The Secret Behind His Stride

Owen strode through the mall like he owned the polished tile floors, his broad shoulders cutting a path amid the weekend crowd. At six-foot-three, with a swimmer's lean muscle rippling under his fitted t-shirt and dark hair tousled just right, he drew eyes without trying. Heads turned—women glancing twice, men sizing him up. He smirked to himself, soaking it in. College loomed in a few weeks, and this shopping trip was his last hurrah before dorm life. New clothes, maybe some gear for the campus pool. He felt invincible, the kind of guy who could charm his way out of anything. But deep down, that secret gnawed at him: the pathetic two-inch nub between his legs that barely stretched to four when he was rock hard. It was his Achilles' heel, the one thing that could shatter the Adonis facade.

He paused at a display of athletic wear, flipping through racks of shorts, when a voice cut through the hum of chatter. "Hey, you look like you know your way around a gym. Need help picking something out?"

Owen turned, and there she was—Jamie, all curves and confidence. Blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face with full lips and eyes that sparkled with mischief. Her tight top hugged generous breasts, and low-rise jeans accentuated hips that swayed as she stepped closer. She was the type who turned heads without effort, and right now, her gaze was locked on him.

"Depends on what you're offering," Owen replied, flashing a grin that had worked a hundred times before. "I'm just grabbing some basics before college hits."

Jamie laughed, a light, flirty sound. "College guy, huh? I'm starting at the community college nearby. Name's Jamie. And you are...?"

"Owen." He extended a hand, and she took it, her touch lingering a beat too long. Up close, she smelled like vanilla and something sweeter, her body heat brushing against him as she leaned in to browse the rack beside him.

They fell into easy banter, the kind that crackled with potential. Jamie was bold, pressing close while pointing out shirts, her arm grazing his. "You swim, don't you? That build screams laps in the pool." Owen nodded, puffing up a little—he was the star of his high school team, cocky enough to bet on races he knew he'd win. But memories flickered: that time at camp when he'd lost a stupid bet and stripped down in the showers, the girls' giggles echoing as they peeked. He'd played it off, but the humiliation burned. Still, with Jamie's attention, he pushed it aside.

"You're not bad yourself," he shot back, eyes dipping to her cleavage. She noticed and arched her back playfully.

"Flatterer. Hey, I need a new swimsuit for the beach season. You shopping for one too?" Her fingers trailed down his arm, sending a spark straight to his groin. Despite his size issue, the flirtation stirred him—his tiny dick twitching in his boxers, trying to rise.

Owen hesitated, then shrugged. "Yeah, why not? Speedos or trunks?"

Jamie grinned wickedly. "Let's make it fun. There's a department store down the way—nice fitting rooms. We could try stuff on together." Her tone left no doubt what she meant. Owen's pulse quickened. This could be the ego boost he needed before college exposed him to a whole new crowd of judgmental eyes.

They wandered into the upscale department store, the air cooler, scented with fresh linens and perfume. Racks of swimwear lined the walls—bikinis in bright fabrics, men's suits in sleek cuts. Jamie zeroed in on a tiny string bikini, black with barely-there triangles that would hug her curves like a second skin. For Owen, she snatched a bright red Speedo, the kind that left nothing to the imagination.

"Whoa, no way," Owen protested, holding it up. It was minuscule, designed for elite swimmers, not casual shopping. "That's too tight. Give me trunks."

Jamie pouted, pressing the Speedo into his chest. "Come on, hot stuff. Live a little. It'll show off that ass of yours." She winked, already heading to the fitting rooms. "I'll be right next door. Don't chicken out."

Owen's stomach twisted. The last thing he needed was something that might highlight his... shortcomings. But her enthusiasm was infectious, and refusing felt like backing down from a challenge. He remembered Lindsay at the pool last summer, yanking his trunks down in a prank that left him exposed and red-faced, the girls whispering about the "tiny swimmer." Fuck that—he wasn't letting fear win today.

He ducked into a spacious dressing room, the mirror reflecting his chiseled torso as he stripped. The Speedo was a joke—stretching it over his hips, it clung like paint, outlining every muscle from his V-line to his thighs. His cock, semi-hard from the flirting, strained against the fabric, but even erect, it was a modest four inches, the bulge underwhelming. He adjusted, hoping the tight material would create some illusion.

A soft knock, then the door creaked open. Jamie slipped in, wearing her bikini—two scraps of fabric barely containing her full tits and the swell of her ass. Her skin glowed under the fluorescent lights, nipples faintly visible through the thin top. "Couldn't wait," she murmured, eyes raking over him. "Holy shit, Owen. You're like a fucking statue."

He turned, heart pounding, and she was on him in seconds. Her lips crashed into his, hungry and insistent, tongue darting in to taste him. Owen groaned, hands roaming her back, pulling her close. She was all soft curves against his hard planes, her breasts pressing into his chest as they kissed deeper. Jamie's fingers dug into his sculpted ass, squeezing the firm globes through the Speedo. "God, you're so sexy," she breathed, nipping his lower lip. "That body... fuck, I could devour you."

They stumbled against the mirror, her leg hooking around his thigh, grinding against him. Owen's hands cupped her ass, thumbs brushing the bikini strings, while she trailed kisses down his neck, moaning softly. "Feel how wet you make me," she whispered, guiding his hand between her legs. The fabric was damp, her pussy heat radiating through it. He rubbed circles over her clit, eliciting a gasp, and she retaliated by palming his chest, pinching his nipples until he hissed.

Emboldened, Jamie's hand slid lower, petting the front of the Speedo. She moaned again, grabbing his ass harder. "You're perfect, Owen. Every inch of you." Her fingers dipped under the waistband, eager to feel him. But then... she paused. Her touch explored, fumbling gently, searching for the thick shaft she expected. Confusion flickered in her eyes, but Owen was lost in the heat, his small dick throbbing at her attention.

She felt around again, brow furrowing. "Wait..." The giggle started small, bubbling up as realization hit. She stepped back, eyes dropping to the Speedo. No telltale ridge, no impressive outline—just a faint, unimpressive swell. "Oh my god," she said, voice pitching higher. Kneeling swiftly, she hooked her fingers in the waistband and yanked it down.

Owen's world froze. His four-inch erection bobbed free, pathetic in the open air, the head flushed and desperate. Jamie stared, then burst out laughing—loud, uncontrollable peals that echoed off the dressing room walls. "It's so small! Holy fuck, Owen, your dick is tiny! Like, what the hell?"

Heat flooded his face, humiliation crashing over him like a wave. He stood there, exposed, his athletic body on full display but his manhood a joke. "Jamie, stop—"

She couldn't, wiping tears from her eyes as she stood, still chuckling. "I mean, you're gorgeous, but this? A tiny weenie on an Adonis? I need to go... process this." She grabbed her clothes from her own room, still snickering, and bolted, leaving the door ajar.

Owen's hands shook as he reached for the Speedo, dick wilting under the sting of her laughter. Fuck. Just like the pool incident, or that camp shower where the girls had plotted to catch him cocky and strip him bare. He was yanking the fabric up when the door swung wide again.

Emilia barreled in, arms full of blouses she'd been trying on from the adjacent stall. At thirty-five, she was a vision of professional allure—tall and toned, with sharp features, raven hair in a sleek ponytail, and a pencil skirt hugging her long legs. Her blouse strained against full, perky breasts, and her green eyes widened in shock at the sight before her: a nearly naked god of a man, frozen mid-dress, his minuscule cock dangling limply.

"What the—?" Emilia's voice was a whipcrack, anger flashing as she dropped her clothes. Confusion twisted her face, then her gaze zeroed in on his exposure. Owen scrambled to cover himself, but it was too late—the tiny dick was right there, laughably small against his ripped abs and powerful thighs.

"I'm so sorry," he stammered, face burning crimson, hands fumbling to pull up the Speedo. Humiliation choked him; this stranger had seen his worst secret, the one that made girls like Jamie run laughing.

Emilia's expression shifted from fury to something darker, more intrigued. She slammed the door shut behind her, locking it with a decisive click. "You little exhibitionist," she snapped, mean edge lacing her words. "Barging into my space like this? Showing off that... that pathetic excuse for a cock?"

Owen flinched, but her eyes devoured him—his broad chest, the V of his hips, the way his muscles tensed under her scrutiny. Despite the anger, heat bloomed in her cheeks. "Please, it was an accident," he muttered, still half-hard from Jamie's teasing, the tiny shaft twitching involuntarily.

She stepped closer, professional poise cracking into something predatory. "Accident? You look like you planned this, strutting around with a body like that and a dick the size of my pinky." Her voice dripped disdain, but her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist to stop him covering up. "No. Let me see what we're dealing with."

Humiliation warred with a twisted arousal in Owen's gut. Emilia was older, commanding—nothing like the giggling co-ed. She forced his hands away, staring down at his exposure. "Jesus, it's even smaller up close. Two inches soft? Hardly worth the hype." She smirked, mean and unyielding, but her free hand trailed up his thigh, nails scraping lightly. "Bet that blonde bimbo just left you high and dry, huh? Laughed and ran?"

Owen nodded, mortified, but his cock betrayed him, stiffening to its full, inadequate four inches under her gaze. Emilia's laugh was low, throaty. "Look at that—it's trying so hard. Pathetic, but kind of cute." Anger still simmered, but it fueled her, turning the intrusion into fuel for control. She pushed him back against the mirror, her body pressing in—breasts soft against his chest, thigh nudging his legs apart.

