The Flasher
By SmutWriterAI.
He felt the familiar ache in his groin, his bald micro-dick already half-hard, barely an inch long even when aroused, nestled above his small, tight balls—no underwear, just the coat’s loose freedom, ready for the reveal.
He spotted her first—a young woman in her mid-twenties, with long dark hair swaying as she walked, her tight skirt hugging her hips. She was texting on her phone, oblivious, her full lips pursed in concentration. John’s pulse quickened; she was perfect, the kind of girl whose shock would fuel his twisted excitement.
He quickened his pace to match hers, falling just behind, his breath shallow. The street noise—honking cars, chatter—drowned out his ragged inhales. He could almost taste the humiliation already, the rush that made his pathetic little nub throb.
With a swift motion, John yanked the coat open, the buttons straining as he bared himself. There it was: his tiny bald cock, smooth and hairless, jutting out like a sad pink button, his minuscule balls dangling below. The cool air hit his skin, sending a shiver up his spine. The woman glanced up, her eyes widening in horror as she took in the sight.
“Oh my God, what the fuck?” she yelped, stumbling back a step, her phone nearly slipping from her hand. Her face flushed red, a mix of disgust and disbelief twisting her features.
John grinned, holding the coat wide, his micro-dick bobbing slightly in the open air. He loved this—the raw exposure, the way her gaze locked on his inadequacy despite herself. People nearby started to notice, heads turning, whispers rippling through the crowd.
“Look at that little thing,” she said, her voice rising with laughter now, sharp and mocking. “Is that all you’ve got? Jesus, it’s like a baby’s dick!”
Her words stabbed at him, but they ignited a fire in his gut. John’s hand moved instinctively, wrapping around his tiny shaft—his fingers barely needed to curl fully. He gave it a slow, deliberate jerk, the skin sliding over the minuscule length, pre-cum already beading at the tip.
The humiliation washed over him in waves, hot and intoxicating, making his balls tighten. He could see the conflict in her eyes: revulsion warring with a flicker of morbid curiosity, her stare lingering just a second too long on his exposed vulnerability.
A couple of her friends caught up, drawn by her outburst. One, a blonde with sharp cheekbones, burst out laughing, pointing openly.
“Holy shit, it’s tiny! Like, micro-penis tiny. Dude, put that away before someone steps on it!”
The other, a redhead, covered her mouth but couldn’t hide her snickers. “Ew, and it’s bald? Were you trying to make it look bigger? Newsflash: it didn’t work.”
John’s cheeks burned, but his grin widened, his jerking hand picking up a fraction of speed. Each stroke sent jolts of pleasure through his body, amplified by their taunts. He felt exposed in every sense—his small dick on display for the world, their laughter echoing like a drug.
A few passersby pulled out phones, snapping pics, the clicks fueling his arousal. His mind raced with the risk: cops could show any second, but that only made his tiny cock harder, straining to its pathetic full inch and a half.
“You like showing off that babydick, huh?” the first woman sneered, stepping closer despite herself, her voice laced with disdain. “Bet no girl’s ever touched it. Poor babydick.”
John’s breath hitched, his free hand gripping the coat tighter to keep it open. He jerked slower now, teasing himself, drawing out the moment. The mix of their mockery and the public gaze twisted something deep inside him—shame blending with raw desire, his heart slamming against his ribs.
He imagined her hand replacing his, her fingers laughing at his size as she stroked. Still, reality was better: their real-time humiliation, the way her eyes darted to his pumping fist, disgust flickering with unwilling intrigue.
“Freak,” the blonde muttered, but she didn’t look away, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
The crowd thickened around them, murmurs turning to outright jeers. John’s skin prickled with sweat, the city’s humid air clinging to his bare legs. His balls ached, drawn up tight as he edged closer to release, but he held back, savoring the burn. This was his high—the tease, the exposure, their words carving into him like knives he craved.
Suddenly, a siren wailed in the distance, snapping the spell. John released his coat, the fabric snapping shut over his still-throbbing micro-dick. He ducked into a nearby alley, heart racing, chest heaving. The shadows swallowed him, cool and damp against his flushed skin. Laughter echoed from the street behind, but it only made him harder, his hand slipping back under the coat for a quick, frustrated squeeze.
He leaned against the brick wall, panting, the craving already building again. One more flash, just one more pretty girl to shock and tease. The city pulsed around him, full of possibilities, his tiny cock begging for the next round of public shame.
