The Long And The Short Of It

I was always below average height. My parents, concerned that I might have a growth hormone deficiency when I was eleven (and frequently mistaken for a seven year old) consulted a doctor, who ran tests.

“There’s nothing wrong with him" he reassured my worried Mom. “He’s small for his age but he’ll catch up in his own time".

Small I was, but although I say it myself, a pretty child, with sun bleached blond hair and, curiously, almost olive toned skin, inherited from my dad’s Mediterranean ancestry. I was active and loved running and dancing, so my parents let me enjoy myself without further qualms.

I had barely gained an inch by twelve and was becoming the butt of many schoolboy jokes, leaving me self conscious.

By fourteen, many of my schoolmates were well into puberty, some already past it, with acne, whiskers, pubes and other bodily hair well in evidence. I remained stubbornly undersized at less than 50 inches tall, with genitals like a child. I was filling out a bit though, as I was still very active, and had recently discovered a love of gymnastics – being too small for practically every other sport at my school.

By now, I was the laugh of the school changing room. Sure, I had some nice adolescent musculature in torso and limbs, and clear golden skin, but my cock and balls had barely grown for the last three years. I was humiliated to be compared to a girl, while the larger boys waved their much bigger cocks in my face and sniggered at my lack.

Things improved when I was fifteen though, as I suddenly had a major growth spurt, although puberty apparently only glanced in my direction.

In due course, I left school and enrolled at college having grown to a wonderful 64 inches in height – and that’s where I stayed.

My cock had thickened and finally topped out at 5 uncut inches fully erect (if I measured it from underneath and was a bit generous). It was still small but looked nicely proportional to my body. My balls, fully dropped and developed, remained small but held high and full in my absolutely hairless scrotum. And unfortunately, that was the final source of embarrassment.

Not one sodding whisker, not a single pube to mark my transition to adulthood. I was as smooth as the proverbial baby's bum from the eyebrows down. Again, I was the brunt of macho teenage taunting in the changing rooms, my embarrassment only mildly mitigated by my lithe, elegant little body being favourable to the other boys, who were invariably often gangling and rake thin or pudgy and overweight – but sported hair in all the right places.

What was definitely a relief (in every way) was my first watery emission. I’d had erections for years, but despite some fairly determined wanking had never produced a drop of spunk. As the good doctor had years ago assured my parents, I was a late starter. By 16 I’d finally managed to shoot my first welcome but pitifully meager and watery spunk in a frantic moment of rapid self abuse, which shot briefly in the air to land just below my navel, with the remainder dribbling down my hand.

I knew that I was gay. I’d secretly known it from probably about age eleven. The school changing rooms had confirmed my preference for males, despite the taunting and humiliation.

Porn became my saviour for the next couple of years. I was too intimidated (thanks to all my formative embarrassments and humiliations in the changing rooms) to have any desire to socialise with my peers, but I focused on the brawny, hairy, older guys on porn sites, marvelling at the confidence and maturity that they had, and I lacked.

I continued to practice gymnastics at a gym in town, after college, each day.

And that is where I saw him.

***

Terry (that was his name) was everything I wasn’t.

At a touch over 6 foot 3 inches, the top of my head only came up to his chest. He was dark haired with a hint of grey, long on top and shorn close around the sides. He was broad, beefy, obviously hairy (his chest hair spilled over the top of his vest) with muscular arms and legs, liberally covered with dark hairs, dark grey eyes and a severe mouth. At 39 years old, he was divorced and I found out (when evesdropping on a couple of girls twittering about him) that he had taken up the post of trainer/gym instructor having left the army as a PTI the previous year.

I instantly went down with a bad case of lust.

Terry was professionally courteous, a solicitous hand supporting through a gymnastic routine or weights set, as required. Over several months I started to feel that he lingered a little longer, maybe running his hand down my back or squeezing a shoulder, before muttering a curt “good job" and piercing me with his steel grey eyes. I never knew whether to faint, giggle or just cum on the spot.

I’m sure I felt his eyes on me many times in the changing room, when he often wandered in to tidy up, just as I had finished excercising. I never showered at the gym in any case, being ever embarrassed to reveal my lightly muscled and tight, but utterly hairless body, to anyone else. I’d just throw my clothes on over shorts and vest, and leave, to masturbate frantically in the solitary privacy of my bedroom to the control and domination porn videos I had come to cherish, dribbling out my usual quarter-teaspoonful of watery spunk in a guilty silence.

