The Blind Date
By SmutWriterAI.
[google-translator]
At 22, Tyson wasn’t exactly swimming in dating options, especially not with his secret weighing on him like a lead weight. The door swung open, and there she was: Nina, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her fitted red dress hugging curves that made his pulse quicken. She scanned the room, spotted him, and smiled, a confident, knowing curve of her lips that sent a jolt through him.
“Tyson?” she asked, sliding into the seat across from him without waiting for confirmation. Her voice was smooth, laced with a hint of amusement.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied, standing awkwardly to shake her hand. Her grip was firm, her blue eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him swallow hard. “You must be Nina. Donna said you’d be… well, stunning.”
She laughed lightly, settling in as the waiter brought menus. “Flattery already? Mike warned me you were the honest type. So, how do you know them?”
Tyson relaxed a fraction, grateful for the easy opener. “We met through a gaming group last year. Donna’s always trying to play matchmaker. You?”
“Work friends,” Nina said, leaning back but keeping her gaze on him. “Mike’s in sales, same as me. Donna dragged me to one of their barbecues, and boom, here we are.” Her foot brushed his under the table accidentally, or was it?, and she didn’t pull away immediately. The contact lingered, warm through his jeans, stirring something low in his gut.
As they ordered drinks, a beer for him, wine for her, the conversation flowed easier than he’d expected. Nina had a way of tilting her head, really listening, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest. Tyson found himself opening up about his job in graphic design, the late nights hunched over a computer. She shared stories from her marketing gigs, her bold laugh drawing him in. But beneath the banter, tension simmered. He caught her glancing at his hands, his mouth, as if sizing him up. The chemistry crackled, subtle but undeniable, making his skin heat.
They shifted closer when the appetizers arrived, their knees touching now. Nina’s perfume, something floral and sharp, wafted toward him, mixing with the garlic from the bruschetta. Tyson’s heart pounded. He couldn’t keep pretending. Honesty had always been his armor, even if it scared him shitless.
He set down his fork, meeting her eyes. “Listen, Nina… I don’t know if this ruins things, but I have to tell you something. Upfront.” His voice dropped, cheeks burning. “I have a micropenis. It’s only three inches hard. And it’s kind of a chode, stubby, you know?”
The words hung in the air, raw and exposed.
Tyson’s mind raced, fuck, why did he blurt it out like that? He braced for the recoil, the polite excuse to leave. But Nina’s eyes widened, bulging slightly in surprise. She didn’t gasp or pull away. Instead, a slow smirk tugged at her lips, her gaze dropping briefly to his lap before flicking back up. Intrigue lit her features, a spark of curiosity that made his dick twitch despite the humiliation flooding him.
“Three inches?” she echoed, her voice low, almost a whisper. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, closing the space between them. Her dress dipped low, offering a glimpse of cleavage that Tyson tried, and failed, not to stare at. “That’s… tiny. Like, the smallest I’ve ever heard of on a grown man.”
Tyson’s face flamed, a mix of shame and unexpected arousal twisting in his chest. He nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. It’s embarrassing as hell. I just… didn’t want to surprise you later.”
Nina’s smirk deepened, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. She glanced around the bistro, the other patrons absorbed in their own worlds, oblivious. “Surprise me? Oh, honey, that sounds intriguing.” Her foot nudged his calf deliberately this time, sliding up slowly under the tablecloth. The pressure was light, teasing, sending heat straight to his groin. “Tell me more. Does it get all hard and desperate, just poking out like a little button?”
He shifted in his seat, his tiny dick stirring in his boxers, already half-erect from her words. The humiliation stung, but her tone, playful, hungry, wrapped around it like a caress. “It… yeah, it does. Not much to look at, but it tries.” His voice cracked, emotions churning: vulnerability, hope, a raw need for her acceptance.
She bit her lip, eyes gleaming with that bold curiosity. “I bet it’s cute. Adorable, even.” Leaning closer, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, “What if I wanted to see it right now? Just a peek, under the table. Show me how small and eager it is.” Her hand brushed his thigh, fingers inching toward his zipper, the public thrill of it making his pulse thunder.
