A Talk

Carrie slides off Jake with a wet sound that seems to hang in the air, her thighs glistening in the dim light. Her feet hit the floor with a solid thump that vibrates through the cheap particleboard, and she stretches her arms overhead with a groan that's half pleasure, half relief. Her head brushes the low ceiling — actually brushes it, her knuckles scraping the popcorn texture as she rises onto her toes. She's so tall now. When did that happen? It was only yesterday she was looking up at you.

"Fuck, that felt good, let me swallow you Jake" she says, rolling her shoulders. Her tits bounce with the movement, heavy and full, and you watch them settle before you can stop yourself. Jake is still on the bed behind her, propped on his elbows, his lazy grin firmly in place as he watches her too. He looks like a cat that's just finished a bowl of cream. You hate him a little. You hate him a lot. But your dick is still hard from watching, and you can't pretend that isn't true.

Carrie bends down, giving you a great view of her huge amazonian ass, and in one quick motion takes half of Jakes huge cock down her throat, bobbing up and down on it for a couple of minutes before his hips buck and those giant balls of his pule with cum you know is getting shot straight into your girlfriends stomach.

Carrie lets out a loud few gulps as she devours Jakes huge load before getting up and turning in a slow circle, surveying Jake's room like she's seeing it for the first time. Clothes scattered across the floor. Empty pizza boxes stacked on the dresser. A bong on the nightstand that's definitely been there since last week. She wrinkles her nose, then spots the measuring tape on the cluttered desk — tangled in a pile of old receipts and loose change, the yellow casing dusty.

She grabs it and tosses it to you. The plastic clatters against your chest and you catch it mostly by instinct, fumbling a little as it slips through your fingers.

"Measure me," she says. It's not a request. Her arms spread wide, a challenge in her eyes, that mischievous smile curling at the corners of her mouth. She knows what she's doing. She knows exactly what this does to you.

You're still sitting on the edge of the bed, naked, your dick half-hard and sticky with your own pre-cum. Jake's bed. You're on Jake's bed, in Jake's room, and your girlfriend is standing in front of you like a goddess demanding tribute. The absurdity of it hits you somewhere in the chest, but it doesn't stop you from standing up.

Your knees pop as you rise. You've been sitting too long, watching too long. Your legs feel shaky, unsteady, like you've just stepped off a boat. But you cross to her anyway, rolling the tape between your fingers.

"You sure you want me to do this?" you ask, your voice coming out rougher than you intended.

"I want you to measure every inch of me," she says. "I want to know exactly how big I've gotten. And I want you to be the one who tells me."

Your throat goes dry. You kneel at her feet — and it's a real kneel, your knees hitting the carpet hard enough to sting, because she's so tall now that even standing you'd have to look up at her. From down here, she's a monument. Her legs go on forever, long and smooth and impossibly toned. The muscles in her thighs are more defined than they were this morning, you're sure of it. She's getting stronger. Getting bigger. Changing right before your eyes.

The tape measure feels flimsy in your hands. You press the metal tab against the floor at her heel, right where her toes curl into the carpet, and you start to run it up her body. The tape slides along her calf, over the curve of her knee, up the powerful sweep of her thigh. You can feel the warmth of her skin even through the plastic ribbon. She's so warm. So alive.

"Keep going," she murmurs, and her voice is soft now, almost tender. "Don't stop."

You don't stop. The tape climbs past her hip, past the gentle swell of her stomach, up over her ribs. Her tits are in the way — full and heavy, the nipples dark and hard. You have to guide the tape around them, and your knuckles brush her skin, and she shivers. You see it. A little tremor that runs through her whole body.

You reach the crown of her head. The tape stretches taut, and you have to crane your neck to read the number. Six-foot-eight. Six feet, eight inches. She was five-four two days ago. You remember the measuring tape in your own room, the way she'd laughed as she watched the number climb. She'd been giddy then. Excited. You'd held her and told her you loved her and believed, somehow, that this would all slow down.

It hasn't slowed down. It's speeding up.

"How much?" she asks.

"Six-eight," you say, and your voice cracks on the word.