John pushed off the alley wall, his trench coat settling back into place over his still-erect micro-dick, the fabric chafing against the sensitive skin. The distant siren faded, leaving only the hum of the city and his pounding heartbeat. Sweat trickled down his back, mixing with the thrill that hadn’t entirely ebbed.
He needed more—another rush, another set of eyes to widen in shock and twist into cruel laughter. His tiny balls ached from the interrupted release, a dull throb urging him onward. Stepping back into the flow of pedestrians, he scanned the street, eyes hungry for the next target.
The café terrace came into view around the corner, a cluster of wrought-iron tables spilling onto the sidewalk under striped awnings. Laughter floated from a group of young women, four or five of them, mid-twenties like the last one, dressed in summer tops and shorts that hugged their curves. They sipped iced coffees, gesturing animatedly, their voices light and carefree. John’s pulse spiked; this was ideal—public, relaxed, a built-in audience. His micro-cock twitched inside the coat, already leaking a fresh bead of pre-cum that smeared against his thigh.
He slowed his pace deliberately, weaving closer to the terrace edge, heart slamming as he positioned himself just ten feet away. The women hadn’t noticed him yet, too wrapped up in their chatter about some weekend party. John’s fingers trembled as he fumbled with the coat’s buttons, popping the lower ones open wider than before.
The fabric parted slightly, allowing the cool breeze to kiss his exposed groin. His bald little cock bobbed free, the minuscule shaft—barely an inch—jutting out obscenely, pale and smooth, his tiny balls swinging like forgotten ornaments below. The air felt electric against his skin, every nerve alight with vulnerability.
He could smell the café’s espresso and pastries, mingling with his own musky arousal, and it made his stomach twist in that delicious knot of shame.
One of them looked up—a bold brunette with sharp green eyes and a crop top that showed off her toned midriff. Her gaze locked onto John’s partially open coat, then dropped lower. A smirk curled her full lips, slow and knowing, as recognition dawned.
She nudged her friend but didn’t look away, her expression shifting from casual boredom to wicked amusement. John’s breath caught; she wasn’t recoiling like the others. Instead, she stood, hips swaying as she sauntered toward him, her flip-flops slapping the pavement. The other women followed her gaze, heads turning, whispers starting up.
“Hey, creep,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry, drawing more eyes from nearby tables. She stopped just a couple of feet away, arms crossed under her breasts, pushing them up in a way that made John’s tiny dick pulse harder. “Is that your idea of a show? That little pink nub poking out like it’s something special?”
Heat flooded John’s face, but it pooled straight to his groin, making his micro-cock strain to its full pathetic length. Her words hit like a slap, raw and public, the terrace now buzzing with stares. He could feel the weight of their attention, phones emerging again, the click of cameras a sharp counterpoint to his ragged breathing. Shame burned in his chest, twisting with the undeniable surge of lust—why did her mockery make him want to explode right there?
She leaned in closer, her perfume—something floral and teasing—wafting over him, her eyes raking down to his exposed flesh. “Come on, flasher boy. If you’re gonna whip out that babydick, do it right. Get closer. Show everyone how tiny it really is.” Her tone was a dare, laced with laughter that promised more humiliation, her smirk widening as she glanced back at her friends, who were now giggling openly.
John’s mind reeled, the risk amplifying everything—the chance of security dragging him away, the growing crowd. But her challenge pulled him like a magnet. He stepped forward, coat flaring wider with the motion, his micro-dick bouncing freely now, the breeze teasing the slick tip. Up close, he could see the flecks in her green eyes, the way her chest rose with each breath.
His hand dropped to his groin, fingers encircling the minuscule shaft—too small to grip properly, but he jerked it anyway, hard and fast, the skin pulling taut over the rigid core. Pre-cum oozed freely, slicking his palm with wet sounds that cut through the murmurs.
“Oh my God, look at him go,” she crowed, her voice booming for the audience. “Jerking that micro-peen like it’s gonna grow. Newsflash, dude—it’s not. That’s the saddest little cock I’ve ever seen. Bet it couldn’t even tickle a clit.”
Laughter erupted from the terrace, her friends joining in with hoots and jeers. ‘Tiny dick energy!’ one shouted, while another snapped a photo, the flash blinding John for a second. The humiliation crashed over him in waves, his cheeks flaming, but it fueled the fire in his balls, drawing them up tight as he pumped faster.
