SPH-THEMED EROTICA STORIES

My wife, Sara, started her new gig as an administrator at this rough-and-tumble construction company earlier this year. We’ve been hitched for five years now, and I figured things were solid between us, a comfortable routine, no major fights, the usual married bliss. But when she mentioned the annual Christmas party, I dragged my feet.

Office bashes aren’t my scene, especially with a bunch of burly builders and suits I didn’t know. Still, I suited up in my best button-down and slacks, hoping to play the supportive hubby without sticking out.

The venue was a rented hall decked out in tacky holiday lights, fake snow piled in corners, and a bar overflowing with cheap booze. Twinkling strings hung from the ceiling, and a DJ spun some festive tunes mixed with classic rock to keep the crew hyped.

Sara’s coworkers turned out alright, mostly gruff guys in flannel shirts nursing beers, a few other admins chatting in clusters, the vibe rowdy but not unbearable. I stuck close to her, sipping a watered-down scotch, nodding along as she introduced me around.

“This is Danny, my better half,” Sara would say with a grin, and I’d shake hands, cracking weak jokes about the construction life to fit in.

Things were going smoother than expected until her supervisor sauntered over. Kiesha was this confident BBW black woman in her early forties, curves hugged by a tight red dress that screamed ‘boss bitch at the holidays.’ Black hair swept back, sharp eyes that sized you up like she was bidding on materials.

She pulled Sara into a quick hug, air-kissing both cheeks. “Looking fierce as always, girl. Glad you made it.” Then she turned to me, her gaze dropping straight to my crotch for a beat before locking on my face. “And this must be Danny. I’ve heard all about you. Hell, the whole office knows you’ve got a tiny dick,” Kiesha said matter-of-factly.

The words landed like a sledgehammer. My stomach dropped, face flushing hot as Sara burst out laughing, covering her mouth, but not quick enough to hide the glee. I stood there gaping, mouth dry, staring at Kiesha as if she’d just stripped me naked in front of the room.

“What the—” I mumbled, but nothing coherent came out.

My slacks suddenly felt too tight, my pathetic little dick shrinking inward from the shock, barely a soft inch hiding in my briefs. Sara waved it off, still chuckling as she looped her arm through mine.

“Oh, ignore her, babe,” Sara said. “Kiesha’s only joking. She’s always busting guys’ balls about something. It’s her signature move. Keeps the testosterone in check around here.”

She squeezed my arm reassuringly, but her eyes sparkled with that same amusement Kiesha had. Kiesha tilted her head, smirking as she crossed her arms under her ample chest, pushing up her cleavage.

“Joking? Come on, Sara, you know I’m not. But going by his response…” Kiesha eyed me up and down, lingering on my fly again. “I think I hit a raw nerve. Men, right? Always so sensitive about their equipment.”

Kiesha let out a throaty laugh, loud enough that a couple of nearby coworkers glanced over, eyebrows raised.

Sara nodded along, smiling wide. “Totally. Danny’s a good sport, though.”

But as Kiesha sauntered off toward the bar, hips swaying, I was left standing there, exposed and reeling. My mind raced. Did she really mean that? Had Sara been blabbing about my size to her entire team? We’d always kept the bedroom stuff private, or so I thought. Sure, my dick wasn’t a monster, maybe four inches hard on a good day, thin as a finger, the kind that disappeared inside her without much fanfare, but sharing that at work? The whole office knew I was packing a small dick?

Heat crawled up my neck, and I shifted uncomfortably, feeling every eye in the room on me now, or at least imagining it. I tried to brush it off, grabbing Sara’s hand. “What the hell was that about? Your boss just outed me like that?” I said a little sharper than intended, but she just giggled, pulling me toward a group of her colleagues.

“Relax, Danny. Kiesha’s harmless. She teases everyone. It’s how she bonds.”

But as we approached the cluster, three guys from the site crew and another admin named Lucy, heads turned, and I swear I caught whispers.

One of the builders, a beefy dude with a beard, clapped me on the back a little too hard. “Heard you met Kiesha. Don’t take it personal, man. She calls ’em as she sees ’em.”

His buddies snickered, one muttering, “Or hears ’em,” under his breath.

