Jean-Louis's Humbling Curse

A man with a 28cm cock. A warrior. Super strong but with a curse, each time he disobey a woman his pénis loose 1% in total volume, every time he refuses something tona woman lie or hide something tona woman je loose 1% of his actual size, every time he loose An argument every time he is punched or kicked by a woman the same, every time hé has to argue or fight against a woman too. And his ego and mind is related. When hé will eventually bé less than 12cm then every time a woman will yell at him his cock in his pants will be more flaccid and rétracted and bowing in front of him. His cul can dissolve his clothes or armor and his nipples milk (his curse ) too, when a woman oursmart him his balls retrecise, when he make a girl crying his balls ache, and when a girl stzre at him in eyes his knees begin trembling. (When he will eventually having a smaller than 10cm pénis a stare at him will make him fall to.hus knees) Name him Jean-Louis.

In the grimy, sprawling slums of Marchand, Jean-Louis prowled the alleyways, his massive frame casting long, ominous shadows. At 28cm, his cock was a weapon, a curse, and a constant battle. Tonight, he hunted Liliane, a fiery informant who danced on the edge of danger. She knew his secret, his curse, and she reveled in his degradation. Jean-Louis found her in a dimly lit tavern, her eyes locked onto his. She smirked, her lips curled in a cruel smile. "Jean-Louis, darling," she purred, "you're looking... tense." He growled, his hand instinctively going to his crotch, adjusting the monstrous bulge. "Liliane," he acknowledged, his voice a low rumble. "I need information." She laughed, a sound like tinkling glass. "And what makes you think I'll give it to you?" His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck taut. Every fiber of his being wanted to grab her, to force her compliance. But he knew better. His cock throbbed, a painful reminder of his curse. He couldn't disobey, couldn't refuse, couldn't even lie or hide the truth from her. "You know what I'm capable of," he growled. But his words rang hollow. She knew his weakness, knew the power she held over him. Her eyes gleamed, her lips twitching with amusement. She was playing with him, and he was powerless to stop it. "Come here, Jean-Louis," she commanded, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur. He hesitated, his knees trembling slightly as he met her gaze. She dragged a finger along his rugged jawline, her touch leaving a trail of fire. "Don't make me repeat myself," she whispered, her breath hot on his ear. His body responded, his cock swelling painfully, despite the curse. He stepped closer, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had to know what she wanted. He had to obey.

In the dimly lit tavern, the air grew thick with tension as Liliane's fingers trailed down Jean-Louis's chest, her nails digging into his skin through his shirt. Suddenly, the door burst open, and in strode two more women, their eyes locked onto the scene before them. Isabelle, a former mercenary with a scar running down her cheek, and Marie, a cunning thief with a silver tongue. "Well, well, well," Isabelle drawled, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. "Looks like our dear Jean-Louis is in a bit of a pickle." Marie smirked, her eyes flicking from Liliane to Jean-Louis. "Or maybe he's just enjoying the company. Isn't that right, big boy?" Jean-Louis's breath hitched, his body torn between the commands of the three women. Liliane's fingers dug into his skin, her eyes flashing with anger. "He's mine," she hissed. "Back off, bitches." Isabelle laughed, a harsh, gritty sound. " possessive much, Liliane? You know Jean-Louis can't refuse us. Isn't that right, love?" His cock throbbed, his balls aching as he struggled to keep his knees from buckling. He could feel the milk leaking from his nipples, his clothes beginning to dissolve under Liliane's touch. He had to obey, but he didn't know who to obey. Marie stepped closer, her voice a low purr. "Why don't we make this interesting? A little game, perhaps?" Liliane's eyes narrowed, but she nodded, her curiosity piqued. "What do you have in mind?" Marie's smile was slow, calculated. "A fight. The winner gets Jean-Louis's obedience for the night. But," she added, her eyes gleaming, "if he disobeys, refuses, or lies, he loses a percent of his size. And if he gets punched or kicked, he loses more." Isabelle's grin was feral. "I'm in. What do you say, Liliane? Ready to put your money where your mouth is?" Liliane's laugh was like ice. "I'm always ready, sweetheart. Jean-Louis," she commanded, her voice sharp. "Strip. Now. We need to make sure the stakes are clear." Jean-Louis hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. But he knew he had no choice. His body was theirs to command, his curse a noose around his neck. He began to undress, his eyes never leaving the three women who held his fate in their hands. As his clothes fell to the floor, his massive cock stood at attention, a throbbing, aching reminder of his curse. The women's eyes were on him, their hunger palpable. He was theirs to command, theirs to control. And he was powerless to stop it. They circled him like vultures, their eyes gleaming with lust and malice. "So," Isabelle said, her voice a low growl. "Who's first?"

