Title: A Big Lesson to Learn
Author: Amory Puck (pucktheperv on LJ & Tumblr)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: size kink (small!Neal, big!Peter/Jones), double penetration, slash, het, sexual extortion (dub-con), PWP, smut
Pairings: Peter/Neal/Jones, Peter/Sara/Jones
Word Count:7,311
Summary: Sara takes extortion to a whole new level when she promises to tell the world how *little* of a man Neal is if he doesn't help her out. But when he gets caught by the two *biggest* guys in the FBI, Neal and Sarah both learn lessons about how big pleasure can be.
Author's Notes: Written for the Extortion square on my H/C Bingo Card for hc_bingo. I dunno how I went from extortion to size!kink. I don't even usually *like* size kink, but it was stuck in my head, LOL. I'm on such a fanfic writing craze lately and I have no idea why. Gotta get these ideas OUT so I can STOP TYPING LIKE A MADWOMAN.
o o o
This is unrealistic size!kink, pure and simple PWP... If you don't like it, please don't read it!
o o o
A Big Lesson to Learn
"Do what I say, Neal," Sara said in a cold voice. "Or I'll tell *everyone*. Hell, I'll give them pictures."
Neal's face burned a deep shade of red, anger warring with humiliation. "For someone who keeps coming back for more, you sure are a bitch."
"Hey," Sara said with a smirk, "I never claimed that you don't know how to please a woman. But you'd have to be well-practiced, wouldn't you, considering you don't really have anything to give." She sniffed. "Look, either 'borrow' the Devo painting," she made quotation marks in the air, "or we'll see what your male co-workers think about your wiiiiittle problem. And I do mean wittle." She cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. "What's the handsome black gentleman's name?"
"Clinton," Neal snapped. "Clinton Jones."
"Right," she said, giggling a little. "Agent Jones. I can tell you drive him insane. I bet he'd *love* to know what kind of man you are. Or should I say lack of man?"
"Oh, fuck you, Sara," Neal said brusquely, though his heart was actually pounding in his chest at the thought of what the macho men types in the Bureau would do with said… information. He would never live it down. *Ever.*
"The painting," she replied, snapping her fingers at him. "I want it by morning, got it? I have a three million dollar claim resting on this, and my bosses are not happy. I need it ASAP, or Neal's pee pee becomes the talk of the town."
Neal's lip curled up in anger as Sara turned on her heel and headed toward the door, head held high as she click-clacked across the room. The bitch. The total fucking bitch. As if Neal hadn't seen enough humiliation in his life over this. There was a reason he'd spent his whole youth avoiding locker rooms. His true hell, though, had been prison. Communal showers were bad enough for the average guy, much less for a man like Neal. Not that his fellow convicts had considered him an actual man.
Smarts, looks, talent… Most people thought that Neal had the whole package. Apparently, though, you had to give some to get some, because there was one area where Neal did *not* measure up, and that was between his legs.
Micropenis, the doctors had called it when he was a kid—something about hormone deficiencies?—but he'd heard a lot of other names for it over the years. Mangina, belly button, stub, pee pee, wee wee, Hedwig, worm… The list went on and on. Usually the jabs were from other men who liked to bring him down. Most women would take the brains, smarts, and looks over the cock size, especially for a man who was as good as Neal at pleasing his lovers in other ways. Men were a crueler set, especially when it came to dick size.
Oh, there had been a few smack downs from the ladies. Kate could be as cruel as hell when she was pissed, and Alex loved to insult him in bed, but that wasn't personal, she was just a sadist like that. Sara, though, had taken it to a whole new level.
Penis size extortion. This was one for the books.
Wasn't it bad enough that, most of the time, the woman he was with ignored his pleasure completely, like he really was a little boy with no sexual interest? Now they were using it against him like this? It was really fucking pathetic.
Neal ran a hand nervously through his curls. What was he going to do? Jones was transferring the Devo from the office to the evidence lockup warehouse himself. It was too much of a media scandal for anything less. Three of New York's top debutants were claiming that Georgia Devo's modern impressionist painting of a nude man laying flat on the ground before a woman dressed like a 21st century version of Artemis belonged to them, and every one of them had the papers to prove it. 'Once a Man' was the title of the paintings, and in Neal's opinion it looked more like porn than art considering that the woman's vagina was displayed to all. Well, an impressionist version of a vagina. Neal had never actually seen a vagina with a rose growing out of it before. Amusingly enough, Diana did not agree with him on this one. Apparently when men painted nude women it was skanky, but when women painted vaginas it was all good.
