Figura and Donnagon stood in a thicket of electronics, using their tiny tools to finesse the power couplings surrounding them.  Gregorio stood outside the housing, but with his limited technical expertise he had performed only simple gopher tasks, and even these had become infrequent.

He therefore had little excuse not to turn around and gaze into the enormous meltingly brown eyes of Francesca, amplified to goddess scale by the table magnifier she had craned over the device.  When she made suggestions to the tiny scientists, her deep heavenly voice resonated in Gregorio’s blood.  As overwhelming as her scrutiny was, he preferred to keep eye contact lest he find himself drawn to the top of her shirt, which along with her lab coat she had curiously left unbuttoned, exposing her bountiful C-cups, compressed by her bra to form an alluring crevasse.

The three-inch-tall Donnagon turned from the circuit panel to look up at his giant bride.  “I think we’ve got it,” he said.

Donnagon and Figura climbed out of the device, which looked similar to if bulkier than the destroyed portable miniaturizer, and watched Francesca’s huge hand lift it from the table.  She selected the nearby access plate and fitted it to the opening in the device, then applied a small electric screwdriver to the four corners.

Gregorio noticed that Ingrid had gotten up from her seat across the lab and walked over to the workbench.  She wore another smart pantsuit, but somehow that didn’t make her any less distracting to him.  He was clearly the least important contributor to the current project, but she still found him with her enormous eyes and flashed him a smile that was not unkind.

“All back together,” announced Francesca, putting down the screwdriver.  “We can proceed when you’re ready, Doctor.”

Figura put his tools away and wiped his brow.  “I know you’re eager to return to full-size duties, Agent Cortez,” he said, “but conscience dictates that I be the first subject of any experiment based on my theories.”

Ingrid lowered the platform of her giant hand to the table next to the tiny scientist.  “Ready, Doctor?” she asked.

The three-inch-tall Figura looked up at the towering woman you had smuggled him out of Venezuela.    “As ready as I’ll ever be, Agent Avellan,” he said, stepping onto her palm.

Ingrid cupped Figura and slowly walked to the center of the room, where she gently lowered him to the floor.  She smiled at him reassuringly as she stood up to her full height, 140 subjective feet above him, then walked back to the workbench.

Francesca stood up, walked around to the workbench, held up the device and trained it on the tiny Figura.  “On my mark,” she called.   “Three, two, one, mark!”

Instead of a blinding flash, all the lights and sounds in the lab dimmed, then flickered back to full strength.  In the middle of the room stood Figura, restored to his original size.  He put his hand to his head, took a step forward, then stumbled.  Ingrid and Francesca rushed to his side, but he politely declined their support.

Figura patted himself all over, then looked at Francesca with relief.  “Everything seems to be in working order,” he said.

“Congratulations, Doctor,” said Francesca, beaming.  She and Ingrid enveloped him in a double hug, provoking a bewildered smile from the older scientist.

“Yes, congratulations,” shouted Gregorio from the workbench.  “Francesca, when will the prototype be ready for another use?”

Francesca walked over to Gregorio, holding the device with both hands, then bent forward to bring her giant gorgeous face down next to the three-inch-tall agent.  “Director Devlin has instructed me not to restore you to full size,” she said.  “He said you and Ingrid were too good a team.”

Gregorio took an involuntary step back.  He stood there dumb as Ingrid approached the workbench, reached down with her enormous arm and curled her fingers around the tiny and unresisting Gregorio.  Folding her other arm across her chest, she brought him up to her giant face, raising her eyebrows and grinning.  “I guess we’ll have plenty of time to work on my grip,” she said.

He gazed into the two-foot-wide eyes of the woman who had held his life in her hands and elsewhere, and he struggled to admit to himself that he trusted her.  With the mission, with his life, with anything.  At any scale.

Gregorio’s emotional contortions must have been visible on his tiny face, because Ingrid couldn’t keep from dissolving in laughter.  She was joined by Francesca, who had been watching with a discreet smile.

“I can’t believe he fell for it!” Ingrid told Francesca, wiping her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Gregorio,” said Francesca, still giggling.  “It was Ingrid’s idea.”

Helpless in Ingrid’s huge fist, Gregorio smiled up at her.  “I think running into Ernesto has brought the cruelty out in you,” he said.

She returned his smile, set him on the floor between her feet, then stood over him with her hands on her hips.  “I just hope meeting Isabella has crushed the asshole out of you,” she said, then backed away.

Without ceremony, Francesca pointed the prototype at Gregorio and triggered it.  The lights dimmed again, and Gregorio was returned to his normal size.  He walked over to Figura, shook his hand, and said, “Thank you, Doctor.”

He embraced Francesca tenderly, then looked down at the tiny Donnagon.  “You too, Doctors,” said Gregorio.  “I am profoundly grateful to be part of a team that includes such talented and industrious women and men.”

He turned to face Ingrid, who stood with her arms crossed and eyes averted.  He walked around her in a circle, forcing her to change orientation in order not to meet his gaze.  At last, he stopped directly in front of her and held out both his hands.  When she finally uncrossed her arms, he took her hands in his.

“Agent Avellan,” he said, “Your performance on this mission was of the highest caliber.  I could not have asked for a more reliable and resourceful partner.  I would be delighted to work with you in the future, on any mission.”

“That’s sweet,” she said, “but we weren’t partners on this mission, Agent Cortez.  I was your superior, and you were insubordinate on several occasions.”  She kept smiling, however.  “On future operations, I would expect greater care and respect from you.”

Gregorio nodded with humility.  “You will have it,” he said.

Ingrid held Gregorio’s eyes and hands for another moment, then turned to look down at the miniature Donnagon.  “Your turn!” she said.