Isabelle wasted no time, her fist flying towards Jean-Louis's chest. He grunted as the impact sent a shockwave through his body, his cock jerking in response. A drop of pre-cum glistened at his tip, and he groaned, his body betraying him. "Pathetic," Marie sneered, circling him like a predator. "Can't even take a punch without leaking like a faucet." Liliane laughed, a cold, mocking sound. "He's not pathetic, Marie. He's cursed. But don't worry, we'll make sure he pays for every drop." Isabelle's boot connected with his thigh, and he stumbled, his cock bouncing heavily. "Fuck," he growled, his hands clenched at his sides. "Language," Marie chided, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "We wouldn't want you to lose more than necessary, would we?" Liliane's fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. "That's for being a worthless piece of shit," she spat. "Now, fight back, you fucking coward." Jean-Louis's breath hitched, his body torn between obedience and self-preservation. He knew he had to fight, had to obey, but the pain was overwhelming. He lunged at Isabelle, his fist connecting with her stomach. She grunted, stepping back, but her smile was feral. "You're going to pay for that, big boy," she growled. Her foot shot out, kicking him in the stomach. He doubled over, his cock throbbing painfully. He could feel the change, his size lessening with each hit. Marie's laughter was like nails on a chalkboard. "Look at him," she taunted. "He's pathetic. A curs'd husk, desperate for a scrap of control. A whore for any woman with the nerve to command him." Liliane's eyes flashed with anger. "He's mine," she snarled, lunging at Marie. The two women clashed, their fists flying, their curses filling the air. Isabelle joined in, her blows raining down on Jean-Louis, her laughter echoing through the tavern. Jean-Louis's body was a mass of pain, his cock throbbing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was losing, his size decreasing with each hit. But he couldn't refuse, couldn't disobey. He was theirs to command, theirs to control. And he was powerless to stop it and his blood boiled with each strike of fists and feet. He wanted to kill them all.

Jean-Louis's vision blurred with pain and rage, but a primal instinct surged within him. He couldn't obey, couldn't fight back fully without risking more of his size, but he could use their own rules against them. He retracted his fists, adopting a defensive stance. He let his enemies come to him, as the three women circled, snarling and growling. "Come on, you worthless piece of shit!" Liliane taunted, throwing a punch. Jean-Louis ducked, allowing the women to continue their assault. He let them tire themselves out, their strikes landing on his arms, his back, his legs. He grunted with each impact, his body wracked with pain, his cock pulsing wildly. Each strike brought more curses, more insults, but he took it all, his mind focused on survival. Marie landed a kick to his ribs, sending him crashing into a nearby table. He struck it hard, but rolled with the impact, using it to launch himself back to his feet. Isabelle charged, her sword drawn, but Jean-Louis sidestepped, grabbing her arm and twisting. She yelled in pain, her sword clattering to the floor. Liliane and Marie paused, shock etching their faces. "How—?" Marie started, but Jean-Louis cut her off. "You told me to fight back," he growled, his voice hoarse with effort. "So, I fought back. You want to keep playing this game? Fine. But I'm not just going to stand here and take it." Liliane's eyes narrowed, but there was a new gleam in them, a spark of respect. "You're right," she spat. "This isn't a game. It's a war. And I'm going to enjoy watching you lose." Jean-Louis shook his head, a grim smile on his lips. "Not today, you won't." He felt the surge of power, his cock throbbing, his body aching, but he knew he had a chance. As the women flanked him, backing him toward the door, he remembered a woman he had met a few months back in the market. She was rough, uneducated, but she had a good heart. She would think he was just a wanderer. He needed her. He needed her and many like her.

Jean-Louis stumbled out of the tavern, his body a map of bruises and aches. He adjusted his tunic, trying to hide the worst of the damage, but every movement sent jolts of pain through him. His cock throbbed, a constant reminder of his cursed state, but he pushed the discomfort aside, focusing on the task at hand. He needed allies, needed women who didn't know about his curse, who could help him regain some semblance of control. He walked briskly through the crowded market, the noise and chatter a stark contrast to the violent encounter he'd just left. His nerves were on edge, and he flinched at every touch, every unexpected sound. He felt exposed, self-conscious in his own skin, the fabric of his clothes suddenly itchy and constricting. In the distance, he spotted a familiar face—Claire, the woman he had met a few months back. She was haggling with a merchant, her voice loud and confident. He hesitated, then approached her, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. "Claire," he called out, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. Claire turned, her eyes widening in surprise. "Jean-Louis? What brings you to the market?" she asked, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "We need to talk," he said, his tone urgent. "In private." Claire raised an eyebrow but nodded, leading him away from the bustling market to a quiet alley. "What's this about?" she asked, her arms crossed over her chest. She was defensive, and he couldn't blame her. This is what he had to overcome. "It's about... me," he started, running a hand through his hair. "About what I am, and what I need." "You mixed up with some trouble, Jean-Louis?" she asked, her eyes searching his face. "You could say that," Jean-Louis said, avoiding her gaze. "There are things about me, things I can't control. But I need help. I need women who don't know about my curse, who can help me regain some control. He thought, looking at her face, if he could get her to invite her friends, he could turn this curse around. I need friends, allies. People who can help me fight back." Claire's expression softened, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "You're scaring me, Jean-Louis," she admitted. "What kind of trouble are you in?" Jean-Louis took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet her gaze. He had to be honest, had to make her understand. "The kind of trouble that makes me a danger to myself and others. The kind of trouble that makes me weak, that makes me a pawn in someone else's game. The kind of trouble, He thought, looking at her, that I can't control, unless I have allies. And allies mean women. I need your help, Claire. I need your friends. I need anyone who can help me fight back against the curse that's destroying me and turning me into a worthless piece of shit." Claire studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face for the truth. "Alright, Jean-Louis," she said finally, her voice steady. "I'll help you. But you have to promise me one thing—no more secrets. No more lies. If we're going to help you, we need to know the truth." Jean-Louis nodded, relief flooding through him. He knew the road ahead would be hard, but with Claire by his side, he felt like he had a chance. "Deal," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "No more secrets. Just the truth, no matter how ugly it is."