Measuring up: part 2 of four - Sex Stories

Measuring up: part 2 of four

... afterwards, almost every single one of them phoned to make an appointment. * I know what you are wondering. Why the Tube? Why suffer the daily cramped and jostling torture that is the London Underground? Can't you guess? Go on, think about it for a moment. Tum-tee-tum. There you go! Yes, you're right. It's the symbolism. My victims are primed by it, subconsciously respond to it. I have them before they even see me. Riding a sleek, humming, phallic monster through a hot and humid tunnel, alternately pressed together in unacceptable intimacy then released into gaping seclusion, men of a particular age are subconsciously wrestling with socially unacceptable arousal throughout the whole sensual roller-coaster journey. The stunning young professional in the keenest business suit, her eyes sparkling, lips glistening, tongue teasing the slit between her otherwise perfect incisors, is overkill. Total overkill. It has to be said: even Pam could have got them instantly hard down there. I say 'even Pam' rather unfairly, for the sexually charged atmosphere in the office had undoubtedly affected her too. When I returned from day three of surveying, she'd had her hair done: blonde steaks in a very expensively-cut bob. Once stubby, chewed nails were now curved, crimson talons. And her face, in a meticulous makeover that must have taken hours to apply, was now almost pretty. Day four saw her attempt the first in a series of daring wardrobe manoeuvres. A top quality bra thrust her 44DD's ...

... impressively upwards and outwards, till they protruded beyond - rather than rested on - her spare tyres, which by day five were deflated by extremely well-constructed and very effective control garments. Days six, seven and eight produced high heels, black stockings, and a suit diamond-sharp enough to cut even mine to ribbons. Fuck. It pained me to think it, but she looked really good. I almost wanted to be fat. On day nine she confided she had lost a stone and a half on some fashionable starvation diet. By day fifteen she'd lost two and a half. On day sixteen, at the end of work, Geoff changed into running gear and confided he was off to the gym. For a team of three, there was a lot of confiding going on. 'You know, Sal, I haven't felt so good in years. Exercise is so... so invigorating, don't you think?' I sighed. 'After a day working here, I haven't the strength, simply grab a takeaway, take a shower, and fall into bed.' His eyes had glazed. Behind them, I knew he was picturing my naked body kneeling at his feet, his swollen dick in my mouth and my fingertips tickling his very hairy balls. And I knew he would always think of me that way, would never again see me as an intelligent, talented, and valuable individual. To Geoff, I was no more than a slurping mouth and an ecstatic cum-spattered face. At that moment, I fucking hated that job. I fucking hated him. And I especially fucking hated myself. * At lunchtime on my seventeenth day, I returned to the office unexpectedly early ...