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She shuddered as the drop of moisture slowly made its way down her inner thigh, the only chill against her flushed skin.
Her knees and sensitive nipples were pressed firmly into the soft mattress, her face buried in the pillow. She arched her back, thrusting her hairless mound and ass higher into the air. The pose was the perfect invitation to take her like the bitch she had become.
She shook involuntarily as another drop escaped her drooling cunt. She could feel the heat emanating from the furnace between her thighs. Her newly pierced cunt throbbed with a painful itch. Every fiber of her toned, tight body screamed her need to be fucked.
Slowly she pulled her arms from beneath her raised form and reached back to pull apart the toned cheeks of her ass. She knew she would be irresistible now — a filthy slut displaying her swollen, dripping lips and both tight holes, ready to be filled.
She felt his body weight shift onto the bed, moving powerfully to position himself between her knees. She bit her lip and waited anxiously as he lined up his thick shaft with his chosen hole, and then held her breath as she felt the head of his thick cock inched its way into her sopping cunt.
She gasped, allowing the air to fill her lungs, and then pushed back against his dick, driving it deeper inside her.
She flexed her cunt, desperately trying to hold on to the cock retreating quickly from her tight sheath.
“Nooo… please,” she begged.
“Jessica… wake up.”
Dr. Huang’s voice ripped her from her dream. She opened her eyes slowly, squinting against the bright fluorescent light that filled the familiar cell.
“Having a good dream were you?” Huang teased.
Jessica rubbed the sleep from her eyes and shifted beneath the soft sheets that were her only comfort in the small room.
Huang gave her an amused grin before reaching down and quickly pulling the sheets off her naked body. She stiffened as the cool air swept over her body. Her nipples, now permanently hard because of her new piercings, throbbed as the fabric brushed over them.
Without thinking, she spread her legs for him, as he had trained her to do. Her hairless cunt was slick from her dream and ached with a dull throbbing — a symptom of her new life as a perpetually aroused toy.
“Good girl,” Huang commented. He leaned in closer to inspect the progress of her clit piercing.
“Does it still hurt?” He turned his attention from her slick folds back to her deep green eyes.
“No,” Jessica hesitated, “It doesn’t hurt anymore, but it won’t stop throbbing.”
“That’s a good sign,” Huang smiled and rose back to his feet. He turned to retrieve his clipboard, which he’d set down on the exercise bench in her room.
“And your nipples?”
“No pain,” she responded quietly.
Huang raised his eyes from the clipboard and gave both nipple piercings a cursory glance.
Jessica rose quickly from the bed as instructed and stood before him with her legs spread and arms behind her back — just as she’d been conditioned to do.
Her new posture seemed very natural to her now. She thrust her chest forward to display her enlarged breasts and angled her legs to advertise her hairless mound. She made no attempt to hide her body, which was naked except for the simple black leather collar around her neck.
“I couldn’t be more pleased,” He gave her a friendly smile. “You look as though you’ve probably met your body mass targets, and it looks like your chest has filled in nicely.”
Huang took the opportunity to reach out and lift the breast closest to him with his palm, evaluating the weight and shape. Even his clinical touch sent an electric shock down her spine and into Jessica’s clit. She felt her cunt spasm involuntarily and bit her lip to stifle a moan.
If Huang noticed her reaction he ignored it. He released her sensitive breast and it fell heavily back against her chest.
“Now then, I’m going to take your measurements. ” He removed a tape measure from his coat pocket. “Hold your breath when I tell you to.”
Jessica stood still as Huang fed the measuring tape around her chest, brushing against her nipples. She shuddered.
“Deep breath,” he commanded. He jotted down the measurement on his clipboard.
He worked his way down and measured her waist just above the belly button before sliding the tape down to her hips. He made notes on his clipboard as he went.
“Doctor?” Jessica asked tentatively.
“Yes?” Huang answered without pausing from his work.
“What about Melissa? The girl I saw the other day.”
Huang didn’t answer her but did scowl. She dared not press the question.
Jessica had to struggle to keep still when he measured her thighs, his hand brushed the sensitive flesh between her legs — which were still no doubt a little wet from her dream. Next he beckoned her over to the electronic scale in the corner — she knew he would be pleased – she’d lost 13 lbs since she started on Huang’s aggressive cardio routine.
To her disappointment he jotted down the results without any reaction.
Huang checked his wrist watch, and then turned his attention back to Jessica. She tensed and renewed her efforts to display herself perfectly under his critical gaze.
“Jessica,” the authority flowed through his voice as he addressed her directly. “You’re going to come with me and we’re going to get you cleaned up and a haircut.”
Jessica nodded and Huang turned without offering any other explanation. He opened the door into the white, windowless hall. Jessica followed him, leaving her room for the first time since she had been pierced; it had felt like well over a week, maybe two.
He moved briskly down the hallway and Jessica followed dutifully behind. The twists and turns seemed familiar but impossible to memorize. Huang stopped in front of a now familiar looking pair of double doors and swiped his key to unlock them.
Jiao seemed startled by their entrance and leapt to their feet as Huang quickly entered the spa.
Huang skipped the greeting.
“Give her a haircut, get her cleaned up and dressed for her qualification review,” Huang spoke tersely. Jiao nodded obediently.
“These are her new measurements.” He offered a note to Jiao who reached to take it quickly. “And no delays this time,” he added sharply.
Jiao swallowed uncomfortably and submissively lowered her eyes.
Huang, checked his watch again.
“Two hours,” he offered and then strode quickly out of the spa, the doors closing sharply with a click behind him.
Jessica stood just inside the door, confused and not quite sure what she should do next. She turned and searched for Jiao.
The small Asian girl had moved quickly to the corner and was already busy collecting items from a drawer. She spun abruptly and locked her eyes on Jessica.
“You heard him, stop wasting time and get over here.” Jiao pointed toward a salon chair nearby.
Jessica walked quickly over to the chair and settled into the seat. The smooth leather felt strange but luxurious on her naked frame.
Jiao rolled over a small cart, similar to the one that Lucas had used for his piercing instruments. This time it was covered by a small towel, spray bottle, scissors and a comb.
Without a word Jiao set to work, combing Jessica’s hair and separating it into layers. As she worked, she mumbled to herself in a language Jessica couldn’t understand.
Jessica began to hear the scissors as the Asian woman began cutting. She watched as pieces of coal black hair fell softly onto her naked chest. It was a strange experience. She had always had beautiful auburn hair and never risked dying it. Her old life seemed so distant now.
Jessica made an effort to keep her neck straight, but Jiao still had to roughly push her head back into position a few times. The warm sensation from the soft leather seat on her bare ass and cunt also wasn’t helping her keep still.
Sometime later the sound of the scissors finally stopped. Jessica exhaled with relief, her neck muscles had began to ache several minutes ago as Jiao had pulled and tugged at her hair.
The small Asian girl stepped out from behind the chair and studied her work; she slowly turned the chair, evaluating her performance from every angle. She made a few last minute corrections with the scissors before finally putting them back on the cart with the other items.
“There, that looks great,” she commented smugly to herself. Jessica had to take her word for it; she couldn’t find any mirrors in the room.
“Now hurry and take a shower while I find your outfit,” Jiao commanded gesturing towards the back of the spa.
Jessica rose wordlessly and headed for the shower area.
“Don’t forget this,” Jiao shouted and threw a large fluffy towel toward her. “Be quick,” she added.
Jessica darted into the shower area, being careful not to slip on the smooth tile floor, and turned on the faucet. The temperature warmed up quickly. She stepped under the water and closed her eyes. The warm water felt fantastic on her sore muscles and stiff neck. She allowed the pressure to gently massage her shoulders and create a warm stream flowing over and around the contours of her transformed body.
She allowed her hands to roam, first kneading the stress out of her tense neck muscles and then exploring lower. She cupped her full breasts in her hands and slowly rolled her pierced nipples between her fingers. It felt so good, sharp bursts of pleasure shot down to her loins with every brush of her hand. Her arousal began to grow and her own juices leaked from her slit to join the warm water flowing down her thighs.
“You little cunt!” Jiao barked. Jessica’s eyes flew open to find the Asian woman glaring at her from the shower entrance.
“I told you to wash – not play with yourself like a slut in the shower.”
Jessica stood frozen, wide-eyed and breasts in hand, as Jiao angrily shrugged off her robe revealing her petite naked body. She moved quickly and was under the shower’s warm water before Jessica thought to speak.
The Asian girl wasted no time applying soap to her charges’ back. Jessica regained her senses and made an effort to reach for the shampoo.
“Just stand still,” Jiao ordered her voice full of frustration. “We’re in a hurry, and you’re turning out to be pretty useless.”
Jiao quickly finished soaping her back and shoulders with the wash cloth and began moving south. The soft cloth and warm soapy water felt fantastic on Jessica’s ass. Jiao paused to insert a slick soapy finger roughly into Jessica’s asshole, eliciting a cry from Jessica, before continuing down the her legs.
“Turn around,” Jiao commanded.
Jessica quickly turned to face her in the shower. Jiao’s head bobbed up and down between Jessica’s thighs as Jiao washed Jessica’s feet and up her legs. Jessica held her breath as the cloth traveled up her body and between her thighs. She spread her legs further as the soapy cloth spread her folds and caressed her slit. Jessica bent her knees in attempt to encourage Jiao’s fingers to move deeper inside her.
Jiao pulled away and continued up her body, soaping her abdomen and massaging the suds into each breast. Jessica was shaking with arousal by the time the soapy cloth had brushed her pierced nipples.
“No time for that right now,” Jiao spoke, some sympathy creeping into her voice. “Maybe later if we have you ready before Huang returns… now rinse off this soap and meet me back in the spa.”
Jessica nodded and shifted under the shower head as Jiao withdrew her naked body from the water. Once she was sure the last of the soap had been rinsed away, she shut off the faucet and quickly toweled off. She resisted the urge to touch herself, to push her fingers into the furnace between her thighs, but it wasn’t easy.
Jessica returned to the spa as Jiao was exiting the closet on the other side of the room. She carried in her hands a half a dozen plain white boxes of different shapes and sizes.
“Come here, we need to get your hair dry,” Jiao ordered as she returned to the salon chair in the corner. She placed the boxes on the floor and retrieved a hair dryer from a cabinet on the wall.
Jessica sat in silence as Jiao flicked the handheld dryer on and began coaxing the water out of her hair. It took almost as long to blow dry as it had to cut it. When she was finished she searched through the cabinet until she retrieved a canister of hair spray, clips and a straightening iron. Jiao set to work styling Jessica’s hair.
Several long minutes later, Jiao finally seemed satisfied with her work and turned her attention to the white boxes on the floor. She opened two of the smaller boxes both of which included shoes.
The first pair was made of what appeared to be high quality shiny black leather. They had a sandal-style open toe with a short platform followed by a tall stiletto heel that made it obvious their primary purpose wasn’t for walking comfortably anywhere except a bedroom. The heel ended in a thick black strap that would wrap around the ankle and close with a silver clasp.
The second pair was less subtle than the first, if that was possible. They were a tall gladiator-style heeled shoe made of translucent vinyl or plastic. The tall heel was less steep than the first pair but ended in a long pair of white straps designed to climb up the ankles and tie just beneath the knee. They were the type of shoe probably rarely seen outside a gentleman’s club.
Jessica held her breath as Jiao glanced back and forth between the boxes, carefully considering her decision. She let out a sigh of relief as Jiao placed the lid back on the gaudy stripper heels and settled on the classier fuck-me heels.
Jiao rose from the floor without a word, and padded quickly back into the closet. She emerged a moment later with another small, square-shaped box and a small bottle under her arm.
She dropped the new box and knelt down in front of Jessica as she opened the cap of the bottle.
“First things first,” she started. “Rub this oil over your feet, legs — all the way up to your knees.” Jiao passed Jessica the bottle. “Use lots of it, so they’re nice and slick.”
Jessica nodded and poured some of the thick liquid into the palm of her hand. She started applying the cool mixture to her knees and worked her way down.
Meanwhile Jiao turned her attention back to the newest box. She opened the top and pulled out what appeared to be a black latex or rubber leggings. She began to roll it from the top, preparing it so that it would be easy to step into. Jiao repeated the process with a second sock from the same box as Jessica finished applying the slick liquid to her feet.
“Ok then, we’ll try and make this as easy as possible.” Jiao retrieved the bottle from Jessica’s hands, and placed it next to the boxes. She pushed the end of the rolled up legging over Jessica’s toes, up her foot and ankle. She had to stop several times to smooth out the latex as it was drawn up her leg.
Higher the sock unrolled until it reached just above her knee.
“Stand up,” Jiao commanded.
Jessica rose to her feet. Jiao stood and began to pull and adjust the stockings until the wrinkles in the latex had smoothed out and it had crept up to her mid-thigh. The rubbery material clung like a second skin to her leg.
“Ok, take a seat again; we’ve got one more to go.”
Jessica sat back down again as Jiao wrestled her leg into the other stocking. It was a struggle getting it into place, but when Jiao had finished Jessica looked incredible. Both of Jessica’s legs, from toe to mid-thigh were encased in the pitch black skin. She looked as though she had been dipped feet first into a pool of liquid rubber. The shiny black effect perfectly framed her hairless slit.
Jiao seemed tired from the tugging and wiped the excess oil from her hands onto her robe.
“Ok, now the shoes.” Jiao turned again and retrieved the black leather heels from the box.
Jiao gently guided Jessica’s encased feet into the shoes and closed the clasps tightly around the ankles.
“Okay, stand up, let’s see how you look.” Jiao took a step back as Jessica carefully rose out of the chair and balanced on the shoes.
The stiletto heels were taller than they had looked in the box; they must have been at least five inches. The sole contoured steeply so that Jessica felt as though she were standing on her toes.
Jiao smiled for the first time.
“You look great,” she beamed proudly. “Turn around so that I can see the back.”
Jessica dutifully rotated on the steep shoes, turning so that Jiao could examine her tight, pert ass displayed obscenely by the tall heels. It was impossible for Jessica to keep her balance in the shoes without arching her back and thrusting her ass out invitingly.
“Perfect,” Jiao congratulated herself on her choice. “This look suits you better than the ‘cheap whore’ motif. We’ll keep these for your red-headed friend.”
Jessica swallowed hard.
“Can you tell me about Melissa?”
“Don’t worry about her,” Jiao scowled. “She’ll still be in one piece the next time you see her.”
“When can I see her again?” Jessica pressed anxiously.
“When they want you to see her.,” barked.” Forget about her before you get yourself in real trouble.”
The Asian girl turned her attention to the other boxes on the floor. She opened the largest box and pulled out a simple black leather corset. Jiao fiddled with the strapping for several minutes as Jessica watched quietly.
Soon it became clear that the breast portion of the corset was removable and Jiao was customizing the configurable pieces so that Jessica’s enlarged breasts and pierced nipples would sit uncovered on the leather shelf. Finally Jiao wrestled the surplus leather cups off the frame and tossed them back into the box.
“Raise your arms,” she ordered as she approached with the opened corset.
This particular design closed from the front and used leather straps and clasps instead of laces. Jessica lifted her arms above her head as Jiao pulled the material over her frame and began tightening the straps around her abdomen, working her way up to Jessica’s exposed chest.
“Deep breath,” Jiao grinned mischievously as she pulled the clasps tight.
She used her soft hands to gently push Jessica’s swollen breasts to sit perfectly on the corset’s shelf. Then she walked slowly around the girl to make sure the corset fit snugly in the back.
She stopped in front of Jessica once again and gave her a quick once over.
“Almost done, those stockings went on easier than I thought they would.”
Jiao reached forward and put her arms around Jessica’s neck and began to fumble with the clasps on her simple leather collar. The heels made Jessica tall enough that Jiao had to press herself against her to reach. Jessica moaned as she felt the soft cotton from Jiao’s robe covered-chest press against her sensitive nipples.
“I know baby,” Jiao cooed as she finally managed to open the clasp. “You just can’t help yourself anymore can you?”
Jessica could only grunt in response as she focused on maintaining her balance as her knees turned to jelly.
Her neck felt suddenly empty, and exposed as Jiao retreated away from her with the collar in hand. She’d become so used to the simple leather strap — the only thing she’d been allowed to wear in her room since her arrival — that she felt naked without it, even though ironically she was wearing more clothes now than she had in weeks.
Jiao noticed Jessica’s discomfort and smiled.
“Don’t worry you little slut, we’re not done yet.”
Jiao retrieved one of the smaller boxes and opened it. She pulled a larger collar from inside. This collar was made of similar thin, soft leather but was probably twice as wide — it looked much more like a collar than a simple band. Attached to the front was a heavier chrome ring and letters which Jiao hid from Jessica’s view.
Jiao approached Jessica before pausing in thought.
“This would probably be easier if you knelt down,” she decided and gestured to the floor.
Jessica complied and lowered herself to her knees. She assumed her conditioned pose, legs spread to display her hairless mound, wrists crossed behind her back, back arched pushing her breasts forward.
Jiao gently brushed aside Jessica’s hair and wrapped the collar around her neck, pulling it tight so that it wouldn’t move, but not so tight as to choke her. The heavier weight felt both strange and comforting to Jessica as Jiao made the last of the adjustments to the clasp in the back.
“There we go. That looks fantastic,” Jiao beamed. “Is it too tight? Are you having problems swallowing?”
Jessica swallowed several times.
“No, its fine,” she answered softly.
“Perfect,” Jiao declared. “Now we’ve just got one more important piece to add and you’ll be ready for your review.”
“Review?” Jessica asked apprehensively.
Jiao ignored her and walked quickly to a counter in the corner. She returned with a small makeup case and rooted through it until she’d found a lip stain pencil.
“Pucker your lips like this,” Jiao ordered.
Jiao applied a natural looking pink stain to highlight Jessica’s naturally puffy lips. When she had finished, Jessica braved her question again.
Jiao placed the pencil back in the bag and began hunting through the items she’d brought from the closet.
“It’s just like your appraisal,” Jiao answered while she searched through the boxes. “Just a check-up really, you’ll do fine.”
Jessica swallowed hard as her mind wandered to her last visit with the Appraiser. It had been a terrifying and confusing experience for her. She took deep breaths to calm herself.
“Ah, here it is!” Jiao cried triumphantly. She reached into the small box that had held her collar and retrieved a small silver bell about the size of a ping pong ball.
Jiao pushed her way through the pile of boxes and knelt down beside Jessica, fumbling with the metal ring at the front of her new collar, until the bell snapped into place.
“Oh yeah… Huang’s going to be pleased!” Jiao smiled.
Jessica stared back at the Asian girl confused.
“Bounce. Bounce up and down,” Jiao demanded again.
Jessica bounced on her knees, pushing her ass back and forth in a fucking motion, as the bell on her collar began to ring softly.
“Perfect,” Jiao laughed. “I thought about putting little bells on those sexy new tits of yours, but this is much better.”
“Would you like to see yourself?” Jiao grinned. Jessica stopped rocking and opened her mouth, unsure of what to say.
“Of course you do, come with me pet.” Jiao laughed.
She turned and began to walk towards a small door by the main entrance. Jessica stumbled to her feet and steadied herself on the heels. It took just a few steps before her body found its balance and she was able to walk on them as if she’d been training in the shoes for years.
Jiao pulled the door open and ushered her into a small room filled with floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
Jessica stood in shock as she dumbly examined her reflection, it had been the first time she’d seen herself since she had fallen asleep on the plane.
“Is that how you’ve been taught to stand?” Jiao scolded from the doorway.
Jessica shook herself from her stupor and adjusted her posture as she’d been trained to do. The transformation was amazing. She’d always been a slim girl, but now every inch of her body appeared firm and taut.
Her long auburn hair had been replaced by pitch black locks that fell down her shoulders, past her collared neck, to her large firm breasts. The corset thrust them forward obscenely. Her abdomen was flat but feminine and flowed down softly to her naked mons.
Her hairless slit glistened with arousal and guided her gaze further down her perfectly formed thighs and long, latex encased legs.
Jessica was overcome with arousal as she stared at her transformed body in the mirror. She felt like a toy, and now she was certain she looked like one as well.
Her eyes were drawn to the collar around her neck. The words “Fuck Toy” were clearly written above the silver bell – a symbol of her subservience to a single purpose, to use her body to provide pleasure. Her implant responded to her internal realization and began pumping endorphins through her body. Her arousal surged and Jessica couldn’t help but vocalize her lust with a low moan.
“Like what you see?” Jiao teased from the doorway.
Jessica fought to focus as the chemical arousal coursed through her veins and set off fireworks in her brain — permanently imprinting her new concepts of her body and purpose deep within her cortex.
“The good news is that we finished sooner than I expected,” Jiao’s voice invaded her thoughts.
Jessica wobbled on her feet as the intense rush of excitement slowly ebbed.
“Come with me,” Jiao spoke softly, and held the door open so that Jessica could exit in front of her. “How do you feel?”
“I’m alright,” Jessica stammered softly as Jiao led her across the room. “Just feeling a little dizzy.”
“Kneel here then, and catch your breath.”
Jessica sunk to her knees and crouched forward so that her forehead touched the hard tile floors. She felt as though she were burning up and the cool ceramic felt comforting.
“Feeling a little better?” Jiao asked after several silent moments.
“Yes,” Jessica spoke softly as the fever retreated from her body replaced with a light chill from the air on her naked flesh.
“Good, let’s not waste our time together then.”
Jessica raised her head slowly, and then opened her eyes to search for the Asian woman. Jiao sat less than three feet away in the salon chair. She’d opened her robe and raised her knees to the seat so that her hairless slit was thrust forward in the chair.
“Come on then, show me what you’ve learned to do with that tongue.”
Jessica made an effort to rise on her wobbly legs.
” Crawl,” Jiao corrected her.
The bell around her neck jingled as Jessica crawled forward until she was just inches from the Asian girl’s bare cunt. The familiar smell of Jiao’s damp mound was intoxicating. She could feel the heat from her furnace on her face as she leaned in closer.
Jiao reached down and wrapped her fingers through Jessica’s hair pulling her closer until her lips made contact and she spread Jiao’s slit open with her tongue. The Asian girl’s cunt was sopping wet as Jessica stroked her tongue up and down the slit, teasing the small clit peeking out from under the hood.
Jiao grunted as Jessica’s tongue worked back and forth over the sensitive nub. The Asian girl struggled to keep her thighs open as Jessica drove her tongue deeper, first pushing gently into her drooling hole before slinking further south over the sensitive skin to bathe her tight rear entrance.
“That’s it… you dirty little slut,” Jiao gasped as Jessica’s tongue pushed against her tightly clenched hole. She began to rock her hips back and forth as she neared her release.
“Lick my cunt, I’m close,” Jiao commanded through clenched teeth. Jessica altered her angle quickly and drove her tongue against her engorged clit. Jiao thrust her hips forward driving her cunt against Jessica’s mouth — then froze as an orgasmic wave ripped through her petite frame. Her fingers tightened this grip on Jessica’s hair as she let out a deep moan.
She was still for only a few seconds before she resumed thrusting her hips.
“Come on, you bitch, again.”
Jessica resumed her attack on the clit and moments later Jiao erupted a second time, this time squirting a sweet-tasting fluid against Jessica’s lips.
“Oh baby, that was good… again,” Jiao spoke softly as she started grinding her mound against Jessica’s soaked face. Jessica dove back in again forcing her tongue up and down the slick folds until Jiao shook for a third time and another burst of juice dribbled out of her cunt.
Jiao’s hips spasmed as she recovered from the third intense orgasm, her breathing slowed but she didn’t release her grip on Jessica’s hair.
Jessica tentatively stuck out her tongue again and began to press softly against Jiao’s throbbing clit.
“No… too sensitive there,” Jiao whispered, her eyes closed as the waves from her orgasm continued to flow through her body. She gently pushed Jessica’s head lower. Jessica took the hint and resumed lapping at the Asian girl’s tight back entrance.
“You’re such a good little slut,” Jiao cooed as she shifted her feet to give Jessica better access. “What are you doing down there?”
Jessica traced her tongue around the rim of Jiao’s asshole and gently tried to force the tip inside.
“I said what are you doing down there?” Jiao sounded inpatient as she repeated the question. “Answer me.”
“I’m licking you,” Jessica spoke softly before renewing her efforts to breach Jiao’s back door with her tongue.
“You’re what?” Jiao asked again sternly.
“I’m licking your ass,” Jessica answered again more enthusiastically.
“That’s better,” Jiao sounded pleased. She relaxed her clenched ass allowing Jessica’s tongue to push deeper into her hole.
“Mmm good little slut,” she moaned again.
The bell around Jessica’s neck jingled as she thrust her tongue deeper between Jiao’s cheeks. Jessica’s implant rewarded her efforts by steadily releasing endorphins as she rimmed the tiny Asian girl. Her own slit was soaked and dripped onto the hard tile floor, but at the moment her mind and body were singularly focused on bringing Jiao pleasure.
The door suddenly opened — Jiao clenched her ass with surprise pushing the tongue out of her ass. Jessica had been so invested in pleasing the petite Asian woman that she was confused why she was being pushed away and moaned softly with frustration.
“Jiao,” Huang spoke tersely. “I thought I made it quite clear that we didn’t have time for this today.”
Jessica spun around surprised.
“I finished early,” Jiao stammered.
“I’ll be sure to give you less time in the future then,” Huang scowled. “Is she ready?”
“Yes,” Jiao responded quietly, she leaned forward and used her robe to wipe her juices from Jessica’s mouth and chin. “All ready to go.”
Huang approached and circled Jessica as she remained on her knees, looking between the two of them, shaking slightly as she caught her breath. He paused in thought behind her. Jessica looked over her shoulder and searched his face for signs of his approval.
“Get a plug, nothing too big,” Huang spoke quietly to Jiao while his eyes remained locked on Jessica’s tight ass.
“Sorry, I didn’t see a plug in your notes,” Jiao apologized and padded quickly to the closet.
“It wasn’t in my notes,” Huang seemed less irritated now. “But I remember it being mentioned during her appraisal.”
Jiao returned a moment later with a small black rubber plug in her hand.
“Is this big enough?” She handed it to the doctor.
“It will do,” Huang answered after rolling it between his fingers.
“Get her ready for it.”
Jiao moved towards the cabinet to retrieve a bottle of lube.
“No. Do it yourself,” Huang commanded, stopping Jiao in her tracks. “From what I can tell, you owe her.”
Jiao gave him a scowl but turned and made her way back to Jessica’s kneeling form.
“Hands and knees,” Jiao spoke softly as she knelt down on the cold hard tile behind Jessica.
Jessica shifted forward obediently. Her pulse quickened with anticipation. She could hear the blood as it pumped through her ears, a soft throbbing that quickly spread down her spine and into her clit. She waited silently for Jiao.
Then she felt it. At first it was just a soft heat blowing against her perineum, and then she felt the soft tongue gently pressing against the sensitive skin between her holes. Jessica shuddered as Jiao dragged her tongue downwards towards her sopping slit.
Jiao expertly pushed her small tongue between Jessica’s lips and lapped at the moisture drooling out of her throbbing cunt. Then she began to move up, across her perineum again until her tongue dragged its way across Jessica’s rear passage. Jiao’s tongue lapped back and forth bathing her hole and pushing gently at the opening.
Then a new sensation, a finger, pushing slowly past Jessica’s drooling lips. Jiao rocked her finger back and forth gently collecting the natural lubricant pouring from between Jessica’s folds. The tongue retreated leaving Jessica’s ass hole feeling chilled as her wet skin reacted with the cool air. The finger withdrew leaving her with an empty feeling, her hips rocked back searching for the missing visitor.
Then pressure, a strong push against her tight asshole as Jiao pushed her dripping finger into Jessica’s ass. At first there was a dull ache, then strange feelings as the tiny Asian girl gently rotated her finger and stretched Jessica’s ass.
Jessica became comfortable with the invasion and relaxed her sphincter muscles allowing Jiao’s finger to creep deeper inside. Jiao alternated between thrusting in and out of the tight hole, and curling her finger. Soon Jessica was responding to the stimulation by rocking her ass back to drive the finger deeper.
“She’s ready,” Jiao spoke softly. Huang passed her the small black plug. Jiao slowly pulled her finger from Jessica’s tight hole. Jessica bore down on the finger, trying to hold it deep inside. She moaned with frustration as it slipped out.
Jiao licked the plug using her her tongue to coat the supple plastic with her spit, stopping once she was sure it was sufficiently wet to breach Jessica’s rear entrance. She spit on the girls ass hole once to prepare her for the trial that was about to come.
Jessica felt the pressure again, this time more intense as Jiao pushed the tip of the plug against her opening. It felt huge, at least twice the size of the Asian girl’s finger. The dull ache became a sharp pain as Jessica’s ass sought to block the intruder’s attempt.
“Relax,” Jiao purred next to her ear. “Just relax and let it slip inside.”
Jessica tried to calm herself, she tried to gulp down deep breaths despite the restricting corset. She willed her sphincter to relax and allow the plug deeper. It slipped further inside, filling her with a pressure she’d never experienced before. Inch by inch the plug slipped past her body’s resistance.
Then a push. Her muscles closed around the narrow handle locking the plug deep inside her ass. She flexed and felt the lip at the end of the plug press against her sensitive entrance. She felt full in a way much different than she’d ever experienced with a cock inside her.
Her mind immediately wandered to how it would feel to have both holes filled, and if her small body could handle the dual intrusion without tearing apart.
Jessica was dragged back to reality by Jiao’s voice.
“All done,” she chimed cheerfully. She gave Jessica a hard slap on her ass, pushing the plug deeper and eliciting a moan.
“Can you stand?” Huang asked.
“I… I don’t know,” Jessica groaned. She struggled to raise her knee and place a stiletto on the floor. The plugs movement inside her sent a wave of arousal up her spine, and her legs wobbled.
“I’ll help you then,” Huang strode forward and placed his hands beneath her arms. In one swift motion he lifted her off the floor, like she was no heavier than a doll, and placed her on her toes. The silver bell on her collar rang softly as she swayed on her feet.
“Balance,” Huang steadied her small frame until she regained control of her legs.
Huang released her slowly and Jessica carefully resumed her conditioned posture — legs spread, back arched, breasts out, wrists crossed behind her back.
“Good enough, it seems,” Huang checked his watch. “Come along then.”
He watched patiently as Jessica maneuvered slowly towards the door. Her normally graceful walk was changed by the plug moving inside her with every step. The small pert cheeks of her ass were spread obscenely by the wide end of the plug.
She followed Huang out the door and into the hall as the door closed behind them. Jessica struggled to keep up with his pace as he navigated the corridors.
“You are going to see the appraiser again, for your qualification review. Do you remember the instructions I gave you last time?” Huang spoke as he walked.
“Yes,” Jessica spoke softly.
Huang ignored her response.
“Do not speak unless spoken to. If you are given an instruction, obey it immediately,” Huang continued. “Remember to stand as I’ve taught you. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Finally they stopped in front of yet another nondescript door. He turned to face her and watched calmly as she steadied herself on the heels.
“Just answer every question honestly and obey every command. You’ll be fine,” he grinned. “And don’t embarrass me,” he added sternly.
Jessica nodded her understanding. Huang checked his watch once more and then hurriedly opened the door. She stepped through the door. Huang closed it quickly behind her.
The room was just as she had remembered it, big and brightly lit. The handsome Asian man and his busty assistant were seated in front of the raised platform, seemingly wearing the same tailored suit, as if they hadn’t moved since her last visit.
Jessica made two steps toward the platform before the Appraisers loud voice filled the room.
“Stay,” he commanded authoritatively. “I did not tell you to move yet.”
Jessica froze in place. The room was silent for a moment before the Appraiser and his assistant began speaking to each other, she had interrupted a conversation when she entered. Jessica couldn’t make out the words and could only dumbly watch as the woman nodded her head in understanding after each sentence.
Finally he paused. His assistant finished her note and smoothed her skirt with her hands.
“Come and stand on the platform,” he ordered in a calm voice.
Jessica darted to the platform. She stepped on top and shuddered as she felt the plug in her ass press inside her. She steadied herself and assumed her conditioned pose.
The Appraiser sat and stared at her for several long moments. His face was emotionless. Jessica swallowed nervously.
“Pass me her file,” he spoke confidently, without removing his gaze from Jessica’s transformed body.
He finally looked away as his assistant passed him the small folder. He studied it carefully, occasionally glancing up at her before returning his attention to the documents. Then he passed it back to her — she accepted it wordlessly.
He stood and walked purposely toward her, stopping a foot in front of her to study her form. She stifled a cry as he unexpectedly reached out and grasped her thigh. He shot her a disapproving nod and held his finger to his lips.
She swallowed anxiously, her mind torn between terror from being gripped by this man and the arousal flooding through her body from his touch.
“How do you feel?” He withdrew his hand and his calm voice shattered the silence in the room.
“Good,” Jessica squeaked in response.
“Good?” He smirked. “Just good?”
“I feel warm,” Jessica whispered. “From your touch.”
“Better,” he responded and began to circle the platform, disappearing behind her and out of sight. “Where do you feel warm?”
He pressed his finger against the plug in her ask sending another jolt of arousal through her body.
“Everywhere,” Jessica answered quickly as she fought to keep her knees from buckling.
“Be more specific,” he commanded from behind her. He withdrew his fingers from the plug.
“My thigh, where you touched me,” Jessica spoke softly.
“Where else?” He pressed as he concluded his trip around the platform.
“My chest and…”
“Your what?” He interrupted.
“My chest,” she repeated.
“Remember your training pet,” he commanded authoritatively.
“In my tits,” she tried again.
Swallowtail is a novel that traces the narrator’s gradual acceptance of submission.
Previously: The narrator has given Dex blanket consent and is prepared to explore what submission to her might mean. As the narrator becomes more comfortable with submission, his dom continues to test his limits.
Dex has asked me to clear my schedule for the upcoming long weekend. She says that she has something special planned for me. A challenge. She says that I’m ready for it.
“It won’t be easy,” she says.
“You’ll hate me at times.”
“I can’t imagine that.”
“Then you don’t really have a good imagination.”
I pick her up on Thursday afternoon at the tattoo studio where she works as a piercer. She throws a large black duffel bag into the back seat and then slides in beside me. She kisses me on the cheek and squeezes my thigh.
“North,” she says.
Dex is quiet for the first half hour of the drive. I sense an uncharacteristic uneasiness about her.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
It takes her a while to answer. “Plans are always abstract until it’s time to realize them. Now I’m not sure about them.”
I feel a tingle of anticipation and apprehension. “Your plans usually work out well.”
“Usually. I don’t want to make any mistakes.”
“You usually don’t. If it looks like you are, I’ll let you know.”
Dex and I both know that I’ve never invoked my safeword. I’ve been close several times but I’ve never uttered it. I used to think that taking whatever Dex dished out was a matter of pride, but the truth is that Dex has always stepped back from the precipice before taking that last disastrous step. She has developed an uncanny sense of my limits.
“You have my consent for whatever it is you have planned. Unreservedly. I trust you. You know that.”
We finally leave the city and the suburbs that ring it like an ever-growing blight. We’re moving more quickly now, using the back roads that Dex knows. The sun touches the horizon and the shadows of the trees and hydro poles stretch across the road like a UPC code.
I know that Dex has committed to whatever she has planned when she reaches into her bag a few minutes later and withdraws a leather collar.
“Put this on.”
I glance at it but don’t touch it. I’m surprised and a little unnerved. Although we’re in the middle of nowhere and alone and it’s unlikely we’ll meet anyone, this is the first time I’ve worn anything like this outside of the safety of my four walls. I hesitate for a moment longer and then drop down to the speed limit. Being stopped for speeding by some bored cop is the last thing I want. I hold the steering wheel with my knees and fasten the collar around my neck. To the ring at my throat she snaps on a leather lead that she allows to rest across her lap.
“Now these,” she says, laying a pair of wrist cuffs on my thigh.
With Dex’s help I manage to kit myself out without crashing and breathe a little easier. A little. In the back of my mind I hear my mother. Her voice is unexpected and unwelcome. I remember that she had this thing about clean underwear, in case I was in an accident. The logic eluded me. Certainly if the accident were bad enough, thought my kid brain at the time, it was conceivable that I’d crap myself anyway. Perhaps a drop or two of pee. Would my rescuers check my underwear? Think less of me if my Fruit of the Looms were less than pristine? I doubted it. Regardless, I can hear my mother now: See, this is what comes of ignoring my advice. See, there’s a slippery slope—ignore the underwear and this is what happens. No self-respect. My mother, I’m sure, is rolling over in her grave now. Chastity device, collar, and cuffs. What if there were an accident?
Somewhere in heaven, an angel is cringing.
Somewhere beside me is a different story.
I sense Dex watching me from the shadows of the passenger seat.
“What did you have planned again?” I ask.
“A challenge. A test.”
“I haven’t studied.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
We’ve been driving for a couple of hours now, more or less north. There are farms that I can discern in the failing light. Fences around scrub and rocks and woodlots. I don’t know whether the fences are designed to keep the scrub in or scrub bandits out. There’s the occasional lake too, black as ink, and then more of the same—scrub, rocks, lakes. Darkness slowly claims the land and occasionally a car passes us, going the other way. Radio reception has gotten worse and after scanning what little is available, I turn the radio off entirely. The old Mercedes doesn’t have a CD player.
“Much farther?” I ask.
“An hour. Maybe less. We’re making good time.”
Dex reclines her seat and she takes my hand from the stick shift and places it on her upper thigh, pushing up her skirt in the process. She strokes my fingers for a few minutes, and then there’s an unmistakable nudge, an unspoken command. I ease my hand up a little. I caress the smoothness of the now-familiar terrain. She spreads her legs a little more and I take a chance and explore her. There it is—the wetness, the warmth, the promise of things to come.
I play my fingers over the yielding geography of her sex for a few kilometers.
“Beats the hell out of ‘I spy’,” I say.
“It’s too dark, but I think so too.”
I glance over to her. There’s something arresting about the paleness of her moonlit legs that emerge from her hiked-up skirt, splayed against the black leather of the seat. Her eyes are closed and her lower lip is clenched between her teeth. One hand loosely holds the lead and the other rests against a thigh.
There’s no hurry. She has voiced no expectations of me and so I explore her aimlessly. I divide my attention between the road and the flesh beneath my fingers. The car reels in the distance.
She gives a little whimper, almost lost beneath the hum of the tires on the pavement. My fingers have grown slick and I’m tempted to focus my efforts. I don’t. Her slow burn is my reward. I might get nothing in return. Not immediately anyway. It doesn’t matter. It’s enough to elicit this response, to know that I can.
Besides, this might be my only chance this weekend to have her pleasure in my hands, to subject her to some of the torment that she may have planned for me.
She’s smiling now. She knows what I am doing and I have no doubt that she’ll exact her revenge. After a few desultory strokes I decide to bring her up again.
“Bastard,” she whispers.
Another hum of pleasure. Her hand alights briefly on mine and then retreats. She’s leaving this to me.
I see that her hands have found her breasts and are kneading them.
I pinch her clitoris between my thumb and forefinger and roll it. There’s an intake of breath which is held for several seconds. Then there’s a whistling moan. That’s it. Quiet as always.
She lifts my hand takes my fingers into her mouth.
“Oh,” she says after she has licked my fingers clean, “take the next right.”
I know that we’re getting closer now. There’s a question that’s been preying on me for some time. It has been on my tongue before but I’ve never asked it. It might be the time, now that Dex is satisfied and before she exercises her authority over me. Casually, I say, “You’ve said that you were a sub before. You never told me exactly what happened.”
Dex doesn’t answer immediately. “Does it matter?”
“I want to know.”
There’s another long moment of silence. Then she says, “You’re right. I was a sub before.” Dex takes a deep breath and I’m afraid that she’ll go no further. She’s talking to the window, looking out on the gloom. “We had a no-sharing agreement. I drew the line at having him share me around. I wasn’t ready for that. Not with him. I didn’t trust him, which should have been my first warning. He had problems with restrictions. One day he made the mistake of thinking that his authority over me was absolute. Maybe he confused my submission with weakness. He said my refusal to please him by pleasing his friends showed an unforgiveable lack of commitment on my part. Whatever. One night I was bound and gagged when he asked me again if I’d be willing. He knew how I felt and I didn’t expect him to ignore my wishes. I couldn’t talk and I couldn’t signal. He thought it was funny. He kept asking for the signal, even when his asshole buddies went at it with me.”
“God. That’s rape.”
