You accept the threesome.

The witch’s invitation stays in your head while you finish the last of your drink by the window. The Spider-Gwen suit is still locked tight across every line of your body. The hood hides your face. The front stays perfectly smooth because the gaff has your modest cock pressed flat and invisible. The whole party has treated you as an athletic, anonymous, flat-chested girl. That is the story they believed. Now the witch and her Frankenstein boyfriend want to take that story somewhere private and show you exactly where you fit in it.

You find them near the back wall. She spots you immediately and her smile sharpens. The big green-skinned Frankenstein looks you over once, slow, eyes dragging down the fitted suit and the unbroken smooth front.

“You came,” she says. “Good. I told him the suit would not be able to resist.”

He only grunts and nods toward the exit. They lead you out. The night air hits the thin fabric of the costume. Their car is close. She puts you in the back seat with her. The entire drive her hand rests high on your thigh, fingers tracing the seam, occasionally pressing inward against the flat plane where your cock is already starting to swell inside the gaff. She never mentions the lack of a bulge. She simply treats it as the most natural thing in the world.

Their apartment is dim and quiet. Heavy curtains. Low lamps. The second the door closes she turns to face you while he moves in behind her, already large and solid in the green makeup and bolts.

“Hood stays on,” she says. “We like you anonymous. Suit stays on too. For now.” She steps close and runs both hands down your sides, over your hips, then firmly across the smooth front. Her palm presses and finds nothing but flat fabric and the faint ridge of the gaff. “Still so clean. I knew it would be. On your knees by the chair. Watch.”

You drop to your knees on the carpet. The tight suit makes the position feel even more exposed. She points to a spot a few feet away from the couch. That is your place. Frankenstein sits first, spreading his heavy thighs. She straddles him without any preamble, facing you so you can see everything. She lifts the black dress, pulls his cock free, and sinks down onto it in one slow motion. The wet sound is loud in the quiet room. She starts riding him with steady rolls of her hips, eyes locked on you the entire time.

“Look at that,” she says, voice already a little breathy. “Real cock stretching me while the little masked sissy kneels there in a superhero suit with nothing between the legs worth mentioning.” She grinds down harder. Frankenstein’s big hands grip her waist and help lift her so you can see every inch sliding in and out. “You feel how empty that suit is right now? That little dick trying to get hard and still not making a single crease.”

Your modest cock hardens fast inside the gaff. The small length presses against the tight fabric with nowhere to expand. Pre-cum starts to slick the inside almost immediately. You stay on your knees because she has not given you permission to move. Every wet slap of her riding him sends another pulse through the trapped shaft.

She keeps talking between moans.

“This is what a real one looks like when it is inside someone. Thick. Long enough to actually feel. Not like whatever tiny thing you have locked away under that smooth front. I bet it is already leaking just from watching. Little cuck cock getting hard while someone else fucks me right in front of it.”

Frankenstein thrusts up to meet her. The sound of their bodies meeting fills the room. She reaches down and spreads herself with two fingers so you get a clearer view of his cock stretching her open. The sight is relentless. Your own cock throbs in short, helpless pulses inside the gaff. The modest size makes every heartbeat feel exaggerated. You can already feel the orgasm starting to gather far too early. The humiliation is feeding it directly.

“Touch yourself through the suit,” she orders. “Go on. Rub that little nothing while you watch him fill me. I want to see how fast a micro dick gives up when it is forced to watch.”

Your hand moves between your legs. The Spider-Gwen fabric is thin enough that you can feel the hard, short ridge of your cock under the gaff. You rub in tight circles. The friction is limited and almost frustrating, which only makes the pleasure sharper. She watches your hand and laughs.

“That is all it takes? A little rubbing through a costume while you get cucked and you are already shaking? Pathetic. Keep going. Show us how quick that tiny cock is going to cream the suit.”

Frankenstein pulls her down harder, burying himself completely. She gasps and then smiles at you again, mean and delighted.

“He is so much bigger than whatever you are hiding. I can feel him in my stomach. What do you think that little dick of yours could even do? Tickle the entrance for a few seconds before it popped? Look at you. Kneeling in a girl’s costume, rubbing a micro cock, about to come just from being shown what you will never be able to give anyone.”

The words slam into the growing pressure in your groin. Your hand moves faster on the smooth front of the suit. The modest shaft is fully hard, slick, and hypersensitive. Every description of how small and useless it is pushes you closer. You try to slow down. Your hips still rock into your own palm. The prejac tension is already coiling tight at the base of the small cock.

She notices the change in your breathing and leans forward so her face is closer to yours while she continues to ride him.

“Are you close already? We have been fucking for what, five minutes? And the little masked cuck is ready to ruin the front of that pretty suit. Go on. Do it. Come from watching a real cock take what that tiny thing never could. Make a mess in your costume like the prejac sissy you are.”

Frankenstein grabs her hips and starts thrusting up with more force. The wet sounds grow louder. She keeps her eyes on you and reaches out with one hand to press against the front of your suit, right over the place you are rubbing. Her fingers trap your hand and the small hard ridge underneath.

“There it is. So small I can barely find it even when it is hard. Come on, little cock. Spurt. Show us how fast you lose.”

The combination of her fingers, her words, the sight of his thick shaft disappearing into her, and the relentless humiliation snaps the last of your control. Your orgasm hits in a sudden, humiliating rush. The modest cock jerks inside the gaff and empties in several weak, rapid spurts that soak the fabric from the inside. The amount is small. The intensity is not. Your whole body shudders on your knees. A broken sound leaves your throat. Your hips stutter against her hand and your own while the tiny shaft keeps twitching through the last thin pulses.

