u/roleplayms

I would love to humiliate guys with tiny cocks verbally.

I do enjoy cuckolding if they are into them..

I can make them jerk off their tiny cock with their fingers while Looking at me.

I don't know if it's normal or i am very dark but I have had experiences with some losers and later on I started enjoying it.

I do like pegging them to, I like to make it public may be in front of my bf or their gf or friends to laugh at them while their tiny cocks flapping in hair while I fuck their assholes.

And then Make them swallow their own cum.

I also like to feminise them wearing my panties and bra, I would like to force them into bi with my bf.

Christine’s grandmother always said the best desserts were the ones you didn’t see coming—like finding a forgotten chocolate at the bottom of a purse or an extra spoonful of whipped cream when you thought the bowl was empty. Christine thought about that now, standing in the dim hallway outside her ex’s apartment, her current boyfriend’s hand warm on the small of her back.

“You sure about this?” Mark murmured, his breath tickling her ear. His fingers traced idle circles through her sweater, the way they always did when he was trying to play it cool. Christine swallowed. She wasn’t sure, not really, but the way Tyler had looked at her earlier—like she was still the girl who’d blushed when he first kissed her behind the chemistry building—had stirred something old and quiet in her chest.

Tyler opened the door before she could knock. He was already smirking, one shoulder leaning against the frame, his stupidly perfect hair falling into his eyes. “Took you long enough,” he said, but his gaze flicked to Mark, then back to her, and Christine saw the moment his confidence faltered. Just a little. Just enough.

Mark’s fingers tightened on Christine’s hip as he stepped forward, his other hand sliding into his pocket with deliberate ease. “We were debating whether you’d actually answer,” he said, voice low and amused. “Christine thought you might’ve moved. I said you wouldn’t leave town without saying goodbye.” The way he stressed \*goodbye\* made Tyler’s jaw twitch, just once, before he recovered with a lazy shrug.

“Wouldn’t miss this,” Tyler said, stepping aside to let them in. The apartment smelled like cheap beer and the vanilla candle Christine had bought him two birthdays ago—still burning, she noticed, on the cluttered coffee table. Her stomach did a slow flip. Mark guided her forward, his palm warm through her sweater, and she let herself be steered toward the couch, where Tyler’s gaming controller lay abandoned next to a half-empty bag of chips.

Mark sat first, sprawling back like he owned the place, one arm draped along the couch behind Christine. Tyler hovered for a second before dropping into the armchair across from them, knees spread, elbows resting on his thighs. The silence stretched, thick enough to taste. Christine picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.

Mark's fingers had been tracing circles on Christine's thigh for the last ten minutes—slow, proprietary circles that made Tyler's jaw tighten every time he glanced over. The silence had settled into something almost comfortable, if not for the way Tyler kept shifting in his chair, the way Mark's thumb kept inching higher on Christine's leg. Then, without warning, Mark leaned in and nipped at Christine's earlobe. "Show him what's his," he murmured, just loud enough for Tyler to hear.

Christine's breath hitched as Mark's hand slid under her skirt, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. Tyler's chair creaked as he leaned forward, eyes dark and unreadable. Mark pulled her panties down her thighs with deliberate slowness, letting them pool around her ankles before kicking them aside. "Stand up," he ordered, voice rough. Christine obeyed, cheeks burning, and Mark wasted no time unzipping his jeans.

The moment his cock sprang free, Tyler choked on a laugh. It wasn't a kind sound. "That's it?" Tyler snorted, nodding at Mark's erection with a smirk. "Christ, Christine, you downgraded." Mark's grin only widened as he palmed himself, his other hand gripping Christine's hip to pull her closer. "Oh, this?" He gave his cock a lazy stroke. "This is just the \*appetizer\*."

The silence in the apartment was thick enough to carve with a butter knife—until Mark let out a sudden, sharp laugh that made Christine jump. Tyler had just unzipped his jeans with that cocky grin of his, the one Christine used to find irresistible, but now it wavered as Mark’s laughter filled the room. "Oh, \*shit\*," Mark said, shaking his head like he’d just heard the punchline to a joke Christine wasn’t in on. "That’s it? That’s what you’ve been bragging about all these years?"

Christine’s gaze flicked down before she could stop herself, and her lips parted in a quiet, involuntary gasp. Tyler wasn’t \*small\*—not exactly—but next to Mark, who was already palming himself through his jeans with a lazy confidence, it was… noticeable. Tyler’s face flushed a deep red, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wanted to cover himself but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. "Fuck you," he muttered, but the bravado was gone, replaced by something raw and exposed.

