Slippage
An SPH Experience by Sea_Tough37.
It started innocently enough a few months back. We were in my tiny studio apartment, the kind with a bed that doubles as a couch, after a date night that involved too much wine. Tonia’s this stunning 24-year-old with curves that make my mouth water—full tits, a tight ass from her yoga obsession, and long dark hair she likes to pull when she’s riding me. She’s always been sweet about my quick finishes, cooing that it’s okay, but I could tell it bugged her. “Babe, just try a condom,” she suggested one night, her hand stroking my shaft lazily as we lay naked under the sheets. “It might help you hold out.”
I nodded, ego bruised but hopeful, and grabbed a standard magnum from the drawer—figured the extra room couldn’t hurt.
The first time was awkward but manageable. I rolled it on, the latex hanging loose around my base like an oversized sock, but I thrust into her anyway. She was wet, her pussy lips parting easily around my length as I pushed in, but halfway through, I felt it—the condom bunching up, slipping down my cock with every pump. “Wait, shit,” I muttered, pulling out to adjust.
Tonia giggled at first, propping herself on her elbows, her breasts jiggling. “Everything okay down there?”
I fixed it, slid back in, and for a glorious minute, it felt good—her walls clenching around me, my hips slapping against her thighs. But then the slip happened again, the rubber peeling back until it was just a ring around the head. I lasted maybe two minutes total before I blew my load inside the condom, which promptly flopped off as I pulled out. Cum dribbled onto her inner thigh, and she wiped it away with a sigh.
“Well, that was… something.” Her tone was light, but the disappointment stung. I mumbled an apology, my deflating dick looking even smaller now, shriveled and exposed.
We laughed it off that night, but it became a pattern. Every few weeks, I’d psych myself up, lube up the condom extra to see if it’d grip better, and dive in missionary style, her legs wrapped around my waist. Doggy was worse—the angle made it slide faster, the latex dragging along her slick folds before bunching at my base. “It’s slipping again,” she’d say, reaching back to feel, her fingers brushing my thin shaft. “Your dick’s just too… narrow for these things.”
The word ‘narrow’ hit like a gut punch, my face heating as I thrust harder to compensate, only to cum prematurely anyway, the condom half-off and useless. She’d tease me gently after, tracing her nail along my softening cock.
“Maybe we need kid-sized ones,” she’d joke, and I’d force a laugh, but inside, it burned—that confirmation of what I already knew: my girth was a joke.
The real humiliation peaked one humid summer evening. We’d been teasing each other all day via text—her sending pics of her in a sundress, me replying with awkward dick pics that she praised but I knew were lackluster. By the time we tumbled into bed, I was throbbing, desperate to prove myself. “Condom this time,” I insisted, grabbing one from the nightstand.
I unrolled it carefully, the latex sagging immediately, but I ignored it, positioning myself between her spread thighs. Tonia guided me in, her pussy hot and inviting, swallowing my length with a soft moan. I started slow, grinding deep, feeling her stretch around me—or rather, not stretch much at all. The friction was there, but minimal, her juices making everything too slippery.
About thirty seconds in, disaster. I felt the telltale looseness, the condom rolling down like a deflated balloon. I kept going, hoping it’d hold, my balls tightening already. “Fuck, Tonia, you feel so good,” I groaned, pounding faster, her tits bouncing with each slap.
She arched her back, nails digging into my arms, but then she winced. “Babe, stop—something’s wrong.”
I pulled out, and there it was: the entire condom, slick with her wetness, lodged inside her.
It had slipped off completely during a thrust, staying put in her pussy while my bare cock kept fucking her unknowingly.
Panic hit me as I stared at my exposed shaft, still hard but glistening with her arousal, no protection in sight.
Tonia’s eyes widened, then she burst out laughing, sitting up to fish it out with her fingers. The latex dangled from her hand, cum-filled and stretched thin. “Oh my god, how did that even happen?” she gasped between giggles, tossing it aside.
My face burned crimson, my dick twitching pathetically in the open air—5.5 inches of length, but so skinny it couldn’t hold a basic condom.
“Your cock’s like a sneaky little thief,” she said, wiping her hand on the sheet. “Slips right out and leaves the evidence behind.”
The humiliation washed over me, hot and intense, my stomach twisting even as my erection refused to fade. She saw it, smirked, and pulled me down for a handjob instead—her fingers easily wrapping around my narrow girth, stroking until I spurted onto her belly in under a minute.
After that, we ditched condoms mostly, sticking to the pill, but the incident stuck with me. I researched online in secret, discovering custom skinny condoms for guys like me—snug fits for ‘below-average girth.’ The thought of ordering them mortified me, but it also stirred that twisted arousal, the shame of admitting my size issue to some anonymous company. Tonia never brought it up harshly, but her casual comments lingered: “Your dick’s perfect for quickies,” or “We don’t need much lube with you.”
Each one fueled my secret sessions alone, jerking my skinny cock to fantasies of her mocking me more, comparing me to exes with thicker tools.
It’s embarrassing as hell, but damn if it doesn’t make me hard just thinking about it.
The End.
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