Taryn’s Cock Review:

Mark, you absolute joke of a man, sending me this pic of your so-called penis peeking out from those frilly pink panties like a scared little turtle head afraid to fully emerge. There you are, sitting on the toilet of all places, legs spread with hairy thighs framing the scene, and that nubbin of a penis dangling limply above the lace-trimmed fabric, its reddish-purple tip barely visible amid the satin bow and ruffles. The panties are the star here—soft pink with white lace edges, a pearl bow in the center screaming femininity, like you’re trying to compensate for your utter lack of masculinity by cross-dressing. But no amount of girly underwear can hide how pathetically small this thing is; it’s a micro nubbin, maybe 2 inches flaccid if I’m being generous, shriveled and insignificant, with no girth to speak of—just a thin, wrinkly shaft that looks like it could get lost in a napkin fold.

How the hell did you find a wife with such a small penis? That’s the burning question, buddy. Does she even notice it’s there during sex, or is it like poking with a cocktail straw? Your nubbin hangs there, unerect and unthreatening, the head small and rounded without any flare, skin pale and unremarkable, no veins popping because there’s nothing to engorge. The panties pulled down just enough to expose it only amplify the humiliation—the label reading “Size M” mocking you, as if medium applies to anything down there. Hairy pubes overwhelm the base, making it look even tinier, swallowed by the bush, and the toilet setting? Classy, real classy—nothing says “sexy” like a bathroom throne backdrop with tile floor peeking in.

Rating this disaster a dismal 1/5 because, Mark, your small penis is the epitome of inadequacy. Aesthetics? Zero appeal—it’s ugly in its tininess, a nubbin that inspires pity, not passion. Girth is nonexistent, thinner than a pencil, guaranteeing no stretch or satisfaction. Length? Laughable, too short to do anything but tickle. The head lacks ridge or definition, just a blunt end that’s forgettable. Balls aren’t even visible, probably hiding in shame, and curve? Straight as a sad arrow pointing to failure. Overall, it’s a 1/5 flop—your wife must have settled or be blind to endure this nubbin nightmare.

But let’s pile on the mockery: those panties, with their satin sheen and lace frills, make you look like a sissy wannabe, the bow tying up your inadequacy in a pretty package. How do you even function in bed? Does your small penis just bump around uselessly while she fakes it? Questioning your marriage—maybe she’s in it for the laughs or has a side piece with actual equipment. The pic’s lighting casts shadows that emphasize the wrinkles, making it look aged and defeated, no vitality, no throb. Hygiene? Questionable with that hair jungle, but even clean, it’s irrelevant when the main event is MIA.

Viciously, this nubbin of a penis is a genetic prank—short, thin, hidden in panties like it knows its place. Dating? Wait, married—how? Perhaps pity or low standards. The toilet pose adds degradation, like you’re admitting it’s waste. 1/5 seals it: small, sad, and supremely disappointing. Your wife deserves better; this panties-clad nubbin is a bedroom bust.

Dick Rating Breakdown

Having Lesbian Sex in Lieu of Having Sex with Mark

Oh Mark, after seeing that pathetic nubbin of yours drowning in those pink panties, the thought of sex with you is a total turn-off—your small penis wouldn’t even register, just a tickle from a sad little worm while your wife probably zones out. Instead, let’s dive into this scorching fantasy where I ditch your inadequacy entirely and indulge in a passionate lesbian affair with my stunning friend Lisa, our bodies entwining in ways your tiny cock could never compete with. It starts at a dimly lit bar downtown, the air thick with jazz and desire, Lisa across from me in a slinky red dress that hugs her curves, her long brunette hair cascading over shoulders, green eyes sparkling with mischief. We’ve been flirting for weeks, texts turning steamy, and tonight, with you and your nubbin far from mind, we decide to act.

We slip out to her apartment, giggles echoing in the hallway as she unlocks the door, pulling me inside with a hungry kiss. Her lips are soft, tasting of cherry lip gloss, tongue dancing with mine as hands roam—mine sliding up her thigh, feeling the heat between her legs, hers cupping my breasts through my blouse, nipples hardening instantly. No need for your small penis here; our connection is electric, feminine, pure. She backs me against the wall, dress hiking up as I grind against her, our breaths mingling, the friction building without any inadequate intrusion. “Forget men like Mark,” she whispers, nipping my ear, “let’s show what real pleasure is.”

