Measuring Up: Fourth And Final Part - Sex Stories

Measuring Up: Fourth And Final Part

... pointed. 'That's you, isn't it?' 9 point 4, 5, 6. 'No.' 'It fucking is. Admit it! It's you, isn't it?' 7, 8, 9. Though blurry, there was no denying it. The wig and glasses had been a surprisingly effective disguise and not till that final frame had he made the connection. I was certain I'd edited out all the frames that blatantly identified me and now I was confused: had I subconsciously wanted to be uncovered? To parade my whory wantonness to the young men I would be measuring? Or was it simply an unfortunate oversight? If the psychology of the situation was complex, the physiology was not. I had a ten inch cock in my shaking hands. My pussy was dripping, aching to make its acquaintance, while my drooling mouth was drawn ever closer to its taut shining helmet. I gazed into his beautiful brown eyes. 'Yes. It's me.' 'Fuck!' Sudden consternation dimmed his eyes. 'Did you lock the door?' With a single word, I reignited them. 'Yes.' Gently grasping his wrists, I eased his hands away from his groin and placed them on the leather arms of the chair. His cock needed no support, no external help; it pointed to the ceiling under its own pumping steam. I snorted a laugh. 'I don't believe it. Don't fucking believe it.' Standing before him, blocking out my blurry blonde doppelgänger, I began a striptease of my own. I didn't need to measure him, could see precisely, knew to two decimal places the exact length and girth of him. The topmost button of my overall slipped through its ...

... corresponding eye. The next was soon winking its approval. As the third followed suit, my left tit popped into view. He reached out for it. I stepped closer, leaned forwards and obliged him. His touch was sublime, his fingers soft and sensitive. My nipple swelled and suckled his hungry palm. More buttons became redundant. As the final one surrendered, I tugged the garment over my shoulders, relaxed my arms and let it slide to the floor. 'Oh, fuck, Sally, you're gorgeous. Oh, fuck...' Both his hands now sampled my flesh, from hips to tits and back again. I dipped my head. Our eyes locked. There was silence. My gap-toothed smile and poking tongue were all the language we needed. He knew what was coming. From our first strained 'Excuse me?' on the rumbling Tube, it had been inevitable. His left hand clawed at the black leather armrest. His right grabbed my ponytail. I expected to feel the full physical force of his impatience, of his ineffable desire, but instead, he gently eased the bobble from my hair. In seeming slow motion, it swept like a shining curtain across his incredible genitals. He grabbed a handful, smeared it across his belly, wrapped it around his shaft, and caressed it into his smooth dangling balls. Each gentle tug drew me closer; closer to where he wanted me; closer to where I wanted to be. My lips made first contact. A gentle kiss. I lingered. Lingered. Then I licked. I licked and licked and licked and licked. The tip of my tiny tongue made acquaintance with the tip of ...