Each stroke sent jolts of pleasure through his body, the friction rough and urgent against his bald skin. He imagined her reaching out, her fingers mocking the size as she squeezed, but her stare—disgusted yet riveted—did the job just as well. The scent of her closeness mixed with his arousal, sweat beading on his forehead, his thighs trembling from the strain of holding back.
She circled him slowly, like a predator toying with prey, her eyes never leaving his jerking hand. “Faster, little man. Show us what that worthless nub can do. Or are you too embarrassed? Everyone’s watching your pathetic show.” Her words dripped with teasing scorn, but there was a glint in her eye, a flicker of something darker—curiosity, maybe even arousal at his desperation.
John’s breath came in short gasps, his free hand clutching the coat to keep it splayed open, exposing every inch of his inadequacy to the gathering crowd. The café patrons leaned in, whispers turning to outright catcalls, the humiliation coiling tighter in his gut. His micro-cock throbbed under his relentless strokes, the edge of release hovering, but he savored the burn, the way her mockery made his whole body ache with need. The city noise faded, leaving only her voice and the slick rhythm of his hand, promising more shame if he dared to keep going.
John’s hand blurred on his micro-dick, the slick pre-cum turning his palm into a messy glide that amplified every frantic stroke. The wet schlick-schlick echoed in his ears, louder than the rising tide of laughter from the terrace. The brunette’s green eyes bored into him, her smirk sharpening as she watched the tiny shaft twitch under his grip.
“Look at that pathetic thing leaking already,” she taunted, her voice slicing through the murmurs like a knife. “Bet you’ve never made a girl wet with that shrimp dick. Go on, speed it up—entertain us.”
Her words ignited a fresh wave of heat in John’s core, shame twisting into raw hunger that made his tiny balls draw up even tighter. The crowd had swelled now—passersby pausing, more phones whipping out, their lenses glinting like accusatory eyes. He could feel the stares crawling over his exposed skin, the breeze cooling the sweat on his bald groin while his heart hammered against his ribs.
Disgust and ridicule poured from the women, their jeers blending into a humiliating chorus: “Freak!” “Tiny!” “What even is that?” “It’s a man with a clit!”
It all fueled him, each barb yanking him closer to the edge, his micro-cock pulsing violently in his fist.
He jerked faster, the friction bordering on pain, his thighs quivering as tension coiled low in his belly. Pre-cum dribbled steadily now, stringing from the tip to his fingers, the musky scent rising sharp and embarrassing amid the café’s coffee aroma. John’s mind fractured under the onslaught—flashes of her full lips curling in derision, the way her crop top strained with her laughter, the collective gaze stripping him bare.
He wanted to beg for more mockery, to drown in their scorn, but his voice caught in his throat, reduced to ragged grunts.
The brunette leaned in, her breath warm on his flushed face. “Come on, micro-man. Cum for the camera. Show everyone how a real loser finishes.”
A phone flashed nearby, then another, capturing the obscene bob of his minuscule erection. John’s muscles locked, every nerve screaming as the pressure built to a shattering peak. His micro-dick spasmed hard in his hand, the first rope of cum erupting from the slit with a force that surprised even him.
Thick, sticky spurts shot onto the pavement, splattering in white arcs that gleamed under the sun. He gasped, hips bucking involuntarily, more jets following—hot and messy, pooling at his feet while his tiny balls emptied in pulsing waves. The release ripped through him, pleasure laced with agony, his vision blurring as the orgasm dragged on, each twitch milking out another drop onto the dirty sidewalk.
Laughter exploded around him, the brunette throwing her head back in a cackle that cut deep. “Holy shit, he actually did it! Look at that sad little squirt—barely a teaspoon!”
Her friends howled, one zooming in with her phone as John’s cum dribbled down his still-jerking fingers. The humiliation crashed over him in the afterglow, his cheeks burning hotter than his spent groin, but it mingled with a euphoric high, the public exposure etching itself into his veins like a drug. He stood there for a frozen second, chest heaving, the cool air kissing the sensitive, softening skin of his micro-cock, now slick and deflating against his thigh.
Reality snapped back with a shout from a nearby table, “Get outta here, perv!”
Then the brunette’s mocking wave. “Run along, tiny. Don’t forget to wipe up your mess.”
