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A Wife’s Corset Mistake?

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We are very much in love, my wife Katherine and I. In fact, our love and affection are legendary among our families and friends. People will call out, “Here come the loving couple,” as if we were the only such couple in the world!

We talk a lot. Especially on one occasion 4 years ago. At the start, nothing special; just reminiscing about life and people and experiences.

We’d been married 5 years, and were both in our 40’s.

OK; I would be 50 the following week. You get the picture?

We always avoid speaking of our previous relationships and especially marriages, since we’ve both been married before and it’s good to avoid anything that smacks of comparison. I’m sure you’ll agree.

On this occasion, we were talking about our earliest memories of childhood and early adult life. No names, no descriptions, nothing to link with a time and place. Just generalities.

Then Katherine made a single comment that was to change our lives from that moment.

“Do you know,” she asked, “when I was 21 years old, my waist was only 21 inches. I was so proud of my slender waist, even though the rest of my figure was perfectly normal and a bit rounded, I suppose”

This comment stayed with me for days and weeks afterwards.

Let me clear: I am a waist man. I love to see a tiny waist and had many relationships with women who controlled their waists by corsets, or at least they wore very firm foundations. You know; girdles and corselettes? Very firm indeed. And I loved them for it. And for the sensations of making love to a tightly-held woman. There is nothing like being close to a corseted or girdled woman, to hold her and to fill her; all the while feeling the extra pressure that comes from her clothing and the way it presses on her body. I can feel the bones of her underwear, the pressure on her skin, her sort-of immobility, her exaggerated shape with reduced waist and bulging hips, the flatness and tautness of her stomach and groin, the round firmness of her bottom, and the strain of the corset or girdle edges into her thighs. Fabulous and so erotic. My erection has always been at its best at these times.

That sort of sex is an amazing experience and leaves memories that never go away. But, mind you, there is an element of guilt in corset or girdle-sex. The woman becomes less important than her clothing. And you know that when you’re plunging into her. You’re plunging into the corset or girdle, really. She’s there just to wear them. You want to feel the tightness, the fabric stretched to its limit, the bones, the zippers or laces, the rigidity of the front panel or the steel busk. That’s what you really want to experience as you pour all your juices and sperms into the corset or girdle. And it can make for real guilty feelings, if you’re a sensitive fellow. As I am, of course.

And so, one evening as we were making love, I thought this is the right time to raise a new prospect in our marriage. As Katherine settled into a relaxation and slumber after orgasm, I casually asked her, “Do you wish you were 21 inches again?”

Half in her sleepy state but quite clearly, she replied, “I’d do anything to be that slender again — in my waist.”

And so my plans began to take shape. Literally in her case. I don’t think Katherine realised that what she had said would affect her life and mine over the next weeks, months and years. For me, the words, “I’d do anything…” were a commitment and an agreement, though not spoken. Her waist was going to become 21 inches again; by whatever means, however long it took, through any process that would achieve it, and with whatever fortitude would be necessary for her and patience for me. It was going to happen. And then I would get to make love again to a corseted woman with a tiny waist, lying immobilised against my body and accepting my hard penetration into her confined and compressed insides.

I decided to start easily and got for her a long high-waist open girdle, with suspenders and stockings, and a long boned bra. Then she could get used to the constant pressure on her skin, without the hardness and the inflexibility of a real corset at this early stage. The girdle was a style called Rago 1294 and the bra came from M&S in our town. Both in white although I intended to get her into black as soon as I could. A much more interesting colour from an erotic point of view. But step-by-step seemed a good idea at the start.

And so the evening came when I reminded her of her desire for a small waist.

“I got these for you, little one,” I said, using my familiar nickname for her.

“But these are so old fashioned,” she replied when she had inspected them for a few moments, “my mum would have worn these.”

“But that generation knew how to shape their figures, didn’t they?” I insisted, “Anyway, try it for me and see how you feel and if it has an effect you like. Yes?”

“Okaaaay. Let’s see how they look,” she agreed at last.

Fitting her into the foundations was fascinating and raