Smaller isn’t So Bad


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Big Tits

Author’s Note: I have been fortunate to receive editing help from cvmawirenut. He edited the first version of this story. Any mistakes you may find are probably from the parts I changed. Hope you enjoy


No, this is not a story about a woman ad’dick’ted to men with a big penis or men who try to convince you that having a small penis doesn’t matter. Well, not directly any way. I guess I need to tell you how this all got started first. I was an average skinny kid with no particular academic or athletic talents. I guess you can’t consider lusting after girls a talent. I didn’t do very well in the various scoring contests that popular guys get into over the number of chicks they had sex with. It’s hard to win a contest like that when your score is always zero.

My luck turned around because of prom and of Bonnie Edwards. Timing was important because I was 18 and she had just turned 18, making us technically adults. Most importantly, we both wanted to lose our virginity. She was not a beauty and she had small tits, very small tits. She had one redeeming quality — she accepted a date with me. After prom, we changed clothes and went to a common place for parking and making out. It surprised me she didn’t resist my assault especially since this was our first date. I begam to realize he and I had the same agenda for the evening.

The surprises continued as she mounted a sexual counterattack against me in the car. We were exchanging saliva in quart jars when she suddenly pulled away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to kiss well.” She started crying.

“Hey, don’t say that. You are the best kisser I have ever kissed.” I didn’t tell her the pool of girls I could compare her to was pretty small. She smiled and we went at it again.

I moved from the lips and mouth to the ear lobes and neck. She moaned and leaned her body into me even more. I took the hint and started fondling her small breasts through her padded bra. I thought she was going to orgasm. Evidently, her small tits were very sensitive. That’s when I put my hands under her sweater so I could cop a feel of the real thing. She jerked back and started crying again.

“What’s the matter now?”

“I’m afraid you won’t want to date me again.”

“Why would you think that?”

“If I let you feel my breasts, you’ll know how really small I am. Boys like girls with big breasts. You won’t like me.”

My lust-stimulated brain worked on a response. “Well, I’m afraid you won’t want to date me again.”

“Why? I’ve enjoyed everything we’ve done so far. Haven’t you?”

“Very much so. It’s just at the pace we’re going, you’re about to find out that I have a slightly less than average sized penis. I’m afraid you won’t want to make love with me again if I can’t satisfy you the first time.”

“I doubt it would bother me. I don’t have any experience with boys to compare you to. Are you really that small?”

Brain now in second gear. “I tell you what. You’re worried about having too small breasts and I’m worried about having too small a penis. Why don’t we show each other what we have so we can make a more informed opinion?”

She thought about it for a while. “Okay, I guess it would be all right, as long as you promise you won’t make fun of my tiny tits.”

“Same goes for me and my below average sized penis.”

“1 — 2 — 3.” She took off her sweater and bra. I took off my pants and underwear. We both stared at each other for a while.

“Bonnie, I think you have wonderful tits.”

“Charlie, you’re not that small. I don’t think anything much bigger would fit inside me without hurting. Does it get any bigger? Are you fully erect?”

I was but I didn’t want this opportunity to pass. “I might get bigger if you move your hand up and down on it. If you do that, I’ll suck your tits.”

“Okay.” She started stroking and I started licking and sucking. I was stunned that she orgasmed first. Bonnie scared me at first. I had never seen a person have spasms like that. I was afraid I had prompted a seizure. My fear was soon gone as I enjoyed a climax of my own.

“Charlie, I’ve never felt so good. Can you do that to me again?”

“How about I put my fingers in you?”

“I guess you can. Do you want me to do something for you?”

“Jack me off again.”

“You can ejaculate again that soon? Does that mean I might have another orgasm, too?”

“Let’s try and see.” The next round of climaxes led to the big event — a vaginal fuck. Two virginities bit the dust that night.

Bonnie and I dated and fucked steadily for a couple of months until she found a man (i.e., college student). I wasn’t that upset. I had found my formula for getting laid.