John’s pulse thundered in his ears, a mix of panic and lingering thrill surging through him. He yanked the trench coat closed with trembling hands, the fabric sticking to the cum-smeared skin beneath, trapping the warmth and scent against his body.
Ignoring the barrage of shouts and laughter: “Loser!” “Freak show!” He spun on his heel, legs shaky as he bolted from the terrace.
The sidewalk blurred past, his coat flapping wildly until he forced it shut, weaving through startled pedestrians who shot him dirty looks or whispered behind their hands. His heart pounded like a war drum, breath coming in sharp bursts that burned his lungs. The sticky residue cooled on his palm, a tactile reminder of his brazen release, and shame gnawed at the edges of his satisfaction—but it only sharpened the craving already building anew.
Dodging into a side street, he pressed against a brick wall, gulping air, his mind replaying the flashes, the jeers, the way her eyes had lingered on his spurting dick. It wasn’t enough; the high faded too fast, leaving him aching for the next flash, the next circle of pretty faces to shock and mock him into ecstasy. Spotting a park across the way, groups of women lounging on benches, John’s lips curved into a shaky grin—time to hunt again.
John’s breath steadied as he crossed the street, the park’s green expanse opening before him like a fresh playground for his twisted urges. The adrenaline from the terrace still buzzed under his skin, an electric hum that made his spent micro-dick twitch faintly against the trench coat’s lining.
He scanned the area, heart racing anew, eyes darting from cluster to cluster of young women scattered across the grass and benches. There, a group of four lounging near a shaded oak, their summer dresses and shorts riding up as they chatted and scrolled on phones. One with sun-kissed blonde hair tossed her head back in laughter, her full lips parting invitingly; another, a curvy brunette, stretched her legs out, toes wiggling in sandals. They looked carefree, oblivious, perfect targets for his exposure. John’s mouth went dry, the familiar shame-laced hunger coiling in his gut, pulling him forward like a leash.
He slowed his steps, positioning himself at the edge of their view, fingers trembling as they found the coat’s buttons. The park hummed with distant joggers and kids’ shouts, but here, in this pocket of sun-dappled quiet, the air felt charged, waiting for his disruption. One button, then two—John unbuttoned the trench coat slowly, deliberately, savoring the cool breeze slipping in to kiss his sticky groin.
The fabric parted just enough, revealing the bald mound of his tiny cock and balls, still glistening faintly from his earlier mess. It hung there, soft and minuscule, no longer than a thumb, the skin flushed pink from the recent abuse. He watched their faces, pulse thundering, as the blonde’s eyes flicked up first, widening in shock before narrowing into a smirk.
“Oh my god, what the hell?” she burst out, her voice sharp and amused, drawing her friends’ gazes like magnets.
The brunette sat up straight, her dark eyes locking onto John’s exposed micro-dick, a giggle bubbling from her throat. “Is that guy… seriously? Look at the size of that thing! Or I should say, lack of size of that thing!”
The others turned, phones already lifting, their laughter rippling out in waves that hit John like physical blows. Heat flooded his face, shame twisting deep in his chest, but it ignited something feral low in his belly—his tiny cock stirred, hardening under their mocking stares, the humiliation pouring fuel on his arousal. He stood there, coat framing the obscene display, letting them drink it in, the breeze teasing the sensitive skin and making his small balls tighten.
Emboldened by their jeers, John strode boldly toward the benches, the gravel crunching under his shoes like applause for his depravity. His hand wrapped around the now-rigid micro-dick, fingers engulfing it easily as he started jerking hard, the motion rough and urgent.
Pre-cum leaked freely from the slit almost immediately, slicking his palm with fresh, warm beads that strung between his fingers with each pump. The wet sounds—schlick, schlick—cut through the air, embarrassingly loud, mingling with the women’s escalating taunts.
“Holy shit, he’s actually doing it right here!” the blonde howled, her cheeks flushing not with disgust but wicked delight, her eyes glued to the pathetic bob of his fist.
John’s mind reeled, their scorn wrapping around him like chains, each word yanking him deeper into the vortex of need. He could smell himself—the musky tang of arousal mixing with the park’s earthy scent—feel the sun warming his bare skin while their gazes burned hotter.
The curvy brunette leaned forward, her ample cleavage straining her tank top as she pointed. “Faster, weirdo. Show us what that little nub can do. Bet it takes two seconds to pop.”
