This story involves teenager(s) (of legal age) dominating an older man; small penis humiliation; and elements of `magical realism' to heighten the dick size disparity. I hope you enjoy.
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I was at a party in an affluent part of Inner West London thrown by my friend Ophelia, who I'd met ten years earlier at university. Like me, aged twenty-nine, most of the people here were in their late twenties. We were drinking gin, having minor squabbles over whose Spotify playlist to use, chatting pseudo-highbrow bullshit – the usual party stuff. But a couple of hours ago, a boy walked in who I'd not seen before. And I would have remembered. Five-foot-eight, with shortish dirty blond hair with the fringe pushed up – he was wearing a tight white polo shirt, which hung loosely around his evidently slim waist, but which struggled to contain his pecs and biceps.
As soon as he arrived, he attracted a lot of attention. It wasn't just that he was attractive, which he was. He had one of those personalities, an energy, that kicked the party up a notch. He sat down on a sofa and did not move, engaging people in conversation in twos and threes, all while others would bring him the occasional drink.
For the dozenth time that night, I glanced up to see his intense dark brown eyes piercing me. He would hold the look for just a second before effortlessly returning to his conversation. Every time he did it I felt more excited, more flushed, more confused. It was like he could hear the thumping of my heart each time he looked at me.
"Who is that guy?" I asked my friend Joshua, who I'd seen speaking to him earlier, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Oh, he's called Xavier. He lives next door. He's at school with Ophelia's brother Max. Just got back from a polo match."
"Ah, okay."
I went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. I looked up to see my reflection in the mirror over the sink. Six-foot-two, still reasonably slim, curly brown hair and some mid-range rectangular glasses framing the grey eyes which looked back at me. My name is Art, by the way, short for Arthur. Still I kept thinking about Xavier: his light smattering of freckles and his high, defined cheekbones – flushed again, I felt the water evaporate off my face.
Returning to the living room, I saw it was past midnight. People were gathering their things and saying their goodbyes, keen to catch the last Tube. Much too shy to do anything about Xavier and the looks we had exchanged – I still was a virgin – I resolved to do the same.
Xavier, however, had other ideas. Seeing me pick up my coat, crumpled on the sofa where he'd been sitting, from across the room – he came over.
"Hi," he said, his private school voice and confidence making me shudder with attraction, "listen, I live next door and my parents are away. Max has text to say he's not back tonight. Do you want to come back to mine?"
"Umm—" I started.
"You can stay over."
I tried to think of an excuse: but he was so attractive, and so persuasive, and I was so curious about why he might have approached me out a party full of admirers, I just nodded.
"Great," he said, "well chop-chop. Get your things."
So I did get my things, and I said my goodbyes, and five minutes later we were climbing the stairs in his parents' massive townhouse. He took me into the drawing room. He indicated one of the sofas and told me to take a seat, poured us a glass of scotch each, then sat down in an imperial Chesterfield armchair with his legs spread wide.
"Joshua says you were at university with Ophelia."
"That's right," I replied.
"I can't wait to go to university," he said, "I bet it's an absolute fuckfest."
"Well, umm..." I trailed off.
He was swaying his legs open and closed now; he took his `phone from his pocket and started playing with it. "I'm gonna get so much pussy. Not that I don't already."
It figured. A guy as gorgeous as him, even if he was ten years younger, having a world more experience than I had.
"I mean I mostly fuck the other guys at school, of course" – he and Max went to an all-boys boarding school – "but some of the townie girls nearby will do anything for a pack of cigarettes."
I was shocked at how open and brazen he was about all this. I felt my face flush red again.
"Did you get laid a lot at— oh yeah, haha."
I gulped. How did he know? "What?" I asked.
"Well, you being at university with Ophelia wasn't all Josh told me," he smirked. "Have you seriously never done it? With anyone? Ever?"
He fixed me with another one of his stares. I shook my head: no.
"That's fucking weird. You're what? Thirty?"