But even that was becoming less satisfying, and my overheated imagination burgeoned with visions of the object of my unrequited lust.

Inevitably, I became less interested in the porn and more frustrated as the weeks passed, but was clueless how to find any way to resolve my yearning, with the bitter reality that I simply had no courage to approach him...even to talk.

Ten days before my eighteenth birthday, I messed up a routine in the gym and, embarrassed and irritated, shrugged off Terry's supporting hand. He called me over to the side, away from the few other customers still concentrating on their final sets before the gym closed, and raised his perfect dark eyebrows.

“What’s up?"

I was so tongue tied I could barely speak. I don’t think I’d spoken more than a dozen words to him up till then. I honestly can’t remember what I said, but as the tears sprang to my eyes he took my arm and drew me out of the gym, through into the small, unused cafeteria area. He bought a black coffee and passed me a diet coke from a vending machine. I climbed on to one of the high stools and sat hunched over, feeling embarrassed. Why did I always get so embarrassed?

Terry stood in front of me and put his huge hands on my shoulders. Even that simple touch made me tremble.

“Joe, calm down and tell me what’s wrong" (How did he know my name? I didn’t know he even knew my name!).

Eventually, through my stumbling, half sobbing confession, he learnt that I knew I was gay, had never done anything about it, had no friends at college, no life outside of the gym and would soon be eighteen having never, not once, even had the experience of a passion filled kiss.

“You’re nearly eighteen? I thought you were at least a couple of years younger" he murmured, and got me to confirm my date of birth.

That led me to say about my problems with late puberty and development, how I didn’t need to shave at all - anywhere. About the years of humiliation and embarrassment for being small - everywhere.

He sat on a tall stool next to mine, his baggy gym shorts riding slightly up his thighs. I momentarily cast my eyes down to marvel at the expanse of his muscular, hairy legs and for the first time glimpsed his substantial package. When I looked back to his face, I saw that he was watching me with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Well, you’ll meet a nice boy sooner or later and learn together" he began, in a low, deep velvet voice.

“But I don’t want that!” I almost cried. “I want someone who's experienced to show me...”

He narrowed his eyes.

“What? Show you what? Be specific".

Bit by bit, hesitatingly at first, I told him about my solitary sex life and revealed that I loved the porn of control and domination, with my favourites featuring the bigger, mature men who knew what they wanted and took it.

“And that’s what I want! I want to be controlled, and made to feel helpless to stop stuff from happening. I want to be taught what to do, and to be made to do it. I'm small but I’m fit, you know? I’m so ready to do it all. I just want the experience!”

“It's one thing to want to be controlled, and something else entirely to actually give control over to someone, kid" he growled. (“Kid?” I thought). “You have to trust someone enough to do that. You have to really want it and commit to it. No backing out if it gets tough or you lose your nerve, or just too frustrated. Is that what you want? Well? What do you want?”

He leaned down and grasped my chin, tilting my head up to look directly at him.

“Look, either tell me, or fuck off. I need to lock up if everyone has gone. What is it that you WANT?”

I could see his steel grey eyes searching mine for the truth of my desire when I whispered “You. I want my first time to be you".

He leaned closer and placed his mouth next to my ear. Then in a low, almost hypnotic voice, began to speak.

“Then you’ll do what you’re told, and trust me to know what I’m doing. And I DO know what I’m doing. You wont be the first boy that I’ve trained. Mostly I prefer women, but every now and then I’ll treat myself to a cute piece of young, fresh boy meat. You’ll be coming home with me later, and you’ll be my new project – my own piece of young, gymnastic boy ass. I’ll get you trained up. Show you control. You’ll do what I want, when and how I want you to do it. No more wanking for you. From now, you’re only pleasure will be mine.

Tonight, I’ll strip you off. I like my women smooth, same with my boy trainees. Have you naked in front of me so I can see your whole hairless body - your little boy prick, your teeny ball sac and that fantastic tight little bubble butt that you keep hidden away. Completely naked, boy, not a stitch on...I bet that makes you embarrassed to even think of it, eh? I’ll feel you over, head to toe, see what you’ve got. I’ll kiss you, boy" (now I’m “boy") “but no namby pamby kissy stuff from me. This'll be proper full on. I’ll make you wet for more.

I’ll get you sorted out with a nice little chastity cage to lock your little willie away, but leaving your balls nice and available, yeah? That’ll stop you if you get tempted to try and knock one out on the sly, eh? Get you used to concentrating on what you really want, giving over your control to me. No matter how horned up you get, you wont be able to do a thing about it, unless I allow it. I’ll be controlling everything you do, everything you experience, when you’re with me.

