Grower, Huh?
An SPH Experience by slavojbranting.
I’d noticed her almost immediately. Blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders, the kind of smile that made you feel like you were the only person she was really listening to. She moved through the crowd like she belonged everywhere at once—confident, warm, the type who remembered your name after one introduction. We kept ending up near each other, and eventually, near each other turned into pressed against each other in the hallway, her back against the wall, my mouth on hers.
“Come home with me,” she said against my lips. Not a question.
I said yes.
—
Her place was a small studio near campus, surprisingly tidy for a student. String lights along one wall, a made bed, the faint smell of vanilla. She locked the door behind us and turned around, pulling her top over her head in one fluid motion. No bra underneath. Her tits were perfect—small, natural, perfectly shaped, nipples already hard from the cool air.
I kissed her again, and we undressed each other in pieces between kisses. Her hands worked my belt, then my jeans, and I felt the familiar tightness in my chest—the countdown I always tried to ignore. She slipped her hand into my boxers and wrapped her fingers around me.
“Oh,” she said, pulling back slightly. A smile. “A grower, huh?”
My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression steady. “Something like that.”
She pushed me onto the bed and tugged my boxers down completely. I was already fully hard. Had been since the hallway, honestly. Her body did that to me. She knelt between my legs, looked down at my cock—stiff, straining, all 9.7 centimeters of it—and wrapped her fingers around the shaft. Her thumb and fingers nearly touched.
She leaned down and took me into her mouth.
It felt incredible. Warm, wet, her tongue swirling around the head. She sucked gently, then harder, working me with an enthusiasm that made my toes curl. But I could feel it—the subtle shift. The way her mouth moved, searching for something that wasn’t happening. The way her fingers kept adjusting, trying to find more to hold onto. She pulled off after a minute, wiping her chin, and looked at me.
I was exactly the same size as when she started.
She stood up. Naked, glowing in the string light, her small tits catching the warm glow. And then she laughed—a short, startled burst.
“Oh, wow. You can’t have sex.”
The words hit like a slap. She said it with a half-laugh, as if she were processing something impossible, and my entire body went hot with shame. I wanted the bed to swallow me. I wanted to dissolve. I stared at the ceiling and felt my throat close.
“Hey.” Her voice softened instantly. I felt the bed dip as she sat beside me. Her hand found my chest. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I just blurted it out. I was surprised. That was a shitty thing to say.”
I swallowed hard. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. I’m sorry.” She brushed hair from my forehead, her touch gentle. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“How small is it? Like, actually?”
I closed my eyes. There was no point lying. She’d already seen it, held it, tried to make it grow. “9.7 centimeters. About 3.8 inches. And it’s thin.”
A pause. When I opened my eyes, her expression had shifted completely. Not pity exactly—something softer. Compassion.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay. That’s just… that’s your thing. That’s okay.”
—
We lay there naked, side by side, talking. She asked questions—had I always been this size, had I tried anything, how did I handle relationships. I answered honestly because there was no reason not to anymore. She’d already seen the worst of it.
But the thing was—her body kept me hard the entire time. She was thin, toned, those perfect natural tits right there within reach, her skin warm and soft. I couldn’t help it. My cock stayed rigid against my stomach, twitching occasionally, leaking precum in a small pool on my belly.
She noticed. Of course she noticed.
“You’re still hard,” she said, almost amused.
“You’re naked. Next to me. What do you expect?”
She laughed—a real laugh this time, warm and genuine. Then she rolled toward me and kissed me. Deep, slow, her tongue sliding against mine. Her hand drifted down my chest, past my stomach, and her fingers traced around the base of my cock without gripping it. Just circling. Teasing.
“I think you need to earn your keep tonight,” she murmured against my mouth.
“Whatever you want.”
She pushed gently on my shoulder, guiding me downward. I kissed her neck, her collarbone, took one of her nipples into my mouth—small, firm, sweet against my tongue. She inhaled sharply. I moved lower. Over her flat stomach, along the line of her hip, until I was between her legs.
She was waxed smooth, already wet, and when I spread her with my fingers and pressed my tongue flat against her clit, she tasted incredible. Clean, slightly sweet, warm. I licked in slow circles, then faster, finding a rhythm as her thighs tensed on either side of my head.
“Oh fuck,” she breathed, her hand gripping my hair. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
I didn’t stop. I licked and sucked, pressing two fingers inside her—she was so wet they slid in easily—and curled them upward while my tongue worked her clit. She moaned, hips rolling against my face, and I could feel her getting closer.
Then her voice dropped. Controlled. Firm.
“You better do whatever I say tonight,” she said, fingers tightening in my hair, “or everyone’s going to know about your little situation.”
My cock twitched hard against the bed. I moaned into her pussy, the vibration making her gasp.
“Deal,” I said against her, my tongue never stopping.
—
She pushed my head away gently and sat up, breathing hard. “Stay there.”
She jumped off the bed and crossed to a dresser against the wall. I watched her—naked, lithe, confident—pull open a drawer and rummage through it. When she turned around, she was holding a dildo.
It was big. Not absurdly, cartoonishly large, but definitely bigger than anything I’d taken before. Thick, with a pronounced head and a slight curve. She held it up, letting me get a good look.
“If you can’t fuck me,” she said, walking back to the bed, “then you need to get used to getting fucked.”
