Chastity At The Airport

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

I stopped worrying about airport security.

Simply, I have been through security enough times, with keys in pockets, pens, even a wrench, once, and another time a little tin of drill bits, that I just didn't worry about it.

Heck, if all the stuff I had carried through the detector didn't set off the alarms, what should it matter that there was a little brass lock over my CB3000?

Right?

And, to be honest, I had deliberately done the above so as to ascertain that I could, indeed, pass through our country's borders without mishap.

Heck, our borders might not be secure, but I sure was.

My wife, of course, thought this was all funny.

She loves me being locked up, loves the attention, and, when I travel, she looks forward to me coming back with, shall we say... a full load?

Thus, in spite of my preparations, and my wife's sense of humor not withstanding, I was totally unprepared for what happened in April of this year.

I flew in from Mexico. I had been away for ten days, and I had the usual 'full load' stored up in my testicles.

I had been to Mexico City for my computer company. Day long meetings as I dealt with various computer problems. Night times being feted, sampling the Tequila, dancing with the senoritas, and (my wife's smile) lusting controllably after their delicious, south of the border, voluptuous bodies.

Did I mention that I had a full load?

So I flew into Dallas. Big airport. Pretty fast on passing international flights through.

I was walking in line as people passed through a metal detector.

Why they had the detector set up for going out of the airport, instead of in, I don't know, but when I stepped into the arch, for the first time in probably a hundred times, the alarm sounded.

Oh, shit!

'The security guy, a skinny black kid, said, 'Do you have any keys, metal items, or... ' He blathered on and I, sweat popping out on my forehead, emptied my pockets into the square bowl they offer for such things.

I had a pen, a set of keys, and a wallet.

I passed through the arch again.

ZZZZZ!

Double shit!

They ran a wand over me and, sure enough, it buzzed when it reached my crotch.

"Sir, please come this way."

The security gal had a showstopper body. I mean, it was literally bursting through the tautness of her uniform. She had a rotund rear, globulous breasts, and a sway that, even if she had asked instead of commanded, I would have followed her.

Behind me, passengers stared, and the black kid, bored out of his mind, went back to his job.

I followed her across the terminal and into an office. The sensations I was undergoing were extreme. I was sweating, and I felt that every single person in the terminal was watching my long walk of shame.

I entered a small room with no windows, or mirrors-one way or otherwise-and only one door.

There were two chairs, one on either side of one of those nondescript green topped tables.

And there was a chubby security gal waiting. She wasn't unattractive, just chubby. And, I was to find out, strong. They didn't need some big, muscular guy with this bull standing guard.

"Sir, do you have anything on you that would set off the metal detector?"

"Uh, yes."

They both watched me with piercing, bleak eyes.

"I, uh..." shit! "Is there a male security guard I could speak with?"

"Why would you need a male security officer?" asked the good looking one with the large breasts. I tried to focus on her eyes, but found myself staring at her red lips. She had such full, red lips.

Between my panic and my full load I couldn't think worth a turd in a cow pasture.

"Well, uh, I just need to-"

"We don't have a male officer available right now, sir." The chubby one had a hard, no nonsense voice. She had hard features and she didn't sound too friendly. The sweat was pouring off me like I was standing in a shower.

"Well, I need to speak to a man. It's a medical problem, and I would feel much more comfortable talking with a man."

I would still be embarrassed to death, but it wouldn't be as bad. I mean, guys understand horny, right? They understand the things a guy will do, right?

The security gals exchanged looks, there was a subtle message in that look that I couldn't quite pick up.

The good looking one, she was the good cop in this duo, smiled. Pleasantly, she said, "It'll be next shift before we have a male security officer available. Are you sure you can't talk to us?"

She smiled. The top button of her shirt was undone. She had blonde hair that draped over her shoulders, and her skin was so pure and soft looking.

"Well, uh... "

"I'm training to be a nurse at night school. I'm sure I can... empathize... with whatever concern you might have.

The chubby one was silent, out of sight, a menace behind the scenes.

I considered my options.

I could cool my heels for a few hours, or I could ignore the bull behind me and have a revealing conversation with a good looking woman who was polite, pleasant, and oozed concern.

Oh, the tangled webs.

"Well, uh... have you ever heard of a CB3000?"

I felt the air in the room change. I felt the delicious conspiracy between the two gals arise.

