Halloween Treats free porn video

HALLOWEEN TREATS by Throne "B... but, honey, this isn't the costume you were supposed to order for me," I said petulantly, as I looked into the box. Staring back at me was an adult-size diaper, two large safety pins, and a pair of plastic panties on the same scale. My wife Cleo said, "Sorry, Dink, but that's what they sent. You're not saying that it was ME who got it wrong, are you?" I glanced at the threatening look on her face and swallowed drily. "N... no, dear," I said meekly. She told me, "Maybe you'll like the rest of the outfit better. See what else is in there." When I removed the first items I got an even bigger shock. Underneath them was a short baby dress that would leave my legs uncovered. With it were a pair of booties. And all of that was in light pink, with ruffled trim. When I turned pleading eyes to Cleo she was smirking at me, not bothering to hide her disdain for my weakness. She knew I wouldn't stand up to her. It's not just that I'm short and pudgy. Or that she's tall and voluptuously sexy, with straight dark hair cut in bangs above her grey eyes. I know how other men love to look at her, to imagine themselves kissing her plump lips. And she doesn't discourage them. Quite the opposite. My wife enjoys being a flirt, dressing to show off her zaftig figure. She pushed her hair back off her shoulders and told me, "Go in the guest bedroom and try on your costume, Dink. We have to leave for the party soon." I hated that she had started to use that name for me. We had been at a friend's house and one of the guys who was also there heard my correct name, which is Drake. He made a stupid joke of calling me Dink instead. Unfortunately for me, my wife laughed at it and used it too. That made it okay for everyone else to, and it stuck. It didn't help me that the guy was tall and muscularly built, with strong features and an impressive bulge in the crotch of his tight jeans. That last advantage of his really made me feel inferior, because my own male equipment is, well, let's just say 'not fully developed'. His name was Brook and Cleo spent plenty of time chatting with him, making me run and get her appetizers and drinks. With my head hung low, I shuffled to the spare bedroom. It was a familiar spot for me, because my bride had been making me sleep there more and more often. I was welcomed into the bed in the master bedroom mainly when she wanted sex. But she had gotten tired of my undersized penis and lack of staying power, so she had declared that until further notice I would pleasure her with my mouth and maybe, if I did an exceptional job and she was in a good mood, I might get a quick hand job in return. Most times I would give her three or four orgasms and she would reward me with a few peremptory strokes, and no orgasm, before she sent me off to the other room to sleep. I set the costume box on the bed and looked at it with a sinking feeling. At the Halloween party we were going to, everyone would see me looking ridiculous. It wasn't bad enough that they all called me Dink. Now they would have the memory of seeing me dressed as a baby. I began to undress, being reminded that I also have barely any body hair, just a minimal amount above my little penis. After two failed attempts, I managed to get the diaper on properly and pinned. Then I pulled the plastic pants up my smooth legs. Even with no one looking at me I felt awkward and unsettled. I took a moment to regain my composure and then picked up the dress. Beneath it was a bonnet with a curl of blond hair, like a large comma, sticking out in the forehead area. Along with that were a big pacifier and rattle. I had to fight to keep from crying, it was so awful. I pulled the dress over my head and had the small consolation of at least being able to conceal my chubby figure. Then I put on the booties and knotted their ribbon ties, making bows. When I put on the bonnet that yellow curl hung down almost between my blue eyes. I reluctantly tied its ribbon into a big bow under my chin. With my pale brows and lashes, I really did look like some kind of adult baby. Or, more correctly, adult baby girl. The pacifier was on a long ribbon, which I put around my neck. Taking the rattle in hand, I went to show my wife how I looked, harboring the irrational hope that she would decide to reject the costume and improvise something else for the party. When I went into the main bedroom -- which I thought of more and more as HER bedroom -- she was just finishing getting into her own costume. I was stunned to see her elegantly dressed as Cleopatra. A tight dress hugged her full contours and exposed her deep cleavage. Her feet were in golden sandals with low heels and she had matching bracelets and necklace. There was an Egyptian-style