* * * * *
MILES STONE'S P.O.V.
"OK, ladies!" ordered an effeminate voice: "One more time from the top."
"AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" came the collective response.
I sympathized with them. But, not out of any concern for the tired tootsies of these colossal chorines. It was more out of dread for what was coming next. And, which I was increasingly finding it difficult to tolerate!
"If you like it, then you shoulda put a ring on it.
If you like it, then you shoulda put ring on it.
Don't be mad when someone else likes seein' it.
Whoa-oh-oh! Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh! Whoa-oh-oh!
Whoa-oh-oh-oh!"
Imagine you're "Indiana" Jones, trapped in one of those rooms where the walls close in from both sides. Now, imagine that same room beginning to move back and forth, then up and down, and side to side. Sort of like a giant brandy-shaker. Well, that's what I felt like, stuck inside the cleavage of a redheaded chorus girl named Rhonda.
Talk about "booby traps!"
Never in all my astronaut training had I had a wilder ride. Frig!! Even the experimental space flight that had caused me to shrink in the first place had been like a carousel ride compared to this!!!
Finally, however, the choreographer was satisfied with the dress rehearsal and allowed Rhonda and her fellow chorus girls to return to their dressing room. Something that I regarded as a mixed blessing. You see, I had used my cyber-telepathy chip to tap into the public address system of the theater where these girls had been rehearsing. And, by that means, I eavesdropped on their conversations during a prior rest break.
It seems they thought I was one of the "mini-animatrons" this hotel was so famous for. More specifically, one that had somehow escaped from the "Miscellaneous Props" room, backstage. And, as "those things" were supposed to be for the private use of the high-paying guests, only,...well, let's just say the temptation proved too great for them to resist.
They were not going to turn me over to the Lost-And-Found Desk, until the next morning.
* * * * *
ERIC BRAVO'S P.O.V.
As I re-entered the Honeymoon Suite, I made sure to put wooden blocks under both doors after locking them. I then disconnected all the phones installed by the hotel. Because, what I was about to do called for complete privacy.
I opened my "wife's" toiletry case, and looked at the guys hibernating in yoga lotus positions. Whereupon, I formed a ring with my right thumb and index finger before doing a falsetto imitation of a bugler blowing "Reveille!"
While it was the oddest post-hypnotic suggestion I had ever heard of, there was no denying it was effective. The "microndos" woke up and stretched. Then their commanding non-commissioned officer happened to look up and spot me.
"Ten-hut!"
He and his fellow microndos snapped to attention.
"At ease, guys. Time to go to work."
"Sir! Yes, sir!" they chorused.
The microndos (short for "micro-reconnaisance commandos") were battle-hardened veterans with years of ultra-covert operations experience behind them. And, all of this, _prior_ to being _voluntarily_ shrunken by Solution 62!
You see, originally, M.A.C.H.O. had used such shrunken men to infiltrate the homes of suspected serial homunculists, and implant them with subcutaneous tracking darts. But, after Nine-Eleven, they were used in a much more extensive anti-terrorist role.
This particular microndo team--nicknamed the "Scorpionflies" because of their shrunken jet packs and nine millimeter Skorpion machine pistols (used to fend off spiders and such)--was now about to be deployed against the current occupant of the Gulliver Suite.
Ms. Juliet Merlinova: the giantess holding Gladys Crabtree hostage.
tbc
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
HOTEL LILLIPUT,
BAHAMA ISLANDS,
MAY 20, 2009
(3:30 P.M./EST)
BAHAMA ISLANDS,
MAY 20, 2009
(3:30 P.M./EST)