Nine Inches and a Ruler

The following story recounts actual events. Only the names of the people and places have been changed to protect the guilty--and the innocent.

April, 1991

There were four of us living in a mobile home. Marv and Melissa were married--they had the master bedroom by default. Gina had been there about a year and claimed the second bedroom. And me? I was the couch guy. The new guy. I'd moved in about a month earlier under circumstances I'd rather not revisit, and I rented the L-shaped couch for what little I could afford. Not ideal, but it was a roof.

Cramped? Absolutely. But there were perks.

That morning, Marv was his usual blur of chaos--wrestling with a tie in one hand, half a Pop-Tart in the other, muttering about traffic. Melissa followed him through the kitchen, barefoot in a tiny tank top and panties, making sure he didn't forget his wallet, keys, or mind.

The door slammed behind him, and she collapsed beside me on the couch with a sigh.

"I swear, he'd forget his head if it wasn't screwed on."

I smirked. "Don't know why he's always in such a rush. His alarm goes off early enough."

She blushed--just a little. "Well... that's probably my fault. I like to give him a blowjob before work. Something to remember me by."

I nodded, grinning. "If you gave me a blowjob every morning, I'd be late too."

She puffed up her chest in mock pride. Her nipples pressed tight against the thin cotton. "Please. If I blew you, you'd call out."

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

Just then, Gina barreled out of her bedroom, tugging on her work shirt, her bra doing its best to contain the situation.

"Can't talk--pulling a double--home late," she shouted. The front door slammed shut again, and she was gone.

I blinked. "Did a human being just move that fast?"

Melissa laughed. "I'm surprised the door's still on the hinges. She slammed it hard. Speaking of hard..." Her eyes flicked pointedly toward the tent in the sheet covering me. "You want some breakfast?"

I didn't bother hiding it. "Nah, thanks. Just trying to chill before the day starts."

"Mind if I hang out and watch some TV?"

"Be my guest."

She disappeared into the bedroom. I closed my eyes, and for a moment I drifted.

When I woke, it was to the sound of laughter--and something felt different. Melissa was back, sitting at my feet, but she'd changed clothes. Gone were the tank top and cotton panties. Now she wore a sheer white baby doll nightie, the kind that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her areolae were dark, nipples hard, and the matching panties were barely-there, trimmed neatly to show off a thick landing strip.

I blinked again. Marv was at work. Gina wouldn't be home until late. Which meant... she changed into that for me.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up. "There's something different about you," I muttered.

She smiled sweetly. "I changed. Wanted to feel more... comfortable."

"You look cold," I said, staring at her erect nipples. "You can get under the sheet if you want."

To my surprise, she did. She slid in close, tucking her legs against mine in that little corner of the L-shaped couch. Our legs overlapped naturally, hers between mine, mine between hers--until I realized my foot was nestled right between her thighs. Inches from her pussy.

I froze, trying not to move. The last thing I wanted was to accidentally rub her the wrong way. Literally.

But then she started wiggling.

"What are you doing?" I asked, confused.

She bit her lip and shifted again. "Trying... to tickle your balls with my toes."

I sat up straight. "You're what?"

"Trying to get you hard," she said casually, stretching her leg.

Ah. Of course. That made perfect sense. What the actual hell.

So I wiggled my toes in response--right up against her.

She yelped and clutched my foot with both hands. "Not fair!"

"Why are you trying to get me hard?" I asked. Nothing about this made any kind of logical sense.

She shifted back a little, suddenly looking sheepish. "Sorry... I was just curious."

"Curious about what?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

Yeah, no. I wiggled my toes again. She squealed and squirmed.

"Okay, okay!" she laughed. "I wanted to see how big you are."

I stared at her, completely lost.

"... What?"

"I wanted to see how big your dick is. When it's hard."

I blinked. Closed my eyes. Rebooted. "What?"

"Well, we have sex all the time. Me and Marv. You guys hear us, don't you?"

"Yeah. You're not exactly subtle."

"Exactly. I don't even try to be quiet anymore." She shrugged. "So last night, I measured him. He said four inches is average, but you seem... bigger. And I was just curious."

"Oh. That clears everything up. WHAT?"

She didn't even blink. "How big is your dick?"

I shrugged. "No idea. Never measured it."

She beamed. "Perfect! We'll measure it together." Then she hopped up and disappeared into the kitchen.

As she walked away, I noticed the panties were actually a thong. Just a tiny string splitting those firm cheeks. I had a sudden, vivid realization that her tight little ass could probably crack my nuts.

