Rod's Rules free porn video

ROD'S RULES by Throne "Now Lenny," my wife Claire said, sounding perfectly reasonable, "you know this is how it has to be." "B... but..." I began, upset and losing control of my speech. "It's just... You're not being fair if... I mean..." "Darling," she soothed, "this is the way Rod wants it. You're a complete dud in bed. He's a sex monster, to put it mildly. And I'm not prepared to give up what he has to offer. So if he makes some new rules, well, those are what we're going to live by." I was getting ready to cry. Trying not to sniffle out loud, I stood there with my chin lowered and shoulders drooping. Claire is so lovely, with her attractive figure and sweet face. She's also taller than me. And like she said, I'm no hotshot between the sheets. It's not just that I'm short and slender. Or that my body is soft. The real problem is that my penis is about half the size it should be. The average erection is six inches and all I have is three. As she delighted in pointing out, Rod's member is a proud nine, with girth to match. Besides that, I'm a one-minute man and he's a one-hour stud. So there was never any way for me to compete once she met him. Before that I'd at least been allowed to touch her, give her oral sex, and sort of have sex. I say 'sort of' because what would happen was that I'd assume the missionary position, the tip of my tiny dick would touch the warm and wet entrance of her vagina, she'd toy with my sensitive nipples, and I'd rapidly spurt my cream. As if that wasn't bad enough, to assure that she had as much pleasure as she needed, I would then have to use my mouth on her, which meant I was also cleaning up my own ejaculate, licking it up and -- GAG -- consuming it. But now, as she stood there in a tight sleeveless top, tighter slacks, and sandals with two inch heels, I knew there was worse to come. Having her cheat on me with Rod had been almost unbearable. But, as she had recently informed me, he was going to start coming to our home. That was why the man who regularly had sex with my cherished wife was making some sort of rules I would have to follow. I faced my spouse, trying to look brave as I blinked back tears. All I had on was a short belted robe she had bought for me. It was very pale blue, fuzzy, and had wide lapels. I shifted my feet nervously and waited to hear what she was about to say. Claire allowed me to squirm inwardly while I anticipated unwelcome news. "First," she said, "he insists there can't be two men in the house. I pointed out to him that you barely qualify as one to begin with, but he didn't care. He figures you're already some kind of wimp to let me jump into bed with him. But now he says you have to be a sissy, too. So tonight you're going to use a depilatory I bought and remove all your body hair. Every last fine, pale blond bit of it. I'm afraid that will make your silly boy parts look even more immature than they do already, but..." She shrugged, making her shapely bust rise and fall. "... that's the way it has to be." My lower lip was quivering as I pleadingly said, "But Claire, I'm your husband." "Technically, that's true. But considering that you can't deliver proper lovemaking, and that all I've been doing for the last year is popping you off before you can get inside, making you go down on me, and occasionally giving you hand jobs, you're not my husband when it counts. So, along with you looking like what you really are, a weak little sissy-man, there will be some restrictions on the way you and I... shall we say... interact." "I don't understand." I sounded as defeated as I felt. "For one thing you'll still get those hand jobs..." "Thank you," I blurted. "Don't be so grateful until you hear the rest." She held me with her cool blue-eyed gaze. "It won't be my hand on your pee wee pecker from now on. You'll be taking care of that icky job yourself, I'm happy to say." "You mean I'll have to..." "Tug that joke between your legs all by yourself. Yep. And there's more. Rod doesn't want you seeing my body undressed. So from now on you can't even peek at my boobs or my butt." "How can he be so cruel?" My voice was trembling. "That's just how he is. A big, powerful man," she said dreamily. "And sometimes he can be mean. Not so much to me. I mean, occasionally he'll throw me down onto the bed. Or put his big strong hands on my shoulders and make me get down on my knees in front of him, with my face right in front of his magnificent huge cock so I can use my mouth on it. But that kind of meanness I don't mind. Not even when he has that killer tool down my throat and his heavy balls on my chin." My knees were getting weak. I wanted to go somewhere and just hide. Claire smirked at my pathetic reaction and patted me on top of my head. She decided, "Time to get out of your robe, Romeo. Into the shower and we'll see how that hair remover works." Numbly, I untied the belt, opened the robe, and took it off. I stood there with it draped over my unimpressive arm, trying to