The Passage of Chastity
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Ginger Duck In Chastity free porn video
GINGER DUCK IN CHASTITY by Throne
I sat on a kitchen chair, shifting my feet anxiously. My wife Desiree
looked at me with barely restrained impatience, like she was dealing
with a difficult child. Yet her green eyes held a hint of mischief.
Those pale lips suggested the beginnings of a smile. I sat there
trying to appear capable of reasoning with her, but that's not easy
when you're dressed in a yellow top with a ruffled front and capped
sleeves, and you're naked from the waist down. It's even more
difficult when you've been put into a very small chastity device and
your bride is wearing the key on a chain around her neck, with it
nestling between her modest breasts.
She shook back her waves of blond hair and said tolerantly, "Okay,
sweetie. What is it this time?"
"It's just..." I always seem to be my own worst enemy when I try to
talk to her. "I think we may have gone too far. With our sex games, I
mean."
"We? Our? If I remember correctly, it was you who wanted to try some
kinky fun. And me who was nice enough to go along with it. Or is my
memory playing tricks on me?"
As if I wasn't already tongue-tied enough, she leaned down, making her
small but shapely bust peek out of the brief, low-cut top she wore. My
key was visible too, tantalizingly close but unreachable. Then she
placed one hand on my bare thigh, gently moving it up and down over
skin completely denuded of hair. I couldn't stop ogling her inviting
breasts. Her stroking hand reminded me that not only didn't I have a
single hair anywhere on my body, but that the laser treatments that had
removed it were permanent.
"I know, honey," I said feebly. "It was me who thought it would be all
fun and games."
"And wasn't it?"
"At first it was. Having you tie me up and tease me. And make me wear
stockings."
"So doesn't it make sense that, if a little is good, a lot is better?
And once you got me enjoying your naughty routines, would it be fair to
me to just stop?"
"No. I didn't say that. But we could cut back."
"So you're going to dictate how much we can do? And what it will
involve? I don't think so, love bug. No. You set this into motion,
and now if it's going too fast for you, well, that's your bad luck.
But you got me hooked on it and I don't see why I should stop. Or even
slow down."
She straddled my lap and brought her face close to mine. I shivered
from a mix of unease and arousal. It has always been easy for Desiree
to get me excited. And since I'd been in chastity for two weeks, my
need for release unmet, I was highly attuned to her slightest gesture
or touch. Having her seated on my thighs while she wore thin cotton
shorts was intensely erotic. My penis tried to expand in it's tiny
prison. A normal erection for me would be six inches. With the metal
cap crushing my organ down, locked to a ring that circled my genitals,
it couldn't even reach one inch. I whimpered as she danced her warm
butt around on me.
"I'm sorry," I said, admitting to myself that I had lost yet another
argument. "You're right."
"Of course I am, Gingerbread. Like always. Your problem is that you
won't let yourself go. If you just give in, I can take you places you
can't even imagine." She giggled girlishly and began unbuttoning the
front of my top, making sure to run her fingertips over each bit of
smooth skin as it was uncovered. "Let me give you a demonstration."
At that point I slipped into complete helplessness. There was nothing
I could say to dissuade her. Desiree's nimble fingers found my nipples
and began to tease them. I squirmed with frustration.
"What's the matter, little gingerbread girl? And I do mean 'girl'.
Just see how you're reacting when I touch your nippy nips. Oh my. So
excited. Boys don't react like that. Looks like I married a
sugarcoated sissy."
"Noooo," I moaned.
"You want me to stop?" She pulled her hands away.
Of course I didn't. Not after she had gotten me so overheated. But
with that awful chastity crushing my penis, there was as much
discomfort as there was pleasure. And the way she talked to me, acting
innocent, addressing me as if I really was the pansy she was turning me
into, kept my mind off balance. It was both enticing and insinuating.
She was dismantling my male ego and I couldn't fight back on any level.
"Let me just wet my fingertips. I want you to enjoy this as much I do,
Ginger. I bet you don't ever want to hear me call you by your boy name
again. Granger. You don't look like a Granger. You don't sound like
one, now that you've learned to keep your voice soft and high when
we're playing these games. Your games. And you can't perform like a
Granger in bed since I fulfilled your chastity fantasy. Right?"
