Nude Model Exposure

By Babydicklover.

I don’t know what I thought when I saw this online posting searching for a nude model to participate in a live painting class. Initially skeptical, I convinced myself that the students don’t care what you look like in these spaces. They are just interested in art. Well, I was utterly wrong and mistaken. I joined the class and discovered only women were in the class, which added another layer of intimidation. The instructor guided me to a private place where I could strip everything I wore. She handed me a white, silky robe, and I walked to the center of around 30 easels and promiscuous faces.

The quiet awkwardness was intoxicating and blaring in my eardrums. Everything told me to bail out of the class, but I needed to do this for the extra money. As they say, “no pain, no game.” I was nervous about being in my birthday suit in front of all these mature women. Once they determined what pose I would do for everyone, I undid my robe and saw it fall to the floor by my bare ankles.

The entire class viewed my chubby, naked body with blink less precision. These women were going to paint every detail of what they saw. I felt their astonished eyes glued to my cold, shivering body. I sat on the metal stool and posed for them. I’m not sure if it was in my head, but I might have heard snickers from the students.

My name is Jorge Ramone, and I have everything going for me except where it counts from the size queens. They are the ones who want a royal drill heaved deeply in them so that they can experience euphoria. That is something I will never be able to conjure up. Now, I should explain I am a lightly-browned Hispanic man who is slightly chubby, pretty good-looking, and of average height. My penis is incredibly tiny compared to other men. It is around a quarter of an inch soft and 1.8 inches when it is excited and awake for action, which I don’t seem to get. When I mean tiny, you don’t know what that means until you’ve seen my baby-sized package. I am sure toddlers would come together and tease my unhandled plaything. That might explain why I was so nervous.

The silence torched every ounce of my manhood because I knew what they were thinking. I didn’t fear the women in the back because they probably couldn’t see anything. But, the students in the front had a clear, undeniable view of my boyish wee-wee as it was squished between my legs. The worst part was there were a couple of older women. They love to tease boys with little pinkies. There was even a grandma and her granddaughter in the front row. Granted, they were adults, but still, it was horrifying. They kept giving each other a shared look like they knew what each other was thinking regarding my mini churro.

I couldn’t imagine what they would say on their car ride home. They’ll probably mention how I am smaller than a newborn or something. This was the most embarrassing moment of my life, especially when I saw their comprehending smirks. I couldn’t even imagine what they were thinking. They were probably wondering what I could do with such a tiny binky in the bedroom, which presented a problem. When my little naturalness was revealed, she usually wouldn’t be interested or relentlessly mock me.

I just sat there with a dumb look as if I was uncomfortable with the entire situation. A couple of the students asked the instructor if they could move closer because they couldn’t see me entirely from where they were sitting. This got a few chuckles, and the instructor scolded them and told them to pipe down. The women in the back came closer to me. I felt even more humiliated. I am sure they had no problem seeing my baby nublette, which was way smaller than my balls. Every time I heard a brush stroke, I felt more emasculated. They only came closer to get a good view of my little nub. I stood red-faced as they gaped and painted my little, pitiful penis.

The room became a little less awkward and more conversational when the instructor checked on everyone’s work. People began chattering, but I did witness some of them secretly giving each other the universal small penis symbol, which coiled my insides. It was embarrassing enough to show the room how tiny my privates were, but for these women to have no shame or decency to conceal their subtle jokes and laughter. I quickly looked down to see what they were looking at this whole time. It was an innie, so I promptly pulled it out. It pierced through my veins. I felt the shivers travel away from my little tee-tee, which is why it was so shrunken.

It looked so pathetic and useless. It was smaller than the little smooth paint brushes these artists were using. I was eavesdropping on the advice the instructor gave to the students. She claimed everything was anatomically correct except for my penile area. It was painted too small or not at all. I had nothing between my legs except a little teeter-totter bouncing when I moved. The students claimed nothing was there, which made the teacher giggle. She told them to use their wildest imaginations and apply generosity to my body. I felt my cheeks burn with a sensation of mortification. I just wanted to cover it up and sprint away from this audience.