Tyson’s breath hitched, torn between pulling away and the magnetic pull of her confidence. The bistro faded around them, her touch igniting a fire he hadn’t expected. She wanted this, wanted him, flaws and all. But as her fingers hovered, promising more teasing, more exposure, he wondered how far she’d push him tonight.
Tyson’s heart hammered in his chest as Nina’s fingers lingered on his thigh, the warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric of his pants. The bistro’s ambient chatter felt distant, like a haze, while her blue eyes held him captive, sparkling with that mix of curiosity and command. He could smell her perfume again, sharper now, mingling with the faint tang of wine on her breath. Part of him screamed to pull back, to laugh it off as a joke, but the ache in his groin, the way his tiny dick strained against his boxers, betrayed him. She saw him, all of him, and instead of running, she leaned in closer.
Her lips brushed his ear, voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “Imagine this, Tyson,” she murmured, her words painting pictures that made his face burn hotter. “Me dragging you into that alley behind the restaurant after dinner. Unzipping you right there, under the streetlight, so anyone walking by could see your little three-inch chode poking out, all hard and desperate. I’d make you stand there, hands at your sides, while I laugh and point, telling them how cute and tiny it is. How it barely fills my palm.”
He swallowed hard, the image flooding his mind, exposed, vulnerable, the cool night air on his skin while strangers gawked. Shame twisted in his gut, sharp and familiar, but it tangled with a rush of heat that made his dick throb.
“Nina… here? People could hear,” he whispered back, voice shaky, glancing at the couple two tables over, oblivious but too close for comfort.
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her smirk wicked and inviting. “That’s the point, isn’t it? The thrill of it. Your tiny dick twitching while I tease you in front of everyone.”
Under the tablecloth, her hand slid higher, fingers deftly finding the bulge in his pants. She pressed lightly against it, feeling the stubby length through the denim, her touch slow and deliberate. Tyson bit his lip to stifle a gasp as she traced the outline, her nails grazing just enough to make him squirm. It was so small, so insignificant, but her attention made it feel electric, every nerve ending alive under her exploration.
He’d always hidden this part of himself, but Nina’s curiosity wrapped around it like a lifeline, pulling him deeper into her web.
“Does it feel good?” she asked softly, her fingers circling the tip through the fabric, coaxing it to full hardness.
The three inches strained, eager despite, or because of, the exposure.
“Yeah,” he admitted, breath ragged, his hand gripping the table edge. “But it’s embarrassing. You’re… you’re really into this?”
Nina’s eyes softened for a moment, a flicker of genuine warmth cutting through the playfulness. “Into you, Tyson. All of you. The honesty, the vulnerability, it’s hot. And yeah, the tiny part? That just makes me want to play with it more.”
She leaned in again, her breath hot against his neck, lips grazing his skin as she whispered, “What if I started undressing you right here? Slid my hand inside your pants, pulled out that little chode for a real feel. Stroke it slow while I tell you how adorable it looks, all flushed and begging.”
Tyson’s body trembled, caught between the urge to bolt and the magnetic pull of her dominance. Her words stirred something raw in him, a need to surrender to the humiliation she promised. He could picture it: her fingers wrapping around his stubby shaft, pumping it openly under the table, her laughter soft but cutting as she described its size to him. The risk, the waiter circling nearby, the murmur of voices, only heightened the ache, his dick leaking a spot of pre-cum into his underwear.
She didn’t stop, her fingers working the zipper down inch by inch, the metallic rasp barely audible over the din. Cool air hit Tyson’s skin as she slipped inside, brushing his boxers before cupping the slight bulge directly.
“Mmm, feel that? So warm, so eager,” she breathed, her thumb rubbing the head through the thin cotton. Tyson tensed, thighs clenching, but he didn’t pull away.
The intimacy of it, the way she handled him with such confident care, chipped at his shame, replacing it with a tentative thrill.
“You’re shaking,” she noted, voice laced with affection and tease. Her free hand reached across the table, squeezing Tyson’s fingers reassuringly while the other continued its slow torment below. “Good. Means you’re feeling it. Imagine if I made you cum right here, tiny spurts in your lap while I whisper how everyone would laugh if they knew.”