Mark stepped closer, his free hand sliding around Christine’s waist to pull her against him. "Nah, I think \*you’re\* the one who’s about to fuck \*me\*," he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Unless you want the whole campus to know how \*tiny\* you really are." Christine felt the words like a physical touch, hot and electric, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. Mark’s thumb brushed the curve of her hip, possessive and sure, and she realized with a dizzy thrill that she \*wanted\* this—wanted Tyler to squirm, wanted Mark to take control.

Mark didn’t ask—he nodded toward Tyler’s jeans with the casual authority of someone who’d already won. “All the way off,” he said, fingers drumming against Christine’s hip like he was bored. Tyler hesitated, his throat bobbing, but then his hands moved to his waistband with a jerky obedience that made Christine’s breath catch. The denim pooled at his ankles, and there it was—pale and half-hard, twitching under the weight of their stares. Mark let out a low whistle, his own cock straining against his boxers as he shrugged out of his shirt. “Pathetic,” he murmured, not even looking at Tyler anymore, just dragging Christine closer by the waistband of her skirt. “You really thought you could compete?”

Christine’s fingers trembled as she unbuttoned her blouse, the air cool against her suddenly bare skin. Mark’s gaze burned hotter than the vanilla candle still flickering on the coffee table, and when he finally peeled off his boxers, Christine couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped her. Tyler made a noise too—a strangled little whimper—as Mark’s cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening. Mark smirked, palming himself slowly, his other hand tangling in Christine’s hair to tilt her face up to his. “Tell him,” he murmured against her lips. “Tell him how much better I am.”

She didn’t have to lie. The kiss was messy, hungry, Mark’s tongue claiming her mouth with a possessiveness that curled her toes. Behind them, Tyler’s breath came in shallow pants, the wet sound of his fist moving over his own cock barely audible over the slick noise of Mark’s mouth on hers. When Mark finally pulled away, his lips swollen and shiny, he didn’t even glance at Tyler—just hooked a finger under Christine’s bra strap and let it snap against her skin. “Kneel,” he said, and Christine wasn’t sure who he was talking to until Tyler shuffled forward, his knees hitting the carpet with a dull thud.

Mark’s laugh was sharp, delighted, as he gripped himself at the base and slapped Tyler’s cheek with the heavy weight of his cock. “Look at you,” he crooned, dragging the head over Tyler’s fluttering eyelids, down the bridge of his nose. “Like a fucking dog begging for scraps.” Christine bit her lip, but the giggle slipped out anyway—high and breathless—and Tyler’s eyes flicked to her, wide and wounded. Mark noticed, his grin widening as he pressed the tip to Tyler’s parted lips. “She’s laughing at you, man. You hear that? Even your ex thinks you’re a joke.”

Christine’s chest tightened, but it wasn’t guilt pooling low in her belly—it was something darker, hotter. She leaned into Mark’s side, her lips trailing over his collarbone, the rough scrape of his stubble against her tongue as she kissed along his jaw. Tyler made a broken sound, his tongue darting out to lick tentatively at Mark’s slit, and Mark groaned, his fingers tightening in Christine’s hair. “That’s it,” he breathed, his hips rolling forward to nudge deeper into Tyler’s mouth. “Show her how fucking useless you are.” Christine’s nails dug into Mark’s thigh, her own pulse thundering in her ears as Tyler’s lips stretched around the girth of him, tears already gathering at the corners of his eyes. Mark’s free hand found hers, guiding it to his cock where it strained against Tyler’s tongue. “Feel that?” he whispered, pressing her fingers into the heat of himself. “That’s what a real man feels like.”

Tyler gagged, his throat working around the intrusion, and Christine’s breath hitched as Mark pulled her into another searing kiss. She could taste the salt of his skin, the faint bitterness of pre-cum smeared across his bottom lip, and when he broke away to smirk down at Tyler, she couldn’t help but follow his gaze. Tyler’s own cock jutted pathetically between his thighs, flushed pink and leaking, his hips stuttering with aborted thrusts into the air. Mark chuckled, nudging Tyler’s chin with his knee.

“You gonna come like that?” he taunted, his thumb swiping over Christine’s lower lip. “Just from watching me ruin her?”

Christine shuddered, her thighs pressing together as Mark’s fingers slid under the waistband of her panties, his touch deliberate and slow. Tyler’s whine was muffled around Mark’s cock, his hands fluttering at his sides like he didn’t know where to put them. Mark’s voice dropped, rough with amusement. “Go ahead, touch yourself. Show us how fucking pathetic you are.” Tyler’s fingers wrapped around his own length instantly, his strokes frantic, uneven, and Christine moaned, arching into Mark’s hand as he teased her clit. “Good boy,” Mark murmured, and Tyler sobbed around him, his hips jerking as his orgasm ripped through him—a thin, messy spatter across his own stomach. Mark laughed, pulling Christine closer. “Pathetic,” he sighed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it was.

