All Those in Favor of Kneeling

Marcus woke to the soft weight of a woman’s hand around his still-enlarged cock and the low murmur of conversation somewhere above him. Morning light filtered through heavy curtains. He was still on the platform in the master suite, Tom curled beside him with the tiny, smooth mound between his legs flushed from whatever teasing had continued while they dozed.

Ingrid Dietleifsen stood at the foot of the platform in a silk robe, flanked by Sandra and Claire. Two other women Marcus didn’t recognize completed the small audience. One of them held a small velvet box.

“Rise,” Ingrid said.

Marcus and Tom pushed themselves up onto their knees. The layered favors at their throats felt heavier in the daylight, as if the night’s use had settled them deeper into skin and mind.

Sandra opened the box. Inside lay several new necklaces—some pink-tinted cubes, some black, some the familiar green and red. She selected a pink-lettered strand and stepped in front of a third man who had been brought in while they slept: the tall IT tech who had received one of the first size-increasing favors. His cock still hung thick and heavy.

The pink clasp clicked shut.

The change was gradual but unmistakable. His shoulders softened slightly. His chest lost a fraction of its breadth. The heavy cock remained, but the way he held himself shifted—hips tilting, knees drawing closer together, a faint flush rising on newly smoother cheeks. When he spoke, his voice had lost a register.

“Oh…” he breathed, looking down at himself. “I feel… pretty.”

Sandra smiled. “Mild for now. Just enough to make the submission sweeter. You’ll still fuck when told, but you’ll also look prettier doing it. And you’ll want the panties we give you.”

She moved to another of the hung men and repeated the process. Softening. A subtle rounding of features. A new, quiet eagerness to please that went beyond the earlier obedience. Two more men received the pink favors. By the time she finished, four of the larger-cocked men carried the mild sissification overlay—still capable of hard, deep fucking, but with softer eyes, smoother skin, and a growing awareness of how they looked while on their knees.

Tom watched with wide, glassy eyes. Sandra considered him, then shook her head.

“You’re already where we want you. Tiny and useful. No need to pretty you further yet.”

She turned to Marcus. “You keep the size. But you’ll help with the new boys.”

Ingrid gestured. “Downstairs. The remaining guests who stayed overnight are waiting. Today is for reinforcement.”

They were led down the grand staircase. The main salon had been partially restored, but low platforms and cushions remained. A dozen women lounged with coffee and the casual confidence of people who owned every man in the room. Several of the shrunken men from the night before already knelt in various corners, some wearing nothing but the red-lettered favors and small pink collars. A few of the newly softened hung men had been dressed in white lace panties that strained around their still-large cocks, the incongruity deliberate and erotic.

Sandra clapped once. “Morning rotation. Soft boys on the center platform—present those pretty cocks. Tiny boys, form a circle around them. Hung boys who are still fully masculine, you’re on standby for the ladies who want to be properly filled… and for the soft boys who need to be reminded what a hard cock feels like.”

Marcus felt the last part settle into him like an order. Some of the huge-cock men would be allowed—required—to take other men. Random maledom under female direction.

He was pointed to the side of the platform. Two of the pink-favored men were already there on all fours, lace panties pulled aside, large cocks hanging heavy beneath them. Claire stepped up behind one and gave his ass a light slap.

“Marcus. You’re first. Show him what that upgraded cock can do while the rest of us watch.”

Marcus moved without hesitation. The favors made the act feel natural, even necessary. He positioned himself behind the softened IT tech, rubbed the thick head along the lace-framed cleft, and pushed in slowly. The man beneath him moaned—high, sweet, startled by how full he suddenly was.

“That’s it,” Claire said, circling them. “Deep. Make him feel every inch. And you—” she addressed the man being fucked “—keep that pretty cock hard for us while he uses you. You’re going to come from being taken, not from fucking anyone yourself this round.”

Marcus established a steady rhythm. The contrast was sharp: his fully masculine frame driving into the newly softened body, the lace panties stretched around the place where they joined, the hanging cock of the man beneath him swinging with every thrust. Women gathered closer, offering commentary that mixed praise and mild sissification.

“Look how nicely he takes it. Those soft hips were made for this.”

“Keep your back arched, pretty boy. Show us that cock bouncing while you’re filled.”

“Marcus, harder. He needs to understand he can be both hung and owned.”

The man beneath him came first, untouched, spilling across the platform in long pulses while Marcus continued to fuck him through it. Only when Claire gave the word did Marcus bury himself deep and empty into the softened body. He pulled out slowly, watching the evidence drip onto the lace.

“Good,” Claire said. “Next soft boy. Same treatment.”

Marcus moved to the second pink-favored man and repeated the process. This one was more vocal, soft gasps turning into open moans as the thick cock stretched him. Between thrusts Marcus was ordered to reach under and stroke the man’s still-large cock in time with his hips, forcing the dual sensation of being filled and stroked at once. The man came hard, panties soaked, while Marcus kept pounding until he was allowed his own release.

