Pretty Dicks

There is a bare, hard dick in front of my face right now. It’s there for a very specific reason; I’m going to study it. 

Recently I was asked, ‘What makes a dick pretty?’. The short answer; everything. Dicks are beautiful to me. They are sculptural, as if hewn and modelled; each one is perfectly designed, whether deliberately or by coincidence. They are structural, both to the owner and to the recipient who is on it. Being external, they possess a vulnerability I find incredibly hot and I want to encase them within my hand or mouth or cunt to protect them from harm. But dicks also have strength and presence and the ability to hurt me in several different ways. They are both simple and a complex contradiction; they are art.

To provide a long answer, I’m going to tell you exactly why this specific dick is pretty. It’s a beautiful dick, one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen and tasted and felt. I’m going to study it with my eyes and hands and mouth, and I have an open notebook ready to record its every detail. 

So, this bare, hard dick that’s right in front of my face… 

Gravity and weight has it resting up against their stomach as they lay there. The undergrowth of dark pubic hair, unruly and untamed rather than messy, around the base provides a cushion for it to rest upon. Individual hairs curl cutely against their thighs. Small whorls form as the hair becomes denser towards the root of the cock. The hairs aren’t short enough to be irritating nor long enough to become distracting; they are a perfect frame. 

As I pick it up, I feel its weight. As I wrap my fingers around it, I sense its girth. My fingertip just meets the end of my thumb as I stretch my hand around; it is the absolute ideal size for my hand to cradle it. If it were bigger, they wouldn’t be able to experience the bliss of my hand encircling it as I stroke them, their every millimetre of flesh being caressed. 

As I gently hold it, I slowly rotate my hand around so I can see every inch. When assessing length, the only thing I consider is how it will feel sliding inside my mouth and thrusting into my cunt and easing into my arse. I love the short, urgent pump of a smaller cock breaching my arsehole. Dicks that are considered medium, that sit at neither end of the spectrum of size, are breathtaking when being explored by my tongue while my lips are wrapped around them. Their length tickles the back of my throat and causes me to gently gag and choke. The source of my cunt enjoys meeting the largest of lengths. But then it also enjoys being filled and stretched by any cock, any at all. Dicks are pretty regardless of length, because length is the least interesting part. 

The most interesting part of a dick, the part I spend most time thinking about, looking at, tasting, is the head. It is all about the head. This one is a dark pink and perfectly rounded and the stretched skin shines across it. I adore how the plump rim angles downwards into itself and I adore running my tongue under and around it and periodically sucking it between my lips. The little bridle of skin connecting the head to the shaft is delightfully crinkled. The skin there falls away like a waterfall. The rawness of the flesh sitting between the frenulum and the rim begs to be licked, so I do. The slit is prised permanently open by a chunky silver piercing, allowing my tongue to probe into it and my spit to form a pool. This adornment also holds back the scant amount of foreskin, creating a distinct divide between tip and shaft. The head sits proud, which is just as I like it. I like seeing the head of a dick, I want to see it; I want the foreskin to be pulled away so I can feast upon it. 

Their width stretches my lips apart at the corners as I lower my mouth around it, without causing my skin to crack. It is exactly as I suspected when I first judged their girth with my fingers. The sensation of their jewellery clacking against the inside of my teeth, causing little vibrations to ripple across my mouth, is exquisite. The head of their dick sits perfectly against my tongue as I suck. When I withdraw my mouth, a thread of spit becomes caught in the silver metal and slides down it before dripping onto the bridle and it is simply beautiful to watch. 

The fat vein creates a spine up the underside of the shaft. My thumb presses into it as I stroke up and down, and I like pausing occasionally to surround it with my lips and softly nibble the flesh. The shaft is straight, well, as straight as turgid flesh can be. Even if it were curved, my hand would still be lavishing attention upon it. The skin concertinas and bunches slightly as my hand moves upwards, making my movement feel seamless. I like seeing the blue of the vessels contrasting against the blush. And I like feeling the rim of the head pop between my lips once more, at the same time my fingers sense the width of the shaft. 

This dick erupts into life and injects sweet cum deep into my throat, and that’s part of why it’s so pretty. 

Afterwards, as it softens, I get to see everything in reverse. I see the shaft compact down into itself, and I see it being hugged as the foreskin loosens. The rim of the head, which was so proud before, becomes obscured by skin. The tone of the skin pales. Everything relaxes. And it is still pretty, in a quieter, less urgent, less showy way; in the same way peacocks are still incandescently beautiful, even when their tails aren’t fanned above them. 

So, to those of you who ask ‘What makes a dick pretty?’, if you go and look at one, really look, you’ll see it’s everything. Everything.

A black and white image of my hand holding the base of a hard, pretty dick.

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