I began to date girls with small breasts, I mean some that didn’t even have a mound of any size behind the nipple. My favorites were the cone shaped breasts where the areola and nipple look like the tip end of a party hat. In my experience, women with those shaped tits were the most turned on by have their breasts sucked and licked. Overall, small-breasted women seemed anxious to have a man who would ravish their canlı bahis small boobs — so anxious they would have sex with him. I guess they feared the chances for sex for small titted women were lessened the lower the cup size.

My biggest surprise was married women. I found that many married women with small breasts felt neglected or even embarrassed when it was obvious that their husbands were highly attracted to women with large breasts. No matter how much they tried to spice up their sex lives in various ways, their husbands still neglected them.

My adventures with married women started with my Aunt Jean. She was my aunt by marriage, so there was no blood relation. I saw her at a coffee shop one day and sat down with her. Not until I sat down did I see that she was upset. I asked her what the matter was.

My Aunt said that since I was a man, I wouldn’t understand. She started sobbing. I tried to ask cheerfully, “Hey, I’m your favorite nephew. You can tell me.”

Jean actually started chuckling. “You Bozo, you’re my only nephew.”

“That settles it. You have to talk to me.”

She sighed. “All right. But you have to swear you don’t repeat this to anyone, especially your father.”


“My problem are these.” With that statement she stuck out her sweater-covered chest. I could barely see the shape of two small mounds. “Women’s breasts usually get bigger when they are pregnant and breast feeding. I’m one of the ones that the breasts got smaller after I breast fed, and I didn’t have very big ones before I got pregnant. I can tell when your uncle looks at me that he’s disappointed. All the adult magazines he has shows one big breasted woman after another big breasted woman. I see how he looks at the pictures and how quickly he gets an erection. Just once I would like a man, especially your uncle to look at me that way.”

Mouth in foot time for me. “I’d look at you that way if you were to show me your breasts.” After a look of shock on her face, she laughed.

“Don’t tease me, Charlie. I might just take you up on it. How old are you, anyway?”

“I’ll be nineteen in a couple of months.”

The family gossip portion of our get together for coffee followed Aunt Jean’s question which allowed my erection to subside. It really didn’t matter in my case. My penis was small enough to avoid showing a bulge that was noticeable to most people.

At Thanksgiving I had my chance. My cousin Ray brought his fiancé to dinner. She was pretty and had huge breasts. The men in the family drooled and gave her constant attention. I could see my Aunt Jean was pissed off at how her husband, my uncle, was acting. When she gets pissed off, she tends to drink. Before long I could tell she was getting drunk. At that moment she turned and saw me staring at her. She came over and said, “Grandma’s old bedroom in five minutes.” She went upstairs.

Five minutes later, I went upstairs. I barely got in the door before Aunt Jean locked the door and proceeded to undress me. It was close to rape, but I was not fighting. Once I was undressed, she took off her blouse and bra. Her tits were small but pointed and had large nipples. “Good enough for you?” she asked.

I answered by diving into her chest and started sucking. Jean moaned, “Good answer. Don’t stop until I tell you.”

For 30 minutes we tried several positions and provoked a couple of my ejaculations and several of her orgasms. She ended our session with, “Thanks I needed that. By the way, that was a one off.”

I didn’t go on to college like most of my friends. Instead, I decided to take my photography hobby and turn it into a career. My folks had admired my work and supported my decision by allowing me to take my college fund and use it to set up a studio and equip it nicely. My family knew a lot of people in town and I started getting hired for weddings, parties and such. The ‘and such’ gigs were the most rewarding. It included spying on cheating husbands and wives for private investigators as well as women who wanted sexy and/or nude photos. Our town was near an Army post and I got in with a group of women who wanted to send pictures to their deployed husbands. Unfortunately, several of them became photographed by me again when they turned out to be cheating wives. It became a specialty of mine to take pictures of women with small breasts to make them look as beautiful and sexy as possible. Grateful, horny tiny-titted women often paid me in something of value besides cash or, in several cases, in addition to cash. Such was my life for several years.

During a shooting dry spell, I did something I seldom do, I went shopping for women with small tits. The Wrangler Bar and Grille was known for having women who looked better after a couple of drinks. I thought that reputation might attract some small breasted women. I scanned the crowd several times before I saw her. The beauty of her face was understated as she wore little make up and her hairdo was not that complimentary given her facial structure. I had learned to make flash judgments like that.

