Cuckolds In Corsets free porn video

CUCKOLDS IN CORSETS by Throne Carl Clinton was in the kitchen, wearing rubber gloves and washing dishes. All he had on was an apron that barely reached below his pubic region in front and left everything uncovered in the back. He also wore three inch heels and, because he'd been standing there for a while, he could feel a strain building in his calves. As he shifted his feet around to avoid getting muscles cramps, he thought about how smooth his legs were. There wasn't a single hair on them, or anywhere on his soft unmanly body. His wife Delia had made him use depilatories at first but then had him get laser treatments to eliminate the hair permanently. He sighed and placed another clean dish in the drying rack. "Cee Cee," his wife called from the living room. "I hope you're not malingering out there. If you are, it will earn you a spanking." At those words the muscles in his back... and bottom... tensed. He received plenty of spankings but they are something you never get used to. Every one hurts just as much as those that preceded it. Well, actually, if she was in a bad mood, some of them hurt even more. But none of them hurt less. He told her in a soft voice that he was almost done the dishes and would be ready to help her make the bed very soon. "You won't be helping me, dear. I made a new friend on-line and she has a sissy husband, too. They're coming to visit this evening so it'll be him who is doing that job with you." He forgot the rules of the house and left his chore to go and confront her. "B... but, no one else has ever seen me like this. I mean, no one but... you know." "No one but my boyfriend? My lover? My Bill?" Carl wrung his rubber-gloved hands and tottered slightly on his heels. He pressed his elbows against his sides. "Y... yes. Your lover has seen me." "So it won't be a big deal to have my new friend see you, too. And her husband is just a silly sissy like you, so what he sees doesn't even matter. Besides, the two of you might be able to trade some tips. About housework. Or being spanked. Or serving your wives... and their lovers... in the bedroom." He bit his lips and tried to think of something, anything, that he could say to make her see how shameful this would be for him. After a few moments he realized there were no words that would change her mind. And then it hit him that he had violated the household rule of not moving from room to room without permission. And the one about not leaving a job until it was done. And probably at least one other. Sure that he had earned himself some discipline and not wanting to add any more to what he would suffer, he backed out of the room wordlessly. His wife smirked at him, enjoying his submission and the anxiety on his face. He completed the dishes and, because he had been told to report to her after they were done, was able to go back to the living room without incurring further punishment. "All right," Delia said. "They should be here in about an hour, so let's get you all prettied up for their arrival. And of course, you can help me get ready. I know how much you enjoy that." While he did like assisting her in the shower because it allowed him to be near her naked body, to touch her and feel her wet skin when it was slicked with soap, there was a problem. His wife kept him in chastity, with very little release time and, even then, he was never sure he would be allowed to gain relief from his constant sexual frustration. So washing her back and bottom and thighs, drying her off with a large fluffy towel, shaking scented powder onto her, were all excitingly erotic, but at the same time they just added to his unfulfilled needs. He sighed and said that sounded fine. As if he had any say in the matter. They went to the bedroom, Carl taking small mincing steps, putting one foot in front of the other, as he had been instructed to always do. He could feel how the heels made him thrust out his chest and jut his bottom. He knew they shaped his legs and made them appear more feminine. His wife reveled in robbing him of his male body language. In the bedroom she had him remove his apron and hang it neatly on a hook on the inside of one of the closet doors. He stood there in just the heels while she looked him up and down. Her gaze lingered on his pink plastic chastity tube. She came close and reached for his chest. He froze but didn't dare to back up. Delia's nimble fingers went to his nipples and began to stroke them lightly, maddeningly. In spite of himself he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Carl didn't like to let her see how easily she could elevate his sexual temperature, but he didn't have the inner strength to hide his reactions. His fleshy hips ground against empty air. He rubbed his pudgy thighs together. His head went back and his lips parted. Inside its prison his poor cock hurt. He licked his lips and was about to say something, perhaps to beg her not to stop, when she seemed to read his thoughts and withdrew. He moaned softly with disappointment. "Well," she said cheerfully, "let's get me showered up." After that was done and she had gotten into some hot lingerie, Delia was ready to prepare her husband. With fresh thoughts of how shameful it would be to be seen by strangers, he watched her go through drawers and pick out items. What she found was a pair of pink bikini-cut panties and a filmy clinging top with spaghetti straps and lace trim. The latter garment was peach colored. He had to step into a new pair of high heels and then squat down to fasten their straps. She made sure he didn't skimp on tightening them. Carl had to walk around, wagging his ass and holding his hands out to the sides. Then it was time for some cosmetics. She was always trying different looks on him. This time it was lots of blue eye shadow, plenty of shading to make it appear that his roundish face had strong cheekbones, and then lip liner and plenty of bright red lipstick. Finally, she fussed with his collar-length hair, teasing it up some and spraying it to keep it that way. She also applied a pat-pat of powder and a mist of perfume. Altogether he resembled a guy trying too hard to look like a woman. Delia said something vague about one final addition to his image but, disturbingly, didn't specify what it was, only that it would be taken care of later. She got herself into a slinky blue dress and matching heels. They went to the kitchen where she had him get out a chilled bottle of white wine and two glasses. Of course he and the other sissy who was coming would not be allowed to partake. The only time his wife permitted him to drink was when she wanted him to get tipsy, so that she could have fun embarrassing him. She especially liked to give him a drink or two when Bill was there because, as she delighted in pointing out, Bill could hold his alcohol but Cee Cee could not. Delia opened the bottle herself to let it breath a bit. She never allowed her husband to perform simple tasks like that which might give him a moment of pride in accomplishment, a few seconds of feeling like a competent male doing something for his spouse. Oh no. She had a real knack for treating him like a helpless piece of fluff whose main purposes were to do housework and, naturally, perform bedroom duties. A few minutes after they had gone into the kitchen, while she was checking the snacks Carl had prepared, crackers with cute arrangements of cheese and other toppings combined atop them, the doorbell rang. She told her husband, "Scoot out there, Cee Cee, and let my new friend in." He blushed and hurried off on his heels, hating the way they made him move. When he got to the door he braced himself before he opened it. No amount of preparation would have been enough. There stood an attractive woman who looked somewhat like Delia, with a cringing man in a long overcoat behind her. Carl curtsied and stepped aside to let them in. The woman paused to give him a cursory examination and enjoy a chuckle at his expense. Then she swept past, turned, and snapped her fingers imperiously at the man outside. He stepped gingerly through the door and Carl saw that he too wore woman's heels. Another snap of the fingers made him shed his coat. Underneath it he wore only tiny panties and a pair of scarves that had been fashioned into a makeshift, bra-like top. His hair was shorter than Carl's but had been parted in the middle and fluffed up, in a plainly not masculine style. His face was decorated with make-up, though his look was more 'cheap slutty tramp', which was heightened by the fact that, like Carl, he was overweight. "Well," said the woman to her embarrassed husband. "What do you do to greet this pretty sissy? Don't you..." She paused to let the guys squirm during a moment of suspense. "... give her a big warm hug? Hmmm? Or must Mommy spank?" The newcomer quickly advanced and put his bare arms around Carl, giving him a long embrace. Not sure if he should respond, Carl played it safe and wrapped his arms around the new arrival. The men had their chins on each other's shoulders and could smell their counterparts' powders and perfumes. Their cheeks pinked up nicely from shame. Just then Delia strolled in, looking very much the Mistress of the House. As the men released each other, their wives hugged. Delia said, "So nice to finally meet you in person, Tally. And that simpering sissy must be Rosy." "That's her. She was accidently named Russ at birth, but I corrected that once we were married, when I started her makeover. You know the story. Not enough between the legs to qualify as a real man, so someone had to take pity on her and turn her into the sissy she was meant to be." "Same here. And I can see that your girl has a pretty chastity tube, too." "Of course. Give my new friend a better look, Rosy." Appearing thoroughly uncomfortable, the guy nevertheless lowered his bright yellow panties in front to reveal his pale yellow tube. Delia loved the color coordination and said so. They began to chat about how they liked their sissies to look and, at the same time, moved to the recreation room. As they sat on the couch, Delia told her spouse to fetch the wine and snacks. Tally ordered her husband to assist. The men wiggle-walked away, aware that their barely covered bottoms were on display. They returned shorty, Cee Cee with the wine and glasses on a silver tray, Rosy with the wide plate of snacks. They leaned forward at the waist to offer what they carried. Delia made her husband stay