Not Even One
By Smallever.
He nodded, swiveling his chair around to face her. “What’s up?”
Amy approached with a spring in her step, her professional attire hugging her figure in a way that made him momentarily self-conscious. “I need a favor,” she said, leaning against his desk.
Victor felt his heart rate spike. Favors from Amy usually meant more work, but he couldn’t resist the hope that maybe, just maybe, this one would be different. “What’s the deal?”
Amy bit her lower lip, a nervous habit of hers that always made him feel like he should be offering a reassuring pat on the back. “I’ve got a party to go to with my club on Saturday night,” she began, “and I need to bring a man.”
Victor felt a strange mix of excitement and dread. He’d always found Amy attractive, but the reality of their work relationship had kept him at bay. Plus, he was acutely aware of his inadequacies in the bedroom department. His mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse that didn’t make him sound like the sad, lonely guy he felt like in that moment. “What kind of club?” he asked, playing it cool.
“It’s just a social club,” Amy said, her eyes searching his for any hint of interest. “We get together, have fun, you know?”
Victor took a deep breath, trying to ignore the voice in his head that reminded him of his size. “Alright,” he responded with a smile that he hoped didn’t look forced, “I’ll go with you.”
Saturday night arrived, and Victor found himself standing in front of the club’s entrance, his heart racing like it was his first date in high school. The neon lights cast a rainbow glow on the sidewalk, and the bass from the music inside thumped in his chest like a second heartbeat. He spotted Amy across the street, her brown hair flowing around her shoulders like a chocolate waterfall, her hazel eyes sparkling with excitement. She waved when she saw him, and his stomach flipped.
As he approached, she gave him a once-over that made him feel like he was being measured for a tailored suit. He’d chosen a simple black shirt and jeans, hoping to blend in rather than stand out. “You look great,” she said, her smile genuine. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of confidence, despite his earlier reservations.
They stepped into the club, the door swallowing them into a sea of laughter and chatter. The room was indeed circular, with armchairs arranged in concentric rings that grew progressively closer to the dance floor in the center. The lighting was dim, casting a soft glow on the faces of the approximately 40 women and 30 men scattered throughout. The women were dressed to the nines, their outfits ranging from elegant cocktail dresses to edgy leather numbers that left little to the imagination. The men were a mix of suits and casual wear, all of them looking as though they’d stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.
Amy grabbed Victor’s hand and led him through the crowd to where the president of the club, a very stylish woman in her early 40s, was holding court. She had short, platinum-blonde hair and a sharp jawline that spoke of power and confidence. When she saw them, she clapped her hands together and announced, “Alright, girls! Let’s get our boys handcuffed to the armchairs!”
Victor felt his stomach drop. He looked around, expecting to see shock or protest from the other men, but instead, they all followed their partners to the designated seats with a mix of excitement and resignation. The handcuffs, he realized with a dawning horror, were part of the party theme. He turned to Amy, his eyes wide with confusion. “What’s going on?”
Amy leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. “It’s a CFNM party,” she whispered, her voice dripping with mischief. “Clothed Females, Naked Males. Don’t worry,” she added, noticing his panic, “it’s all in good fun.” She winked at him, her hazel eyes gleaming. “You’re going to have a great time with all these pretty girls.”
Victor’s mind raced, trying to piece together what he’d just heard. “CFNM?” he echoed, his voice barely audible over the music.
Amy nodded, her smile growing wider as she took his other hand and led him to an empty armchair. “Yep,” she said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s like a game of Simon Says, but with clothes and… other things.” She took a seat in the chair next to him, her knee brushing against his thigh as she reached for the handcuffs.
The cold metal clicked around his wrists, sending a shiver down his spine. The chair was comfortable, but the position was awkward, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. The other couples were already getting into the spirit of things, with the women chuckling and the men looking a mix of nervous and aroused.
“So,” Amy said, her eyes twinkling with amusement, “the rules are simple: You can’t touch the girls or yourself. If you do, you’re out of the game.”
Victor felt his cheeks flush as the implication sank in. He’d never been to anything like this before, but he could feel the anticipation in the air, thick and electric. The women around him were chatting and giggling, their eyes flitting over the lineup of handcuffed men with hungry gazes.
Amy leaned closer, her breath tickling his ear. “Don’t worry,” she murmured, her voice soothing, “you’re safe with me.” She reached for the buttons on his shirt, her fingertips brushing against his chest. With a gentle tug, she pulled it open, revealing his white undershirt. Her eyes traveled down, and he felt the weight of her gaze on his waistband.
