Inspection 3

"You don't look anything like I expected you to," she says, walking slowly out of the bathroom. "I pictured you as....darker. More Italian." She runs her finger along her bare arm, looking down almost as if ashamed.

"If it helps, you look just as I imagined you would," I say mock-gallantly. "You certainly lived up to your billing."

"What, you mean these?" she says, suddenly brash, cupping her generous breasts and lifting them up and towards me. "These .... puppies?"

"Those "puppies", yes. They are magnificent," I tell her. In fact, they're all I've been able to think about for the last two hours. Not even the pale buzz from the three or four cocktails we've had has been able to distract my fevered mind from the shade of her cleavage and the promise of her nipples, subtly dampened by the cloth of her bra.

"You don't like my legs, then?" she asks teasingly. "Or my hips?"

Inside I'm feeling just like the archetypal man, raddled by lust and not sure how I came to be here. I'd loosen my tie and pull on my collar if I were wearing one. I can almost feel the sweat pooled beneath my skin, ready to ooze through my pores as the temperature rises.

But outside, I'm still calm. "Your legs..." I muse out loud. "Hmmmm."

I get up from the sofa and walk around her, looking at each and every part of her body. Now that she's no longer dressed, now that she's no longer elegantly informal, she looks less worldly, but her pride in her body is unmistakable.

"Your feet are so small," I tell her. "They're like a child's."

"You know what that means, don't you?" she murmurs. She has one arm folded across her chest, while the other runs over her gently curved stomach.

"No," I say. "What does it mean?"

"It means," she says, her eyes alight, savouring the moment and the thought she's having, "it means that I'm very small inside, and I'm sure you're going to fill me right up." She looks meaningfully at my crotch as she says it, almost willing me to grow, to swell as if to prove her theory right.

And, truth be told, my cock does react to her gaze, the heat in her pupils that focuses just behind my zipper. I feel a gentle strain on my boxers and then on my trousers. And she smiles, a little curve of pure mischief.

I glance down to the bottom of her stomach. Her mound, a small hillock that nestles at the top of the shaded valley between her thighs, is clean-shaven. For a moment I can see myself parting those thighs, gently running my hand along her cleft, searching out her dampness.

I return my mind to the matter at hand. "Your thighs look very smooth," I tell her. "I'm sure you rub lots of moisturising cream into them every night." They look strong, too, those thighs, with just enough muscle to hold the flesh in check. "I'm sure they'd feel fantastic against my hips."

She bends forward a little and looks down. Her breasts spill a little over her arm, like a generous stomach straining against a belt. "So you want me to straddle you, do you?" she asks, looking up again. "You want me on top?"

Somewhere in the distant back of my mind, restraint is cast gently loose.

"Oh certainly you're going to spend some time on top," I assure her. "We're going to find out just how firmly we can lock together. How tightly you can grip me inside, and how long you can resist not moving, for example."

Her eyes widen, half in amusement, half in something else. I walk around to look at her from behind. Her hips sway gently as she resists turning to watch my progress, concentrating instead on seduction. My hand reaches out instinctively, but I hold back. Touching will come.

"Put your arms behind your head," I tell her gently. "I want to see the shape of your breasts from behind." As her hands reach up to gather her glossy hair, the outside of those marvelous breasts move into view. It's my favourite view of a well-endowed woman, the swell of the breasts echoing the arch of her hips below.

"You like?" she asks in a low voice. Once again I'm gripped by the need to run my hands along her skin, to follow those curves, to acquaint myself with the texture and the warmth.

Instead I walk round in front of her again, and as I pass her, I lean towards her ear and softly murmur "I think you're.....ripe. I think you're ready," and I smile as she squirms slightly.

"What am I ready for?" she asks, half uncertain yet half defiant. Her arms drop to her sides.

"I think you're ready to undress me."

At this, she seems to grow in stature. She raises her head, her stance is a little more assured. "Where would you like me to start?" she asks mock-politely.

"Wherever you wish," I say, and I move to stand where she is, in the middle of the bedroom.

With one hand on her hip, she surveys me. All sense of her own nudity has gone, now she is all business.

"Let's have that shirt off to start with," she says, and reaches out to unbutton it.

Her hands are steady, steadier than mine were when I unzipped her skirt. Her fingers are warm and dry, flirting with my skin as they pass gracefully from button to button. Each touch is a little flash of lightning passing between us, but she ignores it.

As the last button comes loose, she gathers the tails of the shirt and tugs them apart, revealing my stomach. I can feel her eyes running slowly back up, from the wisps of hair at my belt to the small flourish on my chest. Her hand rises, as if to touch my sternum, to run her fingers through the hair just above.

"You're not finished yet," I tease her. But I too am gripped by yet another impulse to reach out and lay my hands on her magnificent breasts, to run my fingers across her gently undulating stomach. Either of us could so easily bring this to an end, break the spell.

She reaches down and tugs on my belt. As it comes loose, she draws her arm back to pull it out of the loops, and the action draws one breast away from the other. Her cleavage, the dusky valley, comes into the light for a moment.