tiara crowning her glossy jet hair and she had used plenty of black make-up on her eyes to complete the effect. She was applying some blue shadow to her eyelids as I stood there with my mouth hanging open. Cleo turned and smiled at me, knowing how turned on I get when I see her in anything tight. She looked me up and down and laughed out loud. "Oh, Dink, you make a perfect baby girl. Come here and let me give you a few finishing touches." I said sulkily, "Please, dear. It's bad enough already." Her eyes flashed anger and I closed my mouth. Putting myself directly in front of her, I tilted my head back to give her easy access to my features. She applied rouge to my cheeks, outlined my eyes, and took out a tube of lipstick. I winced when I saw that last choice, but finally had the sense to keep my silence. She cheerfully applied plenty of the bright red hue, outlined it, and then added a coat of gloss. When she made me look in the vanity mirror, I nearly wept. She had turned me into a cute girl-doll. Cleo had me shake my rattle and make baby noises. She patted me on the top of the head, told me I wasn't allowed to speak 'grown-up style' until she said I could, and called me 'good girl'. We got into Cleo's car, with her behind he wheel. I was mortified every time someone spotted me from another vehicle. A burly truck driver sounded his horn. Cleo gave him a wave but he shook his head and pointed toward me. She laughed and told me to give him a sissy wave. With a limp wrist, I flapped my hand at him and he grinned wolfishly back at me. My stomach turned over. Cleo said that I could make some exciting new friends while I was dressed that way. She found a spot in front of the house where the party was. But then she changed her mind and drove halfway down the block to park. As I got out, people inside the closest house looked out the windows, pointed, and grinned. She had me curtsey to them, which earned me amused expressions and pantomimed applause. I blushed beet red. We got to the front door of our destination and were greeted by a good looking guy dressed as a superhero, sans mask. Inside there were a half dozen couples, all of them in nice costumes. I would have been happy to wear what any of those the men had on. Instead, I was the lone male wearing anything shameful. I was greeted as 'Dink' and 'Baby Dink' to which, because of Cleo's order, I could only respond with baby talk. We settled in, with my wife chatting happily to some of the ladies. I was relieved that she wasn't flirting, but that didn't last long. There was another knock on the door and the hostess, dressed as a certain feline comic book character, went to answer. I was looking in that direction, to see who else was going to come in and see me dressed as a baby girl. To my distress, the new arrival was Brook, the stud from that previous gathering. It made sense, since this was the same crowd, but I was still unnerved. Worse, he was dressed as Julius Caesar, a perfect match for my bride's Cleopatra. They went straight for each other and he gave me a dismissive sneer. Brook snapped at me, "Hey, Dinky, get me a beer." When I stuck out my lower lip, he added, "And don't get your diaper all in a bunch." That made several of the guests chuckle and I was on the starting to tremble, I was so insulted. But what could I do? Complain to my wife and have her loudly disrespect me in front of everyone? Or say something to Brook and probably have him shove me against the wall. I tried to look slightly less foolish than I felt as, carrying my rattle, I headed for the kitchen to fetch his drink. When I came back he was standing very close to my wife, who had her hand on his broad chest and was wearing a seductive expression. I handed him his beer and he acknowledged me with a grunt. Then my wife waved me away and I went to stand in the corner, watching them worriedly. About fifteen minutes later they went up the steps to the second floor and vanished. I followed them nervously, too scared to assert my husbandly rights and get between them. Instead, I skulked a few steps from the top, waited for them to enter a bedroom and shut the door, and then tiptoed to catch up. Through the door I could hear her giggling and his deep voice saying something I couldn't make out. Then my wife distinctly said, "Dink? He's nothing but a wimp. I don't even let him have sex. All he's allowed to do is eat my pussy. What I need is a real man, like you Brook, with a big cock. What's between Dink's legs isn't enough to fill a donut hole. Now come on and give me what I really need." I heard his booming laugh and then her saying something in a voice made husky by desire. Wanting to leave, but not able to make myself move, I heard the unmistakable sounds of foreplay and then sex. She tried