Her friends cackled, one snapping a photo with a flash that made John’s stomach lurch, the public permanence twisting the knife of humiliation deeper. But god, it felt good—their voices a chorus of degradation that made his tiny shaft throb, veins pulsing under his grip. He pumped harder, hips thrusting into his hand, the friction sending jolts of pleasure-pain up his spine.
Pre-cum dripped steadily now, pattering onto the path in shiny drops, his balls aching as they drew up tight. John’s breath came in ragged gasps, vision tunneling to their faces: the blonde’s teasing tongue flicking her lips, the brunette’s mocking head-shake, the others whispering and pointing. Shame choked him, hot tears pricking his eyes, but it only heightened the rush, his body betraying him with shameless desperation.
“Pathetic,” another girl chimed in, a redhead with freckles, her voice dripping scorn as she zoomed her phone. “Come on, micro-dick, give us a show. Squirt for the park!”
The command hit like lightning, John’s muscles clenching as the tension built to a fever pitch in his core. He jerked furiously, the slick glide turning sloppy, his free hand gripping the coat to keep it open, exposing every twitch and leak. Their laughter swelled, a humiliating symphony that drowned out the distant traffic, fueling his spiral.
He imagined their disgust turning to reluctant fascination, the way their eyes lingered despite the mockery, and it pushed him over—his micro-cock twitched violently in his fist, the first hot spurt erupting with a guttural groan from his throat.
Cum shot out in forceful ropes, soaking the pavement in sticky white pools that splattered his shoes and hands. Wave after wave pulsed from the tiny tip, his body shuddering as pleasure ripped through him, raw and unrelenting, the orgasm dragging longer under the weight of their stares.
The brunette whooped, “There it goes—look at that sad spray!” while the blonde doubled over, tears of laughter streaming.
John’s knees buckled slightly, the release leaving him flushed and breathless, cum dripping down his fingers in warm trails, the scent heavy and incriminating. The high crashed over him, mingled with fresh mortification as reality seeped back—their phones still recording, a jogger pausing in the distance with wide eyes.
He lingered in the afterglow for a heartbeat, chest heaving, the women’s taunts echoing in his ears like sweet venom. But the thrill ebbed, replaced by the prick of vulnerability, his softening dick shrinking further under the coat’s edge. John’s hand shook as he wiped the mess on his thigh, the sticky residue clinging, a badge of his boldness.
More laughter bubbled up, one girl calling out, “Don’t stop now, freak—encore?”
It sent a shiver through him, the craving already flickering back to life amid the shame. He needed to move, to chase the next high before the park security noticed, his eyes scanning beyond them for the next group of pretty faces waiting to unravel him.
John’s gaze snagged on the curvy brunette from the group, her dark eyes sparkling with that mix of shock and cruel amusement as she stood up from the bench, hands on her hips. The others hung back, still giggling and filming, but she stepped forward, her sandals scuffing the path, closing the distance with a sway that made John’s spent cock twitch anew despite the ache.
“Hey, micro-man,” she called out, her voice laced with mockery that sliced through the park’s chatter like a whip. “You think that’s it? Come on, get on your knees and show me more. I wanna see that pathetic little thing up close.” Her words hit him like a dare wrapped in velvet scorn, stirring the embers of his humiliation into fresh flames. John’s heart hammered, a cocktail of dread and desire flooding his veins—god, the way she commanded him, right here in the open, with her friends watching.
He couldn’t resist; the shame pulled him down like gravity.
With a wicked grin cracking his flushed face, John dropped to his knees on the rough gravel, the stones biting into his skin through his pants. The trench coat flared open wider as he knelt, the fabric pooling around him like a discarded shame. He looked up at her, her full figure towering now, those dark eyes boring into his exposed groin with unfiltered judgment.
The park’s breeze whispered over his bare skin, cooling the drying cum on his thighs, but it did nothing to quell the heat building low in his belly. Her friends clustered closer, phones raised, their whispers a buzzing undercurrent to her bold approach. John’s mind raced—part of him screamed to run, to hide from this deepening exposure, but the thrill, the raw vulnerability of kneeling before her like this, made his tiny cock stir, hardening against the remnants of his last release.