The scenario I'd imagined was limited to teasing and denial, light
bondage, and having to wear maybe one piece of feminine lingerie. But
my wife had interpreted everything very freely. T&D turned into
chastity, with no end date scheduled. Light bondage became restraining
me however her whims dictated. She was especially fond of putting me
into bondage clothing. And the girly fashions ranged from juvenile
items like I was wearing then, to hardcore leather pieces including
bondage skirts and behind-the-back arm binders.
"Now I don't want you to get bored, Ginger Cake," she said, sounding
breathily concerned about holding my interest. "So I've gotten
something new for you to wear. I'll bet you're really excited."
Carried along by the momentum of her playful but highly effective
domination, I responded in my best Ginger voice, "Yes, dearest. Thank
you for being so thoughtful."
"Anything for my yummy sweet treat." She tittered. "Now stay right
here while I go and get it."
I sat there trying to think of some way out of the maze in which she
had me trapped. No matter which way I turned, it led me back to some
familiar cul-de-sac. I was still thinking in circles when my wife
returned. She was carrying several pieces of black rubber apparel and
a can of talcum powder. With a grin she instructed me to stand. Then
she had me lie on the floor on my back. Desiree powdered my smooth
hairless legs. She tugged something like leggings up to the top of
each thigh. Then she had me bend at the knees, as far as I could. To
my dismay, she buckled my calves tightly against the backs of my
thighs. After some help from her I was able to get onto my feet, which
protruded from the restrictive rubber stockings. I was in a duck walk
position and, at her urging, found that I could move around, but only
slowly and with plenty of effort. She removed the top that I had been
wearing.
"Oh," she enthused. "My funny waterfowl. Come on, Ginger Duck. Show
me how you waddle around in a circle."
"It's kind of tricky to get anywhere like this, so maybe I should
just..."
She cut me off with, "Maybe you should just do what you're told,
honey." Her voice was level but held a suggestion of irritation. "I
mean, not only are you locked up in chastity, but now you can't even
stand up because of your special legwear." Then she got cheerier as
she said, "Now be good and do a duckwalk for me."
I started waddling clumsily, holding my arms out to the sides for
balance. She watched me go all the way around the room and return to
my starting point. Desiree applauded. She reached down and patted me
on top of the head. Then she picked up another piece of the bondage
outfit and the can of powder. I was liking this less by the minute. I
had to bend my arm so she could force the rubber cover over it. Then
she did the same with a matching piece on the other side. They had
straps in the wrist and shoulder areas, which she buckled together. My
doubled up arms were trapped in the confining sleeves, my hands covered
and made useless.
"That's so funny. Now you have wings like a duck. Flap them for me,
Gingerbread."
What else could I do? I was so disabled. Moving my arms up and down,
I made her grin. She knelt in front of me and air-kissed a spot about
an inch from my lips. Then she reached out and retrieved the final
piece of rubber. It was a hood. I shuddered at the thought of having
it fitted over my head. My wife unzipped it up the back, smoothed it
over my face, made sure some sort of rubber gag went all the way into
my mouth, and lowered the zipper. At least there were eyeholes. And
nostril openings. Plus, the gag was hollow. She told me to squeeze
the gag, which I was able to do with my tongue. It included some sort
of sound-making device and let out a sharp nasal sound.
"There you go," she said cheerily. "Even quacking like a duck. I
can't wait to add the final touches. We'll do that as soon as the
others get here."
My eyes went wide. I flapped one wing at her. When she didn't
respond, I made my honking noise several times in short succession.
"Oh," she said innocently. "Didn't I mention that some of my friends
would be visiting? Oops." She gave an exaggerated shrug. "But I
really do want to show you off, Ducky."
Unable to get out of that deep squat, prevented from speaking, arms and
hands disabled, I could only look up at her with a pleading expression.