position it in front of my genitals. But she wouldn't allow that. Claire snatched the garment away from me and eyed my physique up and down. "You really are a lost cause," she said and shook her head. Then she reached out and flicked my little peter. "Especially that laughable thing. So let's go. Into the shower, lather up, and goodbye to all the hair below your pale eyebrows." I went to the bathroom, got into the shower, found the plastic container, covered myself with a product meant for women. The label said something like BIKINI WAX IN A BOTTLE. I had to stand there for five minutes while it worked. She pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket and took a picture of me cowering naked in the tub. "Just let me send this to Rod. He asked for a progress report. It'll be a few hours before he gets here and he wants to know that everything'll be the way he demanded it." Finally she had me turn on the shower. I was only allowed to use cold water. The chilly spray made me hug myself and whimper. She but me rub every part of my body to make sure all the hair was washed away. At last I was permitted to turn off the spray. As I stood there shivering she took another picture. "Damn," she remarked. "When your ding dong gets cold it practically disappears altogether. Rod will get a good laugh from this shot." After a few more uncomfortable minutes I was allowed to step out of the tub, take a big fluffy towel, and pat myself dry. Claire snapped her fingers and signaled for me to follow her. As soon as we were in the bedroom she opened the closet so I could see myself in the full-length mirror mounted on the inside of the door. I gasped. Staring back at me was a slim figure, pink and hairless. My small penis and testicles appeared even less manly with no hair around them. "Hey, Lenny," my wife said. "Maybe that mistake of nature you've got where a prick should be would look better if we got it hard. How about if I get naked and it gets a massage?" "Really?" I asked hopefully. "Sure. Except that we'll be following Rod's rules. After all, he IS the man of the house now. So I you can't look when I strip and you'll have to do the rubbing yourself." She snickered. "But not right now." "Well," I said in a feeble disappointed whisper, "may I at least cover up?" "Of course. That's the best part," she said gleefully. I remembered about what she'd said about him not wanting me to look like a guy. Was she going to have me put on something besides my own clothes? The answer came all too soon as she reached behind her vanity chair and produced a pink plastic shopping bag. I recognized the name on it, in swirling letters, of a shop that specializes in sexy lingerie. Surely she couldn't expect me to wear anything from there. But she did, as I discovered when she grinned and began removing items. There were bikini-cut panties in the same vivid pink as that shopping bag, a matching bra with small, slightly padded cups, black garter belt, and shiny, dark stockings. It was too much. I nearly swooned. How could she force me to appear so unmanly? "Let's go," she snapped. "I'll still need time to do your hair and make-up. And to get myself all jazzed up for Rod. Of course, if you waste too much time, I'll just have to greet him in my birthday suit. Bet he'd like that." "No. Please. Don't be naked when he gets here. I'll cooperate." "Bet you will, Lenny. Or should it be... Lainie? Lanny? Jenny? Penny? Ohhh, I like that one, and hereby christen you... Penny." She chuckled. "So if you're going to be Penny, I need you to sound like her. Let's hear you speak in a soft breathy way." "You mean you want me to..." She silenced me with a piercing look. I inhaled and resumed, speaking the way she wished me to. "Is this okay, dear?" I inquired in a high wispy voice, not sounding like myself, feeling disconnected from my own identity. "Close enough," she allowed. "And make sure you keep it up. Embarrass me in front of Rod and I'll complain to him. Then he'll have to do something to make it right again. Something... physical." She narrowed her eyes. "Understood?" Even without meeting Rod I was already afraid of him. Swallowing with difficulty, I told my bride in my new Penny voice, "Yes, dearest." "Good. I wouldn't want him to have to put you over his knee and spank your bare ass like you were a naughty schoolgirl." Just the thought of that happening made me shudder. She laughed and pointed toward what was on the bedspread. I took the garter belt, fumbled with it, and had to be helped to get it on. Sitting on the side of the bed, I rolled the stockings up my legs and had to be shown how to attach them to the straps on the belt. Then came the panties. She had me tuck my parts down and back, so it appeared that I had nothing there larger than a female mons. When all that was done I donned the bra. She had picked the type that fastened in the front, I suppose to allow for my unfamiliarity with putting one on. I got it hooked and was further upset to see that there was a