The Secondary Inspection
A Fictional SPH Experience by LilPPMan69.
“Please, remove all clothing,” the female guard said. Her English was accented but clear. She was perhaps thirty-five, with dark hair pulled back severely and a uniform that hugged her curves. A second woman stood near the door—younger, with a notepad, watching with clinical detachment.
“I don’t understand why—” Marcus started.
“Secondary inspection. Random selection. You cooperate, or we hold you forty-eight hours for full interrogation.” She gestured to a metal table. “Everything. Now.”
His hands trembled slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head. He’d been pulled aside after the scanner—something about “anomaly detected.” Now he stood in this windowless room, wondering if this was some kind of shakedown, some bribe situation.
His shoes and socks came next. Then his belt. He hesitated at his jeans.
“Everything,” the guard repeated, impatience creeping into her voice.
Marcus unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down, stepping out. He stood in just his boxer briefs, the thin cotton doing little to hide what he knew was already there—or rather, what wasn’t there. He’d been small his whole life. Three inches hard, barely a nub when soft. He’d learned to live with it, mostly by avoiding situations like this.
The older guard’s eyes dropped to his crotch. Her expression didn’t change, but something flickered there—recognition, perhaps. Amusement.
“Those too.”
Marcus hooked his thumbs in the waistband and pulled his underwear down. His tiny penis came into view, shriveled even smaller from nerves, the head barely peeking out from a small patch of trimmed hair. His balls were equally small, drawn up tight against his body.
The younger guard let out a soft sound—almost a laugh —which was quickly covered by a cough.
“Face forward, hands at sides,” the older one instructed. She circled him slowly, her gaze sweeping over his body. When she reached his front again, she stared openly at his crotch. “You are… quite small.”
Heat flooded Marcus’s face. His cock twitched involuntarily at her words, and he watched it stir slightly—still tiny, barely an inch and a half of soft flesh.
“Interesting reaction,” she observed. “Does being observed arouse you?”
“I… no, it’s just—”
“Your little thing moved.” She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something floral mixed with sweat. “Look at it. So small. Like a child’s.”
The younger guard had moved closer now, abandoning any pretense of taking notes. She peered at his crotch with undisguised curiosity. “Is that normal? For a grown man?”
“For some,” the older one replied. “But this one… this is exceptionally small. A micropenis, medically speaking.” She looked up at Marcus. “You know this, yes? You know how inadequate you are?”
He swallowed hard. His cock had grown slightly harder now, maybe two inches of stiffening flesh, the shaft thin as his thumb. He couldn’t explain why her words were having this effect—the humiliation burning through him, but something else too. Something darker.
“Spread your legs,” she ordered.
He complied. She crouched down, her face level with his groin now. She reached out with gloved fingers and lifted his penis, examining it from different angles.
“Pathetic,” she murmured. “Barely worth calling a cock.” She let it drop and cupped his balls instead, rolling them between her fingers. “Small testicles too. Probably produces very little cum.”
The younger guard giggled. “What’s the matter, little man? Never been examined by a real woman before?”
Marcus’s breath came faster. His penis stood out now, fully hard despite everything—still only three inches, thin and twitching against his stomach.
“Oh my God,” the younger one breathed. “It’s fully hard? That’s it?”
“Turn around,” the older guard commanded. “Bend over the table.”
He hesitated.
“Now.”
He turned and bent forward, his ass exposed. He heard the snap of latex gloves being pulled tighter.
“Buttocks apart,” she said.
He reached back and spread his cheeks. Cool air hit his exposed hole.
“Very tight,” she observed, pressing a finger against his entrance. “You don’t get fucked here, I think.” She pushed slightly, and he grunted. “No… this hole sees nothing. A man with such a small cock, you’d think you’d let men use you. At least you’d serve some purpose.”
The younger guard laughed openly now. “Maybe that’s why he’s here. Looking for someone to use him properly.”
“Is that it?” The older one’s voice was mocking. “You want to find a real man with a real cock to show you what you’re missing?”