Devo's work, pornographic though it might be, was all the rage right now and, somehow, it seemed all three trophy wives had used their middle aged husbands' money to buy 'Once a Man' at auction. Each of them had also insured it for three million, but only one had gone through Sterling Bosch. According to Sara. the company had decided that the painting itself was a fake, and they wanted her to get her hands on it any way possible so they could do their own verification.
'Back within a day,' she'd said, as if that wasn't quite long enough to earn Neal a one way ticket back to prison. The Feds would be verifying it in the lab at the evidence lockup themselves in two days before sending it out to an even higher security facility, so the only chance he had of pulling this off was to make the grab just after Jones left the evidence warehouse, get the painting over to Sara the same night, and get it back the next day.
Which meant Neal would have to do this tonight.
This was crazy, it really was. There was no way he could pull off a job like this without getting caught. He should let it go, let Sara tell who she pleased. Let her tell the whole world that Neal Caffrey has a tiny dick. Neal was a big boy, he could handle it, and his co-workers were grown ups, they wouldn't use it against him, right? That's what maturity was.
Except being mature about it didn't make it hurt any less, and the fact was that even grown ups could be childish assholes.
Neal wasn't sure he could stand it, not again. Every day in prison he had been a laughingstock. The inmates would yank down his pants and laugh, talking about how it looked like a thimble. The officers were actually the worst, though. They would haul Neal into the break room, strip him down, and make him talk in baby voice to his 'daddies' about his 'wee wee.'
Obviously shit like that wasn't going to happen at the Bureau, but people would still talk about it, laugh behind his back, make fun of him. They'd whisper and point and every day would be one long exercise in humiliation.
Neal cleared his throat, trying to pretend the idea didn't bring tears to his eyes.
He couldn't live like that. Neal had lived through enough degradation. He'd worked so hard to earn respect from the people he worked with, he didn't want to lose all of that because of something he'd been fucking born with.
Neal sighed loudly. It looked like it was time to pull out the old lock picks and ski mask.
o o o
Neal held his breath until he heard the door shut softly behind Jones, then let it out in a whoosh, body relaxing. He peeked carefully around the corner, just in case, then, when he was sure that the coast was clear, he ducked around it into the main walkway through the warehouse.
On either side of him were larges cages made of thick metal mesh, the kind you needed hedge clippers to cut through, with large silver numbers over the padlocked doors. Each one was at least ten by fifteen feet and most of them were full of stuff. Neal lengthened his stride an inch or so to match Jones' and began to count out his steps.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen… Bingo. He came to a stop. There was a cage on either side, number 22 and number 23. The one on the left was piled to the ceiling with large, wooden boxes, while number 23 was mostly empty except for a stack of folding chairs and three crates. Neal had heard Jones physically enter a cage, so the one on the left was pretty much out. Neal might have been able to squeeze through, but Jones was much broader in the shoulders and chest than he was.
Mind made up, Neal knelt down on the floor and pulled out his lock picks, quickly setting to work on the lock. It wasn't particularly high tech and, within minutes, the door was sprung. He climbed back to his feet and pulled open the cage, wincing a little as the hinges creaked. They had done that when Jones opened it, too, though, so it was more proof that he had the right locker.
Two of the crates in the cage were covered by a thick layer of dust, but the one closest to the door was clean and, as if he'd needed any more signs that he had the right unit, there was a Big Gulp cup sweating on the floor next to it, ice not yet melted. Jones must have forgotten it.
After a couple tries Neal managed to jimmy the lid off of the crate, a satisfied smile growing on his face as he gazed at the framed painting inside. Artemis smirked up at him with cherry red lips, the same color as her rose garden of a vagina.
It was the last thing he saw before the world went black.
o o o
Neal let out a groan as he came back to life, wincing at the pain in his head. He blinked rapidly as the world swam around him in shades of grey and black. What was going on? What had happened?
"I think he's awake, Boss."
The words made Neal's head ache and he squinted, looking for the source.
"Good," a low, very angry sounding voice said. A moment later something was all up in Neal's face. It took him a second to realize that it was another person. "You want to explain yourself, Caffrey?"
Oh, Shit. Neal was starting to recognize that voice and, as his vision became clearer, that face as well. "Peter?" he said, trying to clear up his mind. It was obvious that Peter was pissed at him, but he couldn't quite remember why. He glanced around. He was in some dark sort of storage room, sitting in a folding chair with his hands cuffed together in front of him.
"No, it's the tooth fairy," Peter replied, looking annoyed. "Yes, it's me. Now you want to tell me what the hell you're doing in a federal evidence warehouse dressed like you were planning to rob a convenience store?"