heart on the center of each cup, like a pair of bright red nipples. This time when I had to stand in front of the mirror it was even more unsettling. My male identity was being taken from me more and more. Claire made me assume a series of marginally erotic poses. Then, glancing at her watch, she moved me to her vanity table and sat me in front of the mirror. Using a brush and some sort of gel, she worked my hair up into a mass of short curls. And it stayed that way. Then she went to work with a passion on my face. Darkened my light brows, made my lashes black and gave them volume, colored my eyelids pale blue, outlined my eyes, applied blush to my soft cheeks, made my mouth bright red. The girly scents of some of the products filled my head. I had to witness the entire transformation reflected back at me. It was disturbing to see my male likeness further altered. She even had a pair of clear plastic slippers with one inch heels. I slipped my feet into them and found I could walk with a minimum of difficulty. She assured me that there would be higher heels in my future. "But tonight I don't want anything, like you stumbling around and falling over, to distract Rod and I from what we'll be doing." She gave me a broad wink. "Right, Penny?" "I... Yes, dear. I'll be careful." It was terrible to hear myself surrendering so much. I was being an enabler of her affair with Rod, the man who had been cuckolding me. "Good girl," she said. "Now go stand in the corner. Like I said before, you're never allowed to see my goodies again." When I opened my mouth she added, "And we wouldn't want to break any of Rod's rules, now would we?" "N... no, my love." "That's the attitude I want from now on. Well behaved and doing whatever you're told. And I do mean 'whatever'." I assumed the desired position, my nose in the juncture of two walls. Claire moved around behind me. She came close and pressed something against my nose. It was the panties she had just removed. Her scent was strong on them. As I inhaled the room seemed to tilt. She blew in my ear and took the undergarment away so she could get back to changing. Soon she was done and bid me turn around. There stood my wife, looking so inviting in a short, pale yellow, bedroom jacket and tiny panties in the same color. She had garish gold stilettos with three inch spikes. Her make-up was slightly overdone, bordering on slutty, with bronze highlights. It hurt to know that her preparations were not for me. She said, "Enjoy the view. This may be the last time you see me in anything so revealing." By then I wasn't able to object or try to state my case. I had no case. I was left with nothing. So I just told her, "Your outfit looks stunning, my love." And without meaning to, added, "I'm sure it will make Rod happy." With a triumphant leer she told me, "He'll be less interested in admiring it than in taking it off me. Now let's get me a glass of wine and have a beer ready for my man." I followed her to the kitchen, lusting after her shapely legs. The idea that I would be denied not only physical access to her body, but visual as well, was ego-crushing. Without being told to I lowered my eyes, not feeling worthy to steal anymore looks at her thighs. Instead I found myself mournfully admiring her calves and even her feet. What was happening to me? In the kitchen she had me pour her a glass of wine, talking to me as if I was hired help. Then I had to remove a bottle of beer from its carrier and slide it forward in the fridge, an action that didn't accomplish much but did remind me of my new secondary status. All too soon there was a loud knock at the front entrance. "Answer the door, Penny," she told me brusquely. I froze up inside. Instead of refusing or even hesitating, I meekly responded, "Certainly," and went to do what she wanted. With my hand on the knob I paused for only a second. The last thing I wanted was for my wife's lover to see me looking so feminized, without a hair on my body, face made up, hair styled. Yet the image Claire had put into my head, of Rod turning me over his lap and giving me a sound spanking, probably making me squeal and maybe even weep, took over. I opened the door while trying to keep myself hidden from anyone who might be passing outside. Confronting me was a tall, handsome, confident man. He sneered at my unthreatening appearance and suddenly lunged at me. Rod said, "BOO" and stopped an inch from my face. I recoiled, stumbled, and fell on my prat. He laughed. Claire laughed. Rod strode past on long legs, leaving the door ajar. I turned my head to see my wife meet him and the two join in a passionate embrace. They kissed unhurriedly. His hands ran freely up and down her desirable figure. I managed to push the door closed with one sandaled foot and awkwardly get myself upright. Standing there unsteadily, I watched them slowly part, still gazing into each other's eyes. She said, "I've got a cold beer for you, baby." He wanted to know, "Only one?" She smiled up at him and ran her hand