The Tightening 2: Part 1

Pete sits at his desk shuffling the Johnson papers, his thoughts anywhere but on probate. Something is eating them up like a glutton at a buffet. Something that could alter his life forever. It’s to do with his pretty wife, Heather, and one of the partners at his law firm, Harry Pendling.

Two little sentences were overheard at the club yesterday: “She’s a tease. I’m gonna fuck her.”

They are all Pete can hold in his mind. They frighten him paralytically as if there’s nothing he can do to stop them coming true. What frightens him more is that he almost wants them to come true.

*****

Gail made good on her promise and set her brother Pete up with her girlfriend Heather within a couple of weeks. Heather, similar to so many women who had undergone the Vartan Procedure–a relatively new vaginal tightening surgery–was purportedly seeking an undersized man to go with her newly tight lady parts. Pete had never heard of such a thing when Gail told him about the small penis craze among Vartan girls, shortly before the bathroom incident. You remember, his sister played nurse and checked out his goods in the bathroom to ensure he fits Heather’s criteria. An incident over which Pete had countless masturbatory sessions between it and his blind date with Heather.

He thought he’d obsess over the incident for the rest of his life, but as soon as he met Heather thoughts of that night flew from his mind. By the dim light of her apartment stoop, Heather struck Pete as surprisingly attractive as he picked her up. He wasn’t expecting Gail to pass as hot a friend off on her celibate brother, with or without the rising stock for small-dicked men. She had curly blonde hair, much like his sister. Petite body, unlike Gail. Small of the chest, but the rest of her had a feminine shape. Pretty face, shiny white teeth, with plump, pink lips.

Heather was easily the best looking girl Pete had ever dated. She was also the flattest girl he remembered seeing outside of junior high. He thought maybe under development was something they’d have in common, but it’s not the same for girls. No one thinks less of smaller breasted girls the way they think less of men with tiny penises. And Pete was definitely less of a man than Heather was accustomed to, as she would discover in due course.

“Hey, Pete. Gimme a sec; I have to drop Curly off at the neighbors,” said Heather.

Didn’t mention she was holding a dog, one of those yappy toy breeds. Heather was giggly and flighty; as energetic as the dog, which wiggled excitedly in her arms. Pete got the sense she might be a silly girl, which was fine with him. But the way Gail described it, she was looking for someone with whom to settle down. This didn’t seem like the settling kind of girl.

“That’s okay. I can wait in the car, or…”

Pete felt weak and indecisive already. Moderately scared, too, because Gail informed him Heather was used to take-charge guys. He wanted to leave a strong impression.

“Seriously, it’ll take a sec. Don’t worry.”

With that, Heather disappeared down a flight of stairs. Pete waited three to five minutes. He worked up a few lines to shoot at her when she returned, but upon seeing her again, he was at a loss and simply motioned to the car.

“Shall we go?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

He opened the door for her, and she smiled. “Where are you taking me?”

“I’ve heard nothing but good things about Charlie’s.”

“Oh, that’s played out…I know where to go. Get on the 13, and I’ll guide you from there.”

Heather was in control of everything at this point. Pete had calmed in comparison to his original trepidation. Let her take charge, what’s the difference? He knew she was interested in what he had to offer if you know what I mean. For her part, Heather thought Pete was cute. Well put-together, though not too stylish. A sound, stable man, as his sister described him. Pete wasn’t going to wow her. She’d been with a Division I athlete who owned a chain of car dealerships, a male model with a trust fund, and a millionaire investment banker. All were Pete’s social, financial, and physical–if not intellectual–superiors.

All were also selfish and aggressive lovers who maintained the upper hand in the relationship, which made her feel small. They also tended to cheat on her, which she and Pete had in common. Not that they shared that on the first date. Pete was too shy to open up, and Heather wasn’t in the habit of sob-storying her dinner companions. Their conversation consisted primarily of getting-to-know-you. Halfway through, Pete felt as if he were on a job interview.

“How long have you been with the firm?…Are you in for the long haul?…When do you see yourself making partner?”

As she had him map out his career, he didn’t receive any more information from her than that she worked at a clothing boutique and hated her boss. Heather decided within thirty seconds of meeting Pete not to sleep with him for a while. This date and many to come were part of an elaborate screening process intended to help her turn over a new leaf. Instead of being pursued by alpha males, she wanted to take a nice guy like Pete and build him up into something. What Gail told her about his penis size was part of the plan. Thanks to the Vartan

Procedure and what people were calling the Cherry Bomb–pop-singer Cherry’s revelation that after undergoing the procedure she cheated on her stud of a husband with a smaller man–having an undersized lover was fashionable. Heather used to consider herself lucky in that she never saw a small penis. Her lovers were uniformly hung. A conscious effort would be necessary to stop picking the kind of guy who usually turned her on. They tended to be hung. Pete wasn’t getting her hot or anything, though she could see herself sleeping with him eventually. Sacrificing sex in the meantime would be worth it. Gail also told her Pete didn’t date or womanize in general.