"Twenty-nine," I corrected him.
"So you basically thirty and you've never had sex. I've just turned eighteen and I've fucked about fifty people."
He was rubbing the crotch of his polo shorts now, while flicking through his `phone. I heard it start emitting the unmistakeable sounds of straight porn.
"You don't mind, do you? We won our polo game earlier. And the only thing that makes me hornier than playing a match is winning a match."
I didn't say anything. I just stared at where his large hand met the soft white fabric of his slightly muddy shorts. The bulge underneath, already obscene, was growing bigger by the second. My heart hammered in my chest and I felt my little dick expanding.
He looked over at me, as though mulling something over, then stood up. He removed his shirt. I got a waft of boy smell and could see the sweat glinting in the lamp light off his mesomorphic torso. He clearly hadn't showered after his polo game. His broad shoulders tapered down past his impressive pecs to a tiny waist and rock hard abs. He flexed his huge biceps while smirking at me again, arrogantly, flashing his slightly damp armpits, the only hair on his otherwise smooth upper body.
"Take off your shirt."
I was too busy drinking in his body, trying to memorise this moment – every muscle, every patch of dirt, every bead of sweat – to comply.
"I said take off your shirt," he repeated, more forcefully.
I stood up and removed my shirt. Unlike the speedy and smooth way he had removed his, I fumbled nervously with the buttons. Even though I was half a foot taller than him, I was no match for him in confidence or stature. When my shirt finally hit the floor, he looked me up and down.
"Hmm," he said, seeing my slender body, no definition or noteworthy muscle to it at all, a small patch of brown hair on my chest.
He sat back down. "Come and take off my shoes."
Unsure about why he had this preternatural control over me, I got on my knees and crawled the couple of metres over to him. I awkwardly undid the shoelace of one shoe, then the other.
"This is one thing I'll miss at university," he said. "At school you can get one of the fags to do this for you."
I lifted his foot – as he wasn't helping – and pulled off his shoe as gently as I could. Another waft of the boy smell sweat hit my face as soon as I did. I felt my tongue start to water in my mouth. Licking my lips, I removed the other shoe.
I looked up at him and saw he was flicking through his `phone and rubbing his enormous bulge once again. For thirty seconds, which felt like hours, I looked up at him. Then he stood up, the heat of his crotch was inches from my face. It truly was enormous. A bulge no longer, but a distinct dickprint stretching up right past the edge of his hip – the sort of length and girth you'd see only in an adult film.
It was obvious where this was going. It should have been obvious from the moment he started rubbing himself. In his mind, it had probably been obvious from the moment he kept catching me looking at him at Ophelia's party.
He undid first the button and then the fly of his polo shorts. He placed his thumbs seductively in their waistband. I could see he wasn't wearing any underwear. Then in a swift, single movement he pushed them down – his cock thwacking loudly against my face as he stood back up, causing him to laugh. It took me a moment to recover for the inadvertent dickslap, but when I did I stared straight ahead and could hard breathe. Stretching out far in front of him was a cock of monstrous proportions.
"Fuck." I whispered quietly.
"I am so fucking horny," he stated simply. "Take off your trousers."
I pulled off my shoes hastily, then stood up to do as he said, just as I had been doing what he said all evening.
"And your boxers," he said, rolling his eyes.
I paused.
"Now! Hurry up!"
My little erection was straining urgently. I was desperate for him not to see but I also wanted to do exactly as Xavier told me. Taking a deep breath and fortifying myself, I pulled down my boxers.
"Fuck," he said, before bursting into laughter. "Fucking hell, Art, no wonder you're a virgin."
I felt hot sticky rushes of shame in my chest. What he said was true, of course. Ever since puberty, since seeing boys' manhoods race past mine in size year after year, I'd always been diligently careful not to let anyone see me naked. It was much too embarrassment.
"I can't believe it. How small is it?"
"I- I- I don't know. I've never measured," I lied.