She grins down at you — this enormous, beautiful, impossible woman, your girlfriend, grinning down at you like you've just given her the best present she's ever received. Her hand finds your hair, fingers threading through the mess of it, tilting your face up to meet her eyes.

"Now the rest of me," she says.

It's not a question. It's not even really a request. It's a statement of fact, a thing that's simply going to happen. And you're not going to argue. You don't want to argue. You want to trace every inch of her with this flimsy yellow tape and learn the new geography of her body.

You start at her ankle this time. The tape wraps around her calf — thick, muscular, nothing like the slim legs she had before. She's been growing muscle along with everything else, her body reshaping itself into something stronger, more powerful. You measure her thigh and it's like wrapping the tape around a tree trunk. Her hips are wider, her waist still narrow but the curves around it more pronounced. You measure her waist, then her chest, the tape circling her ribs beneath her tits.

"How much?" she asks again. Her voice has gone low, husky.

"Thirty-six inches," you say, and your hands are shaking. "Your waist is thirty-six inches."

"That's not what I asked."

She takes the tape from your hands — gentle, but there's a strength in her grip that wasn't there before, a certainty in the way she moves. She wraps it around her own chest, just under her arms, and holds the ends out for you to read.

You don't need to read it. You can see it. Her tits are enormous now — full, heavy, straining against nothing, because she's naked and there's no bra to contain them. The tape reads forty-six inches around her chest. Forty-six. You swallow hard.

"Forty-six," you manage.

She smiles, slow and satisfied, and lets the tape fall. It lands in a coil at her feet. "You know what I love about this?" she says, stepping closer. Her hand finds your hair again, tilting your face up. "I love watching you realize how much I've changed. I love the look on your face when you measure me and find out I'm bigger than you expected. I love that you're on your knees in front of me."

Your dick twitches. You can't help it. She's so tall, so commanding, so completely in control of this moment. And you're on your knees. You're on your knees in front of your girlfriend while your roommate watches from the bed, and you've never felt more aroused in your entire life.

"Carrie—" you start, but she cuts you off with a finger on your lips.

"Shh. I'm not done with you yet."

She takes your hand — the one still clutching the tape measure — and guides it between her thighs. You feel the heat before you even touch her. It radiates off her skin like a furnace, and when your fingers finally make contact, she's soaking. Dripping. Her pussy is slick and swollen and so fucking hot, and she lets out a little gasp as your fingers slide through her folds.

"That's it," she breathes. "Touch me. Feel how wet I am for you."

You lose the tape measure somewhere — it clatters to the floor, forgotten. Both your hands are on her now, cupping her ass, sliding up her thighs, finding her slick and open. She spreads her legs wider for you, a little wider, and you can see everything. Her pink flesh, glistening. The way her thighs tremble as you get closer.

“Taste me“ She commanded,

You look at her. You look at her and you slide your tongue into her, slowly, feeling her clench around it. She's so tight. So hot. So wet. She lets out a low moan, her head tipping back, and you watch her throat work as she swallows.

"mhhmn good boy, that’s enough for you. For now” She says while smiling seductively like she knows what’s in your future.

You are afraid, a little. You're afraid of how fast she's changing, of how much bigger she's going to get, of whether you'll still be able to keep up.

You're about to answer when the bed shifts behind you. Jake. You'd almost forgotten he was there. You turn to look at him, and he's sitting up now, his lazy grin firmly in place.

"That was hot," he says. "You two are something else."

Carrie laughs, low and throaty, and steps away from you. Her hand finds your shoulder, squeezes once, a silent promise. Then she turns to Jake, and the look in her eyes makes something twist in your chest.

"You ready for round two?" she asks him.

“Nah” Jake replied with too much confidence. Surprising both yourself and Carrie, “I’ve got shit to do now, besides it’s obvious you need me, so I think I’ll just come and take you when I please”

You thought he had a death sentence, saying that to an Amazonian woman half a foot taller than him, until you turned to look at her, was she… blushing? “Fine take your break, but don’t think that just because you’re cocks giant it means I need you” She turned and walked out of the room, the compliment to Jakes cock stung but you followed along behind your Goddess of a girlfriend.