The Dissolving Demonstration
By SmutWriterAI.
“Alright, everyone,” Robbie said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. “So, uh, I’ve been working on a compound that selectively targets the hydrogen bonds in synthetic fabrics and natural fibers, breaking them down without any—um—adverse effects on human tissue.”
He picked up the small vial of clear liquid and held it up to the fluorescent lights. It shimmered innocently.
“Watch.”
Robbie had prepared a demonstration. On the bench sat a pair of his own jeans, draped over a stool. He uncorked the vial and carefully tipped a few drops onto the denim. The liquid spread instantly, and within seconds, the fabric began to bubble, then disintegrate into a puddle of grey sludge. The jeans were gone. The stool was untouched.
A ripple of murmurs went through the class. A few people leaned forward.
“See? It dissolves the cloth but leaves the underlying surface—or skin—completely unharmed.” Robbie grinned, proud of himself. “I call it Fabrisolve. It could revolutionize laundry, waste disposal, maybe even medical applications.”
Professor Rodriguez nodded slowly. “Impressive, Mr. Thompson. But can you show us the effect on a larger scale? Perhaps something more… dramatic?”
Robbie’s heart raced. This was his moment. He had a full lab coat on over his shirt and jeans, but he wanted to demonstrate on something that would really catch attention. He reached for a larger beaker—about 500ml of the clear acid—and held it up.
“Watch this,” he said, and gestured to the pile of cloth scraps he had on the table. He tipped the beaker, but his hand shook.
The liquid sloshed. A wave of it splashed over the rim, drenching his lab coat, his shirt, his jeans.
“Oh sh—”
The reaction was immediate. The fabric of his lab coat began to dissolve, turning into a milky white foam that dripped onto the floor. Then his shirt went, vanishing in patches, revealing his pale chest and stomach. His jeans followed, melting away like ice under hot water, until nothing was left but a puddle of bubbling goo around his feet.
Robbie stood completely naked in front of thirty people.
His hands flew down to cover himself, but it was too late. They had all seen it. The silence lasted maybe two heartbeats, and then it broke.
A girl in the front row snorted. Then a guy laughed. Then the whole room erupted.
“Oh my God, look at his dick!”
“Jesus Christ, is that a clit?”
“Bro, that’s not a cock, that’s a fucking button!”
Robbie felt his face burn crimson. He tried to turn away, but the laughter followed him. He could feel the eyes on his crotch, on the tiny, limp piece of flesh between his legs—barely an inch soft, a pathetic little nub with his balls pulled up tight like two shriveled peas.
Professor Rodriguez sauntered around the bench, her heels clicking on the linoleum. She stopped right in front of him, looking down at his exposed groin with clinical interest.
“My, my, Mr. Thompson,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You really are… underdeveloped, aren’t you? I’ve seen seven-year-olds with more to work with.”
The class howled.
Robbie’s hands trembled at his sides. He couldn’t move. He was trapped, frozen, every inch of his humiliation laid bare. Someone in the back pulled out a phone, and he heard the click of a photo being taken.
“Send that to the group chat!” a voice yelled.
“His balls are like raisins,” a girl whispered, but it wasn’t a whisper—it was loud enough for everyone.
Robbie looked down. His cock was a sad little nub, barely visible above his balls. He tried to will it to grow, to show them it wasn’t that small, but the shame kept it soft and shrinking.
“Can you even get hard?” someone shouted.
“Does it even work?”
“Maybe he should dissolve the rest of it.”
Professor Rodriguez laughed, a low, throaty sound. She reached out and flicked his tiny cock with her finger, making him flinch. “Look at this,” she announced, “it’s like a little button. You press it, and nothing happens.”
More laughter. Someone started a chant: “Button dick! Button dick!”
Robbie’s eyes stung with tears. He tried to cover himself again, but his hands were slapped away by a girl who had stepped forward.
“No, no, let us see,” she said, grinning. “You wanted to show off your science, right? Well, now we’re seeing everything.”