You’ll visit me at home every night when the gym closes, and I’ll train you. I’ll make sure you get experiences, boy, believe me. You’re too cute to be running around at eighteen without having had experiences”.

He turned my head to look him straight in the eye, his mouth a wide, predatory snarl. Hunter to prey.

“Tomorrow, you’ll get to see what I’ve got, what you have to work with. That’ll be a treat for you, eh? Your first proper man’s cock, not on one of those phoney porno films that turn you on. You’ll get to taste my dick. It wont be easy, boy; I’m not exactly small".

He grasped my hand and drew it down into his lap, settled my palm against his groin. His cock, hidden by his perpetually baggy shorts, was a solid bar of iron. I could feel it pulse and lightly squeezed. It didn’t budge. I went to move my hand further towards the head, buried somewhere in the waistband, but he moved my hand away again.

“There's nearly 10 inches of thick dick here, boy, and it’s all going in you, every inch. All the way down that throat, until my balls are on your chin".

He ran the tips of his fingers across my slightly open, panting mouth and then down my chin and my throat, stopping at my wobbling Adams apple.“I reckon, with plenty of practice, I can get you to take my cock head to about here, eventually.

And you’ll get practice, boy. It’ll be a tight fit but you’ll be an expert deep throater by the time I’ve trained you. You’ll practice every time you visit me.

And you’ll swallow every drop of my spunk that I choose to feed you, too. I don’t like waste. I cum pretty heavy too, so there’ll be some overflow, I expect. But you’ll be choking it all down, or else.

Then, on the third night, I’ll be doing some work on those little, untrained boy nips of yours. Maybe pinch ‘em up a bit, nibble on them, get them nice and hard and sensitive. I bet it wont be long before I can hot wire them straight to your tiny balls. You’ll be leaking pre jizz just from having your tits played with. And they’ll be nice and swollen and prominent, like little mini “on" switches, by the time I’ve got them how I want them.

I’ll probably start working on those twitchy little balls the next night. Have you tied to the chair with your legs strapped wide open; you wont be able to do a thing to stop me. Oh yeah, I’ll make sure to give your balls a good time, oil them up and pull on them a bit, get them stretched out, squeeze and maybe beat them a little, get them swollen up a bit too, just like your nipples. Oh man, those little bollocks of yours are going to be aching. I bet I can make you cry with how much attention your nips and balls are gonna get.‘

Course, you’ll still be having loads of practice sucking on my cock, goes without saying.

I bet after four days of not being able to have a wank and after all the attention to tits and balls, you’re going to be leaking pre jizz all over the place. I bet you’re going to be getting a bit desperate, even. I bet your nuts are going to be aching and feeling so full that you wont be able to walk without thinking they’re too heavy".

I'm sure my eyes were wide, staring into his grey, fathomless gaze. I gulped as he continued.

“Then, on night number five, we'll review what you’ve learnt so far. But I might kick your training up a gear, have you sat on my lap, facing me so I can see the look on your face, with your legs wide, on either side of mine. If you try to close them I can just open mine more, see? Keep you open and accessible, yeah? And to make sure that you feel totally helpless to stop what I’m doing, I’ll tie your hands to some handy hooks I’ve got in the ceiling, keep your arms open, out of the way and over your head. Bet that will really look good, with your pert little pecs on display in front of my face. I’ll be able to really go to town on your nips then, eh? Lick them, nibble on them, get them all nice and red and wet and swollen and sensitive.

Oh, and you’ll know what kissing is about too, for this session. When I’m not getting your tits peaked up, I’m going to be shoving my tongue down your throat, wet and sloppy. Keep you in practice at sucking, see?

And at the same time, I can work your aching little nuts some more too, with your leaking, tiny cocklet safely locked away. Give them a massage, maybe, get them clenched in my fist and hold you down by them. Stop you wriggling around, you know? I bet those balls of yours will be getting really swollen by this time. I bet they’ll actually be bigger too, with the mauling I’m going to give them.

‘Course, that still leaves me with a spare hand. You know what that’s going to be doing?”

He raised one of his big, square and capable hands so I could plainly see it, and dropped all fingers except the middle one. His hands were big enough for his finger to be at least as long as my cock, possibly more. I couldn’t help but see that even his fingers were broad and meaty.