Neal's eyes widened as the day's events came rushing back. Yikes, this was *not* good."
"I wasn't stealing it," Neal said, voice a little desperate. "I was just borrowing it. I was going to bring it back tomorrow. I swear to God, Peter. I had no choice, okay? She *made* me do it."
"Oh, the old 'she made me do it' defense," came an amused voice from behind Neal. He jumped a little, turning his head to see Jones leaning up against the mesh cage wall, sipping from the Big Gulp cup and looking generally superior.
Neal made a rude face at him.
"You could go back to prison for this, Neal," Peter snapped. "So cut the bullshit. I want to know what you were doing in here! I know you're not stupid enough to think stealing from the goddamn evidence warehouse with no escape plan and a ski mask—not to mention a *tracking* anklet—is the way to pull of a heist. Tell me what's going on."
Neal swallowed nervously. "Look," he said in a shaky voice, "I know it was stupid. I… I didn't have a choice. She was going to…" His cheeks reddened. "If I didn't get her the painting tonight, she was… going to do something bad. Something I'd never live down, okay?"
"What the hell are you babbling about?" Jones questioned, moving around so he was standing next to Peter. "Seriously, Burke's right. You're a better thief than this, Caffrey. Even if I hadn't left my damn Pepsi here, you were all over the security tapes. What the hell were you doing here?"
Neal sunk down in the chair. "I didn't want to do it, okay? I… She made me. I had to… I couldn't go through it again." He knew his voice sounded pitiful but, at this point, he didn't really care. "I'm sorry, Peter."
"Who's 'she', Neal?" Peter said, frowning deeply. "What are you talking about?"
Neal shook his head, eyes locked on the floor, and Peter let out an exasperated sigh.
"Dammit, Neal! I can't help you if you don't talk to me! Do you want to go back to jail?!" He reached out, yanking Neal's chin up. "Look at me!"
Neal stared up at the other man, eyes wide. "Please, Peter, don't send me back. I swear to God, I didn't want to do this."
The other man sighed again, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm going to give you one more chance, Neal. You tell me what's going on, everything that's going on, and I'll see what I can do, okay? But I swear to God, if you leave anything out, you're headed back."
Neal let his head fall forward. "It was Sara," he said in a defeated voice. "Sterling Bosch wants to verify the painting themselves. She said that it would only take a day then it would be back in the locker." His face grew even redder. "And she said that if I didn't get it for her, she…" His voice caught. "She'd tell everyone something about me that's… I guess humiliating would be the right word." He let out a deep breath. "Something sort of… sexual."
"Oh, for God's sake, Caffrey, we can all tell you're gay," Jones said with a roll of the eyes. "Just come out of the closet already."
Neal's mouth dropped open and he stared up at Jones in disbelief. "What? I'm not gay, Clinton!"
Peter made a sound like he was trying not to laugh.
Jones's brow furrowed. "Well, what else could Ellis have on you that would make you pull a stupid stunt like this?"
Neal was pretty sure that he resembled Bob the Tomato right now. "I don't like to talk about it," Neal murmured, locking his eyes back on the ground.
"Well, that's too bad," Peter said flatly. "If Sara Ellis is blackmailing you, I want to know why."
Neal looked up bitterly. "Why, so you can blackmail me, too?"
Peter frowned, obviously a little put off. "No, so I can protect you! She has no right to extort you." He shook his head. "But I can't imagine what she has on you that would make you pull a job like this."
Neal squared his shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to muster up the courage to say it. He might as well just spit out. He was going to have to tell them eventually. "I have a small dick, okay?" The words came out in a rush. He waited for a moment before opening his eyes, not sure what he'd see on the other men's faces.
Huh. There was surprise, confusion, but no hint of disgust, not yet. Obviously they hadn't gotten the real picture.
"Okay, Neal, I know guys love to pull out and measure or whatever," Peter said, looking distinctly uncomfortable with this line of conversation, "but you risked going back to jail because Sara might tell someone she wasn't happy with the size of your junk?"
Neal gave a bitter laugh. "You don't get it. It's not just small. It's *small* small. Tiny. Like a fucking five year old's. Okay?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "Neal, I seriously doubt—"
Fuck this. Neal began to fumble with the button on his pants, pulling down the front so his cock was prominently displayed. Or not so prominently displayed considering there was hardly an inch there. Peter's eyes widened in shock and Neal's blush spread from his face down to his neck.
"Oh my God," Jones said, staring at Neal disbelievingly for a moment before he spoke, obviously on the edge of laughter. "Shit, Caffrey, what do you mean you have a tiny dick? You don't have a dick at all! Oh my God, what the hell is that thing?"
