You didn’t realize this garden was a monument to small penis humiliation until you stepped over the first crumbling groin. Moss clung to the grey stone of men frozen in expressions of pure terror, their decayed limbs snapping under your boots.

A blur of neon pink and blue whipped across your vision. A thick, furred tail blinded you for a heartbeat before Catalina materialized with the smell of ozone and burnt sugar, floating upside down with a wide, toothy grin.

“New game!” she chirped, her voice a melodic chime.

“What game?” you asked, blinking.

“Red light, green light,” she whispered, her breath cold against your ear. “But we have a special guest.”

From the shade of a weeping willow, Medusa slid forward. Her scales scraped the gravel with a metallic hiss. A nest of vipers writhed atop her head, their tongues clicking in a rhythmic, hungry unison.

“The rules are simple, little man,” Medusa sneered, her golden eyes glowing. “Green light, you run for the exit. Red light, you close your eyes and freeze. If I catch so much as a flicker of movement, you join the collection.”

“Green light!” Catalina shrieked suddenly, catching you off-guard.

You bolted. Your lungs burned. The exit arch loomed ahead, a sliver of hope in this surreal nightmare.

“Red light!”

You clamped your eyes shut and try to stop, but a stray piece of statue shifted under your heel. You wobbled.

A sharp, cold snap echoed through the garden. You tried to gasp, but your throat had turned to granite. Your skin hardened into a coarse, grey shell. You stood naked, frozen in a clumsy stumble, fully conscious but unable to twitch a finger.

Catalina floated closer, her eyes scanning your form. She let out a loud, theatrical gasp.

“Oh, Medusa, look at this SMALL PENIS! The ultimate prize!”

Medusa glided forward, her serpents leaning in to sniff at you. She let out a guttural laugh that vibrated through your stone chest.

“Is that a cocktail sausage or a misplaced toe?” Medusa mocked. “I’ve seen larger growths on a garden slug.”

“It’s barely a nub,” Catalina giggled, poking your stone genitals with a sharp claw. “Does it even function, or is it just for decoration? This wouldn’t satisfy anyone.”

“It’s pathetic,” Medusa spat, her voice dripping with venom. “Even as a statue, he looks inadequate. Imagine the shame of being immortalized with such a microscopic tragedy between his legs. Welcome to the gallery of small penis humiliation, little nub.”

“It looks more like a little clitty! Should he have been born a girl?” Catalina’s vicious words struck, making your tiny shrimp dick want to rise, but unable to with you being a statue.

They continued to jeer, their laughter echoing in your mind. The remarks grew more vicious, dissecting your inadequacy with surgical precision. You wanted to scream, to beg, but you were nothing more than a rock.

Then, the sensation changed. A crushing pressure mounted inside the stone. You felt your consciousness compress, shrinking inward toward a singular, dense point. The laughter of the women faded into a distant hum. The world narrowed, the light vanished, and a heavy, suffocating darkness swallowed you whole as their small penis humiliation still rang in your head.

Tip your favorites in Wonderland:
Tip Catalina  •  Tip Medusa