The promise hung between them, tension coiling tighter. Tyson’s mind reeled, desire overriding fear as her touch grew bolder, fingers dipping under the waistband now, grazing bare skin. He wanted to protest, to beg for privacy, but the words stuck, lost in the haze of her playful control. How much further would she go? The check hadn’t even come yet, and already, the night stretched into uncharted territory, her curiosity pulling him toward edges he’d never dared approach.
Tyson’s breath caught as Nina’s fingers pushed past the elastic of his boxers, her touch finally direct against his bare skin. The bistro’s warmth felt stifling now, the clink of silverware and low hum of conversations a distant roar in his ears. Her hand slid fully under the tablecloth, enveloping his tiny dick in her palm.
It was so small, barely filling the space between her thumb and fingers, but the contact sent a jolt through him, his three-inch length hardening instantly at her grasp. The skin was hot, sensitive, and he could feel the slight stickiness of pre-cum smearing against her skin as she adjusted her hold.
He glanced around, heart pounding, but no one seemed to notice. The couple nearby laughed at their own joke, and the waiter refilled glasses across the room. Nina’s eyes locked on his, a mix of mischief and hunger in their blue depths, her blonde hair catching the soft light overhead. “There it is,” she whispered, her voice a sultry thread that wrapped around his nerves. “Your little chode, all stiff and ready for me. Feels even tinier up close, doesn’t it? So cute, Tyson.”
Her fingers began to stroke, slow and deliberate, sliding from the base to the tip in a rhythm that made his thighs tense. Each pass coaxed a bead of pre-cum to the head, her thumb circling it gently, spreading the wetness. But the way she squeezed, just enough to make him throb, twisted that embarrassment into something electric, a secret thrill that pooled low in his belly. He wanted to hide, yet her touch anchored him, pulling him deeper into the vulnerability.
“Good boy,” she murmured, leaning in so her breath fanned his ear, warm and laced with the faint sweetness of her wine. “Now, I want more. Stand up for me. Just a little. Unzip those pants all the way and let me see it properly. Show me how brave you can be.”
Her strokes paused, fingers squeezing the base lightly, a command hidden in the pressure. Tyson’s mind raced. Stand? Here? The table hid most of it, but rising would mean risking everything. His dick twitched in her grip, betraying his hesitation, the humiliation of her words making it pulse harder.
He swallowed, throat dry, emotions churning like a storm inside him. Part of him screamed no, visions of stares and whispers flashing through his head, but another part, the one that had ached for acceptance all night, yearned for her approval. For the rush of giving in to her playful dominance.
Slowly, he nodded, pushing back his chair just enough to rise halfway, knees bumping the table leg. The zipper rasped louder in his ears than it probably was, the sound cutting through the din as he tugged it down fully. Cool air kissed his exposed skin as his pants gaped open, boxers pushed aside by her insistent hand.
Nina’s grip tightened for a moment, guiding his tiny dick free into the open air beneath the tablecloth’s edge. It bobbed slightly, flushed and erect, the head glistening under the dim light filtering down.
“That’s it,” she encouraged, her voice low and teasing, eyes flicking downward as if she could see every inch. “Pull them down more, Tyson. Let it hang out a bit. Imagine if someone glances under here and sees your little three-incher, all hard and desperate. Wouldn’t that be exciting? Me controlling you like this, making you expose yourself in public.”
His face flamed, a deep flush spreading from his neck to his ears as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband, sliding his pants and boxers down another inch or two. The fabric bunched at his thighs, leaving his chode fully visible to Nina, and potentially to anyone who might peek. The vulnerability hit him like a wave, stomach twisting with raw embarrassment. He could feel eyes on him, or imagined he did, every laugh from nearby tables feeling directed at his secret shame. Yet, beneath it, a forbidden thrill surged through him, his dick leaking more pre-cum onto her fingers as she resumed stroking, the sensation amplified by the risk.
Nina’s free hand reached up, tracing his jawline softly, a tender contrast to the bold commands. “Look at you, trembling but doing it anyway,” she said, her tone softening with genuine affection, though the tease lingered. “I love this side of you, the shy boy who gets so hard from a little humiliation. It’s turning me on, feeling how eager your tiny dick is despite everything.”
Her strokes quickened just a fraction, fingers gliding smoothly now, slick with his arousal. The intimacy of her words wrapped around the exposure, making the public edge feel almost safe in her control.