Dex shrugs. “I waited for a week. I was submissive. I made him think that I’d been broken. He thought that the dust had settled, that I’d been taught an important lesson about submission, but I had a plan.” She takes a deep breath. “He liked it when I tied him up. So one night he asked me to do it—tie him up and please him. So I did. I wrapped him in Saran Wrap. This was a new one and I could tell that he thought it interesting and was wondering where I would go with it. I stuffed his underwear in his mouth. He didn’t like that as much though. It was then that I asked him for his safeword. Of course he couldn’t speak. There could be no signal either. Then I got a pair of scissors. I’m sure he thought I was going to cut it off.”
Dex shakes her head and pauses for a moment. Her voice has become almost a whisper. “I cut a hole in the wrap and pulled his cock out of it.” She takes a deep breath. “I had been piercing for a year or so by then so I gave him some. Most of the ones in my portfolio, in fact.”
I shudder, picturing the scene. I’m speechless.
“I suppose he could have called the cops or come after me or something. He never did. We were finished. You must think I’m a psycho.”
“No.” Actually, that is exactly what I’m thinking.
She smiles weakly. “And that’s why I can’t be a sub any more. And that’s why I promised myself to be a better dom than he was. And that’s the same promise I’m making to you.”
Dex directs me off the highway and onto increasingly small and obscure roads. It was dark before but now it’s completely black and our world is reduced to what little the headlights choose to reveal.
“Slow down,” says Dex.
We’re crunching along a gravel road.
“Turn left, here.”
Here is little more than a gap between trees, obscuring over what I now see is a rutted and largely overgrown path, barely wide enough for the car. We proceed through a tunnel of dense undergrowth until we finally emerge into a clearing. A large house occupies one side of the space and a garage the other. The headlights sweep over a dock that stretches into watery darkness.
I park the car close to the house and the motion sensing lights go on, bathing us in light.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“Looks like a cottage.”
Ask a stupid question…
“Who does it belong to?”
Dex doesn’t answer. “Do you still want to go through with this? Knowing what you do?”
I’ve convinced myself that the guy had deserved it. Still, the violence of Dex’s act has given me a chill. Under similar circumstances, I might have done the same. But still, it`s difficult to reconcile the woman sitting next to me in the car with the person who had responded to violence in kind.
“Yes,” I say finally. “Let`s do it.”
Dex looks relieved. “Okay. Good.” She exits the car and stretches. “I keep forgetting how far it is.”
I join her outside. The air is crisp and clean. It’s invigorating. It’s quiet and the heavens are splashed with more stars than are visible from the city. I take a deep breath and relax.
She walks around the car and faces me. “From now on,” she says, “you have to obey me without question. Until I say differently, the only words I want to hear from you are yes, mistress or no, mistress. Failure to do so will result in discipline. Do you understand?”
Dex scowls at me.
Christ, am I ever stupid. “Yes, mistress.”
“Do you have any questions for me before we begin?”
She pulls on the lead and brings my face to hers. She kisses me. “Good. Bring the bags in, will you?”
Dex sits me on the edge of the bed and I watch as she undresses. She does it slowly, teasingly. I stare raptly as she emerges from her clothing.
She places her hands on her hips. I take her in. I swell with pride and other things. She’s mine—as much as a dom can be. “Do you like what you see?”
“Do you want to fuck me?”
I thrill at the prospect. “Yes.”
“More than anything?”
The questions are driving me nuts. I am filled with memories of when she has offered me her mouth, her pussy, her ass. I remember the pain and pleasure she has subjected me to. There’s the promise of all this and more. Whatever it is that she has planned, it promises to be more intense than anything I’ve experienced with anyone else. I realize that I’m spoiled now for anyone but her. There can be no one else and I’m okay with that. “Yes, mistress.”
Dex’s fingers brush the piercing that adorns her clitoral hood.
“Then make me want you more than I already do. Now be a good sub and run the shower.”
Standing is painful. I’m already engorged and my cock fills the confines of my chastity device.
The shower is one of those modern affairs with jets spraying all over the place. There’s room enough for two in it. Steam fills the bathroom when she enters through the mist. She places a hand on my shoulder and she enters the shower enclosure. I watch as she immerses herself under the jets, head tipped back. Rivulets of water channel between and around her breasts and then down her torso. I am transfixed.
“Coming?” she asks.
I strip and enter the enclosure. Dex stands with her back to me. I step close and wrap my arms around her, one hand snaking up her torso to her breasts and the other finding the cleft between her legs. I hope that the chastity device is as uncomfortable against her ass as it is around my cock and balls. I lather my hands and wash her, paying special attention to her breasts before gliding down her abdomen, wishing the whole time that I could take her now, bend her over and bury myself within her and relieve the pressure that has been building in me since we left the city.
I kneel down and wash her feet and legs, which have spread to accommodate me. I work my way up to the apex of her legs and run soapy fingers through the neat strip of hair that crowns her pussy, the pierced folds of her labia, and then up and around between the full halves of her ass.
She turns under the hot cascade of water and raises a foot onto one of the shelves on the side of the enclosure. The invitation is clear and I touch my tongue to glistening folds of her sex.
She has washed away the sharp edges of her makeup and emerges from the shower looking younger and more innocent than when she entered. She looks almost wholesome, like someone you might imagine as an alto in a church choir, hands clenched at her bosom as the calming energy of spiritual benevolence infuses her. She’d be one of the pretty ones, the source of impure thoughts among some of the male parishioners. She’d be unaware of the roiling sexual tension that she unleashes, particularly when she opens her mouth wide because that’s how the choirmaster taught her to sing.
“You’ve exhausted me,” says Dex.
I’m daydreaming. I look over and see that she’s wearing a silk baby doll. It’s red and the fabric shimmers over her curves.
I can sense where this is going and my heart sinks. “That’s too bad,” I say.
Dex nods earnestly. “I’ve had two,” she says. “Multiples. You have a knack. You know me too well now. Another one like the last one and I might get a hernia or something.”
“That would be tragic.”
“So I’m afraid you’ll have to wait. Can you do that?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Sleep doesn’t come easily. For one, I’m tied to the bed. My restraints are loose and the ropes that attach my wrists to the headboard have some slack, but not enough for me to assume anything resembling a comfortable position. And then there’s Dex, curled up beside me. I can feel the warmth emanating from her. The scent of the soap that I used to wash her wafts over me. I’m acutely aware of the pleasure that rests a few inches away. That fact alone causes me to swell uncomfortably in my cage again.
Her breathing tells me that she is asleep. No wonder. I’ve exhausted her. Her indifference to my need, particularly after having attended to hers, fills me with profound disappointment. Nothing is so enticing as that which is denied, she once said. I’m immensely frustrated and the first cold tendrils of anger steal over me. I take a deep breath and try to relax. I wonder if she’s simply being cruel or is exercising her control over me to make a point. More likely the latter, I concede. I remind myself that I have voluntarily subjected myself to her will and have placed my pleasure in her hands. There’s no advantage to anger. If this is a test, then it is something I have to pass. I will have my reward when it pleases her. I just have to be strong. I suppress my frustration and think instead on the pleasures that she has given me. In that, at least, is some measure of reward. I’ve known her profoundly. It’s a pale substitute for the immediacy of physical pleasure, but for tonight it will have to be enough.
I wake to sunlight streaming into the bedroom. My shoulders ache from having slept with my arms bound over my head. I look over and see that Dex’s side of the bed has been abandoned. I can hear her in the kitchen.
Our first night is behind us. I don’t doubt that Dex has the day planned. There will be new challenges and possibly new frustrations. The dark thoughts that assailed me last night have receded and I look forward to whatever Dex chooses to throw at me.
Dex returns to the bedroom and leans against the door jamb. She’s holding a bowl of grapes. She pops one in her mouth and I hear it crunch between her teeth. I can see that she’s wearing a corset and her breasts swell out of the top. The horn of plenty. Overflowing. There are worse sights to wake up to.
“Did you have a good sleep?” asks Dex.
I shake my head.
Dex looks genuinely contrite. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”
I shrug as much as I can.
“Hungry?” she asks.
I hadn’t thought of it until now. “Yes, mistress.”
She approaches the bed and places a grape between her even, white teeth. She lowers it to my mouth. I bite it and take half. Dex takes the other.
“Is it good?”
We do several grapes in this way. I take sustenance from her kiss.
She places a grape in the generous cleft between her breasts and straddles me on the bed. She bends over my face, burying it in her feminine softness. There’s a hint of perfume. I’ve always wanted to be fed grapes in bed by a beautiful woman. I hadn’t considered the various methods of delivery. As I burrow my face into Dex’s breasts, I have to admit that my fantasies have been pale and feeble in comparison to those of my mistress. My tongue finds the grape and plucks it out and into my mouth.
“Very good,” says Dex.
We repeat the process a half dozen times. By the end of it, my face and Dex’s breasts are slick with my saliva and sticky with the juice of the grapes.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes, mistress,” I say.
Dex picks another grape from the bowl and raises her leg. I watch as the grape is pushed within the delicate folds of her pussy. Dex then moves forward until she is positioned directly above me.
I extend my tongue into that most delicate of flesh. Dex’s taste floods me. I take my time, exploring her from her perineum, her labia and clitoris before finally extending my tongue within her to touch the smooth surface of the grape. Extracting it is difficult, buried as it is. I feel her muscles working against my tongue, clenching and unclenching. The grape finally drops out of her and into my mouth.
Maybe if I please her, maybe if I’m gentle and attentive and take my time extracting grapes from her, then she might favor me with more.
The grapes are gone before I even near the edge with her. She seems not to mind. Nor does she seem interested in more than teasing me.
“That was a snack. I’ll get breakfast going,” she says.
Once again I’m left bound and alone in the bedroom.
Dex unfastens the ropes from my wrist cuffs and I lower my arms with a groan. She has changed out of her corset and now wears a tight t-shirt and nothing else. She toys with the key that hangs between her breasts and observes me.
“I’m thinking of freeing you this afternoon,” she says.
I’d like it to be freed now. “I’d be grateful, mistress.”
“We’ll see how the day goes,” says Dex. “Come.”Let’s get you washed up.”
The bathroom is already filled with steam when I enter. I step into the enclosure and immerse myself in the jets. My muscles slowly unknot and I take a deep breath.
“Let me”, she says as I reach for the soap. I close my eyes when she begins, savoring her touch. If I was hoping for a reciprocal shower scene to the one the previous night, I’m disappointed. Although there isn’t an inch of me that isn’t touched, the business of showering is largely bereft of erotic intent. The arousal that I derive from Dex’s hands is purely coincidental. She has no ulterior motives but I can’t say the same.
After the shower, Dex leads me to the island in the kitchen and sits me down. She passes me a steaming cup of coffee. It’s good. Not like that burnt, ashy stuff they pass off as gourmet these days.
“I feel underdressed.”
I’m sitting naked at the kitchen table, watching as Dex, who in her t-shirt is only slightly more dressed than I am, moves around the kitchen. She stops and looks at me and then retreats without a word to the bedroom. She returns with the tie that I’d been wearing yesterday. She bends over, offering me a glimpse of her breasts, and quickly ties a half windsor. “Happy?” she asks. “Now you’re overdressed.”
She returns to her cooking.
I feel good now. The ache of the night before is receding in my memory. I’m showered, clean, and though I’m not yet free from my cage, I’m hopeful. The coffee is waking me up. I’m feeling magnanimous and pardon Dex for the discomfort she has put me through. I watch as she moves around the kitchen, enjoying her casual and unselfconscious partial nudity. She’s humming a tune I don’t recognize. The morning light streams through the window above the sink, highlighting her body like a Vermeer painting, if Vermeer were in the business of painting half-naked goths with a penchant for body modifications. The swallowtail tattoo peeks out from under the hem of her t-shirt whenever she turns to face me.
Dex has prepared a meal of scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast and I tuck into it eagerly. There’s enough cholesterol on my plate to make my doctor all apoplectic. Not to mention the fact that Ms. Manners would frown on me breaking fast in the nude with a fading boner. Arterial health, hygiene and decorum aside, breakfast is great.
I look up from my plate. Dex has her chin perched in her palm and is watching me.
“What?” I ask.
There’s a weird look on her face. I’ve seen it before with other women, but I’m surprised to see it on Dex.
“What’s on the agenda?” I ask after I’ve finished chewing.
Dex seems not to mind that I’ve dropped the mistress business. I’m glad for it. Dex isn’t one to launch into spontaneous soliloquies and while I’m not either, being limited ‘yes mistress’ and ‘no mistress’ would make for a conversationally challenged weekend.
“A hike maybe. Somewhere not off the beaten path.”
“This used to be my favorite spot when I was a kid.”
We’ve emerged from a narrow trail onto a tall outcropping of rock that extends like a tongue into the lake. I’m still self-conscious about wearing nothing but a collar and cuffs, but Dex has assured me that we are completely isolated here. So far, she’s been proven right. Dex has attached a lead to my cage for the walk and the occasional tug at my groin has me aroused again. She lets the lead drop at my feet and walks out to the edge of the outcropping.
The air is still and warm and the only sound is the lapping of small waves against unseen rocks. It’s the kind of day that makes it easy to imagine that the world is pure and that you are the only one in it.
“So this is your cottage,” I say.
Dex nods. “It used to be my father’s. Now it’s mine.” She pauses for a moment, looking out on the water. “I’ve never brought anyone here before.”
“It’s not like I hatched out of a pod,” she says. Then, after a moment, adds, “He died when I was eighteen. He was a great man.”
I remember then. She had mentioned him before at the jazz bar. He’d left the family when Dex had been a kid. Evidently, he hadn’t gone far. Questions teem in my mind now that Dex has finally pulled away the veil on her past, at least partially.
Dex is rummaging around in the backpack that I’ve carried to this place. She returns to me with a length of rope. She loops an end through one of the rings of the cuff on my wrist. “After my father died, the cottage and the land reverted to me. He knew what this place meant to me.” She steps carefully to a tree and ties the end of the rope off. My arm rises.
She returns and repeats the process with the other wrist, telling me that it took her years to return to this place after her father had passed.
“No one used it? No siblings?”
“I’m an only child. My dad’s lawyer, my lawyer now, looked after it for me until I was ready for it.”
I feel like the Christ statue in Rio, standing on this rock with my arms outstretched. That, of course, is where the resemblance ends.
Dex returns to my field of view. She’s carrying a flogger. “I started coming back a few years ago. It felt right.”
The sun warms my shoulders and the afternoon breeze swirls around my legs. Dex kneels in front of me and unlocks the chastity device. Whether it’s the fact that I am free from my cage or the prospect of an imminent flogging, my heart begins to thud in my chest and my unconstrained cock swells.
“Old faithful,” remarks Dex, weighing my cock in the palm of her hand. She allows the fells of the flogger to stroke its length.
She retreats from view. I brace for what is surely to come.
My manhood is pointing dumbly at a duck or a loon by the opposite shore. The bird doesn’t seem overly concerned.
I nod. “Yes mistress.”
Dex starts slowly, softly, coaxing arousal out of me by the tips of leather that caress my back and ass. I keep waiting for the force to increase, for the pain to supplant pleasure, but it never does. The touch of the flogger is intimate, an extension of Dex. Her rhythm is hypnotic. I’m lulled into the contradiction of intense exhilaration and of having been transported out of my body. The ridiculousness of being tied naked between two trees, being flogged out in the open, doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.
The blows are predictable, almost comfortable. It’s as though Dex feels no need to punctuate her claim over me with force. It feels stupid to think of it this way, but there’s an artistry to the way in which she applies leather to me. Her colors are force, her strokes are the shapes of the blows against my flesh.
The duck (or loon) has vanished and I’m surprised that I haven’t marked its passage. I’m surprised too that Dex has stopped. It’s quiet again, almost unnaturally so after the steady percussion of leather against flesh.
When she emerges from behind me, Dex has shed her clothes. She unties one of my wrists as she passes and walks to the edge of the rock. She gracefully dives off, flashing me for a brief moment, a streak of white against the trees and rocks on the far side of the shore. I watch as she swims to a point not too far away. Her pale skin glimmers beguilingly beneath the surface of the crystalline water.
“Are you coming?” she calls
I divest myself of my ropes and leather and join her. The water is cool and refreshing. I swim over to where Dex has found a submerged rock to stand on. Drops bead on her breasts and cling to the rings that adorn her nipples. I find purchase on the rock and wrap my arms around her waist.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” I say.
She wraps her legs around my waist and I struggle to maintain my balance on the slippery rock. She finds me under the water and I’m soon engulfed in her warmth.
“That’s better,” she says, nestling herself more firmly on my cock. Her arms are wound around my neck and she whispers in my ear, “This isn’t dangerous, is it?”
“This. The suction. You hear of people getting stuck.” Dex rises and falls on me, disproving her point.
“I’m sure it’s a myth.” God she feels good. “Designed to keep horny teenagers away from law-abiding waders and skittish shore-birds.”
“No, but I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be stuck.”
She moves slowly upon me. My hands cup her ass under the water, trying to arrest movements that threaten to overwhelm me.
“Don’t come,” she says.
“Then don’t move.”
She stops. Cool water swirls around us. I’m warm only where she touches me—her breasts pressed against my chest, her legs, her cunt.
Shit. Not moving wasn’t working either. She tightens herself around me. I can feel the rhythmic compression like a heartbeat. “Get off,” I gasp.
I twist out of her grasp and swim away, trying desperately for some distance from her and the wave that threatens to overwhelm me. It’s poised still. One nudge and it’ll be all over. I tread water and look over to where I left her. She smiles and waves. The water is lapping at her breasts. She’s a vision.
When I’m sure that I have sufficiently distanced myself from the release she has again denied me, I return to her. It takes a while.
“You’re a harsh mistress.”
For a change, Dex doesn’t appear to be interested in having me coax release from her mortal coil. Maybe she’s chafed and bruised. Part of me secretly hopes so. I’ve forgotten what the score is. All I know is that I have a goose egg on my side of the orgasmic ledger. I know that it’s wrong to think of our relationship in those terms, but there it is.
I’m feeling sorry for myself. Self-pity is always something I’ve despised in others, so finding it in myself has left me out of sorts and cranky. I tell myself that this is what I’ve agreed to, but it does little to help my mood. I feel that the aborted forays into carnal heaven have abandoned tiny mewling orgasms in a sad and desolate limbo and that I’m somehow responsible.
I suspect that this has been the point of this weekend, reinforcing the notion that my pleasure, or lack of it, rests entirely within Dex’s hands. It must be a test of sorts, Dex’s way of determining whether my submission is total and whether I can, in the face of repeated denial, still attend to her desires with the submissive selflessness she expects of me.
I’m sitting on the deck alone. Dex is doing the dinner dishes and I’m sipping a very nice single malt that I haven’t had before. Its warmth spreads through me. I really haven’t lifted a finger since we returned from the lake. Dex has been attending to me and I wonder whether she knows just how bruised my ego is. It does make me feel a little better, this attention to my physical well-being. It might be a sign of things to come. I refuse to get my hopes up, deciding instead to focus on the small tokens of affection that Dex bestows upon me.
Dex joins me on the deck. She has turned off all of the lights and has set an antique lantern on a table off to the side. The flame is low and yellow and illuminates little beyond our small cocoon of light.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Her hand is on my shoulder and I take it and press it to my lips.
“I want to do something for you,” she says after a moment.
“I’d like that.”
“You don’t know what it is.”
I shrug. “I trust you.”
Dex just stands there. Our eyes lock. Something passes between us but I don’t trust myself to translate it just yet. I save the syntax of her look for later parsing.
She asks me to strip and lean against the railing of the veranda. I do it without question and wait.
She leans against me, draping herself over my back and wrapping her arms around my torso. I feel her cheek resting between my shoulder blades and an expanse of bare skin to regions south.
“I’ve had fun this weekend. Thanks for coming.” Her words blow moisture across my back.
I don’t answer, swallowing the expected rejoinder.
She sounds so earnest that I nod. “Please.”
She runs her fingertips from my shoulders to my ass, an expanse that has borne the evidence of the crop and flogger and cane. The welts may have faded, but Dex has nonetheless etched herself into me.
She chats with me as she inserts a lubed finger into my rectum. The talk is so casual, so freakishly mundane that I want to scream. She has a finger sliding in and out of my ass. It probes, finds the prostate, and I grip the railing more tightly. She’s now talking about what we might do tomorrow, our last full day here. I’m thinking of nothing more than the present.
