The Long Walk Home
A Fictional SPH Story by Camwhore1.
“Got you, you little-dicked loser.”
The voice was Cole’s—six-foot-four of pure gym-built muscle, a man who’d made it his mission to remind Nathan of his inadequacies since high school. Now twenty-eight, Nathan had spent years fantasizing about this exact scenario. Being taken. Humiliated. Forced.
The van door slid open and rough hands grabbed him, hauling him inside. He felt the vehicle start moving, his heart pounding against his ribs.
“How’s that micropenis doing today?” Cole’s breath was hot against Nathan’s ear. “Still pathetic? Still useless?”
Nathan’s face burned. “Y-yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir. It’s still… small.”
Cole laughed, the sound echoing in the confined space. “Small. That’s generous. I’ve seen clits bigger than that thing you call a cock.”
Nathan’s dick—barely two inches hard, barely visible soft—twitched in his pants. The humiliation went straight to his arousal every time. That was his curse. His shame. His secret kink that had consumed every masturbation session for the past decade.
The van drove for what felt like twenty minutes. Nathan lost track of direction, lost track of time. When it finally stopped, the doors opened to cool night air.
“Out.”
Strong hands yanked him from the van. His feet hit gravel, then grass. The blindfold stayed on.
“Here’s how this works,” Cole said, his voice carrying that familiar mocking tone. “I’m going to strip you naked. Every. Single. Thing. And then I’m going to drive away, and you’re going to walk home. Ten miles. Naked. With that tiny little nub bouncing around for anyone to see.”
Nathan’s breath caught. Ten miles. That would take hours.
“Please—”
“Please, what? Please don’t? Or please do?” Cole’s hand grabbed Nathan’s crotch through his jeans, squeezing roughly. “This doesn’t even fill out your pants, does it? I bet you have to buy special underwear just to keep it from looking completely flat.”
“Yes,” Nathan whispered.
“Say it. Say you have a tiny dick.”
“I have… I have a tiny dick.”
“Louder.”
“I HAVE A TINY DICK!”
The words echoed across what sounded like empty farmland. A dog barked somewhere in the distance.
Cole’s fingers found Nathan’s zipper and yanked it down. “Let’s see what we’re working with here. Let’s see if you’ve managed to grow even a little bit since high school.”
The jeans were pulled down his thighs, then off completely. His boxer briefs followed, and Nathan felt the night air kiss his exposed skin. His cock—soft, shriveled, barely a nub—was completely visible.
Cole whistled low. “Jesus Christ. It’s even smaller than I remembered. That’s not a cock. That’s a birth defect.”
Nathan stood trembling in just his t-shirt and socks.
“Shirt too. And socks. I said naked, and I meant naked.”
The shirt came off over his bound hands, the fabric catching on the zip-ties and making him wince. Cole cut the ties just long enough to remove the shirt, then bound his hands again in front of him.
“Socks.”
Nathan hopped from foot to foot as Cole pulled them off. Now he was completely nude, standing on the side of a road somewhere, his entire body exposed to the night.
“Look at you,” Cole said, and Nathan could hear the grin in his voice. “Look at that pathetic little thing. How does it feel knowing you’re not a real man? That you’ll never satisfy a woman? That every person who’s ever seen you naked has laughed about it later?”
Tears pricked at Nathan’s eyes. His tiny cock was fully hard now—all two inches of it pointing uselessly outward.
“Oh my God, you’re hard.” Cole’s voice was delighted. “This is getting you off, isn’t it? Being humiliated like the inadequate little bitch you are?”
“Yes,” Nathan choked out.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir. It’s getting me… I’m aroused.”
“Show me. Show me how you jerk that pathetic thing off.”
Nathan’s bound hands moved to his crotch. His fingers wrapped around his cock—his entire cock, because it was so small he could cover the whole thing with just his thumb and two fingers. He started stroking.
“Ha! Look at that. You don’t even need a whole hand. Just those little fingers working that little nub. Like a girl rubbing her clit.”
Nathan stroked faster, his face burning with shame, his body trembling with need.
“Stop.”
He stopped.
“Good boy. Now listen carefully. You’re going to walk home—all ten miles. You’re going to feel every rock, every twig, every piece of glass on that road against your soft little feet. And you’re going to think about what you are.”
“What… what am I?”
“A man with a tiny dick. A man who’ll never be enough. A man who deserves to be naked and humiliated and used.” Cole leaned close. “And when you get home, you’re going to remember this night. You’re going to think about me every time you look at that pathetic little thing between your legs.”
The blindfold was ripped off.
Nathan blinked in the moonlight. He was standing on a rural road, cornfields stretching out on either side. The van was idling next to him, Cole leaning out the driver’s window with his phone up.
“Smile for the camera, small-dick.”
The flash blinded him. When his vision cleared, the van was peeling away, gravel spraying, taillights disappearing into the darkness.
Nathan stood alone. Naked. Ten miles from home.
He started walking.
—
The first mile wasn’t so bad. The road was relatively smooth, and the night was warm enough that he wasn’t freezing. His feet ached from the uneven surface, but he could handle it.
His mind kept circling back to what Cole had said. Every word was true. He did have a tiny dick. He was inadequate. He would never satisfy a woman with that thing.
His cock stayed hard the entire time.
—
Mile three. A car approached from behind.
Nathan dove into the cornfield, stalks whipping at his bare skin, his heart pounding. The car slowed down—he was sure they’d seen him—but then it continued, taillights fading.
He emerged from the field with scratches across his chest and thighs, his tiny cock still jutting out obscenely.
—
Mile five. His feet were screaming. He’d stepped on something sharp—a piece of glass or metal—and his heel was bleeding. He limped along the side of the road, naked and exposed, the moonlight illuminating every inch of his inadequate body.
A farmhouse sat a hundred yards back from the road. Every light was off, but Nathan could see the outline of a doghouse in the yard. He prayed the dog wouldn’t wake up.
—
Mile seven. He was exhausted. His feet were a mess of cuts and blisters. His tiny cock had finally softened, hanging like a shriveled appendage between his thighs.
Headlights.
This time there was nowhere to hide. The car was already past him by the time he tried to scramble into the ditch. It braked hard, reversing.
Nathan stood frozen.
The window rolled down. A woman’s voice—amused, curious.
“Need some help, little guy?”
He couldn’t see her face clearly, but he could hear the smirk.
“I… I’m fine.”
“You’re naked. And you have… well, barely anything, from what I can see.”
“It’s… I’m…”
“Walk of shame gone wrong?” She laughed. “Or walk of shame gone exactly right?”
“I have to get home.”
“Ten miles back that way, there’s a gas station. They might have a phone.” She paused. “Or I could give you a ride. But you’d have to sit on a towel. I don’t want your naked little ass on my seats.”
Nathan’s face burned. “I… I can walk.”
“Suit yourself, tiny.” The window rolled up. The car pulled away.
He watched the taillights disappear.
—
Mile nine. His body was shutting down. Every step sent pain shooting up his legs. His feet were bleeding, his skin was covered in insect bites, and his tiny cock had retreated so far into his body that it was barely visible at all.
He thought about Cole. About the contract. About the safe word he’d chosen not to use.
This was what he wanted. This was what he’d paid for.
—
Mile ten. His house came into view just as the sun started to rise.
He stumbled up the driveway, naked and broken, and collapsed against his front door. His key was gone—Cole had taken everything—so he crawled around to the back, found the spare key under the fake rock, and let himself in.
He collapsed on his kitchen floor and didn’t move for an hour.
—
When he finally pulled himself up, he found his phone on the counter. A text message waited.
Unknown Number: Hope you made it home safe, tiny. I’ve got some great photos. Same time next month?
Nathan stared at the message. His tiny cock hardened.
He typed back: Yes, sir.
—
The Long Walk Home (Part 2)
Three weeks passed before Nathan received the text.
Unknown Number: Clear your schedule for Friday night. Wear something easy to remove. And those pathetic little panties you bought.
Nathan’s cock twitched. He knew exactly which panties Cole meant—the hot pink thong he’d been forced to order online during their last session, the one that barely covered his tiny nub and made him look ridiculous.
Yes, sir, he typed back.
—
Friday arrived. Nathan waited in his living room at precisely 8 PM, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt over the pink thong. His hands trembled.
At 8:15, a knock came at the door.