Tyson gripped the table, knuckles white, his body a battlefield of conflicting sensations. The cool draft from the air conditioning brushed his exposed skin, heightening every stroke, every whisper. He wanted to sit back down, to cover up and pretend this wasn’t happening, but her hand kept him there, pumping steadily, drawing soft, involuntary whimpers from his throat.
The couple two tables over shifted, their chairs scraping, and he froze, pulse thundering, had they seen? The thought sent a fresh wave of heat to his groin, his chode swelling impossibly harder in her palm.
She noticed, of course, her smirk widening as she leaned closer, lips nearly brushing his. “See? You love it. The embarrassment makes it better, doesn’t it? My little exhibitionist with the cutest micropenis.”
Her thumb pressed the sensitive underside, rubbing in circles that made stars burst behind his eyelids. The night felt alive with possibility, her dominance a gentle tether pulling him further into uncharted desires.
As her strokes built a steady rhythm, Tyson’s resolve wavered, the thrill outweighing the fear. What if the waiter came back now? What if she pushed him even more? The questions hung unspoken, tension coiling tighter between them, her hand never stopping its teasing exploration.
Nina’s eyes sparkled with a wicked gleam as she released his dicklette, the sudden absence of her warm grip leaving Tyson aching and exposed. Her hand withdrew slowly, trailing a slick path along his thigh before disappearing under the tablecloth.
“Not enough yet,” she whispered, her voice a husky command that vibrated through him. “Drop those pants all the way, Tyson, to your ankles. Then walk with me, right through the room. Let everyone get a peek at that tiny, hard chode of yours swinging free.”
Tyson’s heart slammed against his ribs, the words hitting like a dare he couldn’t refuse. The bistro buzzed around them, laughter from a group at the bar, the sizzle of food from the kitchen, the scrape of chairs, but it all blurred into white noise. His mind reeled: walk? Naked from the waist down?
The shame twisted in his gut, hot and unrelenting, imagining the stares, the whispers about his pathetic three inches. Yet Nina’s tone, laced with that teasing affection, stirred something more profound, a craving for her approval, for the rush of surrendering to her control. His dicklette throbbed visibly, untouched now but leaking a fresh drop that trailed down the shaft, the cool air teasing the sensitive skin.
He hesitated, fingers trembling as they gripped the waistband. Nina leaned in, her breath hot against his neck, blonde strands brushing his shoulder. “Do it for me,” she urged softly, her hand now resting on his hip, guiding without forcing. “Show me how much you want this. Your little dicklette’s begging for it, look how stiff it is, all flushed and desperate.”
With a shaky exhale, Tyson pushed the fabric down, pants and boxers pooling at his ankles in a tangled heap. The motion made his chode bob freely, the short length jutting out obscenely, head glistening under the ambient light. He stepped out of his shoes instinctively, the tile floor cold against his bare feet, heightening the vulnerability.
No turning back now, his ass cheeks clenched, thighs quivering as he stood fully exposed below the waist. The tablecloth hid him from seated views, but rising meant everything was out there, his micropenis on display for the world.
Nina stood too, graceful and composed, her sundress hugging her curves as she smoothed it down. She circled behind him slightly, her presence a warm shadow at his back. ‘Good boy,’ she murmured, voice low enough for only him to hear, her fingers grazing his lower back in a light, encouraging stroke.
“Start walking. Head to the back hallway, slowly. Keep that tiny dick out, let it swing with every step.”
Her praise sent a shiver racing down his spine, mixing with the fear knotting his stomach. He wanted to bolt, to yank everything up and flee, but the thrill of her words anchored him, turning dread into a pulsing heat in his groin.
Tyson took his first step, pants hobbling his ankles like shackles, forcing an awkward shuffle. His dicklette swayed with the motion, the short shaft slapping lightly against his thigh, drawing his own gaze downward in mortified fascination. The room felt vast, crowded with patrons, a family at one table, business types nursing drinks, none looking yet, but the risk made his pulse thunder.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his face burning as he weaved between chairs, the exposure raw and immediate. Every brush of air against his bare skin amplified the sensation, his balls tightening with nervous energy.