As if in response that that sight, my hands move towards the button of my trousers, suddenly betraying my impatience. At this she clucks her tongue, and taps my wrist. "We'll have none of that," she chides me. "You'll show yourself to me when I'm good and ready and not before." And my hands fall back to my side.

She reaches up to pull the shirt off my shoulders, standing on tiptoe as she does, and I feel her breasts against me for a moment. They're warm, hot even, and her nipples are standing out slightly, with the promise of more to come. I catch my breath.

"Did you like that?" she asks. "Did the touch of my breasts make you a little harder? Shall we check?"

And for a moment she glances at me, and a truth passes between us, as if we are both agreeing that "Yes, this game is enjoyable, and stimulating. And it's wafer-thin, this veneer of civilised seduction. We're a cigarette-paper away from dropping to the floor and rutting like animals."

I understand, and so does she.

She draws down the zipper of my trousers, achingly slowly. I can feel each click like another jolt of electricity. She stares at me intently as she loosens my trousers, her glance flickering from right to left, watching my eyes.

As the zipper nears the bottom, the back of her index finger caresses the head of my cock through my boxer shorts. Her eyes, still intent on mine, flicker briefly as she realises where her hand is. My cock in turn jumps at her touch.

"You are excited, aren't you?" she asks. "You're quite hard."

"I'll be harder still soon," I promise her.

"Mmm, I'm quite sure of that."

She reaches to each side of my waist and grasps my trousers, lowering them half-way down my thighs. "You finish that off," she says. "I'm not going to go on my knees in front of you. Not quite yet, anyway." And for a moment my mind fuses as I picture her lips making a perfect circle around my tool, her head bobbing up and down.

Quickly I lower my trousers, step out of them, and lose my socks in a moment of calf-like clumsiness. As quickly as I can manage, I am upright again, clad in just my boxers. The exposure, the fresher air, dampens my incipient erection slightly.

"Well, we're almost done," she says, stepping back. "Maybe I should inspect you as you did me." And she makes to walk around me before stopping herself and with an exaggerated gasp of realisation, adds, "Oh, but wait. I was naked, wasn't I?" She chuckles briefly, looking down at her naked self. "I mean, I *am* naked."

And she returns to stand in front of me, surveying me up and down, a finger on her chin. "I think I'll attack this last bit from the side."

She moves to stand at my right side, and I feel rather than see her hands reach out to gently grasp my boxers. Gently she lowers them, and I feel the back of her thumb caress the length of my cock, briefly caught up as it bumps against the flared head, before freeing me. My cock bounces, half erect and I glance down to see her staring fixedly as it gently rises and falls. My boxers are discarded to my ankles, forgotten.

For a moment, our half-civilised spell is broken, and she reaches out to cup my cock in her hand, to hold its weight, while her other hand caresses the back of my thigh. The newness, the gentleness of her touch is as exciting as the first time I was ever touched by a woman, and my complete erection is almost instant.

'My, that's quick," she says. "How long has it been since you've been inside a woman?"

I start to tell her that it's not the abstinence but the eroticism of her, of her touch that has made me so hard but she silences me with a finger. "I think you're ready," she murmurs with a wicked smile.

"Ready?" I ask.

"To be inspected," she replies.

She gets to her feet, her breasts swaying, and returns to face me, her eyes passing over my chest, my stomach, to my cock, gently bobbing in time with my heartbeat. She moves to my side and I too resist the urge to follow her with my eyes, and listen as her footfalls pad behind me.

For long moments I can hear nothing but my own breathing, then she speaks.

"Stand with your feet apart," she says.

I comply, then there is more silence. I hear a slight shuffling, and then feel a warm, gentle waft of air on my cock and my balls. I picture her, kneeling down behind me and my cock swells again.

"Do you like that?" she asks. "Did you feel it?"

"Yes," I mumble. "Do it again."

Another waft. Again my cock jerks upwards as I try to guess how near she is, if she is close enough to reach out with her tongue and gently run it along the top of my thighs.

More shuffling sounds, and I swear I can feel her breath against my back as I sense her standing up.

"You've got a very tight little ass, you know," she says. "Does it work well?"

"How do you mean?"

"Does it push your cock hard and fast?"

"It does very well for itself, thanks," I say. "You can find out if you like."

"Oh I intend to," she says, walking around to face me. "I'm going to lie down on that bed, and you're going to show me."

"Now?" I ask.

"Oh no, not yet," she says. "We're going to spend some more time exploring."

"How are we going to explore?"

"At leisure," she replies. "We've got a whole afternoon, and a lot of orgasms to get through."

"You make it sound like a challenge," I say.

"Maybe," she says carelessly. "But I think we've both passed the preliminaries, don't you?"

I bend back slightly, thrusting my hips forward to emphasise the erection that's still gently throbbing. "There's your answer," I tell her.

She doesn't reply, but walks to the bed and sits down. Leaning back, she slowly spreads her legs wide, ever wider, until her labia open of their own accord, revealing her glistening arousal.

"And there's yours," she says.