Nathan opened it to find Cole standing there, six-foot-four of muscle and cruelty, grinning down at him.
“There’s my favorite little-dicked loser.” Cole pushed past him into the house without invitation. “Nice place. Shame a real man doesn’t live here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Cole walked through the living room, examining Nathan’s belongings. He picked up a framed photo from the mantle—Nathan’s sister and her family.
“Family?”
“My sister. She doesn’t… she doesn’t know about…”
“About what? About your tiny cock? About how you pay men to humiliate you?” Cole set the photo down. “Everyone who’s seen you naked knows, Nathan. That’s the thing about having a micropenis. You can’t hide it. Not really.”
Nathan’s face burned.
“Show me.”
“Show you what, sir?”
“Show me what you’re wearing underneath those clothes. Show me your pathetic little panties.”
Nathan’s hands shook as he pulled down his sweatpants. The pink thong stretched across his hips, the front barely containing his soft cock—less than an inch currently, retreated from nerves.
Cole laughed. “Turn around.”
Nathan turned. The thong rode up between his ass cheeks, exposing most of his buttocks.
“Bend over.”
He bent at the waist, presenting himself.
“God, you’re desperate. You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Cole grabbed Nathan’s ass roughly, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. “I’ve got something special planned for tonight. Something worse than the walk.”
Nathan’s tiny cock stiffened.
—
The van again. Blindfold again. But this time, Cole didn’t drive as far.
When the van stopped, Cole pulled Nathan out and removed the blindfold. They were in a parking lot behind what looked like a dive bar. Neon beer signs glowed in the windows. Music thumped from inside.
“Inside. Now.”
“Sir, I’m—”
“Naked? Yes. You are.” Cole had stripped him during the drive, leaving his clothes in the van. “Don’t worry. I called ahead. The owner owes me a favor.”
Nathan stood frozen, his tiny cock soft with fear.
“Move. Or I carry you in over my shoulder, and everyone sees that little nub dangling.”
Nathan moved.
—
The bar was dimly lit and smelled of stale beer and cigarettes. A handful of men sat at tables, nursing drinks. At the bar, a woman in her forties with bleached blonde hair looked up as they entered.
Cole’s hand on the back of Nathan’s neck propelled him forward.
“Here he is,” Cole announced. “The little-dicked loser I told you about.”
The woman’s eyes dropped to Nathan’s crotch. Her lips curled into a smirk.
“Jesus. You weren’t kidding.” She came around the bar, walking slowly toward Nathan. “I’m Donna. I own this place. And you must be Tiny.”
“I… my name is Nathan.”
“Your name is whatever I say it is.” She circled him, examining his naked body. “Cole showed me the photos from your little walk. Very entertaining. But I wanted to see that pathetic thing in person.”
She stopped in front of him, staring down at his cock.
“Two inches? Is that right?”
“Two… two inches hard, ma’am.”
“Hard? You mean that little thing gets smaller when it’s soft?”
The men at the tables had turned to watch. One of them chuckled.
“Get on the bar,” Donna commanded.
“What?”
“The bar. Get up on it. On all fours. Like a dog.”
Nathan hesitated.
Cole’s hand connected with his ass, hard. The slap echoed through the bar.
“Get on the fucking bar.”
Nathan scrambled onto the bar, his hands and knees on the sticky wood. His tiny cock and balls hung down, completely exposed.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Donna announced, “this man has paid to be humiliated tonight. He has a tiny penis that has never satisfied anyone, and he knows it. He wants you to know it. So feel free to take photos, make comments, and remind him of what he is.”
A man at the nearest table stood up and approached. He looked to be in his fifties, with a beer gut and a baseball cap.
“Can I?”
“Go ahead,” Donna said. “He’s here to be used.”
The man reached out and flicked Nathan’s cock with his finger.
Nathan yelped.
“Jesus, it really is tiny.” The man laughed. “My wife would leave me if I had something like this. Hell, she complains about my six inches.”
“Six inches is twice what he’s got,” another man called out.
“Three times, when he’s soft!”
The bar erupted in laughter.
Nathan’s cock hardened to its full two inches, jutting out beneath him.
“Look at that!” Donna pointed. “He likes it! The little pervert is getting hard from being mocked!”
She grabbed his cock between her thumb and forefinger, squeezing.