She returned with a wooden ruler like it was a science experiment. "Okay, pull the sheet down." She knelt beside the couch and held the ruler up to the tent in the sheet, tongue sticking out in concentration.

I hesitated. Then I tugged the sheet down. My briefs were stretched to capacity.

Her whole expression drooped. "Well... shoot. We'll need those off, too." She set the ruler aside and reached for my waistband.

"What are you doing?" I slapped her hands away.

She gave me a look like I was the crazy one. "I need to pull your shorts down so I can measure your dick. Duh!"

"No. No, you're not."

"I need to know!"

"No, you don't!" I slapped at her hands again.

"I. Need. To. See. Your. Dick." She spoke slowly, like she was explaining math to a toddler.

"And I. Said. No." I yanked the sheet back over myself.

She huffed. "Fine!" She flopped back onto the couch beside me, pouting. Then tucked her legs back under the sheet--in the exact same position. And just like before, my toes ended up right against her pussy.

"You toed my pussy," she muttered, sulking.

"You tried to measure my dick."

She stuck her tongue out at me, crossed her arms over her chest, and went back to watching TV like nothing happened.

For a while, we sat there in silence. But then... I reached down and picked up the ruler.

Damn it. Now I was curious.

I flipped it around in my hands, staring at it. I'd never thought to measure myself before. Never had a complaint, so it never seemed important.

I sighed.

"Damn."

Melissa shot me a little side-eye but turned her attention back to the TV. I waited a minute, making sure she was fully engrossed in whatever sitcom or soap she'd found, then slowly--carefully--I slid my hand under the sheet and eased my underwear down.

Figured I'd give the guy some breathing room.

At first, he wasn't particularly excited about the situation. Kind of over it, honestly. But a few slow strokes and a casual glance at Melissa's perfectly petite breasts under that sheer fabric?

Bam. That did the trick.

I propped the sheet just enough to block her view and brought myself out. Grabbed the ruler, held it steady.

Eight-point-seven-five inches.

I blinked. Just shy of nine. Huh.

I shrugged.

That's when I heard her voice:

"Well now... what ya doing over there, Tiger?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in," I replied casually, still holding the ruler like it was a weapon or a wand.

Apparently that meant she definitely needed to see. She leaned forward, curious, and started crawling toward me across the floor like a cat who'd caught the scent of something strange.

Quick-thinking, I slid my finger down the ruler, faking a new number and tucked everything back into place seconds before she arrived.

I held up the ruler proudly. "I measured it for you. So now you know."

She stared at the number, brow furrowing. "This doesn't seem right."

"That's what it said. Case closed." I grinned like a man who knew better.

She mumbled something skeptical and climbed back onto the couch, sliding her legs under the sheet again. Same position as before--our legs intertwined.

Except... this time, she shifted. Pressed a little closer. Her warmth pressed firmly against my foot.

So I wiggled my toes. Just for fun.

She squealed. Squirmed.

I wiggled again. Same result. But something felt... different. Couldn't place it at first. Until the third wiggle.

That's when it hit me: her panties had been pulled aside.

I was rubbing against bare skin.

Bare. Wet. Skin.

Bam. Rock. Fucking. Hard. Instantly.

"Oh my god, please stop," she moaned, her voice caught between a laugh and a desperate little whimper. "You're killing me here..."

That noise. That tone. That adorable, helpless frustration. I nearly lost it then and there. Not from friction--just from the sheer hot chaos of the moment.

So I froze. Willed myself to stay cool.

Then she looked down. Saw the sheet rising like a tent pole caught in a windstorm.

"That is not three inches," she said, wide-eyed. Then her eyes lit up. "I know what happened! You weren't fully hard! I knew it!"

She crawled toward me with purpose. I tried to back away, but the sheet betrayed me. My foot slipped. The couch rejected me. I hit the floor with a grunt.

By the time I could react, she was straddling my legs, pinning me down.

"You weren't fully hard when you measured," she said with manic certainty. "I just need to make sure you're completely hard and measure it myself."

She reached for the waistband again. I tried to protest.

"Let's not be hasty," I said, trying to wiggle free. "What are you--wait, hey--"

Too late. She tugged my underwear down with a victorious smile, and everything--everything--sprang free.

She gasped. "Oh wow. He's... beautiful."

There was a second of quiet. Reverent. Awestruck. Then her fingers curled around me, slow, confident, and curious.

Pleasure hit me like a lightning strike. I stopped resisting. Might as well enjoy the ride.

"He's huge," she whispered, her face close enough that I felt the warmth of her breath. "I don't think he'd even fit..."

That hand? Perfect. Soft. Curious but certain.

I was prepared to let it stop there.

But she didn't.