Around them the rest of the room followed similar patterns. Tiny-cocked men were arranged on their backs so women could stand over them and grind against the sensitive stubs while delivering continuous SPH. Some of the soft hung boys were put on their knees to suck the fully masculine hung men under direct female orders—“Make it pretty, use your tongue like a good girl, eyes up.” The mild sissification made the acts feel natural to them; they blushed and obeyed and stayed hard the entire time.

Tom was placed in the center of a small circle of women who took turns sitting on his face while idly pinching and stretching what remained of his cock. Every time he whimpered they reminded him how small he was, how he would never fuck anyone properly again, how his mouth and fingers were his only remaining tools. Marcus caught Tom’s eye once across the room and saw only dazed, aroused acceptance.

The morning stretched into early afternoon. Favors were adjusted. A few more pink strands were handed out, softening two additional men just enough to make them preen when panties were slid up their legs. One of the largest-cocked men—still fully masculine—was directed to fuck a newly softened boy while a woman sat on the soft boy’s face, creating a tight chain of use. Marcus was rotated into similar configurations more than once: sometimes the one delivering the maledom, sometimes ordered to hold a soft boy open for another hung man, always under the clear direction of the women.

At one point Sandra brought out a small case of makeup. Nothing heavy—just lip tint, a touch of mascara, a soft wash of blush. She applied it to the four pink-favored men while they knelt. The effect was subtle but unmistakable. Soft mouths looked softer. Eyes looked prettier. When they were told to stand and present their lace-covered cocks, the mild sissification made the display feel like something they wanted to do well.

“Beautiful,” Ingrid murmured. “Still able to stretch a woman properly, but so much more pleasing to look at while they submit. Keep them like this for the rest of the day.”

Lunch was served on the men’s bodies. Tiny-cocked men lay on low tables while women ate sushi and fruit from their stomachs and chests, occasionally pausing to slap or stretch a sensitive stub. Soft hung boys were made to hold platters, cocks hard and leaking against the lace, while the fully masculine hung men—including Marcus—were allowed to eat only after they had each fucked at least one soft boy or eaten at least one woman to orgasm.

Marcus lost track of how many times he came. The green favors kept him ready. Every time he emptied into a soft boy or a woman he was given only a few minutes before the next order arrived. The maledom moments remained random and directed: never the men’s idea, always a woman’s command. “Marcus, take him. Slow and deep. Make him thank you.” “Now switch. Let him feel the difference between you and the tiny ones.”

Mid-afternoon brought a new set of instructions. The soft boys were bent over a long banquette, panties pulled aside, and the fully masculine hung men were lined up behind them. Women walked the line, deciding who fucked whom and for how long. Marcus was assigned two soft boys in succession. He fucked the first while the second was made to watch and describe how full his friend looked. Then he switched. Between them a tiny-cocked man was ordered to kneel and lick the place where Marcus’s cock disappeared, tasting both men at once while women laughed and added fresh humiliation.

Tom was brought over for a special demonstration. Sandra had him kneel in front of Marcus while Marcus was still buried in one of the soft boys.

“Look at the difference,” she told the room. “One cock thick enough to rearrange a pretty boy’s insides. One reduced to a little button that can’t even feel penetration. Tom, open your mouth. You’re going to clean Marcus every time he pulls out.”

Marcus fucked the soft boy in long strokes, pulling almost all the way free so Tom could lean in and lick the slick shaft before Marcus pushed back in. The dual attention—tight heat around his cock, eager tongue on the withdrawal—pushed him over the edge again. He came deep, held still while Tom was ordered to lick around the base and the soft boy’s stretched rim, then pulled out so Tom could clean him properly.

The soft boy came untouched from the combination of being filled and displayed. Marcus was rotated to the next task before the aftershocks had fully faded.

By late afternoon the party had settled into a steady rhythm of use. Women came and went from private rooms, always returning with fresh orders. Marcus found himself in one of those rooms with Ingrid, Claire, and two of the soft hung boys. The soft boys were dressed only in the white lace panties and the light makeup; their large cocks tented the front obscenely.

Ingrid pointed to the rug.

“Marcus. On your back. One pretty boy on your cock, the other on your face. They’ll ride until I say stop. You will not come until both of them have finished at least twice.”

He obeyed. The first soft boy sank down onto his thick cock with a grateful, feminine sigh. The second straddled his mouth, lace pulled aside, and settled his weight. Marcus licked and thrust upward under strict female timing. Claire walked around them, occasionally spanking a soft ass or pinching a nipple, keeping both pink-favored men focused on their own pleasure while they used Marcus as furniture.

“Such good boys,” she murmured. “Taking what you’re given. Looking so pretty while you do it.”

The soft boy on his cock came first, pulsing around the thick shaft. Marcus held still until Claire ordered him to keep thrusting. The one on his face followed soon after, coating his tongue. They switched places without being told. Marcus endured, the green favors keeping him rigid even as the need to come became painful. Only when both men had finished a second time did Ingrid give permission. Marcus came hard upward into the soft boy currently riding him, hips jerking, while the other continued to grind against his mouth.

