The Small Dick Club: SPH-THEMED STORIES

*****

Part 4…

I’m left slumped in the armchair, chest heaving and skin slick with sweat. The taste of my own cum clings to my throat, bitter and shameful, but it grounds me in this haze of submission, my tiny dick softening against my thigh, spent yet already stirring from the afterglow of her dominance. The living room feels too quiet now, the echo of her moans and the bull’s grunts lingering in my mind like ghosts. I need more—more of her control, more proof of how she’s owning the night while I’m here, pathetic and alone. My eyes drift to the TV, dark and mocking, and I fumble for the remote, thumbing it on with trembling fingers.

Cuckold porn flickers to life immediately—I’d queued it up earlier, knowing she’d push me this far. On screen, a busty wife rides a stranger’s thick cock reverse cowgirl, her ass bouncing as she taunts her off-camera husband, calling him a limp-dicked loser. The sight hits like a drug, my small dick twitching back to hardness despite the ache, veins pulsing under the thin skin.

I reach for her soiled panties from the coffee table, the ones she’d worn out today at work, crusty with her pussy secretions, sweat, and pee. Bringing them to my nose, I inhale deeply—the musky tang of her pussy mixed with sweat flooding my senses. It makes my stomach twist, but god, it keeps me rock hard, that intimate betrayal seeping into my lungs.

I wrap my hand around my tiny dick again, stroking slow and deliberate, the porn’s moans syncing with my ragged breaths. The wife’s on screen now, on her knees, slurping a fat cock while her cuck watches from the corner, tears in his eyes—just like mine, hot and stinging as they well up.

I’m edging already, thumb circling the sensitive head, pre-cum beading and smearing under my palm. The emotional pull is brutal. I love her so much it hurts, this twisted devotion where her pleasure carves me hollow and fills me with desperate need. Sniffing deeper, the panties’ fabric dampens against my face from my own sweat, her scent wrapping around me like her commands, making me feel owned even in her absence.

My phone buzzes on the armrest, jolting me as the vibration shoots straight to my balls. I snatch it up, heart slamming, and there it is—a photo from her, timestamped just minutes ago. She’s downtown, the neon glow of bar signs blurring in the background, but the focus is her: on her knees in some shadowy alley, lips stretched wide around a large white cock, veiny and thick, the kind that could split her open.

Her eyes are half-lidded in bliss, mascara smudged, as she takes him deep, cheeks hollowing from the suction. The caption hits like a gut punch: ‘Look at this real man’s dick, cuck. Yours is just a sad little clit—bet you wish you could even reach my throat like this.’

Humiliation burns through me, hot and unrelenting, my tiny cock throbbing painfully in my grip. I stroke faster, the porn on TV forgotten as I zoom in on her mouth, saliva glistening on his shaft, imagining the salty taste she savors while degrading me.

Ten minutes drag by in agonizing slowness, my hand teasing my dick to the edge without mercy, balls drawn tight and aching. The phone buzzes again, another photo loading with a cruel slowness that makes me whimper. This time, her face is a mess—ropes of thick jizz splattered across her cheeks, forehead, and lips, dripping down her chin in sticky white strands. She’s grinning through it, tongue darting out to lick a glob from the corner of her mouth, her curvy body arched back against a brick wall, tits spilling from her top.

The message: ‘He painted me like the whore I am for you, tiny-dick hubby. Your worthless spurts wouldn’t even show up on my skin—keep edging that pathetic babydick while I get marked by your superiors.’

Tears spill over now, mixing with the sweat on my face, but it only fuels the fire; the shame twists into raw lust, my submission deepening with every belittling word. I press the panties harder to my nose, inhaling her essence as if it could bridge the distance, my strokes turning frantic, chasing that denied release.

The photos keep coming, three more in quick succession, each one a dagger to my ego and a spark to my desperation. First: her bent over a low wall, skirt hiked up, that same large white cock plunging into her dripping pussy from behind, her ass rippling with each thrust, juices slicking his balls.

Caption: ‘Feel how wet he makes me? Your shrimp dick never gets me this soaked—I’m creaming all over him downtown while you sniff my dirty panties like a dog.’