Without warning, her lips brushed the tip. Hot. Wet. Soft.

I whimpered. Didn't mean to. It just happened.

She looked up, eyes bright. "Ohhh... you like that?"

I couldn't speak. I just made a noise. Something between a moan and surrender.

Then her mouth enveloped me, warm and slow and devastating. I knew right then--I was in trouble. The good kind. The very good kind.

And I was about to enjoy every second of it.

"Wow... that's a lot bigger than four inches," she said in a hushed, reverent voice, her fingers gliding lightly along the shaft like she was trying to memorize every inch by feel. "Well... this'll make sure you're really hard."

I was about to tell her I already was, but before I could say a word, she dipped down and took me into her mouth again. This time, she didn't hesitate--her lips slid lower, her head bobbing slowly, deeper, and deeper, until I felt the unmistakable pressure of her throat.

Please let her deep throat me, I begged silently, over and over. Please let her...

She popped off me suddenly, lips glistening, eyes bright and proud. Like a kid who just nailed the dismount at the Olympics.

Then she grabbed the ruler again, tongue poking out like she needed absolute concentration. She pressed the edge gently along the curve.

"Wow! Eight... almost nine inches!"

I smirked. "Almost nine," I said. "Maybe it can get a bit harder..."

"Good point!" she chirped--and then she was back at it, mouth hot and hungry, taking me in with more determination than before.

This time, when I felt her pause at the limit, I laid a gentle hand on the back of her head, barely any pressure. But she took the hint. She pushed forward, taking me deeper, her throat relaxing around me in slow, teasing inches.

Her muffled squeal of delight vibrated against me and sent sparks down my spine.

Then--POP! She came up for air, gasping, triumphant.

"I did it!" she breathed. "I actually did it."

I couldn't help but smile, brushing her hair back from her flushed, glowing face. "You did," I whispered. "That was... incredible."

"I want to do it again," she said, with all the wild glee of someone about to ride a rollercoaster for the fifth time.

Before I could say anything, she was back down--no hesitation this time. Straight down to the hilt. Her face pressed against my stomach, her tongue teasing the base while one hand slid lower, cradling and caressing my balls with gentle, perfect pressure.

She pulled off slowly, a string of slickness stretching between us, and grabbed the ruler again.

"Bingo. Just hit nine. You're amazing." She sat back like she'd just claimed a prize.

"That's a lot bigger than four inches," she repeated, more to herself this time. "A lot bigger..."

Then her eyes narrowed in thought. A smile curved across her lips.

"I wonder... if you'd even fit inside me."

"Melissa, what are you--" I started.

But I already knew.

She was already peeling her panties off, tossing them aside, and crawling up my legs with a look of absolute certainty. Her hands found me, guiding the head to that soft, warm opening between her thighs, and before I could object, encourage, or even breathe--

She sank down onto me.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Yep... definitely bigger..."

Her body moved slow. Measured. Stretching. Taking me in a little at a time. Her mouth fell open with a tiny, helpless gasp as inch after inch disappeared inside her.

Then she stopped.

She looked down, smiling like she'd just planted a flag on the moon. "You fit," she whispered proudly.

I whimpered in reply.

And then... she moved.

She arched her back, her head thrown back in a cry of pure ecstasy as she bounced up and down on me. My hands slipped under her nightie, finding purchase on her small, perky breasts. I cupped and gently pinched her nipples--each teasing squeeze drawing forth a soft, almost musical groan from her.

In that moment, she had completely adjusted to the feel of me. What amazed me most was the strength and power hidden in her tiny frame as she began to move more forcefully. I could feel her body trembling with an intensity that spoke of something big about to come. She pressed my hands against her chest, urging me to share in her pleasure as her whole body shuddered, wrapped around me in a desperate, ecstatic rhythm.

Her breath caught in her throat; then she gasped and cried out--a sound that sent a surge of heat racing through me. With a few more relentless movements, the world around us faded as passion built to a fever pitch. I arched my own back and gently lifted her as our bodies convulsed together in a series of powerful, exhilarating release. My body responded with long, forceful spurts, spraying my seed into her, a physical punctuation to the moment that left both of us breathless.

When the crescendo finally subsided, we collapsed together. She rested her head against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her, still tethered together in that intimate aftermath. After a few quiet, shared moments, she glanced up at me with eyes glazed in pleasure and a proud, playful smile.

"Well, you fit," she murmured.

We lay like that, entwined and quietly content until sleep claimed us.

Later that afternoon, she decided she wanted to double-check that I still fit. Spoiler alert: I did. She confirmed it thoroughly. Twice. She even took notes this time.