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Those lips, the same pair you’ve been glancing at all night, part into a predator’s grin, looking like plump, dark rose petals on her porcelain-pale face before she leans over too close for you to view them. Even standing on those platform boots she strode in on, she’s a full head shorter than you, but sitting on the red leather seats of the club’s private room? She has to prop herself on her knees to reach your ear as she starts to undo your belt.
“Relax. Why so tense? You wanted this, remember?” Her free hand comes to rest on your shoulder, pushing you back into your seat before she pulls away just enough for you to meet her ruby red eyes with your own gaze. For a second, you wonder if they’re just contacts. You decide you’d rather not know, as she continues. “You’re making a good decision. Remember, I deserve it more.”
You try to answer, perhaps in an attempt to preserve a scrap of dwindling dignity... but her free hand moves over to shush you, as she finishes getting your belt off and gets started on freeing the beast. “I said relax... it’ll be all over soon... Oooh.”
If there’s one thing you can be proud of, it’s what’s between your legs. Ten inches of already half-hard fuckmeat, and a pair of heavy, cum filled nuts beneath it. You’d be the biggest stud in almost any room you walked into... If it’s potential wasn’t being squandered being attached to a total wimp. The sort of boy who squirms and whimpers instead of struts and roars, the sort who queues up porn-vid after porn-vid while you lie to yourself that you’re totally self-inserting as the bull, not the loser cuck in the corner watching as the love of his life is taken on the bed they share sweet nothings on together.
The thought makes it twitch, and she grins. “Wow... You weren’t kidding, huh? You’re packing a real cannon here... Well, wanna see mine?”
You swallow and nod, having been curious, and she pulls back enough to shift down her pitch-black panties, before she raises up her skirt to reveal her pale, petite length. Barely three and a half inches, and already fully hard. You can’t hide your surprise, and she giggles. “What, expected more? It’s my first time too, remember? Well... I guess it’s the last time for you. We don’t plan on leaving much for another girl to take, do we? But you’re gonna be the first in a long, long line of boys I’m going to leave with quickshot shrimp-dicks and pregnant girlies... Oh, did that get you harder?”
The world goes dark as you you cover your face with your hands to hide your blush, and she laughs, before rifling around through her nearby pack (the one emblazoned with dark Hello Kitty with a stitched up mouth). When you finally part your fingers, you see she’s dangling a measuring tape between her own. “So, let’s set your target number.” Her cool hand wraps around your length to hold it still, and sparks are sent flying across your vision as your own hand goes limp. It's totally different than doing it on your own... Unperturbed, she wraps the measuring tape first around your base to check the girth, before releasing it to measure the length, "Hmm"ing, "Oooh" ing, and "Aah"ing all the while, before she chucks the measuring tape over her shoulder.
“11 Inches hard! Fancy. How about we cut that down to 4, and see how we feel then?” The first long, sultry stroke of your length robs the words from you and replaces them with a girlish moan.
It’s not fair, asking a question like that with her hand there! In spite of your girlfriends best efforts, all you’ve ever felt down there is your own hand and a few experiments with an onahole, and now? There’s the electric sensation as she strokes in time to the muffled beat of the club’s pounding bass, eating away at your logical brain and leaving you with nothing more than the dumb, lower brain of a loser masochist. What else are you meant to do but babble out an affirmative? Each smooth motion of her hand from tip to base is like poison for your mind, and with each one, you can feel something unfamiliar, a power sinking in and twisting through your body...
You manage to make eye contact one more time from your spot, leaning back and panting like a bitch in heat from this petite, (soon to be not-so) short-cocked goth girl’s hand job to see an unearthly glow in this red eyes... before the jolt hits, and you feel her hand squeeze down further than it should be able to but remaining just as snug as ever.
“Ta-dah. One inch down. Six more before we hit your target size. And look.” She rolls her hips forward, and you feel her length pushing into your side. You hazard a glance downwards... The increase of a single inch is almost easy to miss, but once you’re looking for it it’s impossible to ignore. It’s stouter, prouder, and more able and... “Soon it’ll be all ready to turn your girlfriend into my breeding bitch..." She completes the thought for you, and you recoil. "Oh, what’s wrong? Didn’t expect it to be so sudden?”
You manage a nod, and she just gives a playful scoff. “Well, get used to it. And hey, you aren’t doing anything with your other hand, right?” The wrist of your free hand, once free to dangle and clutch at seats, is grabbed and yanks it over to rest on her pale member. You didn't realize you could go even more red. “Return the favor. Get to work, loser.”
For a second, your mind recoils as you think all sorts of silly thoughts about your girlfriend and the idea of stroking another cock (even one attached to a girl!), but another stroke from her reminds you that you’re in no position to argue from a place of logic or embarrassment. Your first tiny tug gets a pleased sigh, and she presses her hips forward into it. “Oh yeah... That’s it. Just take it easy, try and match my rhythm. Ready? 3, 2, 1... Stroke.”