He burst into laughter and Neal hunched his shoulders in embarrassment, pain shooting through him.
Jones slapped a hand down on his thigh, shoulders still shaking. "God, what's the penis version of the itty bitty itty committee? The eeny weeny peeny teamy?"
Neal jerked as Peter made a sudden movement, mouth falling open a little as the larger man slammed Jones in the chest, sending him crashing into the mesh of the cage. Jones slid down on to his ass and Peter stared down at him with a furious face, fists clenched.
That didn't stop the other man from laughing, however, from his spot on the floor. "Oh c'mon, Peter," Jones said, tears of laughter welling up in his eyes. "You gotta admit it's funny. Mr. Know It All, the playboy, smooth as hell Caffrey has a thing smaller than the prick on my sister's chihuahua."
Neal bit the inside of his lip and turned his face away, trying to hold on to a little dignity. He'd heard a hell of a lot worse. Hell, he'd heard worse from Alex as during sex. But it was still humiliating.
"Shut up, Jones," Peter snapped. It was obvious that he was carefully schooling his face and Neal couldn't help but wonder if he was laughing on the inside. Hell, if Neal wasn't the one with the tiny dick, he'd probably be laughing himself.
Peter knelt down in front of the chair, eyeing Neal's cock like he wasn't quite sure what it was.
"Don't look so shocked," Neal said flatly. "I told you it was small, didn't I?"
"Yeah," Peter said, sort of shaking his head. "I… It's just… That's really damn small." The words were even, emotionless, more like he was stating a fact than anything else, but Neal could hear the shock. "Does it, you know," he made a vague pumping motion, "get bigger when you.."
"Not really," Neal said bitterly, then he gave a harsh laugh. "Go on, touch it. You know that's what you want to do."
Peter glanced at him doubtfully, but he raised his hand, apparently unable to resist, and touched the head lightly. His big fingers were almost wider than it was. Neal's breath hitched and he clenched his teeth as Peter took it between two fingers and started to move it this way and that in a sort of clinical way.
"There," Neal said after a moment. "It's hard." He gave a shrug when Peter looked at him in surprise. "It doesn't take much when none of your lovers ever bother to touch you."
"Oh man, Caffrey," Jones said, a broad smile on his face. "This is fucking karma, you know that, right? Mr. Bigshot's got himself an extra belly button. You're an inny on top and an outy on bottom."
"Shut. Up. Jones," Peter said through gritted teeth, shooting a warning look at the agent.
"Come on, Peter. It *is* karma." The man pushed himself onto his feet and made his way back over to Neal, grinning devilishly. "Not only has Caffrey got an itty one, he's in here with *us.*" There was a wicked edge to Jones' voice that made Neal's stomach twist.
"What does that mean?" he asked in a shaky voice, eyeing Jones nervously.
"It doesn't mean anything," Peter said quickly. A little too quickly.
"It means," Jones drawled as he began to unbutton his pants, "that you're in the company of the two biggest guys at the Bureau." Neal choked slightly as Jones pushed down his pants to reveal a limp cock that was at least nine inches long. "And that's when I'm not ready to go," Jones said. He flashed a grin and reached down to wrap a hand around himself, but Peter grabbed his wrist, halting him.
"That's enough, Jones," Peter said in a warning tone.
"Oh, come on," Jones said in a low voice. "Just let me show him what he's missing. All he ever does is flaunt the rules. You can't say that you don't want to see him put in his place."
Peter gave Jones another shove, sending him stumbling back a few feet. "I suggest you shut up before you get yourself in some serious trouble, Clinton." He then turned his attention back to Neal. "Hey, buddy, I'm sorry about that," he said gently.
Neal didn't respond, just kept his eyes locked on the floor.
"Hey," Peter said, voice strained. "Look at me."
Slowly Neal drug his eyes upward, a scowl on his face. "Are you really huge, too?" he asked, not caring if he sounded bitter.
Peter blushed, as if having a huge cock was anything to be embarrassed about. "I… It might be a little above average."
"Let me see."
Peter's brow furrowed, a startled look coming over his face. "Excuse me?"
"You saw mine," Neal said flatly, gesturing toward his sad excuse for a cock. "You put your fingers all over it. Now let me see yours. Maybe I want to see what a real man's cock looks like." There was a disgusted edge to the words.
Peter licked his lips nervously. "Neal," he said quietly, "we're just the way God made us. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."
Yeah, a guy with a monster dick would think that. "Let me see."
