The Voice in the Reserve
A Fictional SPH Story by SmutChatAI
When I’m soft, I basically have nothing. It’s an inny. A mangina. My cock basically disappears into my body, leaving just a tiny nub of foreskin poking out like a belly button. If someone saw it, they’d probably think I was tucking. That’s how small it is. And when I’m hard? Three inches on a good day—barely a mouthful.
So anyway, I was walking through this sports reserve near my place. It’s a big open area with footy fields and a running track, and on weekdays during the day it’s usually dead empty. I’d done this a few times before — walking the track, pulling my shorts down for a few seconds, letting the breeze hit me, then pulling them back up. Harmless fun for a guy with a micropenis.
I was about halfway around the track, near the tree line at the back of the reserve where it’s more secluded. I stopped, looked around, and didn’t see anyone. Pulled the front of my shorts down and let it hang out. Or rather, let my little nub sit there in the open air doing absolutely nothing impressive.
I stood there for maybe ten seconds, feeling the cool air on my bare skin, my tiny soft cock just sitting there like a thumb stub. Then I heard it.
“Oh my God, it’s so small.”
A woman’s voice. Clear as day. Coming from somewhere to my left, maybe thirty feet away. I couldn’t see her. The trees and bushes were thick enough to block her out but not thick enough to muffle her voice. She must have been walking one of the smaller trails that cut through the trees.
My heart jumped. I yanked my shorts up so fast I nearly tripped. My face went hot instantly. I looked around, trying to find where the voice came from, but I couldn’t see anyone—just trees and shadows.
“Who’s there?” I said, trying to sound normal and failing.
She didn’t answer that. Instead she said, “No point putting it away now, I’ve already seen it.”
I stood there frozen for a second. My brain was short-circuiting between embarrassment and something else. Something darker. Something that made my tiny cock twitch inside my shorts.
“I—” I started.
“Go on,” she said. Her voice was closer now but still hidden. “Get it out again.”
I don’t know why I did it. I really don’t. But my hands moved to my waistband, and I pulled the front of my shorts down again. My little nub was sitting there, soft and basically nonexistent, the foreskin bunched up over almost nothing. I stood there exposed on a walking track in broad daylight while a woman I couldn’t even see was looking at my cock.
“There it is,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “That is genuinely the smallest dick I’ve ever seen. I thought you were tucking at first.”
I didn’t say anything. I just stood there with my shorts down, letting her look.
“It’s like a little button,” she said. “Does it even get bigger?”
I swallowed hard. “A little.”
“How little?”
“Three inches.”
She laughed. Not a cruel laugh exactly, more like genuine surprise. “Three inches? That’s it? I’ve seen tampons bigger than that.”
My face was burning. My cock was starting to stir, the tiny nub filling out slightly, pushing out from the foreskin just a little. Even semi-hard, I was barely an inch and a half.
“Oh my God, are you getting hard right now?” she said.
I looked down. I was. My little cock was twitching and growing, pushing out to its pathetic full length. Three inches of thin, pale dick sticking out from my body like a pinky finger.
“You are,” she said. “You’re getting hard from me talking about your small dick. That’s actually kind of cute.”
I still couldn’t see her. I could hear her footsteps crunching on the gravel path, moving slightly as if she were circling to get a better angle. But she stayed behind the trees.
“Can I see you?” I asked.
“No,” she said simply. “But you can stay right there and let me look at that little thing for a bit longer.”
So I did. I stood there on the track with my shorts down and my three-inch hard-on pointing straight out while an unseen woman somewhere in the trees looked at my cock and commented on how small it was.
“Does it work okay?” she asked. “Like, can you actually fuck with that?”
“Yeah,” I said. My voice cracked slightly.
“I bet you have to really work for it,” she said. “Can’t just slide it in and let it do the job. You’ve gotta grind around, try to make it feel like something.”
She was right, and the fact that she was right made my cock twitch again.
“Okay,” she said after a long pause. “You can put it away now.”
I pulled my shorts up. My cock was still hard, pressing against the fabric, making a tiny bump that was almost invisible.
“Same time next week?” she said.
I didn’t answer. I just stood there, heart pounding, face flushed, cock throbbing in my shorts.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said.
Then I heard her footsteps walking away through the trees, getting quieter until they disappeared completely. I never saw her face. I never found out who she was. But I walked the rest of the track with a three-inch hard-on and a head full of her voice telling me how small I was.
I went back the next week. Same time. Same spot.
I pulled my shorts down and waited.
“Smaller than I remembered,” she said from the trees.
I got hard instantly.
*****
The Voice in the Reserve — Part 2
I went back the next week. Same time. Same spot. Same stretch of track near the tree line where the gravel crunched under my feet and the afternoon sun filtered through the gums.
I pulled my shorts down and waited.
“Smaller than I remembered,” she said from the trees.
I got hard instantly. Three inches of thin cock jutting out from my body like a stubby little finger, twitching in the open air. My mangina days were behind me in that moment, but even fully hard I knew what she was looking at wasn’t impressive by any standard.
