Dennis the Little

The sun hung low over the jagged peaks, turning the snow into a glittering mess that crunched underfoot as Diane kicked off her skis at Cloud 9's sun deck. It had been one of those perfect blue bird days—crisp air, fresh powder, and enough vertical to leave her legs buzzing. Her friend group sprawled out on the wooden benches, laughing over spilled hot toddies and swapping stories about near-misses on the black diamonds. Champagne bottles popped like punctuation marks in the chaos, and Diane felt that familiar warmth spreading through her chest, the kind that came from a day on the mountain and a few too many flutes of bubbly.

She was in a good spot, hair tousled from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold and the booze. Diane had always thrived in these moments—parties after a solid ski run, where the adrenaline mixed with alcohol and turned everything loose. She thought back briefly to those wild nights with Jay, her roommate, hitting the slopes and then the bars, letting the fun bleed into whatever came next. It kept things exciting, kept her feeling alive.

Dennis had slotted into their crew about two years back, the kind of guy who showed up with a easy grin and stories that had everyone cracking up. He wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but he had that sharp jaw and mischievous eyes that made him fun to look at. The reputation, though—that was the real hook. Word around the group was Dennis was a player, charming his way into dates but never sticking. The women whispered about it: one and done, always. Then the nickname started—Dennis "No Dick"—fueled by rumors of disappointing reveals in the bedroom. Diane had heard the tales, laughed them off over coffee with the girls, but never given it much thought. Until today.

He sidled up to her as she lounged against the railing, overlooking the valley where the last skiers snaked down the runs. "Diane, you were flying out there today. Looked like you owned that powder." His voice had that playful lilt, the one that made you lean in despite yourself.

She smirked, clinking her glass against his. "Flattery after a good run? You're predictable, Dennis." But she didn't pull away when he stayed close, the heat from his body cutting through the chill. The deck was alive—music thumping from portable speakers, people dancing in clusters, the champagne making everyone bold. Diane felt frisky, the alcohol numbing any edges, stirring that adventurous itch she knew so well. Confident guys like him always caught her eye, especially when the vibe was right.

They talked shit about the day's runs, then slipped into easier banter—inside jokes from group hangs, teasing about his latest failed hookup story. Dennis had charm, no denying it; he leaned in with that grin, making her laugh until her sides hurt. Before long, they were dancing, bodies brushing in the loose crowd. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as the beat picked up. Diane let it happen, the champagne buzzing in her veins, curiosity winning out over caution. Why not? It was just a flirt, a momentary thrill on a sun-soaked deck.

Hours blurred—more drinks, more spins on the makeshift dance floor. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the wood planks, but the party showed no signs of slowing. Diane's skin tingled where Dennis's fingers grazed her hips, and she caught herself pressing back against him, testing the waters. He was good at this, reading her energy, whispering dumb jokes in her ear that made her giggle. "You know, Diane, I've been dying to get you alone. All that grace on the slopes—bet it's the same everywhere."

She rolled her eyes but didn't stop him when he tugged her toward a quieter corner of the deck, tucked behind a stack of unused lounge chairs and a half-wall that blocked the view from the main crowd. The music faded to a throb, the laughter distant. Up close, his eyes sparkled with intent, and Diane felt that pull—the sexy rush of possibility. She'd explored plenty before, from playful nights with Jay to bolder group adventures, and this felt like another notch in that empowered freedom she craved.

Dennis didn't waste time. He cupped her face, pulling her into a heavy kiss, lips firm and insistent. Diane responded, her mouth opening to his, tongues sliding together in a messy, heated tangle. Fuck, he tasted like champagne and mint, his stubble scraping her chin just enough to spark heat low in her belly. His hands roamed, bold as advertised, sliding down her sides to squeeze her ass through her ski pants. She arched into it, hands fisting in his jacket, the kiss deepening until she was breathless.

"You feel so good," he murmured against her neck, nipping at the skin there. Diane shivered, the cold air contrasting the warmth building between them. She let him feel her up, his palms pushing under her layers, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra—why bother on a day like this?—and his touch sent jolts straight to her core. He kneaded her tits, pinching her nipples until they hardened, drawing a soft moan from her throat. "Dennis," she breathed, half-laughing, half-wanting more. The risk of the semi-public spot only amped it up, her pussy starting to ache with that familiar need.

He pressed her back against the wall, kissing her harder, one hand dipping lower to cup her through her pants. Diane ground against his palm, heat pooling as he rubbed circles over her clit. "Been thinking about this," he said, voice rough. "You, me, right here." She could feel him hard against her thigh—small, but insistent—and curiosity burned hotter than pity ever could. The rumors swirled in her mind, but fuck it, she was tipsy and turned on. "Show me what you've got," she whispered, bold from the booze, her hand sliding down to his zipper.

Dennis groaned, fumbling with his belt as she dropped to her knees on the rough wood. The corner was shadowed enough, the party's noise covering any sounds, but her heart raced at the exposure. She tugged his pants down, boxers following, and there it was—his dick, springing free. Diane blinked, biting back a laugh. It wasn't just the stories; it was real. The smallest she'd ever seen, maybe four inches hard, thin as her thumb, nestled above balls that looked almost comical in proportion. No wonder the nickname. But pity hit quick, softening the shock into something almost tender. He looked so eager, standing there with his pants around his thighs, and she wasn't about to leave him hanging.

"Shit, Diane," he muttered, hand in her hair as she wrapped her fingers around it—barely a grip needed. She leaned in, tongue flicking the tip, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum. Dennis hissed, hips jerking. She took him in, lips stretching just enough around his modest length, sucking slow at first. It was easy, no gag reflex to fight, and she worked it with her mouth, tongue swirling the underside while her hand stroked the base. He was rock hard, twitching against her palate, and the power of it turned her on—controlling his pleasure like this, out in the open air.

"Fuck, yes," he panted, guiding her head gently. Diane picked up the pace, bobbing deeper, her free hand slipping under her own waistband to rub her clit. She was wet, soaking through her panties, the thrill of blowing him fueling her own arousal. His breaths came faster, hips thrusting shallowly into her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard, feeling him swell impossibly more. It didn't take long—Dennis was close, his grip tightening. "Gonna cum," he warned, voice strained.

She pulled off just in time, aiming him at her chest. Diane yanked down her top, exposing her tits to the cool air, nipples pebbled and begging. He stroked himself twice, then erupted—ropes of cum splattering across her skin, warm and sticky. It wasn't a flood, but it hit her just right, dripping down her cleavage. Dennis fumbled for his phone, snapping a quick pic before she could protest, his grin sheepish but triumphant. "For the memories," he said, zipping up fast.

Diane laughed, wiping herself off with a napkin from her pocket, the absurdity hitting her as the high faded. Pity lingered, but so did the fun of it—a weird, satisfying detour. She fixed her clothes, standing to kiss him lightly. "You're something else, Dennis."

They slipped back into the party like nothing happened, but as Diane grabbed another drink, she caught a glimpse of Jay across the deck, eyes wide and smirking. Her roommate had been watching? Heat flushed her cheeks, but Jay just winked, mouthing "later" before turning back to the group.

Back at the apartment that night, the fire crackling in the hearth, Diane and Jay collapsed on the couch with mugs of spiked cocoa. The day's buzz lingered, but now it was laced with giggles. "Okay, spill," Jay said, nudging her. "Saw you and Dennis sneaking off. Worth it?"

Diane snorted, recounting the whole thing—the flirting, the dance, the blowjob in the corner. She described his dick in vivid detail, no holding back: "It was like a cocktail wiener, Jay. No wonder they call him 'No Dick.' I felt bad, let him finish on my tits. Even posed for a pic."

Jay burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink. "Holy shit, the legend is true? That's gold. Remember that time we laughed about it over wine? Now you've got the firsthand report." They clinked mugs, the story weaving into their shared history of wild escapades—the threesome in the park with Cory and Doug, the friends-with-benefits crew that kept things spicy. Jay's eyes sparkled with that same adventurous glint Diane loved about her. "You're fearless, Di. Makes me want to hit the slopes again tomorrow, see what trouble we find."

The laughter settled into a comfortable quiet, but the air hummed with unspoken energy. Diane felt that post-adventure glow, empowered and sated. Jay shifted closer, her hand brushing Diane's thigh. "You know, talking about it... got me thinking." Her voice dropped, playful. Diane met her gaze, the familiar spark igniting. They'd danced this edge before, roommates who blurred lines after a good night out.

Jay leaned in, lips brushing Diane's in a soft kiss that deepened fast. No champagne this time, just the raw heat building. Diane's hands found Jay's waist, pulling her onto her lap. They kissed heavily, tongues exploring, Jay's fingers tugging at Diane's shirt to expose those same tits still faintly sticky from earlier. "Let me clean you up," Jay murmured, dipping her head to lick a slow path across Diane's skin, sucking a nipple into her mouth.

Diane moaned, arching up, her pussy throbbing anew. Jay's touch was expert—teasing, then firm—her hand sliding into Diane's pants to find her slick folds. "Fuck, you're soaked," Jay whispered, fingers circling her clit. Diane bucked against it, grinding as Jay worked her, the earlier pity fuck forgotten in this intimate rush. She reciprocated, shoving Jay's leggings down, fingers plunging into her roommate's wet heat. They moved together, breaths mingling, the couch creaking under them.

Jay came first, shuddering around Diane's fingers, her pussy clenching tight. Diane followed seconds later, orgasm crashing as Jay's thumb pressed just right. They collapsed, tangled and laughing, the fire warming their bare skin.

"Best post-ski wind-down ever," Diane said, kissing Jay's shoulder. Another story for their collection, one that left them both grinning, ready for whatever the mountain threw next. Life with Jay was like that—full of surprises, always ending on a high note.