Squeezed

This story features depictions of a mature woman and a young man, coercion by an authority figure, unrealistic penis size, body shaming, and objectification.

Sam stared down his bare legs, crossed over at the ankle, to the simple blue running shoes he typically wore around campus. The hard, easy-clean blue carpet stretched out around his feet. Fluorescent tube lighting overhead. Cheap white paint on the walls. The waiting area was at the very top of the building, the ceiling slanted, oppressive. Unreworked for the 21st century. Exactly the location he would have pictured for mandated school counselling.

Slouched though he was, mop of brown hair partially covering his gaunt, handsome face, he still looked tall. Long, wiry limbs and torso. Blue button down shirt and grey twill shorts that stopped a short distance above the knee.

He was 19, in his first year of University, and he'd already messed up enough to put his future in jeopardy.

"Sam? Do you want to come through?"

He looked up. A woman's face wearing a cheery smile peeked round the door and then darted back in before he could get a better look. He picked himself up off the cushioned bench and followed her through.

"Thanks for coming, I'm Mary, one of the campus Counsellors. Take a seat wherever you like." It sounded scripted - warm, but cursory. From behind, he could see shoulder-length black hair. A red cotton blouse tucked in to a wraparound skirt made of a generous length of brown tweed, accentuating the cinch of her waist and the round angle of her hips. He guessed that she was around six inches shorter than she was. As she turned, he saw that cheerful smile again - a soft, round face that seemed flattered by equally round spectacles. To her peers, she would be the definition of cute; Sam could only guess - Thirty? Forty? - and to his naïve gaze, she appeared aged.

"Right, so..." she leafed through a thin document. "Sam. You've been sent up to talk to me, haven't you, because you've had some problems on campus?" She spoke with the same gentle, caring tone throughout.

"Um..." his voice was as deep as he was tall, but soft. "Yeah." He wondered what more he should say, and decided to leave it at that.

"And how are you feeling today?"

"Um. Fine."

"Bit nervous?"

"Uh, yeah. They said I could get expelled if I didn't come here."

"Alright, Sam, well, there's nothing to be nervous about." She gave him another big smile. "I'm not here to decide whether you get expelled. We're just going to talk, and try and help you work out how to avoid the situation under discussion from happening again." Her voice dripped with carefully considered reassurance.

"Okay."

"Okay." Another clinically wide smile. "You're in the English department, aren't you?"

"First year, yeah."

"Who's your Tutor?"

"Professor Owens."

"Oh yes, I know him, nice man."

"Yeah."

She sat a little more upright, placing the clipboard on her lap. For the first time, he noticed the creases of her blouse folded around her breasts. He looked back at his shoes.

"So Sam, would you like to tell me in your own words what's been happening? Why have you been asked to come and speak to me?"

He kept his eyes on his shoes.

"I... got angry."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I shouted at someone. A girl."

"Another student."

"Yeah, I lost my temper." Barely more than a mumble. "I shouldn't have, I already said sorry."

"Why did you lose your temper with her?"

He shuffled. The chair was large, comfortable, but without arms, and a back that seemed to recline too much. He was keeping himself upright in order to keep facing her.

"Um, she said something... because people have been talking about me, and it's really stressing me out, and she said something about it..."

"Talking about you how?"

"Um." He took a long pause.

"It's alright."

"Um... someone said they saw my bum, and it was... big."

"Right... the other students are making fun of you for having a big bum?"

"Gossip, yeah. Asking me about it. Chatting to each other about it. I ask people to stop but they do it more."

"So she was talking about your bum, this girl, and that's why you got angry?"

Sam could sense that he was being strung along, but didn't possess the wherewithal to question it. "Yes."

"Do you feel self-conscious about your bum? You feel that it's too big?"

"Yeah... well, no. I don't know. No. I don't... but it doesn't matter, I don't think people should be making fun of me anyway."

"No, of course not, Sam, but I think it's important to identify the source of this anger in order to help you get some control over it."

"I'm not angry anymore. I don't get angry a lot." It wasn't a lie. Prior to his outburst on the Quad, where Sophie had gone from giggling to cowering as he screamed with his reddened face inches from hers, he had always been the softest and most timid of young men. The extent to which this has escalated seemed like an error. A misunderstanding. He didn't have an anger problem. And he didn't need counselling.

