Micropenis Under Vesuvius Pt. 02


(Author’s Note: The historical and archaeological details are generally accurate, but not immune from narrative anachronisms or oversimplifications. You’ll learn a little bit about Roman culture and history, but nothing too educational.)


As if taunting me, a crudely gargantuan phallus had been etched into the lefthand side of the bathhouse doorframe. The natural frigidity of the locker rooms, which led straight into the cold room, was compounded by my fear of impending exposure. At this juncture, my penis likely shrank some more.

Fortuna had more twists of ill luck waiting for me around the corner, where we were to store our clothes on shelves. As I had understood it, bathhouse lockers were denoted by numerals alone. Accordingly, I found myself staring at shelf IV. I didn’t notice anything amiss until Terentia’s chortle echoed sharply off the low half-domed ceiling.

“I love what they’ve done with the place! Changing rooms shouldn’t be so boring and awkward.”

“H-huh w-w-what?” My eyes flicked up, and I was astonished. A different erotic scene decorated the wall above each locker. A rollicking threesome, with two dark men thrusting collectively into an overjoyed maiden, topped Terentia’s locker. Photis’ little head hovered below a dutifully kneeling man, who pushed his lover’s legs open as she lounged above him. His eyes were cast up, alight with satisfaction, as his tongue gratefully lapped pungent notes of pleasure from her crotch. My sultry slave seemed to coo approvingly at the fresco’s sentiment.

The erotic image above my locker was by far the most confusing. Two women, hair flowing and skin glowing, were contending with one another on a bed. Breasts, hair, and curvatures aside, the woman on the left sported a gigantic green penis.

I must have been visibly confused – or, as per the usual, viscerally intimidated – because the female duo cackled in my direction.

“She’s wearing a strap-on, silly Master,” Photis helped.

Terentia could not help herself. “It’s quite nice to have some solid cocks out in here, eh Photis? They’ll do until the mighty Modestus makes us swoon.”

Fellow bathers, reveling in their own hushed exchanges, cast looks of amusement and confusion my way. At a time when I wanted no attention at all, I was thrust into a veritable surplus.

Terentia’s own girl slave set about undoing her toga. I was mesmerized as the clasp of her mantle snapped undone. The loose covering cascaded away and clarified her curves against a sheer, clinging slip. Her rear cheeks rippled against the fabric as she stepped forward to her slave, who pulled the whole affair down from her shoulders.

Each breast emerged like flotsam from a shipwreck, popping roughly to the surface before bobbing defiantly. The milk-white orbs could even be seen from behind her back.

Her slaves’ little hands found the sweeping musculature of her bottom insurmountable, so Terentia had to jump up and down to gather the momentum necessary to fling the slip to her ankles. With the entirety of her fair skin displayed before me, from adorable feet to delightful calves to the dimples adorning her back, I was shocked my penis wasn’t erect. Not yet.

It tandoğan escort was fear. It was cold. It was both.

If I were to try and take her from behind – as shown, yes, in a locker fresco not far from mine – my feeble, quivering member would be unable to so much as poke her sex. It would slide across her wonderful ass with meaningless pride.

My date pivoted a couple degrees to her right, so that a sensual eye could scan me as I stared.

“Aren’t you going to ask dear Photis to undress you?”

“Oh, yes, of course!”

With that, my slave dug her talons into my toga, and a cacophony of fabric shuffling stunned me in place. Then, finally, as I could feel my underclothes levitate skyward, I turned away from Terentia and faced the wall. The tunic brushed past my thighs and went over my head. I was completely naked.

“A nice, plump bottom!” Terentia jogged to me and pinched the center of my right cheek. “As spongy as a girl’s – oh, and it ricochets like a lady’s when I scoop it in my hand. So pliable and sweet.”

Now my feelings were contradictory. I had just appreciated her suppleness, only to have that attribute flung back in my face. Or, rather, my bottom. That much embarrassed me to my core. She had called me womanlike, straight away.

Nevertheless, her gentle, curious probing and warm proximity were a stark departure from the only female touch I was accustomed to. Mother’s spankings only excite after-the-fact; an unsolicited mini-erection in childhood would see me sent to stand nude in the atrium, at the mercy of my cruel sisters.

Here, with Terentia, my manhood rudely clenched and rose. I looked down as discretely as possible, spying a swelled, skinny head adorned by a glint of pre-ejaculate.

I then craned my head over my shoulder, mustering an indignant response.

“But I have a MAN’S bottom, lady, simply because I am a man.”

Terentia crossed her arms, bemused. “I’m actually not sure of that yet. I haven’t the proof, with you frozen in place like that. Unless you have something to hide?”

I panicked, and remembered my father’s political advice. Split-second compromises save lives. This half-measure would still be a fitting prelude to my downfall.

I hopped, on one undignified foot, to face my date. Each of my palms – not sizable themselves – were crossed dead-flat over my groin, compressing my bulging masculinity with depressing ease. My small penis could not be seen directly by Terentia’s hungry brown eyes, but its effective concealment undoubtedly intermingled reality with imagination in her mind. She stepped back, absorbing my overbearing thighs, untoned stomach, and thin arms.

“You look like such a silly little boy, cowering like that. You must realize it is futile! Modestus, please. We have to make it to your family’s reception for the empress, and I like to make time for a long soak.”

Photis shuffled between us, lips pouted in sympathy, cheeks red with determination. She was actually intervening! Her fingers danced up my thighs, so that her hands met mine in place. My pretty young slave was trying to coax my penis out of hiding, like a net-fighter tempts a lion tekirdağ escort from its defensive stance in the arena. I was intoxicated by her proximity. Pressing even my tiniest of hard-ons into my pelvis (yes, it doesn’t reach my stomach) made me feel like Atlas in reverse. Except each strain of the burden registered with dangerous, degrading pleasure.

