfect moment to flatter her,
Andrew thought, staring up at her smooth tanned legs, the gorgeous flexing of
the muscles as she swayed back and forth climbing the rungs, but at that
moment it was not only difficult to form words, he was having a hard time
maintaining consciousness.

"Help." was all he could manage, as he hung onto the rungs for dear
life. Brittany couldn't hear his puny cry, but when she got to the top, she
turned around, stretched down and pulled him up the rest of the way.

"You okay?" she asked, holding him close, his feet standing on her
thighs as she had her legs bent under her body.

"Nice legs." he gasped.

"If you're going to pass out anytime I do something a little sexy,
this is not going to be much fun." Brittany scolded.

"Sorry. I don't know what the problem is. I'm still a little over-
whelmed, I guess."

"Relax, professor. I'm not going to eat you alive. What do you say
we try some simple commands, just to get you used to following orders."
Andrew smirked at her obvious enjoyment of the idea. "Bark like a dog,
professor." Andrew began to bark. "Now meow like a kitty." Andrew meowed.
"Act more like a cat." Andrew purred, and meowed and demanded attention in
catlike ways. "More." He rubbed his body against her, twisting and turning
and not being still, rubbing his front and back against her torso in the
wanton ways a cat will rub when greeting a human.

"Get your hands off my tits." said Brittany, and Andrew, who was
getting into being a cat so much that rubbing his mistresses enormous jugs
seemed as natural as could be, blushed slightly.

"Sorry, wasn't thinking." he said, and put his hands on her big upper
arms.

"Put your hands back on my tits." Brittany ordered. She just liked
being in charge. Andrew carressed her huge orbs and felt their ponderous
weight.

"I think we have a closet dominatrix here." said Andrew.

"And I think you're submissive, and you aren't in the closet about it
at all." Brittany answered. Andrew's hands found her nipples under her tunic
and he gave them a twist, just to show that he wasn't completely submissive.
Brittany just chuckled. "Take off my blouse, little man."

Andrew was doing his best to be cool, but the give and take was
starting to give him one of his raging hard-ons. "You know, you could ask
nicely one of these times. It works wonders."

"You obey quickly enough this way; I don't really see the point." she
said, relishing the role of Big Breasted Boss Bitch to the hilt. Andrew
unbuttoned the tunic down the left side of her amazing torso, and with each
button more of her tanned flesh was revealed to him. From their little grope
session, he already knew that she wasn't wearing a bra and he knew the general
position of her aureoles and nipples, but seeing her nakedness right in front
of him was even better than he could have imagined. Her breasts were so large
they had to sag some, but the nipples - so big and chocolate brown - were
still pointing upward, and even braless her tits had cleavage. Angela's body
was nothing like this! He was speechless really, but since he didn't have to
say anything, he could cover up his nervous awe by rubbing his little arm
across the breast closest to him as he undid the rest of her buttons.
Brittany stretched as she took off the blouse, then shrugged Andrew off her
lap and ordered him to remove her shoes. He undid the straps and pulled
the white shoes off her long tanned feet, admiring her legs, which were nearly
as tall as he was even when bent at the knee. She unzipped her skirt as he
took off her shoes and Brittany pulled both her skirt and panties down over
her long legs; his first look at her naked ass was as awesome as the first
glimpse of her massive tits. Everything about her was so big and roundly
feminine; she even had those two dimples on her lower back, one physical
attribute she shared with Angela; a little thing, an unimportant frill but a
look that had always driven Andrew nuts. She was like every 60's blonde
bombshell rolled into one impossible sixteen foot tall package. Ladies and
gentlemen, introducing MarilynJayneMooniqueAnitaMamieJuneHonorAllisonJoy
Von SexKitten! All the sex in the world and then some! She turned around and
Andrew looked up; even her pubic hair was blonde. What else? Andrew thought
to himself.

Brittany folded her legs under her body again, and Andrew stood on her
thighs and nestled his little body between her huge hooters. They were just
hugging a little, but it felt almost cramped, like he was in a crowded room.
It was fantastic in both meanings of the word, wonderful and unbelievable.

"Time for you to get naked too, professor. I want you to really sell
it; you're my little lap dancer. Do a good job or I'll find another one."

Andrew smiled up at her; he knew there wasn't another man like him in
the entire resort. He writhed against her with a cute and insolent attitude;
he was the entertainment now and there was nowhere else for her to look but
right at him. He turned his back on her and squatted down, and began to
slither back up her torso; he felt his shoulders rub against the bottoms of
her mammoth mammaries and he slid up his arms trying to lift her tits like
Atlas carrying the world. He kept slithering up, and quickly realized that
lifting her jugs was more than his little body could manage. At his small
size, his strength might have been enough to move the weight, but the tininess
of his arms and the massiveness of her tits made the task impossible; it was
like trying to lift two beanbag chairs, each one weighing 150 pounds! Instead
he moved his arms up and found her aureoles, bent his arms so that he pinched
her big nips between his biceps and forearms, and brought his hands together,
effectively squeezing his tiny head between her tits. He let the breasts fall
apart, turned his little head and kissed the inside of her left tit, squeezed
and relaxed again, then turned and kissed the right one.

"Oh, my God." said Brittany, in a low breathy voice. Andrew smiled;
he had her right where he wanted her. She might be as big as a thoroughbred
racehorse, and even as strong, but she wanted him now. No more Big Breasted
Boss Bitch; she was going to have to ask nicely now.

He turned and slowly pulled his shirt up off his muscular torso,
hiding his chest from her for as long as he could by turning back away from
her when his shirt reached a certain height. He stood their with the silk
shirt still hanging in his upper arms, right in front of her face. She got
the message; she helped him off with the shirt the rest of the way, even
sniffing his scent on the silk. He was turned with his back to her, and so he
leaned into her huge torso, undid the rope belt to his trousers and slid them
slowly down his legs, rubbing his ass into the space at the bottom of her
ribcage. Her giant hands could not resist; she grabbed his thighs in her huge
hands, and her thick powerful thumbs began to massage his hard little ass
cheeks. Andrew stood back up and grabbed her huge wrists, twisting and
turning his little ass in her huge unbreakable grip, moaning and humming with
the sexy sensation. Brittany was getting very hot, he could feel her sweat
starting to mingle with his. He twisted his body to face her.

"Was that satisfactory, Miss? Would Miss like another dancer now?"
he asked in mock humility.

"You little pussy-tease." Brittany said. "You know how good you are,
don't you?"

"I'm the best there is, beautiful; get used to it."

Brittany smirked at her cocky little dancer. "You're good, but I've
had dancers before. What would be special with a Little Professor?" She
looked down at him, hugging him firmly and running a finger through his full
head of hair. "I just thought of something. Know any poems, Professor?"

"Sure; what kind?"

"Love poems; something to bring me to my knees."

"You're already on your knees."

She licked the end of his nose as the hand wrapped around his thigh
slid over and surrounded his cock and balls. "I think you know what I mean."
she purred. He smiled and waited; "Please." she added.

Andrew's hands began to wander on the lovely lines and planes of
Brittany's dazzling face, so big and wide and beautiful. Andrew began to
recite (and to touch her in the rhythm of the poem):

Now the lusty spring is seen,
Golden yellow, (her hair)
gaudy blue, (her eyes)
Daintily invite the view:
Everywhere on every green
Roses blushing (her cheeks)
as they blow
And enticing men to pull,
Lilies whiter than the snow.
Woodbines of sweet honey full: (her brows)
All love's emblems, and all cry,
"Ladies, if not plucked, we die." (a kiss)

Yet the lusty spring hath stayed;
Blushing red (her cheeks again)
and purest white (and teeth)
Daintily to love invite
Every woman, every maid:
Cherries kissing as they grow, (he kisses her lips)
And inviting men to taste,
Apples even ripe below, (her breasts)
Winding gently to the waist, (her stomach)
All love's emblems, and all cry,
"Ladies, if not plucked, we die." (a kiss)

Brittany was panting slightly.

"Professor, prepare to be plucked."

Brittany's big hands slid around Andrew's little chest, her thumbs
massaging his well formed pecs as she slowly began to lift him. This wasn't
like when Angela lifted him. To Angela's perspective, Andrew was smaller than
a Ken doll and weighed just a few ounces; he curled up perfectly in her huge
hand and she gave no thought to the effort of lifting him, as he weighed less
than a paperback novel or a can of soda. She loved him, of course, but he was
no more than an accessory in terms of size. For Brittany, one third the size
of Angela, Andrew was about the size of a toddler, and because his body was so
much leaner than a baby's, his weight was roughly that of a newborn, nine or
ten pounds. Brittany could lift him easily enough, but Andrew could feel that
there was some effort. Her beautiful lips began to suck and slurp at his
chest with obvious interest, and she even bit his little nipple, laughing when
he pulled away in pain and surprise. She kissed it to make it better, then
sucked and suckled, then bit ever so gently; Andrew pulse began to race, and
Brittany was showing signs of excitement, too. Now her mouth surrounded his
pec, sucking more forcefully, biting hard. It was amazing; Andrew actually
liked the feel of her teeth as they bit down, not hard enough to draw blood
but hard enough to be felt, hard enough to hurt for a second but then the pain
would subside. He could still kiss her forehead so he leaned into her, but
she pulled away, lifting his body ever so slowly again, thwarting his little
plans, keeping him off balance. She licked his stomach, the line of cleavage
that ran down the middle of his abdomen, then stuck her tongue deep into his
navel. She stuck her tongue out as far as it would go and made it rigid; now
she could push his entire little body back and forth with her tongue. She did
so several times and laughed; she was enjoying being big. He looked down at
the beautiful giantess holding his body above the bed, and he could see how
the bed dwarfed her. In the outside world, she was little, a sexy little doll
no bigger than a baby, a tiny girl with enormous tits, at least for her size.
Here with him, she was the giant and he was the plaything. They were about to
have sex on her terms, and it dawned on Andrew that she might enjoy taking
some measure of revenge out on him.

Brittany's mouth reached the level of Andrew's dick, and she slid one
of her hands so that she held him under the armpits by her huge thumb and
pinky finger, while the other hand explored his back and rested on his ass,
squeezing his tight little cheeks hard, as though they were little plums and
she needed to discover how fresh they were. Her mouth pecked and smooched at
the crown of his little cock, then she took it into her mouth like the tip of
a straw, sucking and rubbing just the hard pinkness of his little cock head,
slathering it with her saliva, sucking out his hot lubricating pre-orgasmic
juice, and applying it liberally around his head and also in her own mouth.
Finally she took his entire cock into her mouth, sucking with the same
intensity she had shown in her ministrations to his aching pink knob. His
whole cock fit easily in her mouth, and her long tongue slid out of her mouth
and played with his balls and edge of the cleavage of his ass. He ran his
hands through the amazing expanse of blond hair on her head, moaning and
groaning as she brought him so near to orgasm; he screamed when he felt her
teeth ever so lightly brush against the base of his dick. She pulled her head
back and laughed ever so playfully as she looked up to reassure him. Once
again she began her methodical attention to his knob, then again back down to
trap his whole dick in her hot wet mouth. Slowly she slid back, slowly she
sucked the knob, then quickly down to envelope his sex again. Slow-slow-fast
she moved, and Andrew fell into the rhythm, but he felt his impatience. He
grabbed her big head and try to force himself inside her. Brittany took the
hand which held his little shoulders and pinned his hands to his sides with
her big strong fingers. She pulled back and stopped sucking Andrew's dick.

"Are you close to coming?" she asked, one eyebrow cocked. Andrew
nodded yes. "Come here." she said, and began rubbing his cock on her big
tits, teasing his cock with her hard nipples. Jism spurted out of him, and
Brittany laughed as she let it cover her tits, her nipples and her upper
chest. The milky goo dribbled down the huge swell of her tits, and she
laughed triumphantly as she held him in her hands, pinning his little arms and
pinching his cute miniature ass cheeks.

She placed him back down on her thighs to stand. "Time to clean up
your mess, little man." She didn't have to explain further; Andrew began to
lick his come off her chest, cleaning her with his tongue, running his hands
in the goo and licking it off his fingers, all the time squeezing, fondling
and licking her incredible giant jugs. "You were a little scared for a
second there; you thought I was going to bite your dick off, didn't you?"
Andrew looked up into her eyes and nodded. "Don't worry, I'm not going to
hurt you; I promised your wife I'd return you as good as new."

Andrew nuzzled her now clean breasts, squeezing them to show his
affection and deference to her greater power. "You have a wonderful
technique for oral sex. I'd like to return the favor now, if you don't mind."

"But I do mind. A little man like you, a man who has to obey, has to
start at the bottom and work his way up. You have to massage my feet before
I give you a big job like eating my pussy." Brittany lifted Andrew and slid
her body towards the huge pillows at the head of the bed. She propped the
pillow up against the head board and leaned against it, so that she might
have a better view of her little worker, to make sure he followed her commands
to the letter.

Andrew slid down Brittany's long, voluptuous body, her smooth flat
stomach and broad inviting hips, her tanned, long-muscled thighs and shapely
calves. He sat up at her feet, his legs folded Indian style and put the heel
of her long left foot in his lap, her toes wiggling and playing with his chin.

"Why don't you practice your sucking, little man? It always comes in
handy." Andrew looked at her toes and began to lick her big toe and kiss it
as his body hugged and massage the rest of her foot.

"Your big toe won't fit in my mouth, Brittany; do you mind if I start
with the next toe over?" She nodded her consent and Andrew began to suck her
second toe, mimicking the way she sucked his cock, paying special attention to
the end of her toe, then thrusting the whole toe in his mouth quickly, then
slowly returning to the round pad that touched the ground when she walked.
All the time his hands were massaging her foot, hugging it close to his tiny
torso, rubbing the bottom of her foot with all his puny power; if he was being
too rough - a very unlikely event - he figured she would let him know. She
looked down at him with a look of sultry command, her arms stretched across
the top of the big pillow, her spectacular body in full view. She leaned her
head back and hummed with satisfaction. Andrew began to suck the next toe
over.

Brittany moved her head forward and gingerly removed her left foot
from Andrew's little lap and replaced it with her right foot. Andrew went to
work, using the methods that worked so well before. Now Brittany brought her
arms down from their resting position and began to play with herself
unabashedly. One huge hand started tracing the line of her labia, while she
grabbed one colossal tit with the other hand, pushed it upward and began
licking her nipple and aureole. "You're doing excellent work, professor.
I'm just getting your next position ready for you." Andrew began to pant with
excitement watching the golden girl-gantua masturbate while staring at him
with an almost terrifying look of hunger and desire. She laughed playfully
at his obvious lust; he was nearly the perfect man, she thought. So good
looking, so eager to please, so easily satisfied. The good ones are always
married, she thought to herself.

Brittany beckoned Andrew to her pussy with the index finger that had
been playing with her big pussy. Andrew scrambled up her long leg and began
to kiss and lick her cunt; it was big, very big to Andrew's way of thinking,
but not out of the ordinary, he thought. After all, there was no way to get
his entire body into it, the way he fit so snugly in Angela's sex. This was
more manageable, he thought. Brittany moaned and hummed at the touch of his
tongue to her clit, something Angela was far too massive to appreciate fully.
his hand began to massage her labia, and he began to stick it inside her,
moving it in and out gently. Brittany showed her approval of this gesture by
grabbing his upper arm in her huge hand and shoving Andrew's little arm inside
her cunt all the way up to his elbow. She adjusted his little body between
her long legs so that his other hand could reach her rectum and begin
massaging it as well. Andrew continued sucking her big sopping clit, and
fist fucking her twat and asshole. He peeked up at her and saw her squeezing
her tits and playing with her nipples. He was lying on his stomach between
her legs, and he wanted more body contact, so he twisted his body to the left
and grabbed her huge thigh between his little legs and began humping it like
a sex-starved Pekingese. Brittany laughed at his horny behavior. She reached
down and slapped his little ass.

"Bad professor! Naughty! Little! Professor!" Andrew did not stop;
her spanking was more surprising than painful, and he figured she could just
bodily remove him if she wanted to. Brittany laughed again and crossed her
other leg over him so that he was in fact forced to continue humping her like
some little dog.

After a few minutes of this, Brittany was close to coming. She
grabbed Andrew and put his dick at the top of her cunt, and showed him how she
wanted him to perform a direct dick to clit massage. With her huge hands
moving him and her body bent down to hold him, Andrew took the opportunity to
stretch up, grab her huge nips and twist with all his might. Brittany gasped.
Her next breath sounded almost like a cough. She bit her lip and close her
eyes and stretched her neck upward. Andrew continued what he was doing; he
wasn't sure what the situation was, but he figured she could show her
displeasure easily enough if she wanted to. She kept the same rhythm going,
rubbing his cock and her clit together slowly; her breathing seemed almost
calm, but her could feel her pulse racing through her huge quivering tits.
He was now sure that she was coming, though he had never experienced a woman
whose orgasm was quite like this. He began grunting and heaving as he shot
his little wad; she hummed contentedly and looked down at him.

"Coming together. What a thoughtful little dreamboat you are."

She lapped up the jism spread all over his little crotch and cleaned
herself off with a washcloth that was on the end table. Now clean and dry,
She propped Andrew's head up on her bicep and let him snuggle in the crook of
her arm, hugging her big left tit to his tiny body.

She kissed him on the mouth sweetly. "You're great; you're amazing.
That was my first time with a little guy."

"You've never had sex with someone smaller than you?" Andrew asked
incredulously.

"No. I mean my first orgasm. It was incredible. I mean, I've had
boyfriends who were shorter than I am, you know, 5'7" or so, but with a really
little man, with someone tiny like you, well... it's never been like that
before."

Andrew blushed a little. "Well, thanks. It was great for me, too."

"I have to admit I was enjoying it so much, I wished your wife was
out of the picture. Some women have it all; I mean, she's so pretty, and she
was this great husband and everything."

Andrew protested. "You're pretty, too, Brittany; you're gorgeous.
You have an incredible figure and a beautiful face."

"Incredible figure. Meaning 'BIG TITS'. I swear, sometimes I think
I should give them names so guys can address them directly. 'Hi, I'm Bouncy
and this is my twin Flouncy. Oh, and this is Brittany; she hangs out with
us.'"

"I can assure you, I meant incredible figure. Your legs are terrific,
your rear end and hips and spectacular, you've got those two dimples in your
lower back - it's a little fetish of mine, I know, but I love it - you're nice
and slim and you have big shoulders and a big ribcage that let you carry your
bust attractively. I dated a woman years ago, back when I was in college,
who had a little ribcage and somewhat large breasts; I didn't find it a very
attractive look, nothing like you."

"I'd give anything to look like your wife. She's like a movie star."

"Really? I'd say you look like a movie star."

Brittany shrugged. "I look like a starlet. Your wife looks like a
star. Back in the old days, when they had so much class. Audrey Hepburn,
Grace Kelly, that other woman who was in 'The Thin Man'..."

"Myrna Loy." Andrew added helpfully.

"Yeah, women with class, women who look great forever. God, that
would be great."

Andrew looked up at her and shook his head. "Women and their looks,
it's absolutely unbelievable. Here you are, a model, paid because you are
stunningly attractive, the kind of woman every man in a room looks at, and
you feel this insecure. I read it in the writings of my female students, too.
It really breaks my heart."

"I bet your wife doesn't feel that way; she's too gorgeous to worry.
She's got the kind of body that looks perfect in anything."

"No, she's not; she frets over how small breasted she is, she worries
about putting on weight. She doesn't obsess about it like she used to. Maybe
she's more comfortable now than she was when she was younger; maybe she's just
stopped talking to me about it because it makes me so upset."

They stopped talking for a while. Andrew cuddled up against
Brittany's huge tit and he flushed slightly. "It just occurred to me that I
was clinging to your tit the whole time I was talking about how great your
whole body was. Sorry if I made you self-conscious."

Brittany looked down at him. "Don't be sorry; I like having your head
rest on my arm; that way I can kiss you easily. You can cuddle my tit; that's
where you fit. Nothing wrong with that." She kissed him and smiled. "Can you
tell me what happened on the ladder? I thought you were going to faint dead
away for a second there."

"You're right; I was close to fainting. The best I can figure it was
performance anxiety. It's been a long time since I've been with anyone else
than Angela. Well, we were in a foursome down at the lagoon a couple of days
ago, but I don't count that; I felt like a toy Angela was showing off."

