Jillian's 14 Inches: Chapter 2 (Patreon)

The wedding was horrible. My mom was beaming and smiling the whole time—and it just seemed… wrong. My father hadn’t even been dead eighteen months, and my mother had apparently forgotten entirely. Now, she was all smitten with this ‘Bryan’ loser, with his spiked hair and goatee. 

She asked me to stand in her wedding. She made me wear this abysmal pink dress, which looked like it belonged in a Pepto commercial. She made me wear these pink heels that didn’t quite match, and she told me to cover up my tattoos (most of which I had done myself in my bedroom with a tattoo machine I got on Amazon). 

She had the wedding makeup artist do my makeup: all pink and blue and disgustingly eighties. They did a fancy up-do with my black hair, which just looked weird. I mean… at least she let me be a girl at the wedding, because if it had been totally up to her husband-to-be, I would have been forced to dress like a guy. 

My new ‘step dad’ scowled at me the moment he saw me. There was so much hatred in that look. I so badly wanted to whip out my cock, just to ruin that moment for him… but I stayed on my best behaviour… until the reception.

I had a few drinks in me. I went up to make a speech, and the moment I approached the microphone, I saw his face drop. I saw the evilness in his eyes. It was just supposed to be a congratulations to my mom… but it turned into me saying, “Why are you marrying this prick?” 

His family gasped. 

I couldn’t help it. He stormed up and snatched the microphone away from me before I could say more. He gave me a push to force me off the stage. I nearly feel in those stupid pink heels. “Freak,” he groaned, and the microphone picked it up just enough that everyone heard. The room went silent. He cleared his throat and ended up making some lame speech, which included an apology for my behaviour. I, of course, just went home. I didn’t stick around to dance or to eat cake or dinner. 

It got worse.

The next day, I came home to find most of my clothes gone. He had thrown them out. “You want to be a girl?” he said, coming up behind me. “You can dress like a proper girl.” He threw down a bag onto my floor. “A woman at work gave these to me. They were her daughter’s, but her daughter has put on a bunch of weight, so these clothes don’t fit.” 

It felt like some sort of conservative muslim intervention. The clothes were all baggy: sweaters, hideous jeans with flower embroidery. Dresses that went down to the ankles. Thick cotton t-shirts that you can buy at the dollar store. And half of those shirts had different quotes from Harry Potter on them. “I’m not wearing any of this. I want my clothes back.” 

“You can’t dress like a slut anymore—not as long as you want to live here.” 

“Okay, so I’ll move out. Give me my clothes back.”

“I’ll give them to you when you actually move out,” he said. “Until then, these are your clothes.”

I would have moved out that moment, but he had gone into my wallet and taken my money. He called it ‘rent’. Apparently, he could do that now that he was married to my mom…

And suddenly, I felt trapped. I tried so hard to make some cash so that I could move out—but the moment I had money, he took it. There was always another reason: rent… my share of groceries… my share of the heating bill… And the numbers always seemed made up. He always wanted exactly what I had. 

I found myself regretting drifting away from my friends. I could have gone and lived on a couch for a while… but I didn’t know anyone with a couch to spare. I got myself a job at the mall, which was torture, having to smile at strangers all day while they looked at me as if I was some sort of freak. “Want to taste a lemon square?” I would ask, holding out the tray. 

People seemed weirdly repulsed by me…

And maybe it was because of my reputation. Most people in town knew what I was hiding under my skirts. They knew that I had the biggest cock within a few hundred miles at least. Rumours spread to all of the rural communities, and to the oil camps. 

From time to time, someone would approach me at the mall. I would assume they wanted to taste a sample, but then they would say, “How much for a ride?” 

It was a dreadful feeling, realizing they thought that I was some sort of fetish prostitute. I turned them all away… until one day, when a guy came up to me, put his lips to my ear, and said, “I’ll give you one-hundred bucks if I can just suck it.” 

There was a little black dress for sale in the shop across from me. It was so cute. It had little leather straps and a short skirt—but not so short that I couldn’t hide my bulge. I wanted it—but it was one-hundred dollars—plus tax.

“If you, uh… buy me that dress, in a small, I’ll do it.”

He bought the dress, handed it to me, and said, “Meet me in the Zara changing room.” 

And so I stood in the Zara changing room for thirty minutes while a rugged oil worker sucked my cock. It was weird. It was hard to get hard; he wasn’t my type. It didn’t help that he was being so noisy, with people around: slurping and groaning and licking his lips. I didn’t end up cumming—that wasn’t part of the deal anyway. 

