Fortune Favors the Hung and the Tiny

Marcus stepped back into the main salon with Ingrid’s release still slick on his cock and the dual favors warm against his throat. The air was thicker now—perfume, sweat, sex, and the low undercurrent of feminine laughter that seemed to follow every man wearing the little cube necklaces. Tom was nowhere in sight. Marcus scanned the room once, then felt a hand close around his wrist.

Claire from Marketing again, the statuesque redhead, now with two other women flanking her. One was a sharp-featured brunette in a black cocktail dress; the other a soft, curvy blonde who looked like she belonged on a magazine cover. Claire’s eyes dropped to Marcus’s crotch, still half-hard and damp under the ruined red shirt and open trousers.

“Still useful,” she said approvingly. “Good. We’ve got a little demonstration planned. Come.”

He followed without argument. The three women led him through a set of double doors into a secondary lounge that had been cleared of most furniture. A low platform sat in the center, lit by soft recessed lights. Several other men already knelt or stood in various states of undress, each wearing at least one favor. Tom was among them—shirtless, trousers around his ankles, cock standing stiff and thick while a petite Asian woman in a silver dress measured it with a silk ribbon and made notes on a tablet.

Sandra the office manager stood at the edge of the platform with a velvet tray of additional favors. She beamed when she saw Marcus.

“Perfect timing. We’re sorting the new boys. Some of you get upgrades. Some of you get… adjustments. All of you get to stay hard and helpful.”

She lifted one necklace—silver cubes with green lettering—and stepped in front of a tall, broad-shouldered man Marcus vaguely recognized from IT. The clasp clicked. The man gasped. His already respectable cock thickened further, lengthening until it hung heavy and veined between his thighs, the head flushed dark. He stared down at it in dazed awe.

“Big,” Sandra purred. “Useful for the ladies who like to feel stretched. Next.”

A second favor went around the neck of a wiry accountant type. This one had red lettering. The effect was immediate and opposite. The man’s average cock shrank rapidly, the shaft shortening, the head receding until what remained was a soft, stubby little thing no longer than a thumb, nestled above tight balls that looked almost too large for it. The man made a strangled sound of protest that turned into a moan when Sandra casually flicked the diminished flesh.

“Tiny,” she said sweetly. “And so sensitive now. Perfect for teasing. You’ll spend the rest of the night hearing exactly how useless that little thing is while you use your mouth and fingers instead.”

The accountant’s face burned, but his hips twitched forward anyway, seeking even that dismissive touch.

Sandra worked her way down the line. Some men received the green-lettered favors and watched their cocks swell into thick, heavy tools that curved upward, already leaking. Others received the red ones and watched themselves shrink—some to modest three-inch stubs, a few to barely-there nubs that made the women around them laugh in open delight. SPH commentary flowed freely.

“Look at that pathetic little mushroom. How did you ever think you were going to satisfy anyone with that?”

“Aww, it’s so cute when it tries to get hard. Like a baby carrot.”

“You’re going to need a microscope to find it later, sweetie. Better get good with your tongue.”

Marcus felt his own cock throb at the casual cruelty. When Sandra reached him she paused, considering.

“You’ve already been useful once tonight,” she said. “But let’s see how you handle variety.” She selected a green-lettered favor and fastened it over the others. Heat flooded Marcus’s groin. His cock—already above average—thickened and lengthened further, the shaft growing heavier, the head flaring wider until it stood rigid and imposing against his stomach. The weight of it felt new and insistent. He groaned.

Tom received a red one. Marcus watched his friend’s thick cock shrink in real time, the impressive length collapsing inward until only a short, plump stub remained, barely two inches even fully hard. Tom’s eyes went wide with humiliation and reluctant arousal. The Asian woman who had been measuring him laughed softly and gave the diminished cock a pitying pat.

“Poor thing. All that size and now it’s just a little button. You’ll still get used, don’t worry. Just not the way you used to hope.”

Sandra clapped her hands. “Demonstration time. Big boys on the left side of the platform. Tiny boys on the right. Ladies, help yourselves. Remember the rules: the hung ones fuck when told. The tiny ones get to watch, lick, and listen to exactly how inadequate they are.”