over his broad chest. "As many as you want. And anything else I've got to go with them." He gave her a lopsided grin and boldly put his hand over her breast. Instead of retreating, she leaned into his touch and sighed. I knew at that moment that I was doomed. "Penny," my wife snapped at me. "Get this man his beer. Move that ass." "Yeah," Rod seconded. "Shake that booty, girl. Bring me a cold one." I hurried from the room, even adding a wiggle to my walk to keep them happy. It was all so demeaning. When I returned they were on the living room sofa, close together. I held the beer out to Rod and he snatched it from my much smaller hand. Effortlessly twisting off the cap, he took a long swallow, exhaled appreciatively, and set the bottle down on the end table by his side. Claire snuggled up against him. "So," he wanted to know. "Did you read your pansy husband the rules?" "Sure did," she assured him. "He didn't like it that he's going to have to look all sissy whenever he's in the house. And he definitely didn't appreciate that he'll never be able to ogle me above the knees." "Boo hoo," Rod offered. "The wuss is probably a pervert anyway. He'll be thrilled if he can slobber over your feet and maybe kiss your lower legs." "Oh," she enthused. "It sounds so sexy when you say it. One man dominating another. Or at least a real man bossing around a fake one." "That's more like it," he said with a nod, and took a swig from his beer. "Now how about if you show me how glad you are that I'm here, Claire." He took my bride's wrist and set her hand on his crotch. I'd already noticed the bulge in his jeans. "You know what I like to get things started." She playfully told him, "You bastard." And then she slid off the couch and got on her knees in front of him. In seconds she had opened his belt, undone his pants, and lowered his fly. "You know I know what you like. And you know I love doing it for you." He lifted his bottom so she could drag down his jeans and shorts. I goggled at what was exposed. It was still flaccid and already over seven inches. Her soft hands worked briefly, bringing it up another two inches and adding to its thickness. I gaped at the veiny muscle of love and tried to deny what I was seeing as she lowered her mouth to cap its fat bulbous head. Claire sucked enthusiastically, at the same time stroking the shaft. Her efforts, which would have made me finish already if I'd ever been fortunate enough to be the recipient of them, didn't faze him. Rod casually lifted his beer, gulped down another mouthful, and returned it to its place. My spouse was totally involved in worshipping his member, which was three times the length of mine. I even saw her lap at his large balls. She lavished kisses on his muscular thighs. Rod had more body hair than I'd possessed before. Now that I was denuded of it all over, his hirsuteness made me feel even more inferior. After another five minutes of her acting like an eager whore, he decided it was time to move to the bed. "You," he said, pointing at me, "can kneel outside the bedroom door. You'll hear us banging away like a couple of teenagers. Try not to let it bother you too much... Penny." I positioned myself in the hall. Claire made me press my nose against the carpet. She removed her gold shoes and set them on either side of my face. Then she left the door halfway open. "Have fun," my wife said maliciously. "I know I will." "Yeah," Rod echoed. "And I bet she'll like it even more because she knows you're out here acting like the loser you are." My wife chortled and told him, "That's right. It's already getting me wet, thinking about how hubby is going to suffer. Especially now that he's all dolled up. And knows he's going to be pussy-free from here on in." She hissed at me, "Not even getting to touch it with the tip of his baby dick." With that they entered the room. Even though they could no longer see me, I obediently maintained my humbling posture. In my peripheral vision I couldn't avoid looking at Claire's footwear. Then the sounds of them undressing each other began. "Whoa," Rod told her. "Remember, you're never going to let your sad sack sissy get an eyeful of these perfect knockers." "No way. I don't think he should even be able to look at my cleavage." "Yeah, I'll I'll do plenty of looking for both of us. And touching." "Oh, Rod. I love having your hands on my tits. Let me get out of this robe for you. Only for you." Soon they were in bed and there was plenty of panting and moaning. It went on like that for what must have been an hour. I couldn't stop thinking about the way my wife had made me look and how amused Rod had been by my appearance. The sounds of their spirited sex made me want to cover my ears. Claire kept comparing Rod to myself, with him always coming out the winner. I had to listen to her having two orgasms. The noise they made built to a new crescendo. She screamed with another climax, more powerful than the previous ones. He let out a throaty growl and I knew he was