Party Animal

You arrived at the side door of the Kappa Alpha Theta house at 8:57 p.m. in the same thin robe you had worn to the art class.

Tessa was already waiting. She wore a short black dress that clung to her hips and a small gold necklace with the sorority letters. When she saw you she smiled the same speculative smile from the studio and opened the door without a word.

“Robe off the second we’re inside,” she said. “You’re the entertainment. You stay naked the entire night.”

The side entrance led into a warm, dimly lit hallway that smelled of perfume, beer, and weed. Music thumped from deeper in the house. Tessa took the robe from your shoulders the moment the door closed, folded it neatly over one arm, and gave your body a slow once-over. Your little cock was already half-hard from the walk and the anticipation—soft pink stub thickening toward its permanent maximum of one and seven-sixteenths inches.

She reached down, pinched the head between two fingers, and gave it a light tug.

“Still so tiny,” she murmured. “Come on. Everyone’s waiting.”

She led you into the main living room.

Twenty or so people were already there—sorority sisters in dresses and crop tops, a handful of fraternity brothers in polos and jeans. The conversation dipped when you appeared naked in the doorway. Eyes dropped. Someone laughed under their breath. A girl near the couch said, “Holy shit, she wasn’t kidding,” just loud enough to carry.

Tessa guided you to the center of the room and stopped you under a bright overhead light that had clearly been left on for this purpose. She turned you so your back faced most of the group, then reached around and lifted your little cock with two fingers so everyone could see the full soft length.

“This is our entertainment for the night,” she announced. “Permanent micro. One and seven-sixteenths hard. Half an inch soft on a normal day, even smaller after cold. Maya already sent the ice-bath numbers. He’s staying naked, he’s staying hard when we tell him to, and he does whatever we say. Questions?”

A tall brother with a crew cut stepped closer, beer in hand, and stared down at the stub pinched between Tessa’s fingers.

“That’s fully soft right now?”

“Yes,” Tessa said. “Watch.”

She released you and gave the soft flesh a single slow stroke with her fingertip. Blood flooded the reduced shaft on command. The stub thickened and rose until it stood at its rigid maximum—one and seven-sixteenths inches of flushed pink cock, the head already shiny with a bead of precum. The room reacted with a mixture of laughter, disbelief, and open fascination.

“Fully hard,” Tessa confirmed. “That’s all he gets. Pass him around. Measure him. Take pictures next to whatever you want for scale. He stays hard. If he gets soft you make him hard again. Mouth is fair game. He cleans up whatever we tell him to clean.”

She stepped back and left you standing alone under the light.

The first girl to approach was a blonde in a tight red dress. She crouched in front of you without hesitation, took the short shaft between her thumb and forefinger, and inspected it the way someone might examine a piece of jewelry.

“It’s actually kind of cute,” she said, giving it a light wiggle. Your hips jerked. More precum beaded at the tip. “Look how wet it gets just from being looked at.” She pulled out her phone, held it beside your cock for scale, and snapped a photo. The phone was longer than your entire erection. “I’m sending this to the group chat.”

A brother took her place next. He was already half-hard in his jeans; the thick outline was impossible to miss. He unzipped, pulled out a heavy seven-inch cock, and held it beside your miniature erection so the entire room could see the difference. The head of his cock was larger than your whole shaft. Laughter rolled through the group. Someone started a slow clap. He took a photo of the two side by side, the flash bright in your eyes, then gave your little cock a dismissive flick with one finger that made it bounce and leak.

“My balls are bigger than this whole thing,” he said, and several people cheered.

They passed you from person to person like a party favor.

A sister made you stand with your feet apart while she looped a soft measuring tape around the shaft and announced the girth to the room—“Three and a quarter, just like Maya said.” Another girl produced an actual wooden ruler from her bag, pressed it against the base, and held it up so everyone could see how much empty space remained above the head. Someone wrote the numbers on your bare stomach in lipstick: 1 7/16" × 3¼". The lipstick was cold and the strokes tickled; your little cock twitched with every letter.

