Chapter 33: measured deep with a measuring stick
Kamini let him take a very close look of her melons for a while before he was satisfied and barely held back his urge to move forward and bite her cherries on the spot. Kamini smiled at his thoughts but only put on an innocent woman expression on her face.
.......... (With a little change that I tried for new hot scenes)...…..
The air in the tailor's shop was thick and still, heavy with the scent of old fabric and starch. Kamini stood in the center of the small room, the vivid red of her Lehenga a shocking burst of color against the dusty bolts of cloth.
She felt the cool, smooth wood of the measuring podium under her bare feet. She'd kicked off her sandals the moment he'd asked.
"Just a little closer to the light, madam," the tailor murmured, his voice a low, oily sound that seemed to cling to the skin. He was older, his fingers stained with dye, but his eyes were sharp, missing nothing.
She took a small step forward, the silken fabric of her blouse whispering against her skin. It is so tight… She'd chosen it for precisely that reason.
"The blouse," he said, moving behind her. "It is a… difficult cut. The hooks are very small. May I?" A shiver, hot and immediate, raced through her.
She gave a barely perceptible nod, her throat suddenly too dry for words. His fingers, surprisingly deft, brushed the nape of her neck. She could feel the warmth of his body close to hers.
He fumbled for a moment, a performance of difficulty. "Ah, it is stuck," he sighed, his breath warming the space between her shoulder blades.
"I am sorry...Perhaps… I can try with my mouth? It is the only way to get the right angle without tearing the precious silk." Mmmh… The sound vibrated in her chest before she could stop it.
She clenched her thighs together, a feeble attempt to stifle the sudden, liquid heat that pulsed deep within her. "If… if you must… you can…" she breathed, the words a ghost of sound. He bent his head.
She felt the scratch of his stubble against her sensitive skin, then the shocking, damp heat of his mouth. His lips closed over the stubborn hook, his tongue rough and purposeful flicking against it.
A jolt, electric and searing, went straight to her core. Her knees trembled. The hook gave way with a quiet snick and with its release, the constricting silk surrendered. The front of her blouse fell open.
Her Melons, freed from their confinement, spilled out into the cool air. They were full and heavy, the weight of them a constant, secret pleasure she was acutely aware of. The sudden absence of pressure was a shock in itself.
The tailor gasped in shock, a genuine, strangled sound of surprise. "So big…" he whispered, his eyes wide, fixed on the bountiful orbs now on full display. Her dusky cherries, already pebbled from the anticipation and the cool air, seemed to tighten further under his rapt gaze.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Kamini cried, her hands flying up in a useless, fluttering gesture that did nothing to cover her magnificent chest. The blush that spread across her cheeks was only half-feigned. He can clearly see the big melons under her hands. But he still reacted.
"No, no, madam, the fault is mine!" he insisted, though his eyes never left her flesh.
"Such… such a magnificent… form. The measurements must be perfect. For a silhouette so grand, we must be… precise… it should be done skin to skin. There is no other way for a garment to sit properly it should be measured precisely."
He reached for his measuring tape, his movements slow, deliberate. The thin strip of yellow cloth looked insignificant in his hands. "The bust first… You must remain very still."
She nodded, her breath catching as the cool tape circled her ribcage, just beneath the swollen curve of her Melons. His knuckles grazed the sensitive underside. A sharp, tiny gasp escaped her.
He made a note on a small pad, his handwriting shaky. "Now, the fullest part," he instructed, his voice thicker now. The tape lifted, draping over one aching cherry. The touch was feather-light, maddening.
He adjusted it, his fingers "accidentally" brushing the taut peak. "Nngh…!" Her head fell back, a helpless reaction she couldn't control. The peak hardened to a painful point beneath the papery touch of the tape.
"Hmm, thirty six inches," he mumbled, but he wasn't looking at the numbers. He was staring, mesmerized, as her chest rose and fell with her ragged breathing. His hand, the one not holding the tape, came up.
He didn't ask. He simply cupped the full weight of her left melon in his palm, his calloused skin a rough, thrilling contrast to her softness. He hefted it gently, as if judging its worth.
"The weight… affects the drape…" He explained hoarsely, his thumb sweeping over her cherry in a slow, circular motion that had stars bursting behind her eyelids.
"Y…yes…" it was all she could manage. Her own hands gripped the edges of the podium, her knuckles white. His thumb and forefinger found her cherry, pinching the erect nub with a precision that stole the air from her lungs.
He rolled it, tugged it ever so slightly. A whimper, high and desperate, was torn from her. Her hips bucked forward of their own accord, seeking pressure, seeking friction, seeking anything. "The tailor must understand the… responsiveness of the fabric…"
He murmured, ducking his head and then his mouth was on her. His hot, damp tongue lashed her cherry in one long, flat stroke. Slllrp... The sound was obscene, loud in the quiet shop. Kamini cried out, her back arching violently, pushing her melon deeper into his mouth.
He suckled her, hard, his mouth forming a fierce seal around the pink patch around her cherry. The pull was exquisite, a direct line of pleasure that pulled at the very heart of her. His free hand mauled her other melon, kneading the soft flesh, his fingers digging in possessively.
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