“No, I—” Marcus’s voice cracked.
“Stay still.”
He heard her moving, then felt something cold and slick pressed against his hole. Lubricant. Her finger pushed inside, and he gasped at the intrusion.
“Tight,” she repeated, working her finger deeper. “Very tight. You’re a virgin here, yes?”
He nodded, face pressed against the cold metal table.
“Say it.”
“I… I’m a virgin. There.”
“Say: ‘My little dick has never pleased anyone, so my ass is virgin.'”
Heat surged through him. His cock throbbed against the edge of the table, leaking precum.
“Say it.”
“My…” He swallowed. “My little dick has never pleased anyone. So my ass is virgin.”
The younger guard moaned softly. “Oh, that’s pathetic. Can we keep him?”
The older one laughed, adding a second finger, stretching him open. “Unfortunately, no. But we can certainly complete our… thorough inspection.”
She fucked him slowly with her fingers, curling them to press against his prostate. Marcus groaned, his tiny cock jerking.
“Look at that,” the younger one said. “He likes it. Little-dicked loser likes being used.”
“Most small men do,” came the reply. “They know their place eventually.” She withdrew her fingers, and Marcus felt suddenly empty. “Turn around. On your back.”
He turned and climbed onto the table, his small erection pointing up at the ceiling, obscenely hard and leaking.
The older guard stripped off her gloves and tossed them aside. She unbuttoned the top buttons of her uniform, revealing cleavage that made Marcus’s mouth go dry.
“You want to touch these?” she asked, cupping her breasts through her bra. “You want to feel what a real woman feels like?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Too bad.” She laughed. “Little boys with little dicks don’t get to touch. But…”
She reached into a drawer and pulled out a ruler. She pressed it against the base of his cock, measuring.
“Three inches exactly,” she announced. “And thin. Very thin.” She wrapped her hand around it, and her fingers overlapped significantly. “My hand almost completely hides it.”
She began to stroke him, her grip firm. Marcus whimpered.
“Such a tiny thing,” she mused. “I’ve seen clits bigger than this.” She looked at the younger guard. “Haven’t you?”
“Definitely. My girlfriend has a bigger clit.”
They both laughed. Marcus’s cock twitched in her grip, precum oozing over her fingers.
“Oh, he likes that.” She stroked faster. “Likes being told how small he is. How useless. How he’ll never please a woman with this pathetic little thing.”
“Please—” Marcus gasped.
“Please what? Please stop? Or please let you cum?”
“Let me… let me cum…”
“Why should I? You haven’t earned it.” She released his cock, and it bobbed against his stomach, desperate. “Little dicks don’t get to cum unless they’re told.”
The younger guard had moved closer, her hand between her own legs, rubbing herself through her uniform pants. “Can I make him do something?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know… make him beg? Make him say more pathetic things?”
The older one smiled. “Go ahead.”
The younger guard leaned in close to Marcus’s face. “Tell me how small you are. Tell me you’re worthless.”
“I’m small,” he breathed. “So small. Worthless. Can’t please anyone.”
“What are you?”
“A man with a tiny cock. A micropenis. A joke.”
“And what do you deserve?”
“Nothing. I deserve nothing.”
She smiled. “Good boy.” She looked at the older guard. “Can I sit on his face? Just his face?”
“Go ahead. He won’t get anything else.”
She unbuttoned her pants and slid them down, revealing plain cotton panties already damp at the crotch. She pulled those aside, exposing a thick bush of dark hair and wet pink folds.
“Open your mouth,” she commanded.
Marcus obeyed. She climbed onto the table and lowered herself onto his face, grinding against his mouth. He licked eagerly, tasting her musk, feeling her weight pressing down.
Meanwhile, the older guard had wrapped her hand around his cock again, stroking slowly.
“Make her cum,” she ordered. “Show me that mouth is good for something.”
Marcus licked faster, finding the younger woman’s clit, sucking on it. She moaned above him, her thighs squeezing his head.