“Not yet,” said the tiny technician, stepping into the giant hand that Francesca had lowered to her husband.  She raised him up to the level of their immense faces.  “I want to stress-check the prototype, which is much easier from the inside,” he said.  “We’re also not done collecting data on the effects of long-term miniaturization.”

Ingrid gave a concerned look to Francesca, then back to Donnagon.  “But don’t you want to start your honeymoon?” she asked.

Donnagon smiled up at Ingrid, then turned to Francesca and held his little arms out wide.  Francesca brought Donnagon to her mouth and closed her eyes as he buried his head between her giant supple lips.  Her pliant and puckered flesh caressed, sponged, and sucked his face, and her tongue was determined to focus all of her passion upon his blueberry-sized head.

When at last she broke off, Francesca gently licked the excess saliva from her husband’s head, then nestled him between her massive mammaries.  His tiny arms spread over the slopes of her warm brown flesh, Donnagon looked up at Ingrid and Gregorio.  “My dear Ingrid,” he said, “what do you think the last two weeks have been?”  He raised his arms above his head and let himself slide out of sight into her cleavage.  Francesca favored Ingrid and Gregorio with beatific smile.

A large screen on the wall opposite Francesca lit up to reveal Devlin’s face.  “Congratulations, Francesca, Dr. Figura!” said the director.  “Well done!”

They all turned to the monitor.  “Thank you, Devlin,” said Francesca.  “We couldn’t have done it without Dr. Figura.”

“Not at all,” said the elder scientist.  “Dr. Giggles’s application of my theory is the true breakthrough here.”

“Well, the president asked me to convey his personal gratitude that this powerful technology hasn’t fallen into the wrong hands.  Speaking of which, we are almost ready to start interrogating Ernesto and Isabella.  Where are they now?”

Gregorio and Ingrid looked at their feet, then each other, then sheepishly back at Devlin.  Finally, Gregorio offered, “We left them with custodians best suited to prepare them for interrogation.”

“Prepare?” asked Devlin.

“Just our little variation on the good cop, bad cop routine,” said Ingrid.

Ms. Gradenko hummed an exceptionally irritating tune as she drove home.  She skipped from her car to her front door, swinging her purse like Little Red Riding Hood’s goody basket.

Inside, she set her purse down in the kitchen just long enough to disappear into her bedroom and then re-emerge wearing a frilly and juvenile nightie that stopped halfway down her thighs.  She resumed her annoying humming, collected her purse, and keyed the numeric code on the lock that admitted her to her Hobby Room.

She walked to the center of the room and sat on a chair before a very low table.  She upended her purse onto the table, and from its scattering contents she selected her tampon case.  Holding it vertically in front of her face, she removed the cap.

“Oh Dolly,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t she right about how well you fit there?”

No response came from the three-inch-tall Ernesto, his tiny arms still pinned inside the case.

“You must be so excited,” said Ms. Gradenko.  “I only let very special people in this room.”

Ernesto looked around in growing dismay at the walls crowded with hundreds of eyes: teddy bears, Kewpie dolls, Barbies, and other playthings surrounded them in a riot of pinks, reds, yellows, and purples.  In each corner sat a differently-themed dollhouse, appointed with every accessory ever sold, plus dozens of custom miniatures.

Tearing his gaze from the city of dolls, Ernesto looked past Gradenko’s colossal folded legs and up into her enormous twinkling eyes.  His stomach turned to ice when she stared back at the tiny man with undisguised insanity.

“Look at what I have for you!” she squealed, lifting an enormous case onto the table.  She unfolded it to reveal a custom wardrobe for dolls’ clothes.  She held him forward for a closer look as her huge hand flipped through the collection.  “We’re going to try them all, Dolly!”

She inverted the tampon case, shook it, and Ernesto fell in to her lap.  He lay on his back on the taut fabric of her nightie, looking up at the outlines of her B-cup boobs hanging over him.  She smiled down at him, the crazy all over her face.

“But first, Dolly, we’re going to try this one!” she said, holding up a tiny Superman costume.

As Isabella awoke, she first became aware of the tremendous ache in her arms, which had been bound and stretched straight out from her sides.  She had been slumped over, sagging from her arms for hours.  She stood straight to relieve her arms of the weight of her body, which she now saw was unclothed except for her bra and panties.

She was on a giant tool bench in someone’s workshop.  Her stretched-out arms were tied to either side of an enormous vise mounted to the counter top.  Giant tools and parts were scattered all over the bench, and below her she could see pieces of giant gadgets only available to top-level secret agents.

Isabella strained at her bonds.  If she could free herself, it was quite likely that she might be able to assemble some sort of shelter or even a vehicle that would enable her escape.

Then she heard it.

A long, low grunt, like a dragon sniffing the scent of an intruder in its lair.  During the silence that followed, she started to doubt whether she had actually heard it.  Then a series of dull booms echoing from the giant corridor to her right confirmed that something large was approaching.

She resumed her struggle against the bonds, then the thudding sounds stopped.  The next noise was that of a small waterfall, a giant surge of liquid falling from an immense height into a deep pool.  Isabella imagined she felt the cords at her wrists loosening, but she was far from free when the cataract ceased.  She froze, terrified to hear what might come next.

Isador “Machete” Cortez was notoriously disaffected from his brother Gregorio, and as a world-class inventor, he preferred to spend his time tinkering with high-tech espionage gear.  Machete also slept in the nude, so when he walked into his workshop after his morning piss, his formidable cock was fully exposed to the tiny Isabella.  As she hung there helpless, watching his 18-foot-long dong sway as it approached her, she began to scream, and she couldn’t imagine ever stopping.