Nine for Eleven

Story codes: Mg11, hj, cum, cons, voy
Summary: A stroke story

The following work of fiction is written by Admiral Cartwright (a pseudonym) and presented for entertainment purposes only. Copyright © effective 2018. Distribution of this material or of any predecessor(s) for profit and/or with this information abridged shall constitute a violation of intellectual property law and may result in some serious shit. Unless, of course, you ask the author first.

Praise for Nine for Eleven


“Some stories don’t work for me, even if I’m willing to suspend my disbelief. This one works. Thank you.”

“Very fresh and exciting.”

“I wish this story was true, and I was the person in it.”

“A nearly perfect story. You even had this hopeless perv into it.”

“Story-telling gold!!!”


Nine for Eleven



So, yeah, I got a nine-inch cock. It’s been a blessing. I didn’t expect it to also be a curse.

Up until about a year ago, I was pretty average, just under seven inches. No one ever complained but, let’s face it, I wanted more. After a shitload of research, I got one of those warm-water pumps that you use in the bathtub, not really expecting much. But it worked. Nine goddamned inches. It worked! Fuck me!

And women did. Well, some of them. Some saw my schlong and quickly made themselves scarce. And, for fuck’s sake, I lived in goddamned Hollywood, where you’d think all the women—and a lot of the men, I’m sure—would have no trouble with nine inches.

I even married one of them. The divorce was finalized last month. Bitch cheated on me with a guy with an even bigger dick. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I’m living in one of the suburbs of Los Angeles now; the divorce fucked me good, and my acting career isn’t going anywhere anyway. I’m actually making more money as a freelance (but licensed) carpenter—hit me up if you need some work done.



I often take long walks on slow days, and there’s a park near my condo that’s fairly sprawling for the area. I found a bench in a secluded spot and sat there one Sunday afternoon, watching a particularly hot porno on my phone. Looking around, I saw no one, and gave my cock some freedom, occasionally checking my surroundings for potential interruptions.

A few minutes later, some movement behind a tree to my right caught my attention; peeking around the trunk was a girl, watching me intently. I wasn’t sure, since the tree was some distance away, but she looked like a young teenager, maybe 13 or 14. I switched hands, stroking my cock with my left hand to give her a better view. She was close enough that I could see her expression, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as I pumped faster, a huge orgasm from this illicit whack session building. When I came, I actually hit the grass some three feet away, with the rest streaking the walkway in front of the bench. The girl’s expression was partly hidden by her hand in front of her mouth as I continued squirting, covering less distance each time. When I finished, I glanced again toward the tree, and she was gone.

I zipped up and got the hell out of there. Giving her a show was awesome, but I didn’t want to still be there in case she showed up with someone else.



The following Sunday at about the same time, I decided to try again. There was nothing for almost an hour, and I was just about to leave when I saw her again. I tapped on another video and was fully hard again within seconds. When I glanced back over, she was watching expressionlessly—except, she looked different. This girl seemed to have much the same face, but her hair was lighter, and she was shorter. Did last week’s audience have a younger sister?

I’m not into kids, usually, but this was exciting AF, so I took my time, stroking slowly, making sure she had the best view possible. Every so often I looked around to be certain I didn’t have anyone else paying attention.

Then it happened: the girl started walking toward me! Difficult as it was, I pretended to be so engrossed in my video that I didn’t see her, but I did, and she was beautiful. Barely developing breasts and narrow-hipped, I guessed her to be about 11. She sat down next to me and continued watching me stroke my nine inches while occasionally glancing at the fuck video I was watching. When I shot off, she jumped slightly, watching stream after stream shoot into the air and land on the walkway. When I was done, she casually got up and walked back toward the tree, disappearing from sight.

Once again, I shook off, zipped up, and got the hell out of there. After all, I’d just given a very young girl a very close-up show.



I almost didn’t go back the next week; paranoia was kicking in. It was one hell of a thrill, though, so I took something of a roundabout path to my usual bench to make sure no one was setting me up for anything. Still, I waited a bit longer after arriving before finding a fuck vid and letting my cock out for air. She was at the tree only moments later, and sitting next to me in an instant.

She watched for several minutes then, with no warning, sound, or change of expression, she reached out and grabbed hold of my cock. I moved my hand out of the way and she began pumping up and down, mechanically, suggesting her first time. It was good enough, though; I came straight up into the air and back down onto her hand before it occurred to her to point my squirts toward the walkway. When I was finished, she used my shirt for a towel, giggled, stuck out her tongue, got up, and left. You little shitburger, I smiled, assigning her my favorite term of endearment.