I groan, the emotional intimacy of her sharing this—taunting me with our life, our bed she’s defiling elsewhere—making my chest ache with love and pain.

Another picture: a close-up of her pussy, stretched wide around his girth, cum already leaking out as he pulls back, her fingers spreading her lips to show the creamy mess. ‘His load’s already breeding me better than you ever could, cuck. Imagine tasting this when I get home—your tongue cleaning up a real man’s work.’

My fingers pump harder, the friction raw, edging so close I bite my lip bloody to hold back.

And another picture: her riding him on what looks like a park bench under streetlights, tits bouncing free, his hands gripping her hips as she grinds down, face twisted in orgasmic bliss. The comment: ‘Cumming on his fat cock right now—scream my name if you could, but you’re just jerking alone, aren’t you? Pathetic beta, stay hard for mommy’s next surprise.’

Heaven and hell collide. The exhibitionism of it—fucking in public, risking eyes on her body—mirrors the porn on TV, where the wife now laps cum from the floor. I’m overwhelmed, humiliation crashing over me in waves, but it’s laced with that deep, aching craving for her control.

Her filthy commands echo in my head, pulling me under, my tiny dick leaking steadily as I edge harder, body trembling, desperate for whatever she demands next. The panties are soaked now against my face, my world narrowing to her betrayal, waiting breathlessly for the phone to light up again.

The wait stretches, each second a torment that coils tighter in my gut, my fingers barely circling the base of my dicklette—it’s so small, just a pathetic babydick slick with pre-cum that dribbles down my knuckles. The TV drones on, the cuckold scene shifting to the wife getting double-teamed by two hung studs, their cocks slamming into her pussy and ass while she laughs at her husband’s whimpers from the sidelines.

It mirrors my life too closely, the sounds of wet slaps and guttural moans filling the room, mocking my solitude as I edge closer to the brink without mercy. My tears haven’t stopped, streaking my cheeks, but they only heighten the ache, the love I feel for her twisting into this raw, humiliating need to submit completely.

Twenty minutes tick by in agonizing bursts, my hand teasing that slick head, thumb pressing into the slit to coax more pre-cum, the fluid warm and sticky as it coats my fingers. The phone stays silent at first, building the dread and desire until it buzzes once, sharply, pulling a gasp from my throat.

I fumble it open, heart pounding, and the first new photo loads: her on all fours in what looks like a dimly lit club bathroom stall, door cracked open for anyone to peek, a burly stranger’s thick cock buried balls-deep in her ass, her cheeks spread wide by his rough hands. Her pussy lips hang swollen and dripping below, arousal trailing down her thighs, and she’s looking back at the camera with that wicked smirk, eyes gleaming with dominance.

The caption stabs deep: ‘This bull’s wrecking my shithole right now, cuck—stretching me wider than your pinky finger ever could. Edge that worthless clit harder; I want you leaking like the desperate bitch you are.’

Humiliation floods me, hot and visceral, my chest tightening with the emotional gut-punch of her betrayal—knowing she’s out there, exposed and owned by real men. At the same time, I sit here, fingering my tiny dicklette like a loser. The TV wife’s cries echo hers, the porn bull grunting as he unloads in her mouth, cum overflowing her lips, and it syncs with my ragged breaths, fueling the fire in my balls.

I stroke faster with two fingers, the slick pre-cum squelching softly, trembling as the shame washes over me in waves. God, I love how she controls me like this, even miles away, her words carving into my soul, making me crave the degradation that binds us closer.

Another buzz five minutes later, the phone vibrating against my thigh like a promise of more torment. This photo is brutal: close-up of her tits, heavy and marked with red handprints, nipples clamped between the teeth of another guy—taller, tattooed, his cock visible in the frame, veiny and rigid as she kneels before him in a crowded bar hallway, patrons blurring in the background. Her mouth is open wide, tongue extended to lap at his balls while he slaps her face lightly with his shaft, pre-cum smearing her cheek.

The Caption: ‘Public tit-fuck coming next, tiny-dick hubby. These slaps sting so good—yours wouldn’t even tickle. Keep stroking that pre-cum puddle; don’t you dare cum without my say-so, you edging babydick slut.’