She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand aside, exposing him fully. Another student came forward, a guy with a cocky grin, and knelt to get a better look.
“Bro, I’m actually hard right now,” he said, “and I’ve got like six inches. How do you even function?”
Robbie’s voice was a croak. “Please… please let me get a towel…”
“A towel?” Professor Rodriguez said, raising an eyebrow. “Why? You’ve already shown us everything. I think we should all appreciate the full extent of your, uh, breakthrough.” She turned to the class. “Let’s give Robbie a round of applause for his courageous demonstration.”
The room burst into clapping and cheers. Some people were doubled over, laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. A girl in the third row cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “THAT’S NOT A DICK, THAT’S A FAILED ABORTION!”
Robbie dropped his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. His tiny cock hung there, exposed, a joke for everyone to see. He could hear them still mocking him, still laughing, still taking pictures.
“Maybe you can invent something to make it bigger,” someone called out.
“Yeah! Call it DickSolve!”
More laughter.
Professor Rodriguez stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper only Robbie could hear. “Don’t worry, Mr. Thompson. This story is going to follow you for the rest of your college career. And I’ll make sure the department head gets a full report.”
She patted his bare shoulder and turned to the class. “Alright, everyone, settle down. Let’s give Robbie a chance to, uh, cover up… if he can find anything that hasn’t been dissolved.” She smirked. “Though I think he’s already given us the best demonstration of the semester.”
Robbie stood there, naked, humiliated, his tiny cock and balls on display for thirty people who would never let him forget it. He had nowhere to run, nothing to hide behind. The acid had taken everything.
And everyone had seen exactly how little he had to show.
*****
The laughter was still ringing in Robbie’s ears as he finally managed to stumble out of the lecture hall. Someone had tossed him a lab coat—but it was too late. The damage was done. Thirty pairs of eyes had seen everything. Thirty phones had captured the moment. His tiny, pathetic cock and shriveled balls were now immortalized in countless group chats, Snapchat stories, and Instagram DMs.
He found a bathroom and locked himself in a stall, his hands shaking as he pulled the lab coat around his naked body. It didn’t cover much. He had to tie the sleeves around his waist, but even then, the hem barely reached his thighs. Every time he moved, he felt the cold air on his exposed skin.
Robbie sat on the toilet, his face buried in his hands. The tears came again, hot and angry. He could still hear the laughter echoing in his head. Button dick. Clit. Failed abortion. The words cut deeper than any scalpel.
His phone buzzed. Then again. And again.
He pulled it out, his heart sinking. The notifications were endless. Text messages from classmates he barely knew—a flood of Snapchats from people who had never talked to him before. The university meme page had already posted a picture—his naked body, face blurred (thank God), but his crotch clearly visible, with the caption: “Engineering students: we build bridges. Chemistry students: we invent dick dissolvers.”
The comments were brutal.
“Is that a dick or a clit?”
“Bro got a micropeen.”
“Imagine paying tuition for that.”
“He’s gotta be a virgin forever.”
“My little brother has a bigger one.”
Robbie threw the phone into the sink. It clattered against the porcelain but didn’t break. He didn’t care.
He sat there for what felt like hours. The bathroom door creaked open a few times, but he didn’t move. He heard snickers, whispers. Someone kicked the stall door.
“Hey, Button Dick! You in there?”
Robbie didn’t answer.
“Come on, man, show us your little worm again!”
More laughter. Footsteps retreating.
He eventually had to leave. His next class was in twenty minutes, and if he skipped, Professor Rodriguez would definitely notice. She had already made it clear she was going to “keep an eye on him.”
Robbie pulled the lab coat tighter, adjusted his backpack straps, and walked out into the hallway. He kept his head down. It didn’t matter.
People stared. Some pointed. The water fountain huddled a group of girls from his chemistry class, and when they saw him, they burst into hysterical laughter.
“There he is! The guy with the microdick!”
“Hey Robbie! Did you get your balls back yet? They looked like they ran away!”