to be quiet but made enough noise to tell me she was loving every second of it. She didn't get that enthused when I had my face between her full thighs. They went at it for twenty minutes before finishing together. I stood there sniffling, with one fingertip in my mouth. Cleo told Brook that she wanted to see him again and I knew that I was going to have a rough time of it. On the way home she announced that the two of them enjoyed each other's company and that he would be stopping by two or three evenings a week, and that I was to behave while he was there. Then she hit me with more bad news. "And since Brook is a true man and you're such a poor excuse for one, I want you to dress your part when he's there. I'll start you in panties and cropped tops, maybe some shoes with platform soles, and a big lollipop you can carry around. Of course, you'll have make-up to match, like bubblegum-pink lipstick and long drawn on eyelashes. Maybe even a yellow wig with pigtails if I want. Be naughty and I'll put you into baby outfits like you have on now. Show a good attitude and maybe I'll let you move up to short-shorts and T-shirts. We'll see. And you will treat Brook with absolute respect. Understood?" My voice quavered as I said, assuming I was allowed to use real words again, "Y... yes, dear. I'll behave." I was fearful that I would lose even my limited access to her stunning body, so I added, "W... will we still be having sex? I mean, will I still be... licking you? And...?" She chortled. "Oh, you'll be eating my pussy all right. Starting as soon as we get to the house." "B... but you had sex with him. You didn't have any chance to clean up down there and..." My words trailed off. "That's right," she assured me. "I caught a peek of you following us, so I know you heard me getting properly pounded. He was fantastic. And yes, I'm overflowing with his spunk. So when you go down on me in a little while, you'll be lapping up the mess he left and trying very hard to give me another climax or two." She allowed me a few seconds to respond and, when I was too cowardly to defend myself, continued with, "But I don't want to feel like I'm cheating on my new lover by giving you even an occasional hand job. So the new deal is that you don't get any of that from me. If you act very sweet around Brook, however, I might let you play with yourself, and even empty your tiny balls. That's not a promise. Just a maybe. Right?" I was in shock. My mouth opened and closed several times before I could find words. Did I try to negotiate for a better deal? Or to make her feel guilty? Or even to gain an ounce of sympathy? Of course not. I just sat there in my humiliating baby costume, and said I understood. She snorted derisively, told me to put my pacifier in my mouth and keep it there until she was ready to use my tongue, and then stopped at a drugstore, gave me two dollars, and told me to go in and buy her a candy bar. It was acutely shameful to have to go in there, dressed in my baby costume, face made up, booties on my feet, rattle still in hand. I picked a candy bar, something I knew she liked, and went to the checkout. There was a cute young woman behind the counter and she struggled not to laugh out loud as she rang me up and gave me my change. When I got back into the car, I'm sure Cleo could see how much I had suffered. She just nodded, satisfied with that extra helping of disgrace she had given me, and drove the rest of the way home. We got there and I helped her undress, feeling pangs of unfulfilled need the entire time. She talked happily about the pretty things I was going to be wearing around the house from then on. I started to say something and she cut me off, explaining that I would always have to be dressed girly, just in case Brook decided to pay a surprise visit. Then she stretched out naked on the bed -- her bed -- and spread her long legs. I didn't have to be told what to do. And I had no illusions that Brook's plentiful ejaculate had evaporated or vanished in some other way. No, she was a sticky mess down there. I stuck out my tongue and got my first taste of the salty white stuff. She had two quaking orgasms and I left her satisfied and very clean. Cleo told me I would be sleeping in the guest room that night and every night. She warned me not to brush my teeth or even rinse my mouth. Then she let me assume the missionary position so she could reach up under my baby dress and toy with my nipples, doing it until I was half out of my mind from the stimulation. My wife joked about how being played with that way was something girls liked. Then she rolled over and sleepily told me to kiss her ass goodnight. I had to press my lips to each of her well rounded cheeks and then bury my face between them, lavishing attention on her