My hand shakes, fingers gliding over the slick skin of my dicklette, the sensitivity making me whimper aloud. The exhibitionism hits hard, imagining eyes on her curvy body, her confidence shining as she degrades me remotely, and tears blur the screen. The porn shifts to the cuck licking cum from his wife’s used pussy, his tongue delving deep, and I ache to do the same for my wife, the intimacy of our twisted bond pulling me under, desperate for her voice to command me further.

The third photo arrives eight minutes after, my edging relentlessly now, pre-cum pooling in my palm as I rub it in circles, the TV’s moans a constant taunt— the wife now pegging her husband with a strap-on, laughing at his tiny dick flopping uselessly.

My phone lights up, and there my wife is: straddling a new bull’s face on a motel bed, the window wide open to the street below, her pussy grinding down on his tongue while she fingers her own ass, juices shining on his chin. Her free hand holds the phone, capturing the raw pleasure on her face, tits heaving with each roll of her hips.

The message: ‘Eating my creampied cunt like a champ while you finger that sad babydick alone. Bet you’re crying, aren’t you? Good. Humiliate yourself more for me, cuck. Your tears make me wetter.’

Emotion chokes me, a sob escaping as I stroke harder, the slick sounds mixing with the porn’s wet slurps. Her dominance feels so personal, like she’s whispering right in my ear, owning every insecure inch of me, and the voyeuristic thrill of her public exploits pushes me to the edge, body trembling with the need to break under her control.

Another buzz comes ten minutes later, my dicklette throbbing painfully, slick with so much pre-cum it’s dripping onto the cushion beneath me. The TV porn crescendos, the cuck begging for scraps as the wife gets gangbanged, cocks filling every hole, and it amplifies the anticipation until the photo reveals her ultimate humiliation: bent over a pool table in a seedy bar, skirt flipped up, two men—one behind her pounding her pussy, the other feeding his cock into her mouth—her body rocking between them, spit and pussy juice connecting her lips to his shaft.

Cum from earlier loads glistens on her back, and she’s glancing at the camera mid-thrust, eyes locked in merciless tease.

Caption: ‘Double-stuffed downtown, real cocks owning your wife while you edge pathetically. Your tiny dicklette couldn’t even plug a hole—keep begging silently, loser. I own your orgasms tonight.’

I gasp, fingers flying over the slick length, trembling hands barely holding the phone as tears stream freely. Each photo has stripped me bare, the explicit acts—anal wrecking, public tit-play, face-riding, double penetration—pushing me closer to shattering, the emotional weight of her mockery deepening my submission.

The porn’s chaos echoes her filthy exploits, a symphony of betrayal that leaves me aching, silently pleading through my strokes for her next degrading command, the torment building unbearably as I wait, exposed and desperate in the dim light.

The torment drags on for a full hour after that last photo, my body a live wire of denied release, fingers slick with pre-cum as I edge my dicklette relentlessly—rubbing the sensitive head in slow circles, then pinching the base to stave off the building pressure in my balls. The TV porn loops through more cuckold depravity, wives getting railed by packs of bulls while their husbands kneel and beg, the wet slaps and mocking laughter syncing with my ragged breaths.

I press my wife’s dirty panties to my nose, inhaling deeply—the musky scent of her pussy, a humiliating reminder of her night out that makes my tiny dick twitch painfully. Tears dry on my cheeks, but fresh ones well up with each inhale, the emotional rawness of her control twisting my love for her into this aching submission.

She’s out there owning her pleasure, and I’m here, reduced to sniffing her filth like a desperate dog, craving the next hit of her dominance to push me over the edge.

Suddenly, the front door bursts open with a violent slam that rattles the walls, jolting me upright on the couch. My heart slams in my chest as Helen stumbles in, her curvy body swaying wildly, cheeks flushed red from booze and exertion.

She’s a vision of chaotic dominance—hair tousled, makeup smeared, dress hiked up scandalously high on her thick thighs, the fabric stained with what looks like fresh streaks of cum. The stench hits me first: sharp alcohol, salty sweat, and the thick, musky tang of multiple men’s jizz clinging to her skin like a badge of her betrayal.

She kicks the door shut behind her, eyes locking on me with that predatory gleam, and bursts into drunken laughter that echoes through the room.

“You pathetic little cuck!” Helen shouts, her voice slurring but sharp as a knife, pointing a wobbly finger at my lap where my hand still hovers near my exposed dicklette. “Look at you, sitting there stroking that worthless pinky-dick like the loser you are! I just got stuffed by many real cocks downtown—thick, veiny monsters that stretched my pussy and ass wider than your tiny babydick could ever dream. They came buckets in me, all over me, and you? You’re just edging to my pics, crying like a bitch!”

Humiliation surges through me, hot and familiar, my face burning as I drop the panties, pre-cum-slick fingers trembling. But god, the way she owns me with those words, the raw intimacy of her drunken rage—it pulls me deeper into submission, my dicklette throbbing despite the shame. I love her like this, wild and unfiltered, her confidence making my insecurity feel like the glue that binds us.

“Strip!” she bellows, staggering closer, her heels clacking unevenly on the floor. “Get naked right now, you tiny-dick worm. Show me that sad little clit you’ve been teasing all night. I want to see how pathetic it looks up close after all the real men I’ve had wrecking me!”

My hands shake as I obey, shoving off my pants entirely and yanking my shirt over my head, the cool air hitting my skin like a slap. My dicklette bobs free, barely three inches hard, glistening with pre-cum that strings from the tip. Tears prick my eyes again, the emotional weight crashing down—knowing she’s seen, felt, been filled by cocks that dwarf mine, and now she’s here to rub it in my face. She watches with mocking glee, her laughter bubbling up as she sways.

While I strip, Helen grabs the hem of her dress and peels it off in one sloppy motion, letting it pool at her feet. No bra, no panties—just her naked, curvy body on full display, tits heavy and marked with red bites, nipples hard and bruised. Cum streaks her skin everywhere: dried white globs crusting her inner thighs, fresh drips oozing from her swollen pussy lips, more smeared across her belly, and even flecked in her cleavage.

Her ass cheeks glisten with sweat and residue from whatever anal pounding she took last, the scent intensifying as she steps out of her heels, reeking like a walked-out whore. She spreads her legs slightly, one hand slapping her mound with a wet smack, pussy juice and cum mixing audibly.

“Fuck, I smell like a cum-dumpster, don’t I?” she sneers, her voice thick with booze, eyes raking over my naked form. “All those bulls unloaded on me—pussy, ass, mouth, tits. One even painted my face in that club bathroom while strangers watched. And you? You get to clean it up, cuck. On your knees—now! Lick every drop off me. Taste what real men left in your wife while you jerked your worthless dicklette alone.”

I drop to my knees instantly, the carpet rough against my skin, heart pounding with a mix of dread and desperate lust. The emotional intimacy hits hard—her commanding me like this, trusting our bond to weather the humiliation, makes my chest ache with twisted love.

I crawl forward, face level with her thighs, and start at her feet, tongue darting out to lap at the salty sweat and faint cum flecks on her ankles. She tastes bitter and tangy, alcohol-laced skin mixed with the sharp, briny flavor of stranger’s seed, and it makes my dicklette leak more pre-cum onto the floor.

“Mmm, that’s it, lick higher,” she moans, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head up toward her calves.

Her body trembles slightly from the booze, but her grip is iron, guiding me as I drag my tongue along her shins, sucking off the sticky trails that have dried there. The humiliation burns—knowing I’m tasting other men’s cum from her body, cleaning up her infidelity like a devoted slave—but it fuels the fire in my gut, the submission deepening with each salty swipe. She laughs cruelly, the sound vibrating through her as I reach her thighs, where fresh cum drips warmer, thicker, straight from her used holes.

I press my mouth to her inner thigh, tongue flattening to scoop up the glob sliding down, the texture slimy and warm against my lips. She spreads wider, exposing her pussy—lips puffy and red, clit peeking out swollen, a thick rivulet of mixed cum and her juices leaking from the stretched entrance.

“Suck it out of me, tiny-dick,” she commands, grinding her hips forward. “Vacuum that creampie like the cleanup bitch you are. I can feel their loads sloshing inside—better than your watery dribbles ever could.”

Tears stream down my face as I obey, lips sealing around her folds, tongue plunging in to lap at the creamy mess. It floods my mouth—salty, viscous cum blended with her tangy arousal, the flavors overwhelming as I swallow greedily. She moans loudly, the sound raw and triumphant, her free hand tweaking her nipple while she watches me degrade myself.

The emotional pull is intense, her dominance wrapping around my soul, making the act feel like the ultimate intimacy, even as shame coils in my belly. My dicklette aches untouched, pre-cum pooling beneath me, as I work higher, licking streaks from her belly, her dominance hanging heavy in the air, promising more cruel commands to come.

Her pussy clenches around my probing tongue as I suck harder, drawing out more of the thick, salty cum mixed with her slick juices. The flavor coats my mouth—briny and bitter, like swallowing the evidence of her wild night, each gulp sending a fresh wave of humiliation crashing through me.

Helen’s fingers tighten in my hair, yanking me closer, her hips bucking against my face with sloppy urgency. “Deeper, you worthless cuck,” she snarls, her voice a drunken rasp laced with triumph. “Suck out every last drop those bulls pumped into me. Feel how stretched I am? That’s from real cocks splitting me open while you sat here whimpering over your phone.”

I obey without hesitation, tongue thrusting into her swollen pussy lips, lapping at the creamy residue that clings to her cuntal walls. Her arousal drips down my chin, warm and tangy, mingling with the cum as I swallow convulsively. My dicklette throbs untouched between my legs, pre-cum leaking steadily onto the carpet, the denial amplifying every sensation. She’s back, reeking of her betrayals, and I’m on my knees tasting them, the intimacy of our bond forged in this filthy submission.

She pulls my head back suddenly, strings of her juices and cum connecting my lips to her pussy, and shoves me toward her belly. “Lick here next, tiny-dick. Clean the jizz they splattered on my tits and stomach while they gangbanged your wife like the slut I am.”

Her words slice deep, fueling the fire in my gut, and I drag my tongue across her soft, sticky skin, tracing the dried streaks that flake under my mouth. The texture is crusty at the edges, slimy where it’s fresher, the saltiness exploding on my taste buds as I lap it up. Helen moans low, her body swaying as she watches, one hand cupping her heavy breast and squeezing, milk-white cum residue smearing under her fingers.

“Look at that pathetic little babydick,” she taunts, her eyes dropping to my exposed dicklette, which twitches under her gaze. “It’s leaking like a faucet, but still so fucking small. Those men laughed when I told them about you. How my husband’s got a clit instead of a cock. They fucked me harder just thinking about it, pounding my holes while you edged alone like a loser.”

Her mockery stings, tears welling in my eyes again, but it pulls me deeper into her control, making my submission feel profound, unbreakable. I keep licking, tongue circling her navel where a glob has pooled, sucking it clean with a wet slurp that echoes in the room.

Emboldened by her commands, my trembling hands reach up, fingers grazing her thighs, slick with sweat and remnants. The skin there is hot, sticky, and I ache to touch more, to worship her fully under her drunken dominance. But I hesitate, knowing I need her permission—craving the humiliation of begging for it.

“Please, Helen,” I whisper against her belly, voice muffled and desperate, my hands hovering. “Can I touch you? Let me feel how wet and used you are. I need to… to worship you properly.”

The words tumble out, laced with shame, my dicklette pulsing with the vulnerability of pleading like this.

She laughs, a cruel, booming sound that shakes her curves, and slaps my hand away lightly before grabbing my wrist herself. “Beg louder, cuck. Tell me why a tiny-dicked bitch like you deserves to touch the body that real men just wrecked.”

Her eyes burn into mine, drunk haze sharpening her sadistic glee, and the rejection twists in my chest—hurt mingled with lust, the intimacy of her denial making me harder despite the ache. I swallow hard, tasting the lingering cum on my tongue, and plead again, voice cracking.

“Please, baby, I’m nothing without you. Let me touch your dripping skin, feel the cum they left. I beg you—command me to worship every inch.”

Tears streak my cheeks, the desperation raw, pulling us closer in this twisted dance of power.

“Fine, you sniveling worm,” she snarls, her grip bruising as she forces my hands onto her hips, guiding them up her sides. “But only because I love watching you degrade yourself. Grope my tits, feel how they bounced on those thick cocks. And keep begging for more—louder.”

Her insults lash out like whips, each one forcing me to vocalize my submission, the emotional weight pressing down as I obey. My fingers dig into her soft flesh, slick with sweat and jizz, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts where bite marks mar the skin.

I knead gently at first, then harder, smearing the residue as she groans, arching into my touch. The sensation is overwhelming—her body warm and yielding, marked by strangers, and I’m the one claiming the leftovers, my heart pounding with humiliated love.

I move my hands higher, cupping her tits fully, thumbs circling her hard nipples, pinching lightly to draw out her moans. “Thank you,” I gasp, begging as ordered, “for letting me touch you. Please, more—tell me what to do next.”

She snarls again, shoving my face back to her chest. “Suck my nipples clean, loser. Taste the sweat and spit from when they motorboated me in that alley.”

I latch on, tongue swirling over the pebbled bud, lapping at the salty film while my hands roam her back, fingers tracing the curve of her ass, dipping into the crease where more cum lingers. The flavors blend—her skin’s tang, the men’s seed’s brine—flooding my senses as I worship, body trembling with need.

Every inch demands attention: I lick down her arms, sucking cum flecks from her elbows; trail kisses along her neck, nipping at hickeys left by rough mouths. My hands explore relentlessly now, palms sliding over her dripping thighs, fingers brushing her pussy lips without entering, teasing myself as much as her.

Helen’s breaths come ragged, her dominance fueling my desperation, the room thick with the scent of sex and alcohol. “That’s right, worship your cum-soaked wife,” she growls, grinding against my thigh. “But don’t you dare touch that worthless dicklette. You’re mine to command, and I want you aching for whatever filthy order comes next.”

Her words hang in the air, promising more torment, my submission deepening with each degrading touch, craving the next wave of her cruel control. Helen’s command lingers, her body heat radiating against me as I kneel there, hands still trembling on her skin, my tiny dicklette leaking steadily without relief.

The humiliation coils tight in my chest, a mix of shame and aching love that makes my heart race. She’s home, marked by other men, and I’m hers to break. She sways slightly, drunk and commanding, then turns abruptly, presenting her round ass to my face. The cheeks are flushed, smeared with dried cum and sweat, the scent musky and overpowering, hitting me like a wave of her betrayal.

“Spead my ass cheeks, cuck,” she orders, her voice a slurred growl, glancing back over her shoulder with that merciless smirk. “Show me how desperate you are to clean up after the bulls who wrecked my holes. And don’t miss a spot—lick those cheeks spotless first, taste every drop they left while they railed me doggy-style in that filthy bathroom.”

My hands shake as I obey, fingers digging into her soft, sticky flesh, pulling her cheeks apart. The skin stretches, revealing the dark crease between, glistening with remnants of cum that ooze from her used asshole. Worshiping her like this, reclaiming her through degradation, binds us in this twisted intimacy.

I lean in, tongue flat against one cheek, lapping at the salty crust that flakes under my mouth. The texture is rough at first, then slick as I drag upward, swallowing the briny mix of sweat and semen. It’s humiliating, knowing these streaks came from strangers’ cocks slapping against her as they pounded her, but my dicklette throbs harder, pre-cum dripping onto the floor.

“Good boy,” she taunts, her hips wiggling mockingly. “Lick faster, tiny-dick. Feel how they groped me right here, squeezing while I begged for more cock—real cock, not your pathetic babydick.”

Her words cut deep, stirring that raw vulnerability in me, the love twisted with jealousy, making every swipe of my tongue more fervent. I move to the other cheek, sucking gently at a thicker glob near the curve, the cum warm and viscous as it slides down my throat. My nose presses into her crack, inhaling the earthy tang of her ass mixed with the men’s seed, the sensory overload pushing me deeper into submission. Hands still spreading her wide, I trace circles with my tongue, cleaning every inch, from the dimples above to the crease where her thighs meet, leaving her skin shiny with my spit.

She moans softly, the sound drunk and satisfied, but then pushes back against my face. “Now the rim, loser. Circle my asshole and clean that filthy pucker. Suck out what’s left from when that black bull stretched me wide open.”

I press my lips to her asshole’s rim, the puckered hole twitching under my touch. It’s loose from use, the skin around it slick and swollen, and I start licking tentatively, tongue flicking the sensitive edge.

The taste explodes—salty, sticky cum mingled with her musky essence, bitter and thick as I lap it up. My cheeks burn hotter, the humiliation flooding me: this is her most private spot, violated by others, and I’m the one tonguing the aftermath, my heart aching with devoted surrender.

“Deeper, you worthless shit,” she snarls, reaching back to grab my hair, yanking me in. “Suck my stretched, filthy asshole like you mean it. Probe inside and get every last drop those cocks dumped there. I want to feel your tongue fucking the cum out while I laugh at how small you are.”

Her demand hits like a command from on high, the cruelty laced with that possessive edge that makes me hers completely. I obey, lips sealing around her rim, sucking hard as my tongue pushes past the tight ring. Her asshole clenches around it, hot and velvety inside, and I thrust deeper, swirling to scoop out the creamy residue.

It’s gooey, sliding onto my tongue in globs—warm, salty loads from her bulls, mixed with her own slickness from the brutal anal. I swallow convulsively, the flavor coating my mouth, each gulp a fresh stab of emotional turmoil: love for her dominance, shame for my inadequacy, lust for the degradation.

Helen moans louder now, drunk and cruel, her hips grinding back against my face with sloppy rhythm. “Fuck yes, eat that cum from my ass, cuck. Taste how he brutalized me—pounded my shithole raw while you jerked your tiny clit alone. You’re nothing but my cleanup boy, lapping up what real men leave behind.”

Her body rocks, ass cheeks smothering me as she rides my tongue, the grinding forcing me deeper. I probe relentlessly, tongue fucking her used hole, sucking out more thick strands that drip down my chin. The intimacy is profound in its filth—her pleasure building on my humiliation, tears mixing with the mess on my face as I worship. My dicklette aches untouched, pulsing with denied need, the emotional high of her control making every sensation electric.

She laughs breathlessly, the sound echoing with triumph, her free hand slapping her own ass to jiggle it against me. “Keep going, don’t stop until I’m squeaky clean inside. And beg for more—tell me how much you love being my cum-guzzling slave.”

I mumble against her, voice muffled in her flesh, “Please, Helen, I love it… Let me clean you forever. Command me more.”

The words vibrate into her, drawing another moan, her grinding intensifying as she revels in my desperation. The room spins with the scent of sex, her dominance wrapping around us like chains, and I know this is just the start—craving whatever cruel order she’ll unleash next.

Helen’s grinding slows, her moans fading into heavy breaths as she finally pulls away, her ass cheeks glistening from my thorough worship. But she’s not done with me yet—far from it. She turns, her curvy body swaying unsteadily in the dim light of our living room, reeking of sweat, alcohol, and the thick, musky evidence of her night’s conquests.

Cum streaks her thighs, her belly, even drying in flecks across her full breasts and neck. Her eyes, glassy from the booze, lock onto mine with that dominant gleam, the one that twists my heart and hardens my tiny dicklette all at once.

“On your feet, cuck,” she snarls, her voice rough and commanding, pointing a finger at the floor like I’m her pet. “You’ve cleaned my ass like the pathetic simp you are, but now lick the rest of me. Every inch—taste the jizz those real cocks painted on your wife while you sat here edging your worthless babydick.”

The order hits me like a rush of humiliated love; I rise on shaky legs, knees aching from kneeling, tears still wet on my cheeks. She spreads her arms wide, presenting her body like a trophy of betrayal, and I step closer, my tongue darting out to trace the salty trail down her inner thigh.

The cum there is thicker, warmer, sliding from her pussy lips where it’s leaked out mixed with her own arousal. I lap it up greedily, the briny flavor flooding my mouth, each swallow a stab of emotional surrender—loving her for this cruelty, craving the way it binds us in our twisted intimacy.

She watches me with a smirk, one hand tangling in my hair to guide me upward. “Suck my tits clean, tiny-dick. Feel how they bounced while that black bull fucked my ass raw—his hands mauling them, pinching my nipples until I screamed.”

