Size Matters 1

By Wheelina.


Size Matters: A dystopian world where your social status is directly linked to what you’re packing. This is the story’s beginning of a very unlucky young man born at the bottom of society’s ladder. I just wanted to let you know that more to come. Crazier to come.

*****

Today, January 21st, 2025, I have been found (informally) guilty of “excessive inappropriate looking in a private space.” I should’ve known I was going to be caught. It’s not often that a sub-3-er gets to visit the suburbs, let alone unsupervised. Earlier today, I was doing my mundane office job, scanning reports for one of the dozen corporate conglomerates that plague the world.

Things went on, as usual, that day until my boss sent me on a personal delivery mission into the suburbs, something about an old friend he hadn’t spoken to in a while. The demand was so out of nowhere I didn’t even have time to think; I took the small, sealed envelope as he held it out to me, took the signed street pass, which allowed me to go to the suburbs, and was on my way.

I walked briskly towards the office elevator. I hadn’t gotten to leave the building in god knows how long. I worked on the 62nd floor, and my lodgings were on the 74th. Everything else I could ever need was on the floors between. It’s not that I couldn’t leave; it’s just that it was a lot of paperwork, and to go anywhere in the city as a person with my endowment cost a fortune.

The nearer I drew to the elevator and my brief taste of the outside world, the quicker I went. When I reached the elevator, I could barely slow down in time to avoid crashing into the far wall. Nonetheless, I entered, hit the “Ground Floor” button, and waited anxiously.

My understanding of how the world works is this: you play the genetic lottery, then you get born, and then the rest is just a result of that lottery. The way that worked out for me, and just about everyone on that damn floor, is that we wake up, work, sleep, repeat. It’s all I’ve known since I finished my version of high school. Of course, nothing is ever easy in this damn place for someone with a 2.5-inch penis, and my high school was just an extended training period for my new job.

This was my life; I was born for this. Not that I should complain. Our society can only work harmoniously if people fill out the bottom rung. I just happen to be part of those people. It makes sense, or so I tell myself; small dicks are useless. That’s all I’ve been told my whole life, and I can’t argue with it. I’m more or less content with where I’m at in life; like everyone knows, it is how it’s meant to be.

My thoughts of my place in the world stopped as the elevator dinged and opened to the first floor. It was empty save for a man at the front desk. I approached him as calmly as I could and read his badge. He measured in at four and a half inches. As his inferior, I had to remind myself to use the proper language and etiquette expected of me.

Holding out my slightly trembling arm, I handed him the street pass. “Hello, Sir, street past approval request from floor 62.”

He inspected it thoroughly. “Approved,” he stifled through some papers on his desk. Here are the directions to where the letter is addressed. Please follow these directions exactly, deliver the letter, and then return it immediately. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I returned my street pass and followed his directions. My heart nearly burst through my chest as it was time to enter the outside and see what my journey had to offer. I measured my pace and took to the front door, once again scanning my street pass and watching as the doors slid open before me. I stepped into the blinding light and stood in awe.

My office building was located in the heart of downtown Miltson, and all around me were towering obelisks of glass and stone, each serving a similar purpose and housing countless workers like me. The streets were desolate, just as I had always remembered them being. I opened the directions on the sidewalk and began my trek.

According to the instructions, it was about a 30-minute walk. First, I took a few blocks east until I was out of the immediate downtown, then I embarked on several winding streets that headed into the suburbs. Careful not to get too distracted, I started to walk. The weather was nice and warm. The sun glistened off of the reflective glass, casting the city in a holy light shining bright.

As I walked, I glanced into every office building lobby I could, not seeing anything remarkably different than my own. The city’s sheer scale was astounding, especially when seen as it was on foot. Building after building housing thousands of people. Per everything I had been taught, downtown was primarily for sub-3-ers, as they’re called, pretty much those near the bottom of the food chain. Managers, bosses and the like were often just above 3, though never above 5.

As I finally walked out of the downtown, I entered areas most common for 5-6ers. Skyscrapers turned to more subdued and relaxed office buildings with cars parked outside; around certain corners, I could see convenience stores and even some nicer housing. Here, people lived free yet restrained lives. They could get married and even procreate in certain situations, not something I had the liberty of.

The offices rarely saw a woman. People such as them had no reason to be in a place as lowly as a high-rise. Instead, they resided here, in this pseudo-urban world of 5-6ers, and of course, out in the suburbs, where their every need could be attended to.

