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My name is Lydia and I am both a mistress and a slave. My husband Petrus is both my master and my slave. One day I will get him to tell his story but, for now, this is mine.
Let it suffice to say that I am in charge of some aspects of his daily and nightly life; and he is in charge of some of mine. I have become his sex slave very willingly on condition that he obeys my requirements also.
My life since our wedding can be summed up in six events that shaped my life, my body and my attitudes. Let me tell you.
Event 1: getting me into shape.
On the day before our wedding, Petrus gave me a parcel and asked me to untie it. Inside were two white vintage style open girdles with stockings; very firm and boned, fastening with hooks and eyes on my left hip and a zipper to cover them. There were six suspenders on each of them [garters in USA.]
“Please wear one of these for me at our wedding. This is the beginning of a collection of things I shall ask you to wear in the years ahead. Is that OK?” he raised an eyebrow as he questioned me. It was already our agreement that we would make these kinds of promises from Day-1.
“Of course, dear one,” I replied and looked carefully at the girdle when I got it home; to make sure I would know how to don it and wear it for a whole day at the wedding and the reception afterwards.
And so it was that I wore a classical vintage girdle with nylon stockings to our wedding; and no one knew it except we two. It was a small but exciting secret at the beginning of our marriage.
Only someone who wears such a firm girdle can understand the process of undressing and sliding the open girdle up your legs and over your thighs, over your bottom, up to your waist and [in this case] up to my bra-line. It is not sliding at all; it is pulling, urging, forcing your body into the strong fabric and shape of the girdle. Then the bringing together of the five hooks and eyes on your left hip, before holding the zipper tab and forcing it upwards to cover the hooks, and to make you feel totally enclosed. It is a fabulous feeling on your skin and also gives the knowledge that you are shaped and held in a constant embrace.
Attaching the stockings is another ritual that eases with practice but is a trial the first few times. Sliding the stockings up your legs until the tops are straight and level across your thighs; bending forward and backward to stretch the suspenders into position and attaching them with their little button-clips.
The end result is superb to feel, amazing to see in the mirror and sexually exciting beyond description. I did it by myself on our wedding morning but have never needed to do it again ever since. Petrus is the one who dresses ad undresses me every day and every night.
On our first married night, he made love to me wearing the girdle and stockings; in many different positions. Kneeling on the edge of the bed with him behind me; lying down with my legs wide apart; my kneeling across his erection as he lay back; lying on our sides with him behind me like two spoons in the cutlery drawer; me lying on my belly and him lying on me to get into me up the tunnel made by the girdle over my thighs. It was all very exciting and unusual. I came to orgasm many times – and that was part of our agreement; that he would let me take as many orgasms as I could anytime, anyplace, any position with him.
Over the next month, we wore out that girdle with our sex-times. Slowly, the fabric and the bones became loose, and the suspenders less elastic as he stretch me around.
Then, on one memorable night, casino siteleri he pressed me into the Viennese oyster position; with my calves behind my shoulders and my feet behind my head. I was always very nimble and supple as a girl and pretty-much the same when we were married. My “party-piece” at friends’ gatherings and informal parties was to do the Viennese oyster. Fully dressed of course.
But on this occasion, the girdle was not up to the event. The back suspenders snapped away from the bottom edge of the girdle, the bones broke through their pocket ends and their protected steel ends were forced to stick out of the girdle completely. The zipper gave way and unmeshed itself with a zizz-sound, and the hooks pulled out from their stitching. Finally, the smooth back panel of the girdle, which always looked so feminine and sexy was stretched too far. From the top edge to the bottom, the fabric tore down with a sharp ripping sound.
By the end of the evening, that first girdle was totally wrecked. As he emptied himself inside me, and I came to another orgasm, the girdle lay around us in shreds. As he unwound me from the Oyster position, we were careful to keep the stockings if possible. But that was not possible either; they had torn through their welts even before the suspenders broke away from the girdle’s bottom edge.