"Don't lie to me," he barked, seeing through my soul, "– ever! Just how small is that little thing?"
"It's about four inches."
"We'd better measure it, just to be sure," Xavier said. He strode over to a bureau and opened the drawer, extracting a tape measure. He strode back to the matte burgundy armchair and sat down. "Come sit in front of me."
I got back on the floor as he'd instructed, and set cross legged. He handed me the tape measure – an aggressively yellow one-metre length of linen, wound in a coil, with metric measurements on one side and imperial on the other. A simple linen strip that would expose beyond doubt what Xavier and I both already knew.
"Tell me how small it is," he said smugly
I looked up at him, pleading, desperate not to prove to him or to me what we could both already see. His expectant look was all I needed to realise that I had no choice but to measure it.
Pressing down on my little boner, I placed the edge of the tape measure on my pelvic bone and held a tiny fraction of the rest taught over my erection. Whilst I was sitting on the floor, Xavier – of course – had a perfect bird's-eye-view from his armchair.
This time he didn't even laugh. "My god, that's pathetic," he exhaled. "Three-point-eight inches. I started measuring my big dick when I was ten and I was already over an inch bigger than that." He was laughing again now, more out of disbelief. "How thick is it?"
I looked up at him, dumbly. "Wrap it around your cock and tell me how thick it is."
Once again, I did as he said. My dick was as hard as I'd ever felt it, straining against the measuring tape. "Two-point-eight inches."
"You're cute enough I'd assumed you would find someone to fuck eventually. Now I'm not so sure – my dick is bigger than that flaccid. Much bigger. Do mine," he ordered.
Sitting on the floor, my face level with his massive hard-on, I hesitated again. Steeling myself to touch another guy's dick – or anyone private parts for that matter – I was overwhelmed by white noise as my right hand, still grasping the tape measure, reached forwards and pressed against his pubes. It felt wiry and hot, my heart beating once again, my left hand shaking as it reached up to pull the tape measure against his massive dick. Once I had done as instructed I looked up at him.
"How big is it?" he demanded.
My mouth was dry from nerves and I licked my lips. "It's- It's eight-point-three inches."
"More than eight inches. So you're more than ten years older than me and your dick is not even half as long?"
I looked up at him again. The confidence and control he had seemed to double after we had established beyond doubt he had twice as much length.
"Do my girth now."
Wrapping the tape measure around his massive cock my eyes widened.
"Well?"
"It's six-point-six inches around."
Fighting through the lust of it all I tried to remember my secondary school geometry. His dick was over twice as long and six times as thick – it was twelve times bigger than mine.
"So what do you think?" he asked.
"It- It- It's over twelve times bigger than mine," I admitted automatically.
"Do you know what the little fags at school called this monster?" he asked, releasing it from the tape measure and whacking it slowly and assuredly with one hand against the other's palm. I looked at him, awe-struck. "They called it my fuckclub."
He grabbed my curls, and forced me to look up at him. "And do you know what I used to do to the little fags with my fuckclub?"
I tried to shake my head, no, causing his grip on my hair to hurt even more.
"I would shove it down their little fag throats so that their eyes would water and look at me, beggin me to stop. Is that what you want? To be my little cocksucking fag?"
I didn't move. I felt simultaneously like the luckiest boy in the world and scared for my life. He released his dick, still gripping my curls with one hand while he held my nose with the other. His enormous eight-inch monster, bobbing up and down. I could smell the sweat and precum as the massive head hovered and inch from my face. Whether it was because I could no longer breathe through my nose or no longer pretend to resist I opened my mouth to gulp in some air, and he shoved his hips forward.
The tip of his dick touched my tongue. The warm salty precum danced and felt alive on my tastebuds. I heard him chuckle above me, and with the tiniest swaying of his hips his huge cock rubbed back and forth against my lips – sending the nerve endings into a sensory overdrive.
I was brought back my senses a bit as I felt his white sport socks start to rest against my own much smaller cock. "I know what you want. And I know what you need," he said, crushing down on my dick harder.
