Stealing More Than Clothes
By SunshineLollipop.
“That’s Devon,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice trembling with barely contained excitement. “He works at the mill. I’ve been watching him for weeks from my window.”
Alicent’s breath caught as Devon turned slightly, giving them a better view of his lean body. Water dripped from his shoulders, tracing paths down his spine. But it wasn’t his back that held Alicent’s attention—it was what she could see between his legs as he shifted, the water occasionally parting to reveal his cock.
“Look at it,” Alicent murmured, unable to hide the smirk creeping onto her face. “When he came out of the water… it was so small. All shriveled and pathetic.”
“I know,” Rhaenyra giggled. “Every time I watch him, it’s the same. He thinks he’s some handsome man bathing like a god, but he’s got nothing to show for it.”
They watched in silence as Devon finished his bath, wading toward the shore. His cock hung soft and tiny between his thighs, hardly more than a nub, bouncing with each step. Alicent felt a rush of cruel delight. This was too perfect.
“Now,” Rhaenyra whispered, nudging her friend. “While he’s still facing the water.”
Alicent nodded, and together they crept around the boulder to where Devon’s clothes lay in a heap on a flat rock. A simple shirt, trousers, and undergarments—nothing special. Rhaenyra scooped them up with a triumphant grin.
“We can’t leave him here naked,” Alicent said, though her voice held no pity.
“Maybe we can’t, but I can!” Rhaenyra laughed, clutching the bundle to her chest. She took one last look at Devon’s bare back, his small cock still on full display as he wrung water from his hair. “Tell him you saw someone run off with these to the market! He’ll think someone’s selling his clothes!”
Alicent’s eyes sparkled. “Rhaenyra, that’s malicious! I love it! Go! Go!”
She sent Rhaenyra off into the trees, then quickly positioned herself back behind the boulder, peeking over the edge. Devon was shaking off the cold, shivering, and walking up the shore. His shriveled cock bounced between his legs—a tiny, unimpressive thing that barely moved with each step.
As he drew closer, Alicent stepped out from behind the rock, gasping dramatically.
“Oh! Devon! I… I didn’t mean to—” She covered her mouth, eyes wide, staring directly at his naked body. But her gaze lingered deliberately on his crotch.
Devon froze, his face flushing crimson. He instinctively tried to cover himself with his hands, but his small cock was so insignificant that his palm nearly concealed it entirely.
“Where—where are my clothes?” he stammered.
“I saw someone!” Alicent said, her voice high and panicked. “A man! He ran off toward the market with a bundle. I thought it looked like clothes, but I didn’t realize—Oh, this is terrible!”
She stepped closer, feigning concern, but her eyes never left his groin. “You must be so embarrassed. I mean, to be caught out here like this, with that on display.”
Devon’s hands trembled as he tried to cover himself more fully, but Alicent shook her head with mock sympathy.
“It’s no use hiding it, Devon. I saw it clearly. All of it. Or… should I say, all of what’s there.” She let out a light, musical laugh. “Honestly, I’ve seen bigger on a baby. How do you ever satisfy a woman with that? Do they even feel it?”
Tears welled in Devon’s eyes. He was completely vulnerable—naked, exposed, and now humiliated beyond anything he’d ever imagined.
“Please,” he whispered, “just help me find my clothes.”
“Oh, I’ll help you find more than that,” Alicent said, her tone darkening with amusement. “I’ll help you understand just how laughable you are. Now, walk toward the market. Let everyone see what a pathetic little man you truly are. Maybe someone will take pity on you and toss you a rag to cover that thing.”
Devon hesitated, but Alicent grabbed his arm, forcing him forward along the path that led directly to the village square.
“Walk,” she commanded. “And don’t try to hide. I want everyone to see.”
As they emerged from the tree line, the first few villagers turned their heads. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Children pointed and laughed. Women snickered behind their hands, and men openly jeered.
“Look at that tiny cock!” shouted a baker from his stall.
“Does he even have balls?” cried a fishwife.
Devon’s face burned. He wanted to run, to disappear, but Alicent’s grip was firm, and her voice rang out loud and clear.
