Sticky Situation free porn video

STICKY SITUATION by Throne I should have known better. My wife Larissa had already put me into chastity and feminized me. I was constantly horny from looking at her. She is taller than me, has an attractively full figure, and loves to show herself off because it gets me aroused. Every time I became excited it was uncomfortable in my tiny cock cage, my balls ached, and I was so frustrated it made me want to break down and cry. Months ago she had me get treatments to remove all my body hair. I thought they were temporary but, two weeks after they were done and none of the hair had grown back, she laughed and told me I would always remain smooth all over. Larissa loved to dress me in exceptionally girly items. She favored belly shirts, bikini-cut panties, and elastic-top stockings. I always slept in short filmy nighties. So why didn't I think before I spoke? I guess it was because being in chastity had left me confused and desperate. I was so eager to be allowed to have some kind of sex, to gain relief for my throbbing balls. That was why I blurted out that she had to do something. "Fine," she said, as if the matter wasn't even important. "I'll let you out of that chastity and you can jerk off. Of course I'll watch you. And give instructions. Plus make sure you understand what a shameful thing self-abuse is. I'll make sure to drive home that message." At that moment I saw my mistake. Having my wish granted was going to be very costly. Being denied a sex life was terrible. But gaining one that could change how I saw myself -- in more ways than had already been done -- could lead me along a dark path from which I might never return. In a weak voice, pitched like a girl's the way she insisted on, I said, "I'm sorry. That's not really necessary. I spoke without thinking. Can we just go on the way we have been?" "No, dear. I appreciate that you were honest with me, even though you were rude about it. And I want to help you. But at the same time, you have to accept the help I'm offering and cooperate. In fact, I insist that you do that." My shoulders sagged. I stood there in front of her, wearing a colorful sports bra that laid flat against my soft pectorals. The exercise shorts I wore had a tiny front and a half-there back. My undeveloped buns were 50% on display and looked totally unmanly. She put her fingertip against the hollow of my neck and tickled me there. I shuddered but didn't dare to oppose her. Larissa stoked my nipples through their thin covering. I quivered and moaned softly. As sensitive as I am there, her slightest touch gets me sexually heated up. My penis strained against it's tight cage. My balls drew up tight and it felt like my scrotum had just been given a hard squeeze. She had on nothing but a short belted robe. From the pocket of it she produced the key that would liberate my manhood. In the past I would have been thrilled to be unlocked. Now, with the conditions that came along with it, I dreaded my impending release. My bride squatted down and looked up at me from under long lashes that were darkened with mascara. Her pretty face was framed by flowing golden hair. She gave me a seductive smile, her plush lips curving upward to create an expression that was both pleasant and devilish. "Get those shorts halfway down your silky thighs, Darling." A moment later the chastity device was off. My dick was semi-hard. She stood and moved closer, spreading the top halves of her robe. The sight of her big breasts, partly exposed, a hint of nipples peeking out at me, added to my heightened sexual state. She diddled my nipples one more time and got me fully hard. My penis is a bit smaller than average, just short of five inches when erect. The absence of pubic hair makes it appear immature. Larissa never tires of reminding me that other men are superior in size. She looked down at my freed member and raised her eyebrows. "Well? Touch it. That's what you want to do. Even though playing with yourself is disgusting. Tugging it like a filthy schoolboy. But don't let me stop you." I curled my fingers around my short shaft. It felt good but, at the same time, I was filled with mortification. How could I stand there in front of my lovely wife and beat off? But she wouldn't let me back out. I began to pumped myself slowly. She told me, "Just use your thumb and first finger. That should be plenty for a below average pecker like yours. It would be different if you were full size. Or bigger. Like all the guys I dated when I was single. That's the way, short-stuff. Jerk off for me." When I tried to close my eyes she ordered me not to. I took several deep breaths as he need overtook me. "I... I'm sorry." My voice was a shuddery whisper. "You should be, wussy. You can't give me decent sex. I had to teach you to use your mouth to accomplish what your little dick couldn't, and what your hair-trigger ejaculations ruilned. You made me turn you into a sissy just to keep you from following me around with your tongue hanging out, trying to