In fact, she guessed he hadn’t taken a lover for years. So Heather needn’t worry about Pete chucking her over if she denied him. As a side benefit, maybe she’d have the upper hand in a relationship for once. Sex was on Pete’s mind more than on any date in his life. Probably because of how Gail introduced the set-up to him, plus the sexual charge he got from the bathroom incident. But he knew Heather wouldn’t fall for him just because he had a tiny penis, any more than she’d go ga-ga over his stable career or a nice car. He’d have to work on her, patiently, over time. As he had with every other girl, he’d ever bedded. Except hopefully, she wouldn’t end up walking all over him. After two hours of awkward chitchat and interrogation, Pete’s seduction hadn’t gotten anywhere.

Heather had him drop her off at 9 o’clock without so much as a peck on the cheek. He got that much from his sister! Pete masturbated swiftly and furiously at home. He didn’t even wait to take off his clothes and stroked himself with his thumb and forefingers through his fly. Over the next several days, he jerked off to the thought of Heather often enough that he had to invent rules about how many times he was allowed per day.

Day after day passed, and he waited. Pete didn’t want to reach out to Heather and appear desperate, but he feared she’d never get back to him after their mediocre night together. Which left him at an impasse. Luckily, Heather texted him within the week.

“Had a great time…hope to see you again,” that sort of thing.

Pete was confounded by her initiative but didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. The two of them met for a walk through a flower garden two days later. Then lunch on the promenade, and subsequently a classical music concert in the park. Still, nothing moved on the sex front. That is, until their second month together, when he pleased her with a story about landing a client. She let him make out with her and feel her up over her clothes on the couch at his place. She left him with blue balls, and he couldn’t care less. Two weeks later, after Heather got off her shift at the store, she finally allowed him in her apartment.

It was more of a mess than he had imagined, which he considered discourteous. He cleaned for hours prior to dates, just to make an impression. Heather was a borderline hoarder, which Pete wouldn’t have guessed from her appearance in the outside world. Little did he know, she was an ambitious girl who wanted money, power, social position, the whole thing. That left no time, in her mind at least, for mundane tasks. Honestly, though, Heather has been messy since she was a toddler. That is part of her personality. Housekeeping and cooking are beyond her. Hence the take-out wrappers and general disarray, up to and including an accident from her dog. For which she apologized profusely and cleaned up as soon as Pete eyed it.

There were limits. Speaking of plans, that night in her apartment Heather grilled Pete on his life goals: five-year, ten-year, thirty-year. When she heard what she desired, she rewarded him with a quickie hand-job over his slacks. Not that she thought of it this way, but Heather was conditioning Pete through sexual behaviorism. Every time he was a good boy he received a treat. If she ever needed to come up with punishment, she’d be more than happy to do so.

But that hadn’t been necessary yet. Meanwhile, her small, white hand rubbed furiously over the limited area of the crotch covering Pete’s little stiffy. He breathed heavily, wanting to grab onto Heather, rip off her clothes, devour her whole. But he just sat there, looking into her expressionless face and icy blue eyes as they stared down at his lap. He popped in no time.

Heather jumped up and gingerly made her way to the bathroom as she said, “Good, honey. I’ll get you a washcloth.”

When she returned, she handed it to him, telling him to wash up like a good boy. Within the hour Pete called Gail to tell her what happened. Their relationship has opened up since the bathroom incident, and he was willing to share things he never would’ve hinted at before.

“Then she rubbed me, with my pants on. It was surreal,” I said.

“Good for you, bro? Is that what you want to hear?”

“You weren’t there, Gail. She didn’t even look at me. It was so impersonal. Then she talked down to me, calling me ‘honey,’ saying I was a ‘good boy.'”

“Consider yourself lucky. How often were you getting handies before Heather?”

“I guess.”

Conditioning hadn’t arrived at the naked stage yet. That changed the day Pete was put on the Hensley account, six months into their relationship. Neither had said out loud they were exclusive, though both assumed. It didn’t occur to Heather that Pete was getting any on the side, and though Pete knew Heather could, she was obviously invested in him. Being placed on an important account meant the higher ups were surely taking notice.

Heather was more than happy to let Pete have the treat of treats. She wasn’t particularly in love with him. She could say she was attracted to him, or moderately so. She didn’t burn for him, but she needed sex, too, and was curious to see how they’d do in bed. Curiosity overwhelmed Pete in this period. He hadn’t seen nor felt her body. He was dying to reach the top of her carefully calibrated sexual escalation. The day she gave herself to him, she made no secret of it, and he nearly wrecked his car on the way over. The apartment was a mess as usual, with the yapping dog locked up in its kennel as they went at it.

