Midnight's Secret Dive

The whole damn day dragged like a bad hangover, my brain stuck on that swimming hole and the way Greg's body cut through the water last night. I'd replayed it nonstop—his broad shoulders slicing the surface, that perfect ass flexing as he climbed out, and yeah, the tiny dick that had me hooked in a way I couldn't explain. It wasn't pity; it was the thrill of the mismatch, this gorgeous guy packing something so unexpectedly small and real. My pussy had throbbed just thinking about it while I lounged by the lake, pretending to read some dumb novel. By afternoon, I was fidgeting, shorts riding up my thighs, nipples hard against my tank top from the mental loop. Fuck it, I thought. Same time tonight. I couldn't wait to see if he'd show.

Dusk hit around ten, the sky bruising purple over the pines. I slipped out barefoot again, same jean shorts hugging my hips and ass—soft curves that still felt new to me—and a plain white t-shirt that clung where sweat already beaded between my tits. No bra, no panties; the fabric chafed just enough to keep me on edge. The trail felt shorter this time, my pulse syncing with the crunch of leaves underfoot. Memories of last night's orgasm against that tree trunk had me wet before I even hit the halfway mark, thighs slick as I walked. What if he was there? What if I got closer this time, made him notice me? The idea sent a fresh pulse through my clit, and I had to pause once, pressing a hand to my crotch to steady myself.

I approached slower than slow, weaving through the underbrush like a shadow, heart slamming against my ribs. The moon was half-hidden tonight, clouds smudging the light, turning the pool into a darker mirror. But there he was—Greg, stroking through the water with that same effortless power. Fuck, he was perfect. Tall frame gliding, arms cutting clean lines, brunette hair plastered to his head. I crouched behind the boulders, breath shallow, watching him pivot in the deep end. My shorts were soaked now, the seam pressing right against my swollen lips. I shifted, grinding subtly against my heel, eyes locked on every ripple of muscle under his skin.

He swam toward the shallows, emerging inch by inch, water sheeting off his chest and abs. God, his body was unreal—lean pecs tightening, that V dipping toward his groin. And then, my favorite part: he stood fully, and there it was. His tiny acorn of a penis, soft and shriveled, maybe an inch and a half dangling over a tight little sack. In the dimmer light, it looked even more delicate, like a secret he carried without a clue how it twisted me up inside. Perfect in every way but this, I thought, biting my lip hard enough to taste salt. His shame wasn't mine to know yet, but imagining it—him self-conscious about that small cock while owning the rest like a king—had my fingers itching to touch myself again. I resisted, thighs clamped together, letting the ache build.

He waded out completely, shaking water from his arms, oblivious as ever. Lord, that butt. Firm cheeks shifting with each step, dimples flexing at the base of his spine. I wanted to bury my face there, spread him open, tongue his hole while that little dick twitched uselessly above. He bent to grab something from the grass—his clothes, piled neat like last time—and my opportunity hit like a spark. Embarrass him? Hell yes. The thought made my pussy clench, juices trickling down my inner thigh. I waited until he turned back to the water, diving in with a splash that echoed off the rocks.

Heart pounding, I darted forward on silent feet, snatching his pile—jeans, shirt, those thin boxers—before melting into the thicker bushes nearby. The fabric was warm from the ground, smelling faintly of him: clean sweat and pine. I pressed the bundle to my chest, nipples peaking against the t-shirt as I hid, peeking out. He was in the deep end now, swimming lazy laps, his ass breaking the surface now and then like a tease. Fuck, I was dripping, the empty ache between my legs begging for friction. I slipped a hand into my shorts, fingers sliding through my folds, circling my clit once, twice, before pulling back. Not yet. This was about him squirming first.

Minutes stretched, my breaths coming in quiet huffs. Finally, he headed to the shallows again, emerging with that same unhurried grace. Water dripped from his hair, trailed down his torso, beaded on his thighs. In the patchy moonlight, his tiny penis swayed gently as he walked, the head a soft pink nub above his balls, sack drawn up tight from the cool air. I got another glimpse—clearer this time, the way it bobbed with his steps, so small it barely moved the skin around it. My clit throbbed at the sight, imagining wrapping my lips around it, sucking that little thing until it stiffened in my mouth, filling me just right without overwhelming my throat.

He reached the bank, scanning the grass, then froze. Panic flickered across his face—those dark eyes widening, chiseled jaw tightening. "What the—?" he muttered, hands flying to cover his groin, but it was pointless; that tiny dick hid easy under one palm. He spun, looking toward the rocks, the water, the path. Naked and exposed, his perfect body tensed, ass clenching as he crouched low, searching. "Shit, where are they?" His voice cracked a little, mortified, and it sent a rush straight to my core. I could see his small cock peeking out despite his efforts, balls shifting as he moved.

I stayed hidden a beat longer, savoring it—his broad back arched, thighs flexing, that secret shame blooming red up his neck. My fingers dipped back into my shorts, plunging into my pussy, two knuckles deep, pumping slow while I watched him scramble. He stood halfway, dick flopping free again, and paced the bank, muttering curses. "Fuck, fuck, this isn't happening." The vulnerability on him was intoxicating, mixing with his beauty to make me want to pounce—pin him down, straddle that little erection, ride him until we both forgot the embarrassment.

Finally, I couldn't hold back. Stepping out from the bushes, clothes bundled in my arms, I let the leaves rustle just enough. "Missing something?"

He whipped around, eyes locking on me, and shrieked—a high, startled sound that echoed off the water. His hands clamped over his crotch, face flushing crimson, that tiny penis trapped uselessly beneath his fingers. Mortified didn't cover it; he looked like he'd been caught stealing, backing up until his calves hit the pool edge. "Who—who the hell are you?" he stammered, voice pitching up, but his eyes darted over me—my t-shirt clinging to my hard nipples, shorts riding high on my thighs slick with arousal.

I grinned, holding his clothes out like a trophy, my own pussy pulsing with the power of it. "Just a girl who likes the view. Don't worry, Greg—your secret's safe with me." He gaped, the shriek hanging in the air like a punchline, but the way his tiny dick twitched under his hand? That promised the real fun was just starting.