Handjob for Small Penis

I'm lying on my back on the table in the massage parlour, stark naked, when Carla walks in. She's dark-haired, about five feet two inches tall, sultry-looking, with very red lips and a full, sensuous figure. She about 22 years old. She's wearing a flimsy dressing gown, falling open over her breasts, and not much else. Following her is a second girl, much the same age: she is blond, pretty, and with a softer, gentler aspect. She's wearing a short cream-coloured dress, and open sandals.

"So here he is," says Carla. "Now tell me I'm lying."

"Oh my God," says the blond girl, stepping forward and peering down at me. "I would never have believed it."

"Zoe didn't believe me when I told her how small your dick is," says Carla. "So I told her next time she was down this way she should call in and have a look. Go on," she says to Zoe: "touch it: it won't bite."

Zoe comes forward and perches on the side of the table. Her dress rides up her thighs until I can see the white stretch of her knickers. Tentatively she reaches out her hand and lifts up my thin, limp little dick with her finger.

"You wouldn't think it was real, would you?" says Carla.

"Wow," says Zoe.

"And look at his little balls - I've seen bigger gooseberries."

Zoe lets my tiny dick flop back down, and gently runs her hand over my scrotum. I groan and my dick twitches. My scrotum, as always, is very tight. My little balls form no more than a small protuberance: never in my life have they hung free like other men's balls.

"Look at him," says Carla, in a half-teasing half-pitying way. "What a specimen of manhood."

"You shouldn't tease him," says Zoe. "Think what it must be like for him, going through life like that. What does your girlfriend think?" she asks me.

Carla snorts, as though Zoe has said something preposterous.

"I don't have a girlfriend," I say.

"He never has had a girlfriend," puts in Carla. "Can you imagine any girl wanting to go out with someone like that?"

"Never?" says Zoe. "That's really sad. How old are you?"

"Thirty-eight."

"Thirty-eight and you've never had a girlfriend?"

"I've had a few one-night stands," I say. "But no-one who would stay with me any longer."

"That is so sad," says Zoe, and she looks genuinely sad, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over me. "Aw."

She lets her warm hand rest on my leg, and strokes me gently.

"Huh," says Carla: "Would you be his girlfriend?"

"I didn't say that," says Zoe. "But think how miserable it must be: never having a nice warm girl to fuck."

"It's very frustrating," I say.

Carla now joins Zoe, sitting on the opposite side of the table. Her gown falls open and her lovely breasts hang free. My little two-inch dick twitches again. Carla takes it between her finger and thumb, holding it away from her as though it is something disgusting. She shakes it from side to side until it is stiff.

"Look at him," she says scornfully. "He may have been at the back of the queue when they were giving out dicks, but he's still got a little spunk factory working overtime between his legs. Want to come do you?" she asks me.

"Yes," I gasp.

"Two minutes he's been here, and all he wants to do is empty his little balls." She laughs and flicks my little dick from side to side. "Mr Tiddles," she says.

"You shouldn't torment him like that," says Zoe. "He's still a man isn't he? He still needs to empty his balls like other men."

"Don't feel too sorry for him," says Carla. "At least he can afford to come here twice a week and have me give him a nice oily handjob. Not every man can do that."

"But it's not the same though, is it?" says Zoe. "I sometimes give my Pete a handjob when it's my time of month, but he says it's not like being inside me. Most of the time he'd rather wait."

I don't know who this Pete is, but looking at Zoe, her lovely soft, creamy thighs, her warm, gentle face, her curves beneath the tight dress, I think he must be the luckiest man in the world.

"How long is it since you were inside a girl?" Zoe asks me.

"So long I can't remember," I say. "Ten years at least."

"That's sad," says Zoe. Then she frowns and asks:

"Why don't you fuck Carla?"

"Because Carla won't let him," puts in Carla quickly. "Because Carla only allows real men with proper dicks to fuck her, not little boys with tiddlers."

Zoe shrugs:

"I'd have thought his money was as good as anyone's," she says. "How much do you charge for a fuck?"