One week later, she and the older girl I presume is her sister were playing frisbee in the small, courtyard-like area in front of the bench. I sat down and essentially ignored them, and they me. When they left, I thought I heard one of them call the other a “chicken shit”, but I wouldn’t swear to it. Still, that convinced me to hang out for a bit and, sure enough, I soon saw my little handjob girl back at the tree, apparently alone. My cock jumped at the sight, and out it came, still getting hard when she walked up, sat down, and started stroking.

Her 11-year-old hand (or so I guessed) was tiny around my nine-inch meat, as big around as her wrist. (No, I’m not exaggerating.) Her movements were still straight up and down with no nuance; I found a video of a woman jacking a guy to show this girl some technique, and she started mimicking some of the movements and letting her hand slide along the skin. I surprised her when I came, the first powerful jet hitting her in the face. Backing away, she kept stroking with my cock pointing straight up, my cum landing on my lap and on her hand. This time she held my cock for a few more seconds, feeling it pulse with my waning orgasm, before using my shirt as a towel again, wiping my slime off her hand and face. She looked at the mess she’d made, laughed, and skipped off.

I shook my head, bemused. Let Me Entertain You, eh? My little handjob girl could be quite the little shitburger.



Our weekly ritual didn’t change much, except for baby oil and wet wipes (since she seemed to get such a kick out of making me wear my own cum). Her technique was improving, especially with the oil, and it took less and less time to make my cock spurt. She actually put the head in her mouth once and spat out the first squirt immediately, accompanied by an emphatic “Yuck!”

On the other hand, she did use a wipe instead of my shirt that time.



Three weeks ago, she decided to play a little longer, stopping several times when I got close. She even giggled slightly each time my dick twitched. I can’t believe she had any idea what she was doing, beyond entertaining herself, but it was torturing me—such sweet torture but, still, I barely managed to not grab her arm and force her to finish me. She had just brought me to the edge again when I heard a high-pitched voice in the distance yell, “Gabby, we’re leaving!”

My 11-year-old handjob girl stroked faster. When I groaned and stiffened, she put the head of my cock in her mouth and kept going, letting me fill her mouth with an explosion of my hot, salty sperm. Being edged so many times, it felt like I was shooting straight into her throat, but she didn’t stop.

Finally, I relaxed, and she grabbed a wipe, cleaned her hands and lips, smiled and said a cheerful “Bye!”, and trotted off with my jizz in her stomach.

I trotted exactly nowhere. Other than stuffing my dick back into my jeans when I saw a couple strolling toward me, I was almost motionless basking in my own afterglow. I must’ve looked drunk when I finally got up to go home.



I was honestly disappointed when she didn’t show up two weeks ago. I didn’t see her last week, either. I hope I get to see her again. If not, well, I have some hot fucking memories.

And a name to put them to.



Sunday: I saw her today.

Gabby was in “my” courtyard with her entire family, including both parents and a baby brother. I almost turned around and beat a hasty retreat, but the parents saw me and gave a friendly if cursory wave. I waved back. Gabby and her sister were throwing a baseball back and forth; everyone else was picnicking.

I decided to have a seat in my usual spot, since I hadn’t yet been chased off by an angry father. A few minutes later, I saw the baseball roll toward me, and I picked it up to hand to Gabby as she ran over.

As my 11-year-old handjob girl thanked me for the ball, she stuffed a piece of paper into my hand, her body blocking the view of her family. I tucked it away, said “You’re welcome”, and went back to pretending to do something on my phone.

Thirty-something minutes later, back in my condo, I fished the paper out of my pocket, and my shoulders sank at the message.

“Ariella told on me”.

But—not on me? Hmm …



Tuesday was a good day. I had just come home from an audition for a pretty meaty role in an upcoming Hulu series, and they all but told me I had the part. I actually sang in the shower for the first time in like forever. I’d just cracked a beer and was about to lounge in my shorts in front of the TV when the doorbell rang.

“Hello, sir, would you like to buy—”

My little handjob girl stopped mid-sales pitch. Staring into my eyes, hers like saucers, Gabby wore a smirk like I hadn’t seen in almost a month. Standing behind her, blushing furiously, was Ariella.

Gabby still had her arm extended toward me, holding a brochure for some company that provides treats for sale for school fundraisers. I smiled sweetly at them both—Ariella got even redder—and took the brochure, reading it over as both girls stood, quiet and motionless. I found a couple of things I liked, and excused myself to get my phone, inviting them in.

Neither girl moved.

I took my time retrieving my phone from the bedroom; when I came back out, the girls were standing just inside the front door. I scanned a code, placed my order, and handed the brochure back to Gabby, who was staring intently at the crotch of my loose-fitting shorts. Her sister seemed to have recovered. A bit.

“Ariella, I presume?”

The older girl blushed again, and nodded.

“Then you must be … Gabriella?”

My little handjob girl smiled and grunted a “yup”, still staring at the outline of my mostly flaccid dick.

I turned back to her sister, too curious to stop myself. “So—why didn’t you tell on me?”

Ariella stared at the floor. I waited. Eventually, she said, “’cause I started it.”

“You did? How so?” I asked, turning to set down my phone somewhere and to see if the girls would follow me in. It worked, to a point. Ariella, now farther from my front door and away from any potential witnesses—these condos are basically apartments with hallway access, and neighbors have ears—explained that she was the one who saw me whacking it in the park that first day, and it was the following week that she pointed me out to her sister. Gabby was fascinated with “penises”, as Ariella put it, ever since she caught their father stroking his in the shower.

What Ariella didn’t expect was that her sister would be so bold with me.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I said. “You told on her, but not me. Why?”

“’cause you never touched her. But some—”

“She doesn’t want me to get hurt,” Gabby interrupted, the first time I’d heard a complete sentence out of her.

“Oh,” I nodded, suddenly aware that Ariella must have been watching us, though I never saw her. “Well, if it means anything, I’ve never hurt anybody, and I don’t plan to start now.”

Gabby smirked again; Ariella’s expression softened a bit.

Several seconds of deafening silence later, Ariella waved, said “well, ’bye, and thanks,” and almost tripped over a large box still sitting in the entryway. Looking at the rendering on the side, Gabby suddenly got, well, comparatively gabby. “You make cabinets?”

“Well, I’m trying to get work as an actor,” I said, probably saying too much, “but, yeah, I do carpentry stuff otherwise.”

“Mom’s talking about a new kitchen. Maybe you can do it.”

Oh, boy, this could be trouble, I thought. Still, I excused myself, got a business card out of my wallet, handed it to the girls, and watched them leave.

When I went to lock the door behind them, my cock couldn’t decide whether to come to life. One the one hand, maybe things with Gabby were not over yet.

On the other, what the hell am I getting myself into?



They liked my quote, and Gabby’s parents had a contractor for their kitchen. I hadn’t heard back from the TV series’ production company just yet, so I was in limbo anyway, and it turned out this would be a relatively quick job.

I got started the following Monday, which turned out to be an in-service day for the girls’ middle school. Ariella admonished her sister to let me do my job, but I think we all knew better. Almost the instant I got up on the short ladder to take some measurements, Gabby was standing practically face-to-cock, snug in my work jeans but coming to life. It was nothing Ariella hadn’t seen before, so I unzipped and let Gabby’s toy free.

Instantly, her hand was around my still-growing monster, spreading a handful of baby oil along its length.

Well. My sneaky little handjob girl.

Her technique seemed to have improved even since the last time, and I was panting and groaning in minutes, trying to concentrate on my work—and failing completely. I hadn’t whacked it myself for several days, and a big load of cum was on its way.

Just as I saw Ariella poke her head around the corner, I tensed up with a grunt, and Gabby took the head into her mouth and swallowed … and swallowed … and swallowed. Somewhere in the back of my spinning head I remembered her first taste and a pronounced “Yuck!” Not any more; Gabby ate everything I fed her, and my orgasm was so strong I almost fell off the ladder.

Gabby let my cock pop out of her mouth, then stared at it for a moment as if she expected it to speak. She gave it a squeeze, gave the tip a lingering peck, and skipped—literally, skipped—off into the other room. Ariella, smiling slightly, shook her head and ducked back around the corner.

Somehow, I recovered, and got my day’s work done. “’bye, ladies,” I sang on my way out the door.



Tuesday was the first real work day, moving out the old stuff and prepping the walls and ceiling for the new. The new island would replace the old one nearly exactly. The girls were at school, so there were no distractions until their mom came home for lunch. We went over the final design and made some minor changes that didn’t affect any measurements—I still have nightmares about past clients, so that was a relief—and a phone call to my supplier ended my day.



Wednesday was an off-day. There was a delay in shipping the materials, leaving me literally nothing to do until Thursday morning, when I had to be at the house to sign for the delivery. Not a problem, the family told me; the girls wanted McDonald’s anyway.



Thursday: never have I had a day that started so weird.

Materials signed, sealed, delivered, I prepared to get to work as the girls and their dad got ready to head out to school and work, respectively. Gabby retrieved her lunch from the refrigerator and quite obviously stroked the crotch of my jeans as she passed me on her way out the door.

I smirked; ah, my favorite little shitburger.

Then I froze—her dad was staring right at me.