there for five minutes. At last I was allowed to leave (after being made to thank her for a 'lovely evening') and go to what was now my bedroom. I got under the sheets, the taste of her lover's cum and her ass filling my mouth, and tried to sleep. Nightmarish visions of the life I would be leading from then on filled my mind. At last I drifted off to disturbing dreams. My life had changed and would never go back to what it had been before. ****** Jason Prentice laughed as he observed the revealing costume he had made his wife Deena wear for the Halloween party at their home. Actually, it was his home, because he had avoided putting anything into both their names. Every penny of his considerable wealth was his alone, and he never let her forget it. She was wearing two band-aids over her nipples and a sanitary pad over her pubes. She had a slender figure and was quite fit, but the demeaning way he had made her appear ruined the effect. He loved controlling her and this was one of his best moves yet. For himself he had selected handsome costume, a military uniform from some past period. 1800s or whenever. He didn't really care. He had just put it on when he was surprised by their maid, Angeles, entering the room. She had on her usual brief maid's outfit, which he insisted she wear. The sexy Latina wore black fishnet stockings, shown off by her tiny skirt, and a top that was cut so low that her sizable bust threatened to pop out. Jason loved controlling ALL the women in his life. She was carrying a large box, which she set on the bed. He gave her a critical look and wanted to know what she was doing there. "You have no business being in my room uninvited. It would be different if I had asked you here." He grinned nastily. "As I have so often in the past. But I don't feel like using your talented mouth right now. The party is starting downstairs. Now get out." He picked up his martini and took a final sip, draining the glass. She wanted to know, "Do you feel all right, Sir?" He snapped at her, "Of course I feel all right. Why would I feel any other w... w..." Suddenly he felt very unsteady. She took him by the shoulders and backed him up, sitting him alongside the box. Angeles said, "Maybe that uniform is too constricting. Let's get you out of it." As she began to unbutton the jacket, he was able to say, though he words were slurred, "I think something's wrong with me." "Probably just that drink, Sir. Perhaps Andrews, your cook, slipped something into it. You did threaten to fire him twice this week. Or maybe it was Preston, the groundskeeper. After all, you did cut his pay last month. I mean, really, there are so many people who have issues to settle with you. I don't think there's anyone you employ who wouldn't like to see you get your comeuppance." He was woozily aware that she was removing his pants. And his shorts! Someone else was coming into the room. It was Dr. McMannus, his physician. He set a medical bag on the counter and produced a syringe, which he proceeded to fill from a vial. As he was injecting something into both sides of Jason's chest, another figure appeared. It was Marie, the beautician who came to the house once or twice a week to do Deena's hair. She was always annoyed when he insisted that his wife wear her blond tresses the way he dictated. And she was opposing him in his desire to get his wife permanent make-up. But what was she doing here now? The doctor refilled the needle from a fresh vial and used it several times on Jason's bottom. The wealthy young man swore silently that he would take legal action against all of them. While he was resolving to do that, Marie was smearing every inch of his body, as well as his lower face, with some sort of perfumed cream. He tried to raise his arms but she easily pushed them back down. Angeles, meanwhile, was unpacking whatever was in that box. They stood him up and the doctor gave him a final shot, this one in the upper arm. He began to come around, but very slowly. Angeles and Marie were taking his arms and doubling them up, wrapping his hands, and putting his fists into his armpits. Straps went around his bent arms to hold them in that awkward position. At the same time, the sites of those injections in his chest and bottom began to tingle. He felt the areas swelling and was horrified to see two mounds rising on his chest. Marie wiped away the cream, starting at his jawline and working all the way down to his toes. He couldn't believe it, but all of his body hair was being removed, leaving him smooth and pink. And his chest was still enlarging, those spots forming... breasts? His areolas puffed up and his nipples doubled in size. He shook his head and tried to push everyone away, but his arms were totally incapacitated. Hands forced him down into