The Resort  Chapter 1  Andrew was dozing when he heard the bell ring and the hum of the shrinking machine fade out

The Resort  Chapter 1  Andrew was dozing when he heard the bell ring and the hum of the shrinking machine fade out

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."

The Resort  Chapter 1  Andrew was dozing when he heard the bell ring and the hum of the shrinking machine fade out

MORE ABOUT The Resort  Chapter 1  Andrew was dozing when he heard the bell ring and the hum of the shrinking machine fade out