She withdraws. I’m ready. I know what’s coming next. My squeamishness of a few months ago is gone now. I’ve actually learned to enjoy it, though I’ve admitted it to no one but Dex.
A lubed dildo brushes my ass. I know she’s wearing a leather harness. I can imagine the incongruity of it—a large dildo sprouting from my waifish dom. My mouth is dry and I stare out into the darkness.
“I’m sorry if I’ve neglected you.”
I have no answer. She’s pressing and has breached me. I gasp and close my eyes.
“You’ve been so good to me and I’ve been so selfish.”
She passes the point of resistance now and slides easily into me.
“Does it feel good?”
She slides both hands up my torso to my chest and pulls me up into a standing position. She’s still buried within me and the angle is tantalizingly different.
She holds my chest with one hand, stroking a nipple and the other slides down and finds my cock.
“I want to please you too,” she whispers as her fingers alight on my cock.
“I wish I could feel you,” she says. “From the inside.”
The tenor of her talk makes me squirm with desire. She strokes me and I feel weak-kneed. My breath hitches in my throat before exploding in a gasp.
“Don’t yet,” she says. “I have a question for you.”
Oh no. Please no questions. No talk now. Please. The dildo and her hand move in unison. The sensations and the denial of the weekend are swirling together now, churning.
“If you need me to distract you, let me know.”
“You’ll let me know?”
“No. Distract me. Now.”
The blow from the crop blazes across the outside of my thigh. I’m grateful that she has hit me hard. Anything softer would have sent me over the edge.
“Maybe. Wait. No.”
Dex adds another pair of welts to the first.
“You have a decision to make. Come now, like this, or wait until tomorrow.”
Damn this woman!
“What’s tomorrow?” I gasp.
“Tomorrow night I’ll give myself to you, to do with as you want.”
My need for release is a living thing in my head, driving me to distraction. It’s crying for immediate gratification, like a child or a junkie.
“Either or? Not both?” I gasp.
“Tomorrow I give you my consent. Whatever you want. No games.”
“Hit me.” I’m thinking.
She has stopped moving. She occupies me, brushing those hidden parts that lie at the root of my erection.
Not both, I think. Immediate gratification or carte blanche delayed.
I hesitate. I torture myself with another moment of borrowed pleasure, which brings me dangerously close to having no choice at all.
“Tomorrow. I choose tomorrow.”
“Okay,” says Dex. She begins to withdraw from me.
“Just a little bit more though.”
She slides into me again and falls into a slow and painfully pleasurable rhythm. I’m not at risk of spoiling my chances for tomorrow, but am unwilling to forego the sensation of her occupation of me, even if it goes nowhere.
“Would you believe me if I told you that this hurts me more than it hurts you?” she asks.
“Not for a moment.”
“You’re probably right.”
The next morning there are no games. I enter the kitchen and kiss her dutifully on the cheek. “Do you want me to do anything?”
“No,” she says. “Just have a seat.”
I kiss her again, on the lips this time. The kiss deepens into a living, desperate thing and I break off before my control abandons me entirely.
As before, I watch her move around the kitchen. As before, I lose myself in the watching of her.
We spend morning day hiking around the lake, have lunch on the dock, and then take out a small sailboat named the Dorothy Elizabeth. I ask about the name but Dex just shakes her head. We skinny-dip from the boat and canoodle in the water.
Dinner consists of steaks and a salad. Dex has given me the grilling duties while she busies herself in the kitchen with everything else. She brings me out a beer and I almost laugh.
“What?” she asks.
“I never thought we’d ever be living the stereotype.”
“Anything’s possible,” she says.
We eat outside like a normal couple, enjoying good food, craft beer, and the sun setting over the lake. We match, Dex and I, in our shorts and t-shirts. There’s nothing about us that says that she owns me or that I subject myself to her in ways most men would find degrading. We chat about the day, her uselessness as a sailor, my comparative lack of grace as a swimmer.
The stars come out, as does a bottle of wine. Mosquitoes and moths are drawn to the divine light of the gas lantern that Dex has set up and are rendered unto ash. We move to a swing and snuggle on it. Her leg is draped over my thigh and my hand is on her knee. It’s disconcerting, this oscillation between submissive and companion. I wonder if I would value the latter less if not for the other.
Dex has given me carte blanche. I think of the closet that I know contains every restraint and device that I could ever hope to use. I look back to Dex. I’ve so long imagined payback, fantasized about the things that I would do if the roles were reversed. My repertoire has broadened under Dex’s tutelage. There are any number of things that I could do now. It would be easy to express my displeasure at having been denied. After all, she has consented and for Dex, consent encompasses a world of possibility.
I lean towards her and touch her cheek, still considering my options. This woman is my mistress, my dom. I’m her sub. There are no conditions that I apply to the statement; it’s just fact. The roles have become a part of me rather than a curiosity that I can opt out of when it ceases to interest me. Play is the language of our relationship, Dex once said.
I get off the swing and lift her in my arms. She’s remarkably light. She wraps an arm around my neck.
I manage to negotiate the door without causing either of us injury and make my way to the bedroom as though I carry women in my arms every day. I leave the devices in the closet. I lay her gently on the bed and undress her. She’s framed by the dark, satin sheets. Her arms rest above her head, flingers curled, almost touching the headboard. It would be so easy to restrain her. She watches me expectantly, shadowed green eyes following my every movement. One leg is drawn up, partially obscuring her sex and the swallowtail tattoo appears to be burrowing a crease of skin. She takes a deep breath. Her breasts rise and fall.
I touch the bent leg and it swings to the side, revealing the furrowed flesh that parts ever so slightly, revealing the glistening folds that await me.
I bend over her and kiss one nipple and then the other.
Hi. This is my story. My name is Suzanne and I’m 37 years old. I live in Manchester in northern England. My first husband was a steady man but unexciting and once I left him for a fling with a more exciting man. But it didn’t last and I went back to the marriage. Our marriage was our parents’ idea and we were married at 20. He just wasn’t an imaginative lover and not suggestive. Then he died after an accident at his work, so I was widowed in 2002 at the age of 28. I met Andy after about a year and we were married on my 30th birthday.
My second husband is always suggesting new ways to get pleasure and good sensations especially in bed but also in everyday life. You know, trips and places to see and nice things to buy.
I lost weight deliberately for the wedding. I had always been a size 12 but at 5ft 4in I felt tubby. I lost about 10 lbs. My bust was and is still 36B but my waist was a bit sloppy and my tummy was slack as well. I had worn girdles when I was a girl — in the early 1990s. Just little panty girdles with flower patterns (they seem to be called tummy shapers now) or else just control briefs or control tights. I always liked the feel of support stockings as well, especially when they came available in nice colours and thinner fabric. I liked suspenders with the stockings but didn’t really wear them at all during my first marriage. I had a drawer in which kept all my lingerie and corsetry over the years including two really old-style girdles I had never worn. One was a Berlei high waist with suspenders for stockings in black with a side zip. The other was a long leg high waist panty-girdle from M&S, with a front zip and suspenders inside the legs. It was white. Both were very firm and could control my waist, but I never wore them once during my first marriage.
For the second wedding day, I decided to wear the Berlei girdle but on a trip to Manchester I saw a really firm American girdle called Rago1294 and I bought it. As soon as I got home I tried it on and it was a struggle. It was about 19 inches long and fitted from under my bottom right up to my bust with a side zip over a row of hooks and eyes. I still have it. It has six suspenders and boning around the waist to stop it from rolling. And longer bones over the tummy and down the back. It is very firm over my tummy with not much stretch at all and it really holds my hips and bottom. It was brilliant white colour, when I first got it. I also bought a long line strapless bra at the same time. It has a 2-inch cuff at the waist and fastens at the back. When I put them on with some nice creamy support stockings, I felt really covered and controlled. Encased, sort of. I was excited all through the wedding and worried in case he thought they were old fashioned and matronly. The long bra over the girdle gave me a specially tight waist – and a nice shape over my hips. I felt like I had a girlish shape and I loved it. We hadn’t talked about this sort of thing at all although we’d made love and knew each other pretty well. I was worried what he would say when he saw me undressed.
I needn’t have worried because he was enchanted. In the hotel room later he lay me down and stroked me and kissed me and we made love with both of us partly dressed. Gradually he undressed completely but he left me in the tight undies and we both enjoyed the restriction they made on our movements. He lay on me and then he turned me over and lay on my back. Then he lifted me to my knees for doggy style. The tight girdle made all my feelings to much stronger. I could not believe how I had missed all this before. He let me play with myself to make sure I got the orgasm before him. He’s so thoughtful.
Afterwards, he whispered to me, “Tell me you’ll wear this sort of thing every day for the rest of our lives.”
“Yes. I will,” I whispered back to him.
From that day, I’ve always worn a girdle of some sort. Usually it is open with suspenders and often it is very firm control especially when I know he will appreciate it. Such as after a hard day at work or if we are doing something special it the evening. We sometimes meet at lunchtime and he holds me when we kiss so that we can both feel the bones and the tightness of the fabric. We have to buy them from Ebay now or old traditional corset shops if we can see one on our travels or holidays.
Quite often he will dress me in my girdle and bra in the morning before he leaves for work and I see him off in my flimsy dressing gown. I always like the sensation of him pulling the girdle up my calves and over my thighs and bottom. He’s become very good at placing it just in the right place, central and the right height. Then he does up the hooks at the side and I just love the gradually tightening feel as the hooks get higher. The last one is usually right up towards my arm pit and then he slowly carefully pulls up the zip, making sure he does not catch my skin. Then he helps me put on the stockings, which I like to be support stockings, like I said. I like him to do the suspenders. I select the bra and he helps me fasten the back. If it is an ordinary short bra, then sometimes I do it to let him watch from the front. If it is a long bra, he always wants to do it and I just delight in the extra control I can feel coming around my chest and into my waist.
Sometimes, he makes love to me just at that moment, before he leaves and I sort-of carry him around inside me for the rest of the morning. I seem to wear a panty-liner every day. Mostly, he will bend me forward against the bed or the dressing table and get me from behind, so he can hold my hips or the back suspenders, until he comes in me. Sometimes he does it near the front door where we have a shoe cupboard for me to lean on. I can just enjoy the feeling of being filled up and handled while I am inside the firm corsetry. Like I am under control but also giving him lots of pleasure.
I am so glad he’s that kind of man. It means such a lot to me to have him like my clothes and be involved in my control.
Recently, I bought a firm long leg high waist panty-girdle from London. Made to measure and really tight over my tummy and round my waist. I can’t wear it for long but I like the pressure it gives all over my groin, and between my legs. Sometimes we play a game where I’ve the long leg girdle on underneath the open girdle and he has to struggle to get through to me. There is an elasticated opening between the legs. I love the way he pulls me about to be able to excite me and touch me before we get to make love. When I’m like that, he goes wild sometimes. Tugging at the girdles and putting my legs in strange positions. He always get through to me and I’m a wreck by the time he’s finished. My bra will have slipped and my hair all over the place. The stockings don’t survive — he tears them to shreds with his tugging and his need to get into me. I always get orgasm at some point, with my own fingers, and we end up exhausted and wet. He sweats with the exertion and then we get flooded with our juices. We have two big laundry sessions every week.
I’m thinking of wearing even more girdles at a time to raise his difficulty but I worry in case he would think it weird. I’d like it, I know.
It’s got so I need the excitement of dressing in tight foundation clothes, to feel restricted and controlled. I go shopping in the tightest girdle I have so that I can feel it as I move around and stretch for goods on the shelves. When we’re shopping together, I have to lean on him sometimes because of the delicious pressure. He holds me around my waist and touches me from time to time through my clothes. I often wear a girdle when I go to the gym and enjoy the tautness of my body from the girdle, before exercising, and again afterward from the exercise and the sauna. Then back into the girdle for the delicious controlled feeling.
On holiday in our first year, he bought me an outfit secretly. The complete thing from undies and some jewellery, alI the way to a blouse and skirt and a coat. He knew my Iikings really well by then. He made one request; that I should wear the undies all the time we were away, 24 hours a day except for bathing. I agreed but when I saw them I wondered how it would be. The bra was long line of course, with underwire and a cuff waist and wide straps. It was very firm around my chest and into my waist. The girdle wasn’t just firm, it was tight, really tight, it seemed even rigid in parts. It had panels of double thickness down the sides and the back under my bottom. The front was so firm that the girdle could almost stand up by itself. There were two zips, one at each side with hooks and eyes, all the way from near the bottom edge to the very top over my waist by about 4 inches. He put the bra on me first and then the girdle. It took half an hour to get everything in place and zipped up. Then the support stockings on the six suspenders. And then he put me into a pair of compression pants cut high over my thighs but with a cuff waist. They pulled at the bottom edge back and front and added to the control on my tummy and waist. I felt totally enclosed and restricted but I could move all right and there was no real discomfort. Just that I had to move in a particular way and could not bend easily. He was so sweet, apologising for any discomfort but I told him I liked it. When I looked at myself in the long mirror, I thought how feminine and lacy it looked, not at all the controlling clothes I could feel from the inside. That is what I Iike about so much of my firm underwear: they look gentle and feminine, especially in white but, really, I’m delighting at my “torment” on the inside.
That week we did everything to wear out those undies. By the time we arrived at the hotel, we were both full of lust, all because of the knowledge we had about my underwear. We travelled and danced and made love and slept with me in them. I felt used but I knew that really I was the mistress and in charge of the situation. He was the slave really and he used me every way a husband should. My orgasms were tremendous. By the end of the week we’d sort-of worn them out. They seem a little slack especially at the bottom edge of the girdle because I’d been manoeuvred into so many different positions and he had to force the fabric sometimes. The bones around the waist were coming loose in their coverings. We’ve never forgotten that weekend – every little detail of what we did and where we went and how we felt about each other. It gave the marriage a stronger basis because only we knew what was going on underneath the respectable exterior. I sometimes feel that the strength of my undies reflects the strength of our relationship: firm, sure, reliable, sexy, exciting, secret. Does that make sense to anyone else, I wonder.
We talked about it afterward and we agree that every aspect of our sexual relationship was getting better all the time. Our foreplay was more intense. I could feel the presence of the girdle all the time; pulling across my bottom and the front of my legs. Some positions put a big strain on the girdle and I felt as if I was being ‘saved by my corsetry’ as he said at the time. He had to push the girdle out of the way sometimes to be able to get at me and that increased the pull on the rest of my body. He was so strong and I felt so cared for. My orgasms came much higher up in my body and my waist seemed even more sensitive than usual. My bottom was puckering and tightening all the time we were together and I had orgasms two and three at a time.
We moved on from then. On the way home, we decided that we would buy a proper corset, the lace-up type to give me a smaller waist. I was still sensitive about my waist and tummy when I wasn’t dressed in my tight girdles. But we did’nt know anything about real corsets except what we had seen in magazines. We didn’t know where to go until I saw an advert in “The Lady” for Rigby and Peller in London. I wrote to them but they don’t do mail order. So we decided to visit them and went one weekend as a short holiday. Their shop isn’t really a shop at all. It is a waiting salon and fitting rooms. We had to wait for over an hour. Then we got tongue-tied about describing what we wanted. But the assistant seemed to know how we were feeling and was very helpful. We ordered a nice long corset in cream satin with pink edges and laces. It stopped just at my bra line at the top and came down to the widest part of my hips at the bottom. It was made four inches less than my waist size but it would fit perfectly around my hips and bust. It had four suspenders on each leg. We waited about three weeks for the letter to say it was ready and we went to London again specially. The assistant took me alone into a fitting room and put it on me with no tightness at all. She said it was important to let my body heat get into the fabric and then it would begin to take up my shape. Then I could start to lace down gradually. She said it could take 3 or 4 weeks to get the fit right. I put on my clothes over the corset, and went out into the waiting salon. Andy could not see any difference so he came across and felt at my waist. When he felt the bones and the tension of the panels, his eyes nearly stood out and I could tell he was getting roused from his usual signs.
“It’s not tight yet. Just fitting on my skin,” I told him.
“Right. But I can tell how it will be,” he replied.
I went back inside and changed into my normal girdle, and we travelled home in a real frenzy of excitement.
That evening, I bathed, and talced myself all over. Then he put the corset round me and laced it until it just fit onto my figure. Because my tummy is a bit prominent, the bottom edge stood out a little way. He knelt down and put on my stockings for me and attached the suspenders and pulled them up a bit higher than usual. At that point the tightest things on me were the support stockings. Then he started lacing me in the way described in the booklet from Rigby and Peller. From the top to the waist first. Then from the bottom to the waist. Then he crossed over the laces and gradually put pressure on the waist. He pulled so that my waist was about two inches less than normal. I could feel it but not uncomfortably. He tied the laces and I put on my negligee. That evening I wandered around the house feeling at myself with no panties on and just loved the freedom to feel open but controlled at the same time. We made love with me laced like that. I didn’t move much and he was so gentle. I reached down and brought myself to an orgasm in just a few minutes. It was wonderful and we both knew that we’d found the real excitement of corseting for sex.
Since then, I’ve trained my waist to be eight inches less when the latest corset is tight and rigid at the waist. In my corset, my waist is 21 inches. I feel perfectly comfortable with this lacing and can move around with only the same sensations as if I wear a girdle. I quickly got a collection of corsets of various styles for different occasions. Some are short and only press on my waist. Others are really long covering me from thighs to bust including my breasts. Always the sensation of being held-in gives me the same excitement. I’m controlled and contained but also I feel very strong and feminine and purposeful. Does this make sense to other people?
I always want to know that I’ve got control of my figure. All this time I also wear girdles whenever I haven’t got a corset on. They seem loose sometimes now so I always wear the firmest and always with a cuff waist bra. Wearing two girdles at a time gives me more pressure and I find it exciting but I’m sure it’s weird. I’ve even done three girdles at once. Andy seems to think it’s wonderful and liberated of me! lsn’t that strange?
About a month ago, I bought a corset from a specialist corsetière in Nottingham. It is the same style as the first from London but it a full 12 inches less than my waist was two years ago. It has lacing at the back and at the sides, just in front of the main curve of my hips. The back lace can take in four inches and each of the side laces can take in 2 inches. The first time we put it on me, he laced ir as tight as I could go. The side laces were pulled to one inch each and the back was closed. So I had a further two inches taken off my waist to 19 inches and I felt such a pressure. It is hard to describe the control and containment that it gave me. Partly a panic but also an excitement. Over the next two days he gradually laced me fully tight so that my waist was 19 inches. I can’t explain how it fell but it was wonderful. In the mirror I looked like a 19th century mannequin and I felt to be the most desirable woman in the world. It was too tight to stay like that for long and I could not have lain down for him even if he had asked me to. I was panting and my bowels were churning a little. The downward pressure on my pubic region was intense and I felt that I was going to be pushed inside out. I reached down and got such an intense feeling when I rubbed gently. I knew then that orgasm would be possible and very good, once I got used to the pressure. Andy could reach around my waist with his fingers and he was more excited than I’ve ever seen him. After about 30 minutes he let out the laces and took it off me. I left relieved and free but also a bit sad. He dressed me in the same girdle I’d worn at our wedding and the same bra. It was so romantic.
That night we made love many times with me in the wedding outfit again. He seemed to be inspired by the memory of the 19-inch waist and my restriction. I knew deep down that I had this wonderful lover for ever because he wanted me and all that I could offer to please him through his hands, eyes and his sex. He enjoyed rubbing up against me and feeling the fabric of the girdle as if it were a new experience, all because he really wanted the tight corset on me. He ran his hands up and down the bones of the girdle, he pulled at the bottom edge front and back, and he squeezed my waist with his hands. As if I was corseted.
That night we did something new as well. He took off the girdle as the dawn was breaking, but left the stockings and the bra on me. After lying me on my front, he slowly spread my aloe-vera cream over my bottom and slipped a finger into me. And then he got me anal for the first time. I was uncertain and really I wasn’t ready for it. But he didn’t care or mind. Slowly he entered me until I could feel the head of his penis pop through my muscle. Over the next few minutes he moved and twisted gently until he was inside me to his full length. I knew he would feel my poop but he didn’t mind. After a few more minutes he left me without shooting in me. He quickly went to the bathroom and came back clean and nice-smelling, and with a warm damp towel for me. He cleaned me up and I went to the bathroom before we fell asleep. Since then, we done that many times and now we both get orgasm when he’s deep inside my bottom. And we have got a routine for exciting enema as well. Doing each other before ending up in the bedroom with me trussed up and squeezed into the perfect feminine shape.
