The Quartet
Copyright© 2023 by Quinotaurus
Chapter 3: Alfred’s Unfortunate Secret
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 3: Alfred’s Unfortunate Secret - Alfred's about to marry. But his fiancée's friends want to have their say. Femdom story.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion NonConsensual Heterosexual FemaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Group Sex Interracial Black Female White Male White Female Analingus Oral Sex Safe Sex Voyeurism
May burst into loud laughter, and June giggled too.
“It’s so small! Like a child.” More giggles.
I felt mortified, knowing those women I could not see were looking at my small penis. With my hands tied and my trousers bunched around my knees, all I could do was squirm a little. The size of it had always been a painful concern for me. I remembered behind a child in the changing room, hiding from other boys’ nasty taunts. I remembered the lonely nights I spent thinking nobody would ever want me. I remembered my fear when someone at work stood beside me at the urinal, the absurd fear that they would look, and talk, and everyone around would know.
“How long is it? It looks so small. Get the, uh, the things.”
“Right,” Phryne said.
There was a soft wheezing sound and I felt something soft, cold on my pubic area: shaving cream. Incautious hands spread it all over my pubes and scrotum. Then came the razor, one of the cheap plastic ones with a small blade that could only nick me a little. But with my sight obscured it was frightening none the less. Strange hands moved and stretched my parts here and there while I was being shaved, and I could only guess at the girls’ gaze on my groin. By now, while still upset, I had grown calmer, withdrawn. Even when they cut away my nightshirt, I barely noticed.
“It’s smaller than the razor handle,” June observed. “Just like a child,” she confirmed once my groin was smooth.
I felt something hard against my short soft shaft. It pressed against the skin of my groin and roughskinned hands pressed my penis along its side. It was a ruler.
“It’s 3 centimeter long flaccid,” Phryne said. “Barely an inch.”
Didn’t I know it.
“Let’s see it hard now,” June commanded. “Come on, Alfred. It can’t take that much blood to inflate your little worm.”
“I can’t.”
When she talked again her mouth was closer.
“Just think of Sophie. If that can’t make you hard I guess you don’t really love her.”
But her words had a strange effect on me, one Sophie would hopefully forgive. It was not of her I thought but of June’s breasts under that fateful T-shirt, and following that train of thought, of May’s heavy bosom, and of Phryne’s brown cleavage in the gala dress she had worn at some social function one boring night. In my mind I handled my tormentor’s breasts with vengeful lust, and I wondered at their shape, at the color and size of their areolas, at how soft or firm they would feel under my hands.
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