“That’s it,” the older one said, stroking him faster now. “Make her cum with your mouth because your tiny dick could never do it.”
The younger woman ground harder against his face. “Oh God—yes—right there—”
She shuddered, her orgasm washing over her, thighs clamping tight around Marcus’s head. He kept licking until she pulled away, trembling.
“Good,” the older guard said. “Now…”
She released his cock again, and Marcus whimpered at the loss of contact. His cock was purple now, straining, desperate.
“Please let me cum,” he begged.
“Hmm.” She considered. “I’ll tell you what. You can cum, but you’ll do it yourself. And you’ll do it in front of us. And you’ll say ‘I’m a tiny-dicked loser’ with every stroke. Agreed?”
“Yes. Yes, anything.”
“Start.”
Marcus wrapped his own hand around his small cock. It looked even smaller in his own grip. He began to stroke, his hips lifting off the table.
“Say it.”
“I’m a tiny-dicked loser,” he gasped, stroking. “I’m a tiny-dicked loser.”
“Again.”
“I’m a tiny-dicked loser—”
“Louder.”
“I’M A TINY-DICKED LOSER!”
The younger guard laughed, still catching her breath. “Look at him go. So desperate.”
“Keep going,” the older one encouraged. “Tell us what you are.”
“Pathetic! Worthless! My cock is useless! I’ll never please a woman! I’m a joke!”
His hand moved faster, his small shaft slick with precum.
“Cum for us,” the older guard commanded. “Cum like the tiny-dicked bitch you are.”
Marcus’s back arched. His cock pulsed, and cum spurted out—thin, weak spurts that landed on his stomach. Far less than a normal man would produce, just a few small pools of milky fluid.
The two women watched with detached amusement.
“That’s it?” the younger one asked. “That’s all you produce?”
“Small balls,” the older one replied. “Small loads.”
Marcus lay panting, his tiny cock already softening, shrinking back to its nub-like state.
“Get dressed,” the older guard said, tossing him a small towel. “You’ve passed inspection.”
He wiped himself clean with shaking hands and pulled on his clothes. When he was dressed, the older guard handed him a slip of paper.
“You are cleared. Go.”
At the door, he paused. “I… thank you.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome. And for what it’s worth…” She glanced at his crotch. “Some women prefer a man who knows his place. Who knows he’s inadequate. Who accepts it.”
He nodded, not trusting his voice.
“Come back through this airport again,” she added, “and ask for secondary inspection. I’ll make sure we take… extra time.”
Marcus walked out into the terminal, his face burning, his tiny cock stirring again at the memory.
He was already planning his return flight.
Welcome Home
The flight had been fourteen hours of restless turbulence and replayed memories. Daniel sat in his economy seat with a blanket over his lap, half-hard and miserable, thinking about the ruler pressed against his shaft, the cold metal table under his palms, the wet heat of the younger guard grinding against his mouth. He’d jerked off twice in the airplane bathroom—both times embarrassingly quick, both times producing those same thin, pathetic spurts into his palm. Both times whispering I’m a tiny-dicked loser to himself in the cramped, fluorescent-lit stall.
He thought he’d be relieved to land. Home soil. Familiar faces. Rules. Regulations. Accountability.
He was wrong.
The customs line at Hartsfield snaked endlessly. Daniel shuffled forward with his carry-on, passport in hand, still slightly sweaty from the walk through the jet bridge. He’d changed shirts in the airport bathroom before boarding—felt he needed to smell different, feel different, shed the residue of what had happened. But his body remembered. His cock remembered. It had been half-stiff for most of the flight, rubbing against his underwear, leaking into the cotton.
When he reached the front of the line, the customs officer—a heavyset Black woman with reading glasses and a no-nonsense expression—scanned his passport. Her screen flashed red. She frowned.
“Step to the side, please.”
“What? Why?”
“Secondary screening. Please follow the marked lane.”