I’ve been training myself to lace down to the minimum of 18 inches for a short time, you know. We’ve made love a few times with me laced to my limit. I’m not yet comfortable but getting pretty close. Already, 20 inches feels perfectly all right and my orgasms have started to become intense again now that I’m breathing and moving more easily inside the corset. One day soon I’ll be totally trained to 18 inches and I can hardly wait. But I know it takes time and he’s delightful with me. So caring and careful and romantic. He laces me into the earlier corsets with no rest – just straight down to 21 inches in one smooth movement. They are easy to wear and I will wear one as often as not during a normal day.
Making love in a tight corset is unlike any other experience. You can feel your own insides as if they are just under your hands. Your waist becomes partly numb but also a centre for your excitement and you can feel him moving right up against your organs. As he gets to his orgasm, the extra stiffness and the bulge at the end of his penis seems to be pressing in my throat. I know it isn’t but that’s the imagination I have. When I get to my orgasm, I feel as if my insides are going to pour out of me through my bottom or my vagina. That isn’t true either, but the sensation is powerful and full of erotic feelings.
“You know what I want?”
It was a question, not a statement.
She was silent. She’d been quiet ever since he got her into position. As if speaking would cause something to happen that she didn’t want.
He spoke again, softly into her ear, “You know what I want?”
She was silent still.
She lay on him facing the ceiling, with her legs outside his and her hands resting on her own thighs. He was holding her by her breasts, balancing her on his chest and abdomen. And he had his erection inside her vagina from behind.
Moving gently and slowly, he explored into her body with his erection and he could tell that she was apprehensive by the tension in her ribs and her upper arms as they crossed over his hands. Her biceps were quivering slightly with nervousness.
He asked her a third time, “You know what I want?” But still she said nothing.
He thought to himself, “Time to get some response.”
He reached down from her breasts to a knot about her waist and undid it quickly. The knot was in the corset lace and the corset was on the girl. He took the laces out to either side of her body, took a loop round each hand and slowly began to push his hands apart. The lace began to tighten, and then it began to run through the eyelets at the back of the corset, next to him. He could feel the two rows of eyelets moving together ever-so slowly. Almost imperceptibly. But not really imperceptibly because she felt it.
She murmured for the first time since he’d got her installed on his penis and lying on top of him. She didn’t speak but he could tell she noticed the tightening of the corset.
“Oh-oh-oh,” she groaned softly as her waist shrank an inch or so; and then he tied off the lace again, round at the front of her torso.
Earlier that day, he’d made all the preparations for this evening. For himself, he’d laid out the items he needed for his own pleasure. Then he administered himself an enema; lying on the floor of his bathroom, on the special soft matting he had with the waterproof backing. It was only a small enema by his standards; two quarts, four pints, half a gallon. But it had done its job and he was cleansed.
After a shower, he dried himself carefully and went to the bedside, to take up the long-leg, high-waist panty girdle. It was one he’d kept for some years awaiting this day, and was no longer available in stores or on the Net. It was a white Custom Maid Style 299. It had long legs almost to his knees; a very firm set of panels, long bones at the front and back, a hook-and-zip fastener, and came up almost to his nipples. It took him some time to get into it because it was a waist-size 28 inches and he was 34, but the hips were right on him. “That’s what comes of wearing a woman’s girdle,” he said to himself. When he was installed in it, he surveyed himself in the long mirror. Then he reached down and pulled through the “comfort crotch” his starting erection. Of course, this crotch opening was designed to allow women to pee without taking off the girdle but it served his purpose equally well. “How thoughtful of them,” he mused to himself again, and smiled.
She had arrived in the early afternoon. They had known each other for five years, and they both had pleasure from the other. Each time they met in their first few months, he had made a suggestion to her for his pleasure and she’s said, “No, please. I don’t want that.” So he’d stopped asking and started planning.
Today, as usual, he helped her undress and also given her a small enema. This had been part of their routine over the years, and she thought nothing of it any more. Then she showered and he helped her dry with big fluffy towels
But corsetry was new to her and today she’d been intrigued by the garment he wore and also by the one he presented to her. She felt down over his girdled body, and marvelled at the tension and the construction of the garment. Before fitting her corset onto her, he’s asked her to wear a blindfold and she’d agreed. So she couldn’t see the extreme narrowness of the waist nor the yards and yards of lacing which would need to be pulled through the eyelets to make the corset close.
And so they cuddled and she enjoyed his hands on her and the way he massaged her breasts, and played gently with her labia and clitoris. Slowly, with no apparent haste or tension, they arrived at this position; with her lying on him backwards and him deep inside her. She could feel the strength of his erection, and also the taut fabric of his girdle against the back of her thighs and legs. And the tightening waist of her own corset, of course.
Now, he resumed his hold on her breasts and moved his erection in and out of her a few times. He didn’t want to climax yet; not for a long time, but he wanted to remain stiff and “useful” inside her. He could feel the pressure of his own girdle on his skin, pressing on his diaphragm, and squeezing his own legs; and the circle of tense Lycra around his erection.
“You know what I want?” The same question and the same silence.
He massaged her nice breasts and squeezed them, which he knew she liked. She murmured her pleasure this time.
“Aaah,” quite a different sound. Definitely not a groan this time and her arms relaxed onto his hands and her own thighs,
“You know what I want?”
More silence and a return of the tension in her arms.
Reaching down to her waist, he undid the corset lace again, took the loops round each hand and started to tighten the corset. He knew all about this corset. It was made to measure and fitted her ribs perfectly and without pressure. Also, it fitted her hips with only a little pressure; say one inch less that her 38 inches. But the waist was a work of genius. By a clever arrangement of gores and positioning of the eyelets, he could reduce her waist to very small proportions indeed. He had asked the corsetiere to make the waist 16 inches; so that the closed measurements would create a woman’s figure of 36-16-38 inches. But his woman didn’t know that.
So he tightened the laces a little, for the second time and she made the “Oh-oh-oh” sound again. From the feel of her corseted body against his chest, he judged that her waist would be about 24 inches now.
He thought to himself, “A long way to go, lady. You’ll answer me soon.” As he thought it, he marvelled again at the tension and the smoothness of his own girdle; and the way it allowed him to mover her around without her skin sticking to his.
This time, he moved his hands to her waist and held her between his fingers and thumbs. As he moved into and out of her more times, he squeezed her waist a little and felt that there was a lot of flexibility. Squeezing as hard as he could, he felt the fabric of the corset bunch a little under hands, and knew that his next tightening could be more than the gently nudge of an inch or so.
He moved his hands up and down her body; holding and massaging her breasts and smoothing down to her pubic area, pressing on her mound and into her labia, and then round her sides to hold her hips and press on her buttocks a little. He pressed her buttocks together and then pulled them apart; and repeated this few times. She tensed as he did it and he knew what was in her mind.
“Time to persuade her more to her liking,” he thought, and moved his hands from her breasts to her mound.
Smoothly pressing his fingers into the crease either side of her clitoris, he set up a rhythm with his penis inside her and his right hand on her clit. Pressing gently with three fingers and moving them from side to side, he knew the rhythm she liked. Three motions on his fingers to every one of his penis.
He felt her relax on him as her pleasure started to rise. He could feel the mew moisture under his fingers and on his erection. She was building towards an orgasm. “And then, she’ll be more amenable,” he thought.
Sure enough, she became tense, arched her back as his rhythm continued. He was careful and restrained in his movement and his pressure. After a few minutes, her breathing became deeper and her legs started to tremble; until with a great gulp of air, she came to a massive orgasm.
“Ah. Ah. Oh. Mmmmmm,” she murmured.
He held her and stopped his stimulation because he knew from the past that she liked to settle quietly and with only her own hands on her body. She settled onto him and she could feel the girdle fabric next to her skin. And he became even more aware of the girdle as she settled with her warmed skin next to him.
She held her own breasts, and then her abdomen, and let her hands come to rest crossed on her mound; as if protecting herself. Her back stopped arching, legs stopped trembling, and breathing became normal. He let her become totally relaxed again and held her breasts. All was quiet.
“You know what I want?” came the question again, and he thrust his erection into her a little further as if to emphasis the urgency of her answer.
She made no reply and he moved his hands to her waist again, undid the laces and tightened the corset by more than last time. There was a response.
“Ugh. That’s tight,” she said
“It isn’t tight,” he corrected her as he tied off the laces into a bow at the front of the corset.
He re-commenced holding her breasts, feeling at her flat abdomen, and squeezing her waist; and all the time moving in and out of her delightful vagina.
And so it went on with the same question and non-response for five more times. And each time, the corset was tightened a little more. After these five intervals, she was beginning to pant for breath and at each tightening made her little murmuring sounds. He knew that her waist was now under 20 inches and he spent most of his time holding her waist, while pumping his erection in an out of her vagina. Almost, he could reach round her waist with his fingers and thumbs; but not quite.
She had tried a few times to place her own hands on her waist to feel its smallness and to gain some comfort but he’d pushed her hands away each time. Now, her arms were outstretched either side of them both and resting on the bed.
“You know what I want?”
Silence and the movement of his hands to the knot; but this time was different. As he made a huge effort to shut down the corset onto her body, she spoke.
“No – more. Please. I – can’t — take — any – more. No-o-o-o-o. Pleeease,” she was gasping out the words.
“You know what I want?”
“Yes – I — know,” she said at last.
“What is it I want?” he asked his second question.
Silence and the undoing of the knot, and the final reduction of her waist; to the smallest he could manage from his recumbent position. But it was enough this time.
“No — more. No — more,” she gasped and tried again to hold her own waist, which he prevented until he had retied the knot.
Then she put her hands on her own waist and felt the hardness of the corset over her tiny rigid torso. She felt the bones and wrapped her fingers around her waist to any extent she would never have believed possible until then.
“Oh — my — god — what – have — you — done — to — me?” her voice was rising and she was on the point of a scream; a hysterical scream; as she felt the minute attenuation of her waist.
“What is it I want?” he insisted.
“You — want — me — in — my — bottom,” she said after five years of the knowledge but never having spoken it before.
“Yes. Be still. Tonight I shall take what I want,” he spoke softly into her ear close to his shoulder; not threatening, but the words rang in her head and she knew that resistance would be futile.
“I’m – bursting. You’ll – break — me. Please — let — me — out,” she pleaded through her rigidity.
“Soon. As soon as I have what I want. Then you can be free again,” he whispered.
He took hold of her waist and lifted her a little off his erection. Then he moved his hands so that he was holding her buttocks as they rested on his thighs, on top of his long girdle legs. Holding her buttocks open slightly, he positioned his erection at her anal opening.
She was well oiled, inside and out, and he pressed his stiff penis into the opening. Her body yielded again and he pressed a little more.
Now he took firm hold on her waist and used that to press her down onto his erection in her pulsing rectum.
“Oh – oh,” she groaned, “Oh – no, oh — my — Godddddd.”
Her eyes were closed and her head arched back against his shoulder. This wasn’t the first time she’d had anal experience. She’d worn butt-plugs for her own stimulation. But she’d had bad experience of anal sex many years before and avoided it ever since. And tonight, this man had immobilised her in a corset-prison and had her at his mercy. He was ploughing into her intestines. She had no pain or even discomfort but she had the knowledge of where he was and what he would be feeling, and how high he would reach. She felt used and possessed in a way that hadn’t happened before; and it was that knowledge that impressed itself on her imagination and her sensations. Partly, she felt disgusted but also intrigued by what was happening, and the sense that she was doing something unusual. Without actually forming the thought in her mind, she came close to wondering, “How many women have done this. I’m doing something rare and special.”
He was now plunging and raging in her rectum, and she was in danger of falling off his body. Her rigidity in the corset prevented her from holding herself in place, balanced on top of him. She tried putting her arms out to each side to gain some stability. When he thrust into her, he was pressing her waist down towards his feet. When he was pulling out of her, he was dragging her waist up towards his head. She was being flung around like a corseted rag doll and felt herself slipping to one side, as if to slide off him. His girdle made him more slippery, and she was aware of the tight fabric rubbing against her thighs and her buttocks.
It was then he took another hold on her body. A more rigorous and restraining grip. He placed his left arm across her waist and took hold of her right hip. His right hand moved up to her throat, took a grip under her chin, and forced her head further back over his shoulder. She was being stretched out, almost as if on the rack, and still he was plunging and bucking under her.
His orgasm began to build up, and his movements became more extreme. Within his tight girdle, he could feel the tensions of his climax developing high up in his girdle-contained waist and progressing down his abdomen. He felt the excitement spreading over his groin and adding to the pressure and the pleasure of the girdle. The squeezing pressure of the open crotch around his engorged penis seemed to enlarge him further and he experienced some more resistance to his movements in and out of her slimy anus. He wanted to move more vigorously, to add more sensation in his nervous system. He just wanted to empty himself into the bowels of this lovely woman in her corset with the tiny waist. He wasn’t concerned over her anxiety, or her body discomfort, or the fact that she was being thrown around like a corset-stiffened doll.
For her, these minutes were the worst of her sex-life. She was being squeezed into an impossible shape by the corset, stretched out like a victim of the Inquisition, thrown up and down as if she were on a boat in a storm; and her intestines were under a constant throbbing assault which she could feel high up in her chest. She could only just breathe in time with the movements but she was coming to the end of endurance in these conditions.
“Oh — oh — oh,” she gasped in time with his thrusts, but began to panic as well.
“Aah — aah — eeh — eeh.” She was on the point of screaming again.
And then he came – massively – inside her, with his own exclamation, “Aaaaghh.”
She heard it and her panic receded as his movements relaxed, and so he became still. She could feel just the pumping of his juices into her body; the springing of his erection; the movement of his testicles against her buttocks as he tried to press into her as much of his body as possible.
He relaxed his hold on her throat and placed both of his hands on her waist again. He held and squeezed her waist as he withdrew from her rectum. He wanted to hold that waist for hours, until his erection rebuilt itself and he could take her again. But good sense prevailed, and he moved her to one side, and slipped from under her. She lay on the bed, still trussed up like a full sized Barbie doll, with an impossible figure. Except, of course, that it was possible and she was the living proof. He raised himself on one elbow, removed her blindfold, and leaned over to kiss her face. Which was wet with tears and she still gasped for breath.
Raising himself further he kissed over her breasts and down onto the corset; nuzzling and kissing with his lips all the way down the front busk-fastening to her groin and finally pressed his mouth into her mound. She was still and silent but for a gentle residual sob. She felt down to her waist and pressed her fingers around the tightened figure, and the sobbing stopped. Her eyes opened wide, she marvelled at her own figure, and turned to look straight into his eyes.
“That’s amazing,” she said, “I didn’t know I could do that.”
He kissed her full on the mouth and they exchanged a closeness with their tongues even as she held her waist and he held one breast.
“That’s so exciting. I didn’t know,” she was discovering new sensations and also new expectations from this man.
He knelt up and undid the knot at the waist, at the front of the corset. Immediately, it began to open at the back, out of his sight, and he could see the relaxation of her waist. He rolled her onto her side and worked to open the corset further at the back lacing. Eventually, perhaps after perhaps two minutes, it was sufficiently open at the back and he rolled her back to face upwards. Then he unclipped the six pins of the busk, and the corset fell open either side of her.
Instinctively, she reached to her waist and began to massage the marked and reddened skin. And he joined her in the massage. He leaned down and kissed the marks and the creases, and she placed her hand on his head. It was a precious gentle and sentimental moment. He lay down facing towards her, and spoke softly into her ear; telling of his love and his appreciation of the excitement she had given him. She knew that he was thankful; and admired her for the strength of her body and the pliability of her figure inside the corset. And so they slumbered a few minutes. She with the corset open either side of her, and him still in the now-soiled tight long-leg panty girdle. He felt at himself in the firm boned and zippered fabric; and she reached over and smoothed her hand over his body also.
“That’s nice,” she murmured, “fits you will and holds you well. Hmmm.”
After a few minutes, he rose from the bed and took off the girdle. Then he bathed her; kneeling on the floor outside the bath as she languished and moved around to let him cleanse her totally. As a last movement, he pressed his fingers gently into her anus and allowed some of the warm soapy water to swill around the opening.
After that they dressed, and made another date. He wanted more. She didn’t know what she wanted; except that this man had given her sensations, pleasures and fears that no other had. She wanted more of what he could give her. And if it meant more corseting; well, she was pleased at the knowledge of her tiny waist and the concentration of her erotic sensations.
At least now she could answer “Yes” to his question, “You know what I want?” And next time she could do that with more eagerness.
Copyright Oggbashan December 2010
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
Fort Vauxrein was the worst Foreign Legion posting in Algeria. It was originally built to protect an isolated water hole on a significant camel-trading route. It gradually lost its purpose as other water holes on the route failed, making the camel route impracticable.
No one came. No one passed the fort. No one challenged its hold on useless desert. The only people who came to the fort were replacements for its tiny garrison. The posting was for the Foreign Legions misfits, not its criminals, but those deemed incapable of becoming competent soldiers. In the 1930s it had become an embarrassment to the French authorities in Algeria.
The only officer was a superannuated Ensign. He wouldn’t accept retirement because he had nowhere to go. The Legion had been his whole life once his aristocratic family had discarded him as unsuitable even for breeding stock. His only success in life was in persuading his superiors to keep Fort Vauxrein as a base for incompetence. He enjoyed reading in his library, drinking fine wine in moderation, and the luxury of sole command that had nothing to do.
The four sub-officers had shown, over and over again, that they had no leadership skills. The handful of the eighteen privates who knew how to load their rifles couldn’t hit an elephant at fifty yards. The Legion had equipped them with the most useless and ancient rifles in their stores.
Fort Vauxrein had guns. Plenty of guns. They had been hauled over the desert in the mid-19th Century and carefully mounted to command all the approaches to the Fort. Apart from the test firing on installation, they had never fired a shot, and shot was all they fired – grapeshot or solid iron cannon balls.
The soldiers drilled with those cannon several times a week. Even they couldn’t make errors with 18th Century muzzle-loading cannon. The fort’s Commandant wasn’t convinced. They loaded canvas cartridges filled with sand, rammed the cannon balls down the muzzles, stood with lit tapers and applied the taper to the touchholes. On Bastille Day and New Year’s Day something would happen because they placed a small sprinkling of powder on the cannons’ touchholes for the celebrations. The set of small flashes was Fort Vauxrein’s firework display.
Once a quarter the garrison fired real cannonballs. The sand-filled cartridges were replaced by gunpowder-filled ones. The sub-officers made sure that no soldier stood in front of the muzzles, and one by one the Commandant ordered the cannon to fire. They fired half the cannon in the morning, stopped for the midday meal and a siesta, and fired the remaining cannon in the early evening. The sand dunes around the fort showed deep scars caused by the cannon balls. The next morning a detail had to collect all the cannon balls and bring them back to the fort for re-use.
The fort had only one asset. It had a resident cantiniere, Anne-Marie. She was the cook, the barmaid, the laundress, the supplier of small items such as tobacco and sweets, and the fort’s whore.
No one knew how old Anne-Marie was. She had been a fixture even before the Commandant. She was a large, plump woman who admitted she had never been attractive even in the remote past when she was young. She had come to Fort Vauxrein long before the First World War because she knew she would be the only woman there. As the fort’s cantiniere she would have no competition for her trading activities and her body. At any other fort or garrison she would not be the whore of choice.
Alone of all the fort’s inhabitants, Anne-Marie had contacts with the local tribe. She traded with them, exchanging goods from the capital for fresh goat’s milk, vegetables, meat and anything else that the fort needed. She exchanged information with the tribeswomen to their mutual benefit.
Each time she wanted to trade she would take a couple of loaded mules and ride the third. Some of the soldiers felt sorry for the third mule, carrying Anne-Marie’s heavy body.
Anne-Marie was reputed to be the richest cantiniere in Algeria. The fort’s garrison spent almost all their pay with her, either for goods or for sex. Twenty-three men’s pay wasn’t a fortune, but that pay over many years had built up to a considerable sum because Anne-Marie’s prices weren’t cheap.
Each man could have a night with Anne-Marie once a month, if he could afford it. Almost all of them did. The sub-officers could pay for more than one night a month. Anne-Marie went to the Commandant’s bed every Sunday night.