"How long a time are we talking about?" asked Brittany.

"Let's see; Angela and I have been married twelve years, and we dated
for two before we married. Fourteen years."'

"You haven't been with anyone else for fourteen years?"

"No."

"Not once?"

"Nope. Nobody else until this vacation."

"I find that hard to believe, professor. A great looking guy like you
hasn't taken the plunge once? What about all those young girls in your
classes. All those cute little freshmen girls, they come into English and
they see that the professor is a dreamboat..."

"I don't think they use dreamboat anymore." Andrew interrupted.
"Hella-cute or hecka-cute is the new term, or at least it was last semester."

"So there they are, gazing dreamily at you, asking for your office
hours, stammering and blushing because they know an experienced older man like
you must know what's on their hormone-crazed little minds. You never have
taken advantage?"

"Never."

"Am I painting an accurate picture?"

"More or less, I suppose." There was a pause and Andrew spoke. "Let
me tell you a secret. I can resist freshman girls all day long; they are no
problem at all. For me, it's the grad students that are a temptation."

"Ah, now we'll hear the truth." Brittany teased.

"They're a little older, maybe 23 to 26 or so, still young and pretty,
really, but they feel so sophisticated; they think they've grown so much, and
I'm sure they have. They know what they want to be, they want to be writers.
They write about their life experiences, most of them, and that means either
their family life or their sex life. These beautiful young women, some of
them talented writers, thinking about these first few love affairs they've
been through, viewing them with scorn or passion or humor, confessing their
sins and mistakes there on the page, and I think, 'I'd like to be their lover,
I could do better than the jerks they write about.' That's when I'm tempted."

"And you've never just let yourself go?"

"If I did that, and I lost Angela, it would be the stupidest thing I
ever did. I mean, with you it's different. She handed you to me literally on
a silver platter, and that comment about me not being a baby was an obvious
sign of her approval."

"But still, professor, you have all this pent-up sexual energy, all
this physical desire. What do you do with it all?"

Andrew shrugged. "I play squash."

Brittany nuzzled him. "I hope you're campus champion." They both
laughed and Andrew shook his head. "Well, let me help you get rid of some more
of that sexual energy." She rolled him onto his back and her big body loomed
over him. "Since I'm in charge here, I think I should be on top."

Andrew looked surprised. "I'd have to vote against that; you might
crush me by accident."

"Where's your sense of adventure, professor? Didn't you tell me you
used to skydive? It's no more dangerous than that. Besides, you don't have
a vote." She slid him down her massive frame and her huge hips began to
descend upon him, her big snatch engulfing his tiny erect cock and beginning
her grinding rhythm. The word 'grind' enter Andrew's mind, and it did not
help him feel comfortable. Brittany hummed at the feeling of his little cock
inside her. "You'll be glad to know that I'm much more responsive when I'm on
top." she said, in her low wicked sultry voice.

He was trying to think, but his brain was not working very well; all
the neurons that weren't busy sending messages of sexual ecstasy to his brain
were working overtime sending messages of fear and panic and the need for
immediate escape from a very perilous situation. Brittany's huge torso was
blocking most of the light in the room, and the shadows that played on her
massive form made her allure even more dramatic. He tried to think of when
he was under something this big and heavy, and all he could think of was an
automobiles. Sports cars tried to be this sexy, Andrew thought, with all
their sleek lines and leather interior and their responsive power. But no
sports car could match Brittany, sixteen feet of pure sex, one ton of titanic
tits, legs as long as bridge supports, hips that bucked like a rodeo bull,
hands that massaged him so deeply, his strongest muscles felt like rubber
bands under her touch. One enormous knee slid upward, the length of half her
leg dwarfing his upper body, her satisfied groans drowning out his screams
of fear and yelps of delight. Now the other knee came alongside him, and her
huge hand picked him up by his tiny ass. He started to calm a little; if she
held him airborne, the chance of crushing him with her huge weight would be
less, or so his puny mind reasoned, if that word actually still applied to his
limited mental capacities. It was like when he found himself for the first
time between Brittany's breasts, it was like being jostled about in a crowded
room. Of course, there were only the two of them there, her on top fucking
him below. That was until he heard the door open.

"Maid service?" came a timid voice.

"NOT NOW!" Andrew squeaked and Brittany boomed in unison. The
intruder entered anyway. It was Angela, towering above them, carrying several
bags.

"Well!" Angela said in a huff. "I leave you alone for an instant and
I come back to find you in the arms of another woman!" She leaned down to
check. "In the pussy of another woman!" Angela and Brittany laughed, but
Andrew was too frightened to join them. "Let me take care of these things
and I'll be right back." she said, in a normal and undisturbed tone of voice.

Andrew grabbed Brittany' big hips and rammed himself as hard as he
could inside her, which given his size was not very hard at all; still,
Brittany could sense his urgency and began to fuck back harder herself.
Andrew started to come, and Brittany urged him on. "Come on, professor; here
I am. This is you last big chance to fuck me before your wife fucks both of
us. Show me what kind of man you are!" She laughed for a second, then
started to grunt like she did when she was close to orgasm. They were both
coming when Angela walked back into sight, her towering nakedness gazing down
at the little lovers with amusement.

"Am I missing all the fun?" she laughed, as she watched their orgasms
from on high. Andrew panted and gasped and stared up into Brittany's huge
bosoms, hanging so low and full swaying with the bucking motion of her super
strong hips. From his low vantage point, he saw Angela sit down beside them,
still taller by far, and he saw her massive fingers caress Brittany's ass.
Brittany was very big by Andrew's way of reckoning, but Angela towered over
the enormous blonde by almost the same ratio that Brittany towered over tiny
Andrew. Brittany screamed at Angela's touch, her ecstasy more violently
powerful than it had been with Andrew alone; Andrew could tell from how it
felt inside Brittany's cunt that one of Angela's huge fingers must be sliding
its way into Brittany's tight asshole. Angela watched the miniature fuckfest
with a detached amusement, and she thought of the fun she was about to have
with two such pretty little toys.

Angela sat down on the bed and carefully picked up the little lovers,
placing Brittany on her lap, who in turn placed Andrew on her own lap. Angela
towelled off the baby sized woman and the doll sized man, then gave a small
bottle of water to Brittany, who took a few swigs then gave some to Andrew,
since the eight ounce bottle was much too big and unwieldy for Andrew to
handle on his own.

"It's nice to see the two of you got along. He wasn't any trouble,
was he, Brittany?" Angela asked.

"Well, he's quite a handful, more than enough for me, but I wouldn't
say he was any trouble. You should have felt his little heartbeat when you
came in on us. I think he was really afraid for a second." Brittany said,
hugging little Andrew to her body as she spoke about him.

"Yes, at this size, Andrew takes things at face value first; sometimes
it takes a while for him to realize when I'm making a joke."

"Gullible?" asked Brittany.

"I think 'trusting' would be a better word. After all, he depends on
bigger people like us to keep him safe and sound."

"That's true." Andrew said, standing up on Brittany's thighs to feel
slightly less insignificant in this little chat between the giants.

"But you didn't behave last night, did you? Your wife told me about
your little escapade. I haven't punished him for that yet. With your
permission, Angela."

"You have my permission to discipline him, if you think it will help."
Angela said from on high.

Brittany began to spank Andrew again, but each slap on his rear end
also pushed his little body into her big resilient tits. "Naughty! Professor!
Mustn't! Wander! Out! Alone!" Andrew gasped with each stinging blow, and
braced himself against her breasts, waiting - hoping might be more accurate -
for his next lesson. Angela gently restrained Brittany's hand when the
littler giantess began laughing at the tiny man's reaction, and it appeared
she would continue just out of wicked glee. Angela nestled the both of them
in the crook of her arm and laid down. Brittany followed suit and cuddled
the doll man between her arm and her curvaceous torso.

"Well? How was he? I need details or I'll explode." said Angela to
Brittany in a very gossipy tone of voice.

"He was amazing. For one thing, he's gorgeous, but you know that.
He's also very obedient, which is a good reflection on well you've trained
him. Of course, I think he has a little masochistic streak in him." Brittany
gave Andrew a little hug to show that she wasn't going to test his masochism
right away. "And he swept me off my feet. Twice."

"Interesting! Anything special I should know about?"

"Well, let's see. First he recited a poem..."

"Did he really? My, he was on his best behavior. I think he was
courting you. What was the poem?"

"Was it Shakespeare, professor?"

"No, same period, though. John Fletcher, 'Love's Emblems'.
Shakespeare wouldn't be right for you." Andrew answered.

"Why not? Don't think I'd get it?" said Brittany, a little huffily.

"I think Andrew is thinking about the woman to whom Shakespeare wrote
the sonnets." added Angela.

"My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun." Andrew recited. "She
was pale with dark eyes. Your coloring isn't like that at all."

"Those sort of details are important to English professors." Angela
said, giving Brittany a hug. "He recited a poem; it seems like ages since
he's done that for me."

"I wrote you a poem for your birthday." Andrew protested.

"That was three birthdays ago." said Angela. Andrew shut up. Women
are very good at remembering those kinds of things. "What about his awful
puns?"

"Puns? I don't remember any puns? Did you pun, professor?" Brittany
asked. Andrew shook his head no. Best not to get involved in this
discussion, he thought, as his complexion cycled through many shades of red in
embarrassment. He'd rather they stopped talking about him, but he knew he
couldn't make any protest.

"It is absolutely astounding how men's minds work." Angela said, a
little forlorn. "They think we'll get tired of poetry, but we love awful puns
and bad jokes. Their best behavior doesn't last long, take it from me."

"Well, he certainly behaved today." Brittany said. "We kissed and
hugged, he sucked my toes..."

"He sucked your toes! Where did he learn that?" Angela said in
surprise.

"I taught him. I asked him to do it, and he did it."

"I wonder..."

"If you're worried about him seeing other women, don't be. He says
he's been faithful to you for fourteen years."

"Did he say that?"

"Yes, I find it hard to believe, but he was very forthright, so I
think he was telling the truth. He mentioned you were in a foursome earlier
this week?" Brittany asked.

"Oh, yes." Angela remembered. "At the lagoon."

"And then there was me." Brittany said.

"Well, that's nice to know." Angela said, smiling down on Andrew.
He was keeping silent, looking at the differences in the bodies of his forty
six foot tall wife, so sleek and muscular and elegant and pale, and his
sixteen foot tall mistress, so soft and curvy and sexy and golden brown. He
still waited for the conversation to end, now with growing impatience.

"That's not to say he doesn't think about it. He thinks a lot about
graduate students." Brittany said. Andrew looked skyward, hoping some even
bigger God would spare him from this chat.

"Graduate students." said Angela, thinking. "Yes. I can see that.
Andrew, what was the name of that girl last year, the one who got a contract
with Random House. Susan something?"

"Susannah Mann." Andrew answered.

"Her?" Angela asked. Andrew said nothing. "I know you didn't sleep
with her, I just want to know if that's the type you think about." Andrew
looked up at his goddess wife, up through the cleavage of his titaness girl
friend. He didn't care if her body was the wall against which his back was
leaning, he didn't care that she could blot out the sky if she chose to. He
wasn't playing. "Andrew? I asked a question."

Finally, he exploded. "Last night, two fiddler crabs had a fight to
decide which one of them would eat me! All I can say is, that with the crabs,
I at least had some way to defend myself! With you two gossiping..." his
voice trailed off in a splutter.

Angela wrapped her hand roughly around Andrew's body and snatched him
away from Brittany's breasts, extended her arm straight into the air. Andrew
worried for a second that she was going to toss him casually across the room
to his certain death, but he soon realized that, though she was upset, she
held him in her hand to get a better look at him, and to put some distance
between this uncooperative man and the women whose conversation he would not
join.

"Brittany, dear. I'm not sure I heard my husband correctly. Were we
just compared to crustaceans? Animals who were trying to eat this..."
Angela paused to find the perfect derogatory term for the thing she held in
her hand, suspended two stories in the air, "... man last night."

"Yes." answered Brittany. "Unfavorably compared to fiddler crabs."

"Quite so. Unfavorably compared to ugly, cold-blooded monsters who
were trying to kill him. You know, you're very lovely."

"Oh, the same goes for you, Angela. I think you're a knockout.
You're like a movie star with class. Didn't I say that earlier, professor?"
Andrew, still stuck in Angela's hand looking down, managed a nod.

"Two beautiful women, goddesses to this little pipsqueak..."

"I'm not a goddess." Brittany interrupted.

"Darling, is Brittany a goddess?" Angela asked. Andrew nodded again.
"Two goddesses make passionate love to him, and he compares us - unfavorably -
to invertebrates. Men. They are put here to drive women insane." Angela
paused and looked at Brittany. "Why couldn't I meet someone like you when I
was trying to become a lesbian?"

"When was that?"

"Just before I met... him." Angela said with disdain.

"You've been together fourteen years?" Brittany asked. Angela
nodded, still looking at her worm of a husband in her extended fist. "I would
have been a little too young then."

"Yeah, that's true. What about now? I admit, I've loved him for
these fourteen years, but it's obvious I've outgrown him. We could start now.
I think you're gorgeous, you think I'm gorgeous; it's easy to talk to you.
Women together don't have the misunderstandings men and women do."

Brittany nuzzled close to Angela and kissed her neck. Angela turned
back and gave Brittany a long lingering kiss on the mouth, their tongues
delicately exploring each other's lips and teeth. "That's a very tempting
offer, Angela. I certainly couldn't find a woman I'd find more attractive,
but I have to admit that I'm still a heterosexual at heart. I have an idea,
though. Maybe I could wean myself off men. If I had a little man, say like
him, it would kind of be like a nicotine patch. Not a real man, just a little
one until I could give them up entirely. Anyway, we wouldn't want to just
throw him out on the street. He's so little and helpless, and besides, I bet
we could get something for him when we did decide to let him go."

"So we'll become lesbian lovers, if I give you him, just until you can
control your cravings for men." Brittany hugged Angela and smiled, giving her
little proposal a very enticing hard sell. Angela looked up at the annoying
puny man in her hand. Her hand began to lower slowly, and her fingers began
to loosen their grip. She put Andrew gently on her breast, where he cuddled
and hugged her.

"Not a chance, sister." Angela said. "This one's mine." The two
women laughed at their little charade.

"We had him going; I know it." Brittany giggled.

"Yes. It was a little cruel of us. Do you forgive us?" Andrew,
sucking at Angela's enormous teat, nodded consent. Both the giantesses cooed
at the little man they had teased; Brittany slid up Angela's bust (Angela was
still reclining on her side) and gave Andrew a big friendly hug and kiss.

"Well, my tiny husband, do you have a poem for me as well, or do you
only recite for strangers?"

Andrew thought for a moment and a work came to mind.

"The Magnet, by Thomas Stanley," Andrew began.

"Ask the Empress of the night
How the hand which guides her sphere,
Constant in unconstant light,
Taught the waves her yoke to bear,
And did thus by loving force
Curb or tame the rude sea's course.

Ask the female palm how she
First did woo her husband's love;
And the magnet, ask how he
Doth the obsequious iron move;
Waters, plants and stones know this,
That they love, not what love is.


Be not then less kind than these,
Or from love exempt alone;
Let us twine like amorous trees,
And like rivers melt in one;
Or if thou more cruel prove
Learn of steel and stones to love."

Andrew paused and resumed sucking at Angela's breast. His wife had a
serene smile on her face, while Brittany eyed him like a cat would eye a
mouse.

"Jesus, he's good!" Brittany said. "Didn't I tell you he was a
masochist? '... Learn of steel and stones to love.' I swear, you're going to
be dressing him in a leather jockstrap with studs on the inside within a
matter of weeks."

"I think the poet was telling his beloved that if she were cruel to
him, she would have to love steel and stones, because he would be gone." said
Angela, gently petting her clever little husband's adorable rear end.

"What's the answer, professor?" Brittany asked, her gaze fixed on him
and her fantasy growing sharper by the second.

"A good poem can be interpreted many ways; lines out of context can
lead you away from understanding, and of course everyone brings personal
experience into their interpretation. What this poem says about my tastes and
proclivities, I bow to my wife in her understanding." Brittany smirked at his
diplomacy, while Angela picked him off her breast, and planted a tender kiss
on his tiny body.

"You know, Angela, a little man can be a lot of fun, but there is one
major drawback to them." Brittany said, massaging Angela's chest. Andrew
looked down at the big blond; she was looking more and more like a predator to
him.

"And that is?" Angela asked.

"Well, because they're so small, they can't kiss you and have sex with
you at the same time. It's either one or the other."

"You have a point." Angela conceded. "I haven't thought about it
that much, but I do like being kissed during lovemaking."

"Well, why don't we try this? Let Andrew make love to you down there
while we kiss and make love up here."

"Would you agree to this, darling?" Angela asked her husband. Andrew
nodded yes and kissed Angela; being down away from Brittany would calm him
down a little, as his mind was starting to race with ideas of what the golden
titaness wanted to do with him. His wife took him in hand and placed him
gently at the base of her pussy. With a gentle back and forth movement, she
snaked his tiny body inside of her. Her huge fingers patted his shoulders
and then disappeared back up to her new lover.

Andrew massaged her clitoris and played with her asshole, slithering
his body in and out of her as well as he could, but his mind was distracted
by the sound of the giantesses at play high above him and somewhat out of
view. When he heard Brittany scream in delight or terror, curiosity got the
best of him, and he twisted his body out far enough to get a good view. He
saw his wife's big hand, her thumb shoved far up the littler woman's cunt, her
middle finger playing forcefully at Brittany's asshole.

Angela stopped her playful, teasing little kisses of Brittany's hungry
mouth, and returned Andrew's gaze. "Keep going, darling; I need you down
there." Her free hand slid down her torso and shoved Andrew back deep inside
her.

Andrew worked hard and only took the occasional glance up. The dirty
pillow talk of the giantesses was enough to paint a very exciting yet
disturbing picture in his fevered brain.

"There is a masochist in the bed, but I don't think it's my husband."

"Oh, God, yes. Fuck me harder, you big bitch!"

"You should be respectful."

"AAAAAAAH! Oh! Oh! Forgive me, please. Mercy."

"You're so pretty and little. I can't get over how gorgeous your
little tits are."

"What are you talking about; my tits are enormous. Oh, don't stop!"

"To me, your tits are the size of perfect little cherry tomatoes. I
think I'm going to pop one in my mouth."

"Oh, yes! AAAAAAH! Oh, God, yes!"

"I think you're just about ripe. Hahaha."

"Oh, I'm coming! Fuck me, please, fuck me."

"Oh, yes. Hahaha. Andrew, darling, a little faster please."

From the screams above his head and the stream in flood below his
feet, Andrew could tell that he was in the presence of two goddesses in
climax. He moved his little body faster, and the thought of both of them
coming began his orgasm as well. He shot his jism inside his wife, and saw
tiny bubbles of whitish grey on the flood of thick transparent juice that
flowed from her huge hot twat. The screaming up above was now a duet, so
Andrew dove into Angela's pussy up to the top of his head, if only to save his
eardrums from the banshee screams of gigantic ecstasy out in the enormous
real world. He felt gravity shifting, as though Angela was standing up.
Suddenly, two big hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him out. Angela
was now up on her knees, and Brittany was standing in front of her, her hands
clinging onto Andrew's shoulders. He looked at her upside down, and she
seemed to smile.

"I just wanted to thank Angela; she deserves another orgasm, don't
you think?" said Brittany, her sultry manner still showing a possible
sadistic streak. "Don't worry, little man. I'll do all the heavy lifting."

With that, Brittany began to shove Andrew in and out of Angela's
steamy hot pussy. When Angela would hum with pleasure, Brittany would leave
Andrew inside for a few moments longer, and she would offer the tiny trapped
dildo man her huge tit to suck until it was time to pull him out again. It
was already so wet, Andrew had to listen to Angela's powerful breathing to
tell when her second orgasm began. As she began panting, Brittany cooed and
laughed at Angela, enjoying her momentary power over the much larger giantess.
Brittany licked at Angela's cunt, licking her come of Andrew's chest, sucking
those perfect pecs and laughing some more. He was trapped and Angela was
in climax; Brittany was in charge for the moment, and she relished the
feeling.