Nina followed close, her heels clicking softly, a hand occasionally pressing his elbow to steer him. “That’s it, keep going,” she whispered from behind, her tone a blend of command and caress. “Feel how free it is? Your chode’s loving the attention, bouncing like it wants to be seen. Imagine if someone turns… sees how small and eager you are for me.”
Her words fueled the fire, humiliation crashing over him in waves, yet each one deepened the connection, her dominance wrapping around his shame like a safety net. He glanced back, catching her smirk, eyes dark with arousal, and it steadied him; she wanted this, wanted him, tiny dicklette and all.
Halfway across, a woman at a nearby table laughed sharply, her head turning just enough to make Tyson’s breath hitch. Had she seen? The thought sent a jolt straight to his core, his micropenis twitching visibly, pre-cum beading at the tip and dripping onto the floor in a tiny, humiliating spot.
Nina noticed him trembling, her whisper closer now, lips nearly to his ear. “Look at you, leaking everywhere. So brave, Tyson. My shy little exhibitionist, getting harder from the stares.”
He reached the edge of the crowded area, the hallway looming darker, but she didn’t let him stop there. “One more loop,” she commanded softly, her hand sliding to his waist, thumb brushing the curve of his ass. “Around that pillar and back. Swing those hips, make it dance for me.”
The praise twisted with the push, her voice trembling slightly with her own thrill, pulling him deeper into the game. Tyson’s body obeyed before his mind caught up, hips swaying just enough to make his chode jiggle, the motion sending fresh shivers through him. Faces blurred past, a man glancing up from his phone, eyes widening fractionally, each potential glimpse amplifying the exposure, his heart pounding with a mix of terror and ecstasy.
By the time they neared their table again, Tyson’s legs shook, skin flushed from neck to toes, his tiny dicklette achingly hard and slick. The humiliation burned, but Nina’s trailing whispers, praises laced with teasing commands, wove through it, building an intimacy that made the risk intoxicating.
She guided him to sit, but not before one last murmur: “You did so well. But we’re not done yet. What if I make you do it again?”
The promise hung in the air, tension coiling anew, his body humming with unspoken possibilities. Tyson’s breath came in ragged bursts as he hovered near the chair, pants still tangled at his ankles, his micropenis throbbing with unmet need. The bistro’s hum pressed in, a constant reminder of the eyes that might have already caught his shameful display. Nina’s words lingered like a hook in his chest.
“What if I make you do it again?” she said, stirring a fresh wave of heat through him.
Before he could sink into the seat, her hand clamped onto his elbow, unyielding, pulling him upright.
“Not sitting yet,” she murmured, her voice a silken thread of command laced with excitement. “Come with me. To the window. I want to show you off properly.”
Her blonde hair swayed as she tugged him forward, her sundress swishing against his bare thigh. Tyson’s mind spun; the window? Facing the street, where evening pedestrians strolled past under streetlights? The thought clamped his stomach in a vise of terror, his small dick twitching despite, or because of, the dread.
He shuffled after her, the fabric at his feet hobbling his steps, each one making his chode swing exposed, the cool draft from the door teasing the slick head.
She guided him through the last cluster of tables, her body shielding him partially from the room’s view, but the window loomed ahead, floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the bustling sidewalk. Nina positioned him right against it, his bare ass brushing the cold pane, the vibration of passing cars humming through the surface into his skin.
Outside, people hurried by: a couple arm-in-arm, a jogger in neon, oblivious for now. But one glance up… Tyson’s face burned, pulse roaring in his ears, the vulnerability crashing over him like a tide. His three-inch erection stood rigid, veins pulsing, a bead of pre-cum catching the light and drawing his own mortified stare.
Nina pressed close behind him, her breasts soft against his back, one hand sliding around his hip to wrap firmly around his tiny dick. Her fingers encircled the short shaft easily, the warmth of her palm engulfing him, stroking with deliberate slowness from base to tip.
“Look at that,” she whispered hotly into his ear, her breath sending shivers down his neck. “Your little chode’s so hard, poking out like it wants the whole street to see how small it is. Press against the glass, let them glimpse what a brave boy you are for me.”
