I’ve been utterly shattered since that night, my soul crushed into dust, and I don’t know how to piece myself back together anymore. This girl I barely knew wanted to hook up, and I swore to myself I wouldn’t chicken out, wouldn’t let my pathetic fears ruin the chance. I was going to man up, or at least pretend to, so I said yes, and we stumbled into her place to fuck. By then, I was hammered, the alcohol burning through my veins like liquid regret, but I pushed forward anyway.

I stripped off my pants, exposing myself, and she straddled me naked, her body pressing down as she fumbled with the condom wrapper. ‘You need to be hard for this,’ I muttered, but deep down, I knew it was hopeless. The booze had turned my dick into a limp, worthless nub, “shriveled and hiding like the coward it is. She glanced down, her eyes widening in shock, and then it hit: “Oh my god, it’s so fucking tiny! Like, is that even a dick? It’s just a little baby worm!”

She didn’t stop there. No, she doubled over, her laughter exploding out in waves, hysterical and cruel, echoing in my ears like knives.

“Look at this pathetic little thing! I’ve seen bigger clits on girls, you know that? How do you even call that a dick? It’s a joke, a sad little pinky finger that couldn’t satisfy a doll!” She rocked on top of me, not getting off, just grinding her hips mockingly against my flaccid shame, pointing and giggling right in my face. “No wonder you’re drunk, you need the courage because this tiny prick knows it’s useless! I bet it’s never made a girl cum, has it? Just a worthless speck, hiding in your balls like it’s embarrassed of itself.”

Over and over, she tore into me, her words slicing deeper with each repetition, her body shaking with uncontrollable mirth as tears of laughter streamed down her cheeks. I lay there frozen, my heart pounding in humiliation, feeling every inch of my inadequacy exposed and ridiculed. She pinched it lightly between her fingers, holding it up like a specimen.

“See? I can barely grip it! It’s so small, so soft, so fucking insignificant. You’re not a man. You’re a eunuch with a clit pretending to be a penis.”

The laughter kept coming, relentless, as she smeared her wetness over it just to watch it disappear under her touch, vanishing like it was never there. She finally rolled off me after what felt like an eternity of her cackling, wiping tears from her eyes as she gathered her clothes.

“Pathetic,” she sneered one last time, snapping a quick photo of my shriveled dick with her phone before dressing and slamming the door behind her.

I lay there in the dim room, naked and broken, my tiny dick still twitching uselessly from the exposure, the air thick with the scent of her arousal mixed with my shame. Sleep didn’t come that night; instead, my mind replayed her laughter, her words carving deeper into my already fractured ego.

*****

The next morning, my phone buzzed relentlessly, each notification a fresh stab. The first text from her popped up: ‘Hey, microdick! Woke up thinking about that sad little nub you call a penis. Couldn’t stop giggling. It’s so minuscule, like a button I could flick away. Bet you’ve never even penetrated anything real with that joke.’

I stared at the screen, my stomach churning, fingers trembling as I debated blocking her.

But then another came: ‘Picturing it now—soft, pink, barely an inch. I bet it hides in your pubes like it’s ashamed. No girl would ever want that worm inside her. You’d just poke around uselessly.’

I tried to ignore it, shoving my phone under a pillow, but the messages kept flooding in, each one more vicious, peeling back layers of my dignity.

‘Remember how I laughed? I wasn’t faking it. That tiny prick is hilarious. I showed the pic to my roommate—she howled! Said it looks like a clit on steroids, but even that’s generous. Yours is just a defect, a genetic fuckup.’

My face burned, heart racing as I imagined her sharing that photo, the evidence of my inadequacy spreading like wildfire. I curled up on the bed, pressing my thighs together to hide the offending organ, but it only made me feel smaller, more insignificant.

*****

By afternoon, the tone shifted from mockery to menace. Her texts came in:

‘You know, I could post this everywhere. Tag all your friends, your family. Let them see what a tiny-cocked loser you are. Imagine the reactions—’OMG, is that even real? Poor guy, no wonder he’s single.’ Unless… you send me $500 to keep quiet. Venmo it now, or I hit send.’

Panic surged through me, cold sweat breaking out as I fumbled for my wallet. My minuscule member shrank further under the stress, retreating into itself like it knew it was the source of this nightmare. I transferred the money with shaking hands, but she wasn’t done.

‘Good boy,’ she replied instantly, followed by another barrage. ‘But $500 for that pinky-dick pic? Worth every penny to hide your shame. Next time I want to see it, try to get hard—film yourself jerking that little stub. Bet it takes two fingers and disappears in your palm. If you don’t, everyone learns about the man with the baby carrot dick.’

I sobbed quietly, the weight of thirty years of self-hatred crashing down harder, this extortion twisting the knife. She kept texting through the evening: ‘Your dick’s so small, it probably gets lost in the condom. I felt nothing when I sat on it—just empty laughter. Pay up another $200, or I’ll tell your boss you’re packing a micropenis that couldn’t fuck a flea.’

Each demand came with a new humiliation, her words painting vivid pictures of my exposure.

‘Friends would roast you forever: ‘Dude, no wonder you suck at everything—starting with that useless twig between your legs.’ Send the cash, tiny, or watch your life crumble over a dick that couldn’t please a virgin.’

I paid again, drained my account, and felt more emasculated with every ping. Lying in the dark, I touched myself tentatively. Still, even alone, it felt futile, my fingers engulfing the pathetic length, no grip, no power, just a reminder of why I deserved this torment. She owned me now, her threats chaining me to this cycle of ridicule and ransom, my hatred for this defective body festering into something poisonous, eternal.

I can’t take this torment anymore. It’s eaten me alive from the inside. What karmic sin did I commit in some past life to earn this endless degradation? I adore every soul on this earth, harbor no bitterness toward anyone or anything, forgive all wrongs without a second thought—except for the monster staring back in the mirror. I despise myself with a venom that’s festered for thirty agonizing years, this tiny, useless dick the rotten core of my self-loathing, a curse I’ll never escape. It’s not just small. It’s a symbol of my failure, my inadequacy, dooming me to this pit of despair forever.

In the end, I had to go to the police to stop this horrible woman. They charged her, and I got a restraining order against her. But the humiliation just went on and on as my small dick was exposed to all those involved in the legal proceedings. I have been having counselling, and it has helped me deal with some of the issues. My doctor put me on antidepressants, and I do feel better. But every time I see my tiny dick, I know that everything this wicked woman said was right. That’s what people who aren’t in our situation can never understand, but I thought other guys with small dicks would, so I shared this story here.

I’m sorry, this is not a ‘some chick gave me SPH, and I was so turned on’ kind of story. This was an awful experience, and for many of us out here in the real world, SPH is not a turn-on…

It’s a nightmare that won’t go away.

 

The End.

 

 

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