Sara jumped in, ever the social butterfly. “Guys, be nice. Danny’s not used to our office antics.”

But Lucy, a sharp-featured woman in her thirties, leaned in with a sly grin. “Oh, we’ve heard plenty about you, Danny. Sara’s stories from home sound like you’re, err, compact. No wonder Kiesha went there right off the bat.”

The group erupted in laughter, the builders howling as they raised their glasses.

“To tiny packages under the tree!” one toasted, and they all clinked bottles, eyes on me.

I forced a laugh, but it came out choked, my face burning. “Ha, yeah, real funny. Sara, you been spilling secrets?” I said and shot her a look, but she just shrugged innocently, though her cheeks pinked up, not from embarrassment, but excitement?

“Only the good ones,” Sara teased, sipping her wine. “Come on, it’s all in fun. Lightens the mood.”

But the damage was done.

*****

As the night wore on, the jabs kept coming, public and relentless. At the buffet line, a site foreman sidled up, fork in hand. “Danny, right? Sara says you’re handy around the house, but word is, not so much in other departments. Need tips on… extending your reach?” He winked, and two women nearby overheard, bursting into giggles.

One whispered to the other, loud enough for me to catch, “Poor guy… I bet he needs a step stool just to poke her.”

I retreated to the bar for another drink, heart pounding, but Kiesha was there, chatting up the bartender. She spotted me and waved me over. “Come on, short stuff, don’t hide. Let’s get you something strong. It might help that little guy perk up.”

The bartender chuckled, pouring my scotch with a knowing smirk. A couple of her direct reports joined us, hanging on her words. “Kiesha, you didn’t waste time with the new hubby,” one said, a lanky engineer type.

Kiesha grinned. “Why would I? Sara’s been regaling us with tales all year. Danny’s got that cute little button dick. It’s perfect for holiday cheer. Imagine unwrapping that on Christmas morning!”

They all cracked up, the engineer slapping the bar. “Ouch, man. Does it even hang, or does it just… sit there?”

I mumbled something about it being exaggerated, but my voice drowned in their laughter. My dick betrayed me, twitching faintly in my pants from the humiliation, a shameful half-hardness that made the fabric tent just enough to draw another glance from Kiesha.

“See? Even talking about it gets a rise outta the lil fella. But seriously, Danny, own it. In a place like this, surrounded by these hung stallions…” She gestured to the crew dancing nearby, their bulges noticeable in tight jeans. “Your tiny prick’s the comic relief.”

Word spread like wildfire through the hall. By the time we hit the dance floor, Sara was dragging me out for a slow number, and people were bolder. A drunk admin couple bumped into us, the wife slurring, “Watch out, Danny’s got limited space down there!”

Her husband roared, “Yeah, don’t crowd the equipment!”

Sara pressed against me, whispering hot in my ear, “They’re just playing. But admit it, you’re kinda into the attention, aren’t you? Feeling that little nub throb?”

Her hand brushed my thigh, inches from my crotch, and damn if it didn’t swell a bit more, useless and eager.

The toasts kept coming during the speeches. The company prez raised a glass to ‘all shapes and sizes in our big family,’ winking right at me, and the room exploded.

Kiesha took the mic later for her team’s shoutouts, pausing on Sara. “And to our star admin and her hubby Danny, may your holidays be merry, even if the gifts are…modest.”

Cheers and catcalls filled the air, fingers pointed my way, chants of ‘Tiny Tim!’ echoing as I sank lower in my chair.

By night’s end, as we grabbed our coats, every soul in that hall knew. Coworkers high-fived me on the way out, murmuring, “Keep that shrimp dick proud, buddy,” or “Sara’s a saint for putting up with the micro-manage.”

I grilled her in the car, voice tight. “Why’d you tell them? Your whole office thinks I’m a joke now.”

She glanced over, hand on my knee, sliding up teasingly. “Because it’s true, babe. And honestly? Watching you squirm tonight…it was hot. That pathetic little dick of yours got hard under all that roasting, didn’t it?”

I couldn’t deny it.

The exposure burned, but it stirred something profound, my tiny dick straining against my zipper as she drove us home, the party’s echoes humiliating me all over again.

 

The End.

 

 

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