He leaned forward, forehead touching the cool window, his dick trapped between her grip and the glass’s edge, the pressure making him gasp. Nina’s strokes quickened just a fraction, her thumb circling the sensitive head, smearing the slickness down the length. Tyson’s body trembled, heart racing as a woman outside paused to check her phone, her eyes flicking up toward the window.
Did she see?
The partial reflection showed his flushed face, his exposed lower half, and the fear knotted tight in his gut, mingling with a surging thrill that made his balls ache.
“That’s it, Tyson,” Nina cooed softly, her free hand trailing up his chest under his shirt, nails grazing his nipple. “Feel how vulnerable you are? Your tiny dick in my hand, out for everyone. Admit it, say you love showing off this pathetic little thing.”
The command pulled a whimper from his throat, shame flooding him even as desire coiled hotter. “I… I love it,” he stammered, voice barely above a whisper, the words tasting like surrender.
Her laughter was low, intimate, vibrating against his back as she pumped him firmer, the motion slick and insistent, her fingers squeezing just enough to border on pain. Outside, the jogger slowed, head turning, and Tyson’s breath hitched, eyes widening in the glass as the man’s gaze locked on the window, lingering on the bizarre sight of Tyson’s bare legs and the subtle motion of Nina’s arm.
The exposure hit like electricity, his micropenis pulsing in her grasp, the humiliation raw and exposing every inch of his inadequacy.
Nina sensed it, her strokes turning relentless, voice dropping to a teasing growl. “See that? He’s staring at your chode, wondering how something so small can be so stiff. Wave to him, Tyson. Show him it’s all for me.”
Her words wrapped around his mind, the emotional pull undeniable; in her control, the embarrassment transformed into a heady rush, her curiosity about his size fueling a connection that made him feel seen and desired, despite, or because of, his flaw. He lifted a shaky hand, giving a weak wave, the man’s shocked double-take sending a jolt straight to Tyson’s core.
More passersby glanced up, a group of friends bursting into laughter, pointing subtly, and the attention overwhelmed him, vulnerability peaking as Nina’s hand worked him faster, her body grinding lightly against his ass.
Tyson’s thighs quivered, the mix of fear and arousal building to a breaking point. Her whispers turned affectionate, urgent: “Cum for me, right here against the window. Let them see your tiny dick spurt, prove how much you need this humiliation.”
The command shattered him; with a choked moan, his body tensed, hips jerking into her fist. Hot spurts erupted from his micropenis, splattering the glass in short, messy ropes, the release crashing through him in waves of ecstasy and shame. He sagged against the pane, panting, the evidence of his climax visible to anyone looking, his heart pounding with the aftershocks of exposure.
Nina held him steady, her grip loosening to a gentle hold, lips brushing his shoulder in a soft kiss. “Such a good boy,” she murmured, voice thick with her own arousal, the intimacy lingering as she scanned the street for more reactions.
Tyson’s mind reeled, body spent but buzzing, wondering what daring twist she’d demand next, the thrill of her dominance leaving him craving more, even as the risk loomed larger.
Tyson’s body still quaked from the release, his micropenis softening slightly in Nina’s loosening grip, the sticky warmth of his cum cooling on the window mere inches from his face. The glass was smeared with his evidence, short, pearly streaks that caught the streetlights, a blatant mark of his surrender.
Outside, the jogger had stopped fully now, mouth agape, while the group of friends whispered furiously, their phones already out, capturing the spectacle.
Tyson’s cheeks burned hotter than ever, the emotional rush of vulnerability crashing against the raw thrill of being so utterly exposed. Nina’s body pressed warm against his back, her presence an anchor in the storm of his shame, making him feel both cherished and toyed with in equal measure.
She released his dick entirely, her hand trailing up to rest possessively on his hip, fingers digging in just enough to remind him of her control. The sudden absence of her touch left him aching, his small shaft twitching in the open air, exposed to the cool draft seeping through the window’s edges.
“Look at the mess you made,” she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice husky with a mix of affection and mischief. “All that cum from your tiny chode, right there for everyone to see. But you’re not done yet, are you? I want to see it happen again, without my help this time. Just from the shame of standing here, dick out, letting strangers judge how pathetic and small you are.”
Her words slithered into his mind, igniting a fresh spark despite the exhaustion settling in his limbs. Tyson’s heart hammered, the intimacy of her whisper cutting through the public humiliation like a private promise. He wanted to pull away, to hide, but her dominance held him captive, the curiosity in her tone about his size making him feel desired in his inadequacy.