finishing. Then the room grew quiet. I soon realized they must be relaxing while they recovered from their exertions. I pictured her curled up against him, his long arm draped over her shoulders. At last they emerged. I dared to raise my eyes and saw them appearing quite sated. Claire had put on a longer robe to assure that I couldn't see her body. Rod was naked. There was a magnum-size condom on his flaccid cock. My bride carefully peeled it off. She told me, "Up on your haunches, Penny, like a begging dog. And open your mouth. Look at the yummy treat I have for you." She dangled the used rubber and its plentiful contents over my parted lips. "Tell me you want this, sweetness, and I might even let you keep it all night. Let's hear the puppy bitch say how much she wants it." "I..." My stomach was lurching. Did she really expect me to accept that foul thing onto my tongue? "Please let me have that... treat. It was so nice of you and Rod to... prepare it for me. I can't wait for (choke) my special (gag) goodie." They both laughed and she dropped it into my mouth. I tried to move it around so that it wouldn't leak, but some of Rod's salty spunk ran out. There was also the flavor of my wife's pussy, so familiar from the many times I'd licked it. I had to follow them to the living room, that awful tasting thing still behind my teeth, where they turned on the TV so Rod could watch the sporting news and get the updated scores. Claire had me lay on my back and put her bare feet on my chest. She teased my nipples with her toes. More of Rod's cream escaped and oozed down my throat. During a commercial she said, "You know, Penny, right now you might think it's a bad deal to be denied my tits and ass, and only get my feet. But before you know it, you'll be all turned on by my toes and soles and heels. Just wait and see." It didn't seem possible, and yet I'd read somewhere about how, in the Victorian era when women were quite covered up, some men developed a fetish for one of their few exposed parts -- ankles. Would it be so different for me to become obsessed with my wife's pedal extremities? I shivered as my undersized penis got hard inside my panties. It stood up enough to be noticeable and my two tormentors made a few stinging remarks, though they were more engaged with the television and each other. Claire moved one foot onto my face and dipped her toes into my mouth. Though I shouldn't have wanted to, I sucked them greedily. The used condom was tucked into my cheek. She got her other foot on my erection. The combination was overwhelming. It really did feel like I was already being reconditioned to become what they desired. But then, my bride had done a lot to lay the groundwork for such a change. In the days and weeks that followed I was drawn deeper and deeper into the new role created for me. Though I no longer saw my wife unclothed, she dressed provocatively to keep me aroused. Sometimes she would treat me to a glimpse of her panties or the lacy trim on her bra. Claire encouraged me to masturbate. She delighted in reminding me that playing with myself would be the center of my sex life from then on. Often she would have me tug my shrimp-dick, as she liked to call it, but not make myself finish. When I was allowed to shoot, it was into paper tissues, a trash can, or the toilet. "Come on, Penny," she might say if I was going to use that latter receptacle. "Let's work on your potty training." In a micro miniskirt and belly shirt, or something similar, I would follow her and put myself in front of the commode. Then I would have to hold up the hem of my skirt, pull aside the crotch of my panties, and toy with myself. She enjoyed limiting me to using just two fingers or making a loose ring of my thumb and forefinger, which was too wide to properly stimulate my skinny dick. It tickled her to let me finish in ways that produced compromised orgasms, which she also called spoiled squirts. After I sent my discharge into the bowl she made me flush it away, always taking the opportunity to tell me how worthless my semen was. At my humdrum office job I couldn't stop lusting after the women, even though they were fully clothed. And my eyes inevitably drifted to their feet. In time became eager to return home to my feminized persona and the indignities that awaited me. As soon as I had put on whatever outfit I found laid out, like a schoolgirl uniform or maybe a tight corset, stockings, heels and nothing else, and fixed my face and hair, she would start in on me. "Ready for some hand pussy? Want to stroke yourself and make one of your little messes? Hmmm?" By then I was so caught up in seeking sexual release, I couldn't help but answer in the affirmative. Using my girly voice I would tell her, "Yes, dear. I really want to yank my pickle. May I please do it? Please?" "I don't know. It's really disgusting. But I suppose I'll have to let you." She often sighed loudly while making remarks like those. "And isn't it convenient that I have on this snug sweater and tight