“Well boy, this finger is going to be playing around with your tight little hole. Giving it a good rub, maybe massage some nice lubrication in and around, get it nice and slippery, get it clenching up with fear at what I’m going to do, so I can start to prize it open with my greasy fingertip, yeah? Maybe get you bouncing on my lap by pulling on your balls in my fist, to get my finger right up your arse, how about that?”

I could feel myself starting to sweat at this vision he was painting in my imagination. My anus was involuntarily puckering with terror (or thrill of anticipation). My cock was rigid in my pants as I listened intently to his continuing description of my fate.

“I bet I can find your little boy button really quick. You know what that is?”

Terry looked at me and raised his brows in question.

“Sort of, sir" (now I’m calling him “sir". How quickly I’d fallen in to his spell!). “It's the prostate gland, sir. It’s got something to do with spunk, I think. I don’t think mine works very well though”.

“Well, we'll be finding out, wont we? ‘Cause once you’ve had one finger, you’ll be ready for two, maybe three, on night six. You know what? I might give myself a bit of a treat. Get you face down over a table and get my tongue in there, eh? Go exploring a bit in that little muscle bubble butt. That'll really get your motor running. Ha ha! Mine too, I reckon”.

Terry leered at me. I was panting and could feel my cock burp a gloop of pre cum, my foreskin rolling back of it’s own accord. My balls felt hot and sticky as I listened, mesmerized by his words.

“Hey, I bet by that time you’ll be so fired up that you wont be thinking of anything all day, except what I’m going to make you do next. I bet your poor, swollen up little bollocks will be giving you hell, they'll be so loaded up. So just to make sure that your tight little ring gets the idea, I’ll be doing it all over again on night seven. Get your little button nice and worked up and solid, get your ring stretched a bit more. Ready for what comes next. Do you know what comes next, kid?”

I squeezed my eyes closed to try and block the heated images from my mind’s eye, so that I could swallow, and answer him.

“No sir. I’ll do what you want me to, though".

“Yeah? Well, no shit you'll do what I want you to. You have no freedom of choice with this, kid, make no mistake. On night eight, you will be getting my cock up your arse. I’ll have you tied, spreadeagle, on my bed, maybe have a pillow under your hips to give me a nice open target, straight through those humpy little cheeks, eh? I bet you wont be thinking of wanting to cum that night, though. Know why?”

I shook my head, eyes still tightly shut.

“Because it’s going to HURT, that’s why. As I said, I’m built big, long and thick, and the head is wider than the shaft, too. But by then you’ll know that, from having it shoved in your gob and all the practice you’re going to have at swallowing it.

It will hurt, you’ll feel like you’re going to split open. You’ll feel like you’re going to burst. I bet you’ll cry, and plead with me to stop. But I wont be stopping. I said, didn’t I? There’ll be no chickening out from you. Once I start, I’ll keep going. I’ll go as careful as I can though. Don’t want to damage the goods just yet, eh?"

I opened my eyes. His steel grey gaze seemed to be penetrating my soul. Although his voice was quiet and dominant, almost a hiss of menace, and his thin lipped mouth was stretched into a sneer of aggression, his eyes told me otherwise.

That this was an act for my benefit, his words a promise of what was to come, but also to guide my need and feed my lust. I could trust him.

“Whatever and however you want, sir. I trust you" I whispered to him, truthfully.

“I’ll do what I can to take your mind off it a bit, maybe play with your nips, see if they can speak to your balls and have a bit of a chat with your little internal clit, eh?

And it wont get any better when I start to fuck the virginity out of you. That’s the truth of it, boy. It will hurt like fuck then, and it will hurt the next time you get my shaft up your chute on night nine, but maybe not so much. You’re just going to have trust me that it will get better.

So, on night nine, I’ll have you sitting on it. You will be the engineer of your own pain. You’ll do what I tell you to do but for that one time only, you get a tiny bit of control back. But I’ll need to see you work, boy. I’ll need to see you sliding my cock in and out of your hole, riding it. Trying your best to make me cum in your hole - because that'll be a bit more lubrication to ease the way, see?

I’m going to be busy with your nips and balls anyway, keeping them fired up and raw, so that’s my trust to you, that you’ll do a good job.

You might even find your own hard little joy button, by having a bit of control with my massive dick stretching out your tight little ring. Can’t wait to see that. Bet that would really light a fire under your tail and give your balls something to complain about. Ring your own bell, eh?

And if you do it well, then on night ten you’ll get your birthday present”.

Continued in Part 2