With a flick of her wrist, she unbuckled his belt and began to unbutton his jeans. The room felt hotter, the air thick with the scent of perfume and the promise of the unknown. He watched her, his heart hammering, as she pulled down his zipper. He felt the cool air kiss his skin as she tugged his jeans and underwear down to his ankles.
The moment of truth arrived as his small penis was revealed to the room. The light caught it, making it seem even more insignificant than it felt. He braced himself for the look of shock or disgust he’d seen from past partners, but instead, he saw something else in Amy’s eyes: disappointment. It was fleeting, a flicker of something unspoken, but it was there. She quickly schooled her features into a smile, but the damage was done. He felt his cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and anger.
The club’s president, the stylish woman with the platinum hair, took the microphone and announced the start of the party with a flourish. The room erupted in cheers and applause, the sound echoing off the velvet walls. “Remember, gentlemen,” she said, her voice a purr, “you are here to serve and obey. Ladies, choose your prey.”
Victor watched as the sea of females began to undulate towards the other handcuffed men, leaving him feeling like a forgotten piece of driftwood on the shore. He saw Amy’s gaze dart around the room before settling on a young, muscular man with a smug grin. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear, and the smugness grew as he looked at her with undisguised lust.
The president’s words were a siren’s call to the women, and they responded with eager anticipation. The air grew thick with the scent of arousal and the sound of fabric shifting as clothes were removed. The men were a tableau of excitement and nerves, their erections on display as the women began to play their game of Simon Says.
Victor’s eyes were drawn to the erotic scenes unfolding before him. He watched as lips wrapped around hardened flesh, the bobbing of heads and the sway of hips creating a mesmerizing dance of desire. His own body responded to the visual feast, his cock twitching in his lap despite his embarrassment. The sight of these beautiful women, kneeling before other men, was both humiliating and incredibly arousing.
Yet, as the night went on, he remained untouched. The women passed by his chair, their eyes lingering just long enough to take in the pitiful sight of his nakedness before breaking into fits of laughter. They pointed at his tiny member, whispering to their friends, and their laughter grew louder as they moved away. Each giggle felt like a knife twisting in his gut, a reminder of his inadequacy. He felt his face flushing hotter than the lights above, his ears ringing with the echoes of their amusement.
But amidst the sea of strangers, a face from his past caught his eye. It was his 26-year-old little sister, Wendy, dressed in a short, tight dress that accentuated her curves. She was laughing with a group of her friends, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Wendy had always been the pretty one, the one who could charm anyone with her smile. She looked over at him, and for a brief second, her eyes widened in shock. Then, she broke into a grin, waving enthusiastically.
“Victor!” she squealed, rushing over to him. She leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, her breath smelling faintly of whiskey. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Victor’s eyes were glued to his crotch, unable to meet her gaze. “Amy invited me,” he mumbled, feeling the heat of a thousand suns on his face.
Wendy’s laughter was like a slap in the face. “Amy?” she repeated, her voice lilting with amusement. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She stepped back and looked him over, her eyes lingering on his restrained wrists and bare legs. “Looks like you’re really getting into the spirit of things.”
The humiliation washed over him in waves as he realized she was one of the members. He tried to think of something to say, anything to explain his presence, but his mind was a blank canvas. The words stuck in his throat, choking him with their very existence.
Wendy leaned closer, her eyes alight with a mix of surprise and amusement. “Don’t worry, big brother,” she said, her voice a sweet, mocking whisper, “I won’t tell anyone about your… little secret.” She reached out and poked his penis with a delicate finger, her nail barely grazing the sensitive skin. It was a gentle touch, but the condescension behind it stung like a slap.
The room seemed to spin around him as his cock twitched involuntarily at her touch. She giggled, her eyes sparkling with cruel delight. “Looks like someone’s excited,” she said, her voice louder now, drawing the attention of the nearby women. They looked over, their laughter growing as they took in the sight of Victor’s pitiful excuse for manhood.
“You should see the look on your face,” she said, her voice a mix of amusement and pity. “It’s adorable, really.” She gave his cock a playful flick before standing up, smoothing her dress. “I’ll go find a real man to play with,” she said, her voice dripping with the promise of something better.