Angela picked up both her little lovers, one in each hand, and
collapsed grandly on the big bed. She gave each of them a tit to suck, and
after a while she grabbed a towel and began cleaning herself off. Brittany
was toweling off when she offered to rub Andrew.

"I need a shower." said the exhausted little man.

Without missing a beat, Angela got the silver platter and a water
bottle. She placed Andrew in the middle of the platter, and began to douse
him with the cool clean water. When he had enough, Brittany brought a towel
and gave him a drying and a hugging, letting his little hands touch her tits
through the thick absorbent towel.

"You must be exhausted, darling. Why don't you get some rest?
Brittany and I have some things to discuss." Angela said.

"What kind of things?" Andrew asked.

"It's girl talk. It wouldn't interest you." Andrew was very
interested, but clearly he was not going to get a vote. "Brittany, would you
be a dear and tuck Andrew in?" Brittany smiled sweetly and hugged Andrew to
her breasts. Angela picked both of them up and put them on the floor.

Brittany adjusted Andrew's little body so that she could carry him in
her arms like she would a baby; her tits jostled him with every step she took
and she moved in a way that exaggerated the jostling. She came to Andrew's
quarters, but she was too big to fit inside the doorway, so she lifted the
roof of the miniature rooms and stepped over the wall with her long lovely
legs.

Inside, Brittany went down to her knees so that she wouldn't hit her
head on the twelve foot ceiling; in surroundings his size, her hugeness was
magnified. She seemed to be busting out of a normal sized world, on her way
to world domination, one helpless little man at a time. There on her knees,
it was easy to tuck Andrew into the bed, pull up his covers. and kiss him
good night. Andrew reached up and grabbed her big nipples to make sure she
wouldn't go away.

Brittany stared down at him. "Your wife's waiting for me."

"Please. Just one more."

"One more what?"

"Fuck me one more time."

"You mean YOU want to come one more time. What a greedy little thing
you are. I'd turn you over and spank you... If you weren't so fucking sexy.
In the mood for a boob job?" She squeezed her massive jugs together with
her huge hands and the big golden orbs surrounded Andrew's tiny cock. "Like
twisting nips, do you?" Brittany twisted his nipples and he yelped in
surprise and delight. Her elbows were moving her giant knockers seductively
around his cock, and when she heard his little pre-orgasmic yelps, her full
fantastic lips went down and hungrily sucked up his little come shot.

She looked up at his face and licked her lips. "Wouldn't want to mess
up you nice clean sheets." she said, chuckling at how easy it was to bring
him to orgasm.

She rose up and put her hand over her head, pushing the hinged ceiling
out of the way. "Bye, bye professor. It was very nice meeting you." she
said. She was the Avenging Colossal Sexpot in his mind; he said a little
prayer for all the men out there she would enslave as she had enslaved him.

Angela's huge body filled the view. "Is he all tucked in?" She
kissed her fingertip and pressed it against Andrew's little body; he hugged it
and kissed it in return. Angela picked up Brittany in one arm and closed the
lid of Andrew's quarters. He heard a click from above and the lights dimmed.

Andrew wanted to drift off, but the sound of feminine laughter kept
him awake. Brittany was so beautiful, it was hard not to think about her, not
to think about a million beautiful women who weren't his wife, about what
would happen if he followed some student's suggestive lead, if he let a casual
flirtation go just a little farther. Sex with other women; he really had
tried hard to keep the thought out of his head, or just to let it be an idle
fancy. Now it was more, and now it threatened him, his marriage and his
happiness. Fucking other women had been taboo, something he could will
himself not to do. But now that he knew how fucking marvelous it could be,
he didn't know how to put the genie back in the bottle.

He wanted to pray; usually, he would pray as he had been taught as a
boy, to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, but he found himself thinking of the
Hindu Trinity, God the Creator, God the Preserver, God the Destroyer.

"Great Creator, you in your wisdom sent me the Preserver made flesh,
my giant wife and goddess. You know how you made me; I'm weak and I'm stupid.
I beg your mercy again; for one more day, keep the Destroyer from my door.

"Your will and not mine. Your will and not mine." Andrew repeated
over and over, until this mantra finally eased him into sleep.



 

Chapter 6

Andrew was in the main room of the suite, drinking his morning coffee
and reading a paperback novel while Angela took a leisurely shower. The novel
was normal sized - Andrew had packed his reading glasses, but all the books
were in Angela's luggage, so none of them were shrunk down to his size - and
Angela had thoughtfully put rubber bands on the pages so that they would stay
open and placed the book flat on the table. Andrew walked across the pages -
no need for glasses when the print was as big as road sign lettering - and
when he got to the end of of a page pulled mightily at the rubber band bound
pages he had yet to read, and placed it with some effort into the sheath of
pages he had already read. He was re-reading the book - a short novel by Don
DeLillo - but the experience was entirely new, the sensations of the physical
effort, the strong scent of wood pulp and printer's ink, the thought that he
must look like the witch in the old opening for Fractured Fairy Tales, one of
the cartoons that played on the Bullwinkle show (the big book finally smashed
closed on the witch at the end of the intro); reading DeLillo was usually such
an easy and light feeling, even when he dealt with strange and uncomfortable
topics. Now the effort it took to read made him appreciate it even more.

The doorbell rang. Andrew heard the shower running and knew Angela
was likely unable to hear it. He climbed down from the kitchen table and
bounded across the room to open the 'cat door' and see who was calling. It
wasn't housekeeping, who he had half-expected, but one of those bodybuilders,
the cabana boys, except this one was dressed very formally. It was a very
strange sight for Andrew to see this thirty-foot Arnold lookalike in a tux at
nine in the morning - only four feet tall by normal measurement - carrying a
silver platter.

"Hello, sir. Is Mrs. Franklin available?"

"No, she's indisposed. Can I be of any help?" Andrew asked,
completely comfortable talking to this giant, even though he was dressed only
in the pants of his sailor suit; this seemed like a lot of clothing to him now
that he was practically used to being a nudist to please his enormous,
demanding - but very appreciative - wife.

"Well, I have an invitation for the both of you, but maybe I could
call back later. The Baroness wanted to know your reply as soon as possible."

"No need to make an extra trip; I can take the invitation and we can
ring the Baroness with our answer as soon as my wife gets out of the shower."

"The card is very heavy, sir."

"I'm a big boy. I think I can carry a calling card."

"As you wish, sir." The huge butler knelt down and placed the card
inside the cat door, smiled officiously and began to walk away.

Andrew shouted after him. "Maybe you should wait. I just realized I
don't have anything to tip you with."

"Thank you anyway, sir. I work for the Baroness; guests don't have to
'tip' me." he said, with a slightly snooty air.

Andrew knelt over and found that the envelope was indeed very heavy;
he wrestled the card off the ground, and held it over his head only by
balancing it very carefully, both left to right and front to back. He felt
like a native bearer in one of those Great White Hunter movies. He saw the
door to the bathroom open in the distance and saw the enormous naked feet of
his wife, her gorgeous ankles and calves covered just below the knee by her
floral patterned bathrobe; the colossal calling card blocked his view, so he
could see no higher.

Angela always waited at the doorway when entering a room that Andrew
was in, a necessary precaution against accidentally crushing him under foot.
She was amused by seeing a white envelope wafting toward her at ankle level,
the rectangular shape completely hiding her tiny husband from view, only his
impossibly tiny fingers peeking out where the held the envelope in place.

Andrew lifted his head back to get a better view of his wife; this was
a mistake. The weight of the envelope, now unbalanced, caused the little man
to topple backwards, and he was flattened under the mail, only his arms and
legs visible. Angela could not help but laugh at his puny predicament; it was
just too much like a cartoon or some silent slapstick bit. She walked over,
smirking still as he tried to get out from under the envelope.

"Here, let me help." she said, and lifted the envelope easily with one
hand. "Ooh, this is heavy."

"No need for sarcasm." Andrew replied, happy to amuse his wife but not
glad to be the butt of a joke for her.

"No, I mean it; this must be very thick bond paper. I think it may be
heavier than you are, or maybe just more bulky." Angela read the note,
mumbling a little to herself.

"Well, what's it say?" Andrew asked peevishly.

Angela looked down at him. "Come and read it for yourself; you know
the way up."

Andrew wasted no time accepting his wife's invitation. He jumped up
and started to climb her gown, easily traversing the fabric as it hung from
her hips, making faster progress as he reached the level where the cloth
hugged her gorgeous hips, the curve to her slender waist, climbing her arm as
it rested just below her breasts, then snuggling in her cleavage, feeling the
warmth and smelling the freshness of her newly showered skin. He grabbed her
lapels and brought them around his body like they were blankets, and twisted
his tiny body back and forth, cuddling against her gorgeous gargantuan breasts
with glee.

"Are you going to read or are you going to play with my tits?" Angela
asked in a calm voice, a trace of irritation peeking through.

"Can't a guy get comf'table?" asked Andrew in a mock working class
accent, eliciting a laugh from his wife, which rumbled deliciously in her
powerful chest.

"Dear Mrs. and Mr. Franklin," the embossed note read,
"The Baroness Madame Natalia Ouspenskaya requests
the pleasure of your company for tea this afternoon
at four. Realizing the lateness of this request,
Madame asks that you give your answer to the servant
who has handed you this note. Every effort will be
made to insure your comfort and enjoyment. The Baron
would also like to make your acquaintance."
(the note continued in an elegant handwriting)
"You must not refuse, Mrs. Franklin. I do so want to
meet you and your husband.

Your Hopeful Hostess,"
(embossed and gold plated)
N. Ouspenskaya, Baroness"

"Can't say I like the billing much." said Andrew. "'You must not
refuse, Mrs. Franklin.' Don't I get any say?"

"She seems to have as much respect for her husband as she does for
you. 'The Baron would also like to make your acquaintance.' Men seem to be
an afterthought to The Baroness." Angela replied. "Still, it's an intriguing
invitation."

"Crowned heads of Europe!" Andrew said, melodramatically.

"Urgent pleas!" Angela countered, getting into the spirit.

"Our comfort and enjoyment insured!" he said, snuggling against her
bosom.

"Tea... and tiny sandwiches!" Angela said, and they both laughed.
"Is the servant waiting still?"

"I think he left."

Angela when to the door and searched the long corridor, Andrew peeking
out from underneath her robe to see what he could see as well. She looked
left and he looked right, then vice versa; their timing was as sharp as a
vaudeville mirror routine. "I guess I should she if The Baroness is listed
among the guests."

Angela went into the room and picked up the phone and pressed '0'.
There was no dial tone, so she tapped the hang up button. Still nothing.

"Mrs. Franklin." came the voice on the phone. Angela gasped.

"Hello, operator, I'd like..."

"This is not the operator, Mrs. Franklin. This is the Baroness'
residence. Have you decided to attend today, Mrs. Franklin?"

Angela paused. How did they know she would be calling? "Yes. We'd
love to attend."

"Very good, Mrs. Franklin; I will inform the Baroness. And Mrs.
Franklin... the invitation is for four o'clock, not 4:15."

Angela looked at the card, a little puzzled. "Yes, that's what the
invitation said. 4:00."

"Yes, well, Mrs. Franklin, the Baroness prefers that her guests not
be... how do you put it... fashionably late."

Angela found this more than a little rude. "Yes, well, 4:00, then.
Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Mrs. Franklin."

"They were on the line before I dialed." she said to Andrew.

"I've had coincidences like that. Pick up the phone and you just get
to it before it rings; once it was even the person I was going to call."
Andrew answered.

"Yeah, that must be it. All that silly melodrama we were doing got me
a little edgy."

Andrew closed the lapels of her gown and muffled his tiny voice. "Get
out of the house now! The phone calls are being made from inside your
bathrobe!"

Angela plucked Andrew from between her breasts and held him in front
of her face, not close enough to kiss him, but close enough that he could see
that she was not amused. He smiled and tried to be cute, but she wasn't
buying right then. She did not have a cross look, just a regal "We are not
amused" look.

"Sorry." said Andrew, in a tiny and sheepish tone.

"So what should we do with the day until we have to get ready for tea?
We could go down to the pool and get some sun (Angela brought Andrew to her
lips) or we could stay in the room and have some fun." She untied the sash of
his sailor's pants with her teeth.

"Are we going to invite Brittany?" Andrew asked innocently.

Angela pulled him out to viewing distance. "Excuse me?" she said.

"Well, we had fun yesterday; I thought you might want to do the same
today."

"You ungrateful little slut." said Angela, in a very quietly modulated
tone, so quiet that Andrew couldn't tell if she was really angry or not. "Is
your tiny ego so big that you need two giantesses to satisfy you? Did we
praise you so highly that you think you could actually satisfy both of us
whenever you want to? Am I going to find you partying with huge whores behind
my back?"

Andrew had no doubt now. She was angry and getting angrier. "Now,
Angela, it was just a suggestion. I don't think there's any call to accuse me
of things I haven't done and have no intention of doing."

"Of course, you're right. It was just a suggestion. I have a
suggestion, too. I suggest I punish you now. What do you think of that?"
She walked over to the bed and placed him down on the mattress. "I'll take
your silence as consent. We're going to play a game of cat and mouse. Guess
which one you will be." Angela let her robe fall to the floor; she towered
over him, wearing nothing but a pair of white satin panties caressing the
beautiful curves of her gigantic powerful hips. She was as gorgeous as ever,
but something in her voice put Andrew's nerves on edge; she said it was a game
and she said it was punishment. He knew in his heart which it would be.

She got down on her hands and knees on the bed. "Try to get away,
mouse-man." she taunted, but Andrew was frozen to the spot were he stood. She
reached out to him slowly, and when her hand was near to him she flicked her
wrist, causing his little body to fly a foot and a half, crashing
unceremoniously onto the soft blankets of the bed. For Andrew, it was like
being hit by a phalanx of tacklers on a punt return or the impact of an auto
accident. His heart raced faster as his giant wife giggled at his fear. He
curled up in the fetal position.

Angela poked and prodded at her husband, playing with his tiny body in
a rough and masterful way. "No fair playing dead, mouse-man. You're supposed
to be a mouse-man, not an opposum-man." she mocked. Andrew got up and tried
to run away, but another stretch of Angela's long arm and another flick of her
wrist sent him crashing to his knees. She laughed as he fell. "You're not
much of a mouse, and you're not much of a man, darling. What good are you?"

Andrew got up and thought for a second about escape, thinking about
the last time he had to escape, his fleeing from the crab down at the beach.
He had to remember to use his long strides, his quick jumps, to use his new
agility. He had to think like a mouse-man, not a man. Angela let him get up.
He tied the rope belt of his pants with determination and began bouncing
slightly in place.

She reached out again for him slowly and he let her, just bouncing in
place. She struck and he leapt to safety. Her big movements were incredibly
slow to his way of thinking, every move telegraphed six ways from Sunday.
Angela smiled a predatory grin, this time snatching at him faster. Andrew
ducked and rolled away from her clumsy attempt. Angela stalked him with a
cat-like fluidity in her body, approaching slowly and seductively, thinking
that filling his tiny mind with thoughts of sex might make him easier to grab.
Andrew was aroused by her giant slinkiness, but she would have to do much
better than that to catch the mouse-man now. This was a game, he understood
that now, and this was a game at which he could excel.

She dove at him, pouncing with her entire body from her knees up. To
Andrew it looked like a building falling on top of him, only in slow motion.
He leaped easily to safety, laughing at her futility. Angela was beginning to
get frustrated. She was putting her all into her attacks, forgetting that if
she connected she might actually do some serious bodily damage to her tiny
husband. She lunged at him again from her position on her stomach and he
cackled at her futile attempt. She reared back up to her hands and knees,
towering over him, but she couldn't lay a glove on him, he was so quick and
agile. Cockiness was getting the better of him, and he decided to dodge her
swipe at him and run right under her body; when she realized he was coming
straight at her, she swiped at him again, and tried to close her thighs on
his little body when he had the nerve to run between her legs; had her thighs
closed on him, he might have been a goner, but her legs were even slower than
her hands, her movements easy to read. As he slipped between her closing legs
and landed on her calves, Andrew reached up and slapped her beautiful ass with
all his might; to Angela, this felt like being hit with a rubber band from a
few feet away, not real pain but surprising. She let out a yelp and he began
a little sing-song taunt.

"I'm the mouse-man, I'm still free-ee,
Big ol' cat-girl, can't catch me-ee."

Angela wheeled around on her hands and knees, a cross look on her
face. "Did you call me 'fat girl'?" she asked angrily.

"No, 'cat-girl'." Andrew said, feeling as cocky as Tom Thumb.

"Oh... well... that's different..." said Angela, then waited three
beats.

"Never mind." they said in unison squeaky voices, sounding like Gilda
Radner's character Emily Litella. Angela pounced while Andrew was still
laughing; way too slow, and her impatience was starting to make him laugh
uncontrollably, hysterically. She wanted to wipe the impudent smile off his
face; after all, she was the one who chose the game, and it wasn't right that
he should be so good at it. She tried everything she could think of; running
him to exhaustion, using her body to reduce the area he could move in (like a
boxer cutting the ring in half), grabbing with her left instead of her right
(even slower and clumsier, Andrew thought, still cackling like a madman),
aiming higher to cut off his jumping escapes (Andrew just did a forward tumble
and ran low, no problem!) ROARING to frighten him (he stuck his thumbs in his
ears, waved his fingers and blew a raspberry at her, the cheeky little thing).
This must have gone on for five minutes, but in the end it was Angela who was
exhausted. She began to laugh hysterically as well, laughing at her own
futility, laughing at how seriously she had taken the silly game, laughing at
nothing and everything.

Andrew, winded but still ready to play, looked from a safe distance at
his massive wife, sprawled seductively across the bed, giggling uncontrollably
at how hopeless she had been as a mouser. Her long legs bent sensually at the
knees, their lovely line rising to the round hill of her hips, falling back
down to her slender waist then rising again to her ribcage, her gorgeous
breasts shaking ever so slightly as she laughed, waiting for him. A little
light peeked through between her long lovely neck and the bed on which she
languorously lay, and her beautiful laughing face beckoned, her twinkling eyes
shining. She began to make a 'come here' motion with the index finger of the
huge hand closest to him, as if she needed to. She was irresistibly
beautiful; any man, whether he was a mouse or a giant, would have gladly come
when she called. The Colossus of Rhodes would have crumbled into the sea just
to be closer to her. No man, whether made of flesh or stone, was strong
enough to stay away. Laughing, triumphant, happy, Andrew walked towards his
beautiful wife to claim the victor's prize.

"Gotcha!" Angela exclaimed, and grabbed his tiny body roughly, still
laughing, though suddenly not as uncontrollably as before. Her laugh now had
a devilish chuckle to it, and she lifted herself up on one arm, and brought
her tiny prize up to her face, laughing in triumph at her foolish and feeble
foe. "Did you think the game was over, mouse-man? Did you fall for the
oldest trick in the book? No wonder cats always catch their mice. Mice are
dumb."

Andrew, who had come to think of himself more like a jerboa or
kangaroo rat as the game progressed, felt the compunction to stand up for a
species to which he did not even belong. "Mice aren't so dumb. Cats don't
catch all the mice."

Angela stripped her little catch naked and brought her mouth kissing
close, tasting close, eating close to her puny prey. "Repeat after me,
mouse-man. Mice... (a kiss) are... (a lick)... dummmmmmmmmmmm..."

She hummed the last 'm' sound, his puny erect cock between her
vibrating lips. He screamed in ecstasy, and she laughed throatily, the bass
beat of her chuckles pounding tiny Andrew into orgasm, shaking every cell of
his little body against her warm soft hand, spraying his seed into her huge
firm lips.

"Mice... are... dumb." he panted.

She laughed at him again. "You were doing so well, but you surrender
so easily."

"I'd do anything, if you'll just tell me how dumb I am again." said
Andrew, his fingers caressing his tiny cock as it began to stir quickly back
into action.

"Careful what you say, mouse-man. Would you give up all your tiny
rodent rights for just one kiss?" He nodded, his body panting and waiting.
"What a silly little slut you are. First you must apologize for calling me
'cat-girl'."

"But, I thought it was..." Andrew caught himself. "I apologize. You
are obviously not a cat-girl but a cat-wom..." Angela shook her head and he
caught himself again. "A cat-goddess."