The hot pleasure of her hand now settles in your belly as you match her movement. It's easy, just stroke along to the beat and you'll make her feel good. It's too easy, in fact... it's practically hypnotic, your mind relaxing as newfound connections are made between parts ot the brain you really don’t want connected, but are powerless to stop. Each stroke comes easier than the one before it, and by the time you feel that building up of power within you, violating your weak little will? You're stroking like a pro, mimicking the girls in porno flicks whose boyfriends just walked in but can't stop. Another girlish whimper escapes your throat as you feel her length swell in your hand, waxing even as you wane.
“Five to go. I didn’t say you could stop stroking, bitch.” You realize your mistake and swallow, giving a few quick pumps to make up for lost time before settling into that dangerous rhythm again. Ruining yourself for her. You can feel something building, an oncoming tidal wave of desire... something that needs one, more push... “Good boy. Remember what it’s all for... Me in your bed, getting my scent all over it as I fuck a pair of dark-haired twins into your girl. That’s what you’re working towards... And we don’t want to keep her waiting, do we?”
You barely feel the sensation of losing another inch as the image is painted in your skull. Instead, you have the feeling of your shrinking nuts tightening, and your eyes rolling back, before...
“Ah! All over my shirt, really?” She sounds more amused than angry at your little premature spurt, but you still try to sputter an apology over the streaks of white now decorating the dark purple skull on her black shirt. She waves you off. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Happens to a lot of guys, so I’m told. They’re donating their inches to a girl way more deserving, and don’t realize how much stamina they’re losing and oops, pop off like a firework lit from the wrong end. You should get used to it, it’s only getting worse from here.”
It's only going to get worse from here. Academically, you understood what you were getting into, but this is the first time it's really hit. You’re going to be a shrimp-dicked loser with a tiny hair-trigger clit dick. That’s your destiny. For a second you wonder if it’s not too late to escape with some dignity intact... But then, she starts stroking again, and you whine.
It’s way, way, way too late to back out now, cucky.
Another inch vanishes, faster than the last time. Maybe you should be worried about that? Most of your brain is busy thinking about how good and right it feels that her cock is growing beneath your very fingertips, and now... “Look, we match!”
For a moment, she takes her hand off of your length, but it’s not to give you anything approaching an escape. No, it’s to move to your shoulders and shift herself over to your lap, straddling you as she presses your lengths together and sends another wave of hot sparks through your brain.
It’s a lie, of course. She’s a bit bigger than you by nearly a half inch, and the fact that not her not even five minutes ago diminutive girlcock is now bigger than your once prized pecker is almost enough to make you blow your load again... And then, she speaks the scariest, most exhilarating words you’ve heard all night. Words you've been secretly longing for but too prideful to ask for.
“That’s enough warmup. Let’s get rid of all the rest.”
The promise of losing every last scrap of pride is a shot of hard candy, and you gasp. She just lets out a lilting laugh. “What, did you think this whole thing had to go slow? No, I’ve acclimated enough. Try not to blow your soon to be watery little load all over my shirt again, okay?”
And then, she starts to grind. Your hands go to her hips, perhaps to try to hold her back, but all it does is steady her as she begins the first and most brutal frot-session of your life. Each little roll of her hips is felt through your entire body, each little twitch from her cock goes straight to your rapidly melting brain... and then, it gets bigger.
It’s the best and worst and most horrible feedback loop of your life. Her cock steals size from yours, making it able to better crush and bully your shrinking length, and that makes your whimpering, whining, squirming and pleading body surrender a bit more to hers, and then another inch vanishes and then...
Her hands tighten their grip biting into your shoulders. Your eyes roll back and your feminine little moans are nearly swallowed by her own, echoing cry of pleasure. Whatever weak, watery spurt your cock can manage is lost in the absolute deluge of hot jizz her now apple-sized nuts fire off, sending rope after rope over your face, gluing an eye shut with her passion.
And then...
“Oops~.” She sounds whatever the opposite of guilty is as she lets herself swing off of you, grinning and panting in the seat next to you. You weakly break your gaze away from her face to look between your legs, revealing barely two inches of loser boy-cock left behind. And on her end? An absolutely mammoth, twelve and a half inches of oversized, girlfriend breeding girlcock, ready to go. “Looks like we shot past your target number... oh well. No take-backsies.”
Your head feels light, airy, and... happy. Like the pressure is gone. You finally have a cock worthy of the rest of you, and your girlfriend will... she’ll...
“Oh hey... we’re ahead of schedule, actually. Your girlfriend won’t be back at your place for another thirty minutes, right? Mind warming me back up for her?”
You seem confused for a moment. Then, she gestures with a grin to her newfound bitchmaker, spreading her legs wide. You can’t help it. You can’t resist. You can’t argue. She can do whatever she wants, and all you can do? Is drop down to your knees, and start sucking on the length that was once wasted on you.
“Mmh... That’s a good little fag...” You hear her pleased sigh from above as your lips stretch around the head and your mouth fills with the salty taste of her. “You’re gonna be a great dad, you know that?”