Thinking through the layout of Milston, I realized I hadn’t laid eyes on a woman in nearly 4 years since graduating high school. The last had been one of my teachers, Mrs. Dalton. She certainly wasn’t a natural beauty, but I remembered her like an angel. Memories of her often visited me at night as I lay alone.

There’s one in particular where she leaned close over my shoulder to glance at my work. I remember that fondly and intimately. Regardless, with any luck, today would be the day out of any I could lay my eyes on a true beauty, Queens, as they are rightfully called. Queens live only in the suburbs, never setting foot in downtown as long as they live. Maybe this letter I was delivering was even for one of them. I could only hope.

The clock ticked down as shortly my legs had carried me to a suburb, “Royal Peaks.” The houses within were immaculate. Some were three or even four stories, just for one person. Feeling out of place in this alien land, I moved quicker toward my destiny. After only a couple of turns, I arrived at 1621 Wool Road. It was in line with the other mansions I had seen so far, fit for a Queen, no doubt.

Taking deep breaths and steeling my nerves as best I could, I knocked on the door, envelope in hand.

The world was still as I waited, but only for a moment. The door swung wide to reveal a tall white man in business attire. His face was grim with purpose as he sized me up. Looking past him, I saw who must’ve been his wife. She put Mrs. Dalton to shame. She looked to be in her mid-30s with well-kept brunette hair resting on her shoulders. She wore a flowing blue sundress as she lay, book in hand, on a couch. My eyes continued to trace her as I’m sure the man did to me, and I couldn’t help but stare in awe. She was fit, slender even, with breasts that perfected her frame. Even from the distance I was at, I could tell she was cut from another cloth as I.

“Eyes up here, sissy,” the man barked. I shook from my trance immediately and looked up into his eyes. His brows were furrowed as he pierced my soul. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m delivering a letter from the 62nd floor of the Waxler building addressed to this house.”

“I mean, what do you think you’re looking at?”

I gulped heavily. “I-I’m sorry… Sir.”

“What were you looking at?” he repeated, stern and unflinching.

Wordlessly, ashamed of my existence, I lifted a trembling finger towards the women in the background. Even now, my eyes drifted across her body, trying to memorize every detail.

The man laughed, but his eyes didn’t. “Have you ever heard of something called ‘excessive inappropriate looking in a private space?'” I shook my head weakly, struggling to maintain eye contact with him. “It’s what you just did. And it’s also a Class B felony for those of your making,” his eyes glancing down at my nametag, which also displayed “2.5 Inches.” Now, panic began to eat into me. The last thing I wanted to do was create a disturbance outside.

I stammered heavily, “I-I-I-I’m sorry.”

“You may also not know that committing that crime in front of a Rank A citizen immediately bestows you with all the law to that citizen?” My mind went blank and numb. I had never even heard of citizen ranks before. How was I supposed to know this much about the law? The man smiled a little now, but with it, his face looked nothing good.

Nearly laughing through his words, he said, “You’ve committed a double whammy, my friend. A Class B felony is bad, but an F rank committing one against an A rank? That’s nearly unprecedented.” His eyes traced me further, now with hunger rather than apprehension or anger. “Hand me the letter,” he demanded. Weak and submissively, I did so, having the envelope ripped clean from my hand to be read.

He glanced up at me with a smile. “Come on in, the water’s fine,” he turned and gestured for me to enter. Reluctantly, I did; he closed the door behind me, locking it with a click. “Now, wait here by the door for a moment. I’ll deal with you soon.” The man now turned and walked towards the woman. Being closer now I could make her face out with greater detail, soft freckles dotted across her cheeks that complimented her light skin tone. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, even after getting into all this trouble.

The man walked and stood beside her, handing the envelope over. “What’s this?” she asked. Her voice was smoother than silk and warmer than honey.

“A letter for you from some office downtown, delivered by a Rank F.” Her eyes glanced over the marks on the front of the envelope before diverting her attention to the man, then me, standing behind him.

“A Rank F? Is that him?” her eyes locked with mine. I could’ve sworn my heart exploded at that moment.

“That’s him, and he committed a Class B felony in my presence, so you know what that means.”

The woman looked up at the man and smiled slyly. “Of course I do, darling. Do good with this one, ok?” She stood up now and placed one hand on the man’s cheek. “We don’t want a repeat of the last time,” she said with a reminiscent smile.

“That we do not,” the man smiled back.

“Well, I was just about to head up to our room. You make our guests feel at home like you know how.”

“You know I will,” the man said. Then, the woman walked around him and up the stairs just before me. As tempted as I was to watch her hips sway on her way up, the fiery gaze from the man overcame any such lust. His expression was stern and uncompromising. “Let’s have a seat,” he said firmly, taking his spot on the couch. I walked over to sit beside him, but he stopped me as I was about to sit.

“Rank Fs sit on the floor. If you didn’t know that before, know it now.”

He spread his legs open, then pointed at the space in the floor between. “Here.” Like a dog is how he spoke to me; he was only a step away from whistling and pointing at the floor, yet still, I listened.

Awkward as I was, I took to the floor between his legs. Thankfully his height left me plenty of room to work with as I planted my butt on the hardwood floor. “Improper position,” he said coldly. “On your knees, facing away from me.” I clenched my jaw and did as I was told. There was no telling what I had gotten myself into. My sheer fear of getting in trouble kept me going and listening to the commands as I propped myself on my knees, back towards the man.

“Good girl,” he said. Immediately, I twitched in confusion, almost automatically turning around to give him an inquisitive expression, yet I remained still. We sat like this for a moment in silence. Eventually, I heard him lean forward on the leather couch. He was close to me now. Without warning, he softly took my hair in one of his hands. He pulled ever so slightly, making me arch my head back. I felt him lean close as he whispered, “Welcome to your life’s purpose.”

His hand now gripped the back of my head, which he stroked for a moment before letting go and leaning back onto the couch. He let out a content sigh before continuing in a normal speaking tone, “Rank F trash like yourself is good for two things: your pointless work in those offices and your bodies.” I felt his eyes working over my backside, studying every inch of me. “Now, don’t be confused; your body and my body are good for two very different things. I fuck; you get fucked. Is that clear?”

I didn’t want to answer, but every bone in my body screamed for me to listen to my superior. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. Now turn around and face me.”

Awkwardly I shifted my position, brushing up against his legs in the process. My eyes met his. “Do you want to serve your purpose?”

Truthfully, I didn’t know how to answer. But, to play along, I spit out a weak “Yes.” Immediately, the man laughed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll break you. And from the remains, I will build someone who lives to serve their purpose.” His eyes were dangerous, I couldn’t even dream to maintain eye contact. I started to breathe very rapidly, with which he took notice.

“Head down the hall and enter the bathroom, the first door on the right. Opposite the sink, there’s a cabinet. You can look inside for a pink bag. You’ll be able to know what to do with its contents. You have an hour.”

I looked around wildly for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Part of me wanted to run, but the man had never once taken his eyes off me. As I sat in my panic, he mouthed a quiet tick-tock, which got me onto my shaky feet and into the bathroom.

The room was beautiful, far better than my sad excuse back home. Regardless, I wouldn’t waste time and quickly looked for and found the pink bag. What I saw inside confirmed what I worried to be true. Dumping out the bag onto the wide sink counter, I saw a shaving kit and pieces of what seemed to be a very revealing and feminine outfit.

Before even conjuring a mental image of what I was about to look like, I got to work. At this point, the last thing I wanted was to get myself into deeper shit, if that was even possible. I immediately started the shower and stripped, looking into the mirror. Looking back at me, I saw a 5’4 skinny man with long, dirty blonde hair.

My face was naturally free of facial hair, and I instinctively knew then what the razor would be for. Careful not to waste time, I grabbed a razor from the kit and hopped into the shower. The water was the perfect temperature, not something I had experienced often.

Acting on pure instinct, I allowed myself to be covered fully in the water before taking the blade to the bottom of my leg. Slowly, but not too slowly, I began to shave patches of hair away. I had never been very hairy which now served as a blessing. After no more than two passes, the lower half of my left leg was perfectly smooth. Next, the bottom of my right, then the top of both. Soon all that was left was my ass and my crotch.

At this point, I began to wince at what I was doing; I was becoming something else. Reminding myself of the potential consequences, I carried on. Before I knew it, my ass and the hinterlands between each cheek were smooth. Finally, I came to my crotch. My dick was naturally hidden by the bush I did have, but as I shaved away at it, my natural place in the world was reminded to me. This is the kind of life that I have been prescribed.