From all the unforeseen “excitement,” it was challenging to uphold my flaccid composure in front of these beautiful goddesses. From everything to their bodies, the humiliation, and the vulnerability, I could feel the little man hardening up. I felt it stretch minimally. In my head, I was rooting for the little guy. Please try more than you ever have before, little buddy. It only erected an inch longer, resulting from my stunted growth. I looked around the room with growing concern. Thank goodness nobody noticed the lack of a sizable boner. It was a relief but also cemented my internalized shame even more. I was completely erect, and nobody noticed how I was positioned because it was the smallest penis these girls had ever seen in their lives.

Time goes by fast when you are having fun. Still, when you have an unpleasant nightmare, times move excruciatingly slower than usual. Each minute felt like an hour as my little boy’s penis was displayed for their enjoyment. The instructor said she needed to take a personal phone call for a little bit. What was she thinking, leaving me alone with these sadistic girls in this entangled mess? After she left, a morbid quiet filled the room’s aura. One of the girls finally caved and couldn’t hold in her laughter.

Now, everyone was confident enough to giggle openly, even though some were muffled out of respect. They asked me if I was embarrassed to have such a tiny penis, and I quietly nodded. I couldn’t say anything because I felt frozen and succumbed to the light-hearted and sometimes aversive comments. They didn’t know Hispanic men could have such small penises. They claimed I wasn’t black, so why would they think I would be well-endowed?

I finally opened my mouth, “There are plenty of huge Hispanic men.”

They all laughed, and one shared while she pointed at my genitals, “Yeah, but that isn’t in your case, right tiny.”

Again, defeated, I just nodded my head.

“I could barely hold my laughter when you first disrobed, showing us your little brown sausage. I always said I would bang anything that stands to pee, but I’ve lost my appetite for dick right now.”

“The closest thing you will get to a girl screwing you is a shameful lesbian that will date you for your little pussy.”

One of the girls mocked me and said, “Tienes un pene pequeño,” meaning I have a small penis.

One claimed I was cute but couldn’t date me because of my quarter incher. It was a mini corn dog. These girls’ condescending chuckling blurred my vision as I mutedly whimpered. They said we shouldn’t even paint my mid-section because there wasn’t anything there. One of the girls came up and fondled my little pee-pee. She screamed and announced to everyone it was hard. They couldn’t believe it. All of them came up to me and closely inspected my little brush.

They felt “sad” for me because I would never understand how to be a real, macho man. I wouldn’t be able to embrace the inner manliness of machismo because my little pee-pee restrained me from being an acceptable man. I held my head down in disesteem while they laughed at my scared little willy that was starting to soften and retract. I covered the little fella, which only made things worse. One of the girls aggressively pulled my hands apart, revealing the little nub again. They told me I looked like a naked mannequin with nothing but a flat bulge with my little chocolate kiss.

Some of them showed me their paintings, which most painted very well but made sure to give me nothing between my legs or a little grape with hardly any balls. I told them that wasn’t how I looked. They needed to add more or something. They squealed and said they weren’t painting fantasies or abstract art. This was a realism art class, and the area I wasn’t given like most men were was wholly accurate and revealing.

I was forced to stand up because they wanted to see my backside. There was certainly more in the back than the front. One of the girls caressed my buttocks and kissed my cheeks. With her mighty hand, I was spanked several times with indestructible vigor. The stinging made me wince in pain, so I swatted their hands to sit back down. They flicked my underdeveloped pickle and continued their business, painting me in every nimble detail. The instructor finally returned and asked the class if I was on my best behavior as the good little model. She emphasized the word “little.”

After what felt like eons of mind-numbing torture, I needed to pee badly. I told the instructor I needed to use the backroom. She said there was one down the hall. I couldn’t find my robe. She told me the class was almost over, and there wasn’t enough time. She couldn’t have been implying what I thought she was. I had no choice, so I sprinted down the hall with my baby weenie bouncing around. I relieved myself, but before leaving, some older gentleman walked in on me. He looked shocked to see me like the day I was born. Naturally, his eyes traveled downward, surveying what I was packing below between my legs.

He grinned obnoxiously and said, “dude, why are you naked, and what’s wrong with your dick? You’ve got a really, really tiny cock. I was bigger than that when I was still crawling in a diaper.”