"Very good, little mouse-man. I will make you my little mouse-priest.
I command you to find me more little worshippers, more little mouse-men for me
to play with. Will you do this, mouse-man?" Andrew nodded yes, waiting for
still more humiliation. But instead, Angela's mouth descended on him again.
"Mice... are... dummmmmmmmmmmmm..." His little helpless slutty body shook in
orgasm, the warm encompassing feeling making his subservience feel like
triumph.

Angela lowered her hand away from her face so that she could better
see her puny captive. "I have one question for you, mouse-man. Answer
correctly and I will let you be a little man again, and free you from your
mousy servitude. Do you want Brittany to join us?" Angela asked. Andrew
shook his head no, lazily lounging in her hand. Angela kissed him gently.
"I declare the punishment over." she said.

"Some punishment. Maybe I am a masochist, like Brittany says." he
said.

"Is it really so much more fun when I make you suffer a little?"
rubbing him softly against her cheek.

"I can't think right now; you're too close for me to think."

"Well," she purred, "I don't think you're a masochist, but I will make
a note of the possibility for later."

"I know I'm supposed to be a man now and freed from slavery, but I'd
like to make myself useful if I could."

She smiled widely and giggled. "Aren't you the sweetest thing?" she
cooed, and lowered his body down, pulling down her silk panties with her
other hand.

*********************

Andrew and Angela dawdled the day away, playing sex games, taking in
a little nude sunbathing at pool side, having a leisurely lunch; it was nice to
get out of the room and see the rest of the resort for a change. At 3:00 they
went back to the room and Angela prepared for their tea with The Baroness.
Andrew, with time on his hands, decided to watch the video, which he hadn't
watched all the way through. Angela had seen it yesterday, watching it with
Brittany after Andrew had been put down for his nap.

Andrew made himself comfortable on the bed and with the huge remote
control at his side started the tape. There he was walking across the carpet
and then she came into view, in her black pumps and stockings and garter belt.
"Jesus!" he said to himself. He knew she was big, or he was small, but this
drove the point home like a sledge hammer. He had seen his wife and himself
together in the mirror, but there is an immediate self-recognition when
looking in a mirror. On the tape, he could only think, 'That can't be me.
Or it can't be her. Jesus, it is. No wonder she thinks I'm a mouse. I'm
much too small to be a rat.' The music, with its pounding rhythms and
majestic melody, amplified her power and beauty. Her laugh was like thunder;
he thought he saw himself shrinking on the screen when she laughed. Hell, he
felt like he was shrinking in real life.

Then he began to climb her, over and over again, different angles of
him covering the same expanse of her tremendous skyscraper body in different
ways each time, first clothed, then she strips him naked - his clothes falling
to the ground from different angles in slow motion, then making the climb nude
from several angles, using her belly button, her nipple, the dimples of her
lower back, even her asshole as hand holds. He saw himself extricating his
tiny frame from her smooth beautiful Brobdignagian butt cheeks, and he stared
hard at the picture. "Jesus, I'm coming!" he exclaimed, and no sooner had he
said it than did his body start to climax just watching his antics on the
screen. He hit the pause button, taking time to clean himself off. This was
stunning; he could scarcely believe it. They had shot and edited the video
less than three days ago, but so much had happened since that the events felt
like a surprise. He had been there, he had helped edit, but now he was just
an observer of this for the first time, and it was a very rude awakening
indeed.

He stopped climbing and his wife took him to bed, not to make love but
to play. She dropped him on the bed and began batting him about with her
breasts, smothering his little body underneath her soft firm tits. He felt
uncomfortable watching this; he vaguely remembered her saying that this was a
game, like a kitten playing with a ball of string is a game. He certainly
wasn't the mouse-man here. He was completely helpless, rolling into the fetal
position for comfort. She prodded at him with a nipple and he began to open
up. "Don't do it. It's a trick!" he yelled at his video twin, but of course
it was no use. He winced as he watched himself being flicked about with a
flip of her tit. She used the exact same trick on him today, when she finally
caught the mouse-man. He chided himself for being so thick.

As suddenly as his torture had begun on video, it ended. A new musical
theme began, and he was in her hand, and she was presiding at her own new
wedding vows.

"I promise to love you, protect you and honor you forever." Angela
said on the tape. "Do you promise to love me, honor me and obey me in all
things forever?"

"I do."

"By the power vested in my by the Creator of the Universe, I declare
you to be my priest, my consort and my husband." There was a little pause,
and Andrew waited, wild with anticipation for her next line. "The bride is
going to kiss you now."

Andrew savored that kiss in his mind and jerked off contentedly. God,
but that was a great orgasm!

No sooner had they finished the vows then Angela put Andrew to the
task of consummating their new marriage. First, he found himself sliding in
between her gorgeous ass cheeks. He prodded his tiny feet inside her asshole,
and after a few moments she rose up from resting on her stomach so that she
could finger herself; her comments were low in the sound mix, but he could
still vaguely hear her saying things like "Don't make me give you an order"
and "I feel like the biggest slut on earth". It was still hard to believe
she had said those things; it was hard to believe when he heard her the first
time!

Then he saw himself sliding headfirst into her vagina; he hadn't done
that much, and it surprised him to see himself voluntarily doing it, right
there on the tape. He saw his little feet wriggling, then stop, then saw his
unconscious body being gently pulled out of her. This was very disconcerting,
and he found himself wondering how this story would end, even though he had
been there for both the filming and the editing.

Suddenly the music changed, and he was back in the picture, fit as a
fiddle and performing tasks for her; climbing her leg extended into the air,
making love to the soles of her feet, to the palm of her hand, watching her
lips caress him; it was fun to watch the two of them pleasing one another in
all the different and clever ways, and he felt completely the spectator, only
able to recognize himself with difficulty, though he certainly could recognize
his gigantic wife and goddess. Then came another music change, and he saw
himself lowered inside her feet first, then twisting himself out and grabbing
her giant finger to use for leverage as he pushed himself in and out of her,
and soon her massive body bucked up and down; even just watching it on video
felt like an earthquake to tiny Andrew. Watching was a very strange
experience, both scary and satisfying, and constantly surprising; he had
stopped even asking himself 'Did I really do that? Did Angela?', since he
could see the record for himself. Here it is, recorded forever. The camera
doesn't lie.

The tape finished and he turned it off and rewound it. On the TV
screen came some kind of home shopping network, or more accurately a hotel
shopping network, since the number on the screen that the viewer was invited
to call had only four digits; the stuff actually looked nice, but he wasn't
that surprised; this was a very classy resort.

Angela came out of the bathroom fully dressed, wearing a very stylish
but somewhat conservative beige outfit, which was completely in line with the
idea of dressing for tea. Her blouse had one button undone, but only her
neckline was revealed, not any cleavage. The only slightly sexy touch was the
small slit at the side of her just above the knee length skirt, which showed
peekaboo glimpses of her lovely legs just up to the mid thigh. Her heels were
about two inches tall, and the shoes were pretty but not dramatic. It wasn't
after six, you know.

"What did you think of the tape?" she asked.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Hard to believe that was us. I
was just thinking that I have only seen maybe four x-rated videos in my entire
life, and in the fourth one I was the star!" he blushed, then thought for a
moment. "Or the featured player, at least."

Angela smiled at him. "It's funny you should put it that way. This
is the second one I've ever seen, and I was thinking how odd it was that I
would be in a film like this, too."

Andrew was shocked. "When did you see a video like this?"

"Sorority pledge week. This was part of our initiation."

"Did you see the whole thing?"

"I had to. I wouldn't have gotten in if I didn't."

"I didn't know you were in a sorority."

"I wasn't; thought better of it after watching the video. Strange
group of girls."

"So what did you think?"

"Well, I didn't enjoy it as much as Brittany did yesterday, but it
certainly was an eye opener."

"Brittany liked it?"

"She wanted a copy; I said no." Angela picked Andrew up off the bed
and took him to the table where his clothes were laid out, a lightweight
jacket and slacks also in beige and green; they would be a matching pair,
which was only fair.

"Was there anything you particularly liked?" Andrew asked.

"Oh, yes. Marrying you again was the best part."

"Because I agreed to obey you forever."

"No, I wasn't serious about that. It was the best part because being
married to you is the best thing that ever happened to me, and knowing that
you would do it all over again makes me very happy."

"It doesn't take much to make you happy, I guess." Andrew said,
fastening the cufflinks onto his sleeves. It really didn't take him much time
at all to get dressed.

"Don't ever say that." Angela chided, wagging a giant finger at him.
"It takes you to make me happy, and you're a lot."

"I don't feel like a lot when I look up at you."

"You are." she said. "Take my word for it." She took him up in her
hand and stood him up on her palm. "Beautiful; it's like you stepped out of
GQ."

Andrew began to pose like a tiny model, his hands in his pockets,
looking over his shoulder at her, turning around, lowering his gaze to look at
her in a sultry manner. Angela laughed and cooed at her perfect little
manikin, turning so prettily in her hand. "I have you in the palm of my
hand, darling. You are so gorgeous I would kiss you, but I'd cover your
clothes in lipstick." She smiled. "I have an idea." She kissed her index
finger and offered it to Andrew; he hugged her huge finger and kissed it with
all his might.

"In the palm of your hand and wrapped around your finger. Any other
cliches you would like to make me perform, sweetheart?" Andrew asked.

Angela leaned close. "I can think of a few, but we have to go now."
She smiled the pussycat smile as Andrew cuddled her finger. He began to gasp,
and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Better get me some tissues, sweetheart. I'd hate to make a spot on
such nice trousers."

"Did I make you come? I didn't mean to." Angela whispered.

"No, I stopped in time, but it's the first time this week I've even
tried to do that. Better safe than sorry." Angela handed him a Kleenex and
he ripped it in half, folded it and put it down his trousers, and they were
ready to go.

They took the elevator down to the main lobby, the center of attention
as usual, and rode the special reserved elevator up to the penthouse. The
elevator operator was the same man, the four foot tall tuxedoed bodybuilder,
who had brought Andrew the invitation, and he exchanged brief pleasantries
with Andrew and Angela on the ride up. The elevator doors opened on the
penthouse floor, and both Andrew and Angela gasped at the splendor of the
surroundings. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high, and marble and
mirrors were everywhere, making the expansive space look even larger than it
was. The appointments were gold work and ebony. One of the bowls was a copy
of a Bellini sculpture, or at least they assumed it was a copy; it would have
cost a fortune to have the original, but maybe it was. The lavishness of the
space made it a possibility.

A shadow passed over Angela's shoulder, and she heard the clicking of
heels behind her. She turned and gasped, instinctively clutching Andrew to
her breast to protect him. She stared up at the largest human being she had
ever seen in her life; she barely came up to the hem of this giantess' little
black dress, staring up a huge sculpted body, golden skin and ebony dress,
jet black hair and golden earrings, and muscles everywhere. Andrew gaped up
at the new colossus like a rube in the big city pointing at a skyscraper.
The giantess, satisfied with the spectacularity of her entrance, finally
offered a huge hand to Angela.

"Mrs. Franklin, I am the Baroness Madame Natalia Ouspenskaya, but I
know how Americans are about titles. I would be happy if you called me
Natasha." Angela's right hand disappeared inside the powerful grip of the
much larger titaness. "This must be your husband. Give him to me."

Angela removed her hand from the huge muscled paw of The Baroness,
hardly able to speak. She began to shake her head no, smiling meekly and
protecting her husband more resolutely.

"Mrs. Franklin, may I call you Angela?" Angela could only nod.
"Angela, when you took you chaperone training, you were told that there were
people you were supposed to obey, correct? Well, I am the person that all of
those people obey. This is my resort, and here my word is law. Give me your
husband."

Angela gave Andrew a final look as she placed her tiny treasure in the
giant hand that descended down on her. Andrew stood on The Baroness' palm,
and her felt the rush of wind her hand ascended. Up past Angela, up towards
the face of the giant Russian noblewoman. Tolstoy never wrote about this one,
Andrew thought; no woman in the nineteenth century ever looked anything like
this. Even if she were 'normal' sized, this level of muscular development on
a woman was unheard of even twenty years ago. Andrew felt the fleshy palm
beneath his feet, and realized that this might be the softest part of this
colossus' entire body. Her breasts might be as soft, but the way they jutted
out from a body with nearly no fat anywhere else convinced Andrew that they
must be fake. He looked at the arm that held him, the shoulders and the neck
of the huge woman who stared at him as though she could set him on fire with
just a little more concentration. She looked like chiseled rock with blood
vessels bulging out; he had thought of many of the giants he had seen that
week as statues come to life, but this one really looked like living granite.
There was more muscle squeezed into that little black dress than Andrew had
seen on all the women he had ever looked at in person in his life. Looking in
her eyes was an almost painful experience, his tiny helplessness was magnified
to an nearly unbearable level. For perhaps the first time in his life, he
could not really judge the physical beauty of this woman, though there was
nothing about her he found ugly; the first word that came into his mind was
scary, and it was crowding out any other thoughts he might have about her.

"So this is the little professor I've been hearing so much about; I am
always glad to make the acquaintance of someone so... accomplished."

Andrew was silent. The Baroness' voice dripped with derision, and he
could not bring himself to thank her for a compliment that he doubted was
sincere. He managed a nod that was something like a bow, and the Baroness
smiled down at him, so tiny in her palm, more like an insect than a rodent.

"I wanted your wife to bring you here so that you might enjoy my
hospitality today. I think you will find my home remarkable in many ways."
The Baroness lowered her hand and let Angela have her husband back. When the
giant hostess turned her back on the two of them to lead them into the rest of
the apartment, Andrew fell to his knees and kissed her huge but comfortable
palm, glad to be back in her loving embrace. They followed The Baroness
through several spectacular rooms, filled with some masterpieces that they
could only assume must be originals, though the Baroness said nothing about
them. But if they were impressed, it wasn't until they walked out on the
veranda that they were truly astounded.

"Oh, my God." Angela gasped, as she stared down at what appeared to be
a perfect replica of the pool area on the ground floor, but this one to tiny
scale (1/8? 1/12? She couldn't be sure.), with tiny guests enjoying
themselves sunning, swimming, playing volleyball in the shallow end that
formed an L off from the lap swimming area.

"Sometimes, my little guests like to take a vacation from their
vacation." The Baroness smirked. "A little time in a 'back to normal' setting
can be very inviting. There are swimsuits in the cabana, professor, if you'd
like to join the little people down at the pool."

Andrew looked up at Angela and was glad to see her smiling, something
neither of them had done much of since seeing the imposing Russian bodybuilder
giantess. Maybe they had misjudged her; maybe she liked coming on gruff at
first, to make the pleasant surprises more enjoyable.

"Looks like fun." said Angela to Andrew, and nodded enthusiastically.
"Now you behave down there, and make sure to put on sunblock."

"Yes, mommy." Andrew said sarcastically.

Angela brought him to her lips and whispered low. "I'm not your mommy
and you know it, darling. Don't misbehave or I might have to punish you
later." Andrew thought about his 'punishment' earlier that day, and was glad
that he had some tissues in his pants when the jism started spurting out of
throbbing cock. She smiled, knowing that she had made her point. Angela put
Andrew down near the cabana smiled and waved at the tiny guests who were
waving at her. It felt strange, like being in some weird commercial extolling
the virtues of a particularly powerful credit card, which had turned her into
a beloved gigantic celebrity, waving at strangers magnanimously. She turned
away from them and followed the Baroness back into the apartment.

Angela saw a room she assumed was the sitting room, and was a little
surprised when they did not stop. "Are we having tea?" she asked.

"Ah, yes, the invitation said tea, didn't it?" the Baroness said,
not bothering to look back. "I thought we'd wait until your husband rejoined
us." Angela followed the muscular giantess through a bewildering maze of
corridors, and into an all-white room. White towels on white shelves, thick
white robes on white hangers, a white table in the middle of the room with
white step ladders leading up to it, a white couch on the left wall for
relaxing after, two little male bodybuilders, in white t-shirts and pants and
tennis shoes, standing at military at-ease. "Since I have made it possible
for your husband to relax, I thought I might be able to do the same for you.
These men are usually my attendants, but I give them to you for the day."

"You give them to me? For what?"

"For anything you desire; they are trained to follow orders to the
letter." The little bodybuilders looked at Angela and smiled, staying in
their crisp at-ease positions. They looked very inviting, and Angela raised
her eyebrows with a playful seductiveness. "I will be back in a while, after
I look in on your husband to make sure he is enjoying himself; if they still
amuse you, well, they can join us for tea." The golden colossus in her slinky
black dress left the room, and to Angela's view the room seemed to be entirely
made of shapes in shades of white. It felt like a dream, even the two mini-
Adonises, who were gifts for her pleasure; Angela was a happily married woman,
but her subconscious sometimes concocted pleasure tours in her sleep that had
an eerie resemblance to the room in which she was standing now. She smiled at
her two attendants, each one barely four feet tall, but powerfully built.
Which one was more handsome? she wondered, but couldn't decide. She put her
fingers to her mouth, and rested the elbow of that arm in her hand, lost in
delicious thoughts. What should she do with these tiny things?

*****

Andrew was in the cabana, taking off his nice clothes and hanging them
carefully on the wooden hangars provided. There were a selection of swimsuits
laid out, from tight little spandex thongs to gaudy baggy dayglo shorts that
came almost down to the knee. Pulling out the wet Kleenex from his trousers
and seeing his once again erect penis pointing up at him, he decided to wear
the neon knee knockers. If he put on the Speedos, everyone would be able to
make out every detail of his erection from ten yards away. A man has to have
some mystery, he thought. He also picked up some sunblock and a visor, so
that he wouldn't have to put lotion on his forehead. He hated it when the
lotion would mix with the sweat from his forehead and get into his eyes; God,
how that stings, he thought.

He stepped out of the cabana and into the pool area; the attention to
detail was astounding, he thought. The diving boards, the chrome ladders,
the same style of chairs and parasols and everything. Up close, the 'little'
people were not all as uniform as they had looked from his high perch in
Angela's hand. Some were shrunk to 1/12 size, some to 1/8 like himself, and
other to 1/6. In actual measurements, the people at the pool ranged from just
under six inches tall to just over one foot; to nine inch tall Andrew, they
appeared to be between four feet tall and eight feet tall, strange sizes but
not completely out of the realm of possibility. After all, there was a
professor of physics who was just over four feet tall at the university, and
a couple of seasons ago the school had a basketball center who was 7'2"; this
seemed possible, even normal, compared to the impossibility of having a forty
six foot tall wife and a hostess who was somewhere in the range of one hundred
feet tall.

Andrew chose a chair and began to apply sunblock. He felt a shadow
pass over him and heard a voice.

"Need someone to do your back?" a woman asked, and he looked up from
his chair to see a young woman smiling down at him. She had on a white bikini
which showed off her deep dark brown skin color, and her very dramatically
curvy body. She was African-American, her hair in braids, a bright white
smile shining out from her wide black face.

"Yeah, that would be great." Andrew said, and handed her the lotion.
He felt a squirt drip down his back, and felt her big warm hands caress the
muscles of his shoulders and neck, then slide slowly down to the small of his
back, spreading the lotion evenly over him, massaging it deeply into his skin.

"My name's Candy." she said, whispering in his ear in a very familiar
way.

"Andrew. Pleased to meet you." He offered his hand, slippery with
lotion and she shook it. Her hand was much bigger than his, and he realized
that though they hadn't stood toe to toe yet, she must be one of 1/6 ratio
people, standing about eight feet tall or so, by his way of reckoning. "Do
you need me to do your back?"

"Already taken care of. Can I get you a drink?" she asked, still
whispering though she didn't need to.

"Oh, yeah, that would be great. But, I get the next one, okay?"

"Sure, Andrew; whatever you say. What would you like?"

"A screwdriver would be nice."

"Rum or vodka?"

"We're in the tropics; make it rum." Andrew grinned at her.

"Good thinking. Coming right up." Candy stood up and walked over to
the bar. Andrew got comfortable in his lounge chair, and watched his new
friend ordering the drinks at the bar. She was very pretty, and very
friendly. This was great, he thought.

Candy walked back towards him, smiling broadly at him, her hips and
shoulders swaying magnificently with every step, her black skin shining in the
sun from the lotion on it. She leaned forward and handed Andrew his drink, a
very tall cool tumbler full of ice and orange juice and rum, with one blood
red straw to stir it with. He thanked her, and took full measure of her very
healthy chest.

"How much do I owe you?"