a squat and more leather straps, forming some sort of a harness, were put on his lower body, making it impossible for him to stand up, keeping him in that 'duck walk' posture. He heard someone say that he was almost done. Alarmingly, the protrusions on his chest were now fully formed breasts, at least a B-cup, and showed no signs of being done growing. Marie pulled up the chair from his corner desk, sat down, and jabbed a small sharp implement into his lips. He made a sound of protest but she just patted his cheek solicitously. Then she went to work on his features with something like a tattoo needle. The doctor stepped back and nodded approvingly. What was he so pleased with? Jason now had C-cups, still enlarging. When he moved they jiggled. That provoked laughter from everyone watching. Marie cautioned him to stay still unless he wanted to risk having his face permanently messed up. What was happening? Twenty minutes later she declared that she was done for the moment, but that she expected to need several follow-up sessions to do the rest of her work. As Jason's mind cleared further, he began to tell everyone what he intended to do with the help of his lawyer, and that if he was not released at once they would all be sued for everything they owned. "I don't think that's going to happen," a familiar voice stated. It was his lawyer and alongside him stood Jason's financial manager. They were both grinning down at him. Had they forgotten all the threats he had made to them in the past? At Angeles' request, the two of them rocked Jason over and laid him on his back. The maid put high heels on his feet and fastened their ankle straps. He could see her using tiny heart-shaped padlocks to lock the shoes on him. Then he was put upright again and told, by the lowly maid no less, to walk. "You bitch," he snarled. "Wait until I get out of this. You... all of you... will be sorry." "Maybe," she said, "but let's see how your party goes first." She reached over to his dresser and took his burnished silver hairbrush. Bending low, she smacked it against the sides of his bottom, first one and then the other. It stung terribly and when he jerked, his breasts, now about 38 inches and easily D-cups, bounced. She applied a dozen more swats on each side before he surrendered and said he would try to walk. In that awful pose, with the high heels on, he could only take mini-steps, his bottom doing a little wiggle with each one. They got him in front of the full length mirror he used when dressing and he was astonished to see himself. Jason Prentice, wealthy and carefree only an hour ago, was now a crouching figure, naked except for his bondage. His body had been altered disturbingly, his bottom now big and round, those new breasts ballooning out. Worst of all was his face. Whatever Marie had done to his lips had made them puff up. He was wearing make-up, or whatever it was she had applied with that device, that made him appear not just feminine but almost whorish. He looked around at everyone, realizing for the first time that he might not be able to regain control of this situation. "What's the matter, Jason darling?" It was his wife Deena. She no longer wore that insulting, barely-there costume. Instead, she was dressed as a female prison guard. She said to her husband with feigned concern, "You don't look like yourself, dearest." Not sounding very confident, he told her, "You have to let me loose. I need to get some clothes on." "That's not going to happen, Jason. Or maybe I should call you Justine. Yes, I like the sound of that. The misfortunes of virtue. Although in your case, it's the misfortunes of being a prick. No, Justine, you've screwed everyone around you, some of them literally," she said, glancing at Angeles, who looked angrily vindictive. "But everyone else was a victim too, and the only guilty party is you. So now you're going downstairs to your flashy Halloween party and, instead of showing off your wealth as you had planned, you're going to be showing off the new you. Oh, and there's one part of the improved Jason that they saved for me to give you myself." He was again put on his back, his bent arms flapping uselessly, while his attractive wife applied something sticky to his hairless genital area. He felt her tucking his male parts into a small device and then holding it in place. After two minutes he was put back on his feet and saw the results in the mirror. His equipment had been compressed into a small chastity 'keeper' which, his bride informed him, was glued in place and couldn't be removed without a scarce and expensive solvent. The covering resembled a feminine pubic mound down to the last detail. It appeared as if he had undergone a sex change. She went on to explain that he would no longer be able to