After some heavy petting, they stripped simultaneously. Heather was flat as a board, with tiny, pink inny nipples, same color as her lips. Her pussy glistened already, compact and dainty, and with a fine powder of golden hair. Pete’s little boner bobbed as he stepped out of his tighty-whiteys. Heather suppressed a giggle. Nothing like her previous boyfriends. She felt a pang of sympathy for him, as opposed to the charge Pete was feeling. He nearly tackled her onto the bed, where their lips remained locked together as he entered her, missionary style.

Condoms weren’t a concern; both had been celibate for a while, and Heather was circumspect about birth control. For three minutes or so, Pete humped rhythmically. His member felt full inside Heather, per the procedure. This was the first time she ever tried it with a smaller guy, and it was a success. But it didn’t last long; Pete came inside her before she could get used to it.

He collapsed, and they lied in silence. Both were as content as they could be, for different reasons. Pete had found his dream girl–though tits would be nice–and Heather discovered she and Pete were sexually compatible. (They’d work on stamina.) Upon announcing their engagement half a year and one pay raise later, Pete and Heather entered the firm’s high society. Back-slapping abounded. by men who hadn’t known Pete’s name the day before. Including the boss’ son: Harry Pendling, lothario of the firm. He had quite the reputation for womanizing and told the boys behind Pete’s back that Heather was out of his league.

Pete wouldn’t have disagreed. Heather quit her job and brunched with the wives’ clique. A group of prime Vartan Procedure candidates they were, being of leisure, means, and mostly all mothers. Fully half of them had it done and weren’t wary of discussing it, as they weren’t wary of discussing other cosmetic surgeries. They also weren’t accustomed to Heather’s forwardness in bragging about Pete’s small penis. She came right out with it. These women were behind the curve on penis fashion and found Heather impertinent. But she was young, and they welcomed new blood.

She and Pete had a bright future at the firm. Forwardness stretched beyond the wives. Heather wanted everyone to know, believing as she did Pete’s stature promoted her social standing. The men at the firm heard from their wives, of course. Heather told Pete’s family. Gail already knew, of course. Mom was embarrassed at first but eventually revealed in talk of Pete’s inheritance. Apparently, dad was underwhelming, as well, and mom suffered for years without any special tightening procedure to help. (Gail tried convincing her mother to take the leap, but she considered herself too old.)

Worse was how Pete was presented in front of their friends. Well, Heather’s friends. He had but a few college buddies and one work buddy when they met. Her gal pal Candie owned a hot tub, around which she and her husband occasionally threw drinking parties. Heather ordered Pete to wear white speedos, which he could swear were see-through, for the sake of their reputation. That wasn’t enough.

Thirty minutes in, before Pete could get a buzz going, Heather was heard to remark–loud enough for everyone to hear, “Honey, we know what you’re about. You don’t need to hide under this thing.”

With that, she pulled his speedo down. His scared turtle head stared at eight of their friends. Neither he nor they knew how to react. It wasn’t enough that everyone knew Pete had a small one. They had to see it. Too bad the firm wives couldn’t see it without grossly violating decorum. Heather made Pete promise he’d show himself off in the locker room at the club, where John Pendling, founding partner, and Harry’s father, sponsored the couple’s membership.

Pete’s male colleagues could confirm his stature for the wives, the female lawyers, and the secretaries, for that matter. Every little bit helped for her reputation as a good Vartan girl, who preserved her tightness by marrying and sticking to an undersized man. Sticking to Pete was easy. Heather knew the pain of cheating and wanted anything but to hurt Pete like that. Furthermore, the sex was good. Pete filled her up thanks to the procedure and had improved as a lover. The men from the firm flirted with her. All of them, every time she socialized. It was a mixture of the fresh meat phenomenon and her genuine beauty. She flirted back but was sure to never, ever go further. She was deadly serious about maintaining her good girl status.

*****

With that status came apart partnership, the big house in the suburbs, the in-ground pool, luxury cars, trips abroad, blah, blah, blah. Pete values the truth, but lately, he’s been waiting, without knowing it, for the other shoe to drop. Possibly he’s been waiting since he met Heather. Harry said she’s too good for him.

Harry also uttered those frightful words, “She’s a tease. I’m gonna fuck her.”

He was right in the first instance; why not the second? Pete remembers the girls who walked all over him in the past. Not once did he imagine them with other men. But not only can’t he stop thinking of Heather and Harry together, but it also turns him on. He can’t say why. Her soft, white body against his experienced hands.

The member Pete had seen in the locker room at the club–nothing to brag about, but respectable (then again, he hadn’t seen it hard)-engulfed by her warmest of places. There’s something about the idea of her abandoning her status as a good Vartan girl for his petty pick-up artistry and superior cock. Pete will do nothing to ensure their fucking. He won’t even help it happen. But sitting there in front of the Johnson papers, he feels as if it’s already happened.

To be continued…