bent over while she unhurriedly poured two glasses of wine, handed one to her guest, and took the other for herself. Tally kept her husband in that position, too, while she lingered over her choice. He also served Delia and then both sissies were told to go and stand across from the women, to be seen but not heard. "It's so nice to have a sissy for a husband," Delia enthused. "I mean, someone doing all the menial jobs is such a treat." "Agreed. And having a meek bedroom slave who serves you with her mouth and expects nothing in return... what could be nicer?" "Well," Delia said mischievously, "having an alpha male for a lover makes it perfect." Tally laughed. "Nicely said. Getting your pussy licked on demand is terrific, but you do need a long thick cock when the urge strikes. And it strikes a lot for me." "Me too. But what I really enjoy is after Bill has slammed me so long and hard that I'm just about cross-eyed, and then Cee Cee has to lick me clean and, at the same time, give me a bonus orgasm." Taking a sip of her wine and then smiling over the rim of the glass, Tally said, "You are so right. That contrast of a hard cock pounding and then a soft tongue lapping is so delightful. Having a sissy lick you after you've been properly banged, and at the same time knowing she's disgraced by having to lick up a real man's spunk and swallow it..." She sighed. "... is heavenly." They clinked their glasses together delicately while the men stood opposite them, hating that they had to hear themselves talked about that way. They didn't want to even glance at one another because what had been said was mortifyingly true for both of them. Instead of their humiliation being something that was reduced in the sharing, it was instead multiplied. Delia noticed how the words had started them fidgeting around uneasily. She told them to stand still and, so they wouldn't start up again, to hold hands. The guys did it reluctantly, feeling more foolish than ever as they held onto each other like a couple of little girls on the first day of school. The wives continued to chat, moving onto the subject of how wonderful their lovers were in bed. Or bending them over the kitchen counter. Or taking them on a plush carpet. All the husbands could do was stay like they were, pretty mouths closed, and take in every punishing word. The women finished their wine and Delia said she had a surprise. She ordered her husband to go to the bedroom and retrieve a pink shopping bag that he would find in the back of her closet. He shuddered at what might be in it. His wife could be so inventively cruel. He found the requested item and didn't even dare to peek inside, so well trained was he. When he returned, his bride had him place it on the low coffee table in front of the couch where she sat, and then the guys had to repeat their serving of drinks and nibbles. The minutes stretched while they waited to learn what was in that colorful bag. After some more conversation, this time about spanking sissy husbands (while Carl wondered if he did have some of that coming because of his earlier infractions), Delia at last reached for the bag. She put her hand inside and produced -- oh no! -- a black corset with red trim. Then she dipped in a second time to bring out a red corset with black trim. She said confidently, "These will look SO lovely on our sissies." "For sure. Especially if we make them extremely tight." They both laughed maliciously. The guys looked at each other. Their mutual shame was overcome by the desperate need to seek help somewhere... anywhere. But of course they could do nothing about what was happening. Not when Carl was made to stand up and the two wives went to work putting the corset on him. Not when his bride began tightening the laces. Not when Russ' wife adjusted the mini-half-cups in the front and he realized that the excess fatty tissue on his chest was being pushed up and formed into two small pseudo-boobs. As the women continued their efforts, those man boobs became very much like a real pair of girl boobs. He pressed his fleshy thighs together and clenched his hands into ineffectual fists, but they just kept up what they were doing. Finally, Delia put her knee into the small of his back for as she made the corset crushingly tight and then tied it that way. He had to take a few breaths to get control of his ability to inhale. After they were done they made him walk around. The corset gave him an exaggeratedly feminine figure, especially with those small breasts sticking out and jiggling as he moved. Tally went to the snack tray and took one of the cocktail napkins that was on its edge. She held it out and, while he looked, deliberately dropped it onto the carpet. "Oh my," she said with artificial emotion. "I have dropped something onto the floor. I hope the clean-up girl will retrieve it." Carl knew what she wanted. He got a worried look on his made-up face as he stepped gingerly toward the dropped square of paper, feeling how much the corset restricted him. Then, when he was standing directly in front of it, he bent forward experimentally. It felt as if he was being cut in half. A small mewl of distress escaped his brightly colored lips. The women watched him critically. His wife drew her