Measuring Up: Fourth And Final Part - Sex Stories

Measuring Up: Fourth And Final Part

... screen, she whispered huskily. 'Hey lover! I'm gonna suck your cock, big boy! You like that, don't you? Mmm, course you do. And I'm gonna swallow; swallow every fucking drop.' Red lips parted and the tip disappeared. A delicate hand encircled the shaft and began to stroke. The sounds were intoxicating. Slurping. Groaning. The smacking of lips. Jake was breathing heavily. The chair was rocking insistently. I took a couple of silent steps and peered over his shoulder. What I saw took my breath. His gown was open, chest, belly and legs on full display. His tanned body was slim, smooth, and beautifully defined. He had no pubic hair. No body hair at all. He was perfect. And that was without taking into account his incredible cock. Fuck. What a monster. Not only was it long, but it was very thick, and the head was rounded like a club. He stroked it lovingly, coaxed it carefully, alternately squeezed and released then stroked it some more. A wetted finger circled the underside as he grabbed his balls and thrust rhythmically from the hips. I was aching to touch myself. Lubrication again dribbled down my inner thigh. The on-screen cock lurched. The blonde coughed, spat out the pulsing flesh, then received one, two, three shots of cum onto her beatific face. The picture froze. I picked up my measuring device and stepped from the shadows. 'May I?' 'Oh, god, yes!' Freud tapped me on the shoulder. 'Haven't you forgotten something, mein liebes Mädchen?' I snorted derisively. 'What? To ...

... ask him if I remind him of his mother?' 'Nein! Nein! Die Latex Handshuhe? Die... Latex gloves?' With difficulty, I blanked him out, had long ago decided I was not going to be party to his twisted little games. And no way was rubber coming between me and this prodigious prick. Not in any of its titillating medical guises. Glove-free, I rested one end of the rule on the pubic bone then eased the sliding stop downwards till it rested on the obscenely swollen glans. 'That's 9 inches.' I couldn't help but express my admiration. 'Wow. Lucky boy! Now let's see if the girth is equally impressive.' Outwardly phlegmatic, while internally in chaos, I reached into my pocket for the tailor's tape measure. The unexpected touch of his hand on my arm almost took me over the edge. I froze. He whispered. 'I've got more than that. Try again.' As I leaned closer and my hot breath bathed his crotch, it twitched and grew. 9 point 1. 9 point 2. Every heartbeat pumped it up. I twiddled with the rule and inadvertently fiddled with the tool. Freud wearily shook his head. I read again. 9 point 3. Precum drizzled and pooled on his thigh. Though I had three natural receptacles for this deliciously slippery fluid, it was swept away instead by a tissue and jettisoned into the bin by his side. What a waste. He was gazing at the screen, drawing every last ounce of stimulation from the frozen scene and I followed his stare. The ecstatic face, the spattered glasses, the cummy lips. The gappy teeth. Oh, fuck. He ...