True Story: The Reformed Size Queen
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Warning Adults Only 18+ Content Ahead. This story contains explicit adult sexual themes and should not be read by minors (under 18). This story was written as an adult fantasy only. The Small Dick Club wishes to remind readers that some acts represented in this story may be illegal in real life (depending on local laws), and this site in no way condones illegal sexual practises outside the realm of fantasy. The Small Dick Club wishes to advise readers that any similarities in this story to actual or real people or events is purely coincidental and unintended.
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by P Caesar
My first boyfriend, who I loved with all my heart, possessed a ten-inch shaft when it was hard. And he was three inches plus in circumference. His was the first penis I ever saw, and I knew he was huge, though I had nothing to compare it to. So I considered his dick the norm and compared every dick that came after to his. That was a mistake almost as big as him. For years afterward, I had a strictly enforced size policy. It was – for lack of a better way to put it – hard for men to measure up.
I sought out the biggest penises I could find. I eventually developed such sophisticated penis-sizing intuition that my girlfriends would consult me when they were considering sleeping with someone, so they’d know what to expect. I’d go check the guy out, and with visuals alone I could determine his dimensions to within one-quarter inch accuracy.
My best girlfriend always said, “Big dick, big drama. Little dick, little drama.”
If a man had a big penis and any amount of sexual skill, he would always have women hovering around trying to sleep with him. He could not be expected to turn all that pussy down, no matter how he felt about me. Therefore, I could never expect a well-endowed man to be faithful. Other women were always coming between us because men didn’t know how to keep other women from interfering with our relationship. As the years passed, I found this to be true.
The well-endowed men often had Fatal Attraction stalker-types in their lives, or had a lot of casual sex partners, or several ex-girlfriends playing the “we can still be friends” game in the hopes of moving back into his heart, or at least his bed. And this was true even if the man in question had no skill to speak of, which was often the case … they sometimes thought their huge penises alone were enough to get the job done.
With all of my experience with the oversized male organ, I never thought I’d be content with something smaller. There had been times that I passed on becoming intimate with a man because he wasn’t packing. I’m not sure why in his case I didn’t. But we had known each other for years, and had dated for the past five months, and I wanted him. I hoped that this time I was wrong about a man’s penis, but, when we undressed that night, I found that, as usual, I was correct.
He was slightly less than five inches fully erect – I’m going to say four and three-quarter inches to be more precise. In addition to not being very long, his penis was rather slender. At times I had given a men a pass on their length if they had girth. But he had neither a long or thick dick. I knew I was in trouble when I found I could completely encircle his penis with my hand and make all the fingers meet. I was accustomed to not being able to get my hand around a man’s cock, and being able to do it seemed obscene.
In the long -standing tradition of less endowed men though, he had an incredible tongue. A life-affirming, pleasure-giving, orgasm-inducing tongue. His whole mouth was a sexual toolkit. His kisses, his licks, his nibbles, his sucks were perfectly placed, as if his tongue could read my vagina and knew what my clit was thinking.
He’d point his tongue and press it softly against my clit, moistening it, and would gently move my clit back and forth, massaging it. He’d run his tongue around the inside edges of my pussy like a little boy trying to get the last bit of ice cream out of the bowl. He would dart in and out of me with it, fast at first, then slower and more deeply, finally pressing his lips against mine, grinding carefully and firmly against them, and easing his tongue deeply into me. He brought the phrase “eating you out” to life, and wetness poured out of me.
I worried that he didn’t feel much when he entered me. I was so slippery when I was aroused that even my bigger men were hard pressed to get in without sliding out once or twice. I was also concerned that there wouldn’t be much in it for either of us as far as sensations went. But I was mistaken. That little dick felt so amazingly good, I couldn’t stand it sometimes.
As soon as he moved inside me, I felt the tingling beginnings of my climax well up in me. After years of fucking oversized men, I discovered that my “spot” wasn’t deep inside me at all. It was right at the tip of his penis, and he hit it every time we fucked. It made me angry to think of all the times I’d gone past the spot with the hung brothers. His short slimness found all the special nerve endings in my pussy and made them dance.
I would laugh in amazement when thinking of how satisfied his little dick made me.
Occasionally some of my more endowed ex-boyfriends and lovers would call to see if they could pass away a weekend with me. But I found myself unwilling to let them pry me open. It wasn’t what I wanted anymore. What I wanted was his little dick.