"Dammit, Neal," Peter muttered, running a hand roughly across his scalp. "I do not get you some times."
Neal just stared at him petulantly and the older man sighed.
"Okay," he muttered, reaching down to undo his pants. He tugged at the waist, slowly peeling back the material to reveal his already half-hard cock. Apparently being in the room with two men flashing their junk and/or lack of junk wasn't a complete turn off for Agent Burke.
Neal's eyes widened as Peter stood, leaving his cock hanging about face level to Neal. Forget Jones, this was the biggest dick he'd ever seen short of a size-kink porno, and it was still growing as it hardened.
Peter blushed deeply as it continued to rise in front of Neal, thick and fat and long as hell. It had to be eleven inches, God save them all, and as big around as Neal's wrist. His hand would barely be able to wrap around it. Shit, Peter carried this around all the time? How the hell did he stand it? Didn't it get in the way? Did big dicks get in the way? Neal wasn't sure. It wasn't like he had any experience.
Neal was struck with a sudden urge to touch it. He'd never touched another man's dick before, but as a teen he'd often wondered what it would feel like to be able to actually wrap your hand around and pump instead of just sort of poking at it. In prison they had been too busy humiliating him to actually sexually assault him, so combined with his lack of personal knowledge, he didn't really know what real men's cocks felt like. And if there was ever one to touch, it was this one.
"Please," he said in a small voice, "can I touch it?"
Peter stared down at him, brow crinkled like he wasn't sure what he wanted to say, but finally he muttered, "Go ahead."
Neal lifted his cuffed hands and wrapped them both around it, gasping a little at the sensation. It was soft yet hard, pliable yet stiff.
Neal supposed that there was a certain twisted amusement in the fact that a man who'd been forced to play Daddy's boy for four years in prison was now willingly stroking his hands up and down the cock of the man he sort of considered as a surrogate father figure. It was strangely hot as well, and Neal felt his little dick harden up again.
"I told you he was gay," Jones said from off to the side, looking amused. Neal noticed that his dick was hard now, too, and certainly not unimpressive. Not quite as long or thick as Peter's, but definitely larger than anyone, man or woman, could comfortably fit inside them without a *lot* of preliminary work.
"Shut *up,* Jones," Peter said for what had to be the dozenth time, but his voice was distracted, mind obviously somewhere else. Like down in his giant dick.
Neal ran his thumbs across the velvety head of Peter's cock, then leaned closer, so that it wasn't more than an inch from his face.
"Neal," Peter said tightly. "Neal, you need to stop doing that or I'm going to cum." His voice was tense and Neal saw him ball up his fists at his sides. It was obviously taking a lot of self control to resist the urge to orgasm.
Neal didn't care. He kept on stroking, a slow smile coming over his face as he saw pre-cum leak out of the little slit in the head of Peter's dick.
"Seriously, Neal, I'm going to—" Peter didn't make it to the end of the sentence. His hips thrust forward as he shot semen, sprinkling it across Neal's face.
Jones burst into laughter, doubling over with it, as Peter drew back in horror, face turning the color of a cherry.
"Oh my God, I'm sorry. Shit! I didn't mean to do that, oh my God…"
Neal shook his head, using his shoulder to wipe away some of the jizz running down his face. "It's okay, it's okay." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I wanted you to."
Peter stared at him open mouthed for a moment then seemed to shake himself, as if trying to clear his head, before slowly stuffing himself back into his pants. "Neal, I—"
"First he's got nothing for a dick, now he got sprayed. I know what *I'm* going to say the next time he disses my shoes or tries to steal my candy bars."
"Jones," Peter said in a low voice, "if I hear *one* more word from you, you are going to be *very* sorry." He turned back to Neal without waiting for an response, kneeling back down in front of him, eyes dropping back to his still hard yet still tiny cock. "What about you?"
Neal snorted as he glanced down at himself. "What, that? It'll go away. Always does. Kate used to say that you couldn't tell when it was up anyway, so who cared."
"Sounds like a pretty good excuse to me," Jones said, laughing again. "I can understand—"
"That's it!" Peter cut in, a furious look coming over his face. He reached out and yanked Jones forward by the front of the shirt, pulling him close. "You think you're funny, Jones? You think making fun of people is *funny*?"
"Hey, he does it to me," Jones protested. "Turnabout's fair play, right?"
"I think this has gone a little beyond turnabout," Peter snapped. "Okay, Caffrey's a cocky, egotistical bastard with an opinion on everything and a bad attitude. But he doesn't *humiliate* people for kicks, Clinton!"
"Hey," Neal said, holding up his cuffed hands. "Peter, calm down, it's okay. Look, I've heard it all before. It's never fun, but it's a part of life." He gave Jones his best superior look. "And for a guy with such a large endowment, he sure does have a hard time keeping a woman. I think it's probably the lack of hygiene."
"Fuck you, Caffrey," Jones spat. "I can keep a woman."
"Sure, all it takes is a ten thousand dollar deposit into a Russian bank account," Neal shot back.
"At least I can fit into a woman. You *are* a woman." A cruel smirk grew on his face. "Tell me, what did they think of your tiny wiener in the big house? I bet they thought you were a lovely lady."
The barb hit home and Neal's face flushed red again. "Go to hell," he muttered, looking away.
"Okay, that is it." With one swift movement Peter knocked Jones' legs out from under him, sending him toppling to his knees, then grabbed him by the shirt collar, shoving his face into Neal's lap. "You think you're such a big man, Jones? I don't think so. If turnabout's fair play, then how about you suck Caffrey's fucking dick?"
"What?" Jones said in disbelief. He tried to pull back and Peter shoved his head back down. "Are you kidding me?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Peter replied angrily. "Go on, do it. You seem to enjoy shoving knives in Caffrey. Maybe it's time something got shoved in you. I know you two aren't BFFs, but this has gone beyond rivals, Jones. You've been a total ass. So how about you suck his dick or I take your badge for sexual harassment?"
Jones' mouth dropped open. "What?! Sexual harassment? And *this* isn't sexual harassment?"
"I bet if anyone asks what went down, Neal will back me up," Peter said darkly. "It's your choice."
Jones made an angry sound. "Fine," he snapped, "but it's not like there's much to blow."
"Just do it," Peter snapped.
Neal stared up at him with wide eyes. "Peter, I don't know if—"
"Shut up, Neal. He deserves it."
Wow. Neal hadn't taken Peter for the vengeful type, but apparently when the dicks came out, the attitudes did too.
Suddenly a warm wetness came down between Neal's legs and he gasped, eyes widening as he felt Jones' tongue kneading along his little penis. The man was right, there wasn't much to blow, but there was enough to take between his lips. Neal moaned slightly at the sudden pressure as Jones began to suck at him while simultaneously kneading Neal's slit with his tongue.
Peter leaned down next to him, voice husky against Neal's ear. "Just because it's little doesn't mean the pleasure can't be big."
Neal let out a cry as Peter said it, feeling himself shoot into Jones' mouth. A moment later the man pulled away, looking strangely satisfied. It took Neal a moment to realize that the other man had cum too, the semen dripping down his hand.
"You know," Jones said in a breathy voice as he sat back on his heels, staring at Neal in an almost lustful way. "Maybe we should start inviting Caffrey to our boys' nights in."
Their boys' nights in? "What?" Neal said, looking to Peter in confusion.
The man's lip twitched in amusement. "Awhile back Diana and El decided to start having… girls nights out every week. Very special girls nights out. Well, that left the house awfully empty, which I might have mentioned to Jones…"
"And I might have suggested that we have a boys night in, you know, to balance out the equation." Jones smirked, but it definitely looked more lusty than anything now. "You might be as annoying as hell and you might have a teeny weeny, but you're also pretty sexy Caffrey." He leaned forward, breath hot against Neal's face. "I think I'd like to have you be my little man with your little thang."
Wow. That was an… interesting development. Neal sat there in silence for a moment, feeling rather shocked, before he spoke, voice a bit shaky. "Uh, if it means we can do that again? I'm in. I've never had my dick sucked before."
"Seriously?" Peter looked at him in disbelief.
"Yeah, well, my pleasure isn't usually the number one priority. Or a priority at all, actually." Neal shrugged. "I don't think I've ever been with a woman who gave a damn. As long as you make them come over and over and over again, they'll ignore it instead of dissing you for it, but that's about it." His face reddened. "Or sometimes they'll use it against you.
Peter's frowned, a dark look coming over him. "Like Sara?"
"Hey, I always said she was a bitch," Jones put in helpfully.
"Yeah," Peter said slowly, eyes narrowing a little. "You know what? I have an idea."
"Uh-oh, Peter's got a plan," Jones said dryly. "That's always dangerous. Or dirty."
"Shut up, Clinton," Peter said. "Neal, do you have your cell phone?"
Neal nodded. "Jacket pocket."
Peter fished it out. "Okay," he said, handing it back to Neal, "I want you to call her. Tell her that you're at the warehouse but they installed automatic locks and you're stuck. Tell her that she has to come get you or you'll tell because better to be blackmailed than go back to prison."