make me feel guilty for not accommodating your selfish wants. Even forced me to get rid of all your body hair. That wasn't enough so I tried to make things easier for you by putting you into chastity. But you still didn't learn. Always giving me the big sad calf eyes. Pouting. Whining. And now demanding to be allowed to pull your prick." She made a sour face. "So here I am, once more trying to give you whatever it takes to get you to behave halfway decently. So please show some appreciation for my tireless efforts." What could I say? She always managed to make everything my fault. And to leave me feeling awful about it. Besides which, now she had me in the worst situation yet. Being reduced to a masturbating misfit while still resembling a total sissy. "Let's get this moving," she said with open disapproval. "Pull up your top and finger your nipples. I know you're just like a girl that way. So sensitive to the slightest touch. Go ahead. Have your fun, Richard. I mean Regina," she corrected herself, switching to the feminine name she had given me. Larissa pronounced it as if it was 'vagina' with an 'R'. "Get yourself all fired up. After all, you think everything has to be completely about Y-O-U." She turned her back, raised the robe, and wagged her shapely flawless bottom at me. It was so full and satiny. I whimpered and stroked harder. She turned around once more and noticed my accelerate efforts. Larissa declared that I should be allowed to prolong my fun and told me to slow down again. What she was really adding time to was my humiliation. I felt so defeated, with my top pulled up and my shorts partway down, pink hairless skin shown off so well. Larissa walked around me, observing my deep breaths and twitching hips from every angle. My wife trailed her fingers down my back. She blew in my ears. Eventually, despite her telling me to slow down, I was approaching the point of no return. She observed that I could delay my finish much longer while manipulating myself than I had ever been able to do during intercourse. I began to pant. "We don't want a mess, now do we?" she asked critically. "N... no, dear," I puffed. "So let me get you a tissue, willy-whacker." She pulled one from a box nearby and held it out to me. I took it in my free hand -- my non-jerking one -- and automatically positioned it near the end of my slender tool. She laid her fingers on my shoulder as if to steady me. "M... may I... go all the way?" I inquired uncertainly. "Well of course you may, Regina. Just make sure you catch all your spunk in that tissue I was thoughtful enough to give you." She gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Anytime you're ready, sweet cheeks. Get your sick kicks." Burning with shame but having no alternative, I continued stroking, trying to keep the tissue exactly where I calculated it needed to be. My orgasm grew closer and closer but remained joyless. With a muffled grunt I shot my semen into the tissue. On the palm of my hand I felt warmth and then wetness penetrating the thin barrier. I sobbed from the disgrace of it all but at the same time was relieved to have drained the pent-up pressure I'd been feeling. I sighed and let my head fall forward. Before I could recover further my wife said, "Yuck. That stuff stinks. You're making this place smell like a gay bathhouse. We'll have to do something with it." After the slightest of pauses she snapped at me, "In your mouth. Stick the tissue in your mouth and close your lips. NOW." Her words were so forceful and I was so beaten down that I did it without hesitating. At once I tasted my own discharge on my tongue. It made me gag slightly. My eyes watered. "Now just keep it there. This will be a good reminder of what can happen when you fondle yourself. And make your little dingus squirt. Right, Regina?" Through the tissue I managed to agree with, "Yeff, Dearetht." Hot tears ran down my beardless cheeks. I couldn't believe this was really happening. Larissa gave me a challenging look, as if daring me to protest, or even to remove the soiled tissue from my mouth. I did nothing. In the days that followed she devised other creative ways for me to ejaculate. Sometimes it was into the toilet bowl. Or else into a full trash can. Once I had to fire my spend into a pair of my panties, dark pink ones with ruffles across the seat, straight onto the crotch. Then she made me put them on and wear them for the rest of the evening, also making me sleep in them. My genitals were still sticky and gummy the next morning. I smelled like cum. It was the weekend and she left me that way until much later. I had to masturbate frequently, more than I would have imagined I was capable of, under her demands. The fear of being made to put a used tissue into my mouth was everpresent. Simultaneously, she made sure to dress me in new ways that were the most insulting to my maleness. There were mesh tops, a glittery vest worn with nothing under it, fingerless lace gloves, a pleated miniskirt and a leather one, micro-shorts, leg warmers