Happy Halloween

You and your wife arrive at the final Halloween party as matching Elviras.

Both of you wear the classic low-cut black gown with the high slit, the long black gloves, the dark beehive hair, the heavy eye makeup and blood-red lips. On her the costume is pure dominant glamour. On you the same dress has been altered: the front is cut even lower, the slit runs all the way to the hip, and underneath you wear nothing but the sealed soft pink fufu, the thin pink collar with its silver ring, and a pair of black thigh-highs. The gown is so tight and so revealing that the smooth, plump shape of the silicone cunt is faintly visible whenever the fabric shifts. Your tiny cock has been locked inside the fufu for days; it no longer even tries to swell against the material.

Your wife keeps the collar ring hooked on one finger like a leash as she leads you into the center of the already-crowded living room. Music is loud. Most of the guests are at least half-undressed. Conversation stops when she raises her voice.

“This is my lesbian wife,” she announces, turning you slowly so everyone can see the matching Elvira look and the flat, soft front of your gown. “She’s spent the last week getting ready for tonight. Ice every morning. Fufu on almost twenty-four hours a day. Progressive pegging up to a ten-inch vibrating cock—from behind in the mornings, missionary at night. Oral practice on every size that came before. She’s not a man in public anymore. She’s my soft, locked, well-trained little wife, and tonight everyone gets to use the skills she’s learned.”

She does not wait for questions. She turns you around, bends you forward at the waist, and lifts the back of the Elvira gown. The fufu is framed by the black thigh-highs and the open gown. She peels the silicone cunt off in one smooth motion and holds it up so the room can see the soft, wrinkled, completely shrunken little button that had been hidden inside. It is even smaller than it looked at the previous party—pale, folded, almost nonexistent after a full week of ice, confinement, and forced orgasms.

“This is what she has,” your wife says, giving the tiny nub a light pinch and a dismissive flick. “And this—” she runs two fingers down the cleft of your ass, already slightly open from the morning’s ten-inch session, “—is what she’s been trained to take.”

The demonstration begins immediately.

She has you drop to your knees first. One by one the guests present cocks, cunts, strap-ons, and hands. Your mouth is used without pause. You suck average cocks that taste of sweat and precum, lick wet pussies that grind down over your painted lips, take the heads of thicker toys into your throat exactly the way you practiced on the dildos all week. Your wife stands behind you the entire time, one hand on the collar ring, the other occasionally reaching down to pinch the soft little button that hangs exposed between your thighs or to slap your ass and remind you to keep your tongue working. Every time someone finishes in your mouth or across your face she makes you show the room the result—thin, watery cum of your own already starting to leak from the tiny cock from the sheer intensity of being used.

After your mouth has taken the first wave she bends you back over the arm of the couch. Lube is applied liberally. The first cock that sinks into your ass is average and already hard; it slides in easier than it would have a week ago because of the progressive stretching. Your wife keeps the little button pinched between her fingers while the man fucks you, narrating how open you are, how quietly you take it, how the tiny cock in her hand only twitches and drips watery fluid instead of getting properly hard. When he finishes deep inside you she does not let you rest. A woman with a thick strap-on takes his place, then another man, then a second woman using the same ten-inch vibrating monster you were trained on at home. The vibration plus the relentless attention to your soft little cock forces two weak, shaking orgasms out of you while you are still being fucked; the fluid that leaks out is thin and clear and runs down the shaft of whatever is inside you at the moment.

Hands are next. Guests take turns stroking, pinching, and slapping the tiny wrinkled button while others continue to use your mouth and ass. Someone holds both of your hands and makes you stroke two average cocks at once while a third person fucks your throat. Someone else spreads the cheeks of your ass so the room can watch a fresh cock sink into the hole that has been trained all week. Your wife never stops directing traffic. She decides who gets your mouth next, who gets your ass, who is allowed to play with the soft little cock that remains permanently small and soft no matter how much stimulation it receives. She calls you her lesbian wife through every new insertion and every forced watery orgasm, making sure the entire party uses the same language.

By the middle of the night you have lost count of how many times your mouth, ass, and the tiny button between your legs have been used. Cum—most of it thicker and more substantial than anything you produce—coats your tongue, your throat, your face, your ass, and the soft little cock that your wife still occasionally pinches and displays. The Elvira gown is shoved up around your waist, the thigh-highs are smeared, the collar is tight, and the fufu sits on the coffee table like a trophy waiting to be locked back onto you whenever she decides the little button has been shown enough.

She finally takes her own turn near the peak of the chaos. She straps on the ten-inch vibrating monster herself, bends you over in the center of the room so everyone can watch, and fucks you with deep, powerful strokes while the motor buzzes on high. One hand keeps the soft little button pinched and stroked in time with her thrusts. The other holds the collar ring so you cannot pull away. She brings you to two more weak, watery orgasms while the party watches, then comes herself with the full length buried in your trained ass, grinding against you and calling you her perfect lesbian wife.

When she pulls out she does not clean you up. She simply holds the soft, used, dripping little button between two fingers, shows it to the room one last time, and speaks in a clear, satisfied voice.

“This is what a week of proper training looks like. Mouth, ass, hands, and this useless soft little cock—all of it available, all of it used, all of it belonging to me. Halloween is hers now. My lesbian wife is open for anyone I allow for the rest of the night.”

She keeps the collar ring on her finger, keeps the tiny cock on display between her fingers, and lets the final, most intense party continue exactly as the entire month of conditioning promised: everyone who wants a turn gets one, and every hole and every soft, shrunken inch of you is used for their orgasms until she decides her lesbian wife has had enough.