Yes

You accept the threesome.

The witch’s invitation sits in your head the entire time you finish your drink by the window. The Spider-Gwen suit is still tight across every line of your body. The hood keeps your face hidden. The front stays perfectly smooth because the gaff and the base layer have locked your modest cock flat against you. No one at the party has seen anything except an athletic, anonymous, flat-chested girl in a perfect costume. That is the story the night has believed. Now the witch and her Frankenstein boyfriend want to take that story somewhere private.

You find them near the back wall. She is easy to spot in the deep black dress and sharp hat. He is impossible to miss: tall, broad, green makeup, bolts at the neck, the full Frankenstein build that makes him look like he could lift you with one hand. She sees you coming and her mouth curves.

“You decided,” she says. It is not a question. She glances at her boyfriend. “Told you the suit would say yes.”

He looks you over slowly, eyes moving down the fitted white and black and pink, lingering on the clean line of your thighs and the unbroken smooth front. “Hood stays on if you want,” he says, voice low and rough. “We like the mystery. But the suit comes with us.”

They lead you out of the loft through a side exit. The night air is cool against the thin fabric. Their car is waiting. She sits in the back with you. He drives. Her hand rests on your thigh the entire ride, fingers tracing the seam of the suit, occasionally sliding inward to press against the flat plane where your cock is trapped and already starting to harden again. She does not comment on the lack of any bulge. She simply treats it as expected.

Their place is a short drive away, a dimly lit apartment with heavy curtains and low lamps. The second the door closes she turns you to face them both. Frankenstein is even larger up close. The green makeup does not hide the solid muscle underneath.

“Suit stays on for now,” she says. “We want to see how it looks when you start falling apart in it.” She steps in and runs both hands down your sides, over your hips, across the smooth front. Her palm presses firmly against the gaff. “Still nothing. Perfect. Get on your knees.”

You drop. The tight suit makes the movement feel more exposed, not less. She stands in front of you and lifts the front of her black dress. She is bare underneath. The scent of her hits you immediately. She does not ask. She simply guides your hooded head forward until your mouth is on her. The lenses of the cowl limit your vision but the taste and the heat are clear. You start licking. She holds the back of your head with one hand and talks to her boyfriend over you.

“Look at that. Anonymous little Gwen on her knees already. No face, no cock showing, just a wet mouth and a smooth crotch.” She grinds lightly against your tongue. “I bet whatever is under that suit is tiny. The way the front sits so flat? Has to be.”

Frankenstein moves behind you. You feel his heavy hands on your hips, then the sound of him opening his pants. He does not undress you fully. He simply peels the back of the suit down far enough to expose you, then works two thick fingers inside with lube he must have had ready. The stretch is sudden. Your modest cock jumps hard inside the gaff at the dual sensation of her pussy on your mouth and his fingers opening your ass. You make a muffled sound against her.

She laughs softly. “There it is. Little twitch. I felt that through the fabric. How small are we talking, baby? Can you even feel it trying to get hard in there?”

You cannot answer with your mouth full. She keeps your head in place and rides your tongue in slow rolls while Frankenstein adds a third finger. The pressure builds fast. Your cock is fully hard now, the modest length straining against the tight gaff, the head already slick. The suit and the confinement leave it with nowhere to go. Every time he curls his fingers your hips jerk and the small shaft rubs uselessly against the fabric.

He pulls his fingers out. You hear the wet sound of him stroking himself. Then the thick head of his cock presses against you. He pushes in slow but steady. The fill is intense. You are stretched wide around him while your mouth stays buried in her. She watches your body react and keeps talking.

“Fuck, look at that. Taking him so easy. Bet that little dick is leaking all over the inside of the suit right now. Too small to do anything useful, so it just sits there getting hard while real cock uses your ass.”

Frankenstein bottoms out and starts thrusting. Deep, controlled strokes that rock you forward into her pussy with every movement. The dual penetration of tongue and thick cock is overwhelming. Your modest cock throbs in its prison, the small size making every shift of the gaff feel exaggerated. Pre-cum soaks the fabric. You try to focus on licking her properly but the steady drive of his hips keeps stealing your attention.

She notices. “Already shaking. Is that little thing close already? We barely started.” She grinds harder against your mouth. “Don’t you dare come yet. Not until I say. A tiny cock like that needs to learn some control.”

The words land like hands. Humiliation and pleasure twist together. Your cock pulses harder inside the gaff. The modest length is so sensitive from the confinement and the constant friction that every thrust of Frankenstein’s cock sends another sharp wave through it. You feel the orgasm building far too fast. The small shaft twitches and leaks in steady pulses. You try to hold it back. Your thighs tense. Your breathing turns ragged against her.

Frankenstein feels the change in your body and fucks you deeper. “He’s getting tight. Little thing is about to pop.”

She laughs, low and mean. “Already? Look at you. Anonymous Batgirl knock-off with a micro dick about to cream the suit before either of us even finishes. Pathetic. Go on then. Show us how fast that little cock gives up.”