and fishnet stockings. She had been making me let my hair grow and by then I was able to use small, colorful rubber bands to pull it into miniature pony tails at the sides of my head, or else a vertical one at my crown. Larissa also applied blush to my cheeks, along with a hint of shadow on my eyelids. I didn't like what that did to my face. It was disconcerting to look into a mirror, as she liked to make me do, and see the subtle changes wrought in my appearance. One particular incident stands out in my mind. All I had on was panties and thigh-highs. Except that the panties had a cut-out in the middle of the crotch, through which my male parts protruded, and the leg coverings were decorated with wide vertical stripes in various shades of yellow and green. Larissa had me strike a variety of pin-up type poses, sashay around the house, and toy with my nipples until I had a solid erection. Then she handed me a pair of pale blue panties. I noticed two things about them. They were much too small for me and the material was thicker than usual, especially the gusset. "Now let's see you make one of your icky puddles right on the part of those panties that covers your naughty bits. Come on, Regina, you know you want to do it, you freaky pansy." As demeaning as the act was, and as much as I told myself I didn't want to do it, any sort of sexual release was welcome. Having worn a cock lock before made every orgasm precious. I didn't know when the privilege might be revoked. Along with that, and despite the deep shame they provoked, making myself shoot was pleasurable at some level. I got the usual thumb and forefinger on my dick and manipulated it. The sensation of jerking off while wearing panties was odd. I had come to associate my girly wardrobe with sexual situations so that, against my will, I was beginning to get turned on by being dressed that way. As much as I didn't like having to wear lingerie after I had emptied my balls on it, that was something I had endured before and I told myself that I could do it again when she made me. So with mixed emotions I continued stroking myself. The two-finger method made it more difficult for me to gain an easy or fully satisfying climax. I would sneak in small flourishes, like tightening my hold or varying my rhythm enough that I could enjoy it but not so much that I worried my bride would notice. I was approaching the magic moment, still struggling with the abiding shame of having to tug myself in front of her. She even sat down and got comfortable, with a glass of white wine by her side, as if attending a formal performance. Without meaning to, I raised the second pair of panties and brushed them over my receptive nipples. It was incredibly pleasurable. My body would perform its expected function very soon. "You like that, Regina. Don't you? Touching your tits with those silky panties. The same ones that you're going to catch your sticky spunk in. I can't believe how big of a pervert you are. Maybe I should record your dirty acts and post them on some twisted page on- line. I bet they would appeal to some real twisted types. I mean the sickest of the sick." She stopped speaking and I sensed she wanted a response. My voice was thick with shame but also the urgent need to finish myself. I told her, "Please don't do that. It would be so... so..." That was when I lost my restraint. Luckily I had the presence of mind to get the extra panties away from my tingling nipples and to where they needed to be. I produced an especially heavy load. It was as if the more I masturbated, the more I could put out. Was that possible? Did she have me training my system to do that? In that moment I wasn't capable of even those simple thoughts. All I knew was that I would once more feel the satisfaction of coming, accompanied by the mortification of being instructed and watched. My cream went all over its target, with a few final drips landing just above that area. "You did it again, Regina," my wife announced with disgust. "It's like you have no limits to how low you'll sink. I mean, you're obviously getting your weird kicks from this. So I guess I'll have to do something to help you again. To make you think about your stomach- turning habit. Put those panties on, girl." When I tried to step into them, assuming she wanted them on over the other pair, she stopped me. I gave her an inquiring look. "Over your head this time, jerk-off. With the sticky part on your nose and mouth. Ugh." Had she planned this? Was that why the panties were so small? And thick? I had no way of knowing but the suspicion that the details were worked out in advance was difficult to not consider. Hating what she was making me do, I pulled them over my hair and down. The unclean portion stretched tightly over my lower face. My ejaculate got on my nostrils and lips. It was sickening. She pulled the small garment together in the back and used something to keep it tightly gathered, so that what was touching my face would stay there, firmly against my skin. "Take a deep