I Love My Wife’s Slips
An SPH Experience by Vegetable_Wolf_2668.
But with my wife Shaynna, things are different. She’s this confident, curvy woman in her late twenties, with long, wavy hair and a laugh that lights up the room. We’ve been married three years now, and while sex is great, it’s the little slips she makes about my size that get me rock hard in a way nothing else does. It’s weird, I know—humiliation turning into this rush that makes me feel validated somehow, like owning the flaw flips it into a strength.
It started small, these offhand comments she’d let slip during our pillow talk or mid-thrust. One night, after a quick fuck where I was pounding away without any help, she wrapped her legs around me and gasped, ‘God, your little engine that could is really chugging today.’ She giggled right after, her pussy clenching around my bare cock as I froze for a second, cheeks burning. But fuck, it lit me up. I thrust harder, my thin shaft sliding in and out of her wet folds, and came buckets inside her, the shame mixing with the pleasure until I was shaking. She noticed, kissed my forehead, and said, “Hey, I didn’t mean it badly—it’s cute.” But that ‘little engine’ stuck with me, replaying in my head during solo sessions, my hand pumping my pathetic erection until it spurted weakly.
Most nights, though, we reach for the sleeve. It’s this thick silicone extender that straps on over my dick, adding girth and length to make it a solid seven inches of fake monster. Shaynna loves it—her eyes glaze over when I slide it on, lubing up the veiny shaft while she watches from the bed, fingers circling her clit. “Put it on, baby,” she’ll say, her voice husky. “Fuck me with that big cock.”
The first time she phrased it like that, I nearly came right there, my real dick twitching uselessly inside the sleeve as I climbed between her thighs. I pushed in slowly, the added width stretching her lips wide, and she moaned loudly, “Yes, daddy, fuck me deep—stretch my pussy with that huge thing.”
Her nails dug into my back as I rammed it home, her walls gripping the toy while my own cock leaked pre-cum inside, forgotten and small. She’d buck up against me, tits bouncing, crying out how full she felt, how it hit spots my natural one never could. I’d grunt and pound, the humiliation of needing the prop fueling every thrust until she screamed through her orgasm, her juices soaking the base. Then I’d pull out, yank the sleeve off, and jerk my tiny hard-on furiously, shooting ropes onto her thigh while she panted, “Good boy—your big cock always delivers.”
But the real turn-on hits when I surprise her without it. Like last week, we were in the living room after dinner, she in just a tank top and panties, me in boxers. I pulled her onto the couch, kissing down her neck as I slipped a hand into her underwear, fingers rubbing her swelling clit until she was dripping. “Want me bare tonight?” I whispered, and she nodded, eyes half-lidded.
I shoved my boxers down, my four-inch curve popping free, hard and eager. She glanced down, smirked a little, but spread her legs wide. I rubbed the head along her slit, teasing her entrance before sliding in—easy, since she’s always so wet for me. No resistance, just her warmth enveloping my skinny length completely. I started thrusting, steady and deep as I could manage, grinding against her g-spot with that upward curve.
Her breaths quickened, hands on my ass pulling me closer. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” she gasped, surprise in her voice. “You don’t gotta put the big one on tonight—this little guy’s doing just fine.”
Hearing that—’little guy’—while buried balls-deep in her pussy? It was electric. My balls tightened, but I held off, slamming faster, her moans turning to whimpers as she clenched around me, flooding my dick with her release. I followed seconds later, pumping my load into her, the praise laced with that subtle dig making the orgasm crash harder than usual.
Sometimes I push it further, needing that verbal hit. During one of our sessions with the sleeve off, I’d pin her wrists above her head, my slim dick pistoning into her slick heat. “Do you like my little dick?” I asked, voice rough, heart pounding from the vulnerability.
She arched up, pussy fluttering, and moaned, “Yes—fuck, yes, I love your little dick inside me.”
Or another time, slower and more intimate, she’d ride me reverse cowgirl, her ass cheeks slapping my thighs as she ground down. I grabbed her hips and repeated the question, and she looked back over her shoulder, biting her lip. “It’s good enough for me, baby—makes me feel so connected.” Those words, affirming yet underscoring the size, always tip me over. I’d thrust up wildly, my curved shaft hitting her just right, until we both came, her squirting a bit on my pubes while I filled her with my modest spurts.
I crave more of it, spontaneous, though—her dropping lines without me fishing for them. Like, I think she holds back because she doesn’t want to bruise my ego, even though she knows it revs me up. We’ve talked about it vaguely. After one intense fuck, I admitted the comments turn me on, and she blushed, saying, “Really? I thought it’d make you self-conscious.”
But she tries now, slipping in a “C’mere with that cute little thing” when I undress, or during foreplay, “Let me suck on my favorite mini-me.”
It eases the lifelong insecurity, turning what I saw as a flaw into this shared kink that bonds us. Last night, as I was eating her out—tongue lapping her folds until she trembled—she tangled her fingers in my hair and murmured, “You’re so good at this. Don’t need anything else.” Then, as I climbed up to enter her bare, she added softly, “Even if it’s small, it feels perfect.”
I fucked her then with everything I had, the mix of love and light humiliation making me last longer, her praises pulling another orgasm from her before I unloaded deep inside. Yeah, it’s twisted, but it works for us—my tiny cock finally feeling like enough.
The End.
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