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“Nah, don’t believe you. You couldn’t take me.”
I place a hand on my hip and, with the other, gesture to his crotch. Now I’m getting angry. “Is that so? Well, go ahead then. Show me.”
Sem cocks his head, puzzled.
“Show me your dick, Sem. Do I have to spell it out for you? D.I.C.K. Or maybe you’re one of those big guys with a tiny little wiener hidden away down there. Too ashamed to show me what you’re really working with, huh?”
Sem’s cheeks are slightly pink, and I relish his discomfort.
He shifts on the couch. “I don’t have a small dick.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t believe you. Guys like you––big trucks, big muscles––have tiny dicks. Fact.” I’m goading him now, spewing petty insults, and I’m not even entirely sure why.
Sem narrows his eyes at me, his jaw clenches, and then he arches his hips and tugs those jeans down to his thighs, underwear and all. His half-hard cock lies on his thigh, and I swallow roughly.
Because, oh shit.
No tiny dick here. He’s massive. Of course he is, because life is just unfair.
I clear my throat, pretending like seeing him like this doesn’t excite me. “Get it hard. I have to see what it really looks like to make my final determination. Right now, you’re just average. Nothing I haven’t already had.”
Sem meets my gaze, and determination filters through those blue eyes. He grabs it and strokes himself into a full-blown erection within a few seconds. And I find that watching him do this makes my dick twitch in my very tiny shorts.
Bad. Bad. Very, very bad.
When he’s fully hard, he stops stroking himself, sets his hands on the couch cushions, and stares at me. But I can’t meet his eyes; I can’t even look at his crotch. He’s ginormous, the shaft is super thick with a vein running underside and the head is slick and pink and fucking perfect. While my mind is screamingno way,fuck off,my body wants to climb on top of him and sit on that big dick. My body is a slut and obviously can’t be trusted.
This is unacceptable because I donotlike this man. There is no way we are having sex. I’m not that desperate. I have standards.
“Tell me now that you can putthisinside your tiny body,” Sem says slightly gravelly, gesturing to his twitching cock.
I refuse to look at it.
“Can’t even look at it, huh?” he huffs. “It scares you.”
I peek over at it for a moment and then meet his eyes. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“You’re afraid you can’t take it.”
“I can.”
“Liar.”
That word. It makes me see red. I take a step toward him. “I can.”
“Fine. Prove it.”
By now, I’m so irritated that I reach into the end table and shuffle through it. I pull out an extra-large condom that I keep for special occasions and toss it at Sem. It hits his chest, and he picks it up, eyeing it.
“Put that on, asshole,” I say and then toss a lube packet at him. “That too.”
I blame it on the hangover and the copious amounts of alcohol I drank last night. It’s why I’m not thinking clearly as I walk toward the bathroom and shout, “I’m going to go prep. Do not move, or you forfeit, and I win.”
As I stand in the bathroom, my fingers up my ass, lubing myself up, I wonder if I’ve gone insane. But for some reason, I don’t think I can turn back now. Something about Sem makes me irrational.
When I’ve stretched myself, and I’m satisfied he won’t actually tear me apart, I grab a jockstrap from the hamper and pull it on. There’s no need for him to see my dick during this. Some things are still private. This is nothing more than proving a point.
Sem’s still on the couch when I exit the bathroom, his cock sheathed in the condom I’d given him. It’s glossy from the lube he applied. His shirt is still on, but his pants are pushed down to his ankles. His hands grip the cushions beside him as he watches me approach, his nostrils flaring slightly as he takes me in.