breath, Regina," she ordered with calm authority. I did it and the odor of my semen overwhelmed me. I took a few uncertain steps, unable to see much through the material over my eyes. Larissa chuckled at my helpless stumbling. She gripped my wrist and walked me down the hall and into the bathroom. I was steered to the toilet. The lid was up and I had to get myself on the seat. She patted my thigh. "All comfy? You can spend the night here, thinking about what a pig you are. I won't need your well-trained mouth. And I wouldn't want all that goo smeared over my pussy. So you just sit here and think about what you've made of yourself. I got some lovely sex toys because I don't have a man in the house. Maybe they'll replace you completely in the bedroom. Then you'd be even more useless than you are now." She left the door open. I sat there feeling miserable. After this disgrace it was going to be hard all over again to derive any pleasure from my masturbation. I was in the middle of trying to think of some way out of my dilemma -- a futile exercise -- when I heard a buzzing sound. Larissa must have left her door open as well. And what I was hearing had to be the noise of a female personal product. A vibrator. My replacement. As I stayed on the open toilet I heard her take a deep breath. Then she let it out slowly, purring with pleasure. She murmured something that might have been words or just sounds. Then she got louder, with disjointed syllables that were unmistakably indications of her rising sexual temperature. Next she began to speak coherently. "This is SO good. Not like when I used to have a husband. He was a flop in bed with his tiny dick and no staying power. Wham, bam, no fun for you, Ma'am. But with my love toys I can get SO much satisfaction. First this wand vibrator, then maybe the long, thick, flesh-colored dildo, and finally the small vibrator that I can wear on my hand while I give myself... SO... much... pleasure. Maybe sometime I'll even let Richard -- I mean Regina -- watch how much better sex is for me this way. I'm sure my weakling sissy would love to see that. Except that it would be a reminder that this is all his fault. Him and his jerking off." I squirmed with mental anguish. She was undermining what was left of my confidence. Maybe I really wasn't any good in bed. Perhaps it was better to just be her sissy plaything. Her hand-sex failure. As much as I tried to hold onto my male ego, I could feel it slipping away. The thought of always looking this way around her, never having a normal sex life with my gorgeous wife, constantly playing with my pickle in front of her, and having my masculinity endlessly denigrated, was deeply disturbing. What was even worse was the chance that I might come not only to accept it, but to feel it was right, that I deserved nothing else, and in time that I would even derive a twisted sort of satisfaction from it. Might I even come to desire it? To hate it but crave it at the same time? That would be unthinkable. And yet... My mind was drawn back to the present moment when she yelped with joy. Larissa made sounds I had never heard before, certainly not during our past intercourse, and even not while I was pleasing her pussy with my lips and tongue. What I was hearing made me feel more inadequate than ever. Unneeded. Soon she was babbling in a sort of lubricious glossolalia. I closed my eyes tight but didn't dare cover my ears. Her voice rose into a series of cries that signaled a powerful orgasm. It went on and on until she finally descended from the sexual stratosphere. The moans and sighs that accompanied her afterglow tortured me. After that she was unrelenting in her efforts to complete turning me into her sissy toy. She got me into a tiny lavender bra with barely- there cups, a wide, white plastic belt that she found in a thrift shop, and shiny gunmetal grey stockings. My hair was backcombed and had some product in it to add body. Larissa used more make-up than I was used to, giving me a pale complexion and overly colorful eyes and lips, a look that amused her and which she promised to develop further. Then she got naked, which of course had me desiring her. But instead of thinking of normal sex, I pictured my feminized self jerking off, disgracing myself once again while she watched. That was when she surprised me by lying back on the bed and spreading her legs. "Come on, Regina. Get into position. You can pretend you're a guy." Nervous and no knowing what to expect, but desperate for any sort of intimate contact, I assumed the missionary position. "That's a good girl," she encouraged. "Now put the tip of your dinky dick right up against my pussy. Touch it. Enjoy how wet and warm and inviting it is. But don't you dare try to penetrate me. Not that you could go very deep with that miniature thing between your legs." She snickered. "Oh, it's touching me. Sort of like a fingertip." There I was, propped up by my arms, the end of my penis actually meeting her precious femininity. It was so good. I whimpered with