The Vienna Sausage Snap
An SPH Experience by ts2054.
This morning I woke up to a Snapchat from Brooke. If you don’t know Brooke, she’s the kind of girl who ruins your day just by existing — 6 feet tall, legs that go on forever, a tight little ass, and a set of absolutely massive all-natural tits. We’re talking H cups on a slim frame, which honestly shouldn’t even be legal. They’re the kind of tits that sit high and full with basically zero sag, the kind you see in a shirt and assume are padded or fake until you actually see them and realize God was just showing off.
I’ve known her for fifteen years. We flirted constantly back in the day, the kind of flirty where everybody around us would groan and tell us to just fuck already. But we only ever hung out one-on-one once — two Christmases ago. I’ll get back to that.
So this morning, I wake up and check my phone, and there she is: full selfie, hair done, makeup flawless, in a miniskirt that barely qualified as clothing, sitting in her car with her tits pushed up and looking like an absolute smoke show. My morning wood went from half-mast to full salute instantly.
We started snapping back and forth. I told her how gorgeous she looked. She sent back a smirk. I told her the skirt should be illegal. She sent a shot of her legs crossed, tits in frame, and said, “I know 😌.”
By the end of the conversation, she’d gotten that playful, cocky attitude she gets — the one where she knows she’s the prize and she wants you to know it too. I responded that she should be careful before I addressed that attitude.
She sent a selfie of her literally laughing at me. “Oh yeah? How exactly are you planning to do that? 😂”
I said, “I think you know how 😈.”
And that’s when she sent the message that’s been burned into my brain all day:
“You gonna borrow some dick from somebody? Because that little Vienna sausage ain’t gonna do it 😂😂”
I stared at my phone. My stomach dropped. I played dumb and asked her what she was talking about.
“Come on. We were basically naked. I could feel EVERYTHING. Why do you think I left that night? 🙃”
And that’s when it all came rushing back to me.
—
Two Christmases Ago…
It was supposed to be innocent. She came over, we put on a movie, and we were just lying in my bed — her in these black leggings that made her ass look unreal, me in gym shorts. We’d been flirting for a decade and a half, and the tension in that bed was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
About halfway through the movie, she shifted and her thigh pressed against mine. I looked over. She looked at me. And then we were kissing.
Fifteen years of buildup exploded in about ten seconds. We were making out hard, her tongue in my mouth, my hands in her hair, her body rolling toward me. I slid my hand up under her shirt, and she didn’t stop me — she arched her back and helped. I peeled her shirt off over her head and nearly came in my shorts right there.
Her bra was struggling to contain her. I unhooked it, and her tits just spilled out — huge, heavy, perfect, her nipples pink and hard already. All natural, sitting high on her chest like they were defying physics. I’d imagined those tits for fifteen years, and the reality made my imagination look like a crayon drawing.
I buried my face in them. I sucked her nipples while she ran her fingers through my hair, breathing these soft little moans that drove me insane. I kissed down her stomach, and she lifted her hips so I could pull her leggings down. She was left in nothing but a tiny black thong, 6 feet of flawless girl sprawled out in my bed.
She rolled on top of me, and we started grinding. Her tits pressed against my chest, her pussy rubbing against my cock through my shorts, and I was throbbing — the hardest I’d ever been in my life. I reached down, grabbed her ass, and ground up into her while she rocked her hips. Her breathing got heavier. I thought I was about ten minutes away from the best night of my life.
And then she kind of… slowed down. Rolled off me. Sat up.
“Hey, I should probably get going. I have family breakfast in the morning.”
I was stunned. We were both basically naked. She was clearly into it — I could feel how warm she was through that thong. But she got dressed, I walked her out, and I told myself it was just bad timing. Getting late. Family stuff. Whatever.
For two years, I actually believed that.
—
Back to This Morning…
I typed back, “I thought you left because it was getting late??”
Her reply came fast:
“LMAO. No babe. I left because I was DYING for cock that night, like soaked. And then I felt it, and it gave me the ick. I had to get out of there 🙃”
My face went hot. “Felt it?”
“We were grinding, remember? I felt everything. I’ve felt bigger things in a produce aisle 😂”
I didn’t even know what to say. She kept going:
“Honestly, I was so worked up that night I couldn’t just go home. I texted Trevor on the drive back.”
Trevor. Her ex. The guy she was with for like three years.
“I stopped at his place on the way home. He didn’t even ask questions, just bent me over his couch and gave me exactly what I needed. THAT’S what I was looking for that night. I came like three times before he even finished 😌”
I sat there in bed, reading that over and over, my stomach in knots. The girl of my fifteen-year dreams telling me that on the night she was in MY bed, half naked, soaked and ready — she’d felt my hard-on against her and been so underwhelmed that she drove straight to her ex’s house so a real cock could finish the job.
I typed out some weak response about how she didn’t give it a real chance. Her reply was a selfie — her smirking, one eyebrow raised, looking like a goddess in that miniskirt.
“Babe. I felt it through your shorts, and I still remember being disappointed. Imagine if I’d actually seen it 😂”
Then, the finishing blow:
“But hey — I’m sure somebody out there will love it 💕”
And then she left me on read.
—
So here I am, sitting in bed with my phone in one hand, staring down at the exact problem she’s talking about. And the worst part? The part I can barely admit even anonymously?
Reading those messages got me hard. Fully, pathetically hard. This girl I’ve wanted for fifteen years just told me my dick is a joke, told me she went and got railed by her ex the same night she was grinding on me, laughed in my face about it — and my little Vienna sausage is standing at attention as she paid it a compliment.
I snapped her back a few minutes ago. Just a weak “you’re evil lol.”
She opened it. Didn’t reply.
She’s out there right now in that miniskirt, and I’m in bed, humiliated by a girl whose perfect H-cup tits I finally got to suck two years ago — the same night she decided my cock wasn’t worth staying for.
Fifteen years of flirting. One night in bed. And the only thing she remembers is the size.
The End.
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