Giantess World
A Tough Night
By NFalc
Part Two
The apartment was cramped. As cramped as a coffin, musty and dim. The coffin I mean, not the apartment. No, the apartment smelled too strongly of cigs and cheap wine to be called musty. The hooker pointed to a bed in the middle of the room. It came up to my waist.
"Sit yourself down, tiger," she said,
I clambered up onto the bed, embarrassed at just how short I'd gotten. Even getting onto a bed was difficult. I sat back, tried to look comfortable and relaxed, and kicked off my shoes.
"I'm gonna go wash up quick. Be ready when I come out." The whore said, with a wink.
She stepped into the nearby bathroom and closed the door. I stared up at the ceiling, wondering what exactly I'd gotten myself into. I was something like four feet tall, stranded in the middle of the redlights, without even the photos I'd come for. I fell back on to the bed, which was harder than concrete and springier than May. It was going to be a long night.
***
She quickly closes the door behind her and locks it. Takes a few deep breaths and slows her breathing. Then she heads over to the sink, cups her hand and splashes herself with dirty water from the faucet. She does this until the makeup that was caked over her face is either loosened or gone. Then she takes a rag and wipes away the remains.
She's herself again in the mirror. How she hates the crap they put her through at the office. "Becca, we've got an undercover job for you," they say, snickering behind her back. They think she doesn't notice. "That shrinking cult, it's being run in the redlights. We're not allowed down there, but we think we'd be able to sneak you in..."
Next thing she knows she's dressed like a ten-dollar slut and is trolling for midgets, looking to take them back to the most run-down building in the redlights.
If anything, she shouldn't feel guilty. Each person's entitled to their kinks, but when you put something illegal into you, that's when the State steps in. The little man outside her door was just one small piece of the puzzle, a means to an end. She would deal with him. She won't feel guilty at all.
She ties her hair back. She takes one last deep breath, blows it out slowly, shaping her mouth into an 'O'. Then she reaches for the handcuffs on her belt.
***
"By the authority of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, you are under arrest!"
I look up, and the hooker's no longer a whore - she's grade-A classy, even though she's still wearing the fishnets. This is enough of a shock without her reading me the riot act.
"Rebecca Laughton, FBI." She pulls a badge. A copper. I just got suckered by the Feds.
I don't even fight back when she slaps a huge set of steel cuffs around my wrist, and clamps the other end 'round the bars at the back of the bed. She has to close the cuffs all the way down to their last notch so they fit tight on my wrists.
"Where did you get the solution?" she asks.
"Wha?" I answer, still trying to get my head around the situation. I know, I'm real bright, a regular flashbulb.
"The shrinking solution."
"Oh," I say. My wit shines through with every word. "That. No, I didn't take it. They sprayed it at me."
She gives me the dead serious, you're-shit-out-of-luck-and-you-better-know-it look. "Do you know that it is a federal offense to be in possession of or to use shrinking solution? That it is produced and sold by terrorists? By using this, you may think you're just having a good time, but you are actually aiding the enemies of the United States."
"Lady, I couldn't care less about this shrinking stuff. I was just doing my job when I get this weird perfume sprayed at me -"
"I'm no sap. Tell me what I need to know, or I'll take you in and let the boys in blue deal with you."
The cops ain't too gentle with me when I'm normal size, so I'd prefer to avoid getting brought in. I rack my brains for something to tell the broad. "Mistress Loretta gave it to me," I say, crossing my fingers and praying that this is what she's looking for.
"So she is their distributor," The woman says. "Now we've just got to find the source." She grabs a pad of paper from the clutter around the bad, scribbles something on it, then picks up the phone and dials. "Cutter, get a team assembled at the docks. I've got a witness, we're going after Loretta." She slams the phone back on its cradle, a creepily triumphant smile on her face. Then she gets up and heads for the door.
"Hey, what about me?" I ask.
"Stay here," she says. "We'll still need you when all of this is over."
And just like that, she's out the door. In the movies, she'd be saying how she can't help but be attracted to me, despite the fact that we're on opposite sides. She'd be taking off her top right this minute.
I hate the movies. You walk away with higher expectations and nothing to show for 'em.
Suddenly, that feeling like ice water hits me again, and I'm reeling. I fall over onto the bed, clawing at the mattress, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Feels like I've just had one too many absinthes at the wrong kind of bar. Reminds me why they made the ol' Green Fairy illegal.
When the room slows down, I'm sweating and twitching a little, lying face-down on the bed. But this makes no sense, because I was handcuffed to the headboard. I hold my hands in front of my face. The cuffs are gone. I've slipped out of them.
Everything has just gotten a whole lot bigger. The bed could be a first-story balcony above the floor. The ceiling's high up out of my reach. The apartment could be a concert hall.
So, what am I now, two feet? One and a half? My clothes are pooling all around me, and I won't be able to fit in my shoes now. Good thing it's summer or I'd be freezing, but I don't feel like running stark naked around the redlights tonight. I rummage around the clothes and junk on the floor, and manage to find myself a pair of flats which are smaller than my other shoes, and are wearable even though I'm swimming in them (not to mention how they look...) I button my shirt down all the way and it's so long that it easily covers my legs. Sure, this may not be the most fashionable outfit, but until I go to the toddler department of the nearest clothing store, it's the best I'll be able to get.