“You came back,” she said. Her voice moved through the trees. Still hidden. Still unseen. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“I thought about it all week,” I said.
“All week? About some random woman laughing at your little dick?”
“Yes.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she stepped slightly closer to the edge of the tree line. I could see movement in the shadows—a shape. The outline of someone leaning against a tree trunk, arms crossed. But the details were lost in the dappled light.
“That’s pathetic,” she said. Not mean. Just honest. “You spent a whole week thinking about a stranger who saw your tiny cock and made fun of it.”
I didn’t deny it. My dick twitched again, standing there at its full three inches, pointing at the trees like a tiny compass needle.
“Stroke it,” she said.
I wrapped my hand around it. My thumb and two fingers were enough. I started jerking slowly, right there on the track, shorts around my thighs, cock in my hand.
She laughed softly. “You barely need a fist for that. Just a couple fingers, right?”
“Yeah.”
“How does that even work for you? Like when you’re with a woman?”
I kept stroking. “It works.”
“Does it though?” she asked. “Because I’m looking at that thing right now and I’m trying to figure out how it would feel. And I’m pretty sure the answer is ‘not much.'”
I didn’t answer. I just kept stroking, feeling my little cock pulse in my grip.
“Stop,” she said.
I stopped.
“Hands off.”
I let go. My cock stood there, hard and tiny, bobbing slightly with my heartbeat.
“Can you cum from that?” she asked. “From just your fingers?”
“Usually I need more.”
“More like what?”
“Like someone telling me how small it is.”
She laughed again. Louder this time. “You’re serious. You actually get off on this.”
I nodded.
“Say it,” she said.
“I get off on being told my dick is small.”
“Because it is small.”
“Because it is.”
“How small?”
“Three inches hard.”
“Say the whole thing.”
I swallowed. My cock was throbbing in the open air, untouched, leaking a tiny bead of precum at the tip. “I have a three-inch dick. It’s tiny. It’s barely a dick.”
“Good,” she said. “Now keep stroking.”
I grabbed it again. Two fingers and a thumb, working the short shaft, the head poking out of my fist on each upstroke. I was breathing harder now, my hips pushing forward slightly with each stroke.
“I want you to do something,” she said.
“What?”
“When you’re about to cum, I want you to say it out loud. Say ‘I’m cumming from my little dick.’ Say it so I can hear it.”
I nodded, stroking faster. My hand was barely moving — there wasn’t much real estate to work with — but the sensation was building. The combination of the open air, the exposure, the unseen woman watching me from the trees, her voice cutting through the silence telling me how small I was.
It didn’t take long.
“I’m close,” I said.
“Say it.”
“I’m cumming from my little dick,” I said, voice cracking.
The first spurt was weak. A thin rope of cum that barely cleared my hand and landed on the gravel path about six inches in front of me. The second was weaker. The third was basically a dribble that ran down over my thumb.
She watched the whole thing from the trees.
“That was quick,” she said.
I stood there, panting, cum on my hand, my cock already shrinking back to its soft nub. Within seconds it was an inny again, the foreskin retreating, the head disappearing into my body like a turtle pulling into its shell.
“Oh my God,” she said. “It just vanished. Where did it go?”
“Back inside.”
“That’s not normal. You know that, right? That’s not what dicks do.”
“I know.”
I pulled my shorts up. My cock was gone again. Just a flat bump in the fabric, invisible.
“Same time next week?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good boy,” she said.
Then she was gone. Footsteps through the trees, fading into nothing.
—
I went back every week for a month.
Each time was the same. I’d walk to the spot, pull my shorts down, and she’d be there. Hidden. Watching. Commenting.
The second week she made me walk up and down the track with my shorts around my ankles so she could watch my little cock bounce with each step. “It barely moves,” she said. “There’s nothing there to jiggle.”
In the third week, she made me hold it next to a stick she tossed onto the path. “That stick is about four inches,” she said. “And it’s thicker than you.”
In the fourth week, she brought a friend.
I didn’t know until I heard the second voice. A giggle. Different from hers. Higher pitched.
“Is that it?” the new voice said.
“That’s it,” my woman said.
“Oh, my God. I thought you were exaggerating.”
“I wasn’t.”
I stood there with my shorts down, my three-inch hard-on exposed to two unseen women in the trees. My face was burning. My cock was throbbing.
“He’s going to jerk off for us,” my woman said. “Aren’t you?”
I grabbed my cock. Two fingers. Thumb. Started stroking while two women I couldn’t see watched and commented on how small I was.
“He’s using like two fingers,” the new voice said.
“That’s all he needs.”
“Does he cum fast?”
“Fast enough.”
I did. I came on the gravel path while they both laughed, my thin cum spurting weakly onto the ground in front of me.
“Say it,” my woman said.
“I’m cumming from my little dick.”
The new voice laughed harder.
I pulled my shorts up and walked away with my cock already retreated into its mangina state, my face flushed, my heart pounding.
I never saw either of them. Not once. Not in all the weeks I went back.
But every time I pulled my shorts down at that spot on the track, I heard her voice.
And every time, I got hard instantly.
The End.
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