I had the second one to wear, of course, and he is a clever and resourceful husband. Therefore provided replacements often and varied. At the end of the month, I had a collection of ten girdles; all vintage in style, all very firm and controlling.
On the first month-date of our marriage, 30 days later, he presented me with another parcel and we opened it together. It was a lace-up, front closing corset in a Victorian style. Full of bones and shaped to create an hourglass on my figure; tiny waist with spreading hips and ribs funnelled into the waist.
Getting dressed into that corset was more about putting me into it, rather than putting it onto me. Petrus obviously knew about such things and he carefully undressed me down to just my bra. First, he took my measurements under my breasts around my ribs, round my waist with a little tightness in the tape, and round the widest part of my hips.
Then he wrapped the corset around me and fastened it at the front with 6 strange little steel clips.
He explained, “This is called the busk. It takes all the strain of the corset once it is laced into place on you.”
After that he went around my back and adjusted a panel under the lacing; the skin-protector, he explained some more.
When the corset was all loosely in place on my figure, the real business of shaping began and I can hardly describe it to you. Why not? Because it mostly happened behind my back, where he was gradually tightening the laces.
If you’ve ever worn a tight-laced corset, you’ll know what was happening for me but to it was the first time. From the bottom of the lacing eyelets, he began to take up the slack and to make the corset fit onto the widest parts of my hips, and about half-way up the curve of my bottom. So you can see how long it was at the back. I assumed the corset was closed shut at the bottom edge.
Then he began and did the same from the top edge; slowly taking up the slack and tightening it until it fit just snug on my skin around my bra-line; under my breasts.
“This is easy,” I thought to myself, “it fits nicely on my skin and I can feel the stiffness of the fabric and the bones. Nice and easy.”
I assumed the corset was closed shut at the top edge also.
But canlı casino I was mistaken. The real function of a corset is to control and shape the waist and the hips. And that started properly as he tightened the lace along its full length of eyelets behind my back. Soon I could feel the pressure and spoke,
“That’s quite tight now; isn’t it?”
“Just a moment and I’ll show you,” he replied softly.
By the time that “moment” had passed, I was really feeling tight over my waist and flattened over my belly.
“Wow, that IS tight,” I croaked.
“Now let’s measure you and you’ll see what’s happened,” he said as he reached out for the tape.
To my great surprise, and horror, my measurements were exactly the same as before he put the corset onto me.
“How come?” I asked him, breathless with disbelief and also with the tightness I thought I was experiencing.
“Stick you thumbs down the top edge; then curve your fingers under the bottom edge. What do you feel?” he urged me, and so I did it.
Again to my surprise, my thumbs and fingers slipped easily under the fabric edges of the corset and along my skin.
“But it feels tight and affecting my breathing,” I exclaimed, “What is happening?”
“What you can feel is the weight of the corset and the stiffness of the bones against your skin. But not real tightness of the corset itself,” then he added, “but the shape of your waist has been altered from a circle to an oval. Feel your waist and you’ll see that it is pressed inwards at the sides, but now it’s longer from back to front. Yes?”
He was right. I had a good feel at my waist and could sense that almost all the pressure I was feeling was at the sides, over my hip-bones. But my tummy was flat and the busk-thing made a straight line from my bra to my pubic bone.
“So, is that it? Is that all that this corset will do to my figure?” I asked.
“For now, yes. We need to let the corset settle onto your figure for some time before tightening it any further. Now feel round the back and see how much is still open at the lacing,” he urged me by pressing my hands round to my back.
I was amazed to feel the laces open by two or three inches at the top and bottom of the eyelets, but open by six inches at the waist.
Alarmed, I asked him, “Are you going to close it on to me?”
“Not now. Later by easy steps. You’ll be surprised at how your figure will alter. Pleasantly surprised, I’m sure,” he smiled at me, intending me to be reassured.