“His dick is literally smaller than my thumb!”
Robbie’s face burned. He walked faster, his flip-flops slapping against the linoleum. He had nothing underneath the lab coat except his bare skin. Every step made the fabric brush against his exposed thighs, his soft little dick, his balls. He felt vulnerable. Hunted.
He made it to his next class—a physics lecture, thank God, with a different professor. He slipped into a seat at the back, hoping no one would notice. But the whispers started immediately. People were staring at their phones, then at him. Someone in the front row turned around and mouthed, “Is it true?”
Robbie ignored them. He opened his notebook, pretending to take notes, but his hand was shaking too much to write.
The professor started talking about thermodynamics, but Robbie couldn’t focus. All he could think about was that moment. The acid splashing. The fabric is dissolving. The laughter. The laughter.
At the end of the lecture, a guy from his chemistry class, Derek, walked up to his desk. Derek was tall, muscular, and with a confident swagger. He had been one of the loudest laughers in the demonstration.
“Hey, buddy,” Derek said, grinning. “I gotta say, that was the funniest shit I’ve ever seen in a lecture hall. You really know how to make an impression.”
Robbie didn’t look up. “Please leave me alone.”
“Aw, come on, don’t be like that. I actually wanted to ask you something.” Derek leaned closer, his voice dropping to a mock-whisper. “Is it true that your dick is only three and a half inches when it’s hard? That’s what someone said on the group chat.”
Robbie’s jaw tightened. “It’s none of your business.”
“Okay, fine, fine. But seriously, dude, I feel bad for you. Like, imagine getting a girl back to your dorm, and she sees that. She’d laugh you out of the room.”
A few other students lingered, eavesdropping. A girl with pink hair snorted. “I’d literally cry if I saw that.”
“Girl, I’d ask for a refund.”
Robbie stood up abruptly, gathering his stuff. “I have to go.”
“Wait, wait,” Derek said, stepping in front of him. “I’m not done. Professor Rodriguez will be talking about your ‘breakthrough’ at the next department meeting. She told me. She said you’re gonna be the laughingstock of the whole science faculty.”
Robbie’s heart sank. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think it’s hilarious.” Derek laughed, loud and obnoxious. “Honestly, you should lean into it. Become the campus microdick mascot. You could do presentations on how to grow a real penis. Oh, wait, you can’t.”
The pink-haired girl burst out laughing. “Derek, stop, he’s gonna cry.”
“Too late,” Robbie muttered, pushing past them.
He rushed out of the classroom, down the stairs, and out into the courtyard. The sun was bright, and students were lounging on the grass, studying, chatting, laughing. A few of them looked up as he passed. He could feel their eyes on him, hear the whispers.
“Is that the guy?”
“Yeah, I saw the post.”
“His dick is literally invisible.”
“No way, I gotta see the photo again.”
Robbie wanted to disappear. He wanted to dissolve as his clothes had. Maybe he could pour the rest of the acid on himself—not the diluted version, the full-strength concentrate that could eat through skin. But he had used it all in the demonstration. The only vial left was in Professor Rodriguez’s office.
He sat down on a bench near the chemistry building, his head in his hands. The lab coat was riding up, exposing his bare thighs. He couldn’t go back to his dorm like this. He didn’t have any clothes. Everything he had worn that morning was a puddle of sludge in a waste bin in the lecture hall.
His phone buzzed again. He didn’t want to look, but he did.
It was a text from an unknown number.
“Hey Robbie, this is Jessica from Chem 301. I saw your little show today. I’m actually curious—does it even work? Can you get hard? DM me if you want to prove it ;)”
Robbie stared at the message. His stomach churned. Was she making fun of him? Or was she really interested? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t care. He deleted the message without responding.
Then another buzz. This time from Professor Rodriguez.
“Mr. Thompson, please come to my office at 5 PM. Let’s discuss the incident and your future in the program. Bring any remaining Fabrisolve samples. —Prof. Rodriguez”
Robbie’s blood ran cold. He knew what that meant. More humiliation. More laughter. More torture.