They stayed in place until Ingrid was satisfied. Then the soft boys were dismissed with a pat and a reminder to keep the panties on. Marcus was left on his back, cock still twitching, while Ingrid and Claire discussed the next phase in calm voices.

“The sissification is holding nicely,” Claire observed. “Mild enough that they’ll still perform with women, strong enough that the submission feels natural.”

“And the random maledom keeps the fully masculine ones invested,” Ingrid added. “They get to use the soft boys when we allow it, which reinforces that even their dominance is on our terms.”

She looked down at Marcus. “You’re doing well. Up. There’s one more group waiting.”

The final group of the afternoon occupied the library. Tom and three other tiny-cocked men were arranged on cushions. Two soft hung boys knelt nearby in their lace. Three fully masculine hung men, Marcus included, stood waiting.

Sandra issued the orders with cheerful precision.

“Tiny boys on their backs. Soft boys, sit on their faces and stay hard. Hung boys, pick a tiny one and fuck the soft boy while he’s sitting there. Make the tiny ones feel every thrust through the body above them. And keep the SPH going the entire time.”

Marcus chose the cushion where Tom lay. One of the soft boys settled over Tom’s face, lace pulled aside. Marcus stepped up behind the soft boy, rubbed the head of his cock along the cleft, and pushed in. Tom’s muffled sound vibrated through the soft boy’s body. Marcus established a deep, steady rhythm, each thrust rocking the soft boy forward onto Tom’s mouth.

Claire crouched beside them and addressed Tom directly.

“Feel that? That’s a real cock moving inside someone while you’re stuck underneath with nothing but a little button between your legs. You’re never going to fuck anyone like this again. Your job is to lick and take whatever we put on you. Say it.”

Tom’s reply was muffled but obedient. Marcus kept thrusting, the dual awareness of the soft body around his cock and the helpless man beneath feeding the green-favor heat. When the soft boy came, Marcus was ordered to keep going until he finished as well. He buried himself deep and pulsed, filling the lace-framed heat while Tom continued to lick underneath.

The pattern repeated across the library. Soft moans, wet sounds, the steady stream of femdom instruction and mild sissification mixed with pointed humiliation for the tiny men. Marcus was rotated twice more before Sandra called an end to the session.

Evening settled over the house. Most of the overnight guests prepared to leave, but the men with favors were kept behind. Ingrid addressed them from the main staircase while they knelt in a loose semicircle—some soft and lace-clad, some tiny and collared, some still fully masculine and heavy-cocked.

“The party is over. The effects are not. You will return to work Monday with the favors still active. Soft boys will wear the panties under their clothes. Tiny boys will remember their place every time they look down. Hung boys will stay ready for whoever claims them. Random assignments will continue. Questions are unnecessary.”

She descended the stairs and stopped in front of Marcus. Her fingers traced the layered cubes at his throat, then drifted down to give his thick cock a single proprietary stroke.

“You in particular will report to my office at nine. Bring Tom. I have further plans for the contrast.”

Marcus nodded. The favors made the order feel like the most natural thing in the world.

Cars arrived. Women left in ones and twos, some with a final use of a mouth or a cock before they walked out. The men remained on their knees until the last car pulled away.

Sandra locked the door, turned back to the assembled group, and smiled.

“Upstairs. Showers, then sleep where you’re told. Tomorrow you start learning how the favors work in ordinary life.”

Marcus rose on stiff legs. His cock still hung heavy, the green-lettered influence permanent for now. Beside him Tom stood on unsteady feet, the tiny smooth mound between his legs a constant reminder of how far the red favors had taken him. Two of the soft boys adjusted their lace panties with small, automatic gestures, cheeks still faintly tinted from the makeup that had not been fully removed.

They climbed the stairs together under Sandra’s watchful eye. The house felt larger in the sudden quiet, every corridor a reminder of what had been done and what would continue.

In the master suite the platform had been replaced by a row of simple mattresses. Marcus was pointed to one. Tom was placed beside him. The soft boys were given a shared mattress at the foot of the bed where Ingrid would sleep. The remaining men were distributed through adjoining rooms.

Lights dimmed. The favors pulsed once, warm and final, settling the day’s lessons deeper.

Marcus closed his eyes. The weight of his enlarged cock against his thigh felt permanent. The memory of the soft boys taking him, of Tom’s muffled humiliation, of the steady female voices directing every act—those felt permanent too.

Somewhere in the quiet house a soft boy sighed in his sleep, lace shifting. Somewhere a tiny-cocked man whimpered as a residual wave of sensitivity passed through him.

Marcus drifted off to the low certainty that Monday would bring more of the same—femdom, submission, the mild sissification of the pretty ones, and the random, directed maledom of the heavy-cocked men who were still allowed to take others when the women ordered it.

The favors would see to it.