She turned in profile bahis siteleri and there was barely a sign of a bump on her chest. Now, I had run into women before that I swear had no breasts whatsoever, yet they were definitely women in the sack. I was hoping I had struck gold. I asked her to dance. She didn’t seem too thrilled for me to ask her.

As we moved around and found a comfortable rhythm, I said, “I know this sounds like a cheesy line, but my name is Charlie Cummins and I’m a photographer. I would love to take some artistic pictures of you.”

She pulled her hair back and replied, “My name is Vivian and that does sound like a cheesy line because I know I am not pretty and have a body like a young boy. Men like you say things like that to get girls like me to have sex with them. Good try, but no dice.”

“Vivian, if you would sit down with me for one drink, I may be able to allay your fears. If you don’t like what I say, you have a free drink for wasting your time.”

“Well, . . . there’s not much going on tonight, so what the heck. It should be amusing. I like a good joke.”

When we sat down and ordered a drink, I gave her the story I had used several times before. “Here’s my card. It includes my cell number in case you need to call me. I promise you I am a legitimate photographer, but I have a specialty that I do not advertise. I need to explain why I do this first.

“I was raised by a mother who got pregnant by a horrible man. He married her but seldom showed any affection unless you consider slapping pleasurable. My mother gave in to sex with him because she didn’t think she had many options because her breasts were too small to attract a nice guy. He openly had sex with other women while they were married because he told my mother that she was too small in the chest. One night he brought home his latest whore, my mother flipped out and shot both of them and then herself. I was 16 at the time and petitioned to become an emancipated minor. I swore then that I would find a way to honor my mother’s memory.”

“I found my way through photography. Over the years, I have complied a book of photos that demonstrates the sensual beauty of women who aren’t big breasted. In my professional opinion, I think you have the potential to be one of those women. I would like you to invite you to my studio and look through the book. If you don’t think that it is tastefully done and that you would like a picture of you in the book, you can go home. No harm, no foul. What do you say?”

“I would say you just made all that up so I would have to take off my clothes in front of you. Then you sell it to some internet site and my life is ruined. Like I said, I love a good joke, but I hate a prank unless of course I’m the prankster.”

“Geez, you have some imagination. I am just asking for you to look at the book. You can decide to go on from there or not.”

“Don’t you want someone who’s prettier with bigger boobs?”

“You are pretty. You just choose to hide it. And ‘no’ I want small boobs.”

“How much would it cost me besides the sex you would expect?”

“Nothing. I would give you up to five photos of your choice free. If you wish to purchase more, that’s up to you. If the book sells, you and each of the other models get a small royalty. Several of my models have gotten a start in the business from my pictures. They have and are making lots of money from jobs they got after showing my pictures of them to agents. I believe you have that potential. AND I am not assuming we will be having sex.” Of course, I didn’t tell her that I was hoping we would.

“I’ve never thought of myself as a model before. I guess that’s how you get girls to fall for your scam. What about this? How about I bring someone with me? I think I would be too scared on my own. You might put a date rape drug in my drink.”

“You can bring your grandmother with her shotgun the first time if you’re that fearful. If we start taking photos, there can be no distractions like a friend, a sister, or a boyfriend. Since you are not paying me, you will have to follow my directions. I allow no one to second guess what I’m doing.”

“Can I think about it and call you?”

“Sure. Just realize that I have time available right now and can’t predict when that will occur again.”



I thought it was 50/50 that she would call at all, but three days later she did and wanted to make an appointment. I tried to get her to come right away since I had the time. She hesitated but agreed. Evidently, the person she wanted to accompany her was there with her.

When Vivian came to the door, she was accompanied by another woman about her age but almost twice her size. The other woman had the look of a chaperone for the daughter of a Mafia boss. I was surprised she didn’t frisk me for Roofies and Ecstasy, whips and chains, or handcuffs. I gave them the tour to settle their nerves and to convince them I was a genuine photographer.

The book of photos of small breasted women I showed them was real. I had almost 50 different women about a third of bahis şirketleri them I had wound up fucking during and/or after the shooting. Some only had one photo while most had two or more. I let her and her friend look through the book. They saw the dedication page. I had an old picture of an attractive woman in her 30’s, fully dressed, with small breasts. I told them she was my mother.