His stomach dropped. The words secondary screening hit him like a physical blow. He followed the painted line on the floor to a corridor he’d never noticed before, leading away from the main terminal. The hallway was clinical—white walls, bright LEDs, the faint antiseptic smell of government efficiency.
A door at the end opened before he reached it. A woman in a navy blue uniform stood there. She was tall—nearly six feet—with broad shoulders and a square jaw. Her hair was cropped short, almost military. A badge on her chest read Officer Reeves. Behind her, a second figure sat at a desk: a younger man, maybe late twenties, lean and clean-shaven, watching a monitor.
“Mr. Hargrove,” Officer Reeves said. “Come in.”
The room was larger than the one overseas but somehow more intimidating. Concrete walls. A drain in the floor. Cameras mounted in every corner, red lights blinking. A metal table. A folding chair. A rolling cart with drawers.
“Something was flagged,” she continued. “International transit. Anomalous reading on your passenger manifest.”
Daniel’s heart hammered. “What kind of anomalous reading?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she gestured to the table. “Place your bag there. Remove your clothing.”
The words landed like a punch to the gut. His cock—already twitching—stirred further.
“I—look, I went through this already. At the other end. In—”
“I’m not interested in what happened at the other end.” She fixed him with a stare that could strip paint. “I’m interested in what’s on your person. Now strip.”
The younger man at the desk had swiveled his chair around. He watched with mild curiosity, arms folded.
Daniel’s fingers went to his shirt buttons. Not again. Not here. Not in front of— But his body was already responding, blood rushing downward, that familiar heat pooling in his groin. He pulled his shirt off and set it aside. Kicked off his shoes. Unbuttoned his jeans.
When he stood in just his underwear, he hesitated. His cock was already visible through the thin fabric—barely. Just a small bump, a nub pressing against the cotton.
“Those too,” Reeves said.
He pushed them down.
His penis emerged—soft, shriveled, barely an inch. The head tucked almost entirely inside his foreskin, just a pink dot visible. His balls hung loose from the heat of the flight but were still small, childlike.
Reeves looked at his crotch. Then looked again. Her expression didn’t change, but her eyebrows lifted slightly—a micro-expression of genuine surprise.
“Johnson,” she said to the man at the desk. “Come look at this.”
He stood and walked over, hands in his pockets. He glanced down at Daniel’s groin and let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s… that’s really small.”
“Thank you for the professional assessment,” Reeves said dryly. She pulled on latex gloves with a sharp snap. “Mr. Hargrove, face forward. Hands at your sides.”
Daniel obeyed. His cock was already starting to grow—not from arousal, he told himself, just from the blood flow, the adrenaline, the exposure. But they both saw it. That tiny shaft filling out, rising slightly, reaching its full pathetic three inches.
“He’s getting hard,” Johnson said, sounding almost fascinated.
“I can see that.” Reeves stepped closer. She didn’t touch him yet—just stood there, looking down. “Three inches. Maybe.”
“Less, I think. Hard.”
She reached out and lifted his cock with two fingers, like picking up a small object. Daniel gasped. She examined it, turning it slightly.
“Thin,” she observed. “I’ve seen crayons thicker than this.” She let it drop. “And he’s leaking already.”
A bead of precum had formed at the tip, catching the light.
Johnson had moved closer now, standing just behind Reeves. “Is this… is this normal? Should I be documenting this?”
Reeves glanced at the cameras. “Everything’s documented. But yes—note the subject’s physical dimensions and involuntary responses.” She looked at Daniel. “You’re aroused by this.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I… I can’t help it.”
“I didn’t ask if you could help it. I asked if you’re aroused.” She stepped closer, her face inches from his. “You like being looked at. Being judged. Being found… lacking.”
His cock jerked. Another bead of precum oozed down the head.
“That’s what I thought.” She turned to Johnson. “He’s one of those. The small ones who get off on it.”
Johnson grinned. “Seriously? So this is like… his thing?”
“Often is. Men with micropenises frequently develop humiliation responses. It’s the only way they can process their inadequacy—turn it into arousal.” She said this with clinical detachment, as if reading from a textbook, but her eyes were sharp. Watching Daniel’s every reaction.
“Should we… I mean, do we need to do a full cavity search?” Johnson asked.
“Procedure says yes, if the flag indicates contraband.” Reeves pulled open a drawer on the rolling cart and retrieved a bottle of lubricant and a speculum. “Bend over the table, Mr. Hargrove.”
Daniel’s legs were shaking. He bent over the cold metal, his ass exposed, his tiny cock pressed against the table’s edge.
“Spread yourself.”
He reached back and pulled his cheeks apart. He heard Johnson inhale sharply.
“Clean,” Reeves murmured, pressing a gloved finger against his hole. “Tight.” She pushed in, and Daniel groaned. “Very tight. You don’t use this, do you?”
“No.”
“Say the whole thing.”
He hesitated. “I… I don’t use my ass.”
“Say: ‘My tiny dick is useless, so I’ve never needed my ass fucked.'”
His cock throbbed against the table. “My tiny dick is useless, so I’ve never needed my ass fucked.”
Johnson laughed—a sharp, genuine bark. “Holy shit. He actually said it.”
Reeves added a second finger, stretching him open. Daniel grunted, his hips shifting.
“But maybe he should start,” she said. “A man with a cock this small… what else is he good for? If he can’t fuck, he should be fucked. Right?”
“I mean…” Johnson shifted his weight. “Makes sense.”
“Would you fuck him?” Reeves asked casually, working her fingers deeper.
Daniel’s breath caught.
Johnson looked at Daniel’s bent-over form, then at Reeves. “I… I don’t know if that’s—”
“Relax. I’m asking professionally. Would a man with a micropenis benefit from being penetrated? From learning to take cock since he can’t give it?”
“I guess… yeah. Probably.”
Reeves withdrew her fingers. “Turn over. On your back.”
Daniel rolled over, his small erection slapping against his stomach. Both officers looked at it—then at each other.
“Measure it,” Reeves said.
Johnson produced a ruler from the cart. He approached Daniel almost timidly, pressing the ruler against the base of his cock.
“Two and three-quarters,” he announced.
“Less than three. Note that.” Reeves leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Mr. Hargrove, I’m going to ask you some questions. You will answer honestly.”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever pleased a woman with that?”
“No.”
“Have you ever pleased a man with that?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been told you’re the smallest someone has seen?”
“Yes. Multiple times.”
“Does that make you hard?”
“Yes.”
“Stroke yourself.”
Daniel’s hand moved to his cock automatically. He wrapped his fingers around it—his hand completely engulfed the tiny shaft, the head barely peeking out past his grip. He stroked slowly.
“Look at that,” Johnson said. “His hand covers the whole thing. You can barely even see it.”
“Tell him what you see, Johnson. Directly.”
Johnson looked at Daniel. “I see a grown man with a dick the size of my pinky. I see a guy who probably can’t even jerk off normally—has to use two fingers like a kid. I see someone who will never make anyone cum with that thing.”
Daniel stroked faster, whimpering.
“What are you?” Reeves demanded.
“A tiny-dicked loser. Pathetic. Worthless. Can’t please anyone.”
“And what happened overseas?”
Daniel froze mid-stroke. “I… I was searched. By two women.”
“And?”
“And they… they measured me. Made me say things. Made me cum.”
Reeves smiled—a thin, dangerous expression. “So this is the second time you’ve been stripped and humiliated in an airport. And both times, you got hard. Both times, you loved it.”
“Yes.”
“Say: ‘I’m a tiny-dicked pervert who gets off on being exposed.'”
“I’m a tiny-dicked pervert who gets off on being exposed.”
Johnson was visibly aroused now, adjusting himself through his uniform pants. “Should I… can I—”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to see if he can take it. In his mouth. I want to see what a real cock looks like next to his.”
Reeves considered. “That’s not exactly standard procedure.”
