I’m 27, a virgin, and my botched circumcision left me with what I can only describe as a pathetic micropenis—barely an inch, useless, and a constant source of shame. For the last six months, I’ve been blowing ridiculous amounts of cash on camgirls, chasing the rush of small penis humiliation that makes my heart pound and my face burn. It’s become my obsession, and I can’t stop.

Every session starts the same. I log on, already hard from the anticipation, and show the cam girls my tiny dick. The camgirls’ reactions are everything—some giggle instantly, others smirk and lean closer to their screens, their eyes gleaming with cruel delight.

“Is that it?” one sneered last week, her voice dripping with mockery. “My pinky’s bigger than that, you little clit-dick loser.”

The names hit like a drug—pindick, baby dick, useless nub. I eat it up, my cheeks flaming as I stroke what little I’ve got.

They love to up the ante. One girl, a stunning brunette with a wicked grin, snapped screenshots of my pathetic cock, laughing as she promised to show her friends. “They won’t believe this tiny thing exists,” she taunted, zooming in on her camera to make sure I saw her save the pics.

Another time, a redhead pulled out a massive dildo—supposedly her boyfriend’s size—and held it up next to her face. “This is a real cock,” she said, waving it at me. “Yours doesn’t even qualify, shrimp.”

I nearly came right then, the contrast of her boyfriend’s huge dick against my pitiful nub driving me wild.

The wildest sessions are when I lean into my cumdump fantasy. I slather my face with fake cum, thick globs dripping down my chin, and tell them a group of guys just used me as their slut. One blonde camgirl lost it, calling me a “cum-slurping sissy” and demanding I lick it off for her. She took a video, giggling as she said she’d send it to her boyfriend to show him what a “worthless cuck” looks like. The humiliation burns so good I can’t stop chasing it.

I know it’s messed up, spending a fortune to be degraded like this. Still, every cruel laugh, every snapshot the girls take, every comparison to a “real man’s cock” sends me deeper into this SPH spiral.

*****

The waiting room reeked of antiseptic and nervous anticipation, the kind that makes your palms sweat and your heart race. I clutched the referral letter, my lifeline to this visit with Dr. Emily Thor, a urologist known for tackling cases like mine- private, humiliating ones. A botched circumcision from when I was a baby had left my penis scarred, a jagged mess that haunted me every time I looked down. Worse, it was small- embarrassingly so, in my mind- and it had kept me from dating, from even dreaming of intimacy. Today, I was here to find out if it could be fixed, or if I was stuck with this shame forever.

The nurse called my name, and my stomach lurched. I followed her to an exam room where Dr. Emily Thor waited, her presence instantly calming despite my nerves. She was in her early 40s, I guessed, with sharp green eyes and dark hair pulled into a neat bun. Her white coat hung loosely, but I couldn’t help noticing her poise, the kind that screamed confidence. A wedding ring glinted on her finger, anchoring my wandering thoughts. Married, of course.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Thor,” she said, her voice warm and bright, like a pediatrician soothing a scared kid. “Take a seat, let’s chat a bit.” She smiled, leaning against the desk, her eyes studying me with a mix of curiosity and kindness. “You strike me as a scholar. What’s your story?”

I shifted on the exam table, the paper crinkling loudly. “I, uh, did my Master’s in Computer Science at KTH,” I said, my voice quieter than I wanted. “Working as a software developer now.”

“KTH, that’s impressive,” she said, her smile widening. “You don’t smoke, do you? I can tell from your skin- nice and clear.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “How’d you know?”

She chuckled softly, a sound that eased the knot in my chest. “Just a hunch. You’ve got that healthy look.” Her tone was light, almost playful, but it put me at ease. “OK, let’s get to why you’re here. Tell me about the problem.”

My throat tightened, the words feeling like shards of glass. Talking about my penis to this poised, attractive woman was mortifying. “It’s… scars,” I mumbled, barely audible. “From a circumcision when I was a baby. They’re ugly, uneven. And… It’s small. I’m worried it’s not…normal.”

Her expression softened, but there was a glint in her eyes- curiosity, maybe? “I’m curious to see what we’re dealing with,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “Mind if I take a look?”

I nodded, my heart pounding as I fumbled with my belt, exposing my scarred, inadequate penis to her scrutiny. The room felt too bright, too raw, as her gloved hands moved with clinical precision, her touch sending an involuntary shiver through me. I stared at the ceiling, praying my body wouldn’t betray me.

She sat back, her face calm but thoughtful. “The scars are soft, no tightness,” she said, her tone professional yet warm. “Surgery’s possible, but it’s risky- complications could outweigh the benefits, and these don’t seem to be causing functional issues. Does it… bend or cause pain during penetration?”

My face burned. “I… haven’t had sex,” I admitted, the words heavy with shame. “I’ve been too self-conscious.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise before her smile returned, bright and reassuring. “Oh, honey, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” she said, her voice almost too cheerful. “You’re young, smart, with that KTH degree- women would be lucky to have you. You should be out there dating!”

Her confidence felt dismissive, like she didn’t grasp how the scars and size made me feel like less of a man. She kept pushing, telling me to date, to live, as if it were that simple.

As the visit ended, I mustered my courage, voice shaking. “Dr. Thor, if I… if I do start dating, and things get… sexual, should I warn my girlfriend about… this?”

I gestured vaguely, mortified. Dr. Thor laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with kindness. “There are so many ways to please a woman,” she said, her voice dropping slightly, like she was sharing a secret. “Don’t worry too much. Focus on that brilliant career of yours and get out there. You’ll be fine.”

I left the office, her words echoing- a mix of comfort and frustration. She made it sound so easy, but my insecurities clung to me like a shadow.

That night, I logged into the patient portal, curiosity gnawing at me. What did she really think? Her notes hit me like a jolt: ‘Patient presents with micropenis related anxiety issues. Scars from prior circumcision are soft, not a medical emergency. Patient developed an erection during examination, confirming no functional tightening from scars. Should be capable of penetration with a future partner.’

An erection? My heart raced, a flush of humiliation washing over me. I hadn’t felt fully hard- just a twitch, maybe, from her touch. Had I been that obvious? The thought sent a thrill of embarrassment through me, tinged with intrigue. What had she been thinking, noting that down? Did she see me differently because of it?

 

The End.

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