"Hooked on Heat: A Micro Swimwear Obsession"

It all started as a playful gift. Evan’s girlfriend, Lena, had always teased him about being too modest for someone with such a great body. “You’ve got the ass and abs for it,” she’d joke, running her fingers along the waistband of his baggy swim trunks. “Why hide it?”

One summer afternoon, she handed him a sleek little package wrapped in tissue and a knowing grin.

“Try it on,” she purred.

Inside was the skimpiest, sexiest micro men’s bikini he’d ever seen. Shiny black spandex, cut impossibly small—barely enough to cover anything. His first reaction was to laugh and blush, but Lena didn’t back down. She simply crossed her legs, leaned back on the couch, and gave him that look.

So he tried it on.

He expected her to giggle. What he didn’t expect was her to bite her lip, eyes dark with lust.

“God, you’re hot,” she murmured, standing to run her hands over his exposed hips. “We’re going to the beach. In that.”

The next day, walking across the sand in nothing more than that micro bikini, Evan felt vulnerable—but electric. Heads turned. Men and women alike stared, some subtly, some not. Lena was absolutely glowing, soaking it all in. She wrapped her arm around his waist possessively and whispered, “They’re all jealous.”

Evan got his first compliment from a guy within ten minutes.

“Damn, bro, that suit should be illegal,” a tanned man in aviators said, grinning. “Where’d you get it?”

Before Evan could answer, Lena cut in, “I bought it for him. Doesn’t he look edible?”

That set the tone for the rest of the summer. The micro suits kept getting smaller, more colorful—metallic gold, neon pink, sheer mesh panels. Lena bought them all, thrilled by the reactions Evan stirred wherever they went. She loved watching women stare at him hungrily, but even more so, she thrived on the boldness of gay men who approached him, flirted openly, even propositioned him while she stood right there.

One bold surfer had the nerve to say, “If you ever want a night off from the ladies…” while handing Evan a card. Lena was soaking wet just from the exchange.

Later that night, she pinned him down and moaned into his ear, “Do you know how hot it is watching men want you? How much I love knowing you could go with them—but you’re mine?”

Evan’s modesty melted away that summer. With Lena’s encouragement—and increasingly risqué swimwear—he transformed into a beach god, basking in the attention, drinking up his girlfriend’s wild arousal. What started as a gift had become an obsession—for both of them.

And neither of them wanted it to end.



"Private Heat: The Island Pool Party" (Part 2)

By the end of summer, Evan had a full drawer of micro men's swimwear—Koalaswim postage-stamp pouches, shimmering bulge-enhancing thongs, sheer slings that barely qualified as legal coverage. And Lena? She was the one fueling the fire, always pushing for bolder, smaller, sexier.

So when one of her girlfriends invited them to a private weekend pool party on a secluded island estate, Lena knew exactly what Evan would be wearing—or rather, barely wearing.

“You’re going to wear the white sheer one,” she said while packing. “No lining. No modesty. I want them to see you.”

Evan laughed, cocky now, knowing how much she loved showing him off. “You want me parading around hard in front of your friends?”

“I want them drooling. I want you dripping. And I want them knowing they can look—but only I get to touch.”

The estate was luxurious and remote. Palm trees, infinity pools, private bungalows. And guests who didn’t mind pushing boundaries. Lena wore a strappy mesh swimsuit that clung to her curves like a second skin. Evan? Just the sheer white micro sling that left nothing to the imagination—his bulge fully outlined, bouncing as he walked.

The reactions were instant.

Women whispered, laughed, sipped cocktails while watching him strut poolside. A couple of Lena’s girlfriends boldly approached, complimenting him while brushing fingertips just a little too low on his hips. But it was the men who got bolder.

A muscular brunette in an emerald thong whistled low. “Damn, man… you’re like a walking wet dream.”

Evan flushed, cock twitching beneath the flimsy fabric, but Lena beamed. “He’s mine, but feel free to enjoy the view.”

The host—tall, tanned, and openly bi—took it further. “I’ve got a private plunge pool behind my suite. If you two want some discreet fun, I’d be happy to share.”

Lena licked her lips. “Evan? What do you say? Want to put on a little show?”

Later that evening, lit by glowing lanterns and moonlight, Evan stood waist-deep in the plunge pool, his micro-suit soaked and transparent, clinging tight. Lena lounged nearby, drink in hand, legs spread just enough to tease. The host joined them, flirtation thick in the air. Fingers brushed. Breaths quickened. Words became moans.

Lena watched it all—Evan getting worshipped, touched, teased—her eyes smoldering with desire. She whispered commands, controlled the pace, dictated what could happen and when.

By the time they made it back to their room, she was ravenous.

She pinned him to the bed, tore the suit off, and rode him hard, still soaking from watching other men want him.

“You’re my filthy little beach slut now,” she growled, hands in his hair. “And I love it.”

And Evan? He was hooked—not just on the skimpy swimwear, but on the rush of being wanted, watched, and owned in the sexiest way possible.