Little Lamb

"Put him down, Bryan," Dione repeated, her voice dropping into a dangerous, sharp tone that finally made the giant brute relent.

With a careless shrug, Bryan unceremoniously dropped you from five feet in the air. You hit the hard stone floor with a dull thud, your knees and hands taking the brunt of the impact. Before you could even scramble to cover your bare groin, two heavy hands grabbed you by the arms and dragged you forcibly across the icy floor, pulling your feet out from under you. Juliet quickly turned her face away, hiding her blushing cheeks behind her hands.

"Let's see if the Little Lamb has enough wool to keep warm," one of the big jocks mocked, as they dragged you toward the center of the wooden tables where a pile of coarse fabric awaited.

They didn't give you a second to resist. One held your hands above your head while the other shoved a humiliating, ridiculously oversized white hoodie over your head. It was made of thick, cheap wool that looked absurdly like a sheep's pelt. But true to their sadistic sense of humor, the outfit came completely without bottoms.

The heavy, fluffy wool hem barely covered your hips, leaving your entire lower body completely bare. Every slight breeze in the hall made the fabric sway, exposing your tiny, completely hairless cock and shriveled balls to the eyes of everyone in the room.

Bryan stepped into your field of vision, crossing his massive arms with a wicked grin.

"Oh, look at that!" Bryan roared, pointing right at your exposed crotch for the whole room to see. "Not only do we have a Little Lamb, but it looks like he's missing half of what makes a man! Look at the size of that thing, guys! Are you sure you're even a wizard, kid, or did we accidentally adopt a baby?"

The entire hall erupted into fresh waves of ruthless, booming laughter. Hands slammed on the wooden tables, and mugs spilled as the veterans wiped tears of amusement from their eyes. You tried to pull the hem of the hoodie down, but it was too short, leaving your tiny anatomy completely out in the open no matter how hard you yanked.

"Now, now, we can't let our brand-new pet just stand there looking pretty, can we?" Bryan grinned, giving your head another rough shake that knocked you off balance. "A real mascot has to earn his stay!"

"Mascot dance! Mascot dance!" a group of seniors began chanting, banging their heavy wooden mugs against the tables in a rhythmic, deafening beat. The rest of the room joined in instantly.

Bryan bent down until his terrifying face was inches from yours, his hot breath smelling of ale.

"You heard them, Little Lamb," Bryan whispered with a sinister smile. "Time to do the mascot dance right here on the table. Shake that fluffy little tail and show the whole house what you're made of... or rather, show us how little you've got down there!"