Bottoms up

You stayed on your knees between Kylie’s spread thighs, the thick weight of her cock resting on your tongue. The head was smooth and already leaking, the shaft heavier and longer than yours by a clear, undeniable margin. Every time you tried to take more of her, the stretch of your lips reminded you exactly which of you was smaller. The serum made the realization burn hotter instead of colder. Your own cock hung hard and neglected between your thighs, twitching every time her cock pulsed against your tongue.

Kylie watched you with heavy-lidded eyes, freckled chest rising and falling, one hand still resting lightly in your hair.

“That’s it,” she murmured. “Get it nice and wet for me. My little bottom slut’s first job is to make the bigger cock feel good.”

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked, bobbing slowly, the wet sounds loud in the quiet villa. Her hips gave small, encouraging thrusts, pushing another half-inch past your lips. The head nudged the back of your tongue. You gagged softly; she only sighed in pleasure and kept you there for a moment longer before letting you pull back for air. A thick string of spit connected your bottom lip to her cock.

“Again,” she said, voice soft but firm. “Deeper this time.”

You obeyed. Your jaw ached. Your smaller cock leaked a steady string of precum onto the rug beneath you. Every time you glanced down you saw the same humiliating truth the video had drilled into you: hers was bigger, thicker, heavier. Yours looked almost delicate next to it.

After several long minutes of wet, sloppy worship, Kylie gently pushed your head back. Her cock left your mouth with a soft pop, shiny and fully hard, the head flushed dark.

“On the bed,” she said. “Hands and knees. Ass up.”

Your face burned, but your body moved. You climbed onto the California King, the cool sheets against your palms and knees. You lowered your chest and arched your back, presenting yourself the way the hypnosis had already taught you a smaller cock should. Behind you the mattress shifted as Kylie knelt. Soft hands spread your cheeks. Warm breath ghosted over your hole.

“Look at you,” she whispered. “Already dripping onto the sheets and I haven’t even touched your little thing yet.” One wet finger circled your entrance, then pushed inside to the first knuckle. You clenched around it with a broken sound. “Tight. Perfect. Just like a bottom should be.”

She worked you open slowly— one finger, then two— scissoring and curling until your hips rocked back against her hand of their own accord. Your neglected cock swung beneath you, smaller and darker with need, leaving wet spots on the white linen. When she finally withdrew her fingers you felt emptier than you ever had in your life.

Then the blunt, thick head of her cock pressed against your hole.

“Breathe,” Kylie said. “This is bigger than anything you’ve taken. But you’re the smaller one. You’ll take it.”

She pushed forward. The stretch burned. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as the head popped inside. She gave you only a moment before feeding you another inch, then another, until her hips rested flush against your ass and her heavy balls pressed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming. You could feel every ridge, every throb of the cock that had measured longer and thicker than your own only minutes earlier.

“Fuck,” she breathed, hands gripping your hips. “You’re squeezing me so tight. My perfect little bottom slut.”

She started to move.

Long, steady strokes that dragged almost all the way out before sliding deep again. Each thrust punched soft, helpless sounds out of you. Your smaller cock bounced and leaked beneath you, untouched, the head rubbing against the sheets with every impact of her hips. The wet slap of her thighs against your ass filled the room along with your broken moans and her low, pleased sighs.

“Listen to you,” she murmured, leaning over your back so her soft breasts pressed against your skin and her lips brushed your ear. “Taking a bigger cock like you were made for it. Because you were. Smaller cock means bottom. That’s the rule. Say it while I fuck you.”

“S-smaller cock means bottom,” you gasped, the words tumbling out between thrusts. “I’m the bottom. I’m your bottom slut.”

“Good boy.”

She fucked you harder after that. One hand reached under you and wrapped around your smaller cock, stroking it in time with her hips—not to make you come, just to remind you how easily her fingers swallowed it whole. The dual sensation of being stretched open by something bigger while your own cock was handled like an afterthought pushed you right to the edge.

“Don’t come yet,” she ordered, squeezing the base of your cock firmly. “Bottoms come last. Or not at all, if I decide.”

You whimpered, hips stuttering, but obeyed. She kept using you— deep, claiming strokes that made your knees slide wider on the mattress— until her breathing grew ragged and her rhythm turned sharp. With a low, broken moan she buried herself to the hilt and came, flooding you with thick, pulsing heat. You felt every spurt, every throb of the cock that owned you tonight.

She stayed deep inside while the aftershocks ran through her, one hand still loosely holding your smaller, aching cock.

“Mine,” she whispered against the back of your neck. “My smaller-cocked bottom. Sleep with me still inside you tonight.”

She carefully lowered both of you onto your sides without pulling out, curling around your back, soft breasts pressed to your spine, thick cock still buried in your ass. Her hand stayed wrapped around your neglected cock in a gentle, possessive fist.

The serum kept your nerves singing. The hypnosis kept the words looping.

Smaller penis is the bottom.

You drifted into a shallow, overstimulated sleep still stretched open around her, her heartbeat against your back, the ocean murmuring beyond the glass, and the certainty that when morning came she would still be bigger… and you would still be her bottom slut.