“Be a good boy now. Your mother told me to look after you… so let’s look after all of you.”

She lifted my hands and placed them at my sides, using hardly any force at all. By then, she knew she didn’t have to. She looked down at my inadequacies, looked up and into my eyes, and darted downwards again. Photis’ soft, adorable hand casually latched onto my marble-solid member and gave it two concise, tender pumps. With that, the die was cast. She stepped to the side, exposing my front to Terentia at last.

I squirmed, huffed, and stomped about. Buttocks billowing, arms swinging, head bobbing. Terentia’s teeth flashed brilliantly, her brow furrowed villainously, and her finger rose, pointed, immediately. My date, having met me twenty minutes prior, was privy to the sounds and expressions of my orgasmic throes. She knew my penis was impossibly tiny. Photis chuckled, daintily shielding her grin with a raised hand.

I dropped to my knees, semen spurting across my body and the floor upon impact. The sound I produced, from the depths of my throat and soul, was a high-pitched juxtaposition of horror and pleasure. All the more silly. All the more exposed.

“Gods! A praetor, ejaculating in the bathhouse changing rooms. What have things come to around here?”

I scrambled around to face an audience of a dozen. A few young men were frozen in shock at my spectacular fall from grace. Their reserved horror, perhaps, emanated from a place of masculine empathy.

A few contingents of young women tittered and whispered mercilessly. Hair done up in powerful buns, sexy features bulging against towels.

One woman, a completely naked redhead I recognized to be the best friend of my sisters, broke from the pack and approached me. I quickly looked away from her, for a tantalizing midriff and tight-lipped vagina invaded my eye-line. A second hardening, in such quick succession, would not be helpful.

“Are you a sissy, Praetor Modestus?” She asked, barely able to extract the words between cruel guffaws.

“Move along, citizen,” I pleaded, resigned to the consequences. Who knows, maybe she’d already been inundated by the unflattering girlish rumors of my youth. This apex of unveilings is a mere confirmation, after all.

After a couple of minutes, the group grew bored, and they left us alone. A mere confirmation, after all, I remained, ashamed, on the floor.

Terentia shook her head, scanning me continuously.

“You’ll just have to clean off your little mess in the frigidarium, dear. You poor thing.”

Of course, my date wanted to go straight to the cold pool. An ample supply of snow rendered it a refreshing, jarring way to pry open the pores. Not only does this pool constitute extremely close, intimate quarters, but a heavy prescription of shrinkage is likely as well.

As Photis tokat escort gripped my shoulders and guided me to stand, the isolated patches of my seed blotched and dripped, creating slick swaths across my chest and legs. Every single woman we passed – and there seemed to be impossibly many, with whom I was impossibly acquainted – took note of my shame.

We entered the appropriate room, immediately descending into a frigid pool. Two middle-aged patrician women, accompanied by one young slave girl apiece, watched with wonder as a semen-covered, tiny-dicked politician followed behind a sexy Roman matron.

As if strategically distributing my humiliation, the brown-eyed beauty on the left locked her deep eyes onto my lacking manhood, while the piercing blue-eyed milf to the right matched her gaze with mine, transmitted belittling nothings into my mind. The exciting agony of my captors’ ambiguous imaginations might have been the most torturous aspect of it all.

Blue Eyes spoke up.

“Where’s the rest of it dear? Did it take just one look at her rear? When you couple with a lady, you sure must have to come near. That jizz toga you’re wearing – my, it’s a bit sheer!”

Leave it to an amateur poet to somehow manage to deepen my despair. With songs like these, who needs Odysseus’ sirens? Staring at Terentia’s curvaceous ass, I felt myself hurtling towards the rocky shoal.

Terentia turned back, to watch my reaction to both this latest degradation and the effects of the cold water. As the blades of chill first struck my ankles, I flinched. Another step plunged me forth into the deep, and the bitter battery reached the edge of my condensed testicles.

In fact, a normal man’s modesty would be at least partially shielded by the waterline. I was already so small that my cock was burrowed deep inside of my pelvis above, with nothing but a crevasse of skin to show for my reproductivity.

“You have no penis.” Terentia matter-of-factly observed, assassinating any vestige of my self-worth which remained. She bluntly turned away, heading for the submerged bench. Photis patted my bottom, and I waded fully, obediently, into the pool.

We would remain in the frigidarium for twenty minutes. When we emerged at last, I was still drowning in a daze. Two little chickpeas now hung in the slit between my voluminous thighs. This time, Terentia motioned for me to lead the way. Practically cowering in embarrassment, I tried to slink past. She touched my shoulder.

“I’ve taken bigger bites of my dinner,” she whispered into my ear.

By now, my passivity was so immense that a paradoxical exasperation emboldened me. The soul of a man, entombed in the body of a woman,

“Why are you doing this to me?” I sniffled.

She smirked and massaged my shoulders, skin taught from the cold.

“In due time. Now onwards, little man.”

There was no opposition to give. I trailed water into the narrow corridor, desperate to return to the locker room and end this. In my haste, I traveled far past Photis and Terentia. As I was about to turn the crucial corner, a torch light was extinguished. My hands, probing in the empty oblivion, clarified nothing.

A door slid open suddenly, and harsh sunlight incapacitated me. As if pushed, I flew past the frame and onto… no. It couldn’t be dirt. A slam rang out behind me, followed by the click of a lock.

I was outside. I was naked.

And I was, of course, quite small.

-End of Part 2-

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir