Just a minuscule pillowcase, and the crowd loves it.

Ming Zhao pulls her cumbersome helmet back on, obscuring her pretty face, her identity, but not her hypnotically buoyant cleavage— that, was still on full display despite her clear desire for modesty. Tearing my enraptured gaze away as she struggles to shove her gorgeous melons inside that black latex coffin, I scour the backroom for something, anything to wear.

There's a small, decorative cushion resting upon a stool, and, seeing no other options, I grab it's pillowcase and yank the fragile fabric up my legs, tearing out the bottom to get it over my hips. It's tenting over six inches in front of me—an obscene, humiliating outline of my manhood—but it's all I've got. Though my penis throbs, and I lose my nerve in a sudden wave of embarrassment; I need to get in front of that horny audience. Though time has run out, I stand here, paralyzed.

Ming Zhao signs, "Sorry, hurry!" as she pulls me out to the stage, my face tinted pink.

If the crowd had roared before, I'd need a thesaurus to tell you what sound they screamed as we stepped in front of that packed exhibition hall. My heart caught in my neck as wolf-whistles and camera shutters sounded off by the dozens; it was only by merit of Ming Zhao dragging me that I moved at all, my knees becoming spaghetti and my scarlet face heating up like lava.

The announcer is that hot guy in the M.Bison cosplay from earlier. Standing in the stage's center, he seems ready to chide us for our tardiness, but when he sees the businesswoman's spilling cleavage—and the massive tent in my tiny pillowcase—his eyes bug out. The crowd's catcalling is audible to me over the deafening silence, and they're absolutely shameless;

"That is one sexy guy! I wish I had one of those!"

"Hey! Isn't that the Nighthunters Booth Babe?"

"Yeah, It is him! I'd recognize that cute blush anywhere."

"Woof."

"My god, look at that tiny costume… it's like he wants us to imagine him naked!"

"Are you kidding? That leaves nothing to the imagination~"

"Woo-hoo! C'mon Sexy, Take it off!!!"

My hero and I freeze there, mortified to be the center of so much sexual attention, and the announcer has too— prompting a tinge of jealousy within me as he gawks at Ming Zhao's stunning body. It takes an eon and a half for the catcalls to die down, but once they finally have, the handsome M.C. regains his composure; clearing his throat, he turns to the crowd to speak, "The Mystery Woman has won our friendly little tournament, and she's come out to claim her prize! Like this contestant's identity, the prize has been a secret, and—"

He doesn't get the chance to finish his spiel before a terrible fate befalls him.

The belt around the announcer's waist is whipped off by an adroit hand, then his burgundy pants are yanked down to his ankles, eliciting a yelp from the handsome hunk as the audience—and I—are treated to an obvious tent in his boxers. He stammers into the mic for hardly a second before something unseen tears his undergarments clean off, baring his penis to all.

Wolf-whistles pierce the air while the hot cosplayer's cock swings around, a focus of attention for all of Hall-C as he stammers into his microphone, blushing.

Ming Zhao are stunned into silence at the tantalizing sight of the announcer's sexy misfortune. During our tenure of gawking at that poor hunk's not-so-small 'microphone', my pillowcase is yanked above my head by those same unscrupulous mitts.

After a brief moment to process the stripping, I shriek— my own giant erection joining the M.C.'s as those geek girl's object of attention. A sanguine blush reddens my features when I realize my hands are stuck in their satin prison overhead; I have no hope of hiding my most private parts from a screaming, horny, picture-snapping mosh-pit of women, and my eyes roll back in mortification as they immortalize my naked, blushing body on their cameras.

A slow, condescending clap, and chuckle sound out beside me, and I gasp when I realize this gruesome humiliation was somebody's idea of a prank.