“This is it? This is what you’ve got to offer?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Say it. Say this is all you have to offer.”
“This… this is all I have to offer.”
“A woman would need a microscope to find your g-spot,” she continued. “You’ve never made a woman come, have you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Have you ever even fucked a woman? With that thing?”
“I… I tried once. She laughed and left.”
More laughter.
“Get this,” Donna announced to the bar. “He tried to fuck a woman once, and she laughed and left.”
Cole stepped forward, phone out. “I got that on video. For his personal collection.”
—
For two hours, Nathan stayed on the bar. Strangers touched his cock, flicked it, measured it against beer bottles and shot glasses. Someone produced a ruler and announced his size to the room.
“Two inches exactly! And about as thick as my pinky finger!”
Photos were taken. Videos were recorded. Nathan’s face was included in every shot.
By midnight, his knees ached from the hard surface, and his cock was red from handling. But he’d also leaked precum onto the bar.
“Disgusting,” Donna said, pointing at the small puddle. “Clean it up.”
Nathan looked around for a cloth.
“With your tongue.”
He stared at her.
“Clean up your pathetic little mess with your tongue. Now.”
Nathan lowered his face to the bar and licked up his own precum while the bar patrons watched and laughed and recorded.
—
“Same time next month?” Cole asked as they left.
Nathan’s feet were bare again, his clothes left behind. But this time, Cole had given him a pair of bright pink heels to wear.
“Where are my clothes?”
“Donna’s keeping them. Souvenirs.” Cole grinned. “Now walk. Eight miles this time. In those heels.”
Nathan looked down at the ridiculous shoes on his feet.
“Yes, sir.”
He started walking, his tiny cock bouncing with each painful step.
—
The heels were a size too small.
Nathan realized this by the second mile, when his toes began to ache, and the balls of his feet throbbed with every step on the rough asphalt. The pink stilettos had seemed humiliating enough when Cole first handed them to him, but now they were instruments of torture.
His tiny cock had softened completely, shriveled to less than an inch in the cool night air. It bounced pathetically with each awkward, teetering step.
Eight miles. In heels. On a country road.
He’d already fallen twice. His knees were scraped and bleeding, and his ankles threatened to give out with every few steps. The heels clicked loudly on the pavement—a sound that seemed to echo through the empty darkness.
—
At mile four, headlights appeared behind him.
Nathan’s heart slammed against his ribs. He stumbled off the road, nearly twisting an ankle as his heel caught on a rock. He hid behind a thick bush, naked except for the ridiculous shoes, his breath coming in sharp gasps.
The car slowed.
They see me. They have to see me.
The vehicle crept past, windows down. Music blared from inside—some rap song Nathan didn’t recognize. A young woman’s voice rang out.
“Did you see something? I swear I saw something pink.”
“Probably just a deer,” a male voice answered.
The car lingered for another moment before accelerating away.
Nathan waited until the taillights disappeared before emerging from behind the bush. His hands shook as he brushed leaves and dirt from his naked body. His cock was barely visible now, a tiny nub of flesh barely protruding from his pubic hair.
—
Mile five. His feet were bleeding.
The heels had rubbed his ankles and toes raw, and he’d developed blisters on the balls of his feet. Every step sent sharp pain shooting up his legs.
But his cock was hard again.
Two inches of pathetic arousal.
He couldn’t help it. The humiliation, the exposure, the knowledge that Cole was probably watching from somewhere—tracking him on some app, laughing at his suffering—it all made his tiny cock stiffen.
He reached down and touched himself. The little erection barely filled his fingers.
“Disgusting,” he muttered out loud. “You’re disgusting.”
His cock twitched at the insult.
—
Mile six brought another close call.
A pickup truck approached from the opposite direction, slowing as it passed. The driver leaned toward the passenger window.
“You lost, buddy?”
Nathan froze. The man was in his thirties, wearing a trucker hat, his face illuminated by the dashboard lights.
“I… I’m fine.”
“You’re naked. In pink heels. On Route 9.” The man’s face shifted from confusion to amusement. “Oh. Oh, I get it. You’re one of those freaks who gets off on this shit.”
Nathan said nothing.
“Let me see it.”
“Wh-what?”