They were engrossed at looking at the pictures of the naked and near-naked, small-breasted women. Vivian’s friend saw one girl and said, “I’d become a lesbian to get with her.” Vivian looked shocked at what her friend had said. When they came to my favorite picture, they both said “Wow!” As they continued to look at it, I showed them another picture of a girl. They both wrinkled up their nose. “Ugh. I hope you didn’t include a picture of her in here.”

I said, “I did. You’re looking at it now.”

“No way. That can’t be the same girl.” They quickly compared the two photos and saw the nose, cheekbones and ears indeed matched. Again, Vivian’s friend said, “Hell, if he can take a girl who looks like this and turn her into a model that looks like that, if you don’t go for it, I want to apply.” By the end of the book, Vivian was ready for the next step with the blessing of her friend.

Vivian was still unsure of herself when she came for her first photo session. As soon as she came in, she declared, “I don’t think I could ever pose nude after all. I’m just not that confident in my body and showing it to a man I don’t hardly know. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

I responded. “Hold on. I’m not ready to or promising to photograph you nude. What I planned to do is to go through a succession of pictures with clothes on and see how comfortable you can become the sexier we get. The purpose of this session today is in teaching you how to pose. You will keep on the clothes you have on now. You need to know how to pose before we go any further, so we don’t waste film on you posing poorly. We can get started or you can leave. Up to you.”

One of my purposes for this session was to get her used to my touch. I was physically moving parts of her body to show her what I wanted to do when I give her a certain direction. I showed no enjoyment wherever I put my hands. One time, she said, “You’re getting too friendly there, buster.” By the time I was through with hours of posing, touching and shooting, she had no reservations of where I touched or how long I left my hands there.

Vivian was exhausted by what she had done. I could tell she thought we had not accomplished much. Then I showed her the proofs. I did a before and after of her different poses from where she first tried the pose to the final pose after I had hands-on corrected her. She was surprised at significance of the difference. I knew I would have no problem with her letting me pose her in the future, no matter what I ‘had’ to touch.

Our next session, I asked Vivian to bring the outfits she wore now that she thought she looked best in. She modeled each one and noticed I was not taking any photos. Finally, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

I sighed. “Vivian, I hate to say this, but your choice of wardrobe sucks. I won’t waste my film on this.” She started crying.

“Should I leave now?”

“No, let’s go shopping.”


“Sure.” I took her hand and took her to the wardrobe room. I shared the building with a drama company, and we pooled our clothing stache. We went to the size 5 section. She started to pick out clothes and I yelled, “Stop.”

She froze in fear. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

“Do you think I’m going to trust the opinion of the person who picked the clothes you brought here? You stand here and I will hand you clothes.”

Vivian stood pouting at my putdown of her clothing choices. I picked the outfits that would show off the whole shape of her body especially when she stood with her rear end out with her torso twisted forward. She was one of those women whose rear end was lower than one would expect given her height. That curve was the most sensuous part of her body.

I had her go back and put on very tight jeans and a plaid shirt. When she came out, she had a bra on. I told her to get rid of the bra. She started to the dressing area. “Stop. Take it off in front of me.” I thought Vivian looked conflicted.

“Why? Is this how you get your cheap thrills?”

“No, this is where I find out how serious you are about being a model.”

“Okay, I guess I knew it would come sooner or later. You can look but that doesn’t mean you get to touch.”

Soon she had taken off her shirt and then her bra. Next, she went to put her blouse back on. I ordered her, “Don’t button the shirt.” This time she looked like she was going to cry. I had her tie the shirt in a knot as close the bottom as possible. Her chest was showing but the end of her tits were covered. Next, I told her to untie the shirt. I went over and positioned her into a slight lean so that the slope of her lower back was visible. Her shirt opened revealing her small tits. I adjusted her shirt so that one breast was hidden but the nipple of the other breast was barely covered. I surprised her when I tweaked her nipples to get them to stand out as much as possible. She gasped and slapped me. I ignored the slap. She didn’t leave.

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