My lips close around her nipple, stiff and swollen, drawing in the flaky remnants of semen that’s crusted there. It’s tangy, almost bitter against her skin, and I suck harder, tongue swirling to polish her breast shiny with my spit. She arches into me, a soft moan escaping, but it’s laced with mockery.

“Pathetic. You love this, don’t you? Tasting what I let other men dump on me because your little clit can’t satisfy.”

Her words pierce deep, stirring that raw vulnerability, the jealousy mingling with devotion as I move to her other breast, then her neck, lapping at the collarbone where sweat and cum have pooled. My hands tremble on her hips, steadying her as I kneel again briefly to clean her pussy—tongue delving into her folds, sucking out the creamy mess from her well-fucked hole. She’s dripping still, her juices sweet and slick around the salty loads, and I probe deep, feeling her clench around my tongue in drunken pleasure.

Finally, she shoves me back, satisfied for now, her body marked only by my saliva. “Stand up straight, loser,” she commands, her eyes dropping to my throbbing dicklette, so small and leaking pre-cum onto the floor. “Stroke that tiny dicklette for me—fast, with your fingers like the desperate bitch you are. Cup your palm under the head and catch every weak drop when you cum. I want to see you spill your pathetic load while I watch.”

My heart pounds, a mix of shame and aching need surging through me as I obey, fingers wrapping around my shaft—barely needing more than two to grip it fully. I stroke furiously, the skin slick from my own arousal, palm held below like an offering. Her gaze burns into me, merciless and possessive, fueling the build-up.

“Faster, cuck. Imagine all the cocks I sucked tonight—thick, veiny ones that stretched my throat while you jerked alone. Cum for your queen, show me how small and useless you are.”

My balls tighten, and with a choked gasp, I erupt. It’s a powerful orgasm, body shuddering, but my jizz dribbles out in thin, weak spurts—warm and sticky into my cupped palm, barely a teaspoon’s worth compared to the loads she’s brought home.

She laughs, low and cruel, leaning in to inspect. “Look at that sad little mess. Put it in your mouth and gargle it, tiny-dick. Swirl my cleanup boy’s jizz around those cum-flavored lips.”

Trembling, I lift my hand to my mouth, the tangy scent hitting me first—weak and musky, nothing like the potent seed of her bulls. I pour it in, the warm liquid coating my tongue, and gargle as ordered, the bubbles popping with a salty froth that makes my stomach twist in humiliated arousal.

It tastes thin, almost watery, a stark reminder of my inadequacy, but swallowing it down feels like sealing our bond—her dominance, my submission, woven in this filthy ritual.

“Swallow it all,” she commands, and I do, throat working convulsively, the flavor lingering as I meet her eyes, begging silently for her approval.

Satisfied, Helen straightens, a drunken sway in her step as she turns toward our bedroom. “Good boy. Night’s over. I’m showering off your sloppy worship.”

She disappears into the en suite in our bedroom, the sound of water starting up soon after, leaving me alone in the living room, spent and sticky.

I know this might sound like a horrible marriage to some of you reading this, but it isn’t. I love my wife, and she loves me. I know that for sure. If she didn’t, she would’ve divorced me years ago and hooked up with a much better man than me. But she’s still with me, still coming home to command and tease, still letting me into her world of wild nights. Our strange relationship baffles outsiders, but I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s ours, raw and real, built on this electric mix of humiliation and devotion.

I head to the guest bathroom, stripping off my clothes and stepping under the hot spray, washing away the night’s evidence but not the emotions churning inside. Clean and dried, I slip into my pajamas, return to my marital bedroom and hop into bed, the sheets cool against my skin.

Minutes later, Helen emerges from our bedroom shower, her body fresh and clean, hair damp and smelling of soap. She slides under the covers, snuggling against me, her warmth a soft contrast to her earlier cruelty.

“Good night, honey,” she says softly, her voice tender now, lips brushing my ear. “I love you.”

I whisper back, heart full, “I love you too, Helen.”

As she drifts off in my arms, the night ends quietly, but I know the next girls’ night will bring more of her female dominance, and more of our twisted wedded bliss.

The End.

*The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech. This story was created specifically for this site using AI. While AI created most of the text, an actual human guided the process and edited the story and rewrote/added parts to make it as good as possible for your enjoyment.