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Lincoln’s life is that of a lousy loser. Ever since he got his dick shrunk by his sister’s mad science, his entire existence has been one indignity after another. And now, what else does the young adult have left other than total humiliation?

He feels so tiny–tinier than his dick. He sees the laughing faces of his family and friends all pointing to him, rolling in tears, shouting in shrill shrieks of sadistic delight at his stupidity.

And just as he’s at his lowest point, something slaps him right into awareness.

Lincoln coughs and sputters into awareness, blinking with a groan. His cheek throbs with the strike, and that’s when he sees that massive cock sitting right in front of his face.

For good measure, that large dick slaps across his cheek again. It’s a familiar sting, both in the physical sense and in the psychological one. It’s a painful reminder of what he lost and what he’s traded all his happiness for.

“C… Clyde?”

“Wake up, pimple dick!” his former friend says, pulling his pants back up. “We got a busy day today.”

Lincoln whines, about to respond when Clyde presses that fat, long cock up against his face. The bully rubs over his lips and up along his nose. “Come on, you sleepy little diddle. Why don’t you get up, huh? Do you like my thick Black meat all up in your pathetic face?”

“C… Clyde,” Lincoln groans, stirring, pulling his hands from under the sheets. Clyde pulls his cock away and leans in, pressing his lips upon his little bitch boy’s. “Good mornin’ Twink-a-doo.”

The sudden shift leaves Lincoln paralyzed, his tiny dick twitching in response, making him shudder in shame, moving his hands back down under the covers.

“I’m serious,” Clyde says, stepping away and buttoning up his pants. “You get up now, or I’m gonna get pissed for real.”

Lincoln grumbles, pushing himself up, completely undressed. He wasn’t allowed to wear clothes to bed.

Clyde smirks, slipping off of the bed. “You call that morning wood? Heh, what an idiot. You’re gonna live the rest of your pitiful existence having to use tweezers to get off, you know.”

Lincoln nods, “Y… yeah, I know, s… sir.” He adds that last part, blushing, his hand fumbling at the nightstand.

Clyde chuckles, beginning to head out of the room.

Lincoln rolls over, desperately pulling at the stand, rummaging through the drawer.

“Oh right, the tweezers,” Clyde says, snickering, stroking his chin. “Guess without those, the only way you can get off is if you degrade yourself further than you’ve been before, huh?”

Lincoln lowers his head, whimpering.

“I got a present for ya, tiny,” Clyde says, stepping out of the room. “It’s in the closet, where you must still be if you can’t admit how much you like this dick of mine.”

Lincoln gulps, nodding and sliding out of bed. With Clyde gone, he’s left with just himself and the closet. Lincoln knows that he’s not going to like what he sees inside it. He also knows that those words burn through him, filling him with all that shame that tells him just how much of a degenerate he has become, no… how he has always been.

Clyde is playing games in his living room, the light of the television shining on his shirtless body as he sits back.

Stepping out from the bedroom comes Lincoln, keeping his head down. He’s dressed in a french maid outfit, brand new and shorter than any skirt he thought he’d ever wear.

Ugh, to think he’d expect himself to be wearing any skirt at all.

He holds that high skirt down, trying in vain to hide his thighs from view. How did Clyde know the proper measurements for everything from the pretty heels to the thigh-high stockings to the headpiece with the frills?

Clyde pauses his game and whips out his phone.

“Oh fuck, dude, this is perfect! Did you put the makeup on, too! Come on, say ‘oo la la’ or ‘hon hon hon’ or ‘baguette’ for me, hahaha!”

Lincoln’s face burns crimson. He bites his lip as the camera flash hits him. Though he can’t see it now, he knows that he’ll be forced to watch all the reactions from people worldwide, loving to see him in his most vulnerable state and laugh at his misfortune.

“Glad you finally decided to get up,” Clyde says. He unbuttons his pants and pushes them down, letting his cock casually flop out. That big thing hardens as he keeps his eyes on the game. “I got a busy day coming up, and I need my fleshlight to get my dick wet before getting to the real fun.”

Lincoln knows the real meaning of his bully by now and takes a deep breath, stepping up to him.

“Not in front of the screen, ya dumb bastard. Did your sister shrink your brain, too?” He hops up, places his hand on the back of Lincoln’s skull, and shoves him down onto his knees.

Lincoln grabs onto the couch, his mouth pushed up against his former friend’s cock, his lips parting just at the moment of contact, that thick, long, Black thing filling him up, puffing out his cheeks.

“It’s hard to play a game one-handed, “Clyde says. “Good thing I got an automatic masturbator that’s good for nothing else.” He says this, putting his elbows on the back of Lincoln’s head, pushing him downward.

Lincoln’s eyes tear up as his mouth fills up and the cock slides down his throat. He coughs, pushing himself back up when Clyde lets up the pressure. This is quickly followed by another push down on that cock, bulging out his throat.

“Glllk, gggk. Mmmm!”

“That’s it, work it, ya bitch.” Clyde growls. “Can’t fuckin’ believe we used to be friends. Fuck, you make me so mad!” His controller falls to the cushion next to Lincoln, and Clyde’s hands grip through his hair, pushing him down against the shaft.