I couldn’t say anything, so I covered the baby cocklette and rushed past him. He also gave me a cat-call whistle, and I could hear his laughter echoing through the hallway. Everything just felt like a scripted sitcom at my expense.

Finally, the course was over, but some students didn’t finish their artwork. They asked the instructor if they could photograph my pose so that they could complete their work at a later time. She said it wouldn’t be a problem. Before I could protest, they were already taking a picture of me in my brown, shriveled, dry-roasted peanut-like state. My face was visibly recognizable along with my centimeter-peter. It’s one thing to have your little cheerio known to several women, but worse now that they had an exposing photograph of my little olive. Who knew where those photos would end up?

After everyone left, the instructor told me I did a swell job as a model. I could see she was unnecessarily holding back a smile. She looked down at my little nub and asked if I was embarrassed to have such a tiny member. I was amazed that she would ask such a thing. She was supposed to be a professional, but curiosity got the best of her. She looked at my face and apologized for asking that. I told her it was okay. She said girls could sometimes be cruel, which shouldn’t stop me from pursuing other opportunities. She says there is another session I could model for. I would think about it, but there is no way I would do something like this again.

After I left, I saw she kept checking me out. I felt uncomfortable and finally bolted my way out of there. One of the girls was waiting for me. She had bright ginger hair with emeralds for eyes. Her name was Penelope Striven. She said I did a great job while she looked down at my inadequate crotch area. She thought I handled the comments like a trooper launching a small rocket out of a mini rocket launcher. I cringed at her little remark.

She said the instructor took it too far, though. I didn’t know what she meant, so she showed me an email the instructor sent during the class. She claimed she’s never seen a model so poorly endowed before with just a half-inch chode. She told the class to have fun with me and my little boyhood while she took a “personal call.” She also mentioned she misplaced the robe and sent in her male colleague to stumble upon me in the bathroom.

I was baffled and bewildered that she would set up this entire ruse to humiliate me and my little skittle. The instructor has done this before, but never to this extent. I was glad Penelope told me about this ordeal to unveil my mini paperclip. In the middle of walking away, she stopped me to ask me out on a date at a nice restaurant.

She whispered, “You are just the cutest little thing. Honestly, that micropenis is an aphrodisiac for me. I love men with small dickies because I dream of control and domination. Your incapability to penetrate and pleasure me turns me on so much.

Nothing came to my mind as I was obsessed with this girl’s elegant features. Her conviction was self-assuring and seductive. She caught my staring, so my gaze hit the floor.

She had an endearing smile and said, “No offense, but you have the smallest little penis I have ever seen. I have seen many tiny ones, so I think I have the right to make that assessment. It is so cute and tiny, though. My mouth was watering as I painted you and your brown thimble.”

“Wow. None was taken if it meant I would score a date with a beautiful girl like yourself. I am not used to girls lining up for my little friend.”

“I can see why.”

I blushed, and we exchanged numbers. We were alone, and she looked around to see if anyone was nearby. She yanked my underoos and gym shorts to the ground, sharing my little boy’s penis with the empty hall. I quickly covered up.

“Aww, let me see the little guy. He seems shy around strangers.”

She lightly tapped my hands, and even though I was afraid, I uncovered the puny dinkle. She just giggled at what I wasn’t blessed with, shook my tousled hair, and said she would see me and my little “inchy winchy” soon enough. She pinched the eensy pinky toe with her delicate finger and pushed it inside me like she was rubbing my clit. It was a frightened turtle head hiding in its shell.

She took matters into her own hands, or in my case, just her little finger, and I was in her control. I felt aroused to give myself up to this commanding, powerful queen at that moment. She released my little chocolate ball and saw it grow to 1.5 inches. She stroked me for a little bit.

“I am yearning for the actual thingy, but in the meantime, your nublette photo will fulfill my dark desires and urges.”

She gave me a wink, a little kiss on my cheek, and walked away gracefully. This wasn’t the ending I expected, but my little one and I were excited about our happy ending with this ascending mommy.

 

The End.

 

*This story has been edited to fix spelling, punctuation, formatting errors, & basic grammar, but the narrative and plot have remained the same. Even with the limited editing done here, it doesn’t mean any possible major flaws in this story were fixed (That’s the author’s job). The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) are those of the author and do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech.

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