"If I didn't know it earlier, I know it now since I've seen how hard it makes that pathetic little maggot you call a dick. But it's not a dick. Your useless virgin little dicklet is nothing more than a worm."
He was grinding the ball of his big foot onto my dicklet now, it was really starting to hurt. My eyes flitted between his haughty lustful stare and the rock-hard head of his enormous cock, still brushing on my lips, even angrier and more inflamed that before.
"I always hated the boys at school having dicks while I fucked them," he continued, "sometimes they'd be hard, I preferred it when they were soft. When I'm fucking, I am the one who's fucking; the little slut I am fucking isn't meant to have a dick, mine is the dick that matters."
He grunted as a massive glob of precum oozed out of his cock and onto the lower lip of my half- opened mouth. He moved his foot to grind it into my balls, causing my worm to soften.
"The only dick that matters is this one right here. But none of those boys were as small as you. It's barely a dick at all – I know I don't need to think about you fucking anyone. Fuck. Even you know you don't think to think about it. You and that little maggot of yours are never going to fuck anyone. I am going to have a lot of fun with you. Do you want to feel what a real dick feels like?"
As I tried to speak I realised that for the last minute I had been silently crying. Yes. Yes, I did want to feel what a real dick felt like. Yes, he was right I didn't think about fucking anyone. How could I? The only tiny shred of evidence needed was the tiny thing between my legs and crushed under Xavier's foot.
"Yes," I softly sobbed.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I want to feel what a real dick feels like."
"Lick my balls, first."
He tightened his grip on my curls once again, and pulled my face into his balls. Just like his dick, they were huge. As my lips touched them I heard them peel gently off the armchair's leather. For the third time that night I smelt the waft of his post-match sweat.
"That's it. Lick the sweat from my balls and tell me what it's like to taste a real man."
Desperate to satisfy him, my tongue dove from my mouth and lapped obediently at his nutsack. I was sure my now half-soft little worm was leaking under his sock as I tasted his day-old ball sweat, the light smattering of pubes tickled against my nose, as I felt him gently stroking up and down his prodigious length, his hand occasionally bashing against my nose.
I moaned.
"That's right. Now, without taking your tongue off me for a second, I want you to lick up my shaft very, very slowly."
I started doing it. Even though I'd never sucked a cock before, I was desperate to suck Xavier's, but I was even keener to do as he said, so I took my time.
"One," he said.
Licking upwards still, being sure to run my tongue from side to side.
"Two."
I couldn't believe how far I could move my face left to right and still have my tongue on his cock.
"Three."
Speeding up a little now, I wanted so badly to taste his precum again. I wanted to suck him off, just as he'd told me to do."
"Slow down," he said. "Four. Stop."
I immediately stopped.
"Now look up at me."
Almost all my field of vision was dominated by his massive cock, towering above my eyesight. Looking down at me, king of this tower, we caught each other's lines of vision.
"If anyone ever tried to do this to you," he explained, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, "which they never will. But if they ever did they would have run out of dick by now. But look."
I stared up at the crown of his thick, throbbing cock, soaring above my eyes. I felt it tense against my tongue and saw a huge stream of precum leak down his shaft, over my cheek and onto my lips.
"Enough of this. I'm fucking horny. Go lie with your back on the sofa cushions and your head laying over the side," he said, pushing me onto my back on the floor. I scurried, trying to comply as quickly as possible.
Once I had done as he said, he knelt in front of me. From upside down his massive hard-on looked even bigger than before.
"Open your mouth," he ordered. He positioned his dick between my lips and pushed forwards. He only got about five inches in before I started retching. He pulled out his dick.
"You're going to have to do better than that," he said, chuckling. "It's barely halfway in. Although it must suck to know yours little thing couldn't choke someone even if you wanted to."
He reached forwards, sadistically, and effortlessly grabbed my dicklet and both my little balls in the palm of one hand before squeezing them. "Fuck, it looks even tinier from here," he said, squeezing them harder still.