He looked down at his lap. Under the lab coat, his tiny cock was still soft, barely visible beneath the fabric. He touched it, just to feel something, and it twitched slightly. But it didn’t grow. It never grew much. Even at its hardest, it was a pathetic three and a half inches, thin as a pencil, curved awkwardly to the left. He had never shown it to anyone before today. He had been too ashamed.
Now everyone had seen it.
Robbie stood up, his legs shaky. He had three hours until the meeting with Professor Rodriguez. He needed to find clothes. He needed to figure out how to survive the rest of the semester.
But as he walked across the campus, he could already hear the whispers following him. The laughter. The mocking.
He was no longer Robbie Thompson, aspiring chemist.
He was Button Dick. The microdick guy. The laughingstock of the entire university.
And it was only going to get worse.
*****
Robbie spent the next two hours hiding. He found a secluded bench behind the biology building, tucked between overgrown hedges and a dumpster. The smell was awful—rotten fruit and chemicals—but at least no one could see him there. He sat with his knees pulled up, the lab coat barely covering his thighs, and stared at his phone.
The notifications kept coming. His Instagram DMs were flooded with messages from people he didn’t know. Some were cruel. Some were curious. A few were downright creepy.
“Hey man, no judgment here. I have a small one too. We should start a club.”
“Can I see it in person? I promise I won’t laugh. Much.”
“My girlfriend saw your photo and said she’d fuck you just to see your face when she realizes it’s a clit.”
Robbie deleted them all. He turned off notifications. He was about to throw the phone into the dumpster when a new message popped up—from his mother.
“Hey sweetie, how was your day? Did your demonstration go well? Love you!”
He stared at the screen. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. What could he say? Hey Mom, my demonstration went great. I invented a chemical that dissolves clothes. Then I spilled it on myself, and now the entire university has seen my tiny dick and won’t stop laughing at me. Also, my professor wants to see me in her office, probably to humiliate me further.
He typed: “It went fine. Busy with homework. Talk later.”
He sent it and shoved the phone into the lab coat pocket.
The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the campus. Robbie checked the time: 4:45 PM. Fifteen minutes until he meets with Professor Rodriguez. He stood up, stretched his sore legs, and felt the lab coat ride up again. He adjusted it, but there was nothing he could do. He was practically naked under this flimsy white cloth.
He walked toward the chemistry building, keeping his head down. The hallways were quieter now—most classes had ended. But there were still a few students milling about, and they all seemed to know who he was. A group of guys playing pool in the student lounge whistled as he passed.
“Hey, Button Dick! Where’s your lab coat? Oh, wait, that is your lab coat!”
“Does it double as a dress for your tiny body?”
“His dick is probably smaller than the button on that coat!”
Robbie ignored them. He pushed through the double doors into the chemistry wing. The air smelled like ethanol and latex. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, where the faculty offices were. Professor Rodriguez’s door was at the end of the hall, with a plaque reading Dr. Juanita Rodriguez, Ph.D., Organic Chemistry.
He knocked.
“Come in.”
Robbie opened the door. Professor Rodriguez was sitting behind her desk, her laptop open, a cup of coffee in her hand. She looked up at him with a faint smile—the kind of smile a cat gives a mouse before it pounces.
“Mr. Thompson. Please, have a seat.”
She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Robbie sat down, pulling the lab coat tight around his legs. He felt exposed. The chair was cold against his bare thighs.
Professor Rodriguez took a sip of her coffee, watching him over the rim. She was in her late forties, with sharp features and dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. She had a reputation for being tough but fair. Today, she seemed almost amused.
“I assume you’ve seen the posts,” she said.
Robbie nodded, not trusting his voice.
“I’m not going to punish you for the incident. It was an accident, and accidents happen in the lab.” She set her coffee down and leaned forward. “However, I do need to address the fallout. Your demonstration was recorded, photographed, and shared across multiple platforms. The university’s social media team has already contacted me. They want to take the posts down, but they’re struggling—too many reposts.”