“Neither is this.” Johnson gestured at Daniel’s state—naked, hard, stroking himself on the inspection table.
“True.” Reeves nodded slowly. “Go ahead. For documentation purposes.”
Johnson unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. It was soft and already bigger than Daniel’s hard—thick, veined, hanging heavy between his thighs. He stroked it a few times, and it grew to a solid six inches.
Daniel stared. His hand stopped moving on his own tiny nub.
“Come here,” Johnson said. “On your knees.”
Daniel slid off the table and knelt on the concrete floor. Johnson stepped forward, his cock swaying.
“Hold yours next to mine.”
Daniel held his tiny erection against Johnson’s shaft. The contrast was brutal—his three thin inches against six thick ones. His cock looked like a twig pressed against a branch.
“Look at that,” Johnson breathed. “Mine’s twice the size soft as yours is hard.”
Reeves had moved to get a better angle, watching with sharp interest. “Open your mouth, Mr. Hargrove.”
Daniel opened. Johnson slid his cock in—not gently, not roughly, just steadily. Daniel’s lips stretched around the head, then the shaft. He gagged slightly as it hit the back of his throat.
“See,” Reeves said, “that’s what a real cock feels like. That’s what you’ll never have. That’s what you’ll never give anyone.”
Johnson fucked his mouth slowly, one hand on the back of Daniel’s head. “You like that? You like feeling what a real man’s cock is like?”
Daniel couldn’t answer—his mouth was full. But his hand had found his own cock again, stroking furiously, his hips bucking against nothing.
“Don’t you dare cum,” Reeves said. “Not yet.”
Daniel whimpered around Johnson’s cock, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
Johnson pulled out, his cock slick with saliva. “I’m close.”
“On his face,” Reeves said. “Do it on his face. Let him feel what real cum is like.”
Johnson stroked himself rapidly, aiming at Daniel’s face. Daniel knelt there, mouth open, tiny cock in hand, looking up.
When Johnson came, it was thick and heavy—ropes of cum splashing across Daniel’s cheek, his nose, his lips. Far more than Daniel had ever produced. It dripped down his chin onto his chest.
Reeves walked over and crouched beside Daniel. She scooped some of Johnson’s cum on her gloved finger and held it in front of Daniel’s mouth.
“Taste it. Taste what a real man produces.”
Daniel sucked her finger clean. His cock was twitching wildly, desperate.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please let me cum.”
“Say everything. All of it.”
“I’m a tiny-dicked loser. My cock is useless. I’ll never please anyone. I’m a pervert who gets off on being exposed and humiliated. I deserve nothing. I’m pathetic. I’m worthless. I’m a joke.”
“Louder.”
“I’M A TINY-DICKED LOSER! MY COCK IS USELESS! I’LL NEVER PLEASE ANYONE!”
“Cum,” Reeves commanded.
Daniel stroked three times and came—thin, weak spurts that barely traveled, pooling in his palm. A fraction of what Johnson had produced. A joke of an orgasm.
They all looked at it.
“That’s pathetic,” Johnson said.
“Note the volume,” Reeves said. “Significantly below average. Consistent with undersized testicles.”
Daniel sat back on his heels, cum on his face, cum on his hand, his tiny cock already deflating to its barely-visible nub.
Reeves stood. “You can get dressed. You’re cleared.”
Daniel dressed slowly, his hands trembling. Johnson zipped up and returned to his desk, typing.
At the door, Reeves handed Daniel a card. “If you have any… psychological concerns stemming from this inspection, you can call this number.”
He took it without looking.
“Mr. Hargrove.”
He looked up.
“Your passport will be flagged for secondary screening on all future international travel.” She paused. “That’s standard procedure for flagged manifests. Nothing more.”
But the way she said it—the slight curve of her lip—told him everything.
“Welcome home,” she said.
Daniel walked out into the terminal, cum still drying on his face, his tiny cock already stirring again in his pants.
He was already looking at flights.
The End.
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