Emily And The Little Cock

Disclaimer Text

All players described in this text are depicted as being of at least 18 years old, either through implication or explicitly. The characters, while fictional are based on real people (also of 18 years or older) and real situations. Please read the Series card for more detailed biographical information and the purpose in publishing Emily's stories.

The following contains descriptions of rough sex, including face slapping, hair pulling, degradation, humiliation and objectification, throat-fucking, condom use, and detailed descriptions of penis sizes and preferences. While this first chapter only contains descriptions of heterosexual interaction between one women and one man, there exists no guarantee or promise of any kind that following chapters will not contain acts of homosexual, bisexual or other sex acts. Proceed at your own risk.

This story is an original work to which I alone own the copyright. Please do not steal my stories.

This story is part of an ongoing series that is actively being written and published.

Chapter One: Emily and the Little Cock

So the other day, I'm down at the local coffee place around the corner from my building and as I'm waiting for my Americano, this boy comes over and starts chatting me up. He's short and scruffy and skinny like he only eats once in a while or something -- totally not my usual type, but he's got this funny charming thing about him. I had nothing else to do that afternoon, so I invited him back to my place. He's quick to agree -- who wouldn't be? -- and as soon as we get inside the front door and into the stairwell up to my door, I don't bother to wait for him to make a move and I'm on him in a second. We do some sloppy hot and heavy kissing as we stumble upstairs and his hands are wandering and I'm enjoying letting him explore a little.

It feels good and I'm just getting over a nasty breakup and my libido has finally reawakened so I'm really needing it. Like, she's drooling down my leg before we're even in the door. It's an easy move up my inner thigh under my tight little dress for his hand to find my bare, shaved pussy. He fumbles around all clumsy for a second and I shove him in my front door, frantically groping at his crotch, trying to get at his cock through his jeans.

Somehow he manages to twist away and I wonder if he's avoiding me on purpose, so I drop to my knees in front of him and push him back against the wall so he can't get away. He struggles for a second and I start to get annoyed by this little hard-to-get game he's got going but eventually he gives in and I get his jeans open and yank them down.

Now, I'm never one to complain about what a guy's got between his legs okay? Everyone's different and everyone's body is beautiful. Big, small, fat, curved, whatever. By now I've seen more than my share and to be honest, I barely remember most of them. It's all about the person anyway, chemistry and connection the hardware is just extra, mostly. In fact the only ones I do have any clear recollection of are the exceptional standouts, on both ends of the spectrum. Or unless there's something unusual -- like it doesn't work, or the energy is weird about it or it's super-pretty or has a weird curve or something. Like I said I've had big ones -- in fact my most recent ex was almost as long as my forearm and probably thicker. It was thing to behold, I'm not gonna lie and once I learned my way around it, it was a feeling like no other. There's nothing so singular and intensely tasty as feeling pussy stretched to the limit, and you're totally filled up in a way that just can't be beat. I must have rode that stallion to hundreds of orgasms. Wet, squirting throbbing climax after mind-wiping climax. It was quite something.

But even big ones have their disadvantages. Meet Holiday Fuck Buddy -- or Henry Frank Baker in polite company, or sometimes just HFB -- I call him that because I can't remember his real name, and also we hooked up at the company Halloween party a couple years back and we were over by New Years, I couldn't get my fingers all the way around it. I'm a girl who likes to think she's up for anything, but I can't handle a coke-bottle thick monster in my ass at all and there were times when I could barely get more than the head in my mouth before I felt like my jaw might come permanently unhinged. The first few times HFB fucked me, I couldn't get more than about half in my pussy either. It took forever for her to relax and loosen up and it wasn't until like a month in that he could go balls deep in me -- so much for the break-room quickie at work before lunch! And he never seemed to get fully hard, another common check-mark in the minus column for guys with big ones. Between my oral being limited to mostly running my tongue over the veiny shaft while I jerked it, and the fact that getting a good rhythm going was difficult and didn't happen often, I don't think the sex was actually very good for either one of us. Once the novelty wore off, it was kind of a frustrating chore most of the time. I only got to cum when I rubbed myself off after he finished. He wasn't great with his tongue either.

So while some of my friends won't shut up when they find a big one between their date's legs, I just see all that meat and wonder how I'm going to make it work. What a chore. Maybe I'll cap off a maximum size limit for me one of these days, have it printed on a t-shirt or something.

Anyway, back to this one. Like I said, it's always about the person and finding ways to make it awesome for us both, big or small. I'd never necessarily reject a guy because he's on the petite side, at least not strictly for that. It's not like it's his fault and he can't make it any bigger, without some toys. And I've seen small ones plenty, and they've been great for the most part. Anal is a breeze and as much as a girl like me loves the challenge of trying to shove a thick monster down her throat to the base without gagging, there's plenty to be said about being able to go to town and not worry you're going to accidentally choke to death. And besides, with my tiny tits -- barely an AA cup, I'm so flat I only own one bra for those outfits that are a little too sheer to go without -- it's not like I'm giving the boys much to play with. So when his cock finally springs forth, even I -- anti-size queen that I am -- am taken aback.

He's throbbing hard and dripping a river of precum down the pink shaft. I'm not good at guessing size and numbers only matter to the guy -- we girls just concentrate on getting our pleasure in whatever way works best -- and guys who are small, know that they are and no way are they letting me whip out a measuring tape. Inches on this one? No idea. But no bigger than my thumb in length, and about as thick.

In fact, he's the smallest I remember seeing and I catch myself feeling a little worried that this might be the first one I can't make work. I've always prided myself on being a girl who's up for anything and can make it a mind-blowing experience for everyone, no matter what. I'm not about give up now.

Well, here goes.

I dive down and place my lips at the tip in a kiss before grabbing his ass and pulling his pelvis forward, allowing the cock to push it's way into my mouth. I wrap my lips around him while twisting my tongue over the shaft. and look up at him -- I love eye contact when I do this, but his head is back, eyes closed and he licks his lips in unconscious pleasure -- an encouraging sign that we're off to a good start. It's like sucking on a straw at first and when my hand, out of habit, slides down his bony hips, I realized there's no extra shaft to grip for my famous suck-and-stroke method.

Instead, I let my fingers play over his scrotum and explore his balls, which seem normal sized and only add to the illusion of his diminutive stature. When I come up on the up-stroke, I sort of run my fingertips over the shaft, coating the throbbing shaft with saliva. I want to make this messy and sloppy and I make cute cooing noises between hungry groans.

I pull my head back and concentrate on the little head, "So cute like a mushroom!" I think. I try again to grip him and can only fit my first two fingers and the thumb on him. I angle my hand so my fingers are kind of on a diagonal to try to get a better shaft stroke going, but it's difficult, I'll not lie.

He doesn't seem to mind though, and is moaning in no time. I decide not to worry too much about how to make this work. He thrusts a little with his hips and I look up again to see his pretty blue eyes locked onto my own. His face is flushed and I can tell he's loving this. I guess when he sees that I'm not going to judge him or laugh or reject him, he starts to get into my groove.

We girls can be awfully cruel to under-endowed guys sometimes; the horror stories I could relate and I'm sure he was no different. I just want him to have fun and feel good though and I'm confident we can get this worked out in no time. Let's be real here. Size does matter, but only in that it's different. Bigger feels different than small. Not better -- the quality is based on his talent and effort -- just, it's a different sensation all its own and equally wonderful and requires a different approach.

So when he starts to drive into my mouth, his pace quickening and he wraps his fingers into my hair and tightens them into a fist, I just smile to myself and relax and let him do his face-fuck thing. He starts talking dirty, calling me names and shit like that. Let me tell you, there's nothing better than a stream of filthy and degrading insults pouring from a guy's mouth while he dicks you down. My pussy is wet, soaked by now and every bit of my body is just aching for it. I just hold my lips in a little 'o' around him and let him do the work. Other than a few slips where he pulls back too far and his little cock, all red and angry and slick with my split, comes flopping out of my mouth and then slamming into a stray nostril or eyebrow ridge when he yanks my head down and forward, this is the easiest blowjob I ever remember giving. Certainly easier to handle than my ex's massive iron porn-pipe. I wonder what the difference is there. Is he double this guy? Easily. Triple? Yeah maybe even triple and while I haven't seen my ex's soft penis in the light of day for a while I'm sure it's bigger than new boy's erection at full attention.