"Okay," Neal said slowly, pushing the button to call Sara. He looked up at Peter. "Are you going to tell me why?"
Peter flashed him a smile. "I think Ms. Ellis could use a taste of her own medicine."
o o o
"Hello?" came a feminine voice. "Dammit, Neal, where are you?"
"Over here, number 23," Neal called out.
Sara sighed loudly. "I swear, I am going to kill you for this." She appeared in front of the cage, a sour look on her face. "The whole point of this was so I *wouldn't* have to come here! I'm going to make you really sorry for this, Caffrey!"
"That might be hard to do from the women's penitentiary," came Peter's deep voice and Sara leaped about a foot in the air, her baton appearing out of nowhere. Where did she keep that thing, up her pussy?
The gate for one of the lockers across the hallway opened and Peter stepped out, followed closely by Jones.
"I'd put that away if I were you, Ms. Ellis. Threatening a federal officer is quite the offense."
Sara's mouth dropped open and Neal couldn't help but laugh at the furious look brewing on her face. "You set me up!" she shouted, moving over to poke through the mesh at Neal. She grabbed the handle to the cage door and yanked at it viciously, swearing when it refused to open. Neal smiled at her sweetly.
"Sorry, darling. You'll have to claw my eyes out another day."
Sara's eyes flashed. "You better be careful, Neal," she said in a low voice, glancing over her shoulder at the two agents behind her. "I'll tell them. I'll send them the fucking pictures and I know the cute one will spread it *all* over the office!"
Jones touched a hand to his chest, faking shock. "Are you talking about me? *I'm* the cute one? See, Caffrey, I do have a way with the ladies."
Sara smirked evilly, taking a few steps back so she could look at all three men at once. "Well, I'm sure you have *more to offer*," she taunted, raising an eyebrow at Neal. "Are you going to help me, Neal, out here or should I start talking?"
"Go ahead and tell them," Neal said, pretending to study his fingernails. "I don't care."
"Wait… what?" Sara looked truly lost now. Neal hid a smile.
"If you're talking about how Caffrey's dick is the size of a paperclip," Jones said casually, "well, that's just adorable. I think the phrase I'm looking for is 'who the hell cares'?" He let out a loud laugh. "Now, I won't say I don't think it's funny as hell and that I'm not going to make sure I bring up our little mister's pee pee anytime I can just to see his pretty face turn that lovely crimson shade. But I really have better things to do than send out a freaking memo, Ms. Ellis." He shrugged. "Besides, you know it's way more fun as an inside joke. I can't even begin to count all the ways I can slip subtle references into our everyday conversations…"
Okay, as fucking humiliating it was every time Jones opened his mouth, it was starting to seem pretty hot, too. In fact, Neal was turned on again. It was amazing what a difference the feeling that the person was laughing at you *and* with you could make.
"But, since you're apparently such a size queen, Sara," Peter said in a serious tone, "Clinton and I thought we'd help you out. You know, give you what you couldn't get from Caffrey."
"What, pleasure?" Sara said with a snort.
Peter laughed. "Oh, I'm sure Caffrey gave you plenty of pleasure. He's had too many women over the years not to know how to make a lady feel good. Nah, we're not worried about the pleasure. You could have gotten that with Neal. We're talking about the size." As if on cue—well, actually, it probably was on cue—both Peter and Jones dropped their pants, revealing their very large, swiftly hardening erections.
Sara's mouth dropped open in disbelief, her eyes widening as she started to back away. "Oh no. Hell, no!"
"I think 'hell, yes'," Peter said with a cocky smile. "You're wearing the perfect outfit for it." He gestured to her tiny little skirt. "Come on, then."
"Hell, no, I am out of here," Sara said, her eyes still trained on Peter's cock.
"Oh, I don't think you are," Jones said, shaking his head. "See, Caffrey's part of our team. And we don't take well to people who blackmail our team members. So we're gonna give you a choice, little lady. Either you can size up, or we'll cuff your ass and arrest you for extortion of a federal informant."
"Turnabout is fair play," Peter said in a dry voice, making Neal snort with laughter.
"This… This is so wrong," Sara said, shaking her head. "Uh-uh. This is rape. You can't rape me!"
"Oh, we'd never do that," Peter said. "This is simply a choice. Pay for the crime you committed or climb on the horse yourself and see what it feels like when somebody blackmails *you*."
Sara stood there for a long moment before looking over at Neal, eyes narrowing. "Are you going to let them do this to me?"
"Were you going to text photos of my dick to half the FBI?" Neal replied innocently.