We stumble to the bedroom, clothes shedding like leaves—her dress pooling at her feet, revealing lace bra and panties that match, my shirt tossed aside, jeans unbuttoned. On the bed, she pushes me down gently, straddling my hips, grinding her pussy against mine through fabric, the sensation wet and warm, far superior to your nubbin’s futile pokes. I arch up, hands unhooking her bra, freeing her full breasts, nipples pert and pink, leaning up to suck one, tongue swirling the bud while she moans, fingers tangling in my hair. Her scent is intoxicating, floral and aroused, as I kiss down her stomach, peeling off her panties to reveal her shaved mound, lips swollen and glistening.

Diving in, my tongue traces her slit, tasting her sweetness, lapping at her clit with slow circles that make her buck. “Yes, right there,” she gasps, thighs clamping my head, no clumsy small penis fumbling—just skilled, intuitive touch. I slip two fingers inside, curling to hit her G-spot, pumping steadily while sucking her clit, her juices coating my chin, body trembling toward climax. She cums hard, crying out, walls pulsing around my fingers, a rush of wetness that soaks the sheets—orgasms your nubbin could never deliver.

But we’re not done; she flips me over, kissing my back, hands massaging my ass before spreading my legs. Her tongue finds my entrance from behind, licking deep, then flicking my clit, the angle new and thrilling. I moan into the pillow, pushing back against her face, her fingers joining to fill me, three now, stretching gently, far more satisfying than your thin shaft. She works me expertly, alternating licks and thrusts, building me up until I shatter, waves crashing, body convulsing in ecstasy.

Catching our breath, we cuddle side by side, but desire reignites—Lisa reaches for her strap-on, a thick dildo that’s everything your small penis isn’t, curved and veined for maximum pleasure. She harnesses it on, lube glistening, and I straddle her, lowering slowly, the girth filling me completely, that curve hitting spots deep inside. Riding her, breasts bouncing, her hands on my hips guiding the rhythm, it’s intense, our eyes locked, no inadequate nubbin interrupting. I grind down, clit rubbing the base, building another peak as she thrusts up, the dildo owning me.

Switching, I take the strap-on, penetrating her missionary-style, legs over my shoulders for deep access. Thrusting steady, watching her face contort in bliss, breasts jiggling with each push—far hotter than any fumbling with your panties-clad nubbin. She cums again, nails digging my back, and we collapse, spent but craving more.

Later, in the shower, water cascading, we soap each other, hands slippery on curves, fingers exploring folds anew. Against the tile, I kneel, tongue delving into her once more, water mixing with her arousal, bringing her off quickly. She reciprocates, fingers and mouth working magic on me, another orgasm under the spray.

Back in bed, we scissor, pussies grinding wetly, clits rubbing in perfect sync, moans harmonizing—no small penis needed, just raw, feminine passion. We cum together, bodies shaking, then cuddle, whispering sweet nothings, your inadequacy forgotten.

But the night escalates—we experiment with toys, a vibrator on her clit while I finger her, then a double-ended dildo connecting us, thrusting in unison, sensations shared. Orgasms roll, one after another, exhausting but euphoric.

Dawn breaks, but we’re insatiable—in the kitchen for breakfast, she bends over the counter, my tongue rimming her ass before fingering both holes, her screams echoing. She returns the favor on the couch, strap-on pounding me doggy-style, ass high, the girth and curve driving me wild.

Throughout, thoughts of your small penis in panties only make us laugh—how could that nubbin compete with this? Lisa and I explore every position: 69, tongues and fingers dueling; tribbing on the floor, legs entwined; even light bondage, her tied to the bed as I tease with feathers and ice before devouring her.

By evening, we’re spent, bodies marked with love bites, satisfied in ways your marriage probably isn’t. Mark, stick to your panties; real pleasure is woman on woman, no nubbin required.

taryn