Vive la différence, as my mother likes to say.

I give a squealing little giggle around his cock and the saliva bubbles down my cheeks and chin and over my chest, soaking the neckline of my dress, just the way I like it. Now if he can just make me cry, he'd be the perfect man for right now. I'll have to wait to see what that's like though; just now, he starts to near his climax.

He grips my hair even tighter and I can feel the muscles in his skinny, fat-free body tense up. He's breathing ragged now and starting to really piston his hips, going as deep into my eager mouth as his little soldier is able. Fortunately, that means, about to the back of my tongue, well away from the soft fleshy part at the back of my throat and we're in no danger of discovering my gag reflex.

This is so much fun but I'm not ready for it to end yet. I try to get his attention, first by making little urgent noises around his cock and then just opening my mouth. I try to say, "Hey wait," but it just comes out as "Ulght achhk". He tightens his grip again, even more and I'm really feeling his control over my movements -- damn, this boy knows how to fuck a girl's face -- I started tapping at his thigh, thinking I'd caught him in time when he lets out a low, guttural primal growl and his thrusting turns to spasming shivers.

He yanks my head back off his little cock just as the first globs of cum start splattering wildly out of the tip. I don't know where it all comes from but he just seems to keep shooting and shooting. He looks down again at me with the fierce, I-own-you-bitch glint in his eye that I just love and hisses through clenched teeth. A shot hits me in the eye, just after I close the lid, thank god; nothing more painful than the burning itch from cum in your eye. It runs down my cheeks, dripping over my pouty lips and over my chin, I feel it in my hair, and mixing with the saliva he's fucked out of my mouth already. It's everywhere, ruining my dress. I love it.

I reach down between my own shaking thighs and start rubbing my pussy and flicking my clit. If he's done already, I want to get mine before the energy drains out. I don't have to worry though. He staggers back against the wall and half-stumbles into a planter shelf I had set up by the door, sending my little cacti pots and azaleas crashing to the floor. I'm sex-drunk and hyper-focused on his delicious body, desperate for his cock so I can't find a fuck to give about the mess.

He's still gasping and manages not to completely lose his balance. He does this partly with the wall and partly by the fistful of my hair he still grips tightly. His instability causes him to yank my head forward and down and I moan. After a moment he regains his senses and stands over me, looking down over his flagging cock.

And then the most amazing thing -- he spits on me, right on my face. "Bitch! You dirty little whore," he hissed and I shudder with desire. I can feel it mixing and dripping with the cum and I run my tongue over my lips, tasting him.

Oh god, that almost gets me to orgasm right there. My nipples are so hard. And my pussy is demanding I give her release. He sees my hand now, buried between my legs and reaches back and slaps me hard across the face. My cheek explodes with pain and I regain my spinning senses to realize I'm lying on my side on the floor, where I had fallen from the force of his blow. The pain spreads and burns and then subsides quickly to a throbbing ache in my jaw. I can feel the hot spots on my cheek where his palm and fingertips connected so perfectly to my pale, perfect skin.

It's so hard to get a guy who's willing to slap me around like that, at the level I need - it usually takes all kinds of begging and cajoling and eventually, when they do cave and agree to try, it takes a lot of training and direction and reassurance on my part, and they're never really that into it. Which sort of defeats the purpose and takes all the fun out of it. And here's Mr. Amazing who does it right, the first time and without even asking or needing permission.

Was this the perfect man? My god! Could it be?

I start to push myself back into a kneeling stance, intending to bask in the afterglow of our sexy messy violent explosion. With him, great -- we can do some after care and snuggling maybe; without him -- even better. I'm a little disappointed that I have to wait to get myself off, but wow! What a terrific debut! I intend to make sure he knows it, too.

But, like I said, I don't have to fret for long. Before I can settled down on my knees, he grabs another fistful of hair and drags me across the hardwood floor of the dining/entry area and into the living room. I half-scramble and crawl, trying to keep up on my hands and knees. He stops in the living room, just behind the couch and I try to wrench my neck around to look up at him and see what he's doing. I realize he's trying to decide where to go next. He's never been here.