"The thing you need to know about me, Art, is I do want to choke you. I want to hear my massive fuckclub make you gag and splutter, I want to watch my enormous cock make you struggle in ways that useless little worm of yours could never make someone struggle."
With that he thrust forward again. In no more than I second I felt him hit the back of my throat, felt myself gagging again, but he pushed forward further and brutally until I felt his pubes on my chin. I reached forwards – trying to disobey him for the first time that evening by pushing him away. He wasn't ready to be pushed away. Unfazed and unmoved. Not for eight, nine, ten seconds. Finally he pulled out his dick, I choked and coughed, trying to get up and catching a view of his dick – which I was sure had got even larger, – covered in my spit and glistening in the soft side lighting of the lamp. But he didn't let me get up. He crushed my soft, shrivelled, leaking maggot even harder and grabbed my throat with his other hand before position his dick by my lips once more.
"This is my favourite bit. Open up again, boy."
He pushed his dick forwards and I felt it stretch my neck.
"I love feeling my big cock in a boy's throat. Hearing my fuckclub choking him. Seeing it bring tears from his eyes. Knowing he's giving up air for my dick whether he wants to or not. Uff, fuck! I'm so fucking close."
From being buried over eight inches deep down my throat for the second time that night, he bucked back and forward a couple of inches a dozen times before pulling out. He released my tiny package and my throat and grabbed his massive cock with both hands. Tugging on it a few more times a couple of huge jets of of cum landed on my little dicklet; the next few sprays splattered all over my tummy and chest; he stuck the head of his cock in my mouth and I felt another few volleys of his hot salty hot boy goo land on my tongue; he pulled out once more, covering my neck, my cheeks and my curls with his jizz.
He collapsed backwards onto the floor, seemingly clearly spent and ready to rest. But I was not allowed to rest.
"Come and lick my balls some more," he said, reaching forward to gently pull my curls. I did as I was told, his load already cooling and sticking to my cum-covered body.
I licked at his balls, rubbing my nose affectionately against his huge, soft, sleeping cock, for twelve minutes.
"Oh yeah," he said, "go and get the tape measure."
He made me measure his dick while it was soft. Six-point-three inches long and five-point-one inches wide. Even soft it was more than five times bigger than mine was hard.
"Is your faggot maggot still soft?" he asked, sitting up.
A sad look spread across my face, not wanting to disappoint him. Licking his balls had given me another hard-on.
"Fuck. It looks even smaller than before," he said, coolly snatching the tape measure from me and placing it against my dicklet. "Hang on. Did you cheat earlier you lying little cocksucker?"
"What? No! You saw me—" I began, looking down.
"It's not even three-and-a-half inches." He was right. I was harder than I'd ever been after that experience, and my very tip of my little dick didn't even reach the three-point-five–inch mark. He removed the tape measure and I stared at the tiny straining shame between my legs, both of us sitting there in stunned silence.
"Oh this is too good," Xavier boomed, sounding more powerful than ever before. I looked up at him, his huge cock was hard once more, he held the tape measure against it. "Read out the inches. One at a time."
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, eight-point-eight inches."
We sat there in another minute of stunned silence before he said. "Right. Bed." He realised I didn't know where that was and he led the way. We walked up another flight of stairs to his bedroom. It was dark but he pulled me towards what felt to be a large bed with soft cotton sheets. He manoeuvred me down his shorter muscular body and down the bed, so we would be comfortable with him taking his rightful position as big spoon. As we drifted off to sleep I felt his huge cock hardening up between my thighs.
"That's right, you little fuckslut," he half mumbled, "almost nine inches of cock stretched your little throat tonight. And you and that little three-and-a-half–inch boyclit couldn't be happier about it."
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I hope you enjoyed this story, which I intend on making part the first chapter in a series. Any feedback and suggestions would be much appreciated at sphsublondon@gmail.com
CHAPTER TWO