skirt? I mean, if you were a real man, you could see me naked. You know, like Rod always does. But he's an Alpha male and you're just a wimpy beta. So you'll have to have your hand sex while looking at me this way. Or else I could let you feast your eyes on me for a while and then send you off to do your business in the closet where no one would have to be sickened by the sight. Maybe send you down into the basement and let you fondle my dirty socks in the laundry. Sniff them and think about my feet while you make your dingle tingle. While you're down there you could even take an old pair of ruined pantyhose out of the trash and turn them into your partner. Rub them all over your chest and then hump them with your pathetic pecker." Claire came up with special terms for what she was doing to me. She referred to my 'beta weakling lessons', how she was 'deep imprinting' on my mind, and that her eventual goal was 'total dependence' on getting aroused by fully clothed females plus their feet, and having intercourse completely replaced in my thoughts by the compulsion to shamefully diddle myself. My wife also got on the mailing lists for catalogs of female clothing, except that they were all full of modest items, including conservative and unerotic undergarments. I had to spend extended periods looking at them while touching myself. Over time it started to seem normal to be turned on that way. Naturally, any sort of real porn was forbidden. On-line sites with nudity, girls showing off oversized busts, females spreading their legs for the camera, and so on were not allowed. She even found specialty sites for guys like me that featured censored images of gals with their breasts, asses and pussies pixelated or otherwise covered up. Some of those pictures included captions reminiscent of what she said to me. Here are a few that she had me write down. "Look at you, beta boy. Drooling over me while I'm wearing this boring skirt suit." "I know you're imaging what I look like under this plain housedress. Aren't you, loser?" "How do you like this tight top, you no-dick failure? Can you still remember what my big boobs look like? It's been so long since I let you see them. And you never will again." "Check out my new toenail polish, weenie. You can think about how good it looks and how much you get turned on by my feet. That should make your 'intimate time' with your hand more fulfilling." "This is the only kind of nude picture you're allowed, with little STOP signs over all the naughty bits. Get used to pulling your puny dick to it, wuss." If she saw or imagined any attempt, even unconscious ones, by me to assert a trace of masculinity, she would add some extra-girlish touch to my look. Many times I earned myself a big hairbow, fingerless lace gloves, or white stockings decorated with red hearts. It was so humiliating. A few times she even decorated my genitals with elastic ponytail holders, ribbons, and tiny artificial flowers. I would have to cup my hands around them like I was holding a small bouquet. Rod thought that was hilarious. My desire for any sort of contact with her body turned to desperation. She laughed at my begging. To make my plight even worse she would have me kiss her stocking tops. While doing that, with my head under her skirt, I couldn't avoid inhaling the scent of her femininity. When I was done she might send me off to fondle myself and spurt into a used condom that Rod had filled the night before. Soon, however, she had been on birth control for a while and the rubbers were no longer needed. But there were still some left over, the extra large ones he required, and I had to pump multiple loads of my cream into those while their size reminded me of how inferior my penis dimensions were. Some nights Rod would sleep over. Claire liked to make me especially sissy-like for those evenings. At some thrift shop she found me a novelty apron. It was small, with ruffles all the way around. The top was two heart-shaped pieces meant to cover female breasts. The lower section was so short it barely descended past my male parts. And the whole garment was red and white and pink. She teased up my hair and used some spray product to change it from sandy blond to an alarming shade of pale coral. The make-up she made me apply under her watchful eyes was similarly overdone and colorful. I had to wait for Rod's arrival on my knees, just inside the door. When he showed up, carrying a six pack of beer, he howled with laughter. His opinion was, "Penny looks like a crazed hooker trying to attract the freakiest guys." My wife upped the ante with, "Or maybe she dressed so weird to get us angry, so we'd swat her pansy ass." Rod liked that idea. He never tired of playing the dominant male. My bride had gotten a 12 inch metal ruler somewhere. She made me bend over the back of a kitchen chair. My bottom was left bare by that demeaning apron. Claire got behind me and began swinging. While Rod savored a chilly beer, she heated up my bottom until it was bright