I soon finished with the shaving portion. I continued as a normal shower, washing my hair and subconsciously paying extra attention to my ass, making sure it was squeaky clean. Anticipating the attire laid out for me, I quickly shut off the shower and dried off.

As I inspected the clothes, I saw how little I would be wearing. Starting from the bottom, I had a thin black stocking with lace garters, a pair of black lace panties accompanied by a black lace bra, and a black crop top. Without thinking, I began to assemble the outfit piece by piece.

The panties fit snugly over my dick, doing well to disguise what little I had underneath. I followed with the garter and stockings, which went on smoothly enough, then the bra, which was a bit of a chore to equip properly. Lastly, I slipped the crop top over everything; it hugged my form tightly and offered some semblance of dignity amid all this.

Looking in the mirror now, I was surprised at what I saw; I certainly didn’t look bad. The sight of myself in this kind of attire must have done something for me because I had a boner that started to fight against the panties. I reached in and pulled my penis flush against my body towards my stomach, allowing it to fit well again under the panties. I looked and felt entirely different. Glancing up and down at my legs made it feel like I was looking at a stranger.

In some odd sense, I felt good about what I wore. Unfortunately, that feeling quickly turned to anxiety as I had to exit the bathroom now and face that oh-so-foreboding man in this oh-so-revealing outfit. But without further ado, I was excited.

I awkwardly waddled back to the living room, leaving my belongings in a neat pile in the bathroom. I noticed that the man was still sitting on the couch, and as I got closer, I could see that now he also had a change of clothing. Instead, he was opting to wear nothing. I froze in fear.

“Come here. Sit as you were, facing me,” he said, not even turning around to face me. I did as I was told, doing my best not to look at his thing. When I finally had placed myself between his legs, it was impossible to look away any longer. I could now see, up close and personal, why he was a Rank A. “7 inches,” he stated. A gasp escaped my breath. My eyes couldn’t leave the sight of it. It was monumental, it was huge, it was incredible, it was beautiful. I had never had such a thought before that moment, but it seemed right.

He then leaned close, and I looked up to finally meet his gaze. He touched my cheek, just as his wife had done to him. “You look good,” he rubbed his thumb across my skin, and it sent shivers. “But don’t let that go to your head. You aren’t a princess, you aren’t a Queen, you’re still a Rank F, and I will make sure you know that. Understood?” His voice was commanding.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Hm,” he responded. “Pleasure me. When I get excited, I’ll put you to work.” He then reached for the remote and flicked on the TV across from the couch. He spread his arms wide on the couch cushions and made himself comfortable, subtly jutting his junk towards my face. All I could hear or think about was my heart beating. It consumed my entire being. The man did not rush me, for which I was grateful. To show my gratitude, I fumbled my way around his member. It took both of my hands even to handle him while he was soft, not something I was used to.

The weight felt good in my hands like I was holding something powerful; I suppose I was. ‘Rank A.’ This made him better than me; this is what made him get to boss me around this. And you know what? That felt right, especially at the moment. I slowly began to stroke my hands back and forth, paying great attention to all of the intricacies of his penis. He was uncut, and I was nearly mesmerized by his foreskin enveloping and then releasing his tip as I massaged his shaft.

Soon, I had developed a rhythm; his girth in my hands was satisfying to a deep, primal part of my brain. Seemingly, my petite hands wrapped around his power was satisfying to him, too, as it slowly crept full of blood. Before I had even realized what I was doing, I had stuck my tongue out and was gliding it along his shaft. The moment my brain registered what I was doing, I was overcome with lust. The man tasted good. The power he held over me leaked off in his sweat and musk, that of which I was happy to trace with my tongue. Careful to leave no stone unturned, I visited his balls.

First, I licked slowly, then more eagerly. His soft sack folded over my tongue as I pleasured him, soft hairs tickling my face. I took one in my mouth, then the other, paying great attention to how big and full they were. In comparison, mine looked practically deflated and useless, which they might as well be. He let out a soft groan of satisfaction as he idly watched whatever nature documentary played.

I began now to drag my tongue from his balls to his tip. It felt like a journey. Battling anxiety and eagerness, I took his tip into my mouth fully now. It filled a fair portion of my mouth, even flaccid. Just as the rest of him was, it was warm and alive. I measured my lips up and down over his tip, licking at the same time as if some sweet candy was before me. As I gained more confidence, I began to venture my mouth further down his shaft, taking great pride as it twitched and grew fuller and fuller.