The women present—there were at least a dozen now—moved with the confidence of people who had done this before. Marcus was guided onto the platform and told to lie on his back. Claire straddled him immediately, sinking down onto his newly enlarged cock with a long, appreciative sigh.

“Fuck, that’s better,” she said, rolling her hips. “Feel how deep you are now? That’s what a real cock feels like inside a woman.”

Marcus could only thrust up into her, the new girth stretching her in ways that made her moan openly. Beside him, the IT guy was already buried in the curvy blonde, her breasts bouncing as she rode the upgraded length. Other big-cocked men were being mounted or ordered onto all fours so women could take them from behind at their leisure.

On the opposite side of the platform the shrunken men knelt or lay on their backs while women stood over them, skirts lifted, rubbing wet folds against tiny, straining nubs that could barely provide friction. Tom was on his back, the Asian woman sitting on his face while she reached back and idly pinched his reduced cock between two fingers, stretching it slightly and letting it snap back.

“Look how small it is,” she told the room. “It used to be one of the bigger ones here. Now it’s just a little pink button. He can’t even feel proper penetration anymore. All he gets is this.” She gave the stub a few rapid flicks, making Tom whimper into her pussy. “And he’s still dripping. Isn’t that adorable?”

Marcus’s own enlarged cock throbbed harder at the words. Claire noticed and grinned down at him.

“You like hearing that, don’t you? You like knowing some of these men are getting smaller while you get bigger. Say it.”

“I like it,” Marcus gasped as she rose and slammed back down. “I like that some of them are tiny now.”

“Good boy.” She leaned forward, bracing on his chest, and fucked herself on him with short, hard strokes. “You’re going to keep that big cock hard for whoever wants it. And when you’re not fucking, you’re going to help humiliate the little ones. Clear?”

“Yes.”

She came with a sharp cry, inner walls clamping around the thick shaft. Marcus followed seconds later, pumping thick ropes deep into her. Claire stayed seated until the last pulse faded, then lifted off and immediately gestured for another woman to take her place. The soft blonde from earlier climbed on without ceremony, sinking down and beginning to ride.

Across the platform Tom was being rotated between women. One would sit on his face while another straddled his hips and rubbed her clit against the tiny, helpless stub, laughing every time it twitched. The commentary never stopped.

“God, it’s so soft even when it’s hard.”

“I can barely feel it. Might as well be using my fingers.”

“He’s going to spend the rest of his life knowing real cock is what women actually want. Look at the hung boys over there. That’s what gets us off.”

Marcus came a second time inside the blonde, the new size making every orgasm heavier, more draining. When she finally released him he was ordered onto his knees at the edge of the platform. A woman he didn’t know presented her ass; he licked obediently while she watched the tiny-cock side and offered loud comparisons.

“See the difference? That little thing Tom’s got left couldn’t even stretch me. Yours could rearrange my guts if I let it.”

She reached back, gripped Marcus’s enlarged cock, and gave it a proprietary squeeze. “You’re going to fuck me properly in a minute. But first, crawl over there and show Tom what he’s missing.”

Marcus crawled. Tom looked up at him with glazed eyes, face shiny, the tiny cock between his legs flushed an almost painful red. Marcus didn’t need further instruction. He straddled Tom’s chest, letting the heavy length rest across his friend’s face.

“Open,” someone ordered.

Tom opened. Marcus fed the thick head between his lips. The contrast was deliberate and cruel—the big cock stretching Tom’s mouth while his own reduced flesh twitched uselessly against his stomach. Women gathered to watch, offering fresh SPH.

“That’s what a real cock looks like in a man’s mouth.”

“Tom used to think he was well-hung. Look at him now, choking on something that actually matters.”

“Suck it properly. Show everyone you know your place.”

Marcus fucked Tom’s mouth in slow, shallow strokes, careful not to overwhelm him, while hands from the watching women stroked or slapped or simply pointed at the tiny cock that leaked steadily onto Tom’s belly. When Marcus finally pulled out, a string of saliva connected them for a moment. Tom’s eyes were wet with humiliation and helpless need.