They kept you hard the entire time. Whenever the erection began to fade, a new hand or mouth appeared—two fingers stroking, a quick wet lick across the head, a light slap that stung in the most concentrated way. Precum ran down the underside in a constant shiny string and dripped onto the hardwood floor between your feet. Someone placed a shot glass underneath to catch it “for science.” By the time the glass had a thin layer at the bottom the room was loud with music and laughter again.

Tessa reappeared with three other sisters and a bottle of lube.

“Over the arm of the couch,” she instructed. “Ass up, legs spread. We want pictures of it hanging while it’s hard.”

You draped yourself over the couch arm. The position left your little cock pointing downward into open air, the lipstick numbers on your stomach pressed against the cushion. Hands spread your cheeks. Phones clicked. A girl knelt behind you and took extreme close-ups of the short, rigid shaft and the tight reduced balls. Another sister reached underneath and stroked you with two slick fingers while the others watched the tiny cock disappear and reappear inside her grip.

“He’s leaking so much,” someone said. “It’s like the humiliation is the only thing that gets him going.”

A brother stepped in front of your face, already fully hard, and tapped the thick head against your lips.

“Open,” Tessa ordered from behind you. “Entertainment includes this.”

You opened. The heavy cock slid across your tongue, stretching your jaw, the musky taste filling your mouth. He fucked your face in slow, shallow strokes while the sister under the couch kept the same precise two-finger rhythm on your miniature shaft. The dual sensation—thick cock using your mouth, tiny cock being milked like a toy—pushed you toward the edge faster than you wanted. Your hips stuttered. A broken sound vibrated around the shaft in your throat.

“Don’t come yet,” Tessa said, giving your ass a light slap. “You come when we say, and you come into the shot glass so we can see how little there is.”

They rotated.

Three more brothers used your mouth. Two sisters took turns stroking the short cock with lubed fingers or the soft heads of their phones for scale photos. Someone produced a small vibrating bullet and held it against the underside of the head while you were deep-throating a thick cock; the concentrated buzz made your vision blur and your knees shake against the couch. Precum poured into the shot glass in a thin, steady stream.

When they finally decided you were allowed to finish, Tessa held the shot glass directly under the tip and gave the order.

“Come. Now. Little tiny spurts only. We want to watch.”

The orgasm was sharp and almost dry—thin, watery jets that filled less than a quarter of the glass while your hips jerked and a muffled groan left your throat around the cock still resting on your tongue. The room cheered. Someone took a photo of the meager amount beside the lipstick numbers on your stomach. Tessa held the glass up so everyone could see how little volume there was, then tilted it toward your mouth.

“Clean your mess,” she said. “Then thank the house for letting a micro be the entertainment.”

You swallowed the thin, salty liquid. Your voice was rough when you spoke.

“Thank you for letting me be the entertainment. Thank you for measuring me. Thank you for using my mouth. My cock is one and seven-sixteenths inches hard and even smaller soft. Thank you.”

Tessa patted your cheek like you were a well-behaved pet, then nodded to the group.

“He’s available for the rest of the night. Pass him around. Keep him hard. If you want him on his knees, put him there. If you want scale photos with your own cock, take them. He doesn’t get clothes until we say the party’s over.”

She walked away to refill her drink.

A new sister—short, curvy, wearing only a pair of boy-shorts and a smile—took you by the hand and led you toward the open floor where several couples were already grinding. She made you kneel in the middle of them, guided your face between her thighs, and settled her weight onto your mouth while one of the brothers stood over you and slowly stroked his thick cock against your cheek for more photos.

Your little white stub stayed rigid and leaking the entire time, the lipstick numbers still visible on your stomach, the shot glass of your own thin cum already being passed around so others could laugh at how little you had produced.

The night was still young.

And you were the only naked person in the house.