"What are you—?" Owen gasped, but she silenced him with a fierce kiss, all teeth and dominance. Her tongue invaded his mouth, hand wrapping around his tiny dick. It fit easily in her palm, her fingers engulfing it completely as she stroked—slow, deliberate pulls that made him buck despite himself.

"Shut up," she growled against his lips. "You humiliated yourself barging in here. Now you get what you deserve." Her strokes quickened, thumb circling the sensitive head, smearing the bead of pre-cum. Owen moaned, head thumping back against the glass, the mean edge of her words only heightening the thrill. She'd seen him at his most vulnerable, and instead of fleeing, she owned it.

Emilia's other hand roamed, pinching his nipple hard enough to sting. "Such a big, strong boy with a baby dick. Bet you've got girls drooling over you, never knowing until it's too late." She pumped him faster, her skirt riding up as she ground her hips against his thigh. Owen could feel the heat of her pussy through her panties, damp and insistent. He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away. "No. This is your punishment."

The humiliation burned, but so did the pleasure—her grip tight, expert, twisting just right at the base. His balls tightened, the small shaft pulsing in her hand. Emilia leaned in, breath hot on his ear. "Come on, tiny. Show me what you've got." She spat into her palm, slicking him up, the wet sounds obscene in the confined space.

Owen's mind reeled—flashes of past exposures, the girls' plots to knock him down a peg, but this was different. Emilia's meanness was laced with lust, her professional facade cracking as she worked him. She dropped to her knees suddenly, skirt pooling around her, and took his entire length in her mouth without effort. No gagging, no challenge—just her lips sealing around the base, tongue swirling as she sucked. "Mmm, fits like a glove," she murmured around him, the vibration sending shocks through his body.

He gripped her hair, thrusting shallowly, the mirror fogging behind him. Emilia hummed approval, one hand cupping his balls—small and tight—while the other slipped under her skirt, rubbing her own clit. She was soaked, fingers dipping into her pussy with wet squelches that matched her bobs on his dick. "Fuck, you're turning me on," she admitted, pulling off to stroke him again. "Humiliating you like this... it's hot."

Owen's orgasm built fast, the combo of her mouth and mocking words overwhelming. "Emilia, I'm—" He came with a guttural groan, spurting ropes of cum onto her tongue. She swallowed most, letting the last dribble onto her lips, then stood, wiping her mouth with a satisfied smirk.

But she wasn't done. "My turn, pretty boy." She shoved her panties aside, guiding his still-sensitive cock to her entrance. Despite its size, she was so wet it slid in easily, her walls clenching around the modest intrusion. "Feel that? Even your tiny dick can make me cum." She rode him against the wall, skirt hiked up, tits bouncing free as she unbuttoned her blouse. Owen latched on, sucking a nipple hard, hands finally free to grab her ass—firm and round, pulling her deeper.

Emilia fucked him with abandon, mean whispers turning filthy. "That's it, fill my pussy with your little load." Her fingers worked her clit furiously, and soon she shattered—squirting around him, juices soaking his thighs as she cried out. Owen, impossibly hard again, thrust up, pounding her through it until he came a second time, creaming her insides with hot spurts.

They slumped together, panting, the dressing room reeking of sex. Emilia straightened her clothes, that professional edge returning, but with a sly smile. "Not bad for a micro-dick. Keep that confidence, Owen—it suits you." She slipped out, leaving him dazed but grinning.

Owen dressed slowly, the humiliation from Jamie fading into something empowering. College awaited, secrets and all, but encounters like this? They made him feel alive. As he left the mall, head high, he spotted Jamie across the food court, whispering to a friend and glancing his way. He winked, strutting past. Let them laugh—his charm, and apparently his surprises, always won out.

Later that week, Brooke—his longtime friend from swim practice, with her athletic build and easy smile—texted him about grabbing coffee before he left for school. Owen replied instantly, the memory of Emilia's touch lingering. Brooke had always eyed him with quiet interest, never pushing, but now he wondered. They met at a quiet café, her laughter light as they caught up. "You seem different," she said, touching his arm. "More... relaxed."

Owen leaned in, the flirtation natural. "Just had some adventures at the mall. Met this girl Jamie—blonde, curvy. Things got intense." He skipped the details, but Brooke's eyes lit up, intrigued.

"Tell me more," she urged, and as they talked, her foot brushed his under the table. By evening, they were back at her place, clothes shedding in a trail to the bedroom. Brooke was direct, pushing him onto the bed and straddling his lap. "I've wanted this forever," she confessed, grinding against his growing bulge.

When she freed his cock, there was no pause, no laugh—just a