"Mr. Gundarson," she licked her lips, and I could swear she heaved her bosoms, "are you saying you're wearing a chastity tube?"

"Yes. I am." I felt relief. She knew what it was, I was going to skate out of here. I was going to go on my merry way and... her next words dashed that hope.

"You realize, of course, that we are going to ascertain, for a fact, that you are, indeed, wearing a male chastity device."

I gulped. I was already sweaty, and now I felt light shivers of apprehension travel through my frame.

"Do we have to? I mean-" There was a whine to my voice. A very unmanly whine.

"I'm afraid so. Teresa? Could you secure the door?"

The chubby one moved behind me, and I heard the lock click.

"Now then, sir?"

Okay. I pull my pants down. They see the cage. I go. Easy. Right?

Wrong.

"Take your pants off."

"Take my pants off? All the way off? But, can't I just lower them a bit? Can't you just take a quick peek? Can't you just-"

"I'm sorry, sir. But we have to make sure that this isn't a subterfuge so that you can hide something else on your person."

My person. My person was dying of embarrassment at the moment.

"Don't worry, Mr. Gundarson. As a nurse in training I've seen my share of anatomy. And Teresa has been married. Right, Teresa?"

"Twice," came the hard voice.

"So," she smiled an ingenuous and disarming smile, "take your pants off."

She was smiling, but it was not a request; it was a command.

But what choice did I have?

I toed my heels and slipped out of my shoes. Then I undid the buckle, zipped down, and removed my pants.

There I stood, nothing but a tighty whitey and shirt and socks, and the good looking gal gently encouraged me. "Everything. Please."

Blushing over my whole body, I slid my briefs down.

There. She could see that I had nothing else about me.

My CB 3000, pink, felt absolutely flaming.

Inside the device, my penis was as shriveled as a growth stunted raisin.

"All the way off."

Sounds came from my throat. Gurgling sounds. Mortified beyond belief, I slid my briefs all the way off.

"Take off the shirt."

"But what-"

"Do I have to call for help?" Teresa's voice was a rasp behind me.

I was sure that, in a pinch, a few husky males would rush in and wrestle me down.

Head down, I unbuttoned my shirt. I stood naked. Except, of course, for the CB.

"There." I couldn't believe that was the sound of my own voice. It sounded like I was drowning. "Can I get dressed now?"

"Cavity search," came from Teresa.

A cavity search? What the fuck!

Yet, I was weakened by mortification, easy meat for their predatory natures.

That woman could be such predators was difficult to come to grips with. But these two were.

The good looking one positioned a chair in front of the table, sat down. She brushed her hair back and a nametag was revealed. It was perched atop the stretch of cloth over one swollen breast. Kylie.

She undid another button on her shirt. I could see the swell of tanned breasts. Such smooth, perfect flesh.

Yet, I was shriveled.

But my mind wasn't, and I had ten days worth of stored up semen boiling just under the surface of my libido, and I felt such appreciation for this beautiful woman.

"It will be quick and painless, sir. Just lean forward, but your hands on the table. I'll talk you through it."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I leaned forward and placed my hands on the table.

Kylie leaned forward, placed her hands upon mine, giving me an unbelievable look at her treasures. Her lips were inches from me, and when she spoke her breath was soft and gentle on me.

"I think Mr. Gundarson is ready."

Teresa moved behind me. I felt her checking out my CB, turning, twisting it, then, an odd sensation, and I glanced down.

She had placed a rubber on the whole thing.

A rubber?

I was in such a state of shock... things were happening too fast...

"Mr. Gundarson?" Kylie whispered to me, and her voice stilled, or least kept down, the rise of panic within me. "If you'll just spread your legs?"

I did so. I was engulfed by Kylie's blue eyes. For being capable of such bleak looks, she had such blue, blue eyes.

And such red lips.

And that long blonde hair reaching to her bulging breasts.

I felt coldness on my anus, and I jerked.

"There, there. She's just making sure that you're lubricated. Teresa doesn't want it to hurt, do you Teresa."

"Nope," and there was a throatiness in Teresa's voice that made me pause.

There was a sexual orientation happening here, and I didn't understand it.

"And you don't want us to hurt you, do you, Henry?"

I tried to say something, but could only gulp. I swallowed and shook my head.

"Now Teresa is going to insert a finger-don't worry-she always wears rubber gloves-and inspect you."