"It's taken care of." she smiled.

"Well, how about your tip?"

"Aren't you sweet. You want to give me a tip? Kiss me." Andrew
stretched his neck towards her, and her full lips descended upon his mouth.
She tasted great, but it felt a little funny kissing a stranger just because
she asked, and he wanted to. He began to lean away, and she followed him,
pushing his head back into the chaise lounge forcefully, sticking her tongue
in his mouth for emphasis. Andrew reached out to her trying to keep his
balance, and grabbed her left arm and right breast. He had his eyes closed,
but he grunted and opened them when he realized where his hand was. He was
shocked when her big right hand covered his little hand, pinning it to her big
black tit. It was only a couple of seconds that they remained in that
position until Candy broke off the kiss, took his hand off her breast and onto
the drink she had brought him, making him take the glass to his mouth and take
a long sip of the screwdriver. Andrew hummed at the sensation of the drink
filling his mouth, the pleasant feeling of alcohol fumes registering in his
nose through his mouth, letting the sweet nectar slide down his throat. Candy
took the drink away from him and put it back on the table beside him.

"Is everything the way you like it?" She asked leaning over him.
Everything on her was certainly the way he liked it, but she was asking about
the drink.

"It's certainly mixed strong enough, and it's very tall, but I think I
can handle it."

"It's dark rum; I didn't know which you liked, so I took the liberty."

"Delicious; thank you again."

"My pleasure." she said, and stood up and away from him, smoothed the
towel on her chair, giving him time to look at the lines of her sleek ebony
legs and round muscular ass encased in white bikini panties. He really didn't
need the drink; he could get dizzy just looking at Candy.

"Are you a waitress?" Andrew asked.

"Yes, I am. What gave me away?"

"Rum or vodka; you didn't miss a beat asking. It struck me that you
must have done this before."

"Excellent deductive reasoning, professor."

Andrew raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of the screwdriver, this
time from the top of the glass instead of the straw, which stood in a sea of
rum nearly untouched by orange juice, which floated at the top with the ice.
"You know who I am?"

"We were told to expect a new 'leettle wisitor' as the Baroness calls
us." Candy said. Andrew chuckled at her making fun of the giantess' accent,
and Candy beamed.

"So how long have you worked here?"

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" she marveled.

"It's hard to afford this kind of vacation on a waitress' salary,
unless you won the lottery recently, and the way you spoke about the Baroness
sounded like a disgruntled employee making fun of a boss you're not that fond
of."

Candy finished a sip of her drink, a tall blue concoction with a tiny
umbrella, and whistled appreciatively. "You're a regular Sherlock Holmes,
ain'tcha? I wouldn't say I'm disgruntled, exactly. I mean, I'm not pricing
Uzis."

Andrew laughed. "So you're still somewhat gruntled."

Candy laughed back. "Is gruntled a word?"

"Yeah. No one uses it, but disgruntled is the opposite of gruntled."

"Learn something new every day, if you're not careful. My dad used to
say that."

"I like that. I may use that."

Andrew sipped on his screwdriver, and felt the enjoyment of being with
Candy, so attractive and friendly, so different from Angela, so different from
Brittany or Nina, the woman at the lagoon, or even Margaret, the redheaded
photographer for that matter; another example of the million different ways
women can be delightful and enticing. Andrew thought about the men he knew
who had made seduction their hobby, hopping from one woman to another like
bees hop from flower to flower. He could certainly see the attraction of the
game. But then he thought about their lives, their ruined marriages, the
marriages still together but nursing resentment, like a bruise on the spot
where their bodies should meet, a chasm of suspicion where there should be
understanding. He thought about the kiss he stole from Candy, though she had
given it willingly, had asked him directly. He didn't want to keep secrets
from Angela, he didn't want to risk losing her. Let's just be friendly, he
advised himself inside his head, and took another refreshing sip from his tall
tumbler of rum and orange juice. Candy was right; dark rum was a nice flavor.

He looked around the poolside, checking out the other 'guests',
wondering how many were employees like Candy. What did they call them in Las
Vegas? Shills? They couldn't all be, or could they? Anyway, what did it
matter? A lot of good looking people, all of them almost normal looking from
his nine-inch tall perspective. One couple stood out of the crowd, so
obviously mismatched that anyone would notice them. They were the same size,
about four feet tall, but they had nothing else in common. She was a blond
all in white, dazzlingly pretty, astounding figure; if he were looking at her
on a TV, he would immediately guess "Baywatch" or "beer commercial". The man
was much older, fat, dressed in a shiny black robe, what little hair he had
slicked back on his head like a shiny helmet, a tiny moustache that really
doesn't look good on anybody, smoking a cigar that Andrew imagined he could
smell from all the way over on the other side of the pool.

****

"So what are your names?" Angela asked the two little muscular men
walking toward them, her hands behind her back.

"What would you like to call us, Miss?" one of them replied.

"I'm not Miss. Call me Angela."

"What would you like to call us, Angela?" the other one asked.

"I'll call you by your names. What are they?" Angela asked, a little
put off by the style of their subservience.

"I'm Andrew." said the one on the left. Angela winced.

"I'm Simon." said the one on the right. Angela made another face.

"Bad luck, really; those are the names of my husband and my father.
I'd rather not think about them right now." Angela said, standing so close
to the buff little attendants that they had to crane their necks to look up
into her eyes. The men nodded their agreement.

"Give us the names you want; we really don't mind. The Baroness gives
us different names all the time." said Simon.

Angela knelt down, so that she could be closer to eye level to her
little attendants. "Simon, I will call you Peter. And Andrew, I will call
you Paul. Nice Biblical names; easy to remember."

"Peter and Paul; yes, ma'am, very good." said Paul.

Angela waved a finger at him. "Not miss, not ma'am. Angela, please."

"Yes, Angela. My mistake."

"Paul, would you be so kind as to give me a neck rub? And Peter, come
closer; I want to give you a massage."

"Yes, Angela."

"Right away, Angela." Paul's small but soothing hands kneaded her
neck muscles, and moved slowly over her shoulders, his thumbs pressing against
the solid mass of her deltoids. "You have very impressive development here;
do you lift weights, Angela?"

She hummed at his touch. "No, I swim."

"Very impressive." he whispered again.

"Come here, Peter; I haven't forgotten about you." Peter approached
her and she began running her hands over his musculature, which even when
shrunken to two thirds its normal size was still full of bulges and a hardness
she had never encountered. Peter, who seemed to be used to this kind of
attention, started posing so that she could experience more of his muscles,
and she cooed and laughed appreciatively at his remarkable physique.

"I take it your husband isn't in shape." said Peter, proud and more
than a little cocky.

Angela leveled a cool stare at her little attendant. "My husband
isn't in your shape, but he is in shape."

"You like this better though, don't you, Angela?"

"Don't push your luck, Peter. I have a husband, and I'm not looking
to trade him in."

"Still, you're checking out the features on a deluxe model."

"Let's not spoil the fun, shall we?"

"As you wish, Angela." Peter said, and turned around so she could
inspect his powerful back. She was still a little annoyed at him; he still
held the idea that she was looking for something better than her husband, and
was convinced that he was it. No point in telling him that a fleet of men
like him couldn't match up to Andrew. No explaining love to someone so
arrogant. Still, she had to admit there was a lot of muscle writhing around
under her fingertips, and she found it very exciting. Paul's wonderful neck
massage was loosening her up as well, and she knew what she wanted next.

"I'd like a full body massage from both of you, but I wouldn't be
comfortable being naked. What do you suggest, Paul?"

"You could either wear a towel, or one of the robes, Angela." Paul
whispered in his ear. "There's a changing room through that door."

I think the robe sounds nice." said Angela, standing back up to her
full height, grabbing one of the thick terrycloth dressing gowns and going
into the changing room.

She came back in, now dressed in white, completely matching the decor
of the room, luxuriating in the softness of the gown. "Paul, you may continue
with my back. Peter, I would like you to rub my feet."

"Yes, Angela." the attendants replied in unison, and she laid down on
her stomach, Paul straddling her big back, rubbing gently through the thick
cotton gown, Peter covering his tiny hands in oil and massaging her feet with
a touch every bit as expert as Paul's. Angela closed her eyes and drifted off
in the sensation of luxury. She thought about the money that she and Andrew
had, how unwilling he was to spend it, since he never could forget that it
came from her inheritance from her mother. What could a few luxuries hurt,
she wondered? Luxuries are so nice when they're done right.

"Time to turn over, Angela." Paul whispered in her ear. Angela made
a little grunt and complied. Paul straddled her stomach and began to rub
her the front of her shoulders and arms, while Peter rubbed more oil into her
calves and lower thighs. Paul's little hands moved gently inside her robe,
and she cooed to feel his warmth against her completely relaxed shoulders. He
was such a nice fellow, she didn't even think it necessary to tell him that he
shouldn't think that this was an invitation to touch her breasts, so she said
nothing, not realizing what incredible temptation could do to the nicest man.
Down his hands went over her breasts and onto her ribcage, then back up again
his fingers getting intentionally hung up on her now erect nipples. She
grabbed his arms in her more powerful hands (being half again his size, he was
no more than a very strong second grader to her) and gently removed them and
placed them back outside her robe and on her shoulders. Paul leaned down and
apologized. Angela closed her eyes and smiled a little to accept his apology.
It was a few moments later that she felt his lips pressing softly against her
eyelids. He was persistent, she had to give him that. Her only real problem
was that he was also very good and her resistance was melting at an alarming
rate.

She opened her eyes and stared at the little Adonis who straddled her.
He blushed charmingly, and stammered something about 'just making an apology,
just making sure there were no hard feelings.' She stared at him; were all
little men so transparent? Maybe an object lesson was in order.

She lifted Paul off her and sat up. "I have an idea; let's play a
game. let's wrestle. If I pin both of you, I choose the next game, too. If
you pin me, you get to choose." The little bodybuilders agreed quickly.

The massage table was moved and Angela went down to her knees on the
mats on the floor. Peter and Paul charged her, and she dodged to her left,
tripping Peter with her right knee as she pushed him with the back of her
right arm, while she grabbed Paul behind her back with her left and executed a
devastating shoulder throw, slamming the tiny man to the floor. He absorbed
the shock by slapping his arms against the mat.

"So, you took Judo, too. How nice." said Angela to the little man
now splayed out in front of her. Let's see who was the better student, she
thought to herself.

The contest began and the outmatched musclemen did everything in their
power not to be humiliated by the slender supple woman who was taller than
they were even when she was on her knees. One at a time they were helpless and
even together they made little headway, and ran the risk of both being pinned
and the match being over. Angela wanted to play with them, but she had been
too masterful with her first move, tipping her powerful hand and putting the
fear of God (or should I say Goddess) into them from the very start. She got
Paul in a lockgrip, her arm under his chin, not hard enough to strangle him
but definitely strong enough to remind him that a stranglehold was just a
matter of pressure. Peter, who was all brawn and no technique, saw an opening
and pinned Angela's free arm behind her back and began twisting it upward with
all his might.

"Ow! Peter, stop! That hurts." Angela cried out.

"Isn't that just like a chick." Peter sneered, twisting her arm even
harder. "Things get a little rough, and the bitch is begging for mercy. How
do you like it when it's for real, bitch?"

Angela flushed with anger, her eyes tightening into cruel slits.
Paul, who could see her but not speak, gasped in fear. She tossed him aside
like a rag doll and focused her mounting rage on her real attacker. "Little
Simon Peter. Always running his mouth." Angela said through tight lips. She
stood up, lifting her little attacker bodily off the ground, now easily
extricating herself from his hold, since he had no place to stand and no
leverage. Untwisting her arms from behind her, the mean little weightlifter
still clinging to her forearm, Angela pulled her free arm over the arm that
held him, focused all her ch'i on his face and struck. Her elbow drove
through him like he wasn't there; she could hardly feel the blow, but poor
Simon Peter flew backward like he had taken the brunt of an explosion. He
landed splat on the ground, his nose broken, blood flowing out of it. Angela
grabbed him by the throat and squeezed; he couldn't breathe.

"We were playing! It was for fun! If we play for real... YOU LOSE,
SHITHEAD!" Angela screamed, the anger surging out her in an uncontrolled
torrent.

Paul came over and grabbed Angela's wrist and began to beg. "Please,
Angela, let him up. You'll kill him. Please, stop, I'm begging you." Angela
finally released her grip.

"Get out of here. Both of you, you're a matched set. You lose.
Leave." she said.

"Let me stay." Paul begged, as Peter beat a hasty retreat.

"No. Go see to your friend."

"Please, I'm begging you. I had nothing to do with what he did. But
I have to talk to you."

"What do you want to say?"

He ran into her arms. "Hold me close. This is important. Do you
believe me? This could be life and death." he whispered.

"What are you saying?"

"Pick me up in your hands." Angela put her hands under his arms and
held him out. He pantomimed for her to smile, and she did. He asked her to
turn a little and lift him, higher, in a whisper that was almost impossible to
hear.

"Over my shoulder. Look without moving your head."

Angela saw a tiny round spot in the vertex where the walls met the
ceiling. She had seen similar cameras installed in her father's office. Very
expensive, very hard to detect, incredible levels of detail. Angela brought
Paul back to her body and hugged him, so that she could whisper and hear his
voice as well.

"Microphones?" she whispered.

"Must be. We don't know where."

"Cameras in that changing room?" Angela asked and Paul nodded yes.
"In the guests' rooms?" she asked, starting to feel a little panic. He
shrugged; he didn't know.

"You got upset when he used the word bitch." Paul said. Angela
nodded. "When he was talking about thing getting rough before, he was talking
about her." Angela knew 'her' must mean The Baroness. "I think you broke his
nose, but that's nothing; she'll put him in the hospital for being rude to a
guest."

"I have to go." said Angela. "She's with my husband."

"He's a guest; she won't hurt him."

"I can't take the chance." Angela said and raced out of the white
room, which now had a few drops of red on the carpet, just enough to give the
place a little color.

****

Andrew had finished the screwdriver and he was at a pleasant level of
intoxication, a nice little buzz. He wasn't blurry drunk or staggering, as he
could tell when he got up to go to the bathroom. He could still move his body
without any trouble, but he had that contented warm glow, and now he could see
that flirting with Candy was just flirting, nothing serious, just harmless
fun. He couldn't believe that he had actually worried about losing Angela
just because he would flirt with a waitress. Yeah, he had grabbed her breast,
but only that once, and Candy wasn't going to tell anybody. Nice girl, he
thought, a lot of fun to be with. This was great.

"Go for a swim?" Candy asked when Andrew returned. She was already
standing up and he ran at her. She dodged him and dove into the pool, and he
was right behind her hitting the water with a resounding splash. It was in
the deep end, and Andrew couldn't stand, but Candy, at just under seven and a
half feet tall by Andrew's way of measuring, could.

"Gotcha." he yelled as he grabbed her around the biceps, though it
was obvious she wasn't even trying to get away. Candy laughed and puckered
her lips at him, offering another kiss. Just harmless flirtation, thought
Andrew, just fun. He lifted himself up by pushing down on her massive
shoulders and their lips met. Candy grabbed his little hands and guided them
on to her tits, wet and warm and heaving. This was even more fun, thought
Andrew, but I'm still in charge. I can stop it before it gets serious.

An enormous shadow blocked the sunlight from the pool, and plunged the
little flirts into darkness. Andrew looked up terrified, fearing it was his
wife, and more than a little relieved when he saw it was the Baroness, now
wearing a tiny black thong bikini. He was amazed at how big she looked, and
the little props, the little world that was his size made her look even
bigger. She must be a hundred feet tall, he thought as he treaded water. He
hadn't even noticed that Candy had swum away, until he saw almost all the
little people run for cover.

The patio shook when The Baroness walked, water spilling out of the
pool the way it will during a big earthquake. Andrew was frozen to the spot,
stunned by her size and incredible muscles. I could get used to this, he
thought, she looks pretty good. She looks great! So what if she had her tits
done? They look great, too! I like 'em big, and she sure is big.

The Baroness smiled down at her target, the only man left in the pool.
She sat down next to the pool, showing off her long powerful legs, leaning on
the golden marble pillar that was her arm, her impossibly big and round tits
hanging out over the water, well out of Andrew's reach but certainly in plain
sight. She certainly knew how to put on a show, Andrew thought.

She reached for him with her free hand, scooping him and gallons of
water out of the pool, letting the water pour off of him. Her hand was much
bigger than Angela's, her palm alone the size of a king size bed. He began to
stand up when she flicked her wrist and he found himself falling, down thirty
feet to the pool below. At first, he was scared, but he landed safely, and
as he was submerged he remembered that falls weren't quite so bad at his new
size.

He broke the surface and saw her huge hand submerging again; he
laughed on the way up, and whooped on the way down, until he noticed that she
had let him fall dangerously near the edge. He twisted his body in time, but
when he came up he shouted angrily.

"Be careful! You could have hurt me!"

The Baroness laughed powerfully and wickedly. "You're right, little
professor! This is fun." She lifted him again and let him fall, only his
little skill keeping him from harm. His pulse began to race, and he looked
for ways to escape, but in the water his quick reflexes were no help. The
mouse man was more like a drowning rat, and this was a game he could not win.

The Baroness plucked Andrew out of the pool, laughing at her helpless
victim as she lifted him by his tiny hand, squeezed to the point of crushing
between her thumb and forefinger. "I understand you're quite the mountaineer.
I like rugged men, especially when they are as tiny as you. But first we must
get rid of these awful things." she said, and pulled the loud baggy shorts
off him, leaving him naked. He heard tiny laughter far below him, and he saw
that the only spectators not cowering in fear were the fat man in black satin,
and his tiny blonde bimbo in white. "There, that's much more manly. A man
shouldn't let himself look like a clown. Your wife must have all the taste in
your family." The Baroness mocked.

She put him on the ground and stood up to her full height, straight
above him. He couldn't back up to get a better look, or he'd be back in the
pool; he was too scared to run, too scared to do anything but gawk.

"Climb me, little professor." she commanded and Andrew was too much
in awe to think of refusing, though he didn't trust her, and for good reason.

He began to climb, scrambling quickly and confidently at first,
though once he rose above her huge calf, where she began to flex and relax her
incredible muscles, making the climb much more difficult, the thought of
falling began to enter his mind. He decided to climb the front of her body,
with the idea that if he lost his grip he could dive towards the pool as a
last resort. Her knee made a good safe spot to look up at her huge thigh and
plan the next step of his ascent.

When she flexed, the sinews of her bulging muscles made natural ropes
for climbing and he could make good progress, though some of her poses made
her body quiver uncontrollably, making just holding on a very difficult task.
He was still wet from swimming and her body was slick from some moisturizing
oil that made her skin shine like obsidian. There was a deadly beauty about
her, Andrew thought to himself.

Andrew was glad to grab her swimsuit bottom and feel his first solid
grip. When he climbed Angela, his arms could surround parts of her large but
very familiar body, and she was soft enough that he could feel a good grip.
The Baroness was like rock under a slippery leather hide, and fingerholds were
hard to keep. But now on her suit he could grasp as hard as he wanted and
climb, quickly leaping for the obvious hand hold of her navel.

Here Andrew stopped and looked down. Big mistake. He had never been
this high before, easily sixty feet off the ground. The pool looked like a
child's toy. A fall from this height was suicide, even if he hit the water.

"I suppose I should tell you, little professor, that I can be ticklish
sometimes." The Baroness said, and her laugh began to rumble throughout her
one hundred foot body.

Looking down did confirm one thing; Andrew's erection was gone. For
maybe the first time since he was running away from the fiddler crab, Andrew
was too shit scared to think about fucking.

He looked up, her shiny black bra some twenty feet up from her navel.
He was too scared to just jump; though he might make it, he had no confidence
in that course of action. He began to grip for dear life, and he found that
his hands, when he gripped his very hardest, could dig in to her leathery
flesh and make very solid grips. She began to laugh as though it tickled,
when he thought it most likely should have hurt. Oh, great, thought Andrew;
another giant sadomasochist. Why couldn't they all be nice and sweet and
playful like his wife?

Andrew made it to the safe haven of her bra, where the ascent to her
shoulder was a breeze. As if he needed any confirmation, the sound her tits
made when she shook made it clear that she had paid for them.