The room swam around him, the laughter of the women a cacophony of mockery. He watched as Wendy joined her friends, her hips swaying seductively as she moved away. She didn’t look back, leaving him alone in a sea of strangers who now knew his most intimate shame.
His body betrayed him, his cock thickening against his will. It was as if it didn’t know it was small, didn’t understand that it wasn’t desired here. He felt a desperate urge to hide it, to make it shrink away to nothing. But the handcuffs kept his hands trapped at his sides, preventing him from even the smallest gesture of modesty.
The music pulsed around him, a relentless beat that seemed to mock his plight. Every twist of a hip, every sultry glance from the passing women, only served to heighten his frustration. He could feel his arousal growing, a traitorous response to the erotic scene playing out around him. His mind screamed for release, his body begging for the sweet solace of his touch, but the cold metal of the handcuffs was an unforgiving barrier.
And then, it began. The first couple was in front of him. The woman, a red-headed vixen with emerald eyes, straddled her partner, a man who was at least a decade younger than Victor and twice as endowed. She moaned his name as she took him in, her eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. The man’s cock was a beacon of triumph, proud and unabashed as it vanished between her thighs. Victor watched, his cock twitching, desperate to be used like the others.
The sight was both tantalizing and excruciating. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the various couplings. Each man was a testament to masculine prowess, their erection standing tall and proud as the women mounted them, teased them, and ultimately brought them to climax. He felt his arousal growing, a painful throb in his crotch that he couldn’t ignore.
And then, as if fate had decided to add insult to injury, he saw Wendy. She had found a partner for the night—a tall, muscular black man who was clearly enjoying her attentions. The contrast between their bodies was stark: her pale, smooth skin against his dark, sculpted physique. He watched, his breath catching in his throat, as she straddled him, her dress hiked up to reveal her lacy black thong. The man’s hands roamed over her curves, cupping her breasts and squeezing her ass as she began to move her hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
Wendy looked over at Victor, her eyes meeting his through the dim light. There was a spark of amusement in her gaze, as if she knew exactly how much his cock was aching to be touched, to be used. She leaned back, her hand wrapping around the man’s neck as he kissed along her collarbone. The sight was like a dagger to his heart—his baby sister, fucking a man who was everything he wasn’t.
The president of the club, the stylish woman with the platinum hair, sauntered over to him, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She leaned down, her breath hot against his cheek. “Looks like your little friend is having quite the party,” she said, her voice a seductive purr.
Victor’s face was a map of misery as he watched the other men receive the attention he craved. “I-I don’t know why nobody comes to me,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
The president of the club, the stylish woman with the platinum hair, sauntered over, her hips swaying in a way that made him painfully aware of his lack of control. She leaned down, her smile a knife’s edge of mockery. “Oh, I know exactly why,” she said, her voice a sweet symphony of condescension. “Let’s just say, you don’t exactly have what the ladies are looking for.” She gestured to his hard dicklette.
Without waiting for his consent, she reached down and took him in her hand. He winced at the cold touch, his body betraying his embarrassment with a spike of pleasure. She weighed him in her palm, her eyes never leaving his face. “So tiny,” she murmured, her voice a mix of fascination and disgust. She began to stroke him, her movements slow and deliberate. Each caress was a taunt, a silent question of why he would even bother to come to a place like this.
Victor felt a desperate need to prove himself, to show her that he could be more than just a joke. He strained against the handcuffs, his hips pushing up into her touch. “Please,” he begged, his voice thick with want. “Don’t stop.”
But the woman just laughed, a sound that was both sweet and cruel. “Oh, you poor thing,” she said, her voice a purr. “You really think you’re in the running here?” She stroked him a few more times, watching with amusement as his cock twitched in her hand. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she released him.
“Please,” Victor begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Don’t leave me like this.”
The woman just laughed, a sound that was both sweet and cruel. She stood up, her eyes never leaving his face. “You’re not ready for the big leagues, sweetie,” she said, her smile widening. “Why don’t you go home and practice with a banana?”
Victor felt the blood drain from his face as the room around him spun. The laughter grew louder, the lights brighter. He wished he could shrink away into the velvet chair, disappear into the floor. But there was no escape, not here.
And then, through the haze of humiliation, he saw her: Amy, making her way through the writhing bodies, her hazel eyes locked on him. The sight of her was a beacon of hope in the sea of his despair. She knelt before him, her dress hiked up to reveal her lacey thong. Her eyes searched his, looking for something, and he wasn’t sure what it was.