He took me by the hands and led me to our bedroom. He helped me to kneel on the bed and took off his trousers. We always keep a handy pump bottle of lube-gel and he squeezed a little onto my labia and also onto his erection-tip. Slowly, he entered me and shagged back and forth while holding my waist. I could feel his climax rising in his erection as he speeded up and squeezed my waist very tight with his hands.
Soon he filled me and held me there for some minutes, caressing my waist, and waiting for his erection to subside.
We also keep handy a pile of small soft cloths, so he held one against my labia as he stood back from me.
“Thank you,” he said, “that was wonderful and a first for us. Over the years ahead, I’ll be making love to you like this a lot; as your waist and figure get more corset control.”
For a moment, I felt just used; but then the erotic aspect of the experience got through to me. I wanted an amazing figure with tiny waist and my husband clutching onto me.
As if he sensed my thoughts and feelings, he laid me down kaçak casino on the bed and buried his face in my labia and pubic hair, among my wet hairs and the stickiness of his own juices. With his usual skill with lips and tongue, he brought me to a lovely orgasm and I clutched at his head to hold him there until it passed and I relaxed again. He is such a clever and caring lover; my husband Petrus. It really did turn into a first-time for us both.
And so it was; my figure gradually altered as that corset was brought together and I’ve learned to live in a corset almost every day and night since that time. Over the next few weeks, we closed that corset and reduced my waist by 5-inches.
The night that we got that corset to close was a special event all by itself.
After two hours of gradual tightening, with one strong pull, he got the opening closed but for about half an inch, and then tied off the laces in a bow in the middle of my back.
I was feeling real pressure and had some difficulty breathing in.
“Let me out, please,” I asked him, “I can’t stand it. It’s cutting me in half.”
“Look in the mirror,” he told me, “see what it’s done for you.”
So I looked in the mirror and placed my hands on my super-small waist. I have to be honest and say that I was amazed and pleased with what I saw and how it made me feel.
The tightness and the sense of panic had disappeared. I was turning into Lydia the corset addict.
By this time, his erection was straining to escape from my clothing. He took me to the bed, of course, helped me to lie down, got undressed and gave himself over to every pleasure he wanted. I said nothing and didn’t try to stop him.
He lay on me full length, very stiff and very active. He ploughed into me like I was a fallow field. He plugged me up with his extra-wide erection. I felt like a tight little barrel waiting to be filled.
I could feel the bones of the corset against my skin, and the tension in the fabric, and the immobility it imposed on me. He held my waist and my bottom while lying full length and weight on top of me.
He turned me over and took me from behind, holding onto my figure inside the corset.
For an hour he stabbed his erection into me and filled me up with his juices. At the end, we were both exhausted and I was crying a little. Partly with pleasure and a beautiful sense of being overpowered and mastered by this strong man; but also by the pressure and the weight on me during his loving. I did think he overdid this corset-sex this first time, but soon I realized it was just the beginning.
After that night, tight corseting was our normal procedure and a string of tighter and tighter corsets followed every time one closed on me.
My figure became 36C bra-cup as before, waist 20-inches all the time and 18-inches for “special times,” and hips 38-inces as before. That waist reduction took me almost two years to achieve with gradual tightening of each new corset. I had and still have a set of night corsets which are a little shorter above my waist, for comfort’s sake. For my monthly period times, or if I am unwell, we place me inside one of my firm girdles [and sometimes two at once] for a few days instead of the corsets.
My orgasms are absolutely volcanic when I am corseted and that has been one of my most important discoveries. Even more so that when I am a little more free in the girdles and stockings. And I am ready for his erection inside me at all times. My corsets seem to have raised my own libido and keep me moist all day and all night. We shower a lot and use the bidet a lot, but we make love more than anyone we know and much more than either of thought possible at the start of our marriage.
But that was not then end of my containment or my control; as I’ll tell you in the next section.
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