It was all I wanted.
I could think about it and grow aroused; I could come just from looking at it. I fell in love with its dimensions. I enjoyed its slender stealthiness and the way it would ease its way inside me, almost as if it wanted to sneak up on my pussy and surprise it with an orgasm. Then it would exhibit its understanding of what I longed for inside: caressing my little nooks and crannies that had gone unattended by all those large dicks. His wonderful little dick with the head that knew where it needed to be every second it was in me captured my pussy and my heart.
It concerned me that I wasn’t pleasing him as much as I could. I’d been sleeping with huge men my whole life, and now the man I wanted to please the most might suffer for it. What if he left me for some impossibly tight-snatched chick? I wanted to give as good as I got. So what did I do for this little dick man?
After doing an Internet search, I purchased a set of Jade Eggs. They set me back over $150 – the most I’d ever paid for any sexual device. They were guaranteed to help a woman strengthen the muscles of her vaginal walls or your money back (although I wondered if you were really expected to return the product after using it enough to find it didn’t work for you). I wanted to learn to insert two of the balls and make them clack against each other like the web site said you could. If I could learn to more tightly grip his little dick, he’d enjoy sex with me more – and I wanted to be the best he ever had.
The mail-man finally brought my discreetly packaged Jade Eggs. I eagerly tore open the package, went to my bedroom, and started with the smallest egg. The smallest eggs carried the greatest degree of difficulty, because you had to make your muscles bear down even harder to control and manipulate them. Any ideas I had about being toned down there were shot down as I found myself unable to keep the egg from rolling out of me and plopping onto the bed. I pictured a little smiley face on it saying, “see where all those big dicks got you?”
I had work to do.
I practised with them diligently. He was going to be away for about five weeks at two separate work-related conferences, and then at a trade show. So I developed a morning and night-time ritual with my eggs, exercising with them with great dedication. I never spent so much time thinking about my love box. But I did see results. I had always done Kegel exercises, but the Jade Eggs took me further. The night before he came home I treated myself to a Brazilian wax.
I’d called his cell and left a voicemail instructing him to come straight to my house from the airport. I was in the spare bedroom when I heard him come in and come flying up the steps. As he closed my bedroom door, I came out of the spare bedroom and saw the trail of clothing he’d left on his way up: the suit jacket, the tie, the blue shirt, the cufflinks, the pants, the socks, the shoes. I laughed as I stood behind my bedroom door.
I opened it to find him lying spread-eagled on the bed, his dick harder than Chinese arithmetic. He was stroking it. His skin looked absolutely edible to me. I went over to him and ran my tongue over his body. His body stretched as I tenderly tended to him. I kissed him for a long time as his dick watched us. Then I stood on my bed, placing one foot on each side of him so that he was lying between my legs. I squatted down. He reached up to grab my breasts and placed a nipple in his mouth, and I lowered my newly tightened pussy a tiny fraction onto his waiting little dick.
He completely froze, nipple left hanging in mid-air. He turned his head to look at me. I looked back at him, smiling. Lowering myself further, I wrapped my muscles around the head of his dick. And he sucked in his breath. Hard. Then he blew the air out, very slowly. And he looked down at his dick, the very tip of it in my pussy, and looked back up at me, as if to make sure we were attached.
And I lowered myself down a bit past the head, squeezed, held for a moment, and let go. Damn it felt good. I was so in control of him, and of my own shit. It was really getting me off. I felt the orgasm beginning, but I was ruling it instead of it ruling me. And I lowered myself a little more, and he suddenly lay down flat on the bed. I caressed his chest, balancing my weight. I pulled up, pulling a bit of him out of myself, squeezing my muscles. And he cried out in this high-pitched voice I had never heard.
I looked down at him, but he only shook his head, speechless. I lowered myself back down a little further, squeezing and releasing, just like I did twice a day with the eggs. He grabbed my hips and forced me down on him, screaming my name, and just as his shaft fully entered me I squeezed again, and it felt so incredibly fucking good, like Christmas and home cooking and straight A’s on a report card and strawberry cheesecake all in one, and I knew I was ready, and he was ready, so I gyrated my hips slow, looking down at him biting his bottom lip. He reached up to touch my face and I took his index finger into my mouth, sucking it like it was his dick as I released and squeezed again. He couldn’t take it after that, and he came – exactly when I wanted him to.
The moral of the story: always go that extra mile for a good man, no matter what size his dick.