As the chubby woman inserted a digit into my brown ring my legs trembled and shook.

"I know this is hard. Are you finding anything, Teresa?"

"I don't know. There's something... "

She touched my prostate.

Some people aren't anal. Some people are. Apparently, I was.

An explosion of nerves, a white hot heat. A groan.

My legs shivered and turned into noodles.

I closed my eyes, then, shocked by my response, opened them.

Kylie watched me, her lips were so close, so full, so wet with desire.

Desire?

My mouth was open in shock. I was sure that Teresa had inserted more than one finger in me, and I could feel her tapping my prostate.

"There, there, Henry." Kylie soothed. She leaned forward and put her tongue out. She actually licked my lips. "It'll be over soon."

I was making grunting sounds, and my whole ass felt aflame with pleasure.

Teresa slithered her fingers, slid them in and out, reamed the ring, tapped the prostate remorselessly.

"I... have... to... pee."

"That can happen. Just go ahead and let yourself go."

She kissed me lightly, brushed her red lips over mine, her breath entered into me.

I was aware that my dick was hurting, that it was swelling... with no place to go.

Kylie's tongue entered my mouth.

I was married, loyal, but the sensations rippling through me moved me, made me kiss her back without complaint.

Kylie drew her head back. "How's he doing?"

"He had a lot."

Kylie looked at me. "Storing it up for your wife?"

I moaned, groaned.

Teresa took her fingers out of my ass. Detached the rubber.

I slumped, unable to think, hardly even aware that I was. Such heavenly pleasure... such bliss... I had never known.

"One last thing to do, Henry."

I didn't even look up. "What?" My voice was soft, slurred.

From behind me, Teresa's voice: "This."

I felt something long and hard enter me.

For a confused second, my brain exploding with sensations, I thought a dildo had been rammed up my ass!

Then, I realized: nightstick.

Oh, my god!

I struggled, yet I was impaled. The woman was strong, and Kylie held my wrists, and Teresa began to saw in and out.

I saw stars. There was pain, but not much... for she had done an excellent job of preparing me, of loosening me up.

And Kylie, once it was obvious that I was thoroughly and helplessly pinned, kissed me.

Oh, she kissed me. She had educated lips, and she used that education on me.

I was a business man.

I was heterosexual.

I was true to my wife.

And now... now...

I stopped struggling. There just didn't seem to be any point.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, and, at last, Teresa withdrew.

Oh, the vacant sensation between my buttocks.

Kylie stopped kissing me.

Kylie leaned back, buttoned her shirt up. "You can get dressed now."

Shamed, abused-yet pleasured-I stood up. Signs of my struggle in the shape of sweat marks and tears were all across the table.

I put on my pants. Buttoned my shirt. Tears flowed down my face the whole while.

The two woman watched, it was obvious that they were holding back smiles, and when I was fully dressed, Kylie cleared her throat.

I didn't even speak; I was beyond speech; I just looked at her.

"If you want to get out of here... ."

Teresa came around the table and looked at me. She had a big smirky smile plastered across her chubby features, and she was holding a rubber filled with gism.

My load.

My ten day load.

"What?" I managed. My tears did little to mask my confusion.

"If you want to get out of here, then you have to swallow the... evidence."

This was the breaking point.

This was the point that would define me forever.

I knew it.

I could not, and I could scream, and raise a fuss, and I would have my day in court.

Or, I could swallow my own sperm.

Yet, what choice did I have?

Headlines: Man raped by two women.

Yeah. I could really live that one down.

And, if I didn't swallow it, I was sure, by the expressions on their faces, that they would call for help. Maybe even scream 'rape.'

I mean, they could do that.

What choice?

I took the rubber, put my mouth to the open end, and tilted.

Smooth, slick goo slid down my throat.

I gagged.

I wanted to vomit.

But I didn't.

I stifled my tears, walked out of the room and, as the door closed behind me, I heard their laughter.

I walked through the terminal in a daze. My skin was flakey with perspiration, and my buttocks squished.

That's right. Squished.

Teresa had used lots of lubricant, and I was a walking wet spot.

And, in spite of the tears that kept threatening to burst forth, I hated to admit it, it felt sexy.

Good.

Sensual.

My butt cheeks slithery in my pants.

The gooey mess I had not had a chance to clean.