Her mouth was wet, a faint smear of cum glistening at the corner of her lips. She leaned in close, her breath a whisper of mint and something else—something musky and male. “You okay?” she asked, her voice a gentle caress.
Victor couldn’t find the words to respond. He just nodded, his eyes never leaving the messy evidence of her earlier escapade. The sight of it only made his cock throb more, the desperation for release reaching a fever pitch.
Amy’s eyes searched his, understanding the unspoken plea in them. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. “Do you want to cum?” she whispered, the words a seductive promise.
Victor’s cock throbbed in response, his desperation clear. He nodded, his eyes pleading. “Yes,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from the dry air and his own building need.
Amy’s smile was soft, almost pitying, as she took his chin in her hand, tilting his face up to hers. “You really do, don’t you?” she murmured. He could smell the faint scent of another man’s arousal on her, and it only served to fuel his own.
He nodded again, his eyes never leaving hers. “More than anything,” he breathed.
Amy chuckled, a sound that was a strange mix of pity and amusement. She leaned closer, her breath hot on his neck. “Such a sad little thing,” she murmured, her hand brushing against his cock. “But I can’t leave you like this, can I?”
Her fingertips danced over the sensitive skin of his shaft, teasing and tickling rather than stroking. It was a maddening sensation, one that made him squirm in his seat. “You want it so badly,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming. “But you know I could never really satisfy you.”
The room spun around him, the laughter and the music a blur of sound and color. His cock bobbed between her fingers, aching for a touch that would bring him release. But instead, she continued her torturous dance, her eyes never leaving his. “Look around you,” she said, her voice a symphony of pity and amusement. “Do you see any of these women looking at you with desire?”
Victor’s gaze darted around the room, taking in the sight of the other handcuffed men being worshipped, their cocks disappearing into eager mouths and tight pussies. His member remained stubbornly ignored, a sad little flag of hope in the sea of rejection. The pain in his chest grew, a dull ache that made it hard to breathe.
“Look around,” Amy said again, her voice a gentle reminder of his place in this twisted game. “They’re all getting what you want. What you need.”
Her words stung, but he couldn’t deny the truth. The sight of the other men, their cocks engorged with pleasure and power, was almost too much to bear. And then, without warning, she leaned in closer, her mouth pressing against his. He felt a strange warmth, a wetness that was alien to his lips. He realized with a jolt that it was another man’s cum, a reminder of her earlier conquests. The taste was bitter, a cocktail of salt and sweat and something else, something that made his stomach turn.
Pulling away, she giggled, a sound that was both cruel and exhilarating. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of white on her cheek. Victor’s eyes darted to Wendy, who was now watching them with a knowing smile, her face smeared with the evidence of her fun. The sight of her, so carefree and happy, while he sat there, bound and humiliated, was too much.
He felt his cock swell, the pressure building, his body begging for release despite the embarrassment. The room around him blurred, the laughter and whispers a dull roar in his ears. He was aware of the other men, their hips bucking and bodies tensing as they found their pleasure in the hands—and mouths—of the club’s female members. Yet here he was, unable to touch himself, unable to escape the mocking gazes.
And then, it happened. Without a single finger on his skin, without the warm embrace of a mouth or the tight grip of a hand, he came. The orgasm took him by surprise, ripping through him like a bolt of lightning. His body arched in the chair, his small penis spurting its load into the air, the pathetic stream landing on his thighs and the floor beneath him. The women around him giggled, a few pointing, but the relief washed over him like a cold shower, cleansing him of the desperation that had held him captive.
Amy burst out laughing, her eyes shining with malicious glee. “Look at you go!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. The room grew quieter as the other women took notice of his involuntary climax, their laughter growing louder. It was a sound that cut through him, a symphony of humiliation that left him feeling more exposed than ever.
And then, through the blur of his mortification, he saw it: the flash of a phone camera. Wendy had captured his moment of weakness, her amusement painted clearly on her face as she snapped the picture. The sight of her, so delighted in his suffering, was like a knife to the gut. He felt a new kind of anger, a white-hot rage that burned away the last of his arousal.
The room seemed to close in around him, the laughter turning to a cacophony of taunts and jeers. His eyes searched for an escape, but all he found was a sea of smirking faces and dismissive glances. He’d never felt so small, so utterly insignificant. He was the punchline to a joke he didn’t even understand, the butt of a cruel cosmic prank.
The End.
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