eyebrows together and showed the beginnings of a frown. He tried harder, lowering his upper body stiffly, unnaturally. His arm stretched out and his fingers got closer to the napkin, but it was still out of reach. He whimpered and kept straining forward. Lower. Lower. His fingertips brushed their target and he almost had it. In too much discomfort, he had to straighten up. It had been so close. Now Tally was giving him a hard look. He nervously put his hands on the sides of his smooth hairless face, steadied himself, and started the torturous process over again. This time, after several attempts, he was able to grasp the elusive napkin between the tips of his forefinger and thumb and pick it up. He exhaled with relief. Next the wives went to work on Russ with the second corset. It was just as laborious this time and the effect of creating boobs was repeated. They made him jog his body up and down so that the faux breasts bounced, which sent them into gales of laughter. Carl could only look on helplessly, knowing that he appeared just as ridiculous and unmanly. Russ looked so upset, and his make-up was so overdone, that he had an almost clownish face. That provoked more laughter. The two men were ordered to step close to each other and rub their nipples together. It was absolutely shameful but they did it anyway. The contact was even marginally erotic, and they felt their imprisoned members tingle inside the tubes. Both of them were close to shedding tears of humiliation. They were granted a reprieve of sorts, being allowed to stop the meeting of their chests. But that was only so they could go to the bedroom and make the bed, as Delia had mentioned earlier to her spouse. With their high heels and corsets, the husbands moved very deliberately, taking small mincing steps, their body language and steps quite girlish. They were a bit unsteady, so Tally made them hold hands again. Delia made a joke about how their plump bottoms were rolling in unison. They entered the bedroom and it struck both of them at once how difficult it would be to make the bed while they wore heels and corsets, especially the latter. They exchanged a worried look as they took up their positions on opposite sides of the mattress. Carl licked his lips. Russ put his fingertips on his chin but then, when the inside of his forearm brushed against one of his new boobs, put his hand down. The wives snickered at how awkward the men acted. "All right, girls," Delia said. "I'm sure you've both made beds before." "Rosy certainly has," Tally assured her. "Before my boyfriend Duke arrives, she has to make sure the covers are on perfectly and that the pillows are correctly fluffed up. I'll tell you, I've trained her to be an expert fluffer." Delia chuckled nastily. "Yeah, Cee Cee has done her share of fluffing. Lots of practice has made her very proficient, as I'm sure Bill would agree." The sissies had to make the bed under the watchful gazes of their spouses. The women made them repeat each step several times, even if it was done right on the first try. The men struggled while their heels made their legs ache and their corsets crushed their middles. "Not too bad," Delia allowed. "I guess Cee Cee won't have to be punished, even though she took a long time. However..." She paused for effect. "... she did enter the room I was in and speak without permission, shortly before you got here." "That's not good," Tally said with mock seriousness. "And my Rosy, when she gave me a foot rub this afternoon, lost control for a minute and started kissing my feet, if you can believe that. I mean, leave a sissy in chastity for three weeks or a month or whatever, and all of a sudden they turn into sex fiends. Disgraceful." "So Cee Cee has some discipline coming to her, and it sounds like Rosy does, too. I have some interesting spanking tools, if you'd like to borrow one... or two." Tally chortled. "That would be lovely. Nothing like a fanny tanning to help a sissy remember the rules and how to behave. Yes indeed." While the husbands stood there by the bed, Delia went to the dresser and opened the long bottom drawer. Tally joined her and they looked down at the implements available to them. Then they stepped aside. Delia said, "Cee Cee, please get me that rubber paddle that's all the way in the back." Tally added, "And Rosy, I'd like you to get me that sorority paddle that I see peeking out from under several other items." The sissified men came over, knowing that they were going to have to bend once more in those constricting corsets. Cee Cee considered bending at his knees, but sensed that it would only displease his wife and give her an excuse to add additional swats to however many he had already earned. Not that she needed an excuse to increase the number, but she would be amused to make him feel that it was fault the count had increased. So both husbands had to bend and huff and puff and struggle to grasp the tools of discipline that were going to be used on them. The women relished the irony of making the men acquire what was going to be used to inflict their pain. After they had wordlessly handed them over, the women made them bend down again, together, to push shut the drawer. Then it was time to return to the recreation room