Sandra appeared at the edge of the platform with another tray. “New assignments,” she announced. “Hung boys, you’re on rotation for the rest of the night—any woman who wants a proper fucking gets one. Tiny boys, you’re on permanent oral and fingering duty, plus whatever teasing the ladies invent. And everyone stays hard. The favors will handle that.”

She moved among them, fastening additional cubes here and there. Marcus received one more green-lettered strand. The effect was subtle but unmistakable: his cock, already large, gained another measure of girth and a constant, low-level ache that demanded use. Tom received another red one. What little length he had left shrank further until only a swollen, sensitive button remained, the head barely protruding from the foreskin. The Asian woman immediately pinched it between her nails and tugged, eliciting a broken moan.

“Even better,” she said. “Now it’s just a clit for us to play with.”

The lounge filled with more women as word spread. Marcus lost count of how many times he was mounted, ordered to thrust, ordered to hold still while someone used him as a living dildo. Between rounds he was directed to the tiny-cock side to participate in the humiliation—rubbing his heavy shaft across a shrunken cock, making the smaller man suck the head while women described in detail how inadequate the tiny one was, forcing the shrunken men to thank the hung ones for “showing them what real dick looked like.”

Tom took it all with the same dazed compliance Marcus felt in himself. At one point Tom was bent over a low table while a woman rubbed herself against the tiny stub from behind, laughing every time it failed to provide any real penetration. Marcus was told to stand in front of Tom and feed him the big cock again so Tom would have something substantial in his mouth while his own worthless flesh was ignored.

Hours blurred. Orgasm after orgasm was pulled from the hung men; the tiny ones were denied proper climax, kept on the edge by skilled fingers and cruel commentary until some of them came in weak, almost dry spurts that only invited more mockery.

“Aww, he came from being told how small he is. That’s so precious.”

“Look how little came out. Even his orgasms are pathetic now.”

Marcus came hard inside a dark-haired woman from Legal while listening to that particular round of SPH directed at Tom. The contrast—his own thick cock buried deep, pulsing, while his friend was reduced to a trembling, mocked stub—pushed the pleasure higher. The favor at his throat pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

Eventually Sandra called a brief pause. The men were allowed water and a few minutes on their knees while the women conferred. Marcus found himself next to Tom. His friend’s face was flushed, lips swollen, the tiny cock between his legs an almost angry red from constant teasing.

“You okay?” Marcus asked quietly.

Tom’s voice was hoarse. “I… I keep getting smaller every time they put another one on. And it feels… good. I hate that it feels good.”

Marcus glanced down at his own heavy, still-hard cock. The weight of it was constant now, a reminder of the green-lettered favors. “Yeah. I know.”

Sandra’s voice cut across the room. “Break’s over. Hung boys, split up—half of you to the main salon, half stay here. Tiny boys, you’re coming with me to the library. The executives want a private show.”

Marcus was pointed toward the main salon. Tom was led away with the other shrunken men. They exchanged one last look before the crowd separated them.

In the main salon the party had escalated. Music still played, but most of the conversation had been replaced by moans and the wet sounds of sex. Marcus was claimed almost immediately by a trio of women who had clearly been waiting for fresh hung cock. They put him on his back on a wide couch and took turns riding him, one on his cock, one on his face, the third directing and delivering running commentary about how much better a properly sized dick felt compared to the “pathetic little stubs” some of the other men were stuck with now.

He came twice more under their combined attention before they finally released him. Another woman took their place. Then another. The enlarged cock never fully softened; the favors saw to that. Every time he emptied into someone, the ache rebuilt within minutes.

At some point he was directed to a side room where two of the tiniest men had been brought back for a joint demonstration. Marcus was ordered to stand over them while they knelt and licked his shaft and balls. The women present made the smaller men describe in detail how much bigger Marcus was, how they could never compete, how their only remaining value was oral service and public humiliation. One of the tiny men came untouched just from the verbal degradation and the feel of the heavy cock against his face. The women laughed and made him clean up the small mess with his tongue.

