When my wife and I first started dating we had what few couples can claim, a lack mutual lack of relationship experience. The extent of her sexual journey included one boyfriend of three years. For myself, outside of a few brief flings (none of which involved intercourse), I was nearly a blank slate. But after ten years of intense sexual exploration with each other, we both filled in the many blanks on our sexual resume. Adventurous, daring and at times dangerous episodes dotted our time together, and marriage, thankfully and abnormally, has only increased out appetites for each other.
We have a mutual lust for both dominant and submissive rolls in the bed. More than once the subject of penis size entered out escapades and she took incredible satisfaction in teasing me, but I'd always return the favor. Her breasts, pert, spunky and very nicely formed to her body, are just below a B cup. We spent many nights having passionate sex to my sweet whispers in her ear, goading her to think about our female friends, of which we have many, and the fact that even the smallest of them is still at least a cup size larger than her. She obsessed over the thought of me, her committed and faithful husband obsessing over other woman's breasts.
Things escalated from there, with me instructing her to wear the tightest sports bra's she owned when we went out drinking with everyone, to ensure that she was as flat as possible. I'd pass the night with her, drunkenly talking at times much louder than I should have. I'd ask if she felt small and inadequate and like a little girl, sitting there in her sports bra. I'd describe our friends to her, describe how their larger chests made them more confident, more woman like and ultimately more desirable than her. She would nervously laugh, hoping they weren't listening but secretly hoping they were. Being dominated, at least at this time, was the best aphrodisiac I could give her.
For her part, she's begun teasing me about my size as well. The problem with this is that from her perspective, she hadn't really understood where I stood in comparison with other men. I'm not small but I'm not on the large side of average either. Luckily for me, the only comparison that she had was her ex boyfriend, and one brief fling she had when we first started dating. The fling wasn't memorable enough for her to remember and her ex-boyfriend she admitted was longer than me but not nearly as thick. At a little less than 4" in girth and just under 5" in length, she had not only always been content with my size, but pleased. Of course she's watched movies, she understands that there are larger men, but her exposure had been limited so she was able, for a long time, to write off the images that she saw as the by product of the fake world of movies. After all, if nearly every woman she saw in a movie or porno had D cup breasts, there was little doubt that the men's sizes were 'enhanced' as well.
Her opinions started to change though once she decided to take our sexual flirting to the next level. I had always been content teasing her and making her crazy in our own little world, begging her to wear small outfits and slightly revealing clothing in an effort to passively make her feel inferior. It worked incredibly well, driving her crazy whenever I did it. But when it came to me she had, from the onset, a desire to be aggressive in her teasing, in her approach to make me feel like she had, both inadequate and aroused at the same time.
It began with a work friend, like it always seems to. Terry was sort of her boss but more just like a supervisor. I had worked with Terry years before at another job so we were all friends. Her husband was a nice, if not bland guy that I shared drinks with at various Christmas parties over thee years. Terry had always been a bit of a turn on for my wife. Terry had that sleek, styled working lady appearance to her. Her long, streaked hair was always pulled back into a no nonsense ponytail, her makeup never a step below flawless. Her outfits, a range from high black boots and tight knee length skirts, to pinstriped suit pants and tight, formfitting white button downs, were many a discussion in our bedroom when my wife was in 'that' mood. It helped that Terry was always open to discussion about anything my wife could dream up. She's find out juicy little bits of information about Terry's sex life, about Bill her husband, and the things they did.
One night, after an intense workout at the gym, I settled in and flipped on the television. She came home and sat next to me, still dressed for work. Her work out fits were a little too conservative for my tastes. Turtle neck sweaters, loose suit pants and heeled shoes, but my wife still has an amazing little body on her almost five foot frame. Her long black hair was down though, so it spiced up an otherwise unadventurous look.
"So I had an interesting discussion today at work."
"Oh really?" I said not even half listening watching Sportscenter.
"With Terry."
"Mmhmm."
"And what she thinks of undersized men." And that's when the TV flipped off and she instantly garnered my full attention.