“I’m sorry,” Robbie whispered.
“Sorry, won’t fix it. But I’m not here to scold you.” She paused, her eyes flickering down to his lap. “Actually, I wanted to discuss your invention. The Fabrisolve formula is genuinely impressive. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, I think it has potential. Real-world applications.”
Robbie looked up, surprised. “Really?”
“Really. I’ve already spoken to the dean about fast-tracking your research. We could apply for a patent, get funding, maybe even publish a paper.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course, we need to address the elephant in the room.”
Robbie’s stomach tightened. “What elephant?”
Professor Rodriguez stood up and walked around her desk. She leaned against the front edge, crossing her arms. She was close now—close enough that Robbie could smell her perfume, something floral and sharp.
“Your… condition,” she said, her voice low. “The footage is out there. You’re going to be known as the boy with the tiny penis. If we move forward with this research, you’ll be in the spotlight. You’ll have to give presentations, talk to investors, and maybe even do interviews. Do you think you can handle that while the entire internet knows what you look like naked?”
Robbie’s cheeks burned. “I… I don’t know.”
“Exactly. So I have a proposal.” She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a small vial—clear liquid, exactly like the Fabrisolve. “This is a stronger concentration. If you apply it to your skin, it will dissolve the outer layers. Painfully. Permanently.”
Robbie’s eyes widened. “What? No, I—”
“Relax, I’m not suggesting you use it.” She laughed, a cold sound. “I’m just showing you what’s possible. You see, Robbie, you’ve created something powerful. But you’ve also made yourself vulnerable. So here’s my offer: I’ll help you with the patent and the funding. I’ll even help you deal with the social media fallout. In exchange, you’ll share credit with me. Co-author on the paper. Co-inventor on the patent. And you’ll follow my instructions on how to handle the press.”
Robbie hesitated. “You want to take credit for my work?”
“I want to help you. But I need something in return.” She uncrossed her arms and reached out, touching his chin, tilting his face up. “You’re a brilliant student, Robbie. But you’re also a laughingstock. Don’t you want to prove them wrong? Don’t you want to show them that you’re more than just a tiny dick?”
Robbie’s breath caught. Her touch was firm, almost possessive. He could feel his face heating up, and worse, he could feel a twitch in his groin. His tiny cock was stirring, trying to get hard despite the humiliation. He squeezed his thighs together, trying to hide it.
Professor Rodriguez noticed. Her eyes dropped to his lap, and her lips curled into a smirk.
“Oh my,” she said softly. “Is that… getting hard? Right now? In my office?”
“No,” Robbie lied, his voice cracking.
She laughed, a genuine laugh this time. “You’re adorable. Even now, after everything, your little button is trying to stand at attention.” She reached down and, before Robbie could react, she pressed her hand against the lab coat, right over his crotch. She felt the tiny bulge—if you could call it that—and squeezed gently.
Robbie gasped. “Please, don’t—”
“Shh,” she whispered, her fingers rubbing against the thin fabric. “I’m just curious. I’ve never seen one this small before. You really are underdeveloped, aren’t you?” She pressed harder, feeling the shape of his cock through the coat. It was barely there—a small, stiff nub, no bigger than her thumb. “How does it even work? Can you ejaculate?”
Robbie’s eyes were wet with tears. “Yes,” he whispered. “I can… I mean, it works. It’s just small.”
“Interesting.” She pulled her hand away and stood up. “I’ll consider your answer to my proposal. But before you leave, I want you to do something for me.”
Robbie looked up, terrified.
Professor Rodriguez walked to the door and locked it. Then she turned back to him, her expression unreadable.
“Stand up. Take off the lab coat. I want to see the full picture.”
Robbie’s heart pounded. “Why?”
“Because if we’re going to work together, I need to understand your… limitations. Consider it a test. If you can show me your body without breaking down, I’ll know you have the backbone for the work ahead.”