“Everyone! Come, see! This is Devon, the mill boy! He was caught bathing in the lake, and now he has nothing to cover his little embarrassment! Take a good look—you won’t see anything impressive!”
The crowd gathered, forming a circle around him. Men pointed and laughed. Women made crude comments about what they’d do—or rather, wouldn’t do—with a man so poorly endowed.
Alicent pushed him to the center of the square, where a stone platform was used for announcements. She forced him up the steps, making him stand on display for all to see.
“Turn around,” she ordered. “Let them see the full picture.”
Devon obeyed, tears streaming down his face. His tiny cock hung flaccid, barely visible against his thigh. The crowd erupted in fresh laughter.
“Maybe we should measure it,” Rhaenyra called out, emerging from the crowd with Devon’s clothes still in her arms. She held up a small ruler. “Let’s see if it even reaches an inch.”
She climbed onto the platform and knelt before him, pressing the ruler against his groin. The crowd quieted, leaning in to see the result.
“Half an inch,” Rhaenyra announced with mock gravity. “Half an inch of pure disappointment.”
The crowd howled. Women clutched their stomachs, men slapped their knees. Even the children, though they didn’t fully understand, joined in the mockery.
Alicent took the ruler from Rhaenyra and flicked Devon’s cock with it, making him flinch. “Does it even get hard? Or is it always this useless?”
“I—I can get hard,” Devon stammered, his voice breaking.
“Prove it,” Alicent said, her eyes narrowing. “Get hard right now. Show everyone that you’re at least capable of that.”
Devon shook his head, but Rhaenyra grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her.
“Do it, or I’ll sell your clothes, and you’ll walk home naked through the entire town.”
With shame burning through him, Devon closed his eyes and tried to will himself to an erection. But the humiliation, the laughter, the crowd—everything conspired against him. His cock remained a pathetic, shriveled nub.
“See?” Alicent announced. “He can’t even do that. He’s completely impotent. A waste of a man.”
Rhaenyra laughed, tossing his clothes into the crowd. The villagers snatched them up, tearing them apart and flinging scraps into the air.
“No!” Devon cried, but it was too late. His clothes were gone, shredded, scattered.
“Now walk home,” Alicent said, pushing him off the platform. “And don’t you dare cover yourself. Let everyone remember what a tiny, worthless cock you have. Let it be a lesson to all men who think they’re something special.”
Devon stumbled through the village, naked and exposed, while the crowd followed, taunting and laughing. Women spat at his feet. Men threw rotten vegetables. Children pelted him with pebbles.
By the time he reached his small cottage on the outskirts, his body was bruised, his spirit crushed. He collapsed inside, sobbing, knowing that his life would never be the same.
Meanwhile, Rhaenyra and Alicent returned to their spot by the lake, giggling and recounting every detail.
“Did you see his face when you measured him?” Rhaenyra laughed.
“Half an inch!” Alicent cackled. “I’ve seen bigger on a newborn. I don’t know how his mother didn’t laugh when he was born.”
They sat on the boulder, basking in the morning sun, already planning their next victim.
“Who else has been bathing in the lake?” Alicent asked, a wicked gleam in her eye.
Rhaenyra smiled, pulling out a small notebook from her pocket. “I’ve been keeping a list.”
The List
Rhaenyra flipped open her small leather notebook, its pages filled with crude sketches and observations written in her elegant but hasty script. Alicent leaned over her shoulder, breath warm against her friend’s neck as they sat on the mossy boulder by the lake.
“Let’s see,” Rhaenyra murmured, trailing her finger down the list. “There’s Thomas, the blacksmith’s apprentice. I’ve seen him swimming after dark. He’s got a thick body, but I caught a glimpse once—his cock was no bigger than my thumb.”
Alicent giggled. “A blacksmith who can’t forge a proper tool? That’s ripe for mockery.”
“Then there’s the baker’s son, young William. He’s only sixteen, but he’s already cocky—pun intended. He struts around town like he’s God’s gift. I watched him last week from the hayloft. When he thought no one was looking, he pulled out his cock to piss behind the mill. It was thin, pale, and barely stretched past his fingers.”