pink all over and smarting terribly. I couldn't contain my tears. Then Rod got up and delivered a half dozen smacks, so much harder than hers. Afterward, as I stood there holding onto the chair and weeping loudly, they sat across from me. She had a glass of wine. They shared tender kisses, which soon grew more passionate. Before long they were ready for one of their frequent trips to the bedroom that I formerly shared with my wife. I guess you could say that I still did, except that by then I was sleeping on a fuzzy dog bed in the corner. They made me kneel on that with my punished backside on display. "Don't let me catch you peeping," Rod warned. "If I see you trying to eyeball my woman when she's undressed, I'll use that ruler on the backs of your thighs. You do not want to learn what that feels like, missy." I mumbled my assent and buried my face in my hands. Once again I had to listen to them enjoying each other's bodies. Visions of my stunning wife unclothed danced behind my eyes. As always, Rod proved himself to have stamina far superior to my own. I could smell the odors of their sweat and fluids. When they were done and Claire let me approach them on my knees, she was covered by the sheet. I again envisioned her gorgeous body which I hadn't been allowed to see for so long. Her feet were exposed. "Go on, Penny," she told me amiably. "You've been fairly good the last few nights. I'll let you slobber all over my soles and tootsies. You can finger your nipples while you fiddle with your dickie." Unable to control myself, I got my mouth on her smooth soles and petite toes. I even licked between those digits, tasting perspiration that had been produced by their bedroom fervor. I rolled my nipples between my fingertips. Massaged my small balls. But mostly I kneaded and rubbed my unspectacular penis. Several times I brought myself to the verge of a climax but dutifully didn't go further. Pre-cum got on my thighs. It was maddening but I was well trained. At last my bride took something from the bedside table to throw to me. It was a worn sock, not at all sexy to anyone else, but wildly exciting to me by that point. "Go ahead, pump boy. Get your pitiful excuse of a cock in there and rub one off for me. Let me hear you whimper and moan. Make it a good one, piggy, as if it was your very last time." I did as I was told, which wasn't difficult. Deeply disgracing, but easy. I sent my white wetness into the toe of the unwashed sock and slumped against the foot of the mattress. "Now wipe yourself off real good," Rod advised. "So we can give you your surprise." What was he talking about? I got myself as clean as I could down there. He took something from the table on his side and tossed it to me. Of course I bobbled and dropped it. When I picked up what he'd thrown it really was a surprise, though not a welcome one. The lovers had gotten me a chastity device, one that would be small even for my pint size prick. I had to get up and stand alongside my wife while she directed me on how to get myself into it. There was a ring that closed around the top of my scrotum and the mini-cage that compressed by member into a nubbin. When I clicked home the lock I knew I was entering a new and unpleasant stage of my altered life. "There you go," said Claire. "And it's designed so you don't even have to remove it to clean up. Isn't that practical? No fondling yourself in the shower. Now I can flaunt myself at you -- fully clothed as usual -- and let you have your fun with my feet, but no longer have to deal with those miniature messes you make." "Yeah," seconded Rod. "Isn't that terrific?" "I..." My head spun. "Yes. That's... great." "Let's test it," my wife said. "Go on, Penny" her lover suggested. "Play with your nipples and try to get your mini-meat hard." Claire inched the sheets up to let me see her bare leg to just above the knee. Robbed of my willpower, I slid my fingers under the apron's top and got busy rubbing my chest. My penis wanted to erect but could only strain against its cramped enclosure. I groaned with frustration and discomfort. While I struggled, the pair on the bed exchanged probing kisses. After a few more wet lip-locks, my bride announced, "Okay. It obviously works." "Now," Rod went on, "let's see how effective it is after you've been in it for a week. Or two." The penis prison was sheer torment. I was always horny but could do nothing to gain relief. My balls ached and I thought about jerking off even more than previously. Claire took endless pleasure in visually teasing me with sexy outfits and 'innocently' bending over right in front of me, or having me sit on the sofa with her so she could put her feet in my lap. Rod would make me mixed drinks, very potent ones, so that I became tipsy. Then he would have me prance around, act wildly effeminate, and do clumsy stripteases. They both thought that was hilariously funny, and took plenty of pictures, as well as recording a few videos. The worst part of all was that my mind really was