* * * * *
MILES STONE'S P.O.V.
Rhonda, the red-headed giantess, dangled me by my wrists. While Myrna (the light-skinned African-American girl) tickled my feet! The gyrations this subsequently put me through made the seven other chorus girls present giggle like pre-adolescents.
"Ooooh!" squealed the pony-tailed Bahamian girl: "I wish the Ken doll I'd had, as a little girl, had been as anatomically correct."
"Yeah," agreed Rhonda: "It's no wonder these things are so popular with the rich pervs from the mainland!"
"Well, then," replied Myrna (with a sly grin): "Let's see if he's ticklish anyplace else?"
Whereupon, while supporting my feet in the palm of her left hand, she began tickling me with the index finger of her right. Above and between my feet!
"WHOA! OH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OH, NO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! S-STOP...HAHAHAHAHAHA! STOP THAT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEASE, N...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
I guarantee you; I was the only one laughing in that room who was _not_ enjoying my predicament.
* * * * *
NAOMI WATANABE'S P.O.V.
I had seen enough. There was no way the poor little guy was going to survive the night with these bitches. So, I took off my "earwig" transceiver and put in some yellow, foam-rubber earplugs. Then, I got out my egg-shaped flash/bang grenade (don't bother asking from where!); kicked open the door to the chorus girls' dressing room; and then threw the egg up toward the ceiling.
A few heads turned to look at me (hence, my ad hoc disguise), just before the "flash/bang" occurred. Then, they were all on the floor, writhing around, either covering their ears or rubbing their eyes. I used that opportunity to run forward and snatch Little Miles up off the floor. Depositing him down my cleavage...for temporary safe-keeping, of course.
Then, while everybody else in the backstage area was running to the chorus girls' dressing room, I ran back to Juliet Merlinova's dressing room. Calling out once or twice, along the way, for somebody to call a doctor. I then locked Merlinova's door so I could resume wearing my street clothes. Although, I made sure to keep Miles hidden within my cleavage. So nobody would notice his naked little self!
It was only when I had put the earwig back under my right earlobe that my partner, Eric, got through.
"MARCO POLO TO TROPHY GIRL! MARCO POLO TO TROPHY GIRL!"
"AHHHHHH! Not so loud, dude! I read you, loud and clear."
"Where the frig have you been?"
"Well, I ain't been London to see the Queen! I was too busy rescuing Major Minor. How about you?"
"The other two subjects are likewise secure. Meet me at the front entrance to the hotel, ASAP! I've arranged for transport to the docks."
"I'm en route, as we speak. Trophy Girl out!"
Five minutes later, Eric and I were in the back seat of the same taxi cab that had brought Miles and Gladys here, in the first place.
* * * * *
MOTEL SIX, VENICE, CALIF.
(ROUGHLY ONE HOUR LATER)
CHET NORTHFIELD'S P.O.V.
I slowly walked around the motel, pretending I was looking for better cellphone reception. When I got to the rear entrance, near the garbage dumpster, I hurriedly put on my shuko climbing claws...and scurried up the palm tree closest to the roof.
I made the requisite leap across, somersaulted on landing, then got up and put on my jungle-camo ninja togs. And, a good thing, too. Because, I suddenly heard the sounds of fighting from one of the rooms along the sixth floor balcony! And, when I had determined which room it might be, I swung down to the balcony...
...and dove through its shaded window, head-first.
The two chunin who had clearly been fighting each other looked at me in bewilderment.
"Who are you?" demanded the sixty-something male.
"You can call me...Darth Brooks!"
NEXT: NINJA THREE-FOR-ALL
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
HOTEL LILLIPUT,
THE BAHAMAS,
MAY 20, 2009
(3:40 PM/EST)
THE BAHAMAS,
MAY 20, 2009
(3:40 PM/EST)