“Perfect,” Alicent said, her eyes gleaming. “A boy who needs to be knocked down a few pegs.”
Rhaenyra turned the page. “But the best one—the one I’ve been saving—is Father Marcus.”
Alicent’s eyebrows shot up. “The priest? He’s supposed to be celibate!”
“He claims to be celibate,” Rhaenyra corrected with a wicked smile. “But I’ve seen him. He goes to the old well behind the chapel every evening to wash. He thinks no one can see him from the road, but I found a spot in the bell tower. And last Tuesday, I watched him scrub himself. His cock was soft, wrinkled, and so tiny it practically disappeared into his pubic hair. I could barely tell he had one.”
Alicent clapped her hands. “A holy man with a holy nothing! This is too good. We have to humiliate him in front of the entire congregation.”
“We will,” Rhaenyra said, closing the notebook and tucking it into her pocket. “But we need a plan. Father Marcus is clever. He won’t fall for the same trick we used on Devon.”
“Then we need something more elaborate,” Alicent said, tapping her chin. “Something that exposes his hypocrisy and his inadequacy.”
—
The next evening, as the sun dipped behind the chapel’s spire, Rhaenyra and Alicent positioned themselves in the bell tower. The wooden floor creaked beneath their feet, and the ropes for the bells hung loosely beside them. Through a narrow window, they had a perfect view of the old stone well in the chapel’s courtyard, surrounded by overgrown rose bushes.
“We’ll wait until he’s completely undressed,” Rhaenyra whispered. “Then I’ll ring the bell—just once, softly—to make him think someone’s coming. He’ll panic and try to cover himself, but we’ll already be in position.”
“And then?” Alicent asked.
“Then you’ll step out from behind the well, pretending to be a penitent seeking confession. You’ll catch him naked, and I’ll descend from the bell tower with a witness.”
Alicent frowned. “What witness?”
Rhaenyra smiled and pulled a folded piece of parchment from her bodice. “I’ve already sent a note to Mistress Greta, the town gossip. She thinks I’ve found evidence of the priest’s secret lover—another man. She’ll be here at dusk, hiding in the bushes. She’ll see everything.”
“Brilliant,” Alicent breathed.
They waited in silence as the shadows lengthened. Footsteps echoed on the cobblestones below, and Father Marcus appeared, a small bundle under his arm. He was a handsome man in his forties, with gray-streaked hair and a kindly face that he used to great effect during sermons. He approached the well, set down his bundle, and began to undress.
His cassock fell first, revealing a plain linen shirt and trousers. He unbuttoned the shirt slowly, then hesitated, glancing around the courtyard. Satisfied he was alone, he pulled off his trousers and undergarments in one motion.
Rhaenyra stifled a laugh. There it was—Father Marcus’s cock, hanging soft and shriveled between his legs. It was barely visible, a tiny nub nestled in a thicket of gray hair. His balls were small and tight, pulled up close to his body. He looked like a child who had yet to grow into his manhood.
He took a bucket from the well’s edge, filled it with water, and poured it over his head. Water cascaded down his chest, past his belly, and dripped off his pathetic little cock. He shivered and began to rub his arms and shoulders vigorously.
“Now,” Rhaenyra whispered, pulling the bell rope gently.
A single, resonant dong echoed across the courtyard. Father Marcus froze, his eyes wide. He grabbed his shirt and tried to cover his groin, but the shirt was too thin, and his cock still poked out obscenely beneath the fabric—though barely.
Alicent stepped out from behind the well, her expression one of exaggerated shock.
“Father Marcus! Forgive me—I was seeking evening confession, I didn’t mean to—oh, dear Lord—”
She pressed a hand to her mouth, but her eyes were fixed on the bulge—or rather, the lack of it—in his makeshift covering.
“Please, my child, this is not—I was merely bathing—” He stammered, trying to turn away, but Alicent moved with him, keeping her gaze locked.