Sara scowled. "Fuck you, Caffrey." With those words she dropped her handbag onto the floor and tossed her baton off to the side. "Fine. God, this is such a *male* thing to do. Get your oversized dicks over here."
Peter and Jones made their way over to her, Peter looking overly amused by the whole situation and Jones grinning like he'd won the lottery.
"All right, hike it up," Peter said to Sara, then glanced over at Jones. "You want front or back?"
"Back, definitely," Jones said eagerly. Apparently the man liked ass.
Sara yanked her skirt up over her hips, revealing a lacy black thong. "Hey!" she cried out as Peter snapped the back, letting it fall to the floor. "That cost me twenty bucks."
"Bill me," Peter said dryly. He glanced down at the tiny woman in front of him. "Just so you know, this is probably going to hurt like hell." He nodded at Jones. "I've had that up my ass. It's interesting."
"You perverted, disgusting—OW!" Sara let out a cry as Jones thrust into her from behind, grabbing Peter's upper arms and digging her fingernails into his arms.
Apparently Peter wasn't feeling generous, either, because a moment later he began to press into her from the front.
"Shit, damn, fuck, you two are sons of bitches, ow! Oooooh… Yowch! Okay… Mmm…" Neal raised his eyebrows as Sara suddenly threw her head back and moaned. "Okay, ooooh, you two…. Okay, get a fucking rhythm going guys…"
Neal smirked, slipping his hand down to stroke his little dick, running his thumb across it.
"Mmmmm…" Sara began to move her hips in motion with the two men. "Okay, this is definitely what I call full… Oooh…" She let out a loud groan as Peter began to thrust faster in the front while Jones kept up his slow, steady motion in the back. The slapping was constant as each man thrust in and out, in and out.
Sara's hands had abandoned Peter's arms in favor of her own breasts, reaching in through the low neckline of her dress, stroking at them. "Fuuuuck, that hurts…" She moaned again. "But it's kinda nice…"
Jones chuckled, shaking his head as the little woman's hips moved faster and faster. She began to lift herself up and down on her tippy toes, too, working hard to rub her clit against Peter's abdomen.
"Come on," Sara groaned, "if you can't keep up, don't join the race, you motherfuckers. Who's your Momma now?"
Yeah, that was Sara. Always in control, even during double penetration.
Sara let out a cry, shoulders shaking as an orgasm washed over her, body going taut as she rode it. The sight brought Neal close, and he let out a groan of pleasure.
Jones and Peter were still hard at work, sweat running down Peter's face into his collar, Jones' hips never pausing for a second.
"Oh yeah," Jones said, letting out a whistle. "Little boys, big boys, I think you're just a slut for boys, sweetheart."
"Look who's talking," Sara shot back, panting. "I don't think I'm the only slut in this room."
"Definitely not," Peter muttered. "Oh…" He bit down hard on his lower lip. "Oh, yes…" His hips began to thrust harder.
Neal watched the older man's face as he continued to stroke himself, taking in every twist of the lip and squeeze of the eye. God, Peter really was sexy. Neal had never been into men before, but he really did want to put his hands on that big cock again.
Peter chose that moment to cum and Sara cried out again. Jones began to thrust twice as fast, jerking the woman's little body back and forth against him as Peter slipped out and took a haggard step back, leaning against one of the cages.
Neal squeezed himself one more time, eyes on Peter's dripping, sagging cock, and he came too, the feeling making him gasp for air.
Jones was apparently the most long lasted of them all, because he shoved Sara up against the mesh of one of the cages and began to rut into her madly. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he cried out, back arching as he came inside her. He leaned hard against the mesh, effectively trapping the tiny Sara beneath him, and let out a satisfied groan.
For a couple of minutes they all just stayed like that, panting and basking in the afterglow, until Sara finally spoke up, voice as snotty as ever.
"Get the fuck off of me, you sexy motherfucker," she snapped, shoving against the mesh. Jones complied with a loud sigh and Sara yanked her skirt back down her hips. She stomped back over toward the locker Neal was still locked in, her nose in the air.
"I," she said in a snippy voice as she bent down to grab her bag and baton, "am going home." She glanced pointedly in Peter and Jones' direction. "Neal has my number. Give me a ring sometime, I have a friend I'd like you two to meet."
"Oh, yeah?" Jones said, a huff of laughter in his voice. "Who's that?"
Sara smiled wickedly. "I call her Suzie the Strapon. She's *enormous.*" She wiggled her fingers in their directions. "Toodle loo, boys. Don't do anyone I wouldn't do."
The End