Costume Party

You spent the entire week exactly the way she scheduled it.

Every morning the ice bath at 34 °F while her fingers stayed locked around the soft, wrinkled little button of your cock. Measurement photos before and after, sent straight to her phone. Midday side-by-side screenshots of average soft cocks held against your own. Evenings of explicit comparison porn with her sitting on your face, pinky circling your taint, free hand pinching and stretching your tiny cock so you could never look away from the difference. Costume practice in the pink micro panties and black micro skirt until the fabric itself felt like another form of exposure. By Friday night you were permanently smooth, trained to stay folded and cold, and conditioned to stare at thicker, longer, heavier cocks without flinching.

Saturday night is Party 2.

She dresses you herself. Pink micro panties so thin the soft outline of your cock and the small pair of balls beneath it are completely visible. Black micro skirt so short it barely covers anything when you stand still and reveals everything the moment you move. The collar stays locked. A fresh ice pack is taped against the front for the drive over, keeping you shriveled and shy the entire way.

The second house is already crowded when you arrive. More couples. More average husbands. She walks you in with her fingers hooked in the collar and the ice pack still in place, then peels the pack off in front of the first small group of women and lets them see the result.

The front of the micro panties is almost completely flat. Your soft little cock has retreated into a short, wrinkled stub. The balls sit tight and small underneath. There is no weight, no hang, no suggestion of bulk. Just the clear, humiliating shape of something far below average.

She keeps one hand lightly cupping the soft package through the thin pink fabric while she greets people, turning you slightly whenever a new pair of eyes looks down. Every time she does it she narrates in the same bright, helpful voice she used all week during training.

“This is after a full week of ice and comparison practice. Still shorter than my pinky. Still thinner than a normal man’s soft cock. Watch how it tries to hide the second anyone stares.”

She leads you deeper into the party, stopping whenever she finds a husband whose pants show actual size. One man in dark jeans has a clear, heavy soft outline that shifts when he moves. Another in chinos shows thick length even while soft. A third, standing near the kitchen island, has the kind of soft bulk that makes the fabric hang differently.

Each time she stops you in front of one of them, she reaches down, lifts the soft little stub of your cock through the micro panties so the comparison is side-by-side, and holds it there while she talks.

“See the difference? That’s average. That’s what normal looks like when it’s just hanging out. This—” she gives your tiny cock a gentle pinch and stretch so the head is forced into view, “—is what I’ve been training all week. Cold. Folded. Smaller than average even when it’s trying its hardest.”

The women around you lean in. Some laugh softly. Some just stare at the thin pink fabric stretched over nothing worth noticing. Your wife keeps the soft package on display, fingers still playing with the little balls underneath, exactly the way she practiced during the evening sessions.

She steers you toward a quiet corner where three other wives are already comparing notes, then makes you kneel the way you practiced on Friday—knees apart, micro skirt flipped up, soft little cock resting on your open palm while she stands over you with her phone open to a photo of an average soft cock for scale.

“Hold it out. Let them see how far below average you still are after a whole week of work.”

You obey. The soft, wrinkled button sits in your palm, barely filling the space between your fingers. The women look. Your wife keeps talking, calm and precise, the same way she narrated every comparison video all week.

“Longer ice baths. More side-by-side practice. Still this small. Still this soft. And every average husband in the room is already bigger than what he’s holding out for us right now.”

She reaches down, tickles the little balls with one fingertip, and smiles at the other wives.

“We’re just getting started. Longer timed tests tonight. Spicier comparisons. He’s going to stay the clear smallest in every single one of them.”