“I’m looking forward to seeing your work,” he said brightly, then turned and left.

Wait. What the fuck?!



Luckily, I’ve trained as an actor; one of the things we’re taught is how to concentrate on the job ahead. So, I shook everything off and got to work.

By the time the girls got home from school, I was nearly done. They trotted off toward the bedrooms and left me alone.

Until Gabby saw me on the ladder, that is. Concentration or not, I was still nervous from the morning and I tried to talk her out of doing anything. I’m working. I’m sweaty. I probably stink.

She didn’t move—and I was getting aroused in spite of myself.

I sighed, unzipped, and let my cock loose. Baby oil and a warm hand engulfed me, and I leaned onto the ladder for support as my little handjob girl went to work, now as expertly as any grown woman I’ve ever met—more than most, actually. Using both hands for the first time, she slid, twisted, squeezed, relaxed, teased the head, tickled the frenulum, everything hands can do, building me toward yet another explosion by her command.

Her movements became more deliberate as I shot once again into her mouth, her hands sliding slowly up and down my entire length, squeezing as she pulled toward her mouth as if milking my cock. I gripped the ladder hard as my head spun yet again from the sheer power this tiny girl had on me, and the force of each squirt.

Gabby waited until I sighed in relief, then wiped her hands and mouth on my shirt (there’s the little shitburger again), said “Yum!”, and headed toward the bedrooms.

‘Yum’? Really?

I had just stuffed my cock back into my jeans and zipped up when her dad came around the corner. It was more from exhaustion than from acting lessons that I didn’t react as he walked up to me, shook my hand, and smiled. “Are you clean?”

“Uh …” I said, taken aback. The work was already done; this was a hell of a time to ask about my references—or maybe my drug history. Licenses are lost over shit like that.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, do you have any diseases, Crane?”

‘Crane’ is my stage name. My business card does not say ‘Crane’. Training and exhaustion be damned—you bet your ass I reacted.



The explanation was nearly as weird as everything else that day. First, he knew me from a one-off role on one of his favorite TV shows; that episode just happened to play the night after we’d seen each other in the park.

As for Gabby … yes, he knew. Gabby had been begging to play with her dad’s cock for months, ever since that shower. Dad was adamant; no, not me, your mother wouldn’t approve, and any other excuse he could think of. He expected that she might take that interest elsewhere, and he had asked Ari to keep an eye on her little sister. Ariella never said who the “boy” was, but Gabby wore an odd smirk when they handed him my card, and Ari blushed when she called me “the guy in the park”.

Two plus two, and all that.

Monday night, he continued, he had asked the girls how the day went. Gabby was all smiles; Ari blushed crimson. When he told the girls to spill it, Gabby snickered and said no, she didn’t spill anything. Even Ari laughed at that. Recovered from her embarrassment, Ariella confirmed two things: one, that I never touched her sister; and two, that I have a “big dick”. Gabby slipped and said it was even bigger than his; then, figuring out his expression, she added, “well, just a little bigger.”

His own eyes confirmed everything only minutes ago: watching surreptitiously, marveling at her technique, resisting the temptation to rub one out himself at the impossibly hot sight of his youngest daughter lovingly giving a man a handjob—not just any handjob, but an expert stroking worthy of any cock’s highest salute, and its biggest explosion.

What surprised him was that she swallows. I explained that it surprised me, too.

Gabby walked in and plopped down next to her father just as he’d started to tell me how important it was that his “little girl” was with someone he could trust, given how much “she just loves a big, hard cock.” Gabby had just clapped her hands to her face to stifle a laugh when my phone rang.

“Yes, this is he … terrific, I’m looking forward to it! … When do we start shooting? … Okay … where?” My eyebrows went up. “Toronto …”

I glanced at my little handjob girl and her father. “Excellent, I’ll be ready. What should I do about the condo, that’s a long time … oh, you got it, okay, perfect … 90 minutes before the flight, got it. See you Monday, thank you!”

Hanging up, I noticed that Gabby looked dejected, and her father’s face was almost blank. “Someone I can trust” was leaving on Monday and would not be back for at least six months, and only an instant after he had basically given me his ‘approval’.

“I can’t turn this down.” But I sure considered it.



The final touches were done and my equipment was back in my truck, and Gabby’s dad stepped out to shake my hand once again. “You know,” I began, pausing for the right words, “if Gabby needs someone you can trust … she already has him.”

A bigger man than I am with a very firm handshake softened slightly. Maybe I’d found the right words.



By Sunday afternoon, I was packed and ready to go. Just for the hell of it, I grabbed my phone and took my favorite seat at the park.

And my little handjob girl was there.


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