I had to hide that dress in a secret spot in my room, so my ‘stepdad’ wouldn’t find it and throw it out. I would hide it in a bag and change at the mall. At least it helped me to feel a bit more like me. 

A week later, I accepted another payment: another man who wanted to know what it was like to suck a fourteen-inch cock. But this man wanted cum, so I had to close my eyes and muster up a fantasy to make it happen. It wasn’t easy. It didn’t happen fast. But I came in his mouth, and he was satisfied, handing me $150. I had to hide the cash. 

Then, I started accepting invites to motels. The money was better. It was mostly oil workers who had heard about my ‘specialty’. At least they let me wear a condom most of the time. It was almost always me fucking them on motel beds. Some of them insisted I try to use every inch, but none of them could ever take the whole thing. It was too big. They would start screaming past ten inches, so that’s usually where I stopped—and I would lie to them and tell them the whole thing was in. 

I pocketed the cash and kept it hidden. 

I ended up moving into that motel. I no longer had to give any money to Bryan… instead, I was giving it to the motel owner—but at least I had my freedom. At least I could wear whatever I wanted to wear. 

But that didn’t stop Bryan from being an asshole. It was like he had some sort of vendetta against me. 

Police busted down the motel door one night. Bryan had reported me for soliciting sex. I didn’t end up being charged, but it was embarrassing. He would drive by the motel and call the cops whenever he saw that there was a car parked near my room. 

He was stalking me. 

“What’s your husband’s problem?” I asked my mom. “Why is he doing this to me?”

“He’s trying to help you,” she said, red in the eyes. “He knows what you’re doing. We both know, and we just want you home.”

But it wasn’t true: Bryan absolutely did not want me home. He just wanted me to suffer. 

I was so embarrassed; my mom knew that I was whoring myself out for money… but it was her husband’s fault. I was only doing it because I needed to get on my feet. I needed to save up for a deposit on an apartment—maybe in Calgary or Edmonton… or anywhere that wasn’t that God-forsaken small town. 

It was getting harder to find ‘clients’. A few guys had been arrested and charged, trying to hook up with me, and now, nobody was willing to take the risk.

Well… almost nobody. 

I was shocked when a young man approached me at the mall. I recognized him from school: all fresh faced and innocent. “Want a sample?” I asked.

“Um… I was wondering if, uh… Well—what can I get for this?” He showed me three-hundred dollars cash.

“W—What do you want for that?” I asked.

“A whole night, preferably,” he said softly. “Um… you know… with you on, uh, top, and then, like, cuddling and stuff afterwards.” He looked left and right quickly, face darkening with redness. 

“Um… Okay. Do you have a place we can go?” 

He looked at me. “Don’t you?”

“It’s not safe at my place,” I said, knowing Bryan would end up getting the poor guy arrested.

“If we’re quiet… we can stay at my place. But… and I don’t mean this as an insult… but you can’t show up looking like, uh…”

“A prostitue?” 

“Yeah. You would have to look… like my friend or something. Like a study buddy.” 

I giggled. It was cute… though a bit weird. I put on some clothes that Bryan had given me: a Harry Potter sweater and a pair of lame blue jeans. I tied up my hair into a ponytail and even put on a pair of non-prescription glasses. I showed up at his house and he answered the door, blushing. Then, he introduced me to his mom as, “my partner for the biology assignment.”

“Hi Mrs. Peters,” I smiled.

She smiled and went back to watching a cooking show on TV.

My heart was racing… I couldn’t imagine how fast his heart was racing. We went into his room and he quietly closed the door. He let out a sigh. His jaw was trembling. His hands were shaking.

“Relax,” I said. “You’re doing good.” 

He smiled. Then, I said, “I’m guessing you want to suck me?” 

He nodded slowly. So I shimmied down those jeans and flipped down my black panties, letting my anaconda fall out. His eyes lit up. But he didn’t move. “You need to get down on your knees, silly,” I said.

He lowered himself down. He lifted my shaft up with both hands. Then, he whispered, “It’s so heavy.” 

“I know,” I said. “It’s a pain.” 

He leaned in and licked it. He gasped, though I’m not really sure why. He pulled my foreskin back. Then, he leaned in and sucked me, stroking me, staying very, very silent. I bit my lip to stop myself from letting a small moan out. I have to admit that… he was cute… and he was a good sucker. I sat down on the edge of his bed. He kept sucking me. 