He stood on her shoulder, and he could see over the ledge of the roof;
the two pools looked like twins, the little one nearly the same as the big
one, given the great difference in the distances at which he viewed them.
"Some view." he said.

"A man of accomplishments excites me." The Baroness hissed. Andrew,
still scared, took this compliment to be genuine, and bowed in deference.
"What do you think of my accomplishment?" she asked.

"The Resort is a remarkable place."

"Not that; this." She brought her arms up and flexed her body, all
her huge muscles popping out, bulging like a balloon near bursting.

Andrew was awe struck; the view was remarkable, but to know that he was
standing on this physical marvel made the experience breathtaking, a tiny bug
on the shoulder of the World's Tallest and Most Powerful Human. Having a
giantess for a wife was nothing like this. His world view was being turned
upside down once again. He fell to his knees, and grabbed onto her huge
shoulder for dear life. The Baroness took this gesture as a prayerful sign of
respect, which wasn't that far from the truth.

"Climb onto my arm." she commanded, and he - as well trained a little
man as any giantess could ask for - obeyed, crawling out from the relative
safety of her shoulder. He was on top of her bicep, a huge hard mound. "Turn
and face me." she barked, and he did so. "Show your appreciation, tiny man!"
she ordered and he began to kiss the warm smooth skin of her muscled arm. She
flexed and the arm bulged upward and he found there was a crease down the
middle of the biggest mound on her bicep. "Not like that, little professor!
Must I show you everything?" She began to spank him with the forefinger of her
other hand, hitting his tiny butt with a fierce force, rhythmically shoving
his body into the crease of her incredible bicep. Soon enough, Andrew
understood; she wanted him to hump her muscles, like some incredibly tiny dog
might hump her leg. She laughed at his obedience, at his humiliation, at her
victory over a man of puny accomplishment. Angela would reward him for his
little tricks. The Baroness believed in humiliation as praise.

Angela stormed onto the patio, causing the few little people who had
began to peep out from hiding places to dive back in. They did not want to
see a giantess confrontation; even the little fat man in black and his blonde
friend headed for safe cover.

"Baroness, I believe you have my husband; I want to thank you for your
hospitality, but we have to go now."

"Your husband is... indisposed." The Baroness said, laughing at tiny
Andrew, even laughing at Angela's impudence.

"Angela! Catch me!" said Andrew, and with a blind faith his slid off
the Baroness' giant arm, hoping his wife would catch him. The Baroness was
quicker than either of them thought, and she grabbed Andrew out of the air
with her left hand, opened her palm and laughed once more at her tiny captive.
Angela sprung into action; she slapped the bottom of the Baroness' hand and
Andrew hopped out of her hand, Angela grasping him firmly and gently.

"Yay!" shouted Andrew, his tiny voice drowned out by the clash of the
titanesses.

The Baroness went into a rage. "I'm not through with him!" she
screamed and she bent down, grabbed Angela by both wrists and began to lift.
The smaller giantess' body rose from the ground and screamed in agony. She
squeezed her hands tight instinctively against the pain, but when she realized
Andrew might be crushed to death, she opened her hands with a gasp.

Andrew fell, and both giantesses screamed in horror. Whether it was
luck, or the fact that he was already unconscious, or the result of being a
little tipsy, or the grace of God, when his body hit the pool, it relaxed
completely and he survived the impact without a scratch. The Baroness dropped
Angela and she fished her husband out of the pool, kissing his little body and
almost weeping tears of joy when she saw that he was still breathing.

"Put your husband down, Mrs. Franklin; we have a great deal to discuss
and we shouldn't frighten the... little guests. Let us discuss this like the
civilized women I know we both are." said the giant Baroness, looking down on
the scene of domestic care and concern with an unmistakable sneer on her lips.
Reluctantly, Angela agreed, and the two colossal women left the tiny poolside,
with Andrew, covered only with a tiny towel, still unconscious, back in his
little lounge chair.

"Here is your tea, Mrs. Franklin; have you read the contract?" the
giant Baroness asked, towering over her guest, twelve and a half feet of
feminine muscle and pure love-of-absolute-power evil.

"Yes, I have, Natasha, and while I'm not a lawyer, I think you have
very little to stand on here." said Angela, her natural grace and calm finally
returning, even though her heart was pounding in her chest.

"I don't play much poker, Mrs. Franklin; is this what they call
bluffing? That contract forbids you from bringing suit against me or The
Resort, and you signed it. Didn't your lawyers read it first? Why should I
have little to stand on?"

"Oh, the family lawyers read it, all right. And they explained it
very clearly. I have no intention of bringing a civil suit; I'm going to
charge you with kidnapping. Accusing someone with a crime is very different
from bringing civil charges; no contract on earth takes away the right of
accusing a person of committing a crime."

Natasha laughed. "Any charges brought against me would be tried here
in this country; this resort pays an amazing percentage of the taxes this
government takes in. I think you would find a criminal case here a trifle
one-sided."

Angela leaned forward on her knees. "Did you do any research on my
husband and me?"

"Your husband is an English professor; he's been published and has a
good reputation and no money. You come from a family that has money in
Connecticut."

Angela smiled. "Yes, money in Connecticut. Also, political power in
Connecticut. We're what they call Old Money; very conservative people. I love
your style, Natasha; I haven't had the chance to tell you that, but the whole
resort is gorgeous and the appointments here in your home! A Bellini in the
foyer, fantastic. My family would never do that; they could, mind you, but
they wouldn't want to draw attention that way. Old Money has one rule; keep
the money in the family. That means being prudent, even a little cheap about
some things some times. But we do believe in getting the best when it comes
to one thing: lawyers." Angela took a sip of tea. "The case of kidnapping
will not be tried here in this country. Let me promise you this; extradition
is a sure thing. You will be tried in the U.S., and the prosecution will have
the help of some of the scariest legal minds money can buy. Think of a pit
bull who looks like a cross between Henry Fonda and Jimmy Stewart. The
sweetest old man on the planet, but if you're sitting across a courtroom from
him, you're dead meat. This isn't is a bluff, Natasha; this is what is known
in poker as a lock, an unbeatable hand, The Stone Cold Nuts." Angela smiled
quietly. "Where you're going, you're going to need all those muscles."

"What do you want?" the Russian colossus asked.

"I was about to get to that." Angela said, smiling her sweetest, most
winning smile.

Andrew awoke, wet and naked and a little sore. How did he get here?
Who are these people? He remembered that he was humping a giant bicep when
his wife broke in. Angela! Where was she? What had happened? He was wet;
he fell in the pool. He was here with all the little people, who were
studiously ignoring him now. He could have been killed, didn't any of them
care? He felt the sun shine down, he saw the empty tumbler that held a lot
of rum and orange juice. A creepy chill fell over him, seeing all these
happy people, enjoying themselves in this beautiful surrounding. A lyric from
an Elvis Costello song ran through his head.

"Endless balmy breezes and perfect sunsets frame
Vintage wine for breakfast, and naked starlets floating in champagne.
All the passions of your youth
Are tranquilized and tamed.
You may think it looks familiar,
Though you may know it,
By another name.

This is Hell, this is Hell,
I am sorry to tell you,
It never gets better or worse.
But you'll get used to it after a spell,
'cause Heaven is Hell in reverse."

Just when he was about to wonder where Angela was again, his wife and
the Baroness, towering far above his protector came back out on the terrace.
Angela took him up in her hand and kissed him gently.

"When do we get out of here?" Andrew asked, shaking and scared.

"Soon, darling. But first we're going to play Natasha a game of
chess."

"I don't want to tell you your business, Angela, but if you're
supposed to protect me, we should get the hell out of here fast."

"I understand that. If you want to get out of here quickly, win the
damn game."

"Is something riding on the game?" he asked.

"If we lose, Natasha gets you for a week."

"What?"

"And she has the rights to market the video we made."

"Holy Jesus! How could you agree to this? Does she get our firstborn
male child as well? What do we get if we win?"

"Darling, I'd rather you didn't worry about that. Right now we're
discussing. What happens after we discuss?"

"You decide and I obey."

She smiled at him. "I'm not worried, and you shouldn't be, either.
You're a very good chess player, and I know how to play, too."

"I'm better than you, Angela, but I'm not that good. There's a guy
in the Chemistry department who kicks my butt regularly."

"Well, maybe there will be some others on our team that can help out."

"Our team?"

"Yes, all you little people are going to be the white pieces. You're
the king, of course."

"Are you going to be my queen?"

"No, silly. I'm the player. I'm..."

"God." Andrew said, finishing her thought.

Angela raised an eyebrow. "You got a problem with that?"

He kissed her nose. "Not so far."

"Let's go kick some big Russkie booty." she said, and they both
laughed.

The board was set up out on the veranda, on a table far above the now
empty tiny pool. The men and women started putting on tiny white bathrobes,
little replicas of what Angela was still wearing, except they had big black
letter on front and back, denoting what piece each person was representing.

"Anybody here know how to play this game?" asked Andrew, remembering
that Casey Stengel once asked the same question of the early New York Mets.

"Yeah, I play." said a skinny eight footer wearing a pawn's robe. The
team was a motley assortment; there weren't enough four or six inchers to make
up the pawn row, unless Andrew himself volunteered, and Angela would have none
of that.

"What's your rating?" asked another man, donning a knight's costume.

"Rating? Jeez, I don't know. How do you get rated?" the pawn asked.

"You play in USCF tournaments. I'm rated at 1980 right now, a high
A player." the knight replied.

"Terrific. My name's Andrew; I'm the king. I play against a guy who
says I'm about a C player. Great to have you on the team. How good is the
Baroness?"

"You mean The Baron. He's the brains, and I hear he's good but I've
never played him. Still, even if he's just an average Russian, he could be
very good, an expert or even a master rating." the knight said.

"Well, let's hope quantity can beat quality." The pawn who played
interjected. "Everyone knows that your attention span gets smaller when you
do, and he's an absolute dwarf!"

"We're not much bigger." said Andrew. "Still, I feel a little better.
I think I'd like you as queen side knight, and we'll put you as king's rook
pawn. We'll do whatever we can to keep you on the board." The two pieces
followed the king's orders.

Andrew stood on e1, and looked at the team around him. They had on
their uniforms, but bathrobes weren't very convincing. It made them look like
they all just tumbled out of bed, and would be glad to tumble back in. Candy,
the gorgeous black waitress was his towering queen, and the slinky little
bimbo in white was the king's pawn.

"Nice to be on the same team; my name's Pam." Andrew shook her little
hand and saw the black pieces, all ebony lacquered wood, except the king, the
fat cigar smoker; Pam's boyfriend was the Baron. Andrew thought about how the
friendly Candy had lured him into the pool, then abandoned him to The Baroness
at the first opportunity. He looked at his team once again and wondered which
of them could be trusted. Would information be leaking back to the other
side? Could he trust their advice?

He wished he could walk forward and ask, 'Will all the black spies
please raise you hands?' He looked up and noticed that the setting sun was in
his eyes. The Baron and Baroness are looking for every advantage, he thought.
That particular piece of gamesmanship was old when Columbus sailed for India.

The game began. It settled into a Ruy Lopez, a good way to protect
the Queen's Knight, since castling quick is one of the benefits of this
system, also old enough to be known by Columbus. The Baron was a very
cautious player, and he liked to keep as many pieces on the board as possible;
they were almost thirty moves into the game and only a pawn and a bishop on
each side had been removed from the board. Andrew felt safe castled over on
king's side, a good pawn structure in front of him, the King's Knight (not
the chess playing Queen's Knight) still standing guard at f3. Several
powerful pieces were amassed on the Queen's side of the board, including the
Queen herself exerting pressure on the diagonal the Black King was on, as he
had decided to castle king's side as well. The position was very complicated,
and Andrew had a hard time keeping the whole board in his head from this low
vantage point.

"Let's hear a little chatter out there." Angela said, the sign that
she was stumped. The white pieces who were still on the board began
applauding and shouting encouragement, hiding the origin of the best advice.
Andrew stared around the board, clapping and calling "attababe, way to hang in
there, babe" waiting to make out the Queen's Knight's advice. When he finally
got it, he began a new chant. "Okay, babe Knight g5 babe. Way to play chess,
way to exert pressure." Andrew watched the knight in front of the his
position roam away, and he was a little concerned that his protection was
moving into the offense and abandoning the defense. Black moved quickly; the
Baroness, at her husband's instructions moving the queen to bear down on e1
where a white rook had been staring down a black rook for possession of the
game's only open file so far.

The chatter began again without Angela asking for it. The Queen's
Knight sent in a move, send himself into dangerous territory, attacking the
black queen but now takable by one of the black knights. It was just an
exchange, but Andrew didn't like it.

Andrew reviewed the board and he saw, his king's pawn, the Baron's
blonde, staring straight at the Queen's Knight. Andrew knew what it meant,
and soon the Baron was telling his huge wife something in Russian. The
Baroness massive hand swooped down and picked the Queen's knight up, banging
her black knight down on the vacated square.

"Be careful! You're smothering me!" the Queen's Knight yelled in a
pipsqueak voice.

"What are you prattling about, you little troublemaker?" The Baroness
said angrily, astounded at his insolence. "This is smothering." she said,
and placed the helpless little man under her bra; his body began to squirm and
she flexed, pressing his tiny body into her implants with an incredible force,
stopping his body's motion, then pulling his helpless unconscious frame out
from under her bra, laughing at him "Good night, little knight." she sneered.

Angela was ready to pick up the knight with a pawn, but Andrew stopped
her. "No! Rook takes Rook first." he shouted. The Baroness quickly snapped
up the rook in the exchange. Angela was ready again to pick up the hanging
knight and complete the first exchange, but Andrew shouted "Knight takes Pawn
at f7! Trust me." and Angela did as her little king commanded.

The Baron looked at the position and decided to save the knight,
moving it aggressively forward to attack the white queen. Andrew smiled when
he saw it. The Baron was sunk now.

"Knight to h6, check." Andrew said. The Baroness saw the knight
was takable by the King's Knight pawn, and instinctively reached for it.
"Ah-ah-ah, discovered and double check. You have to move your king." The
White Queen waved at The Baron from down the diagonal. The Baroness picked up
her tiny husband and began to move him to f8.

"Nyet!" he screamed. "Mate in one! H8!"

"Queen to g8, check." Angela picked up Candy, and deposited her on
the last rank, towering over the tiny Baron, but in eminent danger of capture
from either the rook or the knight. The Baroness removed the waitress-Queen
with the knight. Now white was down a queen and a knight for a single pawn.

"Do you see it now, Angela?" She gasped in surprise as the move
became clear. The baron was surrounded by his own pieces with nowhere to go;
Knight to f7 was checkmate. She moved the tiny man and announced her victory.

"That's known as 'smothered mate' in English, Baron. That was the
Queen's Knight's last message." said Andrew, walking across the board to shake
hands with the vanquished general. The Baron had other ideas; he was waddling
out at Andrew, screaming invective in Russian. Angela just picked Andrew up
in time when the Baroness screamed like a banshee, and brought her huge fist
down on the side of the table, scattering both the wooden pieces and those
made of flesh and blood.

"I have to get my purse," said Angela, "and we have to get out of
here."

"What about our clothes?" Andrew asked, being tossed about in her
hand as she nearly ran back to the white room.

"We'll get new ones. I didn't expect her to react so badly."

"Maybe she didn't expect to lose." he yelled, still being jostled
badly.

"Evidently." said Angela, her usual calm almost completely gone. She
got her bag and ran to the elevator, trying to shield her tiny husband as much
as possible from the jarring effects of her panicked rush. Angela could see
the Baroness come into view just as the elevator door was closing, and she
gasped in fear. She didn't settle down on the whole ride down, certain that
the elevator would stop and they would be forced back. But the elevator let
them out on the ground floor, and they took the normal elevator back to their
floor.

When they got back to their suite, Angela was still in a very nervous
state; she unplugged the phone and put a chair under the doorknob of the
already locked entrance door. "I just want to go to sleep, then wake up and
leave this place. She spooked me; I don't know if we can trust her."

"We'll do whatever you say, sweetheart." Andrew said, trying to calm
his enormous wife, who seemed to be verging on paranoia. She stripped out of
the bathrobe and climbed into bed, holding her little husband against her
cleavage with her hand.

"Do you think it's safe for me here, Angela?"

"I won't be able to sleep if I don't know where you are every moment.
I just can't get over how frightened I was of her; she was just twice my size,
and I was terrified. I couldn't help thinking how brave you are, darling; you
aren't afraid of me, and I'm as big as a building to you."

"It isn't bravery, sweetheart. The Baroness is scary because she's
scary, not because she's big. As for you," Andrew said, "you're just a big
pussycat."

Angela giggled. "A pussycat, am I?" she said, clutching him to her
breasts.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. You're a cat goddess." replied Andrew,
remembering their games of earlier in the day.

"No, I'm a big pussycat." she said, grinning happily. "I'm your big
pussycat."

Andrew, cuddling next to her huge chest, nestled between her massive
fingers, began to sing the end of a popular song.

"Pussycat, pussycat, I love you,
Yes, I do.
You and your pussycat eyes."

"Whoa-o-whoa." Angela replied, her voice rumbling all around him.

"You and your pussycat lips."

"Whoa-o-whoa."

"You and your pussycat... no-o-ose."

Angela responded with a full shoulder squeezing cuddle of her little
pop singer, her big body rocking him back and forth contentedly.

"I didn't know you were such a big Tom Jones fan." said Andrew.

"I'm not. I'm a big Andrew Franklin fan. I have everything he's ever
done."

Andrew blushed. "Well, Tom Jones did the original."

"Andrew Franklin did the definitive version. No one can touch him.
No one but me." She closed her eyes, and Andrew could hear her heart rate
dropping as it shook her huge chest. He closed his eyes and drifted off into
sleep with her, knowing he was safe and sound.

Chapter 7

"The process of changing size is full of side effects
that should not be ignored. Shrinking can be quite traumatic,
so much so that a careful personality analysis is given to all
our clients who want to decrease their size. Some early test
subjects, all of whom were chosen from the ranks of test pilots
and other professional risk takers, were given to panic attacks;
the character trait that makes the thought of shrinking so
awful is an intense desire to control one's surroundings, a
trait not surprisingly found in many so-called 'daredevils', who
look on their jobs as tests of skill rather than tests of nerve.

"Quite often overlooked are the side effects of rapid
growth, even growth from a shrunken size. While some clients
experience a 'rejuvenating' feeling when getting small - return
of agility, freedom from chronic back and neck pain due to
decreased weight on the spine - much of that rejuvenation is
erased when returning to full size. The clients sometimes feel
clumsier and more plodding, but also experience a greater sense
of strength and ability to manipulate one's surroundings. (It
is an interesting paradox that as one decreases in size,
proportional strength increases, but since the person shrinking
is used to being able to move a chair, for example, a feeling
of being helpless ensues, even with increased proportional
strength.) This can result in an aggressive nature for a few
hours, a side effect common enough to be called New Alpha Male
Syndrome - NAMS for short - though it is in no way confined to
men alone."

Andrew adjusted his glasses and thought about the things that the
pamphlet said about his experience. He didn't recall feeling that helpless;
perhaps he became so small that the idea that he should be able to move a
giant chair just didn't cross his mind. Perhaps Angela, though she certainly
made him feel small and in need of her protection, gave him enough love and
encouragement that he always felt useful and wanted. Maybe he would have been
better off feeling more helpless than he did; it would have kept him off the
beach where he fought the crab, and might have even let him escape the notice
of Natasha, the Baroness, the huge cruel beauty who seemed to think of all of
humanity as toys for her to humiliate and manipulate. He thought for a moment
of hanging onto Natasha's huge navel in the middle of her rock-hard sculpted
stomach muscles and looking down sixty feet to the ground below, thinking he
could aim for the pool if he fell. How did he get himself in such a
ridiculous position?

"Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor of literature, not a mountaineer!" he said
to no one in particular and laughed a little. No more silliness like that for
a while; still, even as he said goodbye to being the mouse man, he knew he
would miss climbing Mount Angela.

The bell rang and the growing process stopped. Andrew flexed his
muscles and looked at his body. He did feel more substantial, more in control
of his physical surroundings, perhaps a little slower, but with his strength
coming back, he wouldn't need his mouse-like quickness to scurry away from
trouble and threats now.

The first of three sessions of growth was over. The confident
professor now stood eighteen inches tall, and weighed just under three pounds.