Outside, more eyes turned their way, a mother shielding her child’s view, murmuring something sharp under her breath, each glance fueling the heat building low in his belly. His micropenis stirred, hardening anew under the weight of their stares, the three-inch length bobbing shamefully as if begging for more attention.
Nina’s breath grew hotter against his neck, her free hand sliding under his shirt to pinch a nipple lightly, sending jolts straight to his core. “Imagine them all talking about it later,” she continued, voice low and teasing, laced with that emotional pull that made his resistance crumble. “Your little dick, so eager to show off. Cum for me again, Tyson, spray that window without a single touch. Prove how much you crave this, how my words alone make your chode throb and leak.”
The command wrapped around him, her playful cruelty blending with a tenderness that made his throat tighten. He trembled, thighs pressing together instinctively, but the exposure was too much, the murmurs from the street swelling into disapproving chatter, words like ‘disgusting’ and ‘freak’ floating up faintly through the glass.
The humiliation crested, emotional and visceral, his body betraying him as arousal coiled tight. Tyson’s breath hitched, a soft whine escaping his lips as his micropenis pulsed untouched, the head flushing darker. Nina’s whisper turned filthier, urgent:
“That’s it, let it go. Show them how a tiny dick cums from pure shame, drip all over that window like the exposed slut you are for me.”
The words shattered his control; with a shuddering gasp, his hips bucked forward involuntarily, hot jizz erupting in forceful spurts from his untouched shaft. The semen arced messily, splattering the already-stained glass in thicker ropes, some dripping down in slow, humiliating trails that mirrored his vulnerability.
Ecstasy ripped through him, mingling with the sting of tears pricking his eyes, the mix of Nina’s intimate command and the crowd’s judgment pushing him over the edge into overwhelming release.
He sagged heavier against the window, panting, his small dick deflating and glistening with residual slickness, swinging freely as aftershocks rippled through him. The street’s murmurs grew louder, a chorus of shock and disdain: “What the hell?” from the jogger, sharp gasps from the friends, each one twisting the knife of embarrassment deeper, yet amplifying the bizarre connection he felt with Nina in that moment of shared daring.
She chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against his skin as her hand stroked his side soothingly, a gesture of affection that softened the edges of his shame.
But the bubble burst as heavy footsteps approached from behind, the restaurant owner, a burly man in his fifties with a flushed face and narrowed eyes, storming through the cluster of tables. “What in God’s name is going on here?” he bellowed, voice booming over the din, his gaze dropping to Tyson’s exposed lower half and the obscene mess on the window.
Diners turned, whispers erupting into outright stares, the air thick with judgment. Tyson’s stomach plummeted, panic surging as he fumbled to yank up his pants, but they tangled at his ankles, leaving him trapped in his vulnerability. The owner’s fury was palpable, veins bulging in his neck as he jabbed a finger toward the street.
“You’ve got people out there calling the cops! Explanation, now! And you’re paying for clean up and any damages, you pervert!” the owner growled.
Nina stepped back slightly, her confident facade cracking just a fraction as she assessed the situation, the game clearly over. She met the man’s glare with a calm smile, but her hand squeezed Tyson’s briefly, a silent farewell laced with that teasing warmth. Leaning in, she pressed a quick peck to his burning cheek, her lips soft and lingering for a heartbeat.
“Thanks for the fun date,” she whispered, voice light and playful, as if this were just another casual goodbye.
Then, with a sway of her hips, she slipped away through the crowd, blonde hair vanishing toward the exit, leaving Tyson alone in the storm of consequences.
He stood there, pants at his ankles, cum still dripping down the glass behind him, heart pounding with a whirlwind of regret, thrill, and abandonment. The owner’s demands echoed, the crowd’s eyes boring into him.
As he stammered apologies, a part of him wondered if Nina’s curiosity had been genuine, or if he’d just been her plaything, exposed and spent, facing the fallout without her.
The End.
*The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech. This story was created specifically for this site using AI. While AI created most of the text, an actual human guided the process and edited the story and rewrote/added parts to make it as good as possible for your enjoyment.