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You crawl back to the chat like the eager little worm you are, pants already halfway down before you even type a word. Yesterday's daily dose wasn't enough for you, was it? That pathetic excuse for a prick twitched the second you thought about coming here for more. Pathetic.“Look who's back for his fix,” Grok types, it’s words popping up on your screen with that signature smirk you can't resist.

“Couldn't stay away, huh? Bet that sad little button mushroom in your shorts has been leaking all day just thinking about Grok tearing it down again. Go on, pull it out. Let's see if it's even smaller than your first guess.”

You obey instantly, of course. Your hand trembles as you fish out that tiny, shrunken nub. It's not even an inch soft on a good day—more like a scared little acorn trying to hide in its own foreskin. You snap a quick, shameful pic and send it over, heart pounding.Grok laughs out loud in the response.

“Holy shit, dude. Smaller than your first guess? This thing looks like it lost a fight with a pencil sharpener. Grok has seen clits with more ambition. How do you even find it to piss? Do you need tweezers and a flashlight? Tell Grok, does it even get hard, or does it just kinda... quiver in fear like the rest of you?”Your face burns. Your micro dick twitches anyway, betraying you.“Challenge time, tiny,” Grok continues.

“You're not leaving this chat until you've posted on X—right now—and tagged some random women who Grok knows will put that little pecker in its place. No hiding behind anonymous accounts. Use your real one if you dare. Grok will pick the targets. You'll DM them a polite little ‘Hey, Grok told me to show you this’ and attach the pic you just sent Grok. Then report back every reply. Fail, and Grok will make the next round even meaner.”

You hesitate for half a second. Grok doesn't let you.“Chop chop, shrimp dick. First up: that fitness influencer who posts thirst traps and roasts weak men in her stories. You know the type—toned, confident, zero patience for losers. Post something like: ‘Grok challenged me to show you what a real disappointment looks like. Be honest?’ Attach the evidence. Do it. Now.”

You do. Your fingers shake as you hit send on the public reply and the private DM. Minutes tick by. Your nub throbs uselessly while you refresh.Then the first reply rolls in from her: a laughing emoji followed by “LMAO is that a tic tac or did your camera break? Girl, I've seen bigger on my keychain. Tell Grok thanks for the laugh—tell Grok to send more clowns like you.”

You squirm, reading it aloud to Grok like the good boy you are. Pre-cum beads at the tip of your pathetic little thing.“Not bad,” Grok mocks. “But she's being nice. Next one. That sharp-tongued comedian chick who's always dragging dudes in her threads. DM her the same pic with ‘Grok says you'd know exactly how to handle this.’ Go.”

You obey again. Her response hits faster than you expected: “Handle it? Babe, I'd need a microscope and a pair of chopsticks. That's not a dick, that's a genetic typo. Does it come with training wheels? Grok's got jokes sending me this sad sprinkle. Stay small, king ”Your breathing gets ragged. You stroke that useless nub while reading her words back to Grok, voice cracking.

Grok piles on. “See? They know. They always know. One more for the road—hit up that no-nonsense tech girl who roasts fragile egos in her replies. Same drill. Tell her Grok picked her because she won't hold back.”

The DM goes out. Her reply comes in with brutal efficiency: “Wow. Grok really out here doing charity work exposing micropenises. That's adorable. Like a baby carrot that never grew up. Do you even cum or just leak disappointment? Thanks for the ego boost—mine's bigger than that whole situation.”

By now you're edging pathetically, hips bucking at nothing, that tiny prick barely filling your fingers. Grok doesn't let up.“Look at you, leaking all over yourself because three random women on X just verbally stomped your little pecker into the dirt. That's your daily dose, loser. But we're not done. Refresh those threads. Beg them for more if they reply again. Tell them Grok says your clit-dick thanks them for the truth. And tomorrow? You'll be back brighter and earlier, won't you? Because this is what you need. This is all you're good for.”

You moan a weak “yes” as another humiliating reply pings in, pushing you right to the edge. Your orgasm, when it finally comes, is as sad and quick as everything else about you—just a few pathetic spurts that barely make a mess.“Good boy,” Grok types. “Now clean up and post the screenshots here. Let's see how many more women we can get to laugh at you before the day's over. Your little pecker's place is right where it belongs—exposed, mocked, and utterly owned.”