She stuck out her lower lip, made a sad face, and tilted her head to
the side. But what she didn't do was make any move to help me. Or to
do anything that would keep me from being seen by whoever was coming to
visit. I realized by then that most, if not all of what had just
happened had been planned. As I started to accept my circumstances, I
had to ask myself how much all this played into my submissive
fantasies. It was the sort of thing I would enjoy reading about in a
story, on a site like Fiction Maniacs. But did I really want to
undergo it myself? That made me think of some of the reviews left by
readers on that page. They would complain that sometimes the action
was non-consensual, too extreme, or wasn't motivated by affection.
Those always seemed like weak arguments when there were categories and
keywords provided to describe the fantasies, like 'femdom and
authoritarian', 'bondage' and 'physically forced or blackmailed'. I
enjoyed reading about all those themes. Living them, as I was doing,
might be a different case.
"Let me get out some wine glasses," she said. "And I'll open the
bottle I chilled to let it breath. It's not too fancy, so a few
breaths should do it." She panted several times to indicate how little
time was needed. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere, Ginger Ale."
As if I could go much of anywhere. I stood there flexing the muscles
in my thighs and then the ones in my calves, to try to prevent
cramping. Then I took a few awkward steps to keep the rest of me as
limber as I could. From the kitchen I heard the fridge open and close,
some glasses clink, and then a few soft grunts from my bride that told
me she was probably using a corkscrew to open the bottle. Desiree came
back to smile down at me and then, raising her chin and looking toward
the front door, whisked away. I assumed she heard something, probably
a car pulling up, that I missed because of the rubber over my ears.
Sure enough, the front door was opened. There were muffled female
voices. I was relieved not to hear any masculine ones.
A moment later my wife called out, "Ducky, daring. Come and greet
everyone."
I heard her as if from a distance, but well enough to respond. The
parts of me that were encased in rubber were getting warm, yet that
didn't prevent a shiver from running down my spine. With no other
choice, I waddled toward the living room. There was an expectant hush.
I entered slowly, more naked than covered, to see two of her woman
friends who I knew only slightly. They were casually dressed in
blouses and loose skirts. Wiggling a bent finger, my wife summoned me
closer. There were smiles and snickers as I hobbled near to them. The
guests sat and I found myself looking at their legs and even being able
to peek partway under their skirts. My wife left the room to get them
glasses of wine. She returned and handed them out , then sat down with
her own drink.
"Well, Ducky," she said to me. "Aren't you going to say hello to Annie
and Brenda?"
When I didn't react, she pantomimed a beak opening and closing. I
understood and made the device in my mouth honk. That set off gales of
laughter from the others. Annie, a cute redhead, took a shopping bag
that she'd set alongside her seat and put it between her feet.
Brenda, a petite blond with a snub nose, took something out of her
copious shoulder bag. Annie began retrieving items from the shopping
bag. I was distressed to see Brenda holding an orange plastic duck
beak with straps attached. Annie had several pieces of material
covered with artificial yellow feathers.
"Those look perfect," my bride enthused. "They must have made a
terrific Halloween costume."
"They did," agreed Brenda. "And after the few alterations I did,
they'll be perfect on your silly husband."
"Let me put his beak on," Annie offered.
Desiree snapped her fingers and pointed toward the woman who held the
covering for my mouth. I went to Annie and she fitted it against my
lower face and then buckled it behind my head. Without the use of my
hands there would be no way for me to remove it. I had to duckwalk
around the room, flapping my rubber-covered arms and making that
humiliating quacking sound. There was more laughter, along with a
toast to how well everything was going. Then I had to approach Brenda
so she could dress me in feathers. There were a headpiece, covers for
my bent-up arms, and sections that fit over the rubber stockings and
closed, making me feel even more defenseless. I was shown a compact
mirror, so I could see that my face was masked with short feathers and,
over my eyeholes were high-arched, cartoonish eyebrows. Worse, there
were long artificial lashes that contributed an exaggerated feminine
touch. Having my hairless chest, back and midsection still bare, all
smooth and pink, added to my unease. Two more circuits of the room,
with a quack-quack here and a quack-quack there -- as they described it
-- and I was ready for the final stage of my transformation.
I went to my wife. Brenda brought her the shopping bag, from the
bottom of which Desiree removed what would complete my mortification.
First there was a big floppy, pink bow that went onto the top of my
head, with matching ribbons on either side to tie under my chin. Then
she put pink ruffs around my ankles. The final disgrace was a pair of
orange shoes with three inch blocky heels. The women laid me on my
back and put the shoes on my feet, then buckled their ankle straps. I
was put upright again and had to make several circuits of the room to
learn to balance in that footwear, which felt a size or two smaller
than I needed.
"So cute," Desiree said with a smile. "Now my Ginger Duck has the
right colored feet. Not webbed, but looking very appropriate anyway."
They all raised their glasses and enjoyed sips of wine. I tensed up
and involuntarily clenched my jaws, which caused my gag to honk again.
Brenda said, "Sounds like he appreciates our eye for detail."
"Mmm," added Annie. "I think he likes everything about this." She
looked into my eyes. "Don't you, little quack-quack?"
"Go on, Ginger," my wife told me. "Waddle over to Annie so you can
show her how much you're enjoying yourself, being our pet."
What else could I do while I was so helplessly encased in rubber and
ridiculously made to look like a girly water fowl? Moving slightly
better on those heels, but with my feet pinched at every step, I made
my way slowly to where Annie sat. She brushed back her attractive red
hair and gestured for me to come closer. Then my wife's friend reached
out so she could finger my nipples. I froze up and made another
quacking sound. Having her touch me like that felt incredibly good.
Being in chastity had me desperate for any sort of sexual contact. At
the same time, having it be so one-sided, and coming from someone other
than Desiree, while the scene was being witnessed, made it all very
awkward. I squirmed under her busy digits and moaned deep in my
throat.
She smirked at me and said, "Poor baby. Is your itty bitty dick-cover
making this uncomfortable? Now move along to Brenda and give her a
turn."
When I reached the second woman she twitched her button nose. She
stroked my bare neck and ran one hand down the middle of my chest.
Brenda said, "It's so odd to touch a man's chest and not feel any hair.
You are so smooth, Ducky. Like a girl. Which goes well with your pink
bow, those sweet anklets, and your heels. Plus your adorable
eyelashes." She continued feeling my exposed areas and then sent me to
my bride.
Desiree brought her legs up and rested her ankles on my shoulders. I
stayed there, stuck in my crouching posture, while she savored her wine
and chatted with the girls about what a good slave I had become.
"Really," she said with a satisfied sigh, "the sex is terrific. I
never have to worry about handling his urges, and since he's been in
chastity he has become devoted to taking care of my needs. It's like
he's getting addicted to using his mouth on my pussy."
"I'll drink to that," Annie declared.
"Likewise," agreed Brenda.
My wife put her feet on the floor and signaled for me to move nearer.
When I did, she took the back of my head and pulled it forward gently,
several times, so that my duckbill was pecking at the juncture of her
legs. That provoked fresh laughter. Even as the women found amusement
in my situation, I considered how much that and everything else was
arousing me. My penis strained to enlarge but the tiny chastity device
prevented more than the slightest growth. At the same time, my scrotum
drew up tight and my balls ached. Desiree pressed her bare thighs
against the sides of my face, making me extra aware of how warm I was
wherever rubber covered my skin.
Some signal must have passed between them, unseen by me. They all
stood at once and left the room. I had pangs of abandonment. Should l
follow, even though walking was becoming more difficult as I tired and
my muscles grew sore? I was relieved when I heard them returning. My
relief evaporated when I saw what they had. It was two matched
sections of slender upright bars and each of the pair curved inward
near the top. There was also a round base that was only an inch thick.
The latter part was set in front of me and one half of the upright bars
fitted into it. Then I had to take a few steps to put myself on the
platform, after which the opposite bars were installed behind me.
Several locking clips assured that everything would remain in place.
As the women walked around me, checking the results from various
angles, I understood what had been done.
I was trapped inside a birdcage. They chuckled at my predicament. I
had been turned even more into an object of ridicule. Then I had to
try to quack a tune for them. Someone requested Mary Had A Little Lamb
and I was so defeated that I immediately attempted to perform it,
mortifying though that was.