gratitude. Was she feeling generous? I should have known better. My wife brought her hands up and slipped them under the bra that lay so flatly against my hairless chest. She found my nipples and began to tease them. I gasped and jerked my hips reflexively. "There you go, Regina. Isn't that nice? To rub your teeny weeny against my puss? Hmmm? Don't you want to keep doing it? Isn't this better than that repulsive self abuse you're always committing?" I moaned my assent. She kept me moving my pelvis, working my straining dick against the vestibule of her sex, giving myself wonderful sensations and aching frustration simultaneously. My bride knew exactly what she was doing. Soon my balls were drawn up tight and I was edging toward a climax. I couldn't believe that she was going to make me cum without ever getting inside her. It was sweet agony. It was a reminder of how under her control I was. It was an affirmation of how much of my manliness I had forfeited. She made me finish myself with my thumb and forefinger. I groaned and shot my cream all over the entrance to the center of her womanhood. The sounds I was making went from momentarily ecstatic to increasingly mournful as I saw how much I had lost and began to sense the way in which I would be made to pay for my seconds of pleasure. True to my expectations, she purred, "Oh, Regina, you dirty girl. Did you make another of your sticky messes down there? You had better clean it up before it runs and drips all over the sheets. No time to get a wet warm washcloth. You'll have to use your sissy mouth. Hurry up, princess. And don't worry about what you'll do to your bright shiny lipstick; there's plenty more waiting to be used." Getting my face in front of her mound, I took a deep breath and licked my way from the bottom of her soiled slit to the top, gathering a good portion of my own spunk on my tongue and taking it into my mouth. The salty flavor was as repugnant to me as it had been the first time I tasted it. Even so, it felt right. Fulfilling. As if I was doing what I was meant to. And the outrageous outfit I had on seemed correct too. Larissa honestly was drawing me the rest of the way into a sissy lifestyle. And mindset. I cleaned her up and as I worked she began to writhe under my ministrations. She had me slow down to extend her enjoyment. Eventually -- inevitably -- she had a hip- bucking climax. Maybe making me consume my cum reminded her of what she'd done before. For whatever reason, in the succeeding nights she had me finish in tissues several times and stuff them into my mouth, to keep them there until they were a soggy ball that still tasted like spunk. She also decided that I should jerk off using just my thumb and forefinger, but formed into a ring. The tips of the digits had to touch but I couldn't make the circle any tighter than that. The result, as she must have calculated, was that it wasn't very satisfying and made it difficult for me to finish myself. It didn't help that she laughed at me while I used that shameful technique. My wife also bought me several new belly shirts, those abbreviated tops that left my midsection bare. They were in a spectrum of pastel shades. Then she had me put each one on so she could see exactly where my nipples were and cut out openings over them. That way I was shamefully shown off and it was simple for her to tease my exposed erogenous points. She loved to trace her fingers over my chest, slowly zeroing in on her twin targets, and stimulating me until I was puffing with need. Then she might make me rush through a masturbation session. Or force me to go maddeningly slow. Larissa got special joy out of keeping me off balance any way her fertile mind could concoct. But her best idea -- best from her point of view -- was the paper pussy. It was just an empty cardboard roll from toilet tissue. I had to slip it over my undersized dick and use it to masturbate with. It was forbidden for me to squeeze it or otherwise make it closer fitting. The result was that, as with my finger and thumb, I didn't get the degree of contact I wanted. She would giggle at me while I frantically pumped away, approaching my goal but not quite reaching it. Sometimes I had to hold the roll still and create all the action by thrusting my hips. If I was wearing one of my filmy baby doll nighties, it made the flowing material wave around my hips and across my bottom, tantalizing me. When I was finally able to empty my balls, there was always some cream left on the paper pussy. Of course I had to tongue it clean, sometimes even having to lick around the interior of the tube to get it all. Then she hit on two ideas to make that unwanted practice even more shameful. First I had to decorate the cardboard cylinders. She gave me some colored markers to start with. I drew red hearts and multi- hued rainbows on them. Yellow flowers and pink lips. I had to kiss the brightly illustrated paper pussies and whisper words of endearment to them. Sometimes she made me give them oral foreplay. Along with those