Marcus lost track of time. The night stretched. Favors were swapped, adjusted, layered. Some of the hung men were given temporary red favors that shrank them for a single scene so they could experience the other side; some of the tiny ones were briefly enlarged so the women could enjoy the contrast of watching a previously pathetic cock suddenly stretch them. The psychological effect was deliberate and thorough.

Through it all the core rule remained: every request was a favor the men granted, and every favor made the compliance feel better, more natural, more necessary.

Near what Marcus guessed was the early hours of the morning, Sandra found him again. He was on his knees, face buried between the thighs of a woman from HR, his enlarged cock being stroked by a second woman who was comparing it favorably to the tiny stub of the man currently licking her shoes.

“Still going strong,” Sandra observed. “Excellent. Ingrid wants you and a few of the others in the master suite for a private final round. Bring the big one. And grab Tom—he’s been properly reduced and the ladies upstairs want to see the before-and-after contrast in person.”

Marcus rose on unsteady legs. His cock hung heavy and slick. He found Tom in the library, where the shrunken men had been arranged on cushions like living art pieces. Tom’s cock was now a smooth, almost featureless mound, the head completely hidden, only a small slit visible when the Asian woman spread him for the room’s amusement. Tom’s eyes were glassy with continuous edge and humiliation.

Marcus helped him stand. Together they followed Sandra up the wide staircase.

The master suite was large, dimly lit, and already occupied by Ingrid and half a dozen other high-level women. A low platform had been set up at the foot of the enormous bed. Marcus was placed on it on his back. Tom was positioned beside him on all fours.

Ingrid circled them once.

“One large. One tiny. Perfect illustration of what the favors can do.” She ran a single fingernail along Marcus’s thick shaft, then flicked the almost-nonexistent flesh between Tom’s legs. Tom shuddered. “You’re both going to stay exactly like this for the rest of the night. Marcus, you will fuck whoever wants that cock. Tom, you will watch, lick, and listen while we remind you what you no longer have. Clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” both men answered.

The final round began.

Marcus was mounted repeatedly, the women taking their time, savoring the size the green favors had given him. Between each partner he was ordered to turn his head so Tom could watch every thick inch sliding in and out. Tom was kept in place with a hand in his hair or a shoe on his back, forced to narrate how much bigger Marcus was, how he could never fill anyone like that again, how his own cock had been reduced to a useless, sensitive button that existed only for teasing and mockery.

At one point Ingrid herself took Marcus, riding him with the same unhurried precision she had shown earlier, while two other women took turns stretching Tom’s tiny remaining flesh and describing in clinical detail how permanent the shrinkage could be made if they chose.

Marcus came inside Ingrid with a broken groan. She stayed seated until she was finished with him, then lifted off and immediately gestured for the next woman.

The cycle continued until even the favors’ enforced stamina began to fray at the edges. When the women finally declared the private session over, Marcus was trembling, his cock still half-hard and glistening, his body marked with handprints and lipstick. Tom lay collapsed beside him, face wet, the tiny mound between his legs flushed and twitching from hours of denial and humiliation.

Sandra appeared with a final pair of favors—one green, one red.

“These stay on until further notice,” she said, fastening the green one around Marcus’s neck and the red one around Tom’s. “You’ll both report to the office Monday as usual. The effects will be active during work hours. Outside of work… we’ll see. For now, sleep where you are. Someone will collect you in the morning.”

She dimmed the lights further. The women left in soft conversation and satisfied laughter.

Marcus stared at the ceiling of the master suite, the weight of his enlarged cock a constant presence against his thigh. Beside him Tom breathed in shallow, exhausted pulls.

The favors pulsed once in unison, warm and final.

Outside, the last sounds of the party slowly faded.

The night had done its work.

And the men who wore the little cube necklaces would wake up changed—some permanently larger, some permanently smaller, all of them thoroughly reminded of exactly what the women of Reilly Industries expected them to be.