"I don't think I have a problem with anger."

Mary opened the clipboard again, to a page of notes. Several paragraphs were circled in red. He stared at his shoes again.

"So you understand, Sam, I am absolutely here to help you, but I do need you to be honest with me in order to do that."

"I am being honest."

This time the smile was half as wide.

"Okay... Sam, I was passed quite a detailed report of what happened, corroborated by several students and tutors." He said nothing. "So based on what we both know, I don't think it's very honest of you to say that you don't need help controlling your anger, is it?"

"Mm." It wasn't even a word.

"Do you want to tell me in your own words what the other students were making fun of you for?"

"I already did."

"Okay. Sam, you can stick to that version of events, but I won't be able to honestly say that we had a satisfactory session here if you do. I know what I have in my notes. So do you. Would you agree?"

"Mm."

"It wasn't your bum they were discussing, was it?"

A very long pause.

"Sam?"

"No."

"Do you want to tell me what it was?"

Sam shrank a little, his stare still fixated on his shoes. He didn't want to say this out loud. Not to anyone, but especially not an older woman who had his future in her hands.

A mere mumble. "It was my penis."

"Alright. Go on."

"They mm... you already know."

"They were talking about its size, weren't they?"

"...yeah."

"What did they say?"

He took a deep breath. "They said it was big. Alright?"

Mary rewarded him with another eager smile. "Okay. That's alright. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me that, Sam."

"...mm."

"So how did this come about?"

"Um. Can I not say? I'm embarrassed."

Another clinical smile. "You don't have to be embarrassed, Sam. We're in a safe space here. I won't judge you, and I won't share anything I hear with anyone else."

"Still don't want to say."

"Sam." She leaned forward. "It'll be good for you if you say. It's called catharsis."

He shuffled a little, again. Despite their age difference, she was attractive, clean, calm. Staring at him with encouraging expectation. He had been stared at a lot recently. Made the subject of others' speculation. Once more, he felt like he was being put on the spot. Under glass. A curiosity.

"I get, you know, spontaneous..."

"Yes?"

"You know."

"Spontaneous erections."

"...Yeah."

"And someone saw you have one?"

"A girl. Yeah."

"The girl you shouted at?"

"No, a different girl. She told her boyfriend, and he told his friends..."

"I see. And... I imagine you were fully clothed. They decided you must be... quite large based on that, did they?"

Sam winced a little. "It's hard to hide it. I usually wear shorts, and one leg kind of... pulls forward. When it happens."

"Right, I see. That must feel rather embarrassing. I can understand that." Her voice had gotten softer. Quieter. Sam nodded.

"So Sam, it's important that I ask... are you?"

His face was turning red already. Something else was happening, too -- a familiar, uncontrollable rush of blood. He couldn't believe she was asking this question, or understand why it was "important" to do so.

"Am I what?"

"Is what the other students have been saying about you true?" Still soft, her voice had a matter-of-fact quality that pressed on Sam's uncertainty. "Is your penis very large?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen that many to compare."

"I thought all young men were measuring, googling..."

"I guess so."

"Have you ever measured yours?"

An actual throb. The right leg of his shorts twitched, visibly. Turning bright red, and breathing more heavily, he quickly tried to shift position to hide the growing bulge. Scrutiny and attention -- especially from older women -- had always been a trigger.

"Oh, Sam." Mary put her hands flat on her knees, her face melting into a sympathetic expression. "Are you getting one right now?"

He crossed his arms over his lap, doing his best to mask the changing shape of his shorts, turning his head away to the left, nodding.

"I see." Mary rose from her seat. "I'm sorry, Sam, I understand this must be an uncomfortable situation for you. I'm just going to come over next to you, okay?"

She walked the short few steps from her chair to his, kneeling down next to him in the manner of someone tending to the wounded. Squatting down like this had rounded her hips further, the tweed skirt stretching around her curves. He noticed her lips, too -- pink, and soft. She reached over and gently touched his wrist, the wrist that was resting on his bulge. He felt another throb, his cock straining upwards, in the direction of her hand.

"You're alright. It's okay." Her voice was as soft as before, but this close, it felt overwhelming. "Does it hurt?"

Sam drew deep, shaking breaths. "Hurt?"

