The ruler

John woke up later, blinking at the ceiling. Claire was already up, brushing her hair in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but tight black shorts and a cropped tee that clung to her chest like a second skin.

He sat up slowly. “Morning.”

She glanced at him in the mirror. “Sleep good?”

“Yeah. You?”

She turned. “I saw Marcus naked.”

John blinked. “What?”

“His door was open. I walked by.”

His voice tightened. “Did he see you?”

“No. I don’t think so.” A beat. “But if he did, he didn’t care.”

John said nothing.

Claire walked over to the bed, bent slightly, and pulled the ruler from beneath the pillow. She held it up. Extended it.

She held it up, slowly extending it with both hands. “This is thirty centimeters.”

John blinked.

She tapped a mark near the end. “He’s not this long… but close.”

His throat tightened.

She sat next to him on the bed, turned the ruler toward him. “Want to see?”

“I don’t—”

She cut him off by undoing his waistband. Smooth, without pause. She pulled down his boxers, took him in her hand.

He was already half-hard.

She held the ruler up beside him.

“This is you,” she said softly. “And this… is Marcus.”

He said nothing.

She didn’t sound cruel. Just curious. Calm. Like a scientist making observations.

She moved the ruler slightly, adjusted the angle, kept looking between the two measurements.

“Wow,” she whispered. “It’s a big difference.”

John’s chest rose and fell faster.

He frowned. “Claire…”

He was already starting to get hard.

Claire’s voice stayed light. “He’s thick. Like, thick-thick. The kind that stretches your lips before it even slides in.”

John swallowed.

“Veiny too,” she added, almost absently. “Like a tree root. And his balls…” She glanced down at him. “They looked… heavy. Like they’d ache if he didn’t cum.”

John said nothing.

She leaned close, her breath warm at his ear. “He’d stretch me open. Barely fit.”

He shuddered.

“I wonder what that would feel like,” she whispered. “If I’d moan different. If I’d even be able to take all of him.”

His cock jumped in her hand.

She smiled.

“Claire…” murmured John.

Claire looked up at him. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

She stroked him once, slow and lazy. “I think you like it.”

He looked away. “It’s… humiliating.”

She leaned in, kissed his neck. “That’s not a no.”

Then she let go, gently pulled his boxers back up, and tucked the ruler back under the pillow.

“I’m going to make coffee,” she said. “You want some?”

Like nothing had happened.

⸻

John sat there, pants undone, breathing shallow.

He couldn’t tell if he was turned on or broken.

Maybe both.

But the image wouldn’t leave his mind—Marcus’s thick, veined cock… Claire’s voice saying stretch me open… and the ruler.

This wasn’t a game anymore.

Or maybe it was — just not one he controlled.

He was still rock hard.

And somehow, that scared him more than anything.