The permission and the humiliation hit at the same moment. Your orgasm rips through you with almost no warning. The modest cock jerks hard inside the gaff and spills in weak, rapid spurts, soaking the fabric in several short pulses that feel far too intense for the amount of cum that actually comes out. Your whole body clenches around Frankenstein’s cock. You moan into her pussy, hips stuttering, the small shaft still twitching through the last weak drops while the suit stays perfectly smooth from the outside.

She keeps your head in place and rides your mouth through it, clearly enjoying the way your body shakes. “There it is. Prejac sissy in a superhero suit. Came from getting fucked and called tiny. Didn’t even need a hand on it.”

Frankenstein does not stop. He keeps thrusting through your orgasm, using the way your ass clenches to chase his own pleasure. The overstimulation is sharp. Your cock stays half-hard and hypersensitive inside the wet gaff, every movement of his thick shaft sending aftershocks through the small length. You keep licking her because she has not given you permission to stop. The taste of her and the stretch of him and the sticky mess inside your suit mix into one continuous, humiliating haze.

She finally comes with a low sound, grinding hard against your tongue and holding your head in place until the waves finish. Only then does she step back. Frankenstein follows a minute later, burying himself deep and flooding you with thick pulses that you can feel in your gut. He stays there for a moment, breathing hard, then pulls out slowly.

You stay on your knees in the open suit, hood still on, ass exposed and leaking, the front of the bodysuit damp from the inside where your modest cock has already finished and is still twitching through the aftershocks. The small size of it feels even more obvious now that it has come so fast and so weakly while they both used you.

The witch crouches in front of you and presses two fingers against the wet spot on the front of the suit. “Still so flat. Even after coming. That little dick really is nothing, isn’t it?” She rubs the damp fabric slowly. “Came in under ten minutes of actual fucking. Hood on, suit on, micro cock ruined for the night already.”

Frankenstein moves to sit on the couch, still mostly dressed, green makeup smeared a little. He watches you with open amusement. “Bring the sissy over here. I want to feel how small it actually is.”

She guides you forward on your knees. He reaches out, peels the front of the suit and the gaff down just enough, and your modest cock flops free, soft, sticky, and smaller than either of them expected even after the comments. He pinches it lightly between two fingers and shakes his head.

“That’s it? That’s what was making the front of the suit look so clean?” He gives it a short, almost dismissive stroke. The oversensitive flesh makes you whimper. “No wonder you popped so fast. Nothing here to hold a charge.”

The witch laughs and leans in to watch. “Poor little thing. All that tension in the suit and it still couldn’t last. Next time we put a cage on it before the night starts so it can’t even try.”

They keep you there for a while longer, turning you between them, making you clean her with your tongue again while he plays with the soft, spent cock, pinching and stroking just enough to keep the humiliation sharp. Every comment lands on the same points: how small it is, how fast it came, how the smooth front of the Spider-Gwen suit had hidden nothing worth hiding. Your cock tries to fill again under the attention and fails, staying half-hard and leaking only clear fluid while they talk over it.

Eventually they decide the night is finished. She helps you pull the suit back into place over the sticky mess. The front is damp and still perfectly flat. The hood stays on until they walk you to the door.

“You did good for a prejac sissy,” she says, voice almost fond. “Next time we make you last longer. Or we don’t. Depends how small it feels that day.”

Frankenstein gives your ass one last squeeze through the suit. “Keep the costume. Looks better on you than it ever would on a real girl with a real cock.”

The door closes. You stand in the hallway for a long moment, body still open and used, modest cock soft and wet inside the ruined gaff, the taste of her still on your tongue and the thick ache of him still stretching you. The Spider-Gwen suit clings to every sensitive place. The night air outside feels cold when you finally step into it.

The walk home is slow. Every step reminds you of the load still leaking out of you and the sticky mess in the front of the suit where your small cock gave up so quickly. The Algorithm’s presence feels close, as if it has been recording the entire sequence of humiliation and premature release for later calibration.

You reach your apartment, lock the door, and only then push the hood back. Your face is flushed. The suit is ruined in the best and worst ways. You peel it down carefully. The gaff comes off and your modest cock is still soft, still shiny with the earlier mess, looking even smaller after the way they handled it. The sight alone makes your stomach twist with leftover shame and leftover heat.

You clean up slowly. The physical reminders stay: the stretch in your ass, the taste in your mouth, the memory of coming so fast while they both laughed at how little you had to offer. You sit on the edge of the bed in the open suit and feel the entire night settle into your body.

The Algorithm’s message arrives a few minutes later.

Threesome completed. Premature ejaculation under dual stimulation and verbal humiliation recorded. Subject refractory period short. Small penis focus produced elevated shame-arousal loop. Data archived for future intensifications.

You stare at the screen, cock twitching weakly against your thigh, the Spider-Gwen costume still half on, the clear knowledge that you came first, came fast, and came from being told exactly how little you measured up.