"Is it uncomfortable? Having it so confined when you have one of these episodes?"

"...Yeah" he mumbled. That was definitely true; an early clue as to his anatomical abnormality had been the straining discomfort whenever he had erections. It was as if underwear designers hadn't considered him at all -- and the discomfort only made him more aware of his erections, which only made them more severe. Sam was a learned emergency masturbator. Rushing to toilet cubicles, to his bedroom, to relieve himself so that the pressure could subside for another hour or two. Walking the halls and streets after, wondering if, by the flush of his face or his scent, people knew.

"Alright, Sam." That compassionate sing-song tenor. "If it's painful, if you like, you can slide your shorts down, until it goes back to normal."

The word "normal" the end of this suggestion struck Sam as particularly galling. He had never anticipated, or heard of, a member of Campus staff suggesting that he expose himself.

"Um... um..." He had no idea how to respond. "I don't know if..."

"It's okay. You're safe. I'm your counsellor, Sam. Nobody will know. I'm happy to provide a space you can be comfortable in." She was stroking his wrist. Her head leant a little to the side, her stare fixed on his face, as if she expected him to comply. As if she was hoping for it.

"I guess..."

"Shall we just slide these down?"

Sam relaxed his arms a little, but couldn't will his body to do what was being asked of him. "Um... yeah, I... okay..."

"You want me to help?"

At an utter loss for what else to do, Sam nodded, gently. Mary reached for the elastic waistband of his shorts with both hands, gripping, and pulling down. Sam eased himself off the seat just enough for her to drag the garment down to his knees, pulling his underwear along with it.

Though it was quiet, he was close enough to hear her intake of breath. His face felt hotter and hotter. His cock, painfully erect, lifted out of his underpants and stood of its own accord, looming over his lap, just in front of the Counsellor's eager gaze. In truth, he had measured it; base to tip, it was in the vicinity of ten inches, and visibly thick around. Although Sam didn't know it, it would have been considered beautiful, too; tapered with a muscular elegance, its surface a warm tone, and lustrous. A gentle purple vascularity, without appearing gnarled. A phallic ideal, though gargantuan.

Even though her face wasn't too close, he could feel her breath on its skin. Both were silent and still, for more than a minute, before Mary spoke.

"Oh Sam, it is... quite large, isn't it?"

"I dunno."

"I'd say that it is. Oh, you poor thing," the doting, pitying tone again, "no wonder you've been so uncomfortable and frustrated. It must be very difficult walking around here with this."

It twitched as she spoke, the attention only making his erection more severe.

"Yeah, it's... it's embarrassing."

"Okay, Sam." For the first time in several minutes, she shifted her gaze from the large, twitching cock in front of her face. "Now while we wait for you to recover, would it be alright if I examined you?"

His perineum clenched, shifting his cock slightly more upright for a moment.

"What do you mean by examining me?"

"Sexual health is a very important part of campus life. I'd like to just take a look at you and make sure you don't have any health issues that need addressing."

"I don't think I do..."

"Well, you're free to say no, but it would be a very good idea to get yourself looked over, and since were here..."

The longer it went on, the less Sam knew what to say in response. It felt easier, and perhaps safer, to go along with whatever was being suggested. Pushing back had only gotten him into this room to begin with, and seemed likely to make his predicament worse. But there was the growing sense, too, that he was being scrutinised, objectified; expected to accept that his anatomy was something other than private.

"I'm just going to touch you with my fingers, alright?"

"Um." He hadn't answered. She was already reaching for his cock.

She held it gently with both hands, leaning her face close to it, to examine its surface from one side, then the other. Although his erection had already unsheathed his glans from his foreskin, she pulled it back further, dragging down with her fingertips to stretch the skin and leave the glistening crimson head fully uncovered.

"Does that hurt at all?"

He shook his head, although there was a certain ache to the pulling sensation. Her movements were careful, caring; she palpated every inch thoroughly, tilting her head to inspect it from the underside, craning to look from above. With her right hand, she pulled it back towards his body, giving her left access to his testes. She rolled each one between her fingers, massaging and palpating as she had done his shaft. With every movement, every touch, he drew his breath a little deeper, suppressing the urge to grunt, or moan. The suggestion that he take it out to let it go down in physical comfort ran entirely counter to what was happening now: the protracted, methodical manipulation of his genitals by this soft-spoken, attentive older woman.