for some... recreation. On the way, Tally excused herself, presumably to visit the bathroom. When they got there she reappeared, gave the other woman a significant look and quick hand signals, and then she too disappeared for a few minutes. After that everyone was gathered in the recreation room, the guys visibly anxious about the impending penalties for their misbehaviors. The women made them try out various poses for receiving what was to come. They had Cee Cee stand by the couch with his hands on its cushions. Rosy had to assume the same posture, but with his palms on the coffee table, which was even lower and therefore more of a strain to reach. They were left in those uncomfortable stances, the corsets making their presence felt very much. Then the guys had to stand with their arms around each other, more comfortable but also quite mortifying. Then they had to stand on one foot, nearly impossible in heels, and so were allowed to join hands for support, making them feel helpless except for that shaky interdependence. All the while the women kept their tools of abuse in sight, sometimes swinging them casually, sometimes slapping them against their palms, as if they were merely expending spare energy, but always making sure the guys saw them and were forced to think about the paddles and the damage they could do to vulnerable and unprotected flesh. At last it was time to begin. The sissy husbands were ordered to lower their panties to half mast and put at opposite ends of the couch, leaning forward with hands on the arms of the piece of furniture. It wasn't the most uncomfortable position, but it did make their bottoms poke out and, more importantly, let them see each other's faces. The wives took up their positions. Delia had her rubber paddle and Tally held the sorority model, both chosen to attack broad portions of flesh and leave wide marks. The men tensed involuntarily. The women savored the moment, the electric final seconds before a spanking began. They raised their paddles like flagmen about to signal the start of a race, held them aloft for tension-filled seconds, and brought them down together, fast and hard. There were twin fleshy smacks and matching yowls of pain. As the wives had intended, the guys each saw the other receiving his first stroke and the facial distortions it caused. Before the sissies could recover from the initial blows, there were second ones and thirds. The guys were now wailing continuously, able to make not even a pretense at stoicism or bravery. They shifted their feet, repositioned their hands, but made no attempt to move from the path of those steadily swinging bringers of smarting sensations. Already both chubby bottoms were turning from pink-white to suffused red. The women's eyes were wide and they breathed with their mouths open, their expressions perhaps more appropriate for having sex then for delivering deep and lingering heat. They swung like ones possessed, paused only to trade positions, and then went to work on each other's spouses. The guys were by then yelling and gasping and trying to find a moment's respite between spanks, but the strokes continued to fall relentlessly, while those tempting targets squirmed and clenched and invited more and more mistreatment. At last, their bodies sheened with sweat, the women halted. They looked at each other and laughed from sheer sadistic glee. It had been FUN lambasting their victims' overweight sitters. They ordered the men to stand upright, which they did, making their boobs bob. Both of them had bright crimson rumps. They were struggling not to weep, but tears began to leak from their eyes. Because the women intentionally used cheap make-up on them (often purchased in dollar stores), lines of wet blackness streaked down their flushed cheeks. Their noses ran. And the entire time, because of the way their wives had positioned them, they had to look at each other's faces, masks of pain. Delia poured two fresh glasses of wine and the women toasted to how cleverly they had staged the scene and how effective it had been. They sat down, not allowing the disgraced men to move from where they had been placed. About five minutes later, after the women had relaxed and their husbands had only grown more uncomfortable, there was a firm manly knock at the front door. Delia said with theatrical overstatement, "I wonder who that could be?" In the same tone, Tally speculated, "That knock sounded awfully strong. Maybe it's some brutes come to ravish us." They laughed and then Delia called out, "It's unlocked guys. Come on in." Everyone heard the door open and close. Tally hollered, "We're in the rec room." The sound of heavy footfalls approached. Working backward, remembering how each woman had absented herself for a few minutes, Cee Cee realized what must have happened. His worst fear was realized as the wives' lovers, Bill and Duke, stepped into the room. The former wore a black sleeveless T-shirt and well broken-in jeans, while the other had on a regular T-shirt with the name of a popular motorcycle brand on it, and black jeans. Both of them sported scuffed boots. They saw the sissy husbands standing bent over, panties around their thighs, bottoms well reddened, in corsets and heels. Their mock