He spread his legs wide, knees scraping wider apart on the path, fully exposing his micro-dick and small balls to her gaze and the open air. The tiny shaft bobbed free, rigid now at its pathetic full length—barely two inches, bald and veined, the head flushed a deep red from the friction. His balls hung tight beneath, wrinkled and small, still sensitive from the earlier spill.
The position left him utterly vulnerable, coat splayed like wings, his hands trembling as they hovered near his groin. He could feel the eyes on him: hers, hungry with derision; her friends’, a mix of horror and hilarity. The scent of fresh grass mingled with his own musky arousal, sharp and incriminating, as a bead of pre-cum already welled at his slit, catching the sunlight. John’s breath hitched, shame coiling tight in his chest—kneeling here, legs akimbo like a supplicant to her cruelty, his body betraying every ounce of his desperation.
The brunette circled him slowly, her laughter bubbling low and throaty, a sound that vibrated through him like electricity. “Look at you, on your knees like a good little perv. Spreading those legs wide—bet you love showing off that babydick, huh? It’s so fucking tiny, I could flick it away with one finger.” Her words dripped venom, each syllable stoking the fire in his core, making his micro-dick throb visibly.
John’s hand shot to it, fingers wrapping around its minuscule girth—his palm dwarfing it—as he began jerking rapidly, the motion frantic and slick. Pre-cum oozed freely now, coating his trembling hand in warm, slippery strands that made every pump glide with obscene ease. Schlick-schlick-schlick, the wet sounds echoed louder than the distant birdsong, his hips bucking involuntarily into his fist, chasing the building pressure.
She leaned in closer, her perfume—sweet vanilla cutting through his sweat—mixing with the earthy park smells, her breath hot on his face as she taunted. “Faster, loser. Jerk that worthless nub harder. Does it even feel good, or are you just humiliating yourself for us? God, those tiny balls, look at them bouncing like peanuts. No wonder you’re out here flashing. No girl would ever want that inside her.”
Cruel laughter spilled from her lips, sharp and unrelenting, her friends joining in with hoots and jeers that made John’s ears burn. Tears of mortification pricked his eyes, the emotional gut-punch twisting with the physical rush—her dominance, the public degradation, it all amplified the sensations racing up his spine.
He pumped harder, his free hand clutching the coat’s edge to keep himself spread open, the gravel digging deeper into his knees as pain mingled with pleasure. Pre-cum slicked his fingers thoroughly, dripping in sticky trails down to his balls, the air thick with the salty tang of his need.
“Come on, squirt for me, micro-freak,” she pressed, her voice dropping to a mocking whisper that somehow carried to the gathering onlookers—a couple of passersby pausing, phones out now. “I bet you cum buckets from all this shame, don’t you? Pathetic little exhibitionist, kneeling in the park with your baby cock out.”
The words shattered something inside him, the humiliation peaking as his muscles tensed, core clenching like a vice. John’s vision blurred, focused on her smirking face, the way her tongue darted over her lips in wicked amusement. He jerked furiously, the tiny cock swelling in his grip, veins pulsing hot under his skin.
The orgasm hit explosively, ripping a choked groan from his throat as the first thick rope of cum erupted from his micro-dick. It splattered across his trembling hands in hot, sticky bursts, white strands webbing between his fingers and arcing onto the pavement below in pearly puddles. Wave after wave pulsed out, his body convulsing on his knees, hips jerking wildly as pleasure tore through him—raw, unrelenting, heightened by her unyielding taunts.
“Yes! Look at that sad little explosion—barely a squirt!” she crowed, her laughter cruel and triumphant, echoing as more cum dribbled down his shaft, soaking his balls and the coat’s hem.
The release left him shuddering, chest heaving, the emotional high crashing with fresh waves of shame as her friends’ flashes lit up the scene.
John stayed there, knees locked in place, cum cooling on his skin in the breeze, her gaze still pinning him like a specimen. The park felt alive with judgment now, whispers spreading. Still, beneath the mortification, that familiar craving flickered—eyes already darting past her to the next cluster of women, the thrill demanding more.
The haze of post-climax fog still clouded John’s mind, his knees grinding into the gravel as the brunette’s laughter rang in his ears, her friends’ phones capturing every sticky detail of his spent micro-dick. Cum cooled on his hands and the pavement, the salty scent mixing with the park’s damp earth, when rough hands clamped down on his shoulders like iron vices.
“What the fuck—” John gasped, twisting his head to see two uniformed cops looming over him, their faces contorted in disgust and authority.