"Okay... I can't see anything obvious... I'd say you're in quite good shape."

"Oh... good." She hadn't yet let go.

"So, are you sexually active?"

"Um, no... should you..."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Y... yeah..."

"But you're not having sex?"

"Not yet... we only starting dating a few weeks ago..."

"Does she know about this?" As if for emphasis, the hand gripping his erection squeezed, just a little, for a moment. He sharply drew breath again.

"I don't know." He wasn't mumbling anymore, but he spoke very softly.

"I bet she'd be jealous if she saw you right now, wouldn't she?"

Sam was silent. Her grip had begun moving up and down the substantial length of his erection, a slow but unmistakable caress, entirely distinct from the clinical manipulations of a few minutes ago.

She whispered: "How does that feel?"

He couldn't speak. He breathed long breaths that he tried to keep smooth, to keep from quivering. At the peak of each caress, her fingers brushed his glans, and threatened to draw an anguished moan from his throat. It was pleasure. Unmistakable. But a pleasure he had been pushed into, and didn't know how or if he should refuse.

"It feels okay."

"Just okay?" She gripped tighter, her wrist and hand dextrously pulling up and down his cock in earnest, massaging the enormous organ with which she was clearly as infatuated as everyone else. Perhaps it was the relative size of her hands, but gripping around his girth seemed difficult for her.

"How about this, Sam? Does this feel better?" She was still whispering, but now her caring smile had morphed into something akin to a smirk. Sam merely stared in continued disbelief as she methodically pumped his cock in her fist, the oversized member twitching cheerfully in the Counsellor's grip.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, and let out a soft, deep moan. In response, the strokes went deeper, longer, the movements of her arm more pronounced. She gave out the briefest, quietest of giggles. He opened his eyes. The faint smirk. The tilt of the head. Her nostrils flaring gently, drawing breath more audibly. Staring at his cock, hard enough in her hand that its veins protruded above the surface now, sleek and enormous before them both. He let out another moan, his eyes open, this time deeper, gazing in confusion and disbelief at Mary's emergent joy at inducing this pleasure.

She let out another hungry giggle. "What's your girlfriend's name, Sam?"

"Uh..." his heart, already racing, lurched at the reminder that he had a girlfriend. "Ellie."

"Mm-hm, and what do you think Ellie would think about what's happening now?"

A corner of his mouth curled into the faintest sign of a nervous grin. The tip of his cock oozed clear fluid down its underside and over Mary's fingers.

"She'd... I dunno..."

"She's never touched you like this, has she?" He shook his head. The muscles around the base of his cock clenched as her constant stroking coaxed more anxious pleasure into his body. It jumped again. "I don't think she'd be happy. You probably shouldn't tell her about this. We can keep it in this room, between us." As if to emphasise her argument, she began rubbing more vigorously, more thoroughly, masturbating his straining erection with a force almost comparable with that which he used on his own.

He shut his eyes again, letting out another confused moan. He gripped the chair beneath him with both hands.

"Okay."

"Nobody has to know about your size, Sam."

"Yes."

"Nobody has to know about this." Soft, but stern. Unmistakably an instruction.

"Y... yes." His squirming hips lifted up off the chair, almost involuntarily. He couldn't help it. He couldn't even keep his thoughts clear enough to decide whether he should stop it. His body was begging him to continue, a guilty desperation that only burned harder as she swore him to secrecy. She stifled another giggle at the movement.

"Are you close?"

"Huh?" His voice was breathy, and laboured. "Me and Ellie?"

She laughed a little more openly. "No, are you close to finishing? Are you going to cum?"

"Oh." He honestly didn't feel like it. Before his eyes, his allegedly enormous cock remained intensely hard, painfully so, but he couldn't locate the building pressure, the muscle tremors that usually signalled release.

"I don't think I am."

"Oh. Okay." She carried on rubbing the throbbing organ in her hand, her vigorousness didn't let up, but she did seem as if she was pondering something. "I think you're too big for me to use my mouth... hm." She did stop. At the absence of her massaging, a pleading ache spread throughout his lower body. He stared at her face expectantly. Flushed and excited as she clearly was, she almost looked more youthful than when he'd walked in.