He wanted to refuse. He wanted to run. But his legs moved on their own, carrying him to his feet. His hands trembled as he untied the lab coat. It fell to the floor, pooling around his ankles.
He stood naked in front of his professor.
The office lights were bright, harsh. Professor Rodriguez circled him slowly, her eyes raking over his body. He was skinny, pale, with sparse hair on his chest and legs. And between his thighs, his tiny erection was standing—a pathetic little thing, barely two inches now, thin and awkwardly curved.
She stopped in front of him and reached out, taking his cock between her thumb and forefinger. She rolled it gently, feeling the texture.
“Three and a half inches hard, you said? That’s being generous.” She flicked the tip. “This is more like two. Maybe two and a half. And the girth…” She wrapped her fingers around it, and they overlapped easily. “Like a pencil. A child’s pencil.”
Robbie sobbed, his whole body shaking.
Professor Rodriguez let go and stepped back. “Alright. You passed the test. You can put your coat back on.”
He scrambled to grab the lab coat, wrapping it around himself. He couldn’t look at her.
“Here’s the deal,” she said, sitting back down at her desk. “You’ll co-author the paper with me. You’ll follow my instructions exactly. And in return, I’ll protect you from the worst of the fallout. But remember this, Robbie.” Her voice hardened. “I own you now. I own your invention. And I own your secret. One wrong move, and I’ll make sure every single person on this campus knows exactly what you look like naked. Understood?”
Robbie nodded, tears streaming down his face.
“Good. Now get out of my office. And for God’s sake, find some clothes.”
*****
Chapter Four: The Final Solution
Robbie didn’t find clothes that night. The campus thrift shop was closed, and he couldn’t bring himself to walk to the mall,穿过 the main quad, where students were still hanging out. He spent the night in the chemistry building, curled up in a storage closet, wearing nothing but the lab coat. It smelled like formaldehyde and dust.
He barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of his classmates, the flash of cameras, the cruel laughter. And worse—he felt Professor Rodriguez’s fingers on his tiny cock, squeezing, evaluating, owning.
By morning, he had made a decision.
—
The chemistry lab was empty when he arrived at 6 AM. He had the keycard. He had the formula. Professor Rodriguez had given him access to the advanced synthesis equipment, supposedly to finalize the patent application. But Robbie had other plans.
He measured the ingredients carefully. Fabrisolve was a polymer dissolver that broke down long-chain molecular bonds. But there was a secondary compound, one he’d never written down or shared with anyone. A derivative that, when synthesized correctly, didn’t dissolve fabric—it dissolved cells. Specifically, epidermal and dermal tissue. It was a chemical that could strip skin from bone, leaving clean, white skeletons behind.
He had called it Dermisolve in his private notes.
He’d never intended to make it. It was a theoretical byproduct, a dangerous cousin to his breakthrough. But now, staring at the small beaker of clear liquid, he realized it was the only way out.
The university couldn’t laugh at a corpse. The internet couldn’t mock a skeleton.
He held the beaker up to the light. The liquid was clear, just like Fabrisolve. But if he spilled this on himself, there would be no humiliation, no photos, no whispers. There would be nothing left of Robbie Thompson but a white, clean skeleton, stripped of all the flesh that had been so cruelly judged.
He set the beaker on the counter.
Then he heard footsteps.
“Robbie? What are you doing here so early?”
He spun around. Professor Rodriguez stood in the doorway, wearing a crisp blazer, a coffee cup in her hand. Her eyes went from his face to the beaker on the counter.
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice dropping.
“Nothing,” Robbie said quickly. “Just—just a sample for the patent.”
She didn’t believe him. She walked closer, setting her coffee down, and picked up the beaker. She sniffed it. Then she looked at him with narrowed eyes.
“This isn’t Fabrisolve. The pH is different. The viscosity.” She glanced at his notes, open on the lab bench. Her face went pale. “Dermisolve? What the hell is this, Robbie?”
He didn’t answer. He was trembling.
Professor Rodriguez stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face. Not a cruel smile—an intrigued one.