Christine’s grandmother always said the best desserts were the ones you didn’t see coming—like finding a forgotten chocolate at the bottom of a purse or an extra spoonful of whipped cream when you thought the bowl was empty. Christine thought about that now, standing in the dim hallway outside her ex’s apartment, her current boyfriend’s hand warm on the small of her back.

“You sure about this?” Mark murmured, his breath tickling her ear. His fingers traced idle circles through her sweater, the way they always did when he was trying to play it cool. Christine swallowed. She wasn’t sure, not really, but the way Tyler had looked at her earlier—like she was still the girl who’d blushed when he first kissed her behind the chemistry building—had stirred something old and quiet in her chest.

Tyler opened the door before she could knock. He was already smirking, one shoulder leaning against the frame, his stupidly perfect hair falling into his eyes. “Took you long enough,” he said, but his gaze flicked to Mark, then back to her, and Christine saw the moment his confidence faltered. Just a little. Just enough.

Mark’s fingers tightened on Christine’s hip as he stepped forward, his other hand sliding into his pocket with deliberate ease. “We were debating whether you’d actually answer,” he said, voice low and amused. “Christine thought you might’ve moved. I said you wouldn’t leave town without saying goodbye.” The way he stressed \*goodbye\* made Tyler’s jaw twitch, just once, before he recovered with a lazy shrug.

“Wouldn’t miss this,” Tyler said, stepping aside to let them in. The apartment smelled like cheap beer and the vanilla candle Christine had bought him two birthdays ago—still burning, she noticed, on the cluttered coffee table. Her stomach did a slow flip. Mark guided her forward, his palm warm through her sweater, and she let herself be steered toward the couch, where Tyler’s gaming controller lay abandoned next to a half-empty bag of chips.

Mark sat first, sprawling back like he owned the place, one arm draped along the couch behind Christine. Tyler hovered for a second before dropping into the armchair across from them, knees spread, elbows resting on his thighs. The silence stretched, thick enough to taste. Christine picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.

Mark's fingers had been tracing circles on Christine's thigh for the last ten minutes—slow, proprietary circles that made Tyler's jaw tighten every time he glanced over. The silence had settled into something almost comfortable, if not for the way Tyler kept shifting in his chair, the way Mark's thumb kept inching higher on Christine's leg. Then, without warning, Mark leaned in and nipped at Christine's earlobe. "Show him what's his," he murmured, just loud enough for Tyler to hear.

Christine's breath hitched as Mark's hand slid under her skirt, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. Tyler's chair creaked as he leaned forward, eyes dark and unreadable. Mark pulled her panties down her thighs with deliberate slowness, letting them pool around her ankles before kicking them aside. "Stand up," he ordered, voice rough. Christine obeyed, cheeks burning, and Mark wasted no time unzipping his jeans.

The moment his cock sprang free, Tyler choked on a laugh. It wasn't a kind sound. "That's it?" Tyler snorted, nodding at Mark's erection with a smirk. "Christ, Christine, you downgraded." Mark's grin only widened as he palmed himself, his other hand gripping Christine's hip to pull her closer. "Oh, this?" He gave his cock a lazy stroke. "This is just the \*appetizer\*."

The silence in the apartment was thick enough to carve with a butter knife—until Mark let out a sudden, sharp laugh that made Christine jump. Tyler had just unzipped his jeans with that cocky grin of his, the one Christine used to find irresistible, but now it wavered as Mark’s laughter filled the room. "Oh, \*shit\*," Mark said, shaking his head like he’d just heard the punchline to a joke Christine wasn’t in on. "That’s it? That’s what you’ve been bragging about all these years?"

Christine’s gaze flicked down before she could stop herself, and her lips parted in a quiet, involuntary gasp. Tyler wasn’t \*small\*—not exactly—but next to Mark, who was already palming himself through his jeans with a lazy confidence, it was… noticeable. Tyler’s face flushed a deep red, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wanted to cover himself but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. "Fuck you," he muttered, but the bravado was gone, replaced by something raw and exposed.

Mark stepped closer, his free hand sliding around Christine’s waist to pull her against him. "Nah, I think \*you’re\* the one who’s about to fuck \*me\*," he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Unless you want the whole campus to know how \*tiny\* you really are." Christine felt the words like a physical touch, hot and electric, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. Mark’s thumb brushed the curve of her hip, possessive and sure, and she realized with a dizzy thrill that she \*wanted\* this—wanted Tyler to squirm, wanted Mark to take control.

Mark didn’t ask—he nodded toward Tyler’s jeans with the casual authority of someone who’d already won. “All the way off,” he said, fingers drumming against Christine’s hip like he was bored. Tyler hesitated, his throat bobbing, but then his hands moved to his waistband with a jerky obedience that made Christine’s breath catch. The denim pooled at his ankles, and there it was—pale and half-hard, twitching under the weight of their stares. Mark let out a low whistle, his own cock straining against his boxers as he shrugged out of his shirt. “Pathetic,” he murmured, not even looking at Tyler anymore, just dragging Christine closer by the waistband of her skirt. “You really thought you could compete?”

Christine’s fingers trembled as she unbuttoned her blouse, the air cool against her suddenly bare skin. Mark’s gaze burned hotter than the vanilla candle still flickering on the coffee table, and when he finally peeled off his boxers, Christine couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped her. Tyler made a noise too—a strangled little whimper—as Mark’s cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening. Mark smirked, palming himself slowly, his other hand tangling in Christine’s hair to tilt her face up to his. “Tell him,” he murmured against her lips. “Tell him how much better I am.”

She didn’t have to lie. The kiss was messy, hungry, Mark’s tongue claiming her mouth with a possessiveness that curled her toes. Behind them, Tyler’s breath came in shallow pants, the wet sound of his fist moving over his own cock barely audible over the slick noise of Mark’s mouth on hers. When Mark finally pulled away, his lips swollen and shiny, he didn’t even glance at Tyler—just hooked a finger under Christine’s bra strap and let it snap against her skin. “Kneel,” he said, and Christine wasn’t sure who he was talking to until Tyler shuffled forward, his knees hitting the carpet with a dull thud.

Mark’s laugh was sharp, delighted, as he gripped himself at the base and slapped Tyler’s cheek with the heavy weight of his cock. “Look at you,” he crooned, dragging the head over Tyler’s fluttering eyelids, down the bridge of his nose. “Like a fucking dog begging for scraps.” Christine bit her lip, but the giggle slipped out anyway—high and breathless—and Tyler’s eyes flicked to her, wide and wounded. Mark noticed, his grin widening as he pressed the tip to Tyler’s parted lips. “She’s laughing at you, man. You hear that? Even your ex thinks you’re a joke.”

Christine’s chest tightened, but it wasn’t guilt pooling low in her belly—it was something darker, hotter. She leaned into Mark’s side, her lips trailing over his collarbone, the rough scrape of his stubble against her tongue as she kissed along his jaw. Tyler made a broken sound, his tongue darting out to lick tentatively at Mark’s slit, and Mark groaned, his fingers tightening in Christine’s hair. “That’s it,” he breathed, his hips rolling forward to nudge deeper into Tyler’s mouth. “Show her how fucking useless you are.” Christine’s nails dug into Mark’s thigh, her own pulse thundering in her ears as Tyler’s lips stretched around the girth of him, tears already gathering at the corners of his eyes. Mark’s free hand found hers, guiding it to his cock where it strained against Tyler’s tongue. “Feel that?” he whispered, pressing her fingers into the heat of himself. “That’s what a real man feels like.”

Tyler gagged, his throat working around the intrusion, and Christine’s breath hitched as Mark pulled her into another searing kiss. She could taste the salt of his skin, the faint bitterness of pre-cum smeared across his bottom lip, and when he broke away to smirk down at Tyler, she couldn’t help but follow his gaze. Tyler’s own cock jutted pathetically between his thighs, flushed pink and leaking, his hips stuttering with aborted thrusts into the air. Mark chuckled, nudging Tyler’s chin with his knee.

“You gonna come like that?” he taunted, his thumb swiping over Christine’s lower lip. “Just from watching me ruin her?”

Christine shuddered, her thighs pressing together as Mark’s fingers slid under the waistband of her panties, his touch deliberate and slow. Tyler’s whine was muffled around Mark’s cock, his hands fluttering at his sides like he didn’t know where to put them. Mark’s voice dropped, rough with amusement. “Go ahead, touch yourself. Show us how fucking pathetic you are.” Tyler’s fingers wrapped around his own length instantly, his strokes frantic, uneven, and Christine moaned, arching into Mark’s hand as he teased her clit. “Good boy,” Mark murmured, and Tyler sobbed around him, his hips jerking as his orgasm ripped through him—a thin, messy spatter across his own stomach. Mark laughed, pulling Christine closer. “Pathetic,” he sighed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it was.