Midnight shatters the fantasy. Cinderello’s jockstrap reverts to rags, limo-ride now a rusted wheelbarrow. Magnus storms the palace—“YOU COCKBLOCKING CUMRECEPTACLE!”—but pivots to John and Gus, already naked in the royal sauna. “Upgrade,” he smirks, spreading Gus over Brachalli’s lap, double-stuffing him raw while gold-plated dildos clatter nearby.
Cummings? Sulking in the throne room, fist-pumping his limp scepter. “No hole… compares,” he whimpers. Magnus cums thrice, Gus’s ass gushing between John’s thrusts. Moral? Magic fades—spitroasting’s forever.
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