He actually had me hard—and when you are fourteen inches long… getting hard isn’t easy. It really just gets bigger and heavier—but not always hard. But with him, it was standing up: my tip between my small HRT-induced breasts. He stared up at it with wonder in his eyes. Then, he pulled it back down and kept sucking it.

I giggled.

It was lighthearted… fun… cute. 

I pulled him up on top of me and let him kiss me. His lips tasted like cock, but I didn’t mind. 

I slid down his white undies and looked down to see his erection: small… only about four inches. It looked so tiny pressed up against mine. I couldn’t help but giggle. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m not making fun of you. It’s just…”

“It’s small,” he whispered. 

“It’s cute.” 

I reached down and grabbed it, giving it a little playful stroke—and then he came. I wasn’t expecting it—and I don’t think he was either. He was just so intensely aroused that the lightest touch made him cum. I held his tip to my cock so he could cum on my shaft; I knew he would like that—and he did. 

He moaned and turned dark red… and he was ready to go again in twenty minutes. 

“I really want you to fuck me,” he whispered. 

“Have you ever had anything… this big in you?”

He shook his head. 

“Okay. Just… I’ll lay on my back and you can lower yourself down at your own speed. Okay?” 

He nodded his head. But he wasn’t moving.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Can I… put on your dress?” He eyed my work bag, which had that black dress in it—the one I was wearing when he approached me at the mall.

I paused, trying not to laugh. “Okay, sure,” I said.

He undressed and put the black dress on. He looked kind of cute—but shy as hell. He kept eyeing his door, as if his mother was going to burst in at any moment. Then, he climbed onto my lap. I watched him as he stood my cock upright, lining it up with his butthole. His small cock was rock-hard. He bit his lip.

My cock was glistening with lubricant. That warm lube was dripping off of my balls and onto his bed sheets. The shimmering lube made it look even bigger. 

I felt his tight hole clenching hard against my tip. “Take your time,” I whispered, knowing his mom was just in the other room.

He nodded his head. He managed to relax for a moment: enough of a moment to let my tip penetrate his hole. He gasped. He sunk down a couple of inches.

Then, he started to ride those couple of inches, sliding up and down carefully… until he was ready to introduce inch-three, and then inch-four. 

One inch at a time, he sunk lower and lower, grinding up and down, back and forth. Beads of cum kept dripping from his cock: just one at a time, as if he had sprung a slow leak. Those drops kept landing on my pelvis; I thought it was cute.

Lower and lower he went, taking his sweet time. I was actually surprised when he dropped below ten inches… and then eleven… and then twelve. 

I was stunned when his bum cheeks pressed against my lap, and he let out a long groan. The tip of my cock was pushing against his stomach—I could see the lump! He had all of me inside of him—something nobody had ever done before. 

He began to bounce—slowly at first. His cock kept dripping cum—and then, suddenly, it started spurting streams of cum into the air, left and right and straight up. He trembled all over: a full body convulsion. For a moment, I thought he was having a seizure.

It was kind of hot. 

He ran his hands down his dress-clad body. that dress now had cum on it, which I was worried would stain. 

He reached down and touched the bead of cum on the tip of his little cock, and then he licked it off. It was a hot sight—enough to push me over the edge. I came inside of him, blasting warm cum deep into his body—and I mean deep.

He gasped and clenched hard, and then he fell forward, slumping over me. Slowly, he expelled me cock from his body, and it came out with a loud gushing noise. 

It was fun… until his bedroom door opened. I guess we were making more noise than we realized near the end of the romp. His mother gasped. I tried to throw the blanket over us—but it was too late.

I was chased off with a broom, running down the street with my cock out and my bag in my hands, clothes falling out onto the street. It was embarrassing—but I couldn’t help but laugh. 

I never did get that dress back, but I did find a similar one for just twenty bucks at Value Village the next day.

And when I was coming back from Value Village, I saw a man wearing black looking into my motel room window. I paused and then hid behind a parked car, watching him. He paced around before returning to his truck, where another man in black was waiting. I remained hidden, and then they got into the truck and left. Later that evening, I came upon that same car, parked at my mom’s house. I was there to pick up some of my things. My mom wasn’t expecting me—and I didn’t end up going inside. I hid and watched the house from a distance. I saw the same two guys emerge from the house, with Bryan coming out after them. He spoke to them for a moment before sending them away to their truck. Were they hired henchmen? Why were they trying to find me at the motel? 

I was terrified. I was starting to think that he was trying to have me killed—and that got me wondering if maybe he had something to do with my father’s death.