being changed. I kept trying to deny it to myself but that didn't work. How can you say you're not being affected after you see a female jogger take off her running shoes and socks to check her feet, and it gets you totally aroused (even if you're in a cock lock and the excitement gives you more pain than pleasure). At work I still found myself stealing peeks at females fully dressed, being turned on by their everyday outfits and how those covered them almost completely, but it was more intense than previously. Soon, the ones who were more hidden became the most exciting. A high-collared blouse or an extra long skirt drove me to distraction. I feverishly wanted to slip into the lavatory and play with my insistent nipples, maybe rub my aching balls, even though it would only make my plight worse. It was another five weeks before I was given a chance to gain some relief. Except that the offer came with conditions. Rod had decided that I would be allowed to play with myself again but only if I agreed to do it a certain way. He said the deal wasn't negotiable and then had my wife tell me how it would work. Claire explained, "You'll be all sexy looking like usual. We'll just make sure your little dicky isn't covered. Then you can lay on your back and get yourself bent double. With your knees on either side of your head. Do you get the picture?" "You mean..." I began hesitantly, "... with my penis pointed at my face?" She chuckled. "More like at your mouth, Penny dearest." Rod amplified, "Your wide open mouth." "So," Claire continued, "when you practice your filthy habit and make your little popgun pop, the icky mess will go right between your lips. I mean, you might get some on your nose or chin, but that'd just be a bonus for us, because we'll always be there to watch and make sure you do it right. It'll be a good laugh for us, seeing you feed yourself that way. And you'll learn to enjoy it more and more as time goes by, you dirty pervert." Considering how far they had already brought me, I had a sickening thought that her last claim might be right. The possibility of coming to crave such an unnatural act was disgusting. Still, I did have a choice, as Rod reminded me in an amused tone. "But it's up to you," the big man said. "We can leave you in that really small cock-lock. You'll be seeing your fantastically hot wife all the time and unable to do anything about it. I mean, not much bare skin but to you that's still a thrill. And she'll wear the usual tight stuff. So your little balls will be sore all the time. You won't be able to stop thinking about getting off. Or you can yank your crank whenever you get the urge, so long as you're bent up like a pretzel and one or both of us are there to enjoy the show." Claire smirked as she added, "Along with anybody else we invite to see you cum into your mouth." There it was. I could have relief whenever I pleased, so long as I was willing to gain it under the most demeaning circumstances of which I could conceive. They would be looking down at me, laughing, making rude comments, degrading me and my growing addiction, along with the way that I had to perform. And there might be others present. People who would see me as Penny the sissy, stripped of my masculinity and pride. I wavered. Either option was terrible, each in its own way. Enforced celibacy or endless humiliation. "No hurry," Rod said reassuringly. "Take as long as you want to decide." "Sure," Claire seconded. "You can play with your nipples and see how much that makes you want to go all the way with your hand. Make your dick leak out of the end of the cock-lock and wipe up the drips with your fingertip, so you can lick them off. Get a taste of what it'll be like if you decide to go back to self abuse." "And eating your own spunk," Rod said cruelly. "You can let us know a little later," my wife suggested. "Or tomorrow. Even a month from now. But once you choose, you have to stick with it unless we decide to let you choose again. Have fun thinking about it, Penny pecker-puller." "Or..." Rod offered, "Penny..." He creased his brow as he failed to come up with what else to call me, finally settling on the uninspired, "... Penny stuck-in-a-chastity-thing." They congratulated each other for the fix they'd put me in by sharing a deep lingering kiss. I couldn't stop dwelling on my pair of awful options. Did I want to remain with my penis trapped in that unforgivingly small cage, my testicles in agony? Or be able to relieve myself but always with deep humiliation and concluding with me finishing in my own mouth and on my face? Of course the wicked couple understood how much mental torment they were causing me and that, now matter which offer I took, I might continue to be tortured by the thought that I had chosen wrong. What should I tell them? How long should I obsess over my answer? What could I do? What would YOU do? ********* (I'd love to read your thoughts on this story. And I'm always pleased to see new reviews on my older fiction.) *********