"One hundred pounds," says Carla.

"Can't you afford it?" Zoe asks me. I nod.

"Well I'd fuck him for a hundred pounds," says Zoe. She looks down at me again: "Would you like that?" she asks.

My heart starts pounding. In all the years I've been paying for escorts and visiting massage parlours I've never found a girl who would let me fuck her. My eyes run up and down Zoe, taking in her lovely, sensuous body. The thought of her lying beneath me, of sinking my tiny cock between her creamy thighs, of coming inside her warm vagina, makes me tremble.

"I'd love that," I say, my throat dry.

"Hold on a minute," says Carla: "before you get carried away. It's not the money that's the problem: he'd pay that twice over, three times over. Wouldn't you" she says, giving my tiny dick another flick.

"So what is the problem?" asks Zoe.

"It's his size, isn't it? There isn't a condom made that will fit him. They just slide off. We tried it once, didn't we? It wouldn't stay on. Which means you'll end up with all his nasty mess inside you."

"Oh," said Zoe. She looks at me again, worrying her luscious lips against each other. "Sorry," she says. "I'm sorry if I got your hopes up."

"It's all right," I say, though I'm close to tears at such a beautiful vision being snatched away.

"Now stop that," says Carla, who's noticed the expression on my face. "Little boys who pout don't get their balls emptied."

I quickly compose myself. Zoe looks at me compassionately. Her hand slides meditatively over the little lumps between my legs.

"Have you ever thought of having them off?" she asks. "No, seriously," she says, noting my horrified expression. "It would stop you feeling miserable and frustrated all the time. They can do it painlessly these days, you'd be in and out of hospital in a day. Then think of how much freer you'd feel. And all the money you'd save."

"Hey," says Carla: "This is one of my regular customers you're talking to."

"Oh - sorry," says Zoe, with an apologetic laugh.

As she's talking her fingers are probing at my little balls, trying to get some sort of purchase on them, trying to size them up. This is making me desperately randy again. My tiny cock flexes in mid-air: I'm longing for Carla to take hold of it and put me out of my torment.

Instead she pushes her hand where Zoe's has just been, and squeezes my scrotum firmly with her fingertips.

"He doesn't want to have his little balls off," she says teasingly. "Do you? No, of course you don't. Because then nice sexy Carla wouldn't be able to milk them for you would she?"

"Oh God," I groan. "For God's sake bring me off."

"Listen to him," says Carla, continuing to prod at my balls. "For God's sake bring me off" That's all you ever hear from a man: Fuck me, suck me, wank me off; fuck me, suck me, wank me off. All day long. A girl gets tired of it sometimes."

"He has paid you know," says Zoe.

Carla seems to think about this: then she says:

"Tell you what: since he seems to have the hots for you, why don't you wank him off? You can have my fee."

I look from one girl to the other, my desperation temporarily put on hold. Zoe looks down at me:

"Would you like that?" she asks. "I'm not an expert like Carla."

"I'd like that very much," I say.

"Oh, why not?" says Zoe. "Since I had to let you down over the fuck."

"You'd better take your dress off," says Carla. "You don't want it stained with his muck. You wouldn't think he'd have much in those little balls, but believe me he can still spurt a decent load."

Zoe reaches ineffectually towards the zip at the back of her dress.

"Will you do it for me?" she asks Carla. Carla goes behind her, unzips the dress, then takes hold of the hem and peels it up and over the head of her friend. My mouth hangs open in wonder at the beauty of Zoe's body: the lovely soft young flesh, her breasts, supple, not too big and not too small, the smoothness of her skin.

"You're so beautiful," I gasp.

"Am I?" she says, as though this is the first time anyone has told her. "Aw - you're so kind. Shall I take my pants off as well?"