“Your cock. I want to see what kind of man walks around naked in heels.” The man grinned. “Come on. Show me, or I call the cops.”
Nathan stepped closer to the truck, his feet screaming in protest. He positioned himself in the headlights’ glow, fully exposed.
The man burst out laughing.
“Holy shit! That’s the smallest dick I’ve ever seen! Is that even real?” He pulled out his phone. “My wife is never going to believe this.”
“Please don’t—”
“Shut up, Tiny. You’re the one walking around naked. Fair game.” He snapped several photos. “Thanks for the show, loser.”
The truck peeled away, tires squealing on the asphalt.
Nathan stood in the road, his face burning, his tiny cock somehow even harder than before.
—
Mile seven. His left heel snapped.
He went down hard, scraping his palms and twisting his knee. The broken shoe lay beside him, useless now.
He picked it up and kept walking, one heel intact, one foot bare. The asymmetry made his gait even more awkward, more ridiculous. His limp was pronounced now, his body screaming for rest.
His cock had softened again, exhausted like the rest of him.
—
Mile eight. His house.
Nathan collapsed against his front door, fumbling for the hidden key. His fingers were too weak, too shaky. He slid to the ground, naked and broken, covered in dirt and blood and sweat.
His phone buzzed in his hand—the only thing Cole had let him keep.
Unknown Number: Send a photo of yourself at the front door. Full body. Face included.
Nathan raised the camera with trembling hands and snapped the picture. He looked pathetic—scraped, bruised, one heel still on, his tiny cock barely visible between his legs.
Good boy. See you next month. Donna wants to invite friends.
Nathan’s cock twitched.
Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.
He crawled inside, leaving a trail of dirt and blood on the hardwood floor. He didn’t bother cleaning himself. He didn’t bother getting up. He lay on the cold floor, his tiny cock soft against his thigh, and waited for the sun to rise.
—
Nathan woke to sunlight streaming through his window and the sound of his doorbell ringing.
He was still on the floor, crusted with dirt and dried blood, his feet swollen and bruised. One pink heel remained on his right foot, the broken stiletto digging into his ankle.
The doorbell rang again.
“Coming,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. He tried to stand, but his legs buckled. He crawled to the door instead, pulling himself up by the handle.
Cole stood on the porch, grinning, phone in hand.
“Morning, Tiny. Thought you might need a ride to work.”
Nathan stared at him. “What?”
“You’re due at the office in an hour. Unless you want to call in sick?” Cole’s grin widened. “But then I’d have to tell HR about the photos from last night. The ones at the bar. The ones where you’re spreading your legs for strangers.”
Nathan’s stomach dropped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” Cole pushed past him into the house. “Shower. Now. I’ll pick out your clothes.”
—
The shower stung Nathan’s scraped skin. He watched the water run brown and pink down the drain—dirt, blood, and the remnants of his dignity.
When he emerged, towel wrapped around his waist, Cole was waiting in his bedroom. On the bed lay a pair of white briefs—too small, clearly a size beneath what Nathan normally wore—and tan pants that looked suspiciously tight.
“Put them on.”
Nathan dressed in silence. The briefs compressed his cock and balls into a smooth, nearly flat bulge. The pants were indeed tight, clinging to his ass and thighs, making his lack of endowment even more obvious.
“Perfect.” Cole circled him, appraising. “Now the shirt.”
A white button-up, also too small. It pulled across Nathan’s chest and shoulders, the fabric straining at the buttons.
“You look like a stuffed sausage,” Cole laughed. “But at least no one will notice your tiny dick in these pants. Well, not unless they’re looking for it.”
He reached out and grabbed Nathan’s crotch through the fabric, squeezing hard.
“Which they will be.”
—
The office was torture.
Nathan sat at his desk, his tight pants digging into his waist, his compressed cock aching in the tiny briefs. Every time he shifted, the fabric rubbed against his raw, scraped thighs.
Around noon, his coworker Donna stopped by his desk.
“Nathan! You look… different today.” Her eyes traveled down his body, lingering on his crotch. “New pants?”
“Y-yes.”
“They’re very… fitted.” She smiled. “Working out?”
“No, I—”
“Cole mentioned you had an interesting night.” She leaned closer. “He showed me something on his phone. Quite educational.”