She laughs, bright and cruel, and keeps riding him through your climax.

“There it is. Prejac cuck in a Spider-Gwen suit. Came just from watching and being told the truth about that little dick. Did not even need to take it out. So fucking pathetic.”

Frankenstein is still fucking her with steady power. She does not slow down for your sake. She grinds on him harder, using your ruined state as extra fuel. Your cock stays half-hard and oversensitive inside the wet gaff, every movement of her hand or the sound of their bodies sending sharp aftershocks through the small length. You stay on your knees because she has not told you to move. The front of the suit is now visibly damp in a small dark patch that only makes the earlier smoothness more embarrassing in hindsight.

She finally comes with a long, satisfied moan, clenching around him while she stares at the wet spot on your crotch. He follows soon after, burying himself deep and filling her with thick pulses you can hear. They stay locked together for a moment, breathing hard, while you kneel there in the open suit with your modest cock already spent and sticky inside the costume.

She climbs off him slowly so you can see the mess of cum leaking out of her. She steps closer to you, still standing, and puts two fingers under your chin to lift your hooded face.

“Clean it up. And keep your hands away from that little thing. It already had its turn. It came too fast to deserve more.”

You lean forward and lick her clean while Frankenstein watches from the couch. The taste of them mixed together fills your mouth. She holds your head in place and talks over you again.

“This is the proper use for a micro cock sissy in a superhero costume. Watch the real fucking. Come too fast in your suit. Then clean up the mess with your tongue. That little dick is only good for one thing and it already failed at lasting long enough to matter.”

When she is satisfied she pushes you back and looks down at the damp front of the Spider-Gwen suit. She presses her bare foot against it, rubbing the wet fabric over the soft, spent shape of your cock.

“Still so small. Even soft it barely makes a shape. No wonder you shot the second the humiliation started. Next time we put a timer on you. Or we lock it in a cage so the little prejac cock cannot even try to get hard while you watch.”

Frankenstein leans forward, elbows on his knees, still half hard and shiny. “Bring the suit closer. I want to feel how tiny it actually is.”

She pulls you forward by the shoulder of the costume. He reaches out, peels the front of the suit and the gaff down just enough, and your modest cock is fully exposed: soft, sticky from the premature orgasm, smaller than average and still twitching with leftover sensitivity. He pinches it between thumb and finger and gives a short, almost clinical shake.

“That is the whole thing? That is what was hiding under all that smooth fabric?” He strokes it once, dry and rough. The overstimulation makes you flinch. “No wonder it gave up so early. Nothing there to hold back. Little cuck dick came from watching me fuck her and hearing the truth.”

They keep you like that for a long stretch of time. She sits on his lap again, sometimes letting him slip back inside her while you are forced to watch from inches away. Every time she rides him she makes sure you have a clear view and a fresh stream of commentary about how your modest cock has already finished and is only good for being laughed at. He plays with the soft length whenever he feels like it, pinching, stroking, tapping it with a finger, always with the same dismissive focus on how little there is and how quickly it emptied.

Your cock tries to harden again under the attention and only manages a weak half-full state before the sensitivity stops it. Clear fluid leaks from the tip every time they handle it or remind you how fast you came. The Spider-Gwen suit stays mostly on, hood still in place, the front peeled open only enough to display the small, ruined cock that has already failed the night’s only test.

Eventually she decides they are done with you. She wipes her fingers on the suit, helps you tuck the soft cock back into the messy gaff, and smooths the front of the costume down until it looks almost flat again except for the dark wet patch.

“You did exactly what a little prejac cuck is supposed to do,” she says. “Came too fast, came from humiliation, and cleaned up afterward. Keep the suit. It suits the role.”

Frankenstein gives the damp front one last rough squeeze through the fabric. “Next time we make the little dick wait longer before it is allowed to embarrass itself. Or we do not. Depends how funny it looks that day.”

They walk you to the door still in the open suit. The hallway feels colder. You keep the hood on until you are outside and several blocks away. Every step makes the sticky mess inside the gaff shift against your soft, oversensitive cock. The memory of their bodies moving together while you knelt and rubbed and came too soon loops without mercy.

You reach your apartment, lock the door, and only then push the hood back. Your face is hot. The Spider-Gwen suit is ruined from the inside at the front and still stretched from the way you knelt. You peel it down. The gaff comes off and your modest cock is soft, shiny, and smaller-looking than usual after the way they handled and dismissed it. The sight sends a fresh twist of shame and leftover heat through your stomach.

You sit on the edge of the bed without cleaning up right away. The physical facts of the night stay present: the taste of them in your mouth, the wet patch on the suit, the clear knowledge that you came first, came fast, and came purely from being forced to watch and listen while a real cock took everything you were never going to be allowed to have.

The Algorithm’s message arrives a few minutes later.

Cuckold scenario completed. Premature ejaculation under visual and verbal small-penis humiliation recorded. Subject orgasm latency extremely short once verbal focus on size and inadequacy began. Elevated shame-arousal binding confirmed. Data archived for future cuckold intensifications.

You stare at the screen, cock twitching weakly against your thigh, the Spider-Gwen costume still half on, the humiliation of the premature cuck orgasm still sitting hot and fresh under your skin.