Although her physical charms were very faded, her sexual skill in providing whatever each individual soldier wanted was legendary. After all, she had practised on generations of soldiers. For the past twenty years her skills were demonstrated in a darkened room. Anne-Marie, with the lights out, could be any soldier’s dream partner. In broad daylight in the desert sun, she could be his nightmare.
The sub-officers and soldiers of Fort Vauxrein had one skill that they had brought to perfection through repeated practice. They could paint. They painted the buildings. They painted the fort’s walls. They painted the rocks. They painted the fort’s horse drawn carts, the sand-wrecked armoured car that would never move again. This palled after a time and they began to experiment with murals. The inside walls of the soldiers’ quarters were painted with erotic scenes of imaginary women in lascivious poses.
The murals were painted time and time again becoming more erotic with every renewal. Any visiting officers were given a guided tour of the artwork and marvelled at what could be produced with the inspiration of the one elderly fat woman present in the fort.
Life at Fort Vauxrein had been the same, year in and year out, for dozens of years until two separate decisions were taken, far apart, but about the same time.
The French government decided that Fort Vauxrein should be abandoned to the desert. It was a convenient dumping place for useless soldiers but another place could be used. Resupplying Fort Vauxrein was expensive.
The local tribal chief had too many sons and his eldest son was worried about his inheritance being cut into too many small pieces for his brothers and half-brothers. The sons would become adult at twenty-one years. If one son inherited, any sons who were not adult at the time of the chief’s death were likely to perish from ‘childhood illnesses’. Any who were adult might have a ‘hunting accident’. If the inheritance was divided then the process of elimination might involve civil war before one could become undisputed chief.
The son, known as Ahmed the Reckless for his propensity to rush in where fools feared to tread, challenged his father to declare that the eldest son should inherit the whole of the tribe’s meagre assets and the large area of infertile land they controlled.
Ahmed’s father had never been convinced that his eldest son would be suitable to lead the tribe. Ahmed was a lightweight, even by the standards of his tribesmen who were always close to starvation. He was shorter than the tribe’s norm and lightweight in applied brainpower as well as body. Apart from being reckless, Ahmed had a chief adviser, Suleyman (known, but not to his face, as ‘the Slimy’) who had ambitions to be the real power behind the chief. Suleyman kept Ahmed’s bed supplied with a succession of willing women eager to be the mother of a child in line for chief’s son.
All the women knew they owed their chance to Suleyman, and reported exactly how Ahmed had responded to them, what his sexual preferences were, and anything Ahmed said that he shouldn’t. One of Ahmed’s repeated wishes is that some of the women would wear European clothing including underwear. So far Suleyman had been unable to meet that request but thought that it might be possible if Anne-Marie was approached through intermediaries.
The chief wanted to dash Ahmed’s ambitions so that a more suitable heir could be appointed and didn’t want Suleyman anywhere near the reins of power. The chief also knew exactly what his eldest son’s sexual preferences were because the women reported discreetly to him as well as Suleyman.
The chief told his son that he would consider whether Ahmed was suitable to succeed as chief of the tribe if Ahmed would successfully complete a challenge that his father would set. If Ahmed failed – he would be passed over for another. If Ahmed declined the challenge – he would be passed over for another. Would Ahmed accept the challenge?
Ahmed instantly agreed. His father sighed. Ahmed was being reckless, again. He should have tried to find out the terms of the challenge before answering.
“Very well, Ahmed,” the chief said. “I think you might need the help of your friend Suleyman. Both of you come at dusk. I will assemble the elders of the tribe and tell you, and them, the terms of your challenge.”
Ahmed saluted his father and left to seek Suleyman. Suleyman was not pleased.
“What is the challenge? What will you have to do? You have no idea but you have accepted? Suppose your father asks you to fly to the moon. You have already accepted the challenge. You would fail and your status as presumed heir would be lost.”
Ahmed tried to persuade Suleyman that the chief wouldn’t be so unreasonable as to set an obviously impossible task. Suleyman was not sure. He knew that the chief was wiser than Ahmed believed.
When Ahmed and Suleyman appeared before the assembled elders, Suleyman was worried. This could mean the end of his plots, his long-term plan to rule through Ahmed.
Ahmed was excited. If the challenge was reasonable, he was sure that he could succeed and become his father’s heir.
The chief announced the terms of the task that Ahmed had to perform. Suleyman carefully wrote down the chief’s words as he spoke them.
“Ahmed. The task I am setting you is to convince me that you might (the chief emphasised ‘might’) be a suitable successor to me when I die. You agreed to accept the challenge earlier today, didn’t you?”
Ahmed tried to produce a sonorous reply to match his chief’s formal words. It came out as a squeaked “Yes!”
“Very well. Our traditional enemies, the occupiers of our land, are the French. They are far more powerful than we are. We cannot face them in open battle so we must harry them when we can. We have to practise deceit, to act secretly, to strike and then vanish into the desert, yet what do we achieve? Our best and boldest warriors die to inflict pinpricks on the French that scarcely trouble them.
Your task is to do something more than a pinprick. Yet I am reluctant to lose more of our warriors. So…”
The chief paused to allow Suleyman’s frantic scribbling to catch up. He spoke very slowly and clearly so that every word could be heard by the elders and the wider population of the tribe.
“…without losing the lives of a single one of our warriors, nor incurring injury to any of our warriors, and without being humiliated in any way, you must take something from the French garrison of Fort Vauxrein that they are unwilling to lose. If you can do that, I might consider you as a potential successor. No more than that. A potential successor.”
Ahmed looked up at the repeat of ‘potential successor’. What did his father mean?
His father looked back at him.
“I said ‘potential successor’ because at present you are not. So far your life and conduct has not been suitable for a future chief. If you succeed, you might have changed my opinion of you, and more importantly, the opinions of the council of elders who will decide after my death, no matter what my wishes might have been in life, exactly who will become the next chief.”
The elders nodded. One of them stood up, walked across to Ahmed, and handed him a scroll.
The chief spoke again:
“That scroll contains the exact words of the task I have outlined. Your advisor has been scribbling unnecessarily.”
At same time as Ahmed was being told the terms of his task, the fort’s commandant was re-reading a letter he had received with the supply delivery. The letter told him that Fort Vauxrein was to be abandoned. None of its stores, armaments, nor equipment were considered worth saving.
The only item the authorities were concerned about was the fort’s magazine full of gunpowder. Gunpowder was useless to any other unit but it should not be allowed to fall into the hands of the tribesmen. The commandant was instructed to expend all the gunpowder without damaging the fort. The structure might have a future use, if only to protect the waterhole from the encroaching desert.
The next day was a Sunday. That day Anne-Marie set out with her three donkeys to the tribesmen’s encampment. She had some unusual items in her trade goods. In response to some of the women’s requests she had raided her wardrobe for the underwear and clothing she had worn many years ago when she had been comparatively slim. She also had a couple of mail-order catalogues of cheap women’s clothing. She could order for the tribeswomen, get the items with the fort’s next supply train, and bring them on her donkeys.
At the encampment she retreated with the women into the darkened ladies-only tent. There she produced her battered suitcase of ancient clothing. The women were disappointed. Even in their backwater they were aware that voluminous directoire panties, ankle-length slips, hobble skirts and Gibson-girl corsets were not fashionable however well made. They agreed to look after the suitcase for Anne-Marie and sat down for the real business of swapping gossip and examining the delights of the mail-order catalogues.
Their main item of information was the challenge that the chief had given Ahmed. They had the challenge word-perfect and had even written it down for Anne-Marie to take with her. None of the women considered Ahmed to be a suitable chief, almost all preferring anyone but Ahmed.
Who else might be suitable depended at first on the particular woman’s male relatives. The arguments were fierce but the majority thought that the chief’s third son, unusually named James after his maternal grandfather, was the best of a limited choice. Unfortunately James was still too young to succeed if his father were to die within the next two or three years, but after that? He would be their choice.
Anne-Marie asked if she could meet or perhaps see James. His aunt went to fetch him. At his age of nineteen he could still enter the women’s quarters, if more than one woman was present, without causing a scandal. Next year that would be difficult, the year after, impossible.
When James arrived the other women left, except his aunt.
“What do you want from me, Anne-Marie?” James asked in French.
“You speak French, James?” Anne-Marie was surprised.
“And English. I went to school in Algiers. So, what do you want from me?”
“You know of your father’s challenge to Ahmed?”
“And you want him to fail?”
“Of course. I don’t want to die. Being Ahmed he will probably fail anyway, but I might be prepared to assist in that failure.”
“And accept help?”
“Ah. Accepting help means accepting an obligation. It depends whether the help is worth the obligation, Anne-Marie.”
“OK. What I need is permission to continue to trade with the tribe. Until now it has been of mutual benefit…”
“…your prices are rather high, Anne-Marie, but taking into account the delivery costs and the ten per cent commission you pay to the chief,
not wholly unreasonable. If I were fortunate enough to become chief, we could probably continue the arrangement to our mutual benefit. It would of course expire when you do. You are not likely to live as long as me, unless something untoward happens to me…”
“…and that we will try to avert, James.”
“Very well. What do you suggest?”
“If Ahmed is going to take something from Fort Vauxrein, he can’t do it from here.”
“He will have to set up a base much closer, and there is only one possibility, the Well of Miriam.”
“If he were to be surrounded and ambushed there, he would have lost his challenge.”
“Also true, but that could be dangerous both for those unfortunate enough to follow him, and to those who ambush him, that is assuming that the ambushers will be Fort Vauxrein’s incompetents. They might kill one of ours by mistake, or worse still, one of their own. I wouldn’t trust any of them with live ammunition unless they were five miles from me.”
“James, have you considered any suggestions for making Ahmed fail?”
“Yes, Anne-Marie. Humiliation is one of the fail factors. Humiliation of Ahmed would be sufficient. I wouldn’t want any of our tribe humiliated even if they are led by Ahmed.”
“How could he be humiliated?”
“That’s where you can help.”
“Me? You mean me, personally?”
“Yes. You have an enviable reputation for sexual prowess that belies your, forgive me, appearance. Our women have learned much from you. If Ahmed is informed of your skills he will be determined to experience them for himself. If you can get him into an embarrassing situation, he will have failed his challenge, no one will be injured, and the way will be clear for me in a few years’ time. Do you think you could contrive that, with help from our women?”
Anne-Marie considered James’ question for a few minutes.
“I think so. If I could be ‘captured’ by Ahmed’s men and brought to the Well of Miriam, with help from the women with him, I have an idea that will humiliate him. I don’t think you had better know what my idea is. Can you arrange for the women to cooperate?”
“I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even know that there is a plot. But my aunt can.”
James spoke rapidly to his aunt in the local dialect. He knew that Anne-Marie could understand him. His aunt agreed to help. He left the two women together to work out details.
Anne-Marie returned to Fort Vauxrein that evening. Unusually she asked to see the commandant. In his office she asked whether she could speak to him in private. The commandant raised his eyebrows and ordered the duty sub-officer from the room.
“What is it that is so secret, Anne-Marie?” he asked.
Anne-Marie explained what she had learned, the discussions with James, and produced the written details of the task set for Ahmed. The commandant laughed. From the drawer of his desk he produced the letter he had received ordering him to abandon the fort. He handed it to Anne-Marie.
“You see? Ahmed can’t take anything from us that we are unwilling to lose. We are abandoning the fort and everything in it except the gunpowder, and the authorities don’t want even that.”
“There is one item you and the garrison don’t want to lose…” Anne-Marie said slowly.
“…and what’s that?”
“Think about it, commandant. I’m the only person or thing that the whole garrison value, if only for the credit I give them between pay allotments. If Ahmed captured me, he would have met his father’s challenge.”
“But he doesn’t know that you are the only thing of value, does he?”
“Nor does his father, nor James. But if he were to capture me, he might try to persuade you to surrender the fort in exchange for my release.”
“And that letter gives me authority to surrender the fort. But then Ahmed would appear to win. That wouldn’t do. He could be an embarrassment to the authorities.”
“But if I escaped while the exchange was being negotiated? That would embarrass him.”
“It would. Can you guarantee your escape?”
“Yes, commandant. Everything has been arranged. I will be ‘captured’ at the Well of Miriam where Ahmed will be preparing to raid the fort. I will suggest that I could be exchanged for ‘something the French value’ up and to the fort itself because I am the commandant’s mistress…”
“Which you are, every Sunday night,” the commandant interrupted.
“…but he will want to sample my body before the exchange.”
“Yes. He is being softened up for that now. The women who visit him each night are telling him how much they have learned from me, how expert I am, and by comparison they are mere beginners, and how he could reach undreamt-of passion in my arms.”
“Has he seen you, Anne-Marie?”
“Yes. Many times. He has also heard about me, and my skills, many times.”
“I hope, for your sake, that he is convinced.”
“I’m sure that he is. When he is alone with me he will discover that my skills include sexual bondage which I will persuade him to try.”
“I don’t think I want to know exactly what you intend. Poor Ahmed.”
“Poor Ahmed indeed. Once he is restrained, I will escape. Ahmed will have failed to take something of value, he will be personally humiliated, and no one will have been hurt.”
“And you have a trade agreement with James, the chief’s probable successor.”
“Yes, but if the fort isn’t garrisoned, I might have a problem getting my goods to the tribe.”
“Possibly not as much of a problem as you think, Anne-Marie. If your plot succeeds, I might tell you how you can continue to trade from Fort Vauxrein when the garrison has gone. But now, you have been alone with me too long for the garrison to accept. I will see you tonight?”
“Of course, mon commandant! For the usual fee.”
“Until then, au revoir.”
That evening Anne-Marie came to the commandant’s bed. She enjoyed her nights with him. Apart from being paid more than her usual fee, she had little to do. She cuddled the commandant to her voluptuous naked body, cradling his head between her breasts. She had to be careful. One night she had nearly suffocated him before his impotent struggles woke her.
His bed was the most comfortable in Fort Vauxrein and she could sleep undisturbed once the commandant had begun to snore softly. In the mornings she would roll over him, propping herself on her arms as he thrust underneath her. Her breasts surrounded his head as he tried to plumb her depths. She could barely feel his prick inside her but would encourage him with appropriate words as he came inside her. Another quarter of an hour of smothering him and she had earned her pay.
Sometimes while in the commandant’s bed she regretted the frantic pounding of the younger soldiers as they tried to arouse her to passion. However well endowed the soldier, Anne-Marie could accommodate his erection and wring him dry. But she would have appreciated the youthful ardour in a more comfortable bed.
That morning, unusually, the commandant asked her to stay once she had dressed.
“I need to send a message to the chief,” he said, “and you, Anne-Marie, are the only one who can take it safely.”
“I need to tell him that the army is intending to abandon the fort, that we are going to destroy all our gunpowder, and to ask whether he would consider a business proposal. At present, I don’t want to reveal the business proposal. I want Ahmed’s plot to fail first.”
“And I will try to ensure that the plot fails.”
“If you get the chief to agree, not to help you, but not to hinder, then you probably will. Ahmed’s own incompetence might not be enough.”
“I’ll need an excuse to return so soon, commandant.”
“Perhaps you’ve received a new catalogue? It doesn’t have to exist, just be the excuse.”
“That’s easy. I have several old catalogues that look right.”
The garrison was slightly surprised when Anne-Marie set off for the tribesmen’s’ camp with a single donkey. It was so unusual that they talked about it for most of the day.
At the camp Anne-Marie met the women who were curious about her sudden return. She explained that she needed to speak to the chief, in private, but that the excuse for her visit was a new clothing catalogue.
While the women pretended to be deciding on their purchases from the catalogue, the chief slipped into the inner part of the women’s tent.
Anne-Marie gave him the commandant’s message. She also explained how she intended to foil Ahmed’s task by allowing herself to be captured at the Well of Miriam, and then escaping.
The chief sighed.
“Is it such common knowledge that Ahmed is an idiot?”
“I know, and because I know, the commandant knows. You know. Most of your tribe knows. The women certainly know…”
“…the elders know. They and I would prefer James to be my successor. As yet he is too young…”
“…but he already has the wisdom that Ahmed lacks.”
“That is true. But Ahmed is of age. He must have some role in the tribe. We don’t have the useful post of village idiot.”
“With my help, and with that of your women, he might win that post.”
“I cannot be seen to help you, Anne-Marie, but I will tell my women to cooperate.”
“You do not need to do even that, O chief. They will do that willingly. They are irritated by Ahmed’s sexual demands on them.”
“Then I will leave it to you, and them.”
“Ahmed will take some women with him when he goes on his task?”
“Of course. He will take his large tent, his bedding, the long mirror in which he admires himself, and his women. He is stupid. For a raid you should take nothing but the absolute minimum, weapons, water and a little food.”
“Then the women, and his mirror, will be his downfall.”
“I need to know no more, Anne-Marie. I will send one of my elders with Ahmed to monitor his hoped-for failure. Good luck. But what about the commandant’s business proposal?”
“I know no more than I have said. He would like your agreement in principle to cooperation between you.”
“Then he has it. I would agree to anything that might improve the finances of our people. We have so little.”
“I will tell him. Thank you, O chief.
The chief left. Anne-Marie joined the women and explained her plan to them. One suggested a small change. If Anne-Marie were to be captured, it would be better if the women captured her. If she resisted the men, she or they might get hurt. The women’s capture would be a set-up and Anne-Marie need only pretend to struggle. Anne-Marie agreed. She asked that her suitcase of elderly clothing should be available near Ahmed’s tent.
She was surprised that the women already knew the day on which Ahmed would go to the Well of Miriam. She arranged to be riding close to the well, but out of sight of it, to a place where the women would ‘accidently’ find and capture her.
Anne-Marie left and returned to the fort. While she had been away the commandant had summoned the sub-officers and given them the news that the fort had to be given up and the gunpowder destroyed. He wanted the gunpowder to be used to widen the passes on the fort’s approaches.
The sub-officers arranged for barrels of gunpowder to be placed where they would meet the commandant’s intentions. It would take several days for the charges to be placed correctly.
Unfortunately for Ahmed’s advisor Suleyman, the several days to place the charges coincided with the time taken for Ahmed to move his raiding party into place at the Well of Miriam.
Suleyman went to reconnoitre the fort’s activities, crawling up the reverse side of a dune as a gunpowder charge was set off in the rock face supporting it. He was thrown high in the air, landing again in the soft sand, half-buried in it, but then peppered with falling rocks that cut and bruised him. His plight was observed by the chief’s appointed elder who had remained at a safe distance.
The elder had to assist Suleyman from his covering of sand and rock.
“You won’t tell the chief, will you?” he asked anxiously. “I’m not really injured.”
The elder didn’t reply but had to support Suleyman several times as they made their way slowly back to the Well of Miriam. Suleyman had to admit to Ahmed that his scouting had revealed nothing except the unexplained blasting. He undertook to return to overlook the fort tomorrow and then limped back to his tent to have healing salves applied to his wounds.
Fortunately for Suleyman, that afternoon the pre-arranged ‘capture’ of Anne-Marie was successfully carried out by the women. Brought before him, she admitted that she was the commandant’s mistress. Suleyman hastened to Ahmed’s tent, forgetting his injuries.
“O Ahmed,” Suleyman said, “Fate has smiled upon us. Anne-Marie, the fort commandant’s mistress, has been captured. We can exchange her for something that the French do not want to give up, and you will have succeeded.”
“Anne-Marie? Isn’t she reputed to be endowed with incredible sexual skills?”
“So our women say. It seems unlikely. She is a fat old woman.”
“I know that. I have seen her several times but the stories about her are legendary. If she has remained the commandant’s mistress for so long despite her appearance, there must be something exceptional about her.”
“Perhaps, O Ahmed, but she is a useful bargaining counter.”
“She will be just as useful tomorrow. She is not a virgin. I would like to know whether the legends about her have any foundation. Let the women bring her to me at midnight.”
“Are you sure, O Ahmed?”
“Of course I’m sure. Do it! You are dismissed.”
At midnight Anne-Marie was hustled by the group of women into Ahmed’s tent. They forced her to kneel before him. Two women put the battered suitcase of clothing in front of the long mirror.
“What is that?” Ahmed asked.
“In there are some of the tools of my trade, O master,” Anne-Marie said. “You want me to perform at my best, don’t you?”
“Silence, slave!” Ahmed ordered. “You are at my mercy. You women, leave us!”
The women left.
“So, Anne-Marie, you are mistress of all sexual enchantments, are you?”
“Yes, master, but I cannot show you the path to exquisite delights except in darkness. You do not need to see my miserable body, only to feel and experience it. If you could put out the lanterns?”