Nathan’s face burned. “Donna, I—”
“Relax, Tiny. Your secret’s safe with me.” She winked and walked away, her hips swaying deliberately.
—
At 5 PM, Cole appeared at Nathan’s desk.
“Time to go.”
“Go where?”
“My place. Donna’s coming over. A few others too.” He placed his hand on Nathan’s shoulder, squeezing. “You’re the entertainment.”
—
Cole’s living room was full.
Six people sat in a circle—three women, three men. Nathan recognized Donna from work. The others were strangers, but all of them looked at him with the same hungry amusement.
“Everyone, this is Nathan.” Cole pushed him forward. “Show them what you’ve got, Tiny.”
Nathan stood frozen.
“The pants, Nathan. Take them off.”
His hands shook as he unbuttoned the tight pants and let them fall. The white briefs beneath were already damp with sweat, his tiny bulge barely visible.
“The briefs too.”
Nathan closed his eyes and pulled them down.
The room erupted in laughter.
“Oh my god, it’s even smaller than in the photos!” Donna squealed. “It looks like a baby carrot!”
“Is that it? Is that fully hard?” A blonde woman leaned forward. “Make it hard. I want to see if it grows.”
“Stroke it, Tiny,” Cole commanded.
Nathan wrapped his fingers around his cock and began pumping. Even fully erect, his two inches barely protruded from his fist.
“Pathetic,” a man muttered. “My ten-year-old son is bigger.”
“Let me see.” The blonde woman stood and approached. She reached out and flicked his cock with her finger.
Nathan yelped, his cock softening immediately.
“Aww, did that hurt?” She grabbed his balls and squeezed. “These are small too. I bet you can’t even cum properly.”
“I… I can…”
“Prove it.” She released him and stepped back. “Jerk that tiny thing until you spill your worthless load.”
Nathan stroked himself faster, his cock hardening again despite the humiliation. The room watched, phones out, recording his degradation.
“Look at him go,” Donna laughed. “Two fingers is all he needs!”
“Finger-sized for a finger-sized dick,” someone added.
Nathan felt his orgasm building. His balls tightened, his breath quickened—
“Stop.”
Cole’s voice cut through the air. Nathan’s hand froze.
“Hands at your sides.”
“But I was—”
“I said hands at your sides.”
Nathan obeyed. His cock twitched pathetically, desperate for release, leaking precum onto the hardwood floor.
“Look at that. He’s dripping.” The blonde woman laughed. “He’s so close.”
“Clean it up, Nathan.” Cole pointed at the floor. “With your tongue.”
Nathan dropped to his knees and bent forward. His tongue touched the cold wood, lapping up his own precum while the room laughed and photographed his humiliation.
“Good boy.” Cole crouched beside him. “Now stand up and put your hands behind your head.”
Nathan rose, his cock still hard, his face burning with shame.
“This is your life now,” Cole spoke quietly, for Nathan’s ears only. “You’re mine. Your tiny dick is mine. Your humiliation is mine. Every month, we’ll do this again—new people, new torments, new ways to remind you that you’ll never be a real man.”
Nathan’s cock twitched.
“You like that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Nathan whispered. “Yes, sir.”
“Louder.”
“Yes, sir! I like it! I’m yours!”
The room applauded.
—
Epilogue
Six months later, Nathan knelt in Cole’s basement, naked except for a pink collar around his neck.
The gatherings had become monthly events. Word had spread through certain circles about the man with the micropenis who would do anything he was told. Attendance had grown from six to twenty.
Donna had become a regular participant, often bringing new friends from the office. Nathan had long since stopped trying to hide his condition from his coworkers. Everyone knew. Everyone had seen. Everyone had laughed.
His cock, permanently softened from months of denial and humiliation, measured exactly one and a half inches soft, two inches hard. The constant exposure had made him numb to the shame—or so he told himself.
But every night, alone in his bed, he stroked his tiny erection and remembered every moment. Every flick. Every squeeze. Every laugh. Every photo.
And he came harder than he ever had before Cole.
—
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: New location tonight. Wear the pink heels—the broken ones.
Nathan typed back with trembling fingers.
Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.
He dressed slowly, pulling on the heels that had tortured him for eight miles. His cock hardened to its pathetic two inches.
He was ready.
THE END.
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