new humiliations, she decided I needed the right look for my face when I was with the new objects of my sexual relations. Remembering how much she had enjoyed using lots of foundation to give me a pale complexion and then adding vivid colors over that, she expanded on the idea. I got the pallid undercoat, enhanced with high arched eyebrows, wildly outlined eyes, obviously artificial drawn-on cheekbones, oversized lips, and a shadow under the lower one to make it appear to pout. She would slick back my hair to add to what she called the 'doll face' or 'love doll' look. I hated it. I hated having to use the faux vaginas she decreed. And yet I was still being drawn deeper into my new persona. One minute I would be close to tears over my mortifying performances, and the next I was throwing myself completely into my role and perversely relishing it. Larissa got a digital video camera to tape one of my demeaning interactions with a paper pussy. It was one that I had glued glitter and confetti all over. To go along with that she made up my face with rainbow colors that exaggerated all my features. My only consolation was that perhaps I would be unrecognizable with that much make-up on. The woman I had married also decided I had to have an outfit to match. She gave me a long scarf in a chaos of colors and thick leg warmers with wide horizontal stripes in bright rainbow hues. My wife even used a spray product to make my hair bright yellow. Before she started recording she gave me some instructions. I had to talk to the faux vagina as if I was on a date with it. I purred, "You look so hot. I have to kiss you." After I suited my action to those words, using plenty of tongue, I murmured more seductive words and played with myself until I was hard. She pantomimed for me to lick my fingers and use them on my receptive nipples. I told the paper pussy, "Please, don't tell me 'no'. I want you so much. It's not just lust. We could be so good together." While Larissa barely suppressed her laughter, I gave the tube a few more kisses and then fitted it over my stiff little dick. With her moving in for a close-up, I began to pump it up and down. My bride had me stroke my inner thighs and massage my scrotum as she captured every second of self-humiliation. With perfect timing she kept me at it until any potential viewers would have gotten over the initial shock and amusement of what they were seeing. Then she signaled me to go faster. I didn't want to add to my shame that way, but I was eager to get it over with... and to gain release. I worked the cardboard cylinder furiously for a minute, lost control, and spurted my cream. Some landed on my thigh, a rivulet ran down the outside of the tube, and still more ended up inside, getting my softening pecker all slimy. I stood there panting. Larissa pointed to my thigh and made a motion with her index finger. I understood and gathered up the trail of semen. Then she indicated that I should lick the finger clean. Nauseated by the act, I nevertheless lapped up the spill and even sucked the digit. Then she had me slurp up the sticky goo from the outside and inside of the paper pussy. Finally I had to gather as much of my spunk as I could from my flaccid member and consume that as well. She backed up and licked her lips. I understood and did the same. Without being told to, anticipating what she'd probably also like, I ended with a wide toothy grin. The moment she stopped recording, Larissa broke up laughing. "I can't wait to post that on a porn site I found. Just imagine how many pervs will see you in all your sissy glory. You and your girlfriend, Ms. Cock Holder. HA!" Thinking about people seeing that video, getting bug-eyed, laughing, telling their friends about it, made me quiver with mortification. I didn't know how much further she could take this. Or in what direction it might go next. But she gave me the answer a moment later when she said, "I can't wait to have a few of my closest BFFs over to see you perform that show in person. I'll do up your face with plenty of white foundation. Then draw on overdone features. Won't you be a sight. My sissy jerkoff husband and another one of his toilet roll twats." She laughed wildly. "And you can pretty your girlfriend up an extra lot. Maybe have some ribbons hanging off her, with the ends curled. And a little bell at the tip of one strand that will tinkle the whole time you're having loser sex. And making one of your sticky messes. Won't that be a great show, Regina?" What could I say? She had me utterly defeated. In a wispy voice I told her, "Yes, dear." Being watched by several other women, having them see me make one of my sticky messes, would be my biggest disgrace yet. Still, something inside me was stirring, telling me that it might be my biggest thrill as well. ********* (Thanks to everyone who posted reviews of my recent stories, and especially to the readers who left comments about my earlier ones. It's always nice to be reminded that folks are still enjoying those older efforts.)