"And why were you talking about undersized men?" She smile at me and began walking her fingers up and down my sweaty shirt. "Just something that came up."
She reached her hand beneath the waistband of my sweatpants. My penis was soft and limp.
"She just made a comment about how big you are and how big you must be." I'm almost six foot four and not overly muscular but I definitely keep the fat off, "and how great of a lay you must be. I disagreed."
Her hand tightened around my stirring penis.
"But you love sex with me."
"Of course I do, and I told her that much." Her fingertips pinched the head of my dick. "But I also told her you're not nearly as big as everyone probably thinks you are." That comment forced a strong jolt of blood to spring my near flaccid cock to life. I tensed at the thought of my loving wife telling another woman, a sexy, forceful and dominant woman, that I didn't measure up.
"I can't believe you said that to her."
"Neither could I at first. But I was just so horny all day and once she started talking about the sex she had last night I couldn't help it. She said she had trouble walking today because Bill was so rough with her last night." The thought of Terry's long, athletic legs spread open as her tight, full breasts bounced from the force of Bill's pounding pelvis filled my brain.
"Then she said that she can only imagine how I felt after one of our sessions. That you must really give it to me hard." My wife giggled. "And that's when I told her it was never that bad." My cock stood firm, my wife's hand gliding up and down the shaft still tucked neatly inside my sweats. The embarrassment of her comments only served to turn me on more.
"What did she say?" I put my hand over my wife's to slow her down. I was ready to explode already but I needed to hear the end of the story.
"Are you ready to shoot already?!" She giggled again, but with something behind it. I immediately knew why she was laughing.
"This is just so hot. I can't believe you said these things."
"No." She pushed my hand away and kept stroking. The head of my penis rubbed against the rough fabric of my sweatpants on her down stroke, on the upstroke my small head disappeared in her small hands. "That's not why you're ready to blow. You're ready to blow," she pulled my pants down with her free hand, "because little Tom here always likes to shoot quick doesn't he."
She stroked faster and I felt the pressure working its way up my shaft. I tried to hold back, but she was unrelenting.
"He shoots quick, doesn't he Tom," she kept stroking and leaned into my ear. "Say it, say it Tom. You're a quick shot."
"No," I bit my lip and squeezed my innards as hard as I could, hoping to stem the rising tide of pleasure working its way up my legs.
"If you can hold it in for one more minute, you don't have to say it. One little minute. But if you can't then you have to say 'I'm a quick shot' and shoot all over your clothes."
"That's not fair. You know I love shooting it on you though."
She made a fake sad face and patted my head with her free hand. "I know baby, I know but that's your punishment."
The slight distraction for a second lessened the growing pressure in my balls. She sped up her jerking and I tried to cycle through the roster of the past three World Series Champions to help me hold out. I thought of Beckett, and Pujos and ...
Twenty seconds past.
"You ready to shoot sweetheart?"
"Nope." I winced.
Her lips nestled close to my ear and her slight tongue licked my lobe. "I told Terry that most nights you don't last more than two minutes." Oh fuck. "She tried not to laugh but when I told her it was alright she busted out. We giggled to each other about it and she accused me of lying. She said there was no way you were a quick shot and under sized."
The cum bubbled up my shaft and collected in the head, I was a deadman.
"But I told her you most definitely were. I told her you were a small dicked quick shooter and she laughed so loud the guys in finance all heard her. She covered her mouth but couldn't stop laughing. At you, baby, all at you."
The release was incredible, the best one I had had in months. A small stream of it sprouted out of my cockhead and landed on her still stroking hand, the next spurt landed on my shirt and a tiny third one on the waistband on my pants.
She smiled at my mess and kept stroking as my body spasmed and the implications of what she had just told me began to embarrass me more than turn me on. Had she really said all those things? Did Terry really know how inadequate I was in bed?
My wife stopped stroking and then looked into my eyes, not smiling but with a slanted, mischievous face.
"Well?"
