Measured To Fit

Jane Wilde and Maya Woulfe slipped on their new uniforms and sized each other up. "It swallows me," Maya sighed, tugging at the loose waistband. Jane took the tape and pressed the metal tip against Maya's slim waist, pulling it tight until the numbers sang. "Bend over," she said, blunt. Maya bent, skirt riding up, panties stretched across the perfect round of her ass. Jane wrote nothing down. The blouse came next. "Top's better bare," Jane said, voice low. Maya hesitated, then peeled the cotton over her head. Bra and panties matched, pale against warm skin. Jane brushed the tape over Maya's ribs, heart knocking, heat climbing her thighs. She cupped one small breast through the lace, "For the underbust," and Maya went still, breathing shallow. "More accurate without the bra." Maya unhooked it. Jane's fingers circled the bare nipple, measuring, but slow, circling. Maya caught the game and let the game catch her. Her thumbs hooked the waistband of her panties and pushed them down. Jane dropped the tape; her own blouse hit the floor. They found each other's mouths, open and greedy. Jane's hand slid between Maya's legs, slick heat, every fold memorized without numbers. Uniforms lay crumpled. The girls moved against each other, skin on skin, nothing measured but want.