“I understand, Father. We all have needs. But I confess, I’m surprised. A man of God such as yourself… I expected more substance in your devotion.” She let her voice drip with mock piety. “Is that truly all there is? I’ve heard rumors, of course, but I never believed them.”
Father Marcus’s face went from red to white. “Rumors? What rumors?”
“That you were… incomplete. That God had not blessed you with a man’s full measure.” Alicent stepped closer, reaching out as if to touch his covered crotch. He jerked back, dropping the shirt in the process. His tiny cock hung exposed, glistening with water.
At that moment, Rhaenyra descended the bell tower stairs and emerged into the courtyard, followed by Mistress Greta, who had been hiding in the rose bushes, her eyes wide and hungry.
“Mistress Greta!” Father Marcus cried, scrambling to cover himself with his hands. “This is not what it seems!”
“Oh, I think it’s exactly what it seems,” Mistress Greta said, her voice carrying the unmistakable lilt of a woman about to spread the most delicious gossip. “A holy man, naked as a babe, with a cock no bigger than a babe’s. I wonder what the bishop would say about this.”
“Please,” Father Marcus begged, tears forming in his eyes. “I have devoted my life to the church. This—this humiliation—it would destroy me.”
“Then perhaps you should have been more careful,” Rhaenyra said coolly. “Or perhaps you should have been born with something worth hiding.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small measuring tape—taken from her embroidery kit. “Mistress Greta, would you do the honors? I think the town deserves to know the exact dimensions of their priest’s… piety.”
Mistress Greta cackled and took the tape. Father Marcus tried to back away, but Alicent grabbed his wrists and held them behind his back, forcing him to stand straight.
“Hold still, Father,” Alicent hissed in his ear. “Let us measure your devotion.”
Mistress Greta knelt before him, her wrinkled hands rough as she pressed the tape against the base of his soft cock. Father Marcus whimpered as she stretched it to the tip.
“One inch,” she announced with glee. “One inch flaccid. And cold as a winter morning. I doubt it gets much larger even when inspired.”
She let go, and his cock flopped back against his thigh, utterly insignificant.
“A man of God, indeed,” Rhaenyra said. “Tell me, Father, do you ever think about sin? About lust? Or does your body simply refuse to participate?”
Father Marcus’s face crumpled. “I… I have taken vows of celibacy. My body is a vessel for the Lord’s work, not for earthly pleasures.”
“A convenient excuse,” Alicent said, releasing his wrists. “But we know the truth. You’re not celibate by choice—you’re celibate by necessity. No woman would want that pathetic little thing inside her. No man would either.”
“Please… don’t tell the congregation,” he whispered. “I’ll do anything.”
Rhaenyra smiled slowly. “Anything?”
“Yes. Anything.”
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Then you will stand before the congregation next Sunday and give a sermon on humility. And at the end, you will confess—not your sin of bathing, but your sin of pride. You will tell them that you have been humbled by the Lord, shown the true measure of your inadequacy. You will tell them that God made you small so you would never forget your place before Him.”
Father Marcus’s eyes widened in horror. “You want me to humiliate myself in front of everyone?”
“I want you to admit the truth,” Rhaenyra said. “And we will be there, in the front pew, watching. If you deviate from the script, Mistress Greta will have a letter delivered to the bishop by noon.”
Mistress Greta nodded eagerly.
Father Marcus sagged, defeated. “I… I will do as you say.”
“Good,” Alicent said, picking up his discarded clothes and tossing them into the well. “Now walk home naked. Let the night air cool your shame. And remember, Father—we are always watching.”
He stumbled away into the darkness, his bare ass pale and his tiny cock bouncing uselessly between his legs. The three women watched him go, laughter bubbling up from their throats.
“Well,” Mistress Greta said, wiping tears from her eyes, “this is the best gossip I’ve had in years. I can’t wait for Sunday.”
“Neither can we,” Rhaenyra said, pulling out her notebook and making a new entry. “That’s two down. How many more are on the list?”
Alicent looked over her shoulder. The list was long. And they had all summer.
To Be Continued…?
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