What she didn’t know was that I’d douched earlier that evening. I’d gone to the party prepared for a different outcome—maybe a guy, maybe something casual. I was bi, and I’d learned always to be ready. My ass was clean, prepared, and when she told me to get on all fours, I obeyed without hesitation.
“Good boy,” she said, running her hand down my back. She knelt behind me, and I felt her fingers—cool, slick with lube she’d grabbed from the drawer—press against my hole.
I moaned as one finger slipped in. Then two. She worked them slowly, stretching, curling, and I pushed back against her hand.
“God, you’re clean,” she said, almost surprised. She pulled her fingers out, and I felt her tongue replace them—warm, wet, licking around my hole, then pressing inside. My arms shook. I dropped my head against the pillow and groaned.
“You like that?” she asked between licks.
“Fuck yes.”
She fingered me again, deeper this time, scissoring her fingers to open me up. I was moaning steadily, cock dripping onto the sheets, when I felt the blunt head of the dildo press against my entrance.
“Deep breath,” she said.
I breathed in, and she pushed.
The head popped in with a sharp stretch that made me gasp. She paused. “Okay?”
“Yeah—yeah, just—give me a second.”
She waited, one hand on my hip, the other holding the dildo steady. The girth was intense—a full, thick pressure that made my eyes water. But after a moment, my body adjusted, and I nodded.
She pushed deeper. Slowly, inch by inch, I felt every centimeter of it. The curve pressed against something inside me, making my whole body light up. I let out a shaky moan.
“Oh, you feel that?” she said, almost laughing. She started to move—pulling back, pushing in, finding a rhythm. “That’s what a real cock feels like.”
I groaned, gripping the sheets.
She leaned forward, her body pressing against my back, her small tits warm against my skin, and kissed my neck. Her lips found my ear.
“You really thought you could pleasure me with that little thing?” she whispered. Her hips pushed the dildo deep, and I whimpered. “Like, how do you even jerk off? Do you use two fingers?”
I moaned, face burning, cock throbbing. But her hand came up to stroke my hair, and her voice softened.
“Hey. You’re doing so well. You’re taking it so good for me.”
The mix—humiliation and tenderness, degradation and care—was devastating. She fucked me steadily, the dildo sliding in and out with increasing ease as my body opened up, and I could hear how wet she was getting just from doing this to me.
“God, you’re impressive,” she said, watching the dildo disappear into me. “Most guys can’t take this. You were made to get fucked.”
I was moaning continuously now, pushing back to meet her thrusts, my cock bouncing beneath me, leaking steadily. The pressure inside me was building—something deep, something I couldn’t control.
“I think you’re going to come,” she said, her voice warm. “Go ahead. Come for me.”
It hit me like a wave. My whole body seized, my ass clenching around the dildo, and I came harder than I had in months—thick ropes of cum spurting onto the sheets beneath me, pooling on the fabric. I groaned through it, shaking, and she kept the dildo buried inside me, holding still while I rode it out.
When I finally stilled, she slowly pulled the dildo out. I collapsed onto my side, breathing hard. She looked at the mess I’d made and raised her eyebrows.
“That’s a lot of cum for such a little cock,” she said. Then she leaned down and licked it up—long, slow strokes of her tongue across the sheets, gathering every drop. She moved to my stomach, my thighs, cleaning me with her mouth. When she had a mouthful, she crawled up and kissed me, pushing my cum onto my tongue.
“Swallow,” she whispered.
I swallowed.
—
She straddled my face without ceremony. Her pussy was soaked—wet from watching me get fucked, from the power of it—and she pressed down against my mouth with a sigh.
“Make me come,” she said.
I licked. I sucked. I pressed my tongue inside her, then dragged it up to her clit, circling fast, then slow, then fast again. She ground against me, her thighs squeezing my head, her hands braced on the headboard. I could feel her trembling.
“Right there—don’t stop—fuck—”
She came with a sharp cry, her whole body shuddering, her pussy pulsing against my mouth. I licked her through it, gentle, slowing as she came down, until she lifted herself off and collapsed beside me.
—
We lay there in the string light glow, catching our breath. She pulled a blanket over us and turned on her side to face me.
“So,” she said, tracing a pattern on my chest. “You really can’t penetrate at all?”
“No. It’s too small. Too thin. It just… slips out. Doesn’t reach.”
She was quiet for a moment. “That must be hard. Like, emotionally.”
“It is. You get used to it. Sort of.”
“Do you date?”
“I try. It usually ends around the same point it ended tonight. Except most people don’t handle it the way you did.”
She was quiet again. Then: “I’m into domination. Like, actually. Not just tonight’s thing—it’s kind of my thing.”
I looked at her.
“If you want,” she said carefully, “we could hook up again. For a session. I think you’d be a really good sub.”
I smiled. “I think I’d like that.”
She kissed my forehead. “Good. Because I’m not done with you.”
I stayed the night. We talked about everything—her kinks, my body, what it meant to live without being able to fuck, what it felt like to be on the other end of someone else’s control. She asked questions with genuine curiosity, never flinching at the answers.
In the morning, she made coffee and walked me to the door in an oversized t-shirt, her blonde hair messy, looking unfairly good.
“Same time next week?” she asked.
“Same time next week.”
She smiled. And for the first time in a long time, my small cock didn’t feel like a secret I had to carry alone. It felt like something that belonged in someone else’s hands.
The End.
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