Andrew went out into the hall, checking the bulletin board to see if
there were any messages from Angela; it was nice and cool out in the
breezeway, unlike the room which heated up like a muggy day when the growth
ray was on, not quite as severe as a steam room or sauna, but still a very
hot, sticky feeling. Out in the hallway, he was surprised to see several
people roughly his size, and even the giants were smaller, more like the
thirty foot tall cabana boys at the very tallest. He saw the note addressed
to him on the board, and he leaped up for it. He remembered the last time he
did this, and caught the attention of DeeDee, the awful brass giantess married
to the even worse Chuck. It excited him to think of how Angela had brought
Chuck to his knees when he tried to threaten Andrew, how magnificently fierce
she was in that moment. Well, he thought, at least they introduced us to the
idea of making a video; good ideas can come from bad sources sometimes.

"Darling,

I'm counting the hours, are you? It will be so
wonderful to have my big, strong husband back, to feel
your arms surround me. I will never forget my little
sailor, my tiny mischievious mouse-man, but I have
missed being held and kissed and cuddled by my tall
handsome husband, my full-sized love.

Hurry back. I want you and I'm waiting.

-A."

Looking down at the note, breathing in the slight perfume, Andrew was
walking without looking when he bumped into something big. He gave an "oof!"
sound, and he heard a laugh. He looked up to see a familiar face at an
unfamiliar height, Brittany standing before him, looking about eight feet tall
by his way of measurement, actually still two feet tall to his foot and a
half.

"Hello, professor. Mash notes from one of your little coeds?"

Andrew flustered and blushed, quickly folding the note back up. "Oh,
hi. Sorry. I should be paying more attention. Are you here to grow back to
normal?"

"Actually, I've got a new assignment. Someone wants me to be a
poster girl for a few weeks; they're going to shoot a video here, shrink a
whole band down and shoot scenes up at the miniature pool on the penthouse.
I get to be the giant monster girl."

"Well, I can understand the giant part, but I think monster might be
an overstatement." Andrew smiled and Brittany only raised an eyebrow. "How
big are you going to be?"

"I have to go up to eight feet. Two full sessions."

"That's a coincidence. I still have two full sessions to get back to
six feet tall."

"Would you like some company?" Brittany asked. Andrew thought for
a second. Isn't that what hookers say in movies? He was going to mention it,
but instead like a gentleman, he held the door for her and she walked into
the growing room. The door closed and clicked locked.

"You're trapped now, professor." Andrew smirked a little, but when
Brittany turned toward him and began to walk forward, pushing him backwards,
swaying her hips both for the seductive movement and to keep him from moving
around her, he began to believe he was trapped. She pushed him against a
wall, her big hands grabbing his shoulders roughly. Standing at full height,
her big gorgeous breasts were still above his head slightly and he was staring
into her lower ribcage. She was dressed in a ripped sweatshirt covering a
spandex halter top, baggy neon orange nylon shorts, showing off her hips and
long tanned legs, a pair of beat-up sneakers on her feet. She certainly
wasn't dressing for glamour points, but Brittany was the kind of incredibly
beautiful young woman that could wear nearly anything and look fantastically
sexy. Holding him firmly in place, Brittany slowly slid down to the little
man's level, kneeling on one knee, her luscious lips kissing his forehead,
rubbing against his eyebrows, one of her big hands descending down his chest
and abdomen to fondle the front of his trousers, now tight with Andrew's
raging hard-on.

"I've been thinking about you a lot, professor. You were the first
little man to satisfy me, and now that I know it's possible, I'm going to have
to find one of my own and train him right. But, before you go, I wanted to
see what you would be like when you were a little bigger. You know, the same
model car but with a little more horsepower." She turned her head as though
she would kiss him, but she sucked the tip of his nose instead, as her hand
continued to massage his groin. Andrew shuddered at her touch.

"Know any more poems, professor?" she asked between licks.

Andrew smiled and thought a moment.

"I saw fair Chloris walk alone,
When feathered rain came softly down,
As Jove descending from his Tower
To court her in a silver shower:
The wanton snow flew to her breast,
Like pretty birds into their nest,
But, overcome with whiteness there,
For grief it thawed into a tear:
Thence falling on her garment's hem,
To deck her, froze into a gem."

"I like it. A lot." breathed Brittany, licking and fondling him more
forcefully. "Just one question. Who is Jove?"

"Jupiter. Zeus. The British call him Jove."

"Not Jehovah."

"No, the Roman or Greek god."

"He became a shower? I thought he became a swan."

"That was with Leda. Zeus had a million of 'em."

"Are you trying to say that I'm a god, or that I'm pretty enough to
have gods fucking me?" Brittany asked.

"I thought there was just one question."

"Answer me, professor, or I won't unwrap your present." Her hand
squeezed his groin roughly.

"A god would have to be crazy not to court you."

"Let's take some of these clothes off." Brittany whispered. Andrew
pawed at her sweatshirt. "Ah, ah, ah. Not mine, yours."

Off came his shirt, up over his head, Brittany smiling a sultry grin
as she saw his naked torso. She rubbed his pecs under her big strong thumbs,
humming and beginning to breathe hard. Her hands rode down his abdomen to
his belt, which she undid with a hard tug and pulled them quickly down to his
ankles. Andrew tried to step out of his shoes and get his pants all the way
off, but Brittany stopped him.

"No. I like a man this way. I like it when he has to take tiny steps
with his pants around his ankles. It makes him look... really fucking horny.
Are you really fucking horny, professor?" Andrew nodded as quickly as he
could, and Brittany relished the power she had over him.

Little men; what a concept. All the fun with none of the danger,
thought Brittany. To her way of thinking, Andrew was the size of a schoolboy,
but with the mind and desires of a man, a very sexy man. Her thumbs latched
onto him under his armpits and she lifted him off the ground, his back rubbing
up against the wall she had pushed him into. If she were full-sized and he
were about four and a half feet tall, he would weigh about eighty pounds and
it would be hard for her to keep that much weight in the air for long, but at
her two foot height, she had more strength proportionally and lifted him with
ease, sliding him up until her object of interest, his throbbing hot dick, was
at the level of her full luscious lips. She leaned forward and pressed her
mouth, still closed, against his balls. She looked up at his face, so filled
with lust, and she smiled coyly. She decided to make him wait a little longer
and make him a little crazier before letting him have it.

"You know, I told your wife what was wrong with little men, that they
couldn't make love to a big woman and kiss her on the mouth at the same time.
But let me tell you what I like about them especially; their cocks. Their
dicks are so perfectly suckable." Brittany made little nibble kisses on the
underside ridge of Andrew's dick, and nuzzled his pink knob with her nose.
"Now I've been with some big guys, but the thrill is gone pretty quickly.
Their cocks start to look like something that should be hanging in a kosher
deli, and it's hard to make love to a double or triple sized dick. But yours,
it's delicious. It's... a bite-sized treat."

Andrew's hard-on faded at the mention of 'bite-sized', and Brittany
laughed at him; she fully expected him to have this reaction, she wanted him
to get used to the idea that sex with her was going to be a roller coaster
ride, and that she was at the controls.

She began to speak directly to Andrew's dick, almost ignoring the man
himself she had pinned to the wall. "Did the big bad girl scare the itty
bitty professor? Awwww." She said in a baby talk voice. "Don't be afraid.
The big bad girl heard all about what the itty bitty professor's wife did to
the big mean Baroness yesterday." She reverted to a normal tone of voice.
"I'll get you back to Angela in one piece; I wouldn't want to get on your
wife's bad side."

"What about my bad side?" Andrew asked.

Brittany laughed heartily, and began to kiss his dick, which was
starting to get harder and thicker. She looked up at her little captive's
face and saw the look in his eyes. "You were serious, weren't you?" she
said, surprised at the possibility. She laughed in her throat and began to
suck his knob, the hard pink tip of his cock.

Andrew felt her beautiful lips surge over it, and her big rough tongue
lick the back of it, and a gentle play of her teeth scraping lightly against
it. He sensed his vulnerability very clearly, pinned against a wall by a
woman who weighed twice as much as he did who was a head and a half taller
than he was. It was a very different experience from sex with gigantic
Angela, a skyscraper beauty who held him in the palm of her hand, or even sex
with Brittany when she was two and a half times his height. The big
difference was the rebirth of his penis, which had been a little afterthought
to the giantesses he had made love to. To Angela, his entire body was a
dildo, and Brittany had pushed his entire forearm inside her when he was
licking her clit to use as a penis substitute. His cock, slightly larger than
average when he was full-sized, was now somewhat smaller than average to
Brittany's way of thinking, but at least it was a dick again. He looked at
the big hands that held him against the wall, the long arms that reached up,
and the mane of beautiful blonde hair that covered Brittany's head, which was
bobbing up and down slowly on his cock, using that rhythm of hers where such
attention was paid to the very sensitive pink skin of his cock's tip. She
really was an expert cocksucker, Andrew thought.

His legs dangled down, lifted far off the ground, her big breasts
rubbing seductively against his slender thighs. Even though she had told him
to leave his pants wrapped around his ankles, he kicked his shoes off and let
his trousers fall to the ground as well. He was now naked except for his
socks. He bent his legs up and around her tits, pulling his knees up to his
chest so that he could wrap them over her shoulders and around her head.

Brittany stopped sucking, looked up at him and smiled. "Did I tell
you to take off your pants?" Andrew shook his head no. "Well, it was very
thoughtful of you to wrap your legs around my shoulders. It makes it easier
to hold you, and my arms were getting a little tired. But don't get any ideas
about being in charge, little professor. If you try to fuck my mouth by
wrapping your puny legs around my head, I'll do this." Brittany brought his
body away from the wall, then SLAMMED him back into it, her forehead driving
into his gut, pushing the breath out of his little body. Gasping for breath,
Andrew's body went limp - except for his rock-hard cock - and as Brittany's
mouth re-surrounded his dick, he felt himself helplessly squirting his come
down her throat, which delighted the chuckling and slurping amazon. Andrew
relished the feeling of his dick rubbing repeatedly on the roof of her big hot
wet mouth, then she pulled away slightly, sucking his knob between her huge
lips, one big hand removed from his arm and surrounding the base of his cock
so she could get every last drop of jism out of him. His now free hand
stroked her beautiful hair and felt the softness of her cheek.

Her task done, she slid back up his body and pressed her lips against
his. Her mouth opened and her tongue slid inside his mouth, and he could
taste his own come in her mouth, not exactly a taste treat to his way of
thinking, but her tongue forced him to swallow again and again, almost like a
version of oral rape that she had warned him not to try on her. The message
was clear enough; she made the rules, and they only applied to him.

"Half for you and half for me." Brittany whispered as she finished
shoving come down little Andrew's throat. "That's fair, isn't it?" He nodded
weakly, still aroused by her, but becoming more wary. She wasn't like Angela,
who played and toyed with him, but made the rules clearer to him, and only
tried to humiliate him when she was teaching him an important lesson. With
Brittany, he felt like she was making up the rules as they occurred to her. It
was obvious that Brittany thought of him as a masochist, and she was doing
everything in her power to prove herself right. She wasn't as scary as The
Baroness; it would be very difficult for an eight footer to instill the same
level of power hunger and menace as a hundred foot colossus could. But still,
Andrew found a not completely pleasant mixture of desire and fear overtaking
him, and he jumped a little when the buzzer went off and the door clicked into
automatic lock. For the next seventy minutes or so, he was trapped with
Brittany and she was in charge. He had little choice but to obey her.

"Down you go, professor." she said, and she placed him on the ground.
"In fact, go down further. On your knees." He obeyed. "On your hands and
knees." Again he complied. "All men are dogs, they should be made to
understand that as often as is necessary. Take off my shoes." Andrew began
to untie her laces with his hands and she pulled away. "Not with your paws,
professor. With your teeth. Dogs are too clumsy with their paws." He began
to pull at the lace with his teeth, and the knot slid free. "My puny puppy
professor is very good at learning tricks." she mocked as he slid the knot on
the other shoe free. She kicked the shoes at him one by one, laughing at him
as he dodged the first one and caught the second one in his mouth.

"Now the socks, puppy. Good puppy." she cooed sarcastically as he
bit into her little bootie socks and pulled them down off the heel of her foot
one by one, with her forcing him to sniff her instep, now getting musty with
the exertion of the blowjob and the rising heat in the growing room. This
was not Andrew's cup of tea, but there was no telling Brittany that.

On his hands and knees, she towered high above him, her hands on her
hips laughing at him in a manner that was reminiscent of the Jolly Green Giant
commercials. "Time to remove my shorts, puppy." and Andrew thought of the
Coppertone ads. Maybe that was the problem; class. Angela was just better
read and, to be honest, more clever and witty than Brittany. You could make
the argument that the difference was a matter of age, but Andrew knew Angela,
who was now in her late thirties, when she was in her early twenties like
Brittany was today. Brittany had a lot of catching up to do if she was ever
going to be like Angela.

Andrew went up to his knees, put his paws (I mean, hands) on the
middle of the blond amazon's back and sunk his teeth into the elastic band of
her bright orange nylon shorts, and began to pull down. Brittany's gorgeous
round ass came slowly into view as did her thong panties. Andrew tried to
bite them too, but Brittany shooed him away with a hand. "One at a time,
puppy." She said, and he refastened his mouth on her shorts and began to
pull down. She spread her legs to make his pull more difficult, and laughed
at his slow progress and the delicious feeling of his nose rubbing deep
between her cheeks, a sensation she liked so much that she grabbed the back of
his head and kept him there for quite a while as she swayed back and forth,
laughing at his predicament, then let him finally pull her shorts off.

Down on his knees, her looked up at her again, clad in a very tiny
G-string and a large tight halter top. "Dogs aren't clever enough to undo a
bra, so I'll have to do this myself." Her hands went behind her back, and in
one quick move the tight spandex loosened around her bulging tits. She turned
around so that Andrew could only she her naked back as the top slid off her
arms. Coyly, she looked down at at him over her shoulder and chuckled. She
turned around, her arms still folded around her breasts, grasping her halter
top, the shape and size and color and texture of her magnificent tits slowly
becoming completely apparent to tiny Andrew, down on his hands and knees far
below her. A big breasted woman like Brittany has a very patient adversary
named gravity. Eventually, no matter how hard she works out, her big breasts
will sag farther and farther down, and their attractiveness to most men will
fade. (Angela, with her slender figure, was another matter; given her
attention to exercise, Andrew could quite honestly say that she was sexier
now than she was the day they met.) But as she leaned down, her hands on her
knees, Andrew was staring at a woman in her absolute prime, a spectacular
beauty with a figure that was used by advertisers to sell anything to a man,
from cars to beer to shaving cream. (It was not such a good marketing idea if
an advertiser want to sell something to a woman, however.) Andrew drew
himself up to his knees to feel her tits, but she rose to her full height,
easily thwarting him.

"Not so fast, puppy. You have more work to do. Pull down my panties
now. This time from the front." Andrew went up on his knees to obey, and
his mouth grabbed the top of her thong, first on the left and then on the
right, to pull them down from her hips. Then he latched his teeth on to the
middle and began to descend, the g-string sliding out from her butt crack as
slowly as she desired, since if she squeezed her cheeks together, he likely
could never have pulled them out. When they spanned her mid thigh, and her
moist pussy was in clear view, Brittany gave Andrew another command. "Kiss me
there, puppy." Andrew put his lips to her labia, but Brittany swatted the
back of his head. "Kiss me like a dog, dog!" she snapped, and Andrew began
to lick her with the uncontrolled passion of an animal. She hummed at his
quick obedience, and grabbing the back of his head, humped his tongue with a
bucking rhythm, all the time sighing, "Good dog... good dog."

She began to push him inside her more forcefully, shoving his face
inside and leaving it there, making those noises she made when she was close
to orgasm. He could taste the difference in her, how the rising heat of her
pussy matched the hot sweaty room, only hotter and more musky. He lapped up
the juices flowing out of her, and finally she could stop making sport of him
and actually enjoy his sexual expertise completely without humiliating him.
Andrew enjoyed the vacation from her abuse; his cock began to grow more
insistent that its need be met as well.

Brittany made a few post orgasmic movements, and Andrew began to push
her towards the big couch. She could easily have stopped him, but instead she
let him push her backwards, only to twist her body at the last moment and
throw him bodily into the couch. He bounced a couple of times, and she slid
onto the soft white leather sofa, squeezing his body between her long,
powerful legs. She loosened her grip enough that her could turn his body and
grab onto her ass. She then rose up to her knees and he stood up. He sunk
into the cushions so far that he could now fuck her doggy-style, him standing
behind and her on her knees, laughing at her little doggy once more.

Andrew was growing angry; he was tired of the constant abuse and
belittling attitude of this woman, a woman who had asked him if she could come
into his room. She wanted him as much as he wanted her - even more, maybe -
and she could do nothing but insult him. He pulled his cock out of her cunt
and crammed it hard into her asshole, thinking that this would teach her a
lesson, but she seemed to enjoy this even more, fingering her own clit as he
fucked her as hard as he could. She only seemed to want more. The harder he
pushed, the more she seemed to enjoy it, and when he could push no harder, the
huge hot slutty amazon shoved her wet fingers up his tiny asshole, and using
her superior strength, shoved him inside her more forcefully than he could
have done on his own. He was pinned inside her, unable to escape, unable to
extricate her big fingers from his asshole. He was screaming in anger, and
was stunned to find himself coming inside her when she started to have an
orgasm herself. He found himself grabbing her hips as hard as he could, and
when it got no reaction he stretched up to grab her tits, and twisted her
nipples with all his might. This drove her over the top and she collapsed,
pinning his tiny hands under her massive weight as he bucked and pumped his
last few shots inside her. When he was done, spent and feeling victorious,
Brittany reached behind her and patted his ass approvingly.

"Good dog." she said.

Andrew pulled out of her and slapped her ass as hard as he could.
"I'm not your dog."

Brittany spun around and grabbed him in a huge powerful bear hug,
pinning his arms so that he was helpless to escape, her tits bulging as they
pressed against his puny body. "If I say you are, what's a midget like you
going to do about it?" she said, and laughed at his futile attempts to
escape, kissing him every so once in a while until his sexual passion overcame
his anger, and he was placid once more. It was like one of those romance
novels - bodice-rippers as they are called - but that she was the rough and
handsome buccaneer and he was the haughty, willful beauty who needed to be
tamed.

"Haven't you had angry sex before, professor?" Brittany asked when
Andrew had calmed down enough to open his mouth and close his eyes waiting for
her next powerful kiss. He shook his head slowly, still waiting for the kiss.
"Of course not; not with that wife of yours. She's too classy for that. You
just play at this stuff, don't you? Jesus, she's got you wrapped around her
finger. I have to take my hat off to her. Trained just the way she likes it.
She must be a fucking witch."

"What are you talking about? My wife isn't a witch." said Andrew.

"She's got you right where she wants you, and you think all the
decisions were yours, don't you?" Andrew was silent. He remembered when he
realized that the giant Angela was a god to him, and she had said that wives
could put ideas in men's minds as easily as gods could. He loved his wife,
loved her more than anything, but he was starting to wonder. Was Brittany
right? What had happened to his independence? What was there in his life
that he could do without his wife's approval? He could feel his temples
throbbing, his anger rising again, even though he was still trapped in her
viselike bear hug.

"You could never fuck her like that, like we just did, could you?
That would be like putting Grace Kelly in a porno flick." Brittany paused.
"Oh, I forgot. You did put Grace Kelly in a porno flick. That fucking ice
princess of a wife agreed to be a slut on camera, only because she could show
the whole world what a shrunken little fuck toy you are in the process. She's
a slut when she wants to be, but you, little professor, are her toy every
fucking day of your life."

Andrew was in a rage, but he didn't know where it was directed. Was
he angry at Brittany for talking to him like this? or was he angry at Angela
because he couldn't come up with good arguments to counter Brittany? Wives
have ways, too, said Angela; his ears burned as he heard this phrase echo.

Brittany loosed her grip on him, cuddling him instead of squeezing
him, enticing him instead of lecturing him. (He couldn't see how trapped he
was in either case.) She kissed him softly. "You'll never let her go. I
know that." she said. "I don't want a husband, at least not one of my own.
I just want you." She put her lips to his and kissed him more gently than
she had during that entire session. He felt the warmth from her, not the heat,
an inviting flame of young beauty, of a young mind eager for his guidance, a
beautiful big young body hungry for his love.

