Submit to the Algorithm and to Sarah

Sarah led you down the hallway by the hand, still wearing only your open button-down. The soft fabric brushed her thighs with every step; her pussy was still glossy from the orgasm she’d just taken on your little cock. Behind you the phone kept buzzing with new replies—ratings, laughing emojis, one guy asking if your wife needed a real dick for the night. She ignored them for now.

In the bedroom she flicked on the bedside lamp, low and warm, then turned to face you. Her hazel eyes were bright with that new, hungry focus.

“Clothes off. All of them. Then on the bed, on your back, legs open.”

You stripped. Your cock—still hard, still only about two and a half inches—stood up against your lower belly, shiny with her cum and your own pre. Sarah watched it bob as you climbed onto the mattress and spread your thighs. She climbed up after you, kneeling between your legs, and rested both palms on your inner thighs, pinning them wider.

“Look at it,” she said softly. “Still trying so hard. Still so fucking small.”

She took it between thumb and forefinger again, the same clinical grip she’d used on the couch, and gave it a few slow, teasing strokes. The head flushed darker. A fresh bead of pre welled up. She smeared it around with her thumb, then leaned down and licked it off in one deliberate swipe of her tongue. The wet heat made your hips jerk; she simply pressed your thighs harder into the mattress.

“No thrusting. You’re not big enough for that to matter anyway.”

Sarah sat up, stripped the shirt off, and tossed it aside. Fully naked now—full 36Ds, tight waist, wide hips, that smooth puffy pussy still swollen and shiny—she crawled forward until she was straddling your chest, her wet cunt hovering just above your face.

“Clean me properly this time. Slow. I want to feel every swipe of that tongue while I decide what to do with my new toy.”

You licked. She tasted stronger now, richer, mixed with the faint salt of your earlier leaking. Sarah hummed in approval and reached back, wrapping her fingers around your little cock again. She stroked it idly while you worked, her grip loose and almost dismissive, occasionally giving the shaft a light slap that made it bounce and leak onto your stomach.

After a minute she shifted, turning around so she was facing your feet in a reverse position. Her ass and pussy settled over your mouth again; her face hovered above your cock. She didn’t suck it. She just breathed on it, then spoke against the sensitive head.

“I’m going to edge this little thing until you’re shaking. Every time you get close I’m going to stop and remind you exactly what you are. And when I finally let you come, it’s going to be on my terms—probably while you’re reading more of those comments out loud.”

She started stroking in earnest now: short, tight pulls that focused on the head and the first inch of shaft, the only parts that really mattered. Her other hand reached back to keep your face pressed into her cunt. You licked deeper, tongue working her clit the way she liked. Sarah’s breathing roughened.

“That’s it… good clitty boy. Keep that tongue busy while Mommy plays with her little softie.”

She edged you for what felt like forever. Every time your cock swelled and twitched and you started to whimper, she stopped completely, pinched the base lightly, and waited until the urgency faded. Then she resumed. Between edges she picked up her phone, scrolled the replies that had piled up, and read the meanest ones in a calm, almost affectionate voice.

“‘Looks like a thumb.’

‘Wife deserves better.’

‘Bet it disappears when she sits on it.’

‘Cute little clit, 2/10, would laugh while fucking her.’”

Each one made your cock jump in her hand. Sarah laughed softly every time.

“They’re not wrong,” she murmured, giving the head a slow twist. “You really are perfect like this. I spent six years pretending size didn’t matter. Now I know the truth—the smaller you are, the wetter I get.”

She finally swung around again so she was straddling your hips, facing you. She didn’t sink down onto your cock. Instead she reached between her legs, collected more of her wetness, and started rubbing her swollen clit against the short, slick length of you—using your entire cock like a soft, inadequate little toy. The friction was mostly against your pubic bone and the base. Your cockhead kept slipping and disappearing between her folds.

“Feel that? You’re not fucking me. You’re just… there. A soft little bump for me to grind on while I get myself off.”

She rode that way, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, eyes locked on yours. Her tits swayed. Her breathing turned into low, satisfied moans. Every so often she would reach down, give your cock a few quick, almost pitying strokes, then go back to grinding.

“I’m going to come again,” she told you. “And when I do, you’re going to stay hard. No finishing yet. After that you’re going to post another picture—this time of my cum still drying on your little dick—and you’re going to caption it whatever I dictate. Then we’ll decide whether you get to come at all tonight… or whether you just get to watch me use a bigger toy while you hold yourself and stay soft.”

She ground down harder. Her clit dragged over your cockhead again and again. Her thighs started to tremble.

“Tell me what you are while I come on this pathetic little thing.”

You choked the words out, voice cracking:

“I’m your small-dicked husband… your clitty boy… I get hard from being laughed at and rated and ignored…”

Sarah’s orgasm hit hard. She clamped her thighs around your hips, ground her dripping pussy against your cock and lower belly, and came with a deep, rolling moan, coating you in fresh wetness. Your little cock twitched helplessly underneath her, still hard, still untouched enough to finish.

When the aftershocks faded she stayed seated on you for a moment, catching her breath, then looked down at the mess she’d made of your cock and stomach. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face.

