CHAPTER SIX

Fran spent the next hour or so shopping, just to take her mind off of how Peter had just slipped through her fingers there at Lane Bryant.  He was just…so perfect!  He was the perfect size, just like her late husband had been, and to boot he was young and fresh — perfect for her desires.  And that bitch boss of his had swooped in at the last minute there and put a damper on everything!  Fran was so upset that for a few minutes, she just stormed down the sidewalk, not really knowing where she was going.  But gradually, she calmed down, and decided to shop around for some new heels to make herself feel better.  She finally found the perfect pair, a lovely pair of red stilettos that boosted her height up a good 3 inches, putting her well over 6 feet tall by this point.  She walked out of the store in her new heels and took a big sigh of the cool city air.  It was going to be ok — everything was going to be fine.  There were always more little men, around 7 or 8 inches tall, who would fit the bill.  So what if little Peter had gotten away?  There was more we he came from, to be sure.   

Right about then, as she clacked down the street, Fran noticed a colorful flyer that was posted to a telephone pole.  She walked up to it and looked — it was advertising a new restaurant called Martha’s, which Fran had heard about a few days ago from Rhonda.  Apparently it was a rather tasty place, with good food, but what caught Fran’s eye was the specific thing the flyer was advertising.  It said, in big bold letters: “GUY’S NIGHT!  SINGLE MEN EAT FREE!”  Fran felt her heart jump a little as she continued reading.  There was an asterisk next to the big announcement and, in finer print, Fran read: “All men will be paired off — so ladies, first come, first serve!”        

Fran chuckled to herself as her heart fluttered excitedly in her chest.  ‘What the hell?’ she thought happily, ‘I should just go!  Maybe I’ll get lucky and meet someone perfect, some little man who’s just the ideal size!  And if I don’t?  Oh well — that doesn’t mean I still can’t have my fun — I’ll get to tease some little cutie before I call it a night and go on home.  What do I have to lose?’  

And with that, Fran entered the restaurant’s address into her phone — it was only a ten-minute drive away, so she caught herself an uber and, fifteen minutes later, she was walking in the front doors of Martha’s.  The hostess up-front was a gorgeous, tan, buxom young woman, in her late-20’s with platinum-blond hair, with a very trendy, modern look about her.  Fran could tell immediately that Martha’s was this kind of joint: there was catchy, trendy music playing, and all of the restaurant employees were young hip-looking women.  Fran loved these kinds of places — they made her feel younger.  Unlike a few of her other friends, especially Daisy, she was on board for all of the new glitzy trends that young women were embarking upon now.  As far as Fran was concerned, she had just reached the prime of her life, and felt more sexy, more aggressive, and more horny than ever.  Martha’s was just the kind of swanky place she loved.   

“Hello ma’m!” said the hostess politely, “Welcome to Martha’s!  Are you here for the “Guys Eat Free Night” extravaganza?”

“How could you tell?” asked Fran with a smile and a wink.  “Is it that obvious that I’m on the hunt?”

“Haha, well, it’s just that these nights are quite popular with our female clientele,” laughed the hostess.  “The singles section is almost entirely filled up!”

“Oh dear!” cried Fran, her brow creasing in worry.  “I hope I haven’t come too late!?”  

The hostess smiled.  “Well actually,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “you’re in luck.  A couple minutes ago I seated a hot young man who had just gotten off work — he said it had been a hard day, apparently — and at this point no one has called dibs on him!”  

“Well how about that?” said Fran happily with a big grin.  “Take me to him!”

“Of course — right this way!” said the hostess, and she led Fran down the restaurant aisle.  As Fran followed the hostess’s undulating figure down the aisle, her eyes fell on a whole host of men of various sizes and their respective (and invariably larger) female dates.  She saw a business woman of about 30 flirting with a half-sized man seated in front of her; the woman looked a little inebriated, and she was brushing the underside of the man’s chin with a long fingernail.  Fran noticed that he looked aroused, but a little scared at the same time.  She kept looking as she walked down — she saw another woman, a fat Italian-looking lady with olive skin and jet black hair, similar in age and size to Fran.  Fran saw from a tiny pile of clothes on front of her that the woman had stripped her date down completely naked and was now dunking his nude, shivering, 6-inch body into her margarita.  She pulled him out, sputtering and coughing, as she made lewd sounds slurping the margarita off of his dripping body. 

Fran chuckled at this display, appreciating the fat woman’s sense of humor and relationship dynamics.  She saw that she was approaching her seat, since the hostess had stopped up in front of her and was indicating  where she should sit.  Fran walked up to her spot, eager to sit down and see this hot young man who was across from her.  She saw him and gasped.  This fabled young man was none other than Peter himself, who was standing on the table to greet his date! Fran’s heart stopped in ecstasy as she saw his face drop in fear.  In that moment, Fran could not remember ever feeling so happy — she was utterly beaming as she took Peter’s tiny hand in her own, laughing down at him as she pretended to meet him for the first time. The hostess, satisfied that everything was in order, turned away and left them alone. 

Now that Fran was wearing heels, the table was actually slightly below the crotch of her pants, putting the gaping and hapless Peter on the same level as her fat camel toe.  Fran made eyes down at him, chuckling at his trembling form, appreciating at how he was staring straight into her huge swollen camel toe in fear. 

“Did you realize, young man,” she said suddenly, putting her hands on her enormous hips, “that it’s considered rude to stare at a woman’s crotch?”  She reached out her foot and nudged a leg of the table from underneath, causing Peter to abruptly lose his footing and stumble forward.  He staggered towards her a few paces, until he finally caught his balance against the fat lips of her pussy.  Fran moaned out out at the feel of the tiny man smacking into her big lips, which were only an inch or two shorter than he was tall.  