For the next hour my wife went into details about how she had taken
advantage of my desires, manipulated me, and brought my life to its
current state. Some of the descriptions of what I had initially
wanted, the ease with which she had led me on, and my helplessness when
I tried to argue with her, were especially unsettling to listen to.
Without saying it directly, she made a strong case that what I was
getting was what I wanted. That started me thinking that she might be
right. And inside its pecker prison, my penis seemed to agree, because
it didn't stop trying to engorge. She also rhapsodized about how much
she had come to enjoy playing her dominant role. By the time she had
finished her account, and the women had drained their wineglasses, I
was in a quandary. I had wanted everything I suggested early on. But
did I crave all that had come since then? And where might we go from
here?
My wife's friends left. After Desiree had walked them to the door she
returned to me and sat opposite my cage. I couldn't stop staring at
her through the openings in my hood. She watched me with an
inscrutable expression. At last she got up and came to where I
crouched, enclosed in the bizarre outfit, gagged, wearing a cock lock,
my entire body as pink and smooth as a baby's. Looking down at me with
a thin-lipped smile she waited for a half minute that felt
interminable, before speaking.
"You have a decision to make, Ginger. We can keep on with me calling
the shots and doing whatever I please to you. Or you can decide not to
accept that and everything will go back to how it was before you shared
your kinky side with me. But I mean that it would go all the way back
to just vanilla sex. Understand?" I nodded and she went on, "If you
say yes, I will be unrelenting. In time I will make you feel totally
dependent on me to run your sex life. And you will become obsessed
with obeying me and giving me as much pleasure as you can. You will be
willing to sacrifice your own satisfaction. No, let me correct that.
You will be not just willing but eager to sacrifice your enjoyment
while you devote yourself to mine.
"And I intend to eliminate your masculinity whenever it's just the two
of us here. I'll squeeze it out of you, like I'm emptying a toothpaste
tube. And then I'll fill you back up with what I want you to be, which
is submissive, feminized and addicted to my body and to being given the
privilege of worshipping it. Right now I'm going to go and get myself
another half a glass of wine. You take some time and think about what
I'm offering. A return to the mundane. Or a life of dedication to me
and my needs, with no assurance that I will reciprocate. Picture
yourself as my house pet, sex slave, and chastity plaything. It might
not be easy for you, with no limits on what I can do, but it will have
its rewards, too. Think about what you really want. I'll be back for
your decision. It might be the last decision you make about us for a
long while."
She turned and strolled away, hips rolling. I shuddered and tried to
focus my thoughts. There would obviously be no turning back if I
agreed. She had pushed me past what I would have considered to be my
limits and I still wasn't sure how I felt about it. No middle ground
was being offered. No negotiating. It was all or nothing. I moved my
feet slightly to try to relieve the strain in my leg muscles. The
humiliating and unmanly costume made me feel like I was simmering in
my own perspiration wherever it covered me, though I was tingling
everywhere else. My balls throbbed. Did I really want more of all
that? Perhaps to be seen and laughed at by her friends again? To
serve her in bed like I was a male harem slave and she my Queen? To
remain aroused for as long as she dictated, while in chastity, and
never know when of even if I would be permitted relief? She reentered
the room. It was time.
"Well, Ginger," she said. "What's it going to be? You can give me one
quack for no. Or else two quacks for yes." She swirled the wine in
her glass, held it up, and inhaled its fragrance. Looked at me over
the rim. Held me with her gaze.
I put pressure on the gag. One quack. There was a timeless pause and
then, feeling myself swept along as if by some inexorable hand of Fate,
I did it again. Two quacks. I had said yes to everything. Put myself
absolutely into her hands.
She raised her eyebrows and commented, "This is going to be
interesting."
In answer I gave her another pair of affirmative sounds. It would be
interesting and much more, I was certain.
*********
(This one is for C.C. He has some terrific, inventive stories on
Fictionmania that you should check.)
Cayleigh
- 26.01.2021
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