boobs were impossible to miss. Both of the tall athletic men were seized by laughter. They recovered and went to the women, grabbing them and kissing them fiercely. The women responded with animal passion, running their hands over the men's muscular backs. The boyfriends got their own hands on the women's desirable bottoms. After those passionate greetings, they all sat down. The sissies were made to scamper ("Don't walk," Bill insisted. "Scamper.") to the refrigerator and bring back two bottles of beer. Delia always made sure there was at least a six pack on hand. At the moment there were an even dozen bottles. Bill and Duke twisted off the caps and tossed them carelessly onto the coffee table, for the sissies to clean up later. They each took a long swallow of beer and gave the women open-mouthed kisses. The cuckold husbands could only stand there in their demeaning outfits, distress written on their painted faces, and bite their lips while their wives succumbed happily to that rough handling. No matter how often either sissy witnessed their mate being taken away from them by a more desirable man, it was always just as unsettling. The beer drinkers openly pawed round breasts and stroked ample thighs. More kissing ensued. And the cuckolds had to view a double dose of wife-stealing, which was a new experience for them. "Damn," Bill said as he shook his head. "You girls really did a job on those wimps' asses." "Yeah," seconded Duke. "And you dressed them damned pretty. Even gave them boobs." Delia nodded and said, "They looked so cute that we decided to call you guys on the sly so you could surprise them." "And they sure look surprised," Tally affirmed. "Which is all good," Bill noted, "but I know how heated up it gets you when you do all that to them." "Right," Duke added. "And my girl's the same way. I'll bet she's wetter than anything right now and ready for me to just slip it right in." There was more crude talk like that, which heightened the mood of sex-to- come, at the same time making the cucks feel worse and worse. Before long, Delia boldly suggested that they all move to the master bedroom. The studs already had visible bulges in the crotches of their jeans, so no one disagreed with the welcome idea. They headed for where an extra large mattress awaited them, the alpha males with their strong arms around the women, the sissy wimps commanded to crawl along behind, their incarnadined buttocks rolling. In the bedroom the lovers happily and eagerly undressed each other while the cuckolds, still on all fours, had to see it all. Bill and Duke had impressively large endowments and knew the way to use them. Both couples got on spacious bed, side by side, and went at it, while the hapless hubbies had to view every detail. In the same way that the spankings never grew less painful, these scenes never became one iota less anguishing. The superior males had endless stamina and self control. They fully satisfied the women before allowing themselves to finish, disproving the myth that all sexually rough and rambunctious men like themselves were also selfish. They left the women thoroughly satisfied. When the noisy and prolonged encounters were over, with the females wearing contented expressions, Delia said in a singsong voice, "Cee Cee. Rosy. Time for clean-up duty, girls." Need I say that this too never become any less ego crushing and distasteful than it had always been? Of course not. Cleaning another man's freshly spilled sperm, hot and thick and salty, from your wife's pussy after he had been granted rights that you are perpetually denied and which you couldn't succeed at practicing if by some miracle they were given to you, well, it's enough to make a sissy husband feel ruined beyond recovery. Boo hoo. After their slurping and swallowing was done, while their lips were still coated with goo and their tongues slimed with it, Tally had a brainstorm. She said, "Girly girls, there's one more thing for you to do. I just know the two of you find each other irresistible, so how about if you share a nice deep kiss with plenty of tongue. Come on. You know you want to. Stand at the foot of the bed and give us a good show. Making kissy faces, lock lips and... and..." Delia provided, "... and play with each other's pretty titties. Pretty sissy titties." She snickered at her clever words. The husbands got off the bed with their lips glistening. They looked at each other, seeing themselves each reflected by how their lowly equal appeared. Then, with four sets of eyes on them, they came together, fingers going to waiting nipples, lips meeting, tongues probing, and did everything they had been told to do. They weren't allowed to stop for a full fifteen minutes. Against their wills, their trapped penises attempted to get hard in their chastity devices. The wives could tell what was happening and mocked them about what could be taken for gay reactions. The cuckolds even had to feel up each other's behinds and massage each other's hairless balls. But what else could they do? All they were was a couple of defeated cuckolds in corsets. ********* (Hope you liked it. Hope you'll review it. And please, no grumbles about how they should divorce their wives. Sissy cuckolds don't have that option.)