“Oooohhhh, you rude little boy!” she moaned out loud.  “Don’t you know how impolite it is for you to tease me like that?”  She shot down her hand and grabbed him as she sat down, pressing him against her swollen crotch, and then against her breasts briefly, as she took her seat.  She realized, once she sat down, that she didn’t like how far away the “single man’s” mini-table was, so she slid it closer to where she was sitting, only a foot or so away.  

“Aahhh!” she sighed in satisfaction as she deposited Peter next to his tiny table and stretched her arms high over her head.  “It’s sooo nice to come to a place like this, kick back, and relax, you know?” she said down to her date.  “Especially after it’s been such a hard day, right?”  She winked down knowingly at him, appreciating his silent look of fear and anxiety.  Without wasting any more time, Fran grunted as she hefted both of her absolutely gargantuan breasts onto the table, directly in front of Peter.  The table shook each time she deposited one of her breasts on its surface, and Fran was delighted to see that Peter had to grab onto his mini-table to keep from falling over.  

“Ooohhhh man, that feels good,” she said, nodding down at Peter as she indicated to her breasts.  “It really wears on these babies, you know, when I carry them around all day.  Sometimes they just need to rest, you know?”  Peter looked up at the sweaty mounds of female flesh in front of him, and up into Fran’s smiling face.  They made eye contact — both of them knew that Fran was fibbing, and that she really just wanted to give Peter a clear view of her massive twins, to enthrall him and, more importantly, to flirt with him and intimidate him. 

“God, it’s scary how much you remind me of Walter,” she breathed down at him, putting her arms up on the table so that her giant breasts were framed by the pillars of her arms on either side.    

“Wh-who’s Walter?” asked Peter, taking a seat at his miniature table and trying to sound as natural as possible.  

“My late husband!” said Fran brightly, smiling wider as she saw Peter’s face drop again.  “He was just about your size, you know…although I have to say — and I noticed this almost as soon as I saw you in Lane Bryant — I think you’re about 2 inches taller than he was.” 

“I…I am?” asked Peter blankly.   

“Yeah,” said Fran wistfully, looking off in the distance for a moment.  But then her eyes came straight back to Peter, and she looked at him intensely, with that same aroused smile on her face that made Peter feel deeply uneasy.  

“You’re a little taller than he was,” continued Fran, holding out her hand and opening her fingers wide to measure his body, “but you have the same exact body time as he did.  Skinny, scrawny, a little muscle, but not too much.  Just perfect — just like I like them…delicious!”  She licked her lips hungrily at him, and Peter had the sudden urge to propel the conversation forward.  He was afraid about what was going to happen if he let the silence build between them.  

“Y-you keep…uh, s-saying “was,”” said Peter uneasily.  “Uh…is he…umm…what happened to him?” 

“Oh he had an accident,” said Fran wistfully looking into the distance again as she squished her breasts together right in front of Peter.  As she squished them together, he could actually feel a little rush of wind that her squeezing breasts created; the wind ruffled his hair a little.   

“An…an accident?” asked Peter uncertainly, looking into Fran’s breasts.   

“Yes, an accident,” she said, returning her eyes to her tiny date as she smiled sadly.  “And unfortunately it was not the type of accident you recover from, and he passed away.”  

“Oh…that’s…that’s terrible,” said Peter, finding himself unable to look away from Fran’s breasts as she continued to squeeze and squish them in front of the tiny man.   

“Yes, it was very sad,” she said, as Peter noticed with trepidation that her nipples were starting to get hard and poke through the fabric of her top and bra.  “We had such a lovely life together, me and Walter.”  She looked down at Peter and her eyes sparkled darkly as she smiled.  “Although I have to say, sometimes I felt like I was a bit too much for him, you know what I mean?  Like sometimes I didn’t appreciate my true…power and strength with him.”   

“I…I can see what you mean,” said Peter, his eyes bugging out as he continued to stare uneasily at Fran’s giant breasts.  She chuckled down at him, clearly appreciating how she was controlling him simply by squeezing her massive melons together.   

“Oh yes,” she continued, looking down at Peter, “the times we had together…the ways I used to play with him…god I miss him!  I miss him every day.”  She looked straight down into the crevasse of her cleavage, strongly implying to Peter that much of their “play” had taken place in between her tremendous orbs.  Peter couldn’t help but wonder what exactly had happened in this “accident” that had led to Timothy’s demise, but he was too scared to ask.  As he looked at Fran’s breasts, he was met by the uncomfortable notion that her twins had something to do with it.   

“Ooohh man, these little girls sure are getting hard!” she said suddenly, indicating to her swollen and protruding nipples.  She began to prod and pinch them with her big fingers, enjoying how she was totally controlling the conversation and making Peter react.  There was no way he could hide his reaction on his face — the older woman’s flirtations and play, and her talk of her late husband (killed in an ominously mysterious accident), made him feel very intimidated…scared, even.  Additionally, she had placed her breasts so close to his tiny body that he could see and experience every aspect of them, down to the slightly stinky sweat that dotted them all around, and the somewhat wrinkled appearance of her skin around the opening of her cleavage.  Peter swallowed uncomfortably; he found all of these aspects of Fran off-putting.  It wouldn’t have been a big deal if she was just any older woman, but the fact that she was aggressively and intimidatingly flirting with him made him feel cornered and trapped, like a little animal that was the prey of a much larger and powerful predator.