"Down the... hall -- straight ahead. " I manage to gasp, shocked to realize how close to orgasm I still am. The edge isn't far off and my pussy desperately wants him to throw us over to drown into a mindless sea of explosive pleasure.

"Hey cum-rag. Where's your bathroom?" He snaps. Little waves of erotic humiliation send after shocks through my body, converging on my quivering clit at this. I'm his cum-rag. To be used and discarded.

"First... door left." I barely finish speaking before he's wiping the tip of his cock -- still dripping pearly white cum - across my face, as if to emphasize the reality of the moment and highlight who -- what I really am. His property, his dirty, used cum-rag. And then he's hauling me across the floor again, like a bag of sexy trash. I feel my knee socks rip and my dress is snagging on the floor, slipping down my body. By the time we get to the bathroom door, it's around my hips and knees. I'm naked underneath, a naughty little tramp who needs to be punished for "forgetting" to put on her panties in a flimsy, tight, too-small dress, and for all her lustful sins. He's more than happy to oblige and bangs the door open and with one hard heave -- he's surprisingly strong, I realize -- yanks me past him and into the bathroom where I fall in a half-curled ball on the cold tile.

I look back at him over my shoulder, and realize my butt was poking right up at him, the slut in classic face-down, ass-up pose. The tattered mess of my dress is pulled down, in a messy bunch around my thighs, to expose not only my pale, perfectly round ass cheeks but everything else as well. My tight anus, just waiting to be violated by that perfect little cock -- already hard again, I notice as I stare up at him with a blank look of sex and absolute submission -- and my swollen dripping pussy, so needy and greedy. Whore that I am, I'm eager to show him just how low I can go and I arch my back a little, pushing her up at him, offering her to be ravaged as he pleases. I wonder if he can see the stud hood piercing at this angle. Can he tell that I'd just this morning been wearing my favorite butt plug and playing with my pussy relentlessly? I'd only taken it out to go to the coffee shop a little while ago and my little ring was still feeling a bit loose...

He stares at me for a few seconds, eying me like a piece of meat, which is exactly what I want to be, what I am: just holes to be fucked until he decides I've had enough. God, this is hot.

"Fuck me. Now," I moan softly. That's all he needs and he's on top of me in an instant, his hands ripping away the remains of my dress and as he forces my head to the floor, I feel his teeth against my exposed neck - is he biting me? Holy shit! "Ouch! Please!" I cried out, hoping even as he bites down that he won't show an ounce of mercy. At my outburst, he stops increasing the pressure of his bite, but doesn't release me either. He's pinning me down, marking me, making me his own. I feel him fumble around with his cock, trying to line it up to push into my hungry holes while forcing my body to open itself to him, in my place on the dirty cold tile floor. Where I belong. Where I am owned. His. Completely.

"Wait, wait!" I said, suddenly remembering something. He lets go the bite grip on my neck, and I note not a small amount of disappointment in myself. I look back at him again, his eyes wide and hungry, primal and unhinged with lust. "Condom," I say.

"Shit!" he swears and finally rolling off me and for the first time since we'd got home, his energy starts to ebb a little. He sits back against the tub all panting and sexy sweating with exertion "... Didn't bring any. We'll have to wait."

"What?" I reply, suddenly frantic with panic. "Wait?" How can he stop now? Can't he see how much I need him to finish this act of domination and degradation we'd been playing out? That is just cruel! Unacceptable!

"I didn't bring any," he sighs in frustration.

"Fuck!" I yelp "No. I need this." And then it hits me and the relief washes over me. "In the... thing there... by the other thing.. the sink. Drawer. Condoms." Words aren't coming easily in my altered state, the little brain in my clit has taken over the one between my ears. She's in charge now and words are a low-priority luxury she isn't interested in.

But the condoms are there for sure, our salvation in this frenetic moment of wild sexy-sexy. They're even regular sized - my ex had to get the big ones, the Trojan XXL or whatever they're called and they'd obviously do my new friend no good.