SPH-THEMED EROTICA STORIES

It was one of those quiet afternoons at the office, the kind where the hum of the AC is the loudest thing you’ll hear. Our building’s small—barely a dozen of us crammed into cubicles—and there’s just this one unisex bathroom tucked in the back hallway. No one around, or so I thought. I’d been holding my piss for the last hour, chugging coffee to stay alert through the endless spreadsheets. By the time I bolted down the hall, my bladder was screaming.

I shoved the door open, stepped in, and flipped the lock—or at least, I meant to. My mind was elsewhere, focused on unzipping and relieving the pressure. The door clicked shut behind me, but in my rush, I didn’t double-check. Pants around my ankles would be the only way to aim straight; my cock’s too damn small when soft, just a tiny nub that shrinks even more in the chill of this place. It barely pokes past my pubes, let alone clears the fly without everything bunching up. So I hooked my thumbs in my waistband, yanked my slacks and boxers down to my knees, and gripped the base to point it at the toilet.

The stream started strong, splashing into the water and echoing off the tiles. Relief washed over me, eyes half-closed, until the door swung open with a creak. I froze, piss still flowing, as Sarah from accounting strode in, her ponytail swinging, phone in hand like she owned the place.

She stopped dead, eyes dropping straight to my exposed groin. My cock dangled there, pathetic and shrunken, the last drops trickling out as I fumbled to shake it off. No hiding it—pants at my knees, everything on full display. Her mouth fell open for a split second, then she burst out laughing, a sharp, uncontrollable cackle that bounced around the room.

“Wow,” she gasped between giggles, covering her mouth but not looking away, “it must be cold in here!” Her gaze locked on my tiny dick, shrinking further under the scrutiny, balls pulling up tight like they wanted to vanish.

Heat exploded in my face, cheeks burning as I yanked my pants up, the zipper catching on my shirt in my panic. “Shit—sorry, I thought I locked it,” I stammered, turning away, but the damage was done. She was still chuckling, leaning against the doorframe, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Yeah, well, lock it next time, Acorn,” she said, smirking as she backed out, pulling the door shut behind her.

Acorn.

The nickname hit like a slap, tying right into how small and insignificant my cock looked—barely bigger than a nut hiding in its shell.

I finished up, washed my hands with shaking fingers, and stared at my reflection. My dick was tucked away now, but the humiliation lingered, a knot in my gut that twisted lower, stirring my groin. By the time I slunk back to my desk, the whispers had started. Sarah must’ve texted the group chat; I could hear the muffled laughs from the break room. Lunch that day was hell—coworkers glancing my way, one guy from sales clapping me on the back with a grin. ‘Heard about the bathroom incident, man. Cold snap, huh?’

The rest of the week blurred into a haze of teasing. Emails with acorn emojis popped up in team threads, ‘carefully’ aimed at me. During meetings, someone would mutter “stay warm, Acorn” under their breath, and the room would snicker.

Even the boss, at first oblivious, caught on when Sarah ‘jokingly’ brought it up over coffee. “Our little Acorn’s adjusting to the chill,” she said, winking at me across the table.

I squirmed in my chair, pretending to focus on my notes, but my cock betrayed me, twitching against my thigh, half-hard from the constant reminders.

Nights after work, I’d replay it all in my head, stripping down in my apartment, standing in front of the mirror. I’d pull my pants low, watching my soft cock dangle—small, vulnerable, just like in that bathroom. “Cold in here,” I’d mimic Sarah’s voice, and my fingers would wrap around it, stroking slowly as it stiffened to its max of four inches. The shame fueled every pump: her laugh, the stares, the name sticking like glue. I’d cum hard, spurting onto the sink, gasping as the thrill of being exposed and ridiculed washed over me.

Now, months later, ‘Acorn’ is just part of office lore. It stings every time someone says it, but god, it turns me on too—the way they all know my secret, how my tiny dick became the punchline. I lock the door religiously now, but part of me wonders what it’d be like if I didn’t.

 

The End.

 

 

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