It all happened so fast after I discovered my wife’s affair with that coworker of hers. I confronted her, and she didn’t even try to hide it. She straight-up told me she despised my pathetic little dick and craved his massive cock, actually to feel satisfied. I kicked her out in a rage, but the jealousy burned deep. She’d gone all out, transforming herself just for him. Shaving her pussy smooth, getting breast implants to make her tits bigger, and plumping her lips with fillers (ideal for wrapping around a real man’s shaft).

And me? I didn’t get a single taste. No sliding into that freshly waxed slit, no groping her enhanced tits, no feeling those new lips suck me off. Hell, she wouldn’t even model the slutty lingerie she’d bought to tease her new boyfriend.

I begged her, groveling like a loser, but she just laughed in my face. “Why would I waste my new body on your tiny prick? It’s no longer worth the effort. Go stroke that shrimp dick yourself while I get fucked properly.”

Her words sliced through me, but my dick twitched anyway, betraying how much the humiliation turned me on. She’d chosen him over me, molding herself into his personal fucktoy, and now I was left with nothing but memories and a raging case of blue balls.

She moved into her own apartment, leaving me to stew in the situation. To spend my nights jerking off alone, imagining the two of them fucking.

*****

Months later, she showed up at my door unannounced, looking even hotter than before—her curves accentuated by a tight dress that screamed ‘taken.’ I let her in, heart pounding, hoping for some reconciliation. But no, she had other plans. We ended up on the couch, her hand casually brushing my thigh as she spilled the details of her ongoing fling.

“You know, his cock is so much bigger than yours,” she said casually, like discussing the weather. “It’s thick, veiny, and stretches me out every time. Yours? It’s just this sad little pencil. I can barely feel it when I think back.”

I stared at her, stunned and silent. My dick was rock-hard under my pants, straining at full mast—maybe even looking a tad bigger after I’d shed some pounds from the stress. But she wasn’t impressed.

“Oh, don’t get excited, cuck. Even hard, it’s pitiful. Like a pinky finger trying to play hero. No wonder I need his monster cock to hit those spots you could never reach.”

She was comparing us outright now, painting vivid pictures of how he pounded her raw while I sat there, inadequate and forgotten. The cuckold sting hit hard, knowing she’d been riding his huge cock for months, moaning his name, while I jerked off alone to the thought.

She noticed my bulge and smirked, reaching over to unzip me without asking. Her fingers wrapped around my shaft—or tried to, since it was so small her grip felt loose. “See? This is all you’ve got. Pathetic. His cock throbs in my hand, fills my palm. Yours? I could do this with two fingers and still have room.”

She started stroking me slowly, her touch expert from practicing on a real man, but laced with mockery.

“Bet you’ve been fantasizing about this, haven’t you? Watching me get railed by someone superior, then us coming home to pity-fuck your wife with this baby carrot.”

I tried to protest, but the words died as pleasure built. She sped up, twisting her wrist just right, all while taunting me.

“Slow down? Aw, are my fingers too much for your tiny dick? Poor thing, it can’t handle a real woman’s touch like he can. He lasts hours, makes me cum over and over. You? You’re already twitching like a premature loser.”

Her eyes gleamed with wicked delight, feeding off my shame. She leaned in, breath hot on my ear. “Tell me how much better his cock is. Admit you’re just a cuck with a worthless babydick.”

The humiliation flooded me, mixing with the building ecstasy. Fantasies I’d buried surged up—her on her knees for him, gagging on his girth while I watched from the corner, stroking futilely.

“It’s… It’s so small compared to his,” I moaned, the confession spilling out.

She grinned triumphantly. “That’s right, good cuck. Your little pee-pee doesn’t deserve pussy anymore. Just my fingers, when I’m feeling generous after he’s creampied me.”

I begged her to ease up. It was overwhelming; her skilled strokes pushed me to the edge too quickly. She beamed, proud of her control.

“Look at you, about to blow from a simple finger job. His balls are heavy, full. He floods me deep. Yours? Just a quick squirt from that mini-dick.” She pumped harder, voice dropping to a sultry command. “Now cum for me, cuck. Show me how your sad dick spurts while I think about his real cock.”

I couldn’t hold back. The point of no return hit like a truck, euphoria crashing with the burn of her words. She encouraged it all, her free hand on my chest.

“Yes, cum now! Be my good little cuck boy!”

I exploded, ropes of cum shooting across my stomach, farther than usual from the intensity. She kept stroking through it, milking every drop while praising in that condescending tone.

“Good boy! Such a big load from such small balls. How cute. You squirted everywhere, like a desperate puppy marking his territory. But remember, this is all you’ll ever get. The real fun? That’s reserved for my bull’s massive cock.”

She wiped her hand on my shirt, leaving me spent and sticky, then stood up with a wink.

“Clean yourself up, cucky. I’ve got a date with a real man tonight.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving me in the wreckage of my own inadequacy, already craving the next humiliating fix.

 

The End.

 

 

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