Just as I hit my stride, the man grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me back. With his other hand, he grabbed his now mostly erect cock and slapped it against my eager face, leaving pools of spit and saliva across my cheeks. He teased my lips now with his tip, rubbing his precum like a gloss across them. I felt his grip harden then, just before pressing my mouth down onto his dick.

I struggled at first, even as he pressed, no doubt, only half of his length into my mouth, trying not to gag or move away from his unflinching presence.

Up and down he dragged me, my head starting to hurt as he used more force, moving me quicker and quicker. Sounds of struggle began to escape between each pull, gasps of air and saliva drooling like a faucet as he used me. Still, I noticed he wasn’t fully interested in me, diverting much of his attention again to the TV. I was simply a plaything for him and a boring one.

We continued at a barely maintainable pace for minutes before he got bored and switched things up. Placing both hands now at the back of my head, he planted my mouth and throat down the full length of his cock. It was suffocating as he decided to hold me there. My body twitched and revolted, but his grip was iron. Spit oozed from my nose as tears ran and blended with the rest of the mess that I was. I tried to vocalize for him to stop, but it was no use as I gagged and battled for my life.

Finally, he released the pressure on my head, sending me shooting back, only to be held once again by the hair. I spat onto the floor, all that was flooding in my mouth, trying to catch my breath. I looked up at him for mercy. Still, his gaze was on the TV. Like clockwork, now he guided me back onto his cock where he made me work and work. The lust I felt before had left, and in its place, only survival remained.

My throat bulged and battled against the intruder, but I could feel it as he forced himself past whatever physical barrier my throat had. Again and again, I was brought down to his base, where I was forced to stay for uncomfortable seconds, my nose soaking up all of his scents. Eventually, he fully released me and allowed me to fall onto my back on the floor, defeated and in dire need of rest.

Unfortunately, I could tell what he had in store for me didn’t end there. Without a word, he stood from the couch and grabbed me like a rag doll. He threw me down on the couch, then forcefully twisted me around until my head was hanging upside down over the couch.

Still struggling to catch my breath, I let out a winded and soft “Please,” which fell upon deaf ears. Instead, I was met with the sight of the man spreading his legs over my head, now placing his cock directly in front of my upside-down mouth.

He slapped his cock against my mouth expectantly, and for some reason, I obliged, opening myself to him. He now began to moan as he placed one hand on my throat and the other on my stomach for grip. Starting slow, he started fucking my throat. I could feel his dick barge through and ram against the back of my throat, where he rested his hand. He began to thrust faster and harder. My body tried to squirm away, but his pressure on me was too tight, and I couldn’t budge an inch.

He started letting off roars of moans as he fucked my throat. Tears and spit flew everywhere out of me as he put me to use. His hands felt me up between thrusts, squeezing and slapping at my skin.

“This is what you deserve,” he said coldly, thrusting even harder as he said it. He then abruptly took himself out of my throat completely, leaving it feeling almost void. “Say it. Tell me what you deserve.”

I was grasping onto straws just not to pass out, but managed to mutter, “I deserve to get my face fucked.” The sentence just came out, I wasn’t thinking it, but I suppose I believed it. The man loved hearing that and reentered the depths of my throat, going slow and deep. My lips and tongue traced the veins of his cock as he did so, languishing in its taste and the scent of the now sweaty scene. This is what I deserve.

The man then slowed and moaned what sounded like a terrifying beast screaming into the night as he pumped my mouth full of his seed. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Each thrust shot a rope of his cum deep into my throat and into my stomach as I swallowed it all down.

Finally, he provided respite as he fully pulled out and examined the scene he left. My hair was a mess with strings of spit all over the place, and my mouth still drooled nonstop.

“Sit up,” he ordered. I did so eagerly now, sitting straight on the couch and looking at the man as if to ask, “What next?”

As if reading my mind, he said, “Clean it.” And so, I did. I, now at my own pace, took his length into my mouth, licking and sucking at every inch of real estate I could. By the time I was finished he shined brand new there. I smiled at the job I left, unknowing of his keen gaze.

“Good girl,” he smiled eagerly. “Now, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying for the future.

 

The End.

 

*AI has edited this story 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. This story has been previously published on other free sites and is now public domain, which is why we can publish it here.

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