My Birthday Present
An SPH Experience by smallDhubby.
But lately, I’ve been dropping hints about my kinks, especially this small penis humiliation thing that’s been nagging at me. My dick’s nothing to write home about—maybe four inches hard, thin as a pencil—and I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to lean into that shame, turn it into something hot.
Last week, we were driving out of town for a little getaway, and I finally mustered the courage to lay it out. “For my birthday,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road to avoid the awkwardness, “I want us to book a hotel room. And… I want you to give me a handjob or blowjob while you humiliate me about my size. On video. So I can watch it later when you’re not in the mood or out of town.”
My heart was pounding. I figured she’d shut it down or laugh it off. But she didn’t. She turned to me with this curious smile, squeezing my thigh. “Really? Like, talk dirty about how small you are?”
We talked the whole drive—me spilling all the filthy details I wanted to try, from her measuring me with a ruler to comparing me to toys or even another guy if we ever felt comfortable. She was surprisingly receptive, asking questions, admitting she’d thought about dominating more but wasn’t sure how. The only hesitation was the recording: ‘I don’t want to say something that hurts you for real.’
By the end, though, she was on board with getting some toys to tease me with and use on herself, and yeah, she even floated the idea of a third if it felt right. It was the best conversation we’d had in years; I could see her wheels turning, like this was unlocking something in her too.
We checked into the hotel that night, a cozy spot with a big jacuzzi tub. She ran a bath while I unpacked, my mind racing with anticipation. I couldn’t wait, so I grabbed my phone and texted her from the bedroom: ‘Thinking about you in there, all wet and soapy. Wish I could join, but my little dick probably wouldn’t even reach the water.’
It was a test balloon, a light SPH to ease in. Her reply came quick: ‘Haha, is that your way of begging? Show me a pic of that tiny thing, then.’
Holy shit, she was playing along. I snapped a quick shot—me hard, but still pathetically small, veins straining against the skin—and sent it.
She fired back: ‘Aww, look at the little guy trying so hard. It’s cute, like a baby carrot. No wonder you’ve been hiding it all these years.’
My cock twitched just reading it; the humiliation hit like a rush, making me stroke myself slowly while I typed.
She kept going, getting bolder with each message. ‘Bet it wouldn’t even fill my palm. Remember that time we tried anal? Yeah, no wonder it didn’t work—you’re too damn small to make a difference.’
I laughed out loud, the meanness turning me on more than anything.
She sent a YouTube link next: that old ‘Short Dick Man’ song by 20 Fingers, blasting through my speakers when I hit play. ‘This is your anthem, babe. Dance for me.’
I was grinning like an idiot, humping the air to the beat while texting back.
Then she dropped the bomb: ‘Yours is like a Where’s Waldo dick—gotta squint to find it in the bush.’
I nearly came right there, picturing her in the tub, fingers circling her clit as she typed these zingers.
I confessed my fantasy: ‘Imagine you holding mine in one hand… and another guy’s in the other.’
Her response? ‘Couldn’t do that, old man. I’d need both hands just to wrap around a real cock. Yours? I could juggle it with my pinky.’
It went on like that for a good half-hour—her describing how she’d stroke me slow, whispering how pathetic I am, how she’d rather fuck a dildo twice my size while I watch and jerk my ‘clitty.’ She called it my ‘nub,’ said it was perfect for denial play, and that she’d lock it in a cage someday. I was leaking pre-cum all over my hand, edging myself to her words, until she finally said, ‘Come in here and fuck me with that shrimp dick. Make me laugh.’
I burst through the bathroom door, towel dropping as I climbed in, my erection bobbing uselessly. She grabbed it immediately, her soapy hand engulfing the whole thing—no effort, just a loose grip that made me feel even smaller. “See? Fits right here,” she teased, holding it between thumb and forefinger like a cigarette. She jerked me off underwater, splashing as she mocked: “Cum quick, shorty. Don’t want to keep a real man waiting.”
I did—exploded in seconds, ropes of cum clouding the water while she giggled, then pulled me in for a kiss.
“That was fun. We should record next time.”
Since then, she’s been on fire. Random comments slip out all the time, like yesterday in the kitchen: “Pass the salt? Oh, wait, that’s your dick size.”
Or this morning, as I got dressed: “Those pants make your bulge look even smaller—if that’s possible.”
She’s owning the dominant role, sending me teasing pics of her fingering herself with two fingers, caption: ‘This is more than you can handle.’
And yeah, we ordered toys online—a big vibrating dildo and a tiny cage. When it arrives, I know she’ll make me compare, slide that monster inside her while I hump her leg like a desperate puppy. She’s demisexual, sure, but this SPH kink is drawing out her nasty side, and I’m loving every humiliating second. Twenty years in, and we’re just getting started.
The End.
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