“Good boy.” She patted your cheek, then reached for her phone again. “Now… time for your next post. And after that, we’re going to talk about rules. Permanent ones.”

She climbed off, stretched out beside you, and pulled you against her soft, warm body so your still-hard little cock pressed against her thigh.

“The algorithm brought you to me,” she whispered against your ear, one hand lazily stroking your short shaft. “And I’m never giving you back.”

Her fingers stayed loose and unhurried, just enough pressure to keep you throbbing, never enough to let you finish. Every few strokes she paused to smear the fresh bead of pre across the head with her thumb, watching it glisten in the low lamp light.

“You’re still leaking,” she murmured, almost fond. “Even after I came all over it. Such a needy little clitty.”

She shifted closer, draping one long leg over yours so her warm, slick pussy rested against your hip. Her free hand slid up your chest, then higher, fingers threading into your hair and gently but firmly turning your face toward hers.

“Look at me.”

You did. Her hazel eyes were soft and predatory at the same time.

“From tonight on, this—” she gave your cock a deliberate little squeeze that made the whole short length disappear inside her fist “—belongs to me. Not to the algorithm. Not to those anonymous accounts. To me. I’m going to decide when it gets touched, when it gets ignored, when it gets shown off, and when it gets laughed at. Understood?”

You nodded, voice caught somewhere in your throat.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes… it belongs to you.”

“Good.” She resumed the slow stroking, her grip still almost casual. “Now we’re going to make your next post together. Phone.”

You reached for it with a shaky hand. She took it from you, unlocked it with your face, and opened the camera. Then she guided your hand so you were holding your cock between two fingers again—exactly the same scale shot as before, only now it was shiny and sticky with her cum, the head flushed dark, a thin string of pre still connecting to her fingertips.

“Perfect,” she said. “Caption this exactly: ‘Wife came on it twice already. Still only this big. She says it’s her favorite toy now because it’s so easy to ignore. Rate it again so she can read the mean ones while she decides whether I get to come tonight.’”

You typed it. She watched every letter, then made you add the relevant tags and post it to the same places as before. The moment it went live the first replies started trickling in. Sarah propped the phone on your chest so both of you could see, then went back to lazily playing with your cock while she read them aloud in that calm, amused voice.

“‘Still a micro. 1/10.’

‘She’s settling hard.’

‘Bet she could fit two fingers in beside it and not even notice.’

‘Cute little wet wipe. Hope she keeps him.’”

Each new comment made your cock jump in her hand. Sarah smiled every time, occasionally giving the head a soft slap or a dismissive flick with her nail.

“They’re right,” she said quietly. “I could fit two fingers in beside you and barely feel the difference. Maybe we’ll try that tomorrow.” She leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth, soft and claiming. “But right now I want something else.”

She rolled onto her back, pulled you over her so you were between her thighs again, and guided your face down.

“Eat me until I come one more time. Keep that little cock pressed against the sheets—no humping. If I feel you trying to get friction I’ll stop and lock it up for the rest of the week. Clear?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

You swallowed. The new dynamic was already settling into your bones.

“…Yes, Mommy.”

Sarah’s smile turned razor-sharp with pleasure.

“That’s my good little clitty boy. Now put that tongue to work.”

You lowered your mouth between her legs. She was still soaked, the taste of her earlier orgasms mixed with the faint salt of your own pre. Her fingers stayed in your hair, guiding the pace—slow circles around her clit, long flat strokes through her folds, the occasional firm suck that made her thighs tighten around your head. Every time your hips twitched involuntarily against the mattress she gave a quiet warning hum and pressed your face deeper.

Minutes stretched. Her breathing grew heavier. She started talking again, voice low and filthy, timed to the rhythm of your tongue.

“That’s it… clean up the mess you made when you came inside me without even stretching me. God, you’re perfect like this. Soft little dick, eager little tongue, completely mine. Tomorrow I’m going to measure you properly in front of the mirror and post the numbers. Then we’ll see if those clubs still think it’s cute… or if they start recommending chastity.”

She came with a long, shuddering moan, hips lifting, thighs clamping around your ears as fresh wetness coated your chin and mouth. You kept licking through it until she finally pushed your head away with a soft, satisfied laugh.

Sarah pulled you up the bed and into her arms again. Your cock was still hard, still leaking, pressed against her soft thigh. She reached down and gave it one last slow stroke, then simply held it, warm and possessive.

“You’re not coming tonight,” she decided, voice gentle but absolute. “You’re going to fall asleep with this little thing aching, and in the morning I’m going to decide whether you get relief or whether we start day one of official ownership with a cage. Either way…” She kissed your forehead. “The algorithm was right. And now so am I.”

She reached over, turned off the lamp, and settled you against her chest, one hand still loosely wrapped around your short, throbbing cock like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Sleep, baby. Mommy’s got you.”

Your cock stayed hard long after her breathing evened out—two and a half inches of helpless, aching truth trapped in her fingers—while on the nightstand the phone kept lighting up with new ratings, new laughter, and new confirmation that the rabbit hole had finally closed behind you for good.

The algorithm had delivered you.

Sarah had claimed you.

And there was no going back.