Eric was not necessarily enjoying himself, a quarter inch tall and trapped in the warm, tight darkness of his wife's bra, but it was certainly better than everything else that had happened that afternoon. Already he had been shrunken down by his once-loving wife and shoved up her pussy as she masturbated. Although she cleaned him off, eventually, it was clear that she was on a power trip and had no intention of restoring his size any time soon. So in that sense, being snug in her bra as Jennifer walked somewhere was a lot better than being in a giant shower and wondering if he was going to be swept down the drain.
He started to figure out what was going on. He could hear her talking to someone who was obviously a hostess at one of the resort's restaurants. Eric was kind of curious which restaurant she had chosen, as the all-included meals were something he had been looking forward to, back when he thought this would be little more than a kinky but otherwise survivable vacation.
Soon, Jennifer walked a bit more, paused, and then sat down. He heard her order a cocktail and an entree, and Eric wondered whether she intended to drop him into her drink. She didn't, though, and he was relieved. Maybe she was giving him a break. Maybe she wasn't ready to bring him back to normal yet, but she still wanted him with her to make sure he was okay. He was okay with that.
Then the entree came.
Eric assumed everything would continue as it had, right until Jennifer thanked the waiter. Suddenly he felt her bra become looser, immediately followed by three giant fingers surrounding him, clasping him, and pulling him out.
Blinded at first by the light, it took Eric a few seconds to see what was going on. By then, he was already on the plate.
The first thing he noticed is that Jennifer was alone, at a small table facing a window. That at least was a relief to Eric, as he didn't want to be the subject of attention for a bunch of strangers in his current state.
The second thing he noticed was the food. He was now standing in a valley between hills of fettucine alfredo. Although he had been shrunken for a while now, he couldn't believe how big it all was.
The third thing he noticed was his wife. He looked up at her, expecting her to taunt him a bit. Instead she just smiled, which made sense: she might enjoy keeping him a secret in a crowded room like this. Then he noticed the fork coming at him.
Maybe she was kidding, maybe not, but Eric didn't want to find out. He ran away, scrambling up a hill of pasta. It was hard to run through the sauce, but he had no intention of looking back. He managed to half-dive, half-stumble into the pile of fettucine, and he even found an air pocket in the richly scented darkness. He decided he'd stay put, even though he knew he couldn't hide in his wife's dinner forever.
It worked better than he thought. He heard the fork scrape the plate, and then nothing. A few moments later, the fork scraped the plate again, and again nothing happened. Every time the fork came in to take away food, Eric's little hiding place shifted around a little bit. He started to notice light coming in more and more.
Eventually, it was his turn, as he knew it would be. The fork slid under him, nudging him along a bit before rising up in the air with him on it. Now covered in alfredo sauce, he turned towards his giant wife, though all he really saw was her mouth. And she was grinning again.