Microphilia

Soft. Dainty. Petite. Your small fist sliding across my erection fills me with both pleasure and pride. The sight of my remaining length overflowing from your slick grasp… The sight of your fingers struggling to encircle around my girth… The sight of your ambidextrous handling magnifies my dick into a strong tower...
















You have pretty, little legs.













Smooth. Flexible. Graceful. I love the way both of your ankles fit in my left hand. I love the way I fill your insides to the brink. Taking me in completely, your pretty, little face twists. The sensation of ramming against the back wall… The sensation of rhythmically lifting your body off the bed… The sensation of your legs kicking helplessly gives me a taste of power.













I need to feel giant, for a change. Dwarfed in my work place. Deducted in my economy. Diminished on almost every other scale, I need to feel too big to fit. I need to feel taller than my credit score. I need to feel larger than my one-bedroom apartment. With you, I finally feel aligned to my true size. Or perhaps, you’ve managed to breathe life into my fantasy of being more.
















You have a pretty, little mouth.













Pouting. Delicate. Ambitious. My cock splits your face in half. Your jaws are under stress, your cheeks’ elasticity is tested; but you want this so badly. I can feel your wisdom teeth… I can feel your gag reflex contracting… I can feel the muscles in your neck quivering… I am overwhelmed with pleasure and pride. Your pretty, little face multiplies my seed into an orchard as you beautifully fail to ingest.