pester her or any of the female staff or any call girls in the city with his rampant sexual needs. "You want it every day. You get crazy when you have to go 24 hours without emptying your balls. So this is going to be rather difficult for you, Justine. Let me demonstrate." Deena fingered his responsive nipples and a current of sexual energy was sent down his body, straight to his penis. The organ attempted to erect but couldn't, not in it's strict confinement. Instead, it pressed against his trapped testicles and hurt them. He winced and moaned, in discomfort and from the frustration of being stimulated without expectation of satisfaction. His wife suggested, "Think about what it'll feel like in a few days. Or a week. Or a month." She chuckled nastily. Then Deena clipped a ring into his nose. It bit into the tissue painfully and, when she tugged on the attached leash, he had no choice but to move. Struggling to keep his balance on the heels, aware of the shameful sight he made, he nevertheless followed her out of the room, down the hall, and into the private elevator. It descended. He begged his wife not to expose him to all the guests. She shrugged and said he had to go and meet them. After all, he was the one throwing this lavish party. When the doors slid open everyone turned to see the extravagantly wealthy young man who had been reduced to an object of ridicule. As he waddled through the costumed crowd, boobs quivering, ass wobbling, people leaned down to tell him how much they despised him and to remind him of the individual indignities he had inflicted on them. Jason was shattered. If everyone was against him, how could he ever escape this horrid trap? He had to circle the entire room while the people he had formerly lorded himself over all sneered at him and gloated that he was meeting such a well deserved fate. He ended up in the middle of the room, with a circle of onlookers crowding in on him. Deena was handed something which she fitted over one of his bent arms, and then another of the same thing, which she put on him on the opposite side. They were lifelike golden wings. Next came a matching bird's tail, that featured an end that could be inserted between his bare bottom cheeks. It hurt as it entered his body. He yowled. Some mechanism was activated and it expanded inside him so that it could not be extracted without assistance. Finally, his wife took a hood, covered in bright yellow feathers and a beak, which she fitted snugly over his head and attached by a chin strap, fully tightened. She led him by his nose ring leash to the far side of the room, where the crowd parted to reveal a waiting enclosure, an oversized bird cage with a perch about a foot off its floor. To unanimous cheers, he was coaxed inside, lifted onto the perch, and had to balance there. His leash was tied to the bars of the cage, pulled tightly enough that constant pressure was kept on the ring. He sat there, vulnerable and uncomfortable, while his wife told him how his life was going to be from then on. "The paperwork has already been done, Justine. Your entire fortune is now in my name. Everything. You own absolutely nothing. And certainly not any male clothing or possessions. You are going to be my personal bed slave from now on, and will serve me and any lovers, male or female, who I choose to take. Your new body and face are going to stay that way. That make-up and those curves are permanent. If you give me any backtalk, I may make your tits even bigger. In fact, if you give Angeles or any of the other ladies here any sass, they can ask me to do that to you, too. Personally, I think you'd look good with two watermelon-sized knockers, and a butt to match, so don't push your luck. "And I'm considering the option of getting rid of your dick, which gave so much pleasure to you and so little to any woman, you selfish pig. But again, that's up to you and how well you obey, and what a sweet attitude you demonstrate. So, you see, it really counts on you, Justine. Do you get it?" He just stared in shock for a moment, then said, "But I... can't I? I mean..." She sighed and said, "I can see you're going to need at least another inch added to your bust line. And maybe if we make those permanently puckered lips even bigger, you'll think more before you speak. But no, Justine, you can't whatever-it-was-you-were-going-to-request. And whatever you mean, nobody really cares. So shut up and start thinking of how hard you're going to work to give me orgasms with our mouth later tonight. You'll be busy pampering my pussy... and my ass. So just focus on that. "Oh, and one more thing, Justine." He gazed at her, hoping for some slight show of mercy. The words he wished for were not uttered. Instead, she told him, "Happy Halloween, Justine." ******