“Very well. What else do you need?”
“If you could undress yourself and lie on the quilts?”
“And then what?”
“Then you will feel what I can do.”
Ahmed put out the lanterns. Marie moved to her suitcase and opened it as Ahmed undressed. She joined him on the bed.
“What is this? You are still dressed, Anne-Marie.”
“At the moment. I don’t need to undress to start. I am your helpless captive, aren’t I?”
“Of course. We captured you.”
“Have you ever understood that sexual encounters have two types of joy, O master, the joy of penetrating a woman’s deepest cleft and the joy of being surrounded by her soft caress? The penetration is what most men feel. They do not think, or perhaps even give themselves time, to enjoy the woman’s response.”
“Then you have never experienced the sweetness of surrendering your manhood to a woman’s intimate caress?”
“No. Is there more pleasure?”
“Yes, if you accept that your penetration has two sides, the thrust and the response that the thrust produces. As you enter she accepts. As you thrust deeper she enfolds. No man can wholly enter into a woman. That is impossible. But I can give you an understanding of just how a complete penetration could be almost unbelievably overwhelming. Will you trust me to show you?”
“Why should I trust my captive?”
“Why shouldn’t you? I’m here, O master, in your tent, surrounded by your followers. If you were to call out, guards would come running, wouldn’t they?”
“Perhaps. It depends on the call. They wouldn’t respond to the noise of lovemaking.”
“But if you called for help?”
Ahmed was indignant.
“I would never need to call for help against a woman, slave!”
“Then your fears are groundless. You can let me show you what I can do. It means that you will have to surrender the initiative to me for a while.”
“Surrender? I would not surrender to you, nor to any woman!”
“It would only be the fantasy of surrender, a fiction, a situation that you could control at all times…”
“…and this would give me an unforgettable experience?”
“You will never forget it. But first you must give me permission to act. At present I am your helpless slave. I cannot give you the experience you wish for without pretending that I am your mistress…”
“Never. No woman of my tribe would dare claim to be my mistress…”
“Exactly, O master. They are too frightened of your power but sexual fulfilment is often reached by devious paths. You need to surrender your body to a woman to experience the most delicious ecstasy. Until now, you have always been the leader, the one who impales, the one who commands. But a woman can give far more if she sets the rules, she directs, she controls what and how the sexual congress is made…”
“You would control me? How dare you suggest such a thing!”
“It would only be the appearance of control. In such situations there are rules that the master sets. For example, if any time he were to feel that the woman is going too far, there would be a control phrase he will say. Once that word is said, the woman will stop immediately and the master resumes control.”
“What phrase is that?”
“Whatever phrase we choose. What about ‘Fort Vauxrein must be destroyed’? You would not say that phrase normally so I will know that is the signal for me to stop and release you from my control.”
“You are sure that this will bring me an experience unlike any my women have provided?”
“Yes, it will totally unlike anything they have done and completely irresistible.”
“Very well. You may proceed but mind, slave, that when I say the phrase you must stop at once.”
“Of course, master.”
Anne-Marie took a silk ankle-length half-slip from her open case. With it she gently stroked Ahmed’s body. His nose detected a trace of expensive Parisian perfume. Despite himself he became erect as the silk caressed him.
“Now imagine that this silk is the inside of a young woman’s thighs and that your manhood, massive though it is…” Anne-Marie stroked the silk briefly over his erection, “…has become the whole of you. All of you is penetrating between her soft yielding legs…”
She slid the silk over Ahmed’s torso. She was pleased that he responded with a soft groan.
“But as yet you have not begun to insert yourself between her lips of passion that are spreading to receive you…”
Anne-Marie slowly pulled the slip over Ahmed’s head and down to cover him from neck to his upper arms.
“Would it not be more enjoyable if her silken embrace surrounded your whole manhood, O master?”
“Yes, perhaps,” Ahmed replied.
“Then it shall. Kneel, please.”
Ahmed knelt on the quilts. Anne-Marie lowered the first slip until it covered from neck to hips, before she pulled a full-length slip down over his head, adjusted it around him carefully trapping his arms by his sides.
“As you penetrate her delights further you must also feel the tighter grasp of her silken self as she responds to your manhood.”
She lifted a corset from her case and wrapped it around Ahmed. She fastened the clasps at the front one by one.
“Can you feel her holding you more firmly? Can you feel her resistance to your thrust?”
Ahmed sighed slightly.
“Yes. The sensation is not unpleasant, slave. What next?”
“You need to penetrate further and deeper, far inside her. Please lower yourself.”
Anne-Marie helped Ahmed to lie on his back. She stroked his legs with silk stockings and then loosely tied them with slipknots around his thighs and ankles.
“There is yet more of your penetration that she can take, if you lift your legs, O master.”
Ahmed lifted his legs. Anne-Marie carefully eased her narrow silk-lined skirt up his legs and wriggled it up to his waist. The hem of her heavy long skirt hid even his outstretched toes.
“Now she begins to tighten herself around your manhood, ready to receive even more of you…”
She fastened the skirt’s waistband, tightened the stocking around his thighs and buckled the skirt’s hobble on his calves. She loosened the stocking around his ankles, folded up the bottom of the skirt under the stocking’s loop and knotted it, before lowering his silk-bagged legs to the bed.
“You have nearly reached complete penetration of her luscious body. There is one step more to achieve your whole penetration of her…”
She brought her voluminous silken panties over his face, stroking them gently across his eyes and cheeks.
“Can you feel her excitement?”
What Ahmed might have said was stifled as Anne-Marie suddenly stuffed a large fold of the panties between his teeth, wrapped a silk stocking over his encumbered mouth, yanked it tight and knotted it hard.
“Mmmph!” Ahmed’s gagged mouth struggled to speak.
Anne-Marie’s heavy body slammed across him. She rolled him face downwards before grabbing the corset’s lacing. She hauled each section of lacing tighter and tighter before knotting it. Ahmed tried desperately to throw her off but deprived of the use of his arms and legs he failed, slumping beneath her.
“Do you want to say the control phrase, O master?” Anne-Marie taunted. “It is so simple. All you have to do is say it…”
“That’s not it. I have to assume that you are happy for me to continue with your penetration and sweet surrender to her silken embraces. She has nearly done.”
Anne-Marie stood up, walked away from Ahmed’s helplessly struggling body and lit the lanterns.
“I can see that your penetration isn’t yet completed, O master. A few seconds more and your surrender to her enfolding charms will be totally overwhelming.”
Anne-Marie took some silken scarves from the suitcase. She wrapped a long one around his head over his silk-encumbered mouth before tying it cruelly tight. She wrapped another scarf as a hood over Ahmed’s head, blindfolding him.
“You have penetrated her completely and yet you are not erect. That won’t do.”
Anne-Marie dragged the struggling silken bundle across to the centre of the tent and heaved Ahmed upright against the central pole. She lashed him to the pole, facing the entrance, with more silk stockings and scarves. She knotted each one carefully so that he would be unable to wriggle free of the bonds.
“Now you have penetrated and are erect. But you haven’t experienced the full sense of your surrender within her engulfing body. You need to see how you have penetrated so completely within her essence.
Anne-Marie removed the blindfolding hood and replaced the scarf around Ahmed’s head so that she had uncovered his eyes and directed them towards the tent’s entrance. She brought the long mirror and placed it to the side of the entrance so that Ahmed could see himself bound inside a long black hobble skirt and a tightly laced black silk corset. His mouth and most of his head were sheathed in pink silk scarves. He shook his head in denial.
“O, master,” she said, “now I think you have experienced something your women have never done, something that is completely irresistible, don’t you agree?”
She rummaged in her suitcase to produce a placard inscribed in the local dialect – “Ahmed, Master of Women.”
She tied it to the tent pole above his head.
“As we are supposed to be enjoying the arts of love throughout the whole night, O master, the first people to enter this tent in the morning will be the women bringing your breakfast. They would want to know whether I have shown you something you have never experienced. Of course, once they have seen what needs to be done, they might wish to replicate it on you themselves.
Now, O master, I regret that I must leave you to the clinging embrace of your silken mistress. I have to return to the fort. Goodbye.”
Tim and Mary were a happily married couple in their mid thirties. Tim owned a local hardware business and Mary worked at the library. Mary was an attractive 5’7″, 115lbs, with long shapely legs and a 34C chest. Her conservative wardrobe routinely covered her body. She looked and acted like a librarian. While not too sexually experienced, she did have a passionate side that came out from time to time in the privacy of the couple’s bedroom.
When Tim mentioned he’d be going to a 3 day trade show in Las Vegas in two months Mary started to think about using that trip as an occasion to wake up their marriage. Mary thought about making herself over and surprising Tim with her new attitude in Las Vegas. She fantasized about letting loose away from home with sexier clothes and being more aggressive sexually. She found she was becoming aroused which in turn made the whole idea even more appealing.
Tim would be busy in seminars during the days of the show. He’d probably have business dinners to attend. As a result, she wouldn’t accompany Tim to the trade show. Instead she’d suggest they spend a few days in Las Vegas together after the show ended. She’d even move Tim to a new hotel to assure there wouldn’t be any trade show people around. She told Tim her plan for a short vacation and that she’d check into the luxury hotel while he was still at the show’s last day. He could then move his things over to the new hotel and they’d have a nice two night vacation. She omitted any mention of her budding makeover plans.
She’d have two days at home alone while Tim was at the show and most of one day in Las Vegas to accomplish her secret makeover. For almost two months she planned extensively for her makeover keeping all of her plans a secret. Using the internet she bought educational DVDs on oral and anal sex and some porn. She bought new clothes and lingerie and researched hair extensions and “Brazilian’ waxing.
Mary researched buying a corset on the Internet. She planned it for underneath the sexiest of her evening outfits- the new dress she was going to wear for her unveiling to Tim. She was sure a corset that constricted her waist and pushed up her breasts would be the perfect way to awe her husband. Ultimately, Mary decided she couldn’t buy such a garment on line; it might not fit. This prompted her to research lingerie shops in Las Vegas. She found a store that sold both ready to wear and custom made corsets. Its website looked like the store would have a large selection of ready to wear corsets so she’d be able to find one that fit on the day of her arrival.
About two weeks before the trade show Mary gave Tim an envelope with a note inside which said,
“I have some special plans for Las Vegas. Follow my instructions and you’ll enjoy yourself.
As you know I’ll be arriving in Las Vegas on Thursday as the trade show ends. I’ll be staying at the Four Seasons Hotel. I’ll be your “escort” for Thursday night. My name will be ‘Suzanne.’ You will refer to me only by that name and treat me as your escort for the evening. You’ll take your escort to dinner at a restaurant other than those we normally visit. After dinner you’ll be able to enjoy your time with your escort as you see fit.
You’ll meet your escort in the hotel lobby at 8PM on Thursday night. You’re not welcome in our new hotel room until after your dinner date. I want the room to myself to get ready. You’ll have to check your bag with the bell captain and dress for dinner at the golf club.
As you know some escorts go out of their way to give their host a special evening. You have your wife’s permission to enjoy your escort sexually in any way you want. If, for example, you don’t get oral or anal sex at home Suzanne might offer that so that your evening will be truly memorable. I think you’ll enjoy your evening.
You can assume your company has paid the escort service’s fee for the evening but a generous tip will be in order if Suzanne offers any special services. You’ll only have Suzanne’s services for one night. However, I think you’ll find your wife will have a new sexier attitude for the rest of your vacation. She’s looking forward to it.”
Tim read the note. He smiled and said, “That sounds great.” He put the note in his pocket. Over the remaining days before the trade show each spouse had the note in mind but neither spoke of it. Mary felt the note said everything she wanted to say; her full plans were to be a surprise. Tim was excited by the note; he didn’t want to spoil Mary’s mood by saying the wrong thing.
As he left for the trade show, Tim said, “As you can imagine I’m looking forward to this show more than any I’ve been to before. I’ll see you on Thursday evening.”
On the first day of Tim’s absence for the trade show Mary had a ‘Brazilian’ waxing appointment at a high class beauty salon in a town about ten miles from home. It was obvious to the staff that this was her first time and everyone tried to make her feel comfortable. She was embarrassed and nervous. The beautician said, “I’m going to have to trim your hair first. I need it to be about a quarter of an inch for the waxing. Do you want a landing strip or do you really want a full Brazilian?”
Mary wasn’t prepared for any discussion. To talk about her pussy with a stranger made the experience even more embarrassing. She hesitated and was even more shocked as the beautician ran her finger up and down Mary’s Venus Mound to trace the possible strip of hair to be left. Mary gulped as she felt the woman’s touch and heard her say, “My boyfriend loves my strip. I don’t know why but he sometimes rubs his cock against the hair and gets even more excited.”
Mary struggled to say, “I think I want everything waxed.”
“Okay,” replied the beautician. She proceeded to use a scissors and electric clipper to trim Mary. The contact was more prolonged and felt more intimate than Mary had anticipated. She was getting aroused despite her embarrassment. Surprisingly, the application and removal of the wax seemed less intimate. It was painful but not as bad as she’d expected. She concluded that she could do this once a month or as often as needed.
As she left the salon Mary felt exhilarated. She’d just taken a huge step. She had made it through her first Brazilian waxing and whether she liked it or not her pussy was going to be hairless for weeks. In the privacy of her parked car she pulled up the hem of her short skirt and her left hand found its way into her panties. She savored touching her smooth Venus Mound for the first time and was hugely aroused. She had to force herself to stop her exploration- deciding she’d enjoy the experience much more in the comfort and privacy of her home.
An hour later she was in her local hair salon for her hair extension appointment. She was getting the extensions and a new hair style she’d previously selected. The extensions were light brown to match her natural color and about 15″ long. She hadn’t had long hair since college and had never had as much hair as she now did. For the first few minutes it felt like she was wearing a hat. That feeling passed and seeing herself in the salon’s mirror for the first time with her hair fully styled made her feel very attractive and sexy.
Returning home, Mary stripped down to her bra and panties- new ones she’d worn for what she’d always remember as ‘waxing day’. They were among the new sexier lingerie sets for everyday use she’d recently bought. Mary proceeded to empty her lingerie drawer and replace its contents with her accumulated recent purchases. She then cleaned out many of her old dowdy clothes from her closet and replaced them with her new items. Finally, she added all of her new cosmetics to her vanity so they’d be convenient for everyday.
Feeling a great sense of accomplishment Mary poured some wine and relaxed. She put a porn DVD in the player and started watching a trashy looking blonde give a hunky guy a sloppy blow job. She’d watched the video before and found it strangely exciting to think of herself as preparing for the actress’s role. She wasn’t going to be filmed but she wanted to give Tim the same enthusiastic blow job she was seeing on screen.
Almost without knowing it, her hand had moved to her upper thighs and was enjoying the sexy feel of her legs. Gradually her hand moved up to her silky thong. Her fingers explored her naked groin along the edges of the thong and finally she used both hands to slip the tiny garment off. Her hand could now roam over her soft hairless mound. It felt sinfully sexy. Her fingers dropped to skim over her naked lips which were so moist as to allow her finger to effortlessly slip between them and toy with her most intimate areas. All of this was so arousing that Mary found her hips lifting off the chair with passion as her fingers played with her pussy and clit. Mary’s climax overwhelmed her without warning and she gasped as her whole body tensed and then went limp.
Mary’s second day alone was simpler than her first. She thought of it as her first day as a new woman. She put on her new make-up and styled her long sexy hair. She then selected a new every day outfit consisting of a tee, short skirt and low heels. She got dressed and studied herself in the mirror. She liked the look. Most of the day was spent running errands and packing. She packed and repacked- wanting to be sure she had everything for her night as Tim’s escort and then for the following day and night as his new wife.
When her tasks were done she replaced her outer clothes with a short silk robe, poured some wine and popped a porn movie into the DVD player to watch a lovely brunette get her ass fucked by a guy with a huge cock. She couldn’t imagine taking such a large cock into her ass. Knowing her husband was more modestly endowed made her smile; she was looking forward to having Tim in her ass and had packed the appropriate lube. Moreover, she had it planned that she’d offer her ass after he’d had at least one orgasm. She wanted him to last. She wanted to experience really getting fucked in the ass- not just his cumming after a few thrusts. She wanted to have an orgasm while her ass squeezed Tim’s cock.
Watching the video and daydreaming about anal sex gradually aroused Mary. She again toyed with her newly waxed pussy. In keeping with the video, she also lubed a small dildo and fucked her ass while playing with her clit. She’d never played with her ass in an erotic way before. The dildo was modestly sized; it felt good. She felt eager to accept Tim’s cock and fantasized about inviting him into her ass in just a day or two. Her orgasm wasn’t as violent as on the first day but it was just as satisfying. She now felt impatient for her trip to begin.
Mary arrived in Las Vegas in the early afternoon on the appointed day. After checking in at the hotel she took a cab to the corset shop. It was exactly as it appeared on the Internet. The selection of potential corset styles and fabrics was incredible.
Mary found a sales clerk named Sue and explained that she needed a ready to wear corset that would create good cleavage in her evening gown. They discussed that an overbust corset pushes the breasts up into mounds above the garment but wouldn’t fit well under a tightly fitted dress. Mary understood and said she’d selected her dress with the corset in mind; it had a scooped neckline that would show off the mounds of her breasts. Mary said she even had a back up outfit just in case the planned corset didn’t work out. Sue took some measurements and brought out three styles in her size. She showed Mary to the dressing room and for the first time Mary realized that assistance would be needed to lace up the back of any of the corsets. She sheepishly told Sue of her ignorance and how she didn’t know how she would be able to carry out her planned surprise for her husband.
Sue smiled and said she’d had other customers with similar problems. She said there were two easy solutions. Each would cost about $50. One customer had called her hotel concierge. The concierge had sent an off duty maid to the customer’s room to serve as a dresser. A $10 tip to the concierge and $40 to the maid had been appreciated. The customer had bought additional corsets on subsequent trips and used the same means of getting dressed for her date each time. The second option was that for $50 Sue would be happy to come to Mary’s hotel and assist with the lacing. Mary said that would be great. She then tried on three corsets and selected one based on Sue’s recommendation. It was a luxurious garment in red silk that displayed her breasts beautifully and really gave her an hour glass shape. Mary loved it and knew that Tim would too. Mary also bought an extreme push up bra and two slutty tops that she envisioned only wearing in the privacy of their house to please Tim. Mary and Sue agreed on 7:15PM as the time for Sue to dress Mary.
At 4PM Mary went to her hotel’s hair salon for her appointment. She had her hair styled and her nails done. The luxury of the salon allowed her to relax and enjoy the anticipation of her date.
When Sue arrived at Mary’s room, Mary had her make-up done and was wearing just a thong under a silk robe. The corset and stockings were on the bed.
Sue said, “Okay, let’s prepare your husband’s gift. Do you have perfume? Take off your robe.”
Mary removed the robe and handed Sue her travel size perfume atomizer. Sue proceeded to spray perfume below each of Mary’s breasts and then used her forefinger to rub it into the skin. Mary wasn’t used to such intimate contact and stiffened a little.
Sue said, “Relax. In my work I’ve seen and handled more tits than a gynecologist.” As she spoke Sue used one hand to pull out the top of Mary’s thong as she sprayed some perfume onto Mary’s Venus Mound and then spread it with a finger.”
Sue continued, “I brought some rouge for your areola. I’ve always found that men love dark areola. I think they also get off on the idea that you prepared yourself for their pleasure. Shall I put some on? It will rub off a little on the inside of the corset but that’s a little sexy for some men, too.”
Mary hesitated but then said, “Sure. I hadn’t thought about it but Tim will love that I colored my nipples for him.” Mary stood straight and pushed her chest forward as Sue applied the rouge.
Sue said, “Of course, if your man is typical, he’ll want you to keep the corset on during sex. He won’t see the rouge until later- perhaps the corset will be off for round two.”
Mary laughed and said, “At worst he’ll see it when we get ready to sleep. He’ll feel guilty that he missed some of my preparation.”
With the rouge done it was time for the corset. Sue had Mary turn away and had her hold the front of the corset in place as Sue threaded the laces. As she worked she explained the right way to tighten the laces so that the corset would be uniformly tight. The threading and tightening took at least ten minutes.
With the laces partially tightened Sue said, “Adjust your breasts so they’re comfortable and properly pushed up. You have to reach in and get them right. Do you want me to help?”