I ease myself off the edge of the bed until I'm hanging by my fingertips, then carefully let myself drop to the floor, breathing a sigh of relief when I land gently. Then I take the nearby chair and begin pushing it over to the door so I can turn the knob...
***
Grace takes a deep breath, and hopes she's doing the right thing. Max never told her where he was going, and she doesn't think he'll be down at the prison just yet. So she'll have to go to the source of the problem. The scene of the crime, except the only crime was fooling an honest P.I., and his secretary will be avenging him. It's an odd thought, but she's in an odd mood. After all, it isn't every day an ordinary secretary finds herself in the glamorous part of town. Granted, she wasn't in a terribly glamorous state, on foot and with little makeup, although she did have the platinum blond hair to suit the look.
She's out of breath when she rings the bell in front of the massive mansion's door. A small slot in the door opens quickly, and she can see a single eye peer out at her.
"I'm here to see Ms. Dodgson," she says quickly, but the slot closes. The door doesn't open. She rings the doorbell once more, but realizes that it won't do any good. If you don't look the part, you don't get in. Unless you're tricky about it.
***
The streets were steaming like a pot of lobsters when I headed back out, trying desperately to seem inconspicuous. You see, it's hard to fade into the background when you're two feet tall and dressed in nothing more than a very large white shirt. I was worried. I could get picked up, this time by a real call girl. Or that fed, Rebecca, could catch up with me again. She was a real minx, and I could tell she'd know her way around a guy's sensitive spots. Hurting those sensitive spots, that is.
Call me chicken, but dealing with a gal three times my size just wasn't my idea of child's play, and to be honest it kind of intimidated me. That shrinking stuff, it didn't just rob me of my size, it robbed me of my dignity. I couldn't stare down an alley cat, much less a broad. And forget about a regular guy.
Still, I had a case to solve, and that meant I had to go the only place I had a lead. Loretta was headed for the Docks, and hopefully Mr. Dodgson was with her. Or at least she could tell me where he was. It wasn't much to go on, but it was all I had.
Now all I had to do was figure out a way of getting down there. With such short legs, both driving and walking all the way there were out of the question. No, there were no buts about it - I'd have to hitchhike.
After about half an hour of tough walking (when your legs are less than a foot long, it gets real easy to trip on the paving stones) I was finally out of the redlights. I wiped about a gallon of sweat off my brow as I stepped onto the highway, my thumb stuck out at the headlights passing by. I'm shorter than those headlights, so I'm hoping someone'll have their eyes peeled.
Lucky me, though, a car pulls over to the side of the road. A door opens up, and a nice young girl, maybe twenty, gets out the other side. I give her the ol' one-over as she walks over. Long skirt, cardigan sweater. Perky boobs. She's your run-of-the-mill goody-two-shoes brunette, a regular dollface. I think she'd be short if I was normal height, but as it is she completely towers over me.
Her peepers get all wide when she spots me, and she walks up and kind of crouches over me, staring. I can smell the spearmint gum on her breath. "You need a ride, little fella?" she asks.
I feel like snapping at her for condescending to me like that, but what can I do? I'd look ridiculous trying to talk tough to this girl, ten years younger than me and twice my size. So I settle for simply saying "If I could have one, please."
"All right," she says, perfect white teeth in a big grin, "But it's gonna cost ya."
I start reaching into my pockets before I realize that I don't have any. My wallet, it's back in my pants, and those are back at Rebecca's place. And there's no way in hell I'm going back there to have her book me for a room in the big house. So I blush and cross my fingers and blurt, "I don't got any change."
"Oh, that's not what it's going to be," she says, running her tongue over her lips. "My parents are the real traditional types. They don't want me to screw around before I get married. They want a white wedding. But I've been dying to have some fun. And I don't think you're big enough to pop my cherry."
Some goody-two-shoes.
***
Grace hates heights. She especially hates them when she doesn't have anything protecting her if she falls. So she's very unhappy as she scales the thick ivy growing on the walls of the Dodgson estate, trying to sneak in the second floor window. The Dodgsons were smart about building their home - no windows on the first floor, all the doors are heavy. You couldn't break in unless you were carrying heavy duty explosives.
So Grace climbs. Until finally, she sees a window, and reaches out, holding her breath, struggling not to look down. A quick pull on the edge and - amazingly - it opens. Grace grabs onto the ledge and carefully pulls herself up, managing to slide herself in without so much as tearing her dress.
She lands clumsily though, bumbling onto a plush carpet floor. When she sits up and gets her bearings, she sees that it's an extravagant bedroom, four-post bed and all. Whether it's Marilyn's or Elizabeth's, she can't tell.
She looks around, seeing the countless framed photographs on the walls, the expensive furniture, the sheer opulence of it all - then her eye catches movement. She sees it dart behind a chair. Slowly, on all fours, she crawls towards the chair. It didn't look like a mouse. In fact, she was almost positive that it was standing on its hind legs.
She pads softly over to the chair, then swiftly ducks her head behind it. The little creature panics, trying to run away but tripping and falling on its face. Instantly, Grace darts out her hand and grabs onto it, even as it flails and claws at the carpet.
She turns it over in her hand, and it suddenly lies very still. Grace takes a deep breath. She could've sworn she'd heard about this, but dismissed it as a rumor, a silly child's story. Cults with mysterious potions. She'd brushed it all off.
Yet there, in her palm, is a man just two inches tall.