“You were going to kill yourself,” she said softly. “Weren’t you?”
Robbie’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t take it. The photos, the comments, the way everyone looks at me. You said you owned me. You’re right. You own everything. I have nothing left.”
She put the beaker down carefully. “Sit down, Robbie.”
He didn’t move.
“I said sit.”
He sat on the stool, his hands in his lap. The lab coat fell open slightly, revealing his pale thighs.
Professor Rodriguez leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “I’m going to tell you something, and I need you to listen carefully. You have a gift. Fabrisolve is just the beginning. Dermisolve—this chemical you’ve created—it’s terrifying. But it’s also brilliant. You could dissolve bodies, Robbie. Cleanly, silently, without a trace. Do you realize what that means?”
He shook his head.
“It means you have power. More power than anyone on this campus. More power than me.” She walked over to him and knelt, so she was eye level with him. “You’ve been focused on your weakness. Your small cock, your humiliation. But look at what you’ve created. You could kill people. You could erase evidence. You could be the most dangerous person in this city.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Robbie whispered.
“Of course you don’t. But the potential is there. And that potential is what I’m interested in.” She reached out and cupped his cheek. “I don’t want to own you, Robbie. I want to partner with you. Think about it. With your brain and my connections, we could do anything. Develop weapons, sell to the military, blackmail politicians. The only thing holding you back is your own shame.”
He looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you need to stop caring about what people think. Let them laugh. Let them call you Button Dick. It doesn’t matter. Because while they’re laughing, you’re building something that could destroy them.” She squeezed his cheek gently. “Your tiny cock isn’t your weakness. It’s your freedom. No one takes you seriously. No one sees you coming. You’re invisible, Robbie. And invisible people can do terrible things.”
A strange feeling crept into his chest. Not hope, exactly. Something darker. Something cold.
“What about the photos?” he asked. “The humiliation?”
“Forget it. Lean into it. The next time someone calls you Button Dick, smile. Agree. Tell them it’s the size of a button, but it still works. Make them uncomfortable. Own the joke.” She stood up and gestured at the beaker. “But more importantly, finish this. Perfect Dermisolve. I’ll help you with the patent for Fabrisolve, as I promised. But this—” she tapped the beaker, “—this stays between us. Our little secret.”
Robbie looked at the clear liquid. The death he had planned for himself. Now it felt like a tool instead.
He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“Good.” Professor Rodriguez smiled. “Now get dressed. I brought you some clothes from my office. They’ll be too big, but they’ll cover you.” She walked to the door, then paused. “And Robbie? Welcome to the real world. The one where the weak don’t survive, but the clever ones thrive.”
She left.
He sat alone in the lab, staring at the beaker. His tiny cock was soft beneath the lab coat, but for the first time in days, he didn’t feel ashamed of it.
He felt dangerous.
And that was better.
—
Three months later, Fabrisolve Industries was incorporated. Robbie Thompson was listed as co-founder and chief scientific officer. Professor Rodriguez handled the business side. The university took a cut, but it didn’t matter. The money was rolling in from industrial solvent contracts.
The photos still existed. The memes still circulated. But Robbie had stopped caring. He wore tailored suits now, his skinny frame hidden beneath expensive fabric. When someone whispered “Button Dick” behind his back, he turned and smiled, cold and empty, and they looked away first.
Dermisolve remained locked in a safe that only he knew the combination to. He had perfected it. A single drop could dissolve a finger down to the bone in thirty seconds. A cupful could erase a body.
He never used it.
But he liked knowing it was there.
And sometimes, late at night, when he sat alone in his penthouse apartment, he would take out his tiny, pathetic erection and stroke it to the thought of all the people who had laughed at him. He would imagine their faces as they dissolved. Their screams turning to gurgles. Their bones gleamed white.
He would cum in three pathetic spurts, barely enough to wet his fingers.
And then he would clean up, go to bed, and wake up the next morning as Button Dick—the most dangerous man in the city.
The End.
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