Mary was obviously embarrassed and said, “No. I can handle it.” She adjusted herself as Sue watched.
Sue said, “Perfect, Now I’ll finish tightening.”
Mary was a little shocked at how constricted she felt by the corset as Sue pulled the laces tight but Sue assured her she hadn’t tightened it too much. Mary surprised herself by saying that she liked the feeling.
“Some women go crazy in tight lacing. What I’ve done, I’d describe as ‘moderate’,” said Sue. “You’ll adjust to it in a little while and the corset will stretch a little as it conforms to your body. I gather you bought the corset to please your husband and that’s fine. If you’re like me you may find you’ll want to wear a corset regularly for your own reasons. In any case, it’s sexy. Your husband is going to love you in this. Your body is long and you have great breasts- perfect for a corset. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to see you in the shop tomorrow to order a custom fitted one.”
When the corset was fully laced Sue put Mary’s stockings and shoes on. She then helped her with her dress.
“You look great,” Sue said. “Sexy but elegant- not trashy. Your husband is going to love it.”
Mary thanked her and gave her eighty dollars. It was almost 8 o’clock.
Tim made his way to the hotel lobby comfortably before 8PM. He was intrigued and excited by his wife’s plans for the evening. He sat in a chair across from the elevators and waited for ‘Suzanne’. Watching dozens of people pass by Tim couldn’t help but wonder which women might be professional escorts. Finally, at 8:00 he concentrated on the guest room elevator. He wasn’t disappointed. When Suzanne exited the elevator, Tim was struck by her sensual appearance. He recognized his wife’s face but her hair, make-up and body looked much sexier than he’d ever seen her. She had dramatically longer hair than she’d had in all of their years together. Her long hair had sexy large curls and her make-up was much heavier than his wife would ever wear. Her dress was a form fitting black one with a slit up one side that showed a great bit of her left leg as she walked. The neckline wasn’t obscene but it displayed much more of her breasts than his wife would ever show in public. Her breasts looked great; they swelled out of the neckline of the dress; he couldn’t wait to bury his face in those mounds. She’d obviously bought a new dress for her date and probably new shoes since the 4 inch heels Suzanne was wearing were sexier than anything in Mary’s closet. All in all, the woman Tim was staring at looked elegantly sexy. She even seemed to carry herself differently; she stood a little straighter and taller. She walked almost like a runway model. Suzanne had obviously spent a lot of time on selecting her clothes, hair and make-up and looked just like a mature high-class escort should look.
When she approached Tim, Suzanne first spoke in French and then switched to English to introduce herself and to inquire if he was Tim. This really threw Tim off since it was a wholly unexpected twist on top of her unexpectedly sexy new look. He finally mumbled, “Yes, I’m Tim. Er…You’re very beautiful,…Suzanne.”
“Merci’,” said Suzanne with a French accent.
Throughout the evening Suzanne sprinkled French phrases into her speech. She spoke with a French accent in both languages. Tim didn’t speak French and so he didn’t know how well she was doing with the language that Mary hadn’t used since college but it was strangely sexy to have his escort be French. She periodically would ‘translate’ her French phrases into halting English for Tim just as a foreign speaking person might do after mistakenly speaking in their native language. Her speech made her seem less like his wife and more like a sexy stranger.
It took an effort for Tim to remember that he was with Suzanne and not his wife but it was great to not have any discussion of their jobs nor other everyday topics. In a mix of French and English, Suzanne stayed in character to make various observations about Las Vegas shows and other neutral topics.
Tim said, “I love your hair. It’s so full and long. It’s very sexy.”
Suzanne replied, “Merci’. I used to have short hair I’ve just gotten hair extensions. They’re real hair sections that are sewn into my hair and sealed to it. They’re said to last several months.”
Tim smiled at the message that the look was for the long term and said, “That sounds great.”
Suzanne then said, “You men just don’t appreciate all that women go through for you. Just today I visited a corset shop here in town. The corset I bought is very nice but it’s not something you just slip into. It laces up the back and the lacing has to be done carefully so the corset is uniformly tight and holds my breasts just right. It’s impossible for me to put it on by myself. I had to hire the salesgirl to come to my hotel to lace me up so I could get ready for you.”
On Tim and Mary’s return from Las Vegas Mary showed Tim many of her new clothes including the sexier lingerie and shoes she’d bought to wear with the various outfits. Tim was impressed with the number of new things she’d acquired. He was more struck by the fact that her closet and lingerie drawer had obviously been purged of many of her old clothes. The absence of the old items was clear evidence she had no intention of reverting to her old lifestyle.
On their first morning home Tim and Mary woke up early to get ready for work. Mary surprised Tim by saying, “I’ll need five minutes of your time after my shower so I can put on the corset Sue gave me.”
Tim was taken aback but tried not to show it. He couldn’t help saying, “Okay. Has the library staff seen the new you? You might need to show your ID to get in.”
Mary said, “I stopped in before I left for Las Vegas to show the women my new hair so I think they’ll recognize me. I wore more make up, too; that’s actually what they commented on the most. They teased and asked me if I was having an affair.”
Tim said, “Hopefully, only with me.”
After her shower and drying her hair Mary told Tim she was ready for his help. She put the loosely laced corset around her from the back and asked for Tim’s help in fastening the steel plate with its row of fixed pins into the opposite plate with its row of holes that made up the busk. When he had done that the front of the corset was effectively one piece. Mary moved the corset into place under her bra and held it. She turned so Tim could work on tightening the laces and said, “Please do me.”
Tim replied, “I’d love to ‘do you’ but I thought we agreed to give my cock a rest today.”
“Okay,” said Mary, “Tighten me.”
As he pulled the laces tight Tim said, “It’s very sexy to be doing this at home on a work day. It feels very different than in Las Vegas. That city is almost like as stage set; what we do here is real.”
Mary said, “I know. I feel the same way. I’m looking forward to work. I’ll be the only one in the library wearing a corset and a thong. Well, actually, there might be other thongs but I’m sure I’ll have the only corset.”
“That is hot. After you’ve been working for a couple of hours, text me about how you feel.” Tim finished the laces and confirmed that Mary found the degree of tightness to be okay.
During the day Mary sent several texts to Tim. The first said, “Friends say I’m taller, thinner, & sexier; they don’t know my secret.” She then wrote, “Two guys hit on me this morning.” Another said, “Corset makes me horny.” It was followed by another that said, “I feel sexy; no rest for you!” Later she wrote, “Be home at 6; Spread my legs & practice on me.”
Tim enjoyed her notes. He wasn’t sure if she was teasing him or if she was actually horny. He decided it didn’t matter. He had the perfect spot in mind for bending Mary over and enjoying her from behind. He then realized Mary’s last text had suggested oral sex. That was fine, too. He’d bend her over the furniture another time. He smiled at his wife’s bold messages and apparent horniness. He envisioned it might be a recurring scene-sexy woman in corset returns from boring library job to get eaten to climax and then get fucked by horny husband.
Tim made sure he was home before Mary that day. He wasn’t sure if she was serious about wanting to be orally serviced as soon as she arrived home but thought he should push the issue since she’d made the suggestion. He didn’t want to be the one who put the brakes on her sexual exploration. When Mary came in she said, “I assume you got my texts; are you available to satisfy my needs? I’ve been horny all day.”
“I’m here and I’m ready,” said Tim. “Your notes made me horny as well.” Tim reached out to Mary and took her arm escorting her into the bedroom. He then started undressing her. She stood passively and smiled at Tim’s eagerness. When he had her down to just the corset and thong Tim guided Mary to lay on her back on the bed. He stripped down to his boxers. He then spread Mary’s legs apart and crawled between them.
Tim ran his hands up Mary’s inner thighs and said, “Your texts suggested your mind was more on sex than your library duties.”
“That’s true. I was distracted by feeling sexy all day. I guess I’ll adjust but today most of the men seemed to be ogling me and the women were complimenting me. Those things and knowing I had a corset on under my librarian clothes was very hot.”
Reaching up to run his hand over her Venus Mound, Tim said, “You forgot to mention your nude pussy. Having seen the library staff in the past, I feel pretty confident in saying that you had the only waxed pussy there today.”
Mary laughed and said, “Yes. I’d agree. There might be some close trims but I don’t think there are any fully shaved or Brazilian wax jobs among the staff.”
Tim’s fingers ran along the edges of Mary’s thong and then insinuated themselves under it. After playing with Mary’s flesh briefly he removed his fingers and grabbed the waistband of the thong- sliding the tiny garment down Mary’s legs and off. Tim’s eyes settled on Mary’s pussy lips which were glistening with moisture.
As he traced his finger along her lips he told Mary how sexy it was to find her wet and she moaned as his finger teased her. He moved his other hand under her right thigh to grab her hip and inched his face closer to her pussy. Mary reacted to his hand on her hip with arousal saying, “I visualized you grabbing my hips several times today as I fantasized about you fucking me from behind.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking of as I read your early texts. If you hadn’t suggested I eat you, you’d be bent over the love seat with my cock pounding you from the rear right now.”
As he spoke Tim’s fingers toyed with Mary’s pussy and her arousal spiked. His tongue explored Mary’s labia and he said, “Of all the sexy things you’ve done recently, having your pussy waxed is very high on my list of favorites. It’s so sexy to be able to touch your exposed pussy.”
Mary was grinding her hips into Tim’s face and gasping with excitement as his tongue teased near her clit but didn’t touch it. Her hands were at her sides with bunches of sheet in her grasp and her hips were straining about an inch above the bed as she neared orgasm. Finally, Tim inserted two fingers into her and brought his tongue up to circle her clit. Mary lost all control and let out a short scream. She thrashed on the bed and Tim used his hand on her hip to allow his mouth and her pussy to rise and fall together. Soon her hands came to his head and she pushed him away saying, “I need you to stop now.”
Tim reluctantly backed his mouth off a few inches and withdrew his fingers. They were dripping with her sex juice and the smell of her sex permeated the room. After recovering for a minute, Mary said, “Do you want me here on a pillow or do you want me to bend over the love seat? Take me as you want.”
Tim said, “Roll over and put a pillow under you. I want you right here; right now.”
As soon as Mary had moved Tim raised himself over her ass and sank his cock into her dripping wet pussy. Mary eagerly pushed back against him as he buried himself as deeply as possible. Mary grunted that he felt very good and he thought the same about her but didn’t feel it needed saying. He pulled back and thrust into her as hard as he could- showing her how good she felt. He thrust several times with the same force. His body then picked up speed to fuck her as fast and deep as possible. In less than a minute his cock exploded in her and he collapsed on top of her ass.
As they recovered the couple hugged and kissed. They talked about Mary’s day at the library in more detail. She had loved the kinky feeling of secretly wearing the corset and felt great knowing that numerous men had lusted for her. Tim said he liked the idea that his wife was attractive to other men and was turned on by the subtle teasing she was doing.
After a while the couple decided they would get out of bed and have dinner. Mary suggested that she leave the corset on and wear a silk robe over it. She enhanced her look by donning a pair of sandals with three inch heels. She left the robe untied- allowing Tim to see her naked breasts and the corset frequently as she moved about the kitchen.
Finally, at bedtime Tim loosened the corset laces and helped Mary remove the corset by opening the front closure. She had deep red marks in her skin from seams in the corset but assured Tim they were merely marks. She had no regrets from her first full day of wearing a corset. In fact, she had enjoyed the day tremendously.
Over the ensuing days and weeks Mary settled in to her new sexier ways. She continued to augment her wardrobe with tighter and more youthful clothes and sexier lingerie. She enjoyed her new sexier look and her more dynamic sex life with Tim.
Mary wore the dark green corset several times a week. She had to coordinate with Tim’s schedule so that he could help her dress. She also found it much better to have his help with undressing. Using the front busk it was possible to squeeze the front tighter and open the row of steel hooks from the mated holes but it certainly wasn’t easy. She thought of it as an ‘emergency exit’- only to be used if your husband wasn’t available.
After the first week or so Tim said, “I was thinking about one of your conversations with Sue. I was intrigued by the distinction you drew between wearing a corset for yourself and my ‘corseting’ you as a form of bondage. So far you’ve been deciding when you want to wear your corset. That’s fine but when the custom leather corset comes you’ll only wear it when I want to corset you. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that’s the one with no front opening so it’s virtually impossible to remove without my assistance. You’ll wear it for as long as I decide.”
“That sounds hot to me,” replied Mary. “I’m looking forward to your corseting me.”
Tim said, “Unless you object in advance due to illness or other reasons, when I corset you the understanding will be that you are mine to use sexually as I wish. I’m not talking about giving you to others; the sex will just be between us but the how and when will be up to me. I might choose to penetrate your pussy, ass or mouth and you’ll welcome me. I might want to dress you a certain way. Your nipples might receive clamps or your ass might get a butt plug. You’ll accept such things and enjoy them. Is that something you’re ready to agree to?”
“Yes. I’m ready and I agree.”
Tim said, “I’m looking forward to the leather getting that old, soft, broken-in look. You may find yourself corseted quite a bit. You may even sleep in it from time to time.”
“I’m okay with that; in fact, it sounds very erotic.”
About two weeks after their return from Las Vegas Mary met with the owner of the local lingerie shop she’d mentioned to Sue and Tim. What started out as a job interview evolved into a discussion of Mary’s possible purchase of the business. Mary reviewed the owner’s financial information and inspected the shop. She left with copies of the financial papers to review with Tim. Following another two meetings Mary negotiated a purchase and the paperwork was signed up. A few weeks later, Mary quit her job at the library and assumed control of the shop.
In part because of her buying the shop, Mary was in touch with Sue regularly by phone and email. As an experienced corset shop owner Sue was an invaluable resource to Mary. While most of their contact was focused on business matters the women cared about each other and spoke of their personal lives whenever they could. Sue told of a new boyfriend in various conversations. Later he faded away after a few dates. Mary spoke of her new sexuality in different ways and kept Sue informed about her continued corset wearing.
Sue wasn’t surprised to hear of Tim’s interest in asserting control over Mary through one of the new corsets. She called Mary specifically to alert her when the new custom corsets were being shipped and they had a sexually charged discussion focusing on Mary’s new life in the leather corset. They speculated as to whether Tim would corset Mary everyday or for only from time to time. They also wondered if the couple’s sex life would take on other D/s attributes. Mary readily admitted she was naïve but eager to explore new things with Tim.
Sue would frequently seek more details from Mary about Mary’s sex life and while embarrassed, Mary would warm to telling Sue of her experimentation with bolder clothes, developing a passion for anal sex and the like. The women expressed their mutual hope that they could share an intimate evening together soon but Mary’s new business ruled out any trips to Las Vegas for the foreseeable future.
When the new corsets arrived Tim opened the package and immediately took out the leather one. He smelled the leather and examined the garment closely saying, “It feels good. It’s softer than I expected. Since its already late today we’ll defer your corseting in leather until the morning. I’m hard just thinking about corseting you for the first time.”
Mary said, “I can see that; you’re sporting quite a bulge.” She held up the other corset and admired it saying, “This one is nice too but it doesn’t sound like I’m going to get much use out of it.”
In the morning Mary showered. As soon as she dried off she saw Tim waiting with the corset. She asked for a few minutes to dry her hair and to allow her body to dry thoroughly explaining the leather would stick to her skin if at all damp. Tim nodded and backed off. Mary put on her bra and panties and then dried her hair. Tim noticed her bra and said, “I’ll let it go for today but in the future, when I’m corseting you, you should ask me first if I approve of your lingerie. There are some bras that I like more than others and some that are just not acceptable. When you’re corseted your bra needs to convey a certain raw sexuality, too.”
When she was ready for the corset Mary looked down at Tim’s boxers and said, “You’re obviously very excited about the corseting. Should I give you a blow job to calm you down. I don’t think you should expect one every morning but, then again, that’s up to you. That’s what I’ve agreed to and the idea of you requiring a daily blow job as you corset me is fine with me. It’s actually pretty erotic. “
Tim replied, “Thanks but I have something else in mind for today. At lunch time I’m going to come to your shop to retighten the laces- the leather will stretch a little this morning. I think a BJ would be nice then. Your assistant can mind the store while we go into your storage room.”
“What do you know about leather stretching?”
“Sue told me,” replied Tim. “When she called you to say the corsets were being shipped, she also called me. She explained about retightening and we discussed whether I should apply leather conditioner. She told me about a ‘lace lock’ I can buy if I want to bind you so even with a helper you can’t remove the corset. We talked about possible ‘tight lacing’ to reshape your waist. She also told me about a custom corset she offers that has a chastity panel in case I want to go further in corseting you.”
“Oh my,” said Mary. “I didn’t know you were into bondage so much.”
“I’m not sure how far I want to go. There are lots of possibilities. It’s only our first day,” replied Tim.
Tim directed Mary to stand with her back to him. He slipped the corset around her and asked her to position the front as she felt it should be and to then hold it in place. He threaded the laces as Sue had instructed him on their first day together. Lacing the corset from scratch every day was going to be a significant task. Tim wondered if he’d lose interest but then said to himself, ‘Most guys would kill for the chance to corset this woman every day. Count your blessings’.
With the laces in place, Tim started tightening- first at the top and then at the bottom- working toward the middle. This was just as he had been doing with Mary’s other corset so he felt comfortable in doing the job. The goal was to make it tight but not so tight that it couldn’t be worn for the whole day.
Mary said, “Even though the style is very similar to the green corset I’ve been wearing this one feels different. I don’t know if it’s the leather, the absence of the busk or the idea that you’re putting me in bondage but it’s different.”
“My cock senses a difference, too. Leather is erotic but I think it’s psychological. I’ve been looking forward to this morning for weeks. I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have a sexy wife who is willing to be corseted.”
“Yes, you are,” replied Mary. “But since my pussy is getting damp you don’t need to feel too guilty. I guess we’re both perverts.”
When the laces were fully tightened and tied off Tim said, “Turn around and let me see how you look.” Mary stepped away and turned slowly with her arms up so that her torso could better be inspected.
“You look fantastic,” said Tim. “In the future you’ll wear a bra that produces more cleavage or shows your nipples but nothing too blatant. I know you’re dressing for work- not a date. Let me feel your body.” Tim moved closer and reached to Mary’s waist. He ran his hands up and down the sides of the corset. “Very sexy,” he said. “When you’re wearing a corset your breasts look bigger and your whole body looks more womanly- in a sexy way. I was going to say ‘feminine’ but that doesn’t convey the strong sexual element I see in you.”
Tim then said, “Turn around and bend over the love seat.” Mary moved as Tim directed. Tim stood behind her, removed his robe and put his hands on her hips. “This is how we’re going to fuck when you’re wearing this corset- not every time but frequently. I love how it feels to grab your hips so I can control your body as I fuck you and your body looks very hot in the corset.”
Tim then dropped to a crouch behind Mary and fondled her ass and hips. He ran his hands down her legs and back to her hips. Tim then grabbed the sides of Mary’s thong and peeled it down to her feet. She lifted first one foot and then the other to assist in its removal and then spread her legs about a foot apart.
Tim rose to stand behind his wife and massaged her ass with two hands savoring its shape and said, “Your ass looks very inviting when you’re corseted. It feels very sexy, too. It’s nice and soft compared to the stiffness of the corset. Your light skin coloring is accentuated by the black of the corset.”
Tim trailed his fingers between Mary’s legs to reach her pussy. He found it moist and said, “It feels like you’re wet and ready for me.” He brought his cock to her opening and guided it inside with his hand. Mary moaned softly and ground her ass against Tim. His hands grabbed her hips and he used them to control Mary’s and his movement. “Great hips,” said Tim. “Very powerful and sensual.” As he spoke Tim thrust hard and deep into Mary. His thrusts were forceful and made all the more effective by his pulling on Mary’s hips. Mary had to grasp onto the love seat and spread her legs more to retain her position. His breathing became deeper as he enjoyed pounding into his wife. She was quiet but her body language showed her desire to be fucked. After a few minutes Tim’s excitement reached a crescendo and he came. His hands pulled Mary against him firmly so he could stay buried in her to the max. His cock jerked several times as it emptied itself into her.
Finally, Tim withdrew and told Mary she could straighten up and finish getting ready for work. “Oh. You’ve made me a mess. I have to clean myself up or I’ll have your semen running down my thighs,” said Mary. “I’m not complaining but you should know that I can’t go to work like this. If this is going to be a daily thing, maybe you could wear a condom. It would be a little like taking off your boots when the kitchen floor’s just been washed.”