“You’re under arrest for public indecency, you sick bastard,” the taller one barked, his grip bruising John’s arms as he yanked him up from the ground.
The trench coat snapped shut in the struggle, but not before the cool air teased his exposed skin one last time, his tiny balls drawing tight against the sudden exposure’s end. John’s heart slammed against his ribs, a spike of panic cutting through the lingering euphoria—shit, this was real now, the thrill twisting into cold fear.
The brunette stepped back, her smirk fading into wide-eyed surprise, but her friends whooped and filmed the chaos, their voices a blur of “Get him! and “Lock the freak up!” and mocking cheers.
John thrashed, his slick hands slipping on the cop’s uniform as they wrestled him toward the path. “Let go! It’s just a little fun!” he shouted, but the words choked out weak, his voice cracking with the raw vulnerability crashing over him.
Cuffs bit into his wrists, cold metal clicking shut behind his back, the pain sharp and grounding as they dragged him through the gathering crowd. His coat flapped open with each yank, flashing glimpses of his cum-streaked groin to the onlookers—women gasping, men jeering, phones everywhere turning the arrest into another viral spectacle. Humiliation burned fresh in his chest, hotter than the orgasms, his micro-dick shrinking in shame even as a twisted spark of arousal flickered at the public dragging.
The cops hauled him into their cruiser, the door slamming like a coffin lid, the brunette’s final taunt echoing in his ears: “Hope they lock up that babydick forever!”
John’s breath came in ragged bursts, sweat soaking his shirt as the car peeled out, sirens wailing through the park. Inside the dim station, they shoved him into a holding room, the fluorescent lights harsh on his flushed face.
“Sit tight, perv,” the shorter cop snarled, locking the door—or so he thought.
John’s mind raced, adrenaline surging; he twisted his wrists, the cuffs looser than they seemed, slick from his own drying cum acting as makeshift lube. With a grunt, he worked one hand free, the metal scraping his skin raw, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the distant chatter.
The door wasn’t fully latched—sloppy, hurried cops. John eased it open, peeking into the empty hallway as the station’s stale coffee smell hit him. He bolted, coat billowing behind him like a cape, bare feet slapping cold tile as he burst into the night. Dark streets swallowed him whole, the city alive with distant horns and neon glow, his micro-dick bouncing free again in the open air, tiny and exposed to the shadows.
He ran, lungs burning, the thrill of escape mingling with the earlier highs—god, the risk, the chase, it all fed that insatiable craving deep in his gut. Pre-cum beaded anew at the tip from the adrenaline rush, his small balls slapping against his thighs with each stride, the cool night breeze teasing his sensitive skin like a lover’s breath.
Blocks blurred past, John’s breath coming in sharp gasps, until he ducked into an alley, pressing against a brick wall to catch his wind. The coat hung open, his body trembling not just from exertion but from the emotional whirlwind—fear of getting caught warring with the electric memory of her taunts, the crowd’s eyes, the explosive releases.
He cupped his micro-dick absently, giving it a slow squeeze, the touch sending a shiver up his spine; even now, soft and spent, it twitched at the thought of tomorrow’s flashes. No cops in sight, he slipped through backstreets, the city’s underbelly his ally, until his apartment building loomed like a haven.
Inside, door bolted, John collapsed onto his bed, coat discarded in a heap, his naked body sprawling across the sheets. Breathless, he stared at the ceiling, chest heaving as the night’s events replayed in vivid flashes: the café terrace’s laughter, the park’s gravel biting his knees, her cruel whispers driving him to cum like a fountain.
His hand drifted down, fingers tracing the bald shaft of his tiny cock, still tender and slick from the chaos. “Fuck, that was intense,” he murmured to the empty room, a grin splitting his face despite the wrist bruises.
The humiliation lingered like a warm ache, emotional vulnerability cracking him open. Still, it only fueled the addiction, the way disgust twisted into his pleasure, the public exposure stripping him bare in every sense.
He jerked off lightly, not chasing release but savoring the buzz, pre-cum wetting his palm as memories flooded back: phones capturing his spurts, her circling taunts, the cops’ rough hands. It had been a great night, better than any solo session, the shame’s edge sharpening every sensation.
John’s eyes drifted to the window, city lights twinkling like invitations. Tomorrow, another coat, another street, the craving already building, pulling him toward the next thrill, no matter the risk.
The End.
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