I almost say no - because I think if I see her naked I will pass out, overcome by her beauty. In fact I can't bring myself to speak, but just nod my head. She half-rises from the bed, and in one graceful movement slides her pants down her thighs, down her legs, and over her sandal-clad feet. My eyes are yoked to the place between her legs: the little triangle of short, soft pubic hair. I would give 10 years of my life to be Pete for a week. She stands up, to give me a better view: she's radiating such a strong sexual force-field I'm frightened I'm going to shoot my load miserably into the air before she has time to touch me.

"You'd better use some of this," says Carla, handing her a bottle of baby oil. "Baby oil for a baby cock and balls." She laughs: "You won't need much: one thing about him, he doesn't cost us much in oil."

Zoe takes the bottle and squeezes some oil into her right hand. Then she gently clamps her hand between my legs and begins to massage the oil over my balls.

"Oh my God," I say.

"Is that nice?" she asks, unnecessarily.

"Please," I say. "I can't hold out any longer."

The warmth of her hand between my legs has almost brought me to the point of no return. She sees this, squirts some oil over my little cock, and closes her left hand over it.

"Oh yes," I gasp.

Even fully erect my cock is so small it almost slips out of her hand. But whilst one of her hands continues to massage my balls, the other establishes a firm grip on my tiny cock, and begins to work it up and down. It doesn't take long: her hands, close together, form an irresistible concentration of sensual warmth: in a few strokes she has taken me to the edge: I can hold out no longer: with a long drawn-out moan I push my little scrotum into her palm, my little cock flexes, and I shoot my load hard and long with a tremendous release that leaves me gasping for breath.

"Oh my God oh my God oh my God," I gasp.

At last I fall still and spent. I can still feel the warmth of her hand between my legs, but no longer is it stirring me to into a desperate excitement.

Blearily, dreamily I look up at Zoe as she takes her hand away.

"Oh my God, that was amazing," I say. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

She smiles down at me, and shakes her head a little, as though she has never seen a man come with such ferocity before.

"I think you needed that," she says.

I reach out and lay my hand on the thigh, in a gesture of gratitude. She lets it rest there.

"So - finished now?" asks Carla presently.

"I think so," says Zoe. She looks at me again: "are we finished now?"

I can only groan in response.

"Here," says Carla offering Zoe a couple of baby wipes. "You'd better wipe his chest."

I've closed my eyes, but I'm aware of Zoe wiping the spunk away from my chest. When she's finished she drops the wipes into a bin at the side of the bed.

"Better go and put your dress back on," says Carla. "Unless you fancy taking over all my clients today."

I hear Zoe laugh, half-open my eyes to see her washing her hands at the basin across the room.

Carla sits down on the bed again, and gives my scrotum a squeeze:

"Feeling better now are we?" she asks. "Now we've had our little baby balls emptied?" She puts one finger under my flaccid little dick, lifts it up and lets it flop again. Zoe has returned: she has her knickers on and is wriggling into her dress. Carla looks at her, shakes her head then wiggles her little finger, which is about the same length and thickness as my spent cock.

"Come on then," she says to me. "I've got customers queuing up outside."

Reluctantly I drag myself up. Carla has turned the shower on, and I stand under the hot water in a daze, wash and dry myself, emerge into the massage room and put on my clothes. Before I leave I give Zoe a huge hug.

"You're a lovely girl," I tell her.

"And you're a lovely man," she says. "I hope you find a girlfriend soon."

"You can be the nicest man on the planet," says Carla: "But if you haven't got it between the legs you're wasting your time."

Then she, too, gives me a hug.

"Go on with you," she says. "If I tease you it's only for your own good. You take yourself too seriously: forget about your dick for once and go and have some fun."

"I'll try," I say. But I know in a few days I'll be back.

Because that's what life is like for me. Endless frustration, days spent looking at women and girls I know I can never have, days debating whether or not to have a wank, before I wash up at the massage parlour again.

But for now I'm happy, my frustration temporarily assuaged. I throw Zoe a last smile and leave, glad to have met her even though I doubt I will ever see her again, knowing that, when you're saddled with a tiny little cock and balls, a paid-for handjob from a beautiful girl is as good as it's ever going to get.