Ex’s Friend Calls Me Out
An SPH Experience by Scary_Photograph_41.
The show cut to a segment about celebrity hands. Some comedian was joking about how men with big hands have big dicks, a tired trope, but enough to get a chuckle out of me. I held up my own hands, turning them over. I’ve always had big hands—long fingers, broad palms. “Guess I’ve got that going for me,” I said, laughing. It was a throwaway line, just me being dumb and self-deprecating in a way that normally got a playful eye-roll from Tricia or a teasing shove from Kylie.
Instead, Kylie’s voice came back sharp and immediate, cutting through the smoke like a blade. “Well, Adam, all of us here know that isn’t true. You have big hands, but that’s the only big thing you do have.”
The words hit me like a slap. I felt the heat rush to my face, my ears burning. For a second, I just blinked, the joke hanging in the air between us. I turned my head slowly, side-eyeing Tricia. She was looking at me, her eyes wide for a fraction of a second—and then she cracked. Her mouth split into a grin, and she burst out laughing. Not a polite giggle, but a full, belly-deep laugh that shook her shoulders. Kylie joined in, her laughter high and bright, both of them feeding off each other.
I sat there, my cock twitching in my jeans. I should have been embarrassed, should have felt that sting of humiliation that makes you want to disappear. And I did feel it—that hot flush, that tight knot in my gut. But underneath it, there was a different heat—a familiar, guilty pulse between my legs. I was getting hard.
They kept laughing. Tricia wiped a tear from her eye. “Oh my god, Kylie, you didn’t,” she managed, but she was still giggling.
“I just said what we both know,” Kylie replied, taking a long drag from the joint, her eyes glinting as she watched me. She exhaled a cloud of smoke in my direction. “It’s not like it’s a secret, babe. We’ve all seen it.”
I swallowed, my throat dry. They had. Both of them. Tricia had once shown Kylie pictures, drunk and giggling, and Kylie had commented then, too, something about how it was “cute.” I’d tried to laugh it off, but the memory burned now.
“It’s not that small,” I mumbled, but even I didn’t believe it. My voice came out weak, defensive.
“Babe,” Tricia said, her tone softening just slightly, still amused, “you’re, like, four inches hard. Maybe. On a good day.”
Kylie nodded, tapping ash into the tray. “And skinny. Like a pinky finger.” She held up her pinky, wiggling it. “I’ve seen bigger clits, honestly.”
The word clit made my dick jump again. I was fully hard now, the fabric of my jeans straining visibly. I shifted, trying to hide it, but Kylie noticed. Her eyes dropped to my lap, and she smirked.
“Oh, look. He likes it.” She reached over and patted my thigh, her hand lingering. “Don’t worry, Adam. It’s not your fault. Some guys just get dealt a bad hand. Or, in your case, a small cock.”
Tricia leaned forward, her eyes on the bulge in my jeans. “You’re actually hard right now?” She sounded surprised, but not disgusted. Curious. Maybe a little turned on herself.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Kylie stubbed out the joint and turned to face me fully. “You want us to keep going? Humiliate that little thing a bit more?”
I should have said no. But I was already leaking precum into my boxers, my heart hammering.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
Tricia laughed again, but this time it was lower, darker. She reached out and hooked her fingers into the waistband of my jeans. “Let’s see it, then. Show Kylie how pathetic you really are.”
I lifted my hips, letting her unbutton my jeans. She pulled them down, along with my boxers, and my cock sprang free—hard, but small. A little over four inches, thin, the head barely pushing past the foreskin. I felt exposed, vulnerable, both of them staring.
Kylie let out a low whistle. “Jesus, Jen. You weren’t kidding.” She reached out without asking, wrapping her fingers around my shaft. Her hand was warm, and she closed her grip completely, her fingers overlapping. “Look at that. I can hide the whole thing in my fist.”
She squeezed gently, and I gasped, the sensation sharp and electric. Tricia moved closer, her hand joining Kylie’s, both of them touching me, examining me like a curiosity.
“It’s kind of adorable, actually,” Tricia said, her thumb stroking the head. “Like a little button.”
I moaned, my hips twitching. They kept talking, their words a mix of mockery and arousal, my cock twitching under their fingers. Kylie leaned down and licked the tip, just a quick flick of her tongue.
“Doesn’t even taste like much,” she said, straightening up. “But I bet you’d love to fuck my mouth with this little thing, wouldn’t you?”
I couldn’t answer. I just nodded, desperate.
They kept at it for another hour, teasing me, calling me small, comparing my cock to their fingers, their thumbs, even the joint’s filter. By the time they let me cum—Tricia jerking me off with two fingers while Kylie whispered “barely a spurt” in my ear—I was shaking, utterly humiliated, and more turned on than I’d ever been.
We never really talked about it afterward. But Kylie started staying over more often. And every time she sat down on the sofa next to me, she’d pat my thigh and whisper, “Still got that little dick, Adam?” And I’d get hard every damn time.
The End.
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