More publicity

Tawny wasted no time escalating her favorite new game. Two weeks after you refused the panties, she announced a Saturday shopping trip with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“We’re updating your underwear drawer, tiny. Something more suitable for what you’re working with.”

She drove you to a large department store and headed straight for the men’s section. There was no attempt at subtlety. Tawny loudly sorted through stacks of boxer briefs, athletic trunks, and contoured briefs, holding them up for inspection while other shoppers moved nearby.

“These might have potential,” she announced, her voice carrying clearly down the aisle, “but we’ll probably run into the usual problem. There’s almost always too much empty space in the crotch for him.”

She pulled you into a spacious fitting room and locked the door behind you. “Strip.” Once you were naked except for your cage, she handed you the first pair — loose black boxer briefs. The moment you pulled them up, the front sagged dramatically.

Tawny burst into laughter. “Look at all that wasted fabric! It’s like you’re hiding a sock in there, except there’s nothing to fill it.” She reached in and cupped your caged clitty through the material. “My baby dick needs something that actually stays close. These are far too roomy.”

She made you try on several styles, commenting at full volume so her words easily reached beyond the fitting room door.

“Still too baggy. Your little button just floats around in there. We need something that hugs it tight so it doesn’t get completely lost.”

A young saleswoman knocked politely to check if you needed assistance. Tawny cracked the door open just enough to speak while you stood mortified in the latest pair.

“We’re managing,” Tawny said cheerfully, “but my husband is quite small down there, so most of these have way too much room in the front. Do you have anything more contoured? Something that actually stays close to a baby dick?”

The saleswoman’s eyes widened, but she maintained professionalism and returned with several microfiber options in the smallest sizes. Tawny made you model each one, turning slowly while she critiqued them loudly.

“Better, but still… see how much extra space there is right here?” She openly adjusted the front of the tightest pair, squeezing your caged bulge. “Most men get a proper outline. You just get this cute little mound. We might need to special order something even smaller.”

Your face burned with humiliation, yet your cage strained painfully. Tawny noticed and gave the front a teasing squeeze, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “Poor thing. Getting excited because strangers might learn how tiny you are.”

She purchased six pairs of the tightest briefs available, along with several competition-style athletic trunks. But she wasn’t done.

Next came the swimwear section. Tawny selected a bright red speedo and waved it at you with delight. In the fitting room, the suit looked absurd on your body. The front pouch hung loose and empty.

“Oh honey,” Tawny laughed loudly enough for nearby customers to glance over, “there’s way too much room in the crotch again. It looks like you borrowed your big brother’s speedo. Your baby dick is just swimming around in there with nothing to fill it out.”

She stepped halfway out of the fitting room and called to another associate, a young man this time. “Excuse me! Do you carry anything smaller in the front? My husband has a very small penis, so these speedos have far too much extra fabric. We need something that actually stays close to his little button.”

The associate looked startled but pointed her toward the smallest competition briefs. Tawny brought back three pairs and made you model them one by one, openly adjusting the fabric while continuing her commentary.

“This one is closer, but still… see how loose it is right here?” She cupped your minuscule bulge again. “Most guys get a nice, obvious package. You just get this adorable tiny bump. People are going to wonder if there’s anything at all down there.”

By the time you left the store, your new tight briefs were already damp with leaks. Tawny kept one hand on your thigh during the drive home, occasionally brushing her fingers across the barely visible outline in your pants.

“You were rock hard the entire time,” she teased. “Knowing people could hear exactly how small my husband is. Knowing they were picturing your baby dick trying to fill out those tiny speedos.”

Back home, she didn’t wait. She pushed you onto the couch, yanked your new briefs down just enough to expose your cage, and straddled your lap. She rubbed her bare, dripping pussy along the length of your locked clitty, coating the pink plastic in her slickness while recounting every humiliating moment.

“I loved how that salesgirl stared when I mentioned your small penis. I bet she’s laughing about it with her coworkers right now. And those speedos…” She ground harder, moaning softly. “The way they just sagged in the front. Anyone who saw you would instantly know you’re packing almost nothing.”

She unlocked your cage and sank down onto your aching shaft. After weeks of denial and massive toys, you felt impossibly small inside her. Tawny rode you with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips, whispering against your ear the entire time.

“I can barely feel you, sweetheart. It’s almost sweet how hard you try. But we both know the truth. Your baby dick was never meant to stretch or fill me. It was meant to be measured, compared, laughed at, and kept denied.”

You came quickly — a weak, pathetic spurt that barely reached inside her. Tawny smiled down at you with genuine affection as she continued riding, easily chasing her own powerful climax.

“That’s my good boy. Such a perfect, tiny-dicked husband.”

Later that evening she made you model every new purchase again. She took dozens of photos and short videos — close-ups of the empty space that remained even in the tightest briefs, full-body shots of you looking ridiculous in the competition swimwear, and several clips of her laughing while she adjusted the fabric around your tiny bulge.

“These are going into a special folder,” she told you sweetly. “For when I need a quick laugh… or when I decide to show my friends exactly how lucky they are compared to me.”

The shopping trip had cracked something open inside you. The public risk, the casual cruelty of her loud comments, and the thrill of exposure left you more addicted than ever. Tawny noticed immediately.

Next week we’re trying on jockstraps,” she promised with a wicked smile. “I can’t wait to hear what the staff says when I explain that my husband needs the smallest pouch they carry because his dick is barely there at all.”

You shivered with humiliated excitement, knowing you would follow her anywhere. Even if it meant the whole world learning exactly how small you really were.