"You want to be my mistress? You want me to set you up in an
apartment somewhere?"

"I don't need your money; I can make money. I'm a riot grrrl." she
said.

Andrew had heard the phrase before. "I didn't know you were a
musician."

"I'm not; I'm just the kind of girl rockers want around. That's why
I'm going to be in the video shoot."

Andrew had understood 'riot grrl' to mean the new breed of independent
female rock and rollers, and what Brittany was describing didn't sound
independent at all. "What is the difference between you and a groupie?"

Brittany flashed an angry look at her little lover; obviously, groupie
was a name she did not like being called. "The difference is that groupies
buy tickets and beg to go backstage; managers of bands see me and beg me to go
backstage, to have their musicians associated with me. It's a matter of who
is begging who. It's a matter, you fucking prick, of who is FUCKING who!"

Any good English professor would have corrected her, explaining the
correct use of 'who and 'whom', but when she pushed him down and shoved his
face in her cunt, the opportunity for quick correction passed. Her huge bent
legs pinned his arms and she leaned back, most of her weight pressing him into
the sofa. She grabbed his nipples and twisted, laughing at how easily she had
subdued him, forcing him to have sex with her again. What she did to him was
technically rape, but like many male rapists, she figured that if he wanted it
as badly as she did, then it wasn't rape at all. After all, he could just
stop licking her if he wanted her to get off. He could stop panting and
squirming if he didn't like it, but of course he didn't. Soon he was licking
passionately, then fucking passionately, trapped under her massive hips but
loving every minute of it. She liked the way he fought at first, then
relented; fucking should always be this way, she thought. Men should learn
what it's like.

(She didn't finish the thought. Men should learn what it's like to be
raped was what she meant.)

She stayed on top of him until the bell rang again, and after he had
come a few times and was more placid. He was contentedly sucking her huge
tits and fondling her ass when the room began to cool. She pulled away and
let him up, and he got up to stretch and walk around.

"I have to go outside and see if Angela posted a note." said Andrew.

"What if I say no?" Brittany teased.

"You don't have much say. I'm closer to the door than you."

Brittany lunged and Andrew went for the door, but it wasn't the door
she lunged at, it was his pile of clothes. "I don't think you'll go out naked,
professor."

Andrew flushed red. "Wrong again." he said, in a low angry tone, and
walked out of the growing room buck naked.

People gasped at the naked man, three feet tall and full of purpose,
marching to the message board and ripping down a lavender note dressed only in
socks. No one talked to him; he was so obviously driven that everyone just
steered out of his path and gawked. His scene would have been perfect if he
had been able to make as dramatic an exit as he had made an entrance, but when
he went back to the door to the growing room, it was locked.

"Very funny, Brittany. Open up." said Andrew, banging on the door.

He could hear her cackling in glee. "Yeah, it's hilarious."

"Open up; I'm sick of the games."

"What are you going to do, rough me up?" she laughed at the thought,
so ludicrous since she was so much bigger than he was.

"I said OPEN UP!" Even at his small size, there was a note of command
in his voice and she obeyed. It was more fun to tease him in private.

Andrew didn't know as much as judo as Angela did, but the arm twist
behind the back is a very basic move. If Brittany had known what to do, she
could have broken it about a dozen ways, maybe more than that given their size
difference, but she didn't know what to do and suddenly she found herself out
the door, and it shut and locked behind her. Now she was naked in the
hallway, four feet tall and more than a little vulnerable, except that no one
would have dared interrupt their little soap opera. She knocked on the door,
sometimes timidly, sometimes angrily, close to tears, close to rage. Andrew
wasn't buying.

"Okay, professor, just give me my clothes and I'll give you yours.
That's all I want; I'll leave you alone if you just give me my clothes."

Those were terms Andrew could agree to. He gathered up her things and
cracked open the door. Brittany was there, and she leaned down and gave him
a pile of clothing.

"Think about what I said." she said, trying to be seductive through
her anger and embarrassment.

"Fuck you." he said in a low growl, and threw her clothes at her,
slammed the door shut and locked it.

Brittany fumed. "FUCK YOU, TOO, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE COCKSUCKER!" she
screamed, then collapsed in a heap at the doorway, four feet tall and weeping
naked on the floor, oblivious to the gawking crowd. She began to choke out
words in a soft, sad lonely voice. "fuck you, too." she sobbed, grabbed her
clothes and slunk into an empty growing chamber, locking the door behind her.

Jesus! thought Andrew. What a fucking moron I am! My stupid fucking
dick is going to get me killed if I don't fucking snap out of it! His heart
raced as he lay on the sofa, and he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.

His heart rate began to calm, and his breathing returned to normal.
In his mind, another poem played; not there to woo a woman, but there to
remind him of the danger of what he had just done.

"O love, be fed with apples while you may,
And feel the sun and go in royal array,
A smiling innocent on the heavenly causeway,

Though in what listening horror for the cry
That soars in outer blackness dismally,
The dumb blind beast, the paranoiac fury:

Be warm, enjoy the season, lift your head,
Exquisite in the pulse of tainted blood,
That shivering glory not to be despised.

Take your delight in momentariness,
Walk between dark and dark - a shining space
With the grave's narrowness, though not its peace."

The poem was by Robert Graves. Its title was 'Sick Love'.

Andrew tried to sleep when the bell rang and the room began to get
uncomfortably hot again. He had a dream, but Angela wasn't there to protect
him. In fact, there was nothing to protect him from. In the dream, Angela
wasn't there, and he was the only one to notice that she was gone. Everything
was absolutely normal, dull in fact; it was just like everyday life, except
his wife was gone and no one else even noticed.

This was the worst dream of all.

Andrew collected his stuff and went to the shower room. He was now
six feet tall, and he was allowed to walk in the middle of the hall with the
'big' people. It was a little eerie to see that nearly everyone was his size
or smaller, many of them significantly smaller. Still, there was no one he
saw on his way to the shower that was walking in the light blue stripe nearest
the wall. None of the little people he saw had shrunk down to be as little as
he had been.

He stood in the shower for a very long time, washing himself almost
like an obsessive-compulsive might, trying to scour the smell of Brittany off
his skin. He had drunk several quarts of water and brushed his teeth
thoroughly, but he still thought he could taste the disagreeable flavor of his
own jism on his breath. Finally, he was dressed and he noticed the note that
he had gotten off the board, the one that he had walked naked through a crowd
of strangers to get. He hadn't even read it yet.

"Isn't waiting the hardest part? I wish they had a
microwave version of these growing and shrinking
rooms. 'Grown men shrunk and tiny men expanded -
WHILE U WAIT'. I might have to talk to The Baroness
about this. (a little smiling face followed.)

-A.

P.S. I'll be waiting in the atrium."


He folded the note and opened his bag to put it in a safe place. He
saw his little sailor suit, grown up with him, and a white shirt with a giant
red kiss mark across it, the shirt he wore when giant Angela first saw him and
kissed him.

"Kiss me; I'll save these clothes forever and never wash them." That's
what he said a week ago. He zipped the bag back up and headed to the atrium.
It was still a strange wonderland, the Resort, though now it seemed mostly
like a tiny parade. It seemed to be summed up for him by a couple, one chubby
little European man in a white suit and cape with a borsalino hat, carrying a
perfect two foot tall princess in a bright red gown, her hands resting on his
arms, as an army of the bellboys, four foot tall bodybuilders, carried a
seemingly endless selection of tiny luggage behind them. He had a 'It takes
all kinds' smile on his face, realizing that other people must have thought
that last week, when his gorgeous wife carried her tiny nine-inch husband
around everywhere she went.

He spied Angela sitting in a big wicker chair, her back to him as she
looked over a photo album. Andrew put down his bag, and without warning
grabbed the chair and bent down to kiss his beautiful wife's nose.

"Hi, stranger." he said, feeling actually cheerful for the first time
in well over an hour.

"Hi back atcha, pal." Their lips met and Andrew savor the flavor of
her lipstick, so nice and subtle instead of overpowering, a little reminder
that he was back in the normal world. The kiss ended, and he backed off to
see his wife's lovely face, so serene and enticing.

"It's nice to be back." he said. "Whatcha looking at?"

"Holiday snaps." she said innocently. He looked at the picture of
himself leaning against a champagne bottle on one side of the album, and
Angela holding him in her hand that first night at the restaurant where they
danced. She turned the page, and there he was again, this time oiling his
wife's gigantic breast. The pictures were eye openers to say the least.

"I suppose you're going to show these to the ladies at your next
Junior League meeting." said Andrew, his tongue in his cheek.

"I was thinking about when we'd show the video." Angela countered.
"Isn't Professor Lonaghan's retirement dinner next month? That would send him
off with a bang. Or a stroke, at the very least." They both laughed.

"Oh, Chuck, sto-op." Said Andrew, and they laughed again. He looked
up from his cheek to cheek chat to see Chuck and DeeDee walking by as he had
made fun of them. Chuck looked a little angry that his wife was being made
sport of, and it took him a moment to recognize Andrew at full size, but when
he did, his pace quickened as he tried to make good his escape. Andrew
thought for just a moment, then he realize that Chuck was the creep that
threatened him when he couldn't defend himself. He started to follow Chuck
and DeeDee, just to give them a piece of his mind, but Angela grabbed his
sleeve and held him back.

Andrew shrugged her grip off his arm, or at least he thought he did,
but when he tried to take another step he felt the tug of his wife's hand on
his wrist, and his forward motion stopped like a cartoon dog reaching the end
of a leash. He looked back down at his wife, sitting in her chair, smiling
her serene smile.

"Darling, I have something else to show you." she said, and she stood
up. And up. She took a step toward him, and he found himself staring up
into his wife's face, still smiling down at him. He wondered if his growing
process had gone on the fritz, but he had been weighed and measured. Somehow,
his wife was taller than he was.

"What's this?"

"I decided I'd like to try being a little taller. I'm 6'9" tall now.
I thought it would be a nice souvenir; you used to be nine inches tall, and
now I'm nine inches taller than you."

"A souvenir? What the hell are you talking about? You can't go home
any bigger or smaller than you came here; it's in the contract we signed."

"Natasha and I came to an agreement."

"The Baroness? I thought you were terrified of her."

"She called and apologized. She flew off the handle; she blames it on
'gypsy blood'."

"This must have cost a fortune." Andrew was starting to get angry,
and not surprisingly, he turned the 'discussion' to the topic of money, a
favorite sore point of his.

Angela smiled, not wanting to get dragged in. "Well, it did cost a
lot. Let's see, we threw away a knight and a queen and a rook for a rook and
a pawn, but of course, it was checkmate soon after that."

"This was the winnings from the chess game? You put my freedom on the
line just so you could be taller than me if we won? What the hell kind of
deal is that?"

"Darling, I negotiated the best deal I could. The Baroness and I
played several rounds of 'My Lawyer Can Beat Up Your Lawyer', and when it was
over, these were the terms. I don't see how it matters, since we won the
game."

Andrew was starting to sputter. Angela bent down to kiss his nose,
but this seemed to make matters worse. "You always kiss my nose, darling. Is
there something wrong with it?" Angela asked, but Andrew couldn't explain.
It always had meant 'I'm bigger than you, and it's easier to kiss your nose
than to bend down the extra two inches and kiss your mouth', but Andrew had
never thought of it in such condescending terms until he was the one being
condescended to.

"I suppose this is one of those 'We discuss, you decide, I obey'
things." Andrew finally said, still angry but finally able to speak.

"No. In fact, it's the exact opposite. I've made my feelings known,
but the final decision is yours and yours alone." Angela said. "I think it
would be fun to be this tall, but what I really want to be is your wife. If
you aren't comfortable with a wife nine inches taller than you, I'll march
right back into the the shrinking room and become 5'9" again. Takes fifteen
minutes. You say march and I march, no questions asked." She snapped her
fingers for effect, showing that he could snap his fingers and she would obey.

Andrew walked away from her and leaned against the railing that
separated the atrium from the fish pond below. He wasn't as angry, but he was
still confused. He felt that it was a question of power, power being stolen
from him. He thought of Brittany, who looked to be eight feet tall to him,
and now his wife, a full head taller. He was supposed to be in the middle of
the New Alpha Male Syndrome, but it felt more like the Never Alpha Male
Syndrome.

Angela walked over and leaned on the railing with him, lowering her
rear end down and bending her knees so that they were nearly at the same eye
level. "What about your family? What are they going to say?"

"Let them say what they want. I'm not a child anymore."

"What about the Junior League, the faculty wives..."

"Darling, there is only one person whose opinion has any weight with
me, and that's you. What do YOU think?"

Andrew grew silent. He slid over a little and leaned on her. This
was a very big decision, and he hardly knew where to begin. He felt her
fingers running through his hair. He always loved that. He looked at her;
she was still drop dead gorgeous, even in jeans and simple white blouse.

Andrew stood up, and he asked Angela to stand and face him. He put
his arms around her waist to feel what it would be like to hug her, and felt
his face fitting nicely in between her breasts. He grabbed her by the waist
and lifted her off the ground, spinning her around once. She laughed as he
did it.

"Jeez, that's not as easy as it used to be. How much do weigh?"

"195, the same as you." she said.

"Actually, I weigh 190 now. Lost five pounds this week."

"Well, let's see how I do." said Angela, and without a warning she
hugged Andrew under his arms and lifted him off the ground, giving his a big
passionate kiss. He was stunned, but the kiss ended rather quickly and she
lowered him to the ground. "Oof. That's not as easy as it looks."

"Male upper body strength." said Andrew, matter of factly.

"I guess I'm going to have to work out harder if I'm going to stay at
this size." said Angela.

"Yeah, me, too." said Andrew as he leaned back against the railing.
"Of course, I can't think of a good reason to lift you up unless I'm going to
kiss your navel."

Angela leaned down and whispered in his ear. "You can lift me a
little higher than that, can't you, darling?" she said, and rose back up,
smiling a wicked smile.

He wagged a finger at her. "I'm trying to think. No talking smutty
when I'm trying to think."

"Yes, sir. Won't happen again, sir."

Andrew thought for a while. "How are we going to walk together?
Stand up." Angela obeyed. They tried holding hands, but that didn't work
quite right; he felt like she was his nanny helping him cross a busy
intersection. They finally agreed that he fit under her arm almost perfectly,
and he slipped his hand into the back pocket of her jeans, just like she used
to do when he tucked her under his arm. It had a nice symmetry, he decided.

"Well, all that's left is the biggest question of all." Angela perked
up, glad to hear that the decision was almost made, and only one question
remained. He cuddled up against her and stared up into her eyes. "Let's say
we are... dancing. Am I going to be leading, or am I going to find myself
dancing backwards for the rest of my life?"

Angela understood what he was talking about; sex. "Well, we've always
had times when I had the lead and other times when you did. I wouldn't want
to change that. You really are a masterful... dancer, no matter what size you
are."

Andrew smiled as she kissed him, then rose back up to her full height.
It was a magnificent view, looking up at her. She wasn't a skyscraper
anymore, and not a god either, just a very tall, very beautiful woman. "Well,
I guess that settles it from my end." he said. "Did you expand all your
luggage, too?"

"Sure; does that mean it's okay? I can make it all smaller if that's
what you want."

"No, I was just wondering about this bag." He opened a certain zipper
section on her carry-on bag, and brought out a small box that said only one
thing to the trained eye: jewelry. "I hid this in here this morning; I bought
it from that closed-circuit shopping channel."

"For me?" Angela gasped.

Andrew opened the box and tried the ring on himself. "It's way too
big for me, so it must be for you."

Angela squealed in delight, as he slipped the big ring with three
brilliant diamonds onto the ring finger of her right hand. "Oh, darling.
It's so beautiful. I can't believe it, it's gorgeous. What's the occasion?"

"I guess I'm asking you to marry me. If we met, and I was like this
and you were big like you are now..."

"Darling, it wouldn't matter to me." she interrupted. "If it took a
magnifying glass to find you, I would find you and keep you forever." She
leaned into him and gave him a very passionate kiss, deeper and longer and
more exciting that any she had given him since he grew back to normal.

"I wish we still had a room." he breathed.

"No time for that now; I guess we'll have to join the Mile High Club
on the way home." she looked at him absolutely seriously. He could hardly
believe his ears.

"Hello." a voice came from behind Andrew, and he turned around to see
eight-foot tall Brittany towering over both of them. Angela smiled at her,
but Andrew began to worry; what did she want? If she started a scene, he was
sunk.

"You've changed." said Brittany to Angela, nodding approvingly at her
new height.

"So have you." said Angela.

"He's pretty much the same." said Brittany. Andrew was sure she was
going to spill the beans.

"What are you talking about? He's much bigger than he was." said
Angela, coming to her husband's defense.

"I mean that before, you were big and I was medium sized and he was
small. Now, I'm big, you're medium, and he's still a shrimp."

Angela gave Andrew a hug. "He may be smaller than us, but he's no
shrimp. Shrimps don't give presents like this." Angela said, and flashed her
new present in Brittany's face. They began to gasp and marvel at the sparkler
the way that women sometimes will when they talk about jewelry.

"Jesus, I swear you're the luckiest woman on Earth." marveled the
massive blonde. "If you could bottle him, you'd make a fortune."

Angela smiled her serene smile and hugged Andrew tenderly. "I have
enough money. I like being the sole proprietor of this one; I'm not
interested in starting a franchise."

"You're the boss." said Brittany. "It was nice meeting both of you."
she kissed Angela and shook Andrew's hand. He was completely silent, and more
than a little scared and feeling very guilty. Brittany walked away, and
Andrew and Angela began to collect their bags.

"Angela, I have something to tell you. I made a big mistake, and I
feel awful."

Angela looked at him, and she could tell that whatever weighed on his
conscience was very heavy indeed.

"I was in the growing rooms this morning, and Brittany came in and
joined me. At first, I thought that you might have sent her, but I ruled
that out quickly. I should have sent her away, but I didn't and ... we had
sex." He stared down at the ground. "She forced me to have sex."

"Are you telling me she raped you?" Angela said, in a cold voice,
trying to understand but feeling the cold betrayal in her heart.

Andrew shook his head in sorrow. "No, she didn't rape me. She asked
and I wanted her, and if it was rougher than I wanted, well I won't lie. I
got what I wanted." He looked up at her. "It will never happen again. It
can't; I mean this was not a real situation. You literally handed her to me
on a silver platter; you have to understand what it's like to be a man. If we
are given a golden opportunity, we will take it; if we have time to think, if
we have to put in effort, we might reconsider, but a beautiful woman throwing
herself at me, well it's just not a real world situation. It couldn't happen
again."

"Let me see if I have this straight. Now it's my fault because I gave
her to you earlier."

Andrew stopped. He was digging a hole, a very deep one. He was
avoiding responsibility, and every explanation was turning into an excuse.
"No. It's my fault; what I did was wrong, and I'm telling you because I'm
no damned good at keeping secrets. I couldn't bear Brittany coming back and
haunting us, showing up a year from now or five years, confronting you. I
thought for sure she was going to say something just now. She was very upset
when I threw her out."

"You threw her out? I find that hard to believe."

"There are a lot of witnesses. More than I would like, actually."
Angela looked at him crossly. "I may not know as much judo as you, but I do
know a few arm twists. This doesn't really matter. What matters is that a
little man made a big mistake, and he can only hope that his wife is big
enough to forgive him."

"Is this what the ring is about; guilt?" Angela asked.

"No. I swear to God I bought it yesterday; I have the receipt. This
happened less than two hours ago."

"You swear to me this will never happen again."

"Never. I feel like absolute shit. I swear to God it will never
happen again."

Angela held a finger in front of his face. "Don't swear to God; swear
to me!"

Andrew looked up at her. "I thought you weren't a god anymore."

"Just this once, just for old times' sake." She said, staring at him
with a serious purpose.

He put his face in her hand, and kissed her palm. "I swear by the
love I have for my wife and my protector, I will never betray her again. I
throw myself on her infinite mercy."

Angela smiled at her husband, kissing the palm of her hand, begging
for her forgiveness. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Andrew shook his head,
it wasn't hard at all. "We should go; we have a plane to catch."

Andrew and Angela gathered their luggage, each of them toting three
big bags, and they walked off to catch the plane and leave the resort, to
return to a new life in their old home.