I looked at the men's room. There was a line, and I just didn't have the strength to stand in a long line.

I came to the baggage claim area, and if there had been a line at the baggage area I would have abandoned my luggage.

But there wasn't a line, and I picked up my suitcase, and walked out to long term parking.

All the while my butt cheeks squishing.

I just knew there was an embarrassing wet spot on my pants, and I hurried away from the crowd.

I unlocked my car and slid into the front seat.

My anus slid across the front seat, inflaming the sensations I was undergoing. Reminding me of how I had just been abused.

And, shame of shame, of how good my little pucker felt.

I drove home slowly, unseeing, my mind in a turmoil.

I had to stop for gas. I filled up, so aware of my butt I couldn't stand it.

And I just knew that everybody could see me for what I was.

But I had been raped!

But... there had been... pleasure.

I was torn and conflicted, and I pulled into my garage, got out of the car, and entered the house.

"Honey!" My wife started to kiss me, and then she held my face and inspected it. "You've got lipstick on you!"

Oh, Christ!

I burst into tears then, and rushed away from her, up the stairs, into the bedroom. I stripped my clothes off and jumped into the shower.

Sheila came into the bathroom and sat on the john. She waited, patient on the outside; yet, I knew she was impatient on the inside.

Finally, the hot water having sluiced the lubricant off my asshole, the sticky perspiration having been scrubbed off my body, I exited the shower.

Sheila handed me a towel, followed me into the bedroom.

I sat down on the bed. I wasn't crying, but water was still, in spite of the shower, draining from my eyes.

Sheila turned the chair by her make up table around and faced it towards me. She sat down.

For a moment nothing was said, then I blurted: "I was raped."

Sheila's eyes-they were blue, a bright, metallic blue-went wide.

And I told her what had happened. How I had been found out; how I had been manipulated; how I had been violated.

And, when I was done, she began a light cross examination.

"So, let me get this straight. You were 'drained,' then buttfucked."

I nodded. I couldn't even look at her.

"And you struggled."

There was some hesitation in my answer, and she picked up on it.

"Well, not at first," I explained. "I mean, I thought I had to comply. They... they're the authority at the airport, and-"

"So you didn't struggle."

"Well, not at first. It was just like a prostate exam. I thought I could handle that."

"And then what? It felt good?"

I blinked and jerked my head up. There was no expression on her face.

"Well, I, uh-"

"Come on, honey. I've touched your little, brown button. You jerk and twitch and it makes you cum so hard."

"But... I was violated!"

"Not at first. At first, admit it, you liked it."

Caught, shamed, a long moment passed, and then I nodded.

"But then... they they raped me!"

"Then the dick proved to be a little too big for your tastes."

"What?" I was aghast. She still had no expression on her face, but her attitude... it was so... calm.

"Look, dear, every little girl goes through what you went through. They get all excited, read their romances, and then come face to face with the ugly truth. They get violated, and that instrument that they had heard so much about, even dreamed about, proves to be a little too much for them."

"But they are girls!" I protested, unaware of what I had said.

Patient, her lips pursing slightly, Sheila said, "And now you know how it feels to be a girl."

I couldn't believe her attitude. "But they raped me! And then... then they made me... drink it!"

Her lips writhed, there was something coming to the surface here.

"You don't seem to object when I drink it."

"But... but...!"I couldn't believe she didn't understand. "But you're a woman."

Her lips were now contorting, twisting, and her eyes were twitching in uncontrolled blinks.

"And now you are, too."

And she burst into laughter.

Oh, I don't mean polite twitters, I mean guffaws.

Belly laughter.

Fall over on the floor and hold your sides, gut busting, hysterical laughter.

I was in shock. My mouth dropped open. My eyes were wide. My whole face felt like a stiff sheet of plywood.

"Oh, the look on your face. 'I've been raped!'" she mocked me, duplicating my voice, even lowering hers so that she sounded exactly like me.

"They stuck their big dickie in my little poo poo!"

She did fall off the chair then. She laid on the floor, tears streaming from her eyes.

I could only stare at her, uncomprehending.

She struggled to her knees, having a hard time not falling back over, laughing and laughing and laughing.

"They held you down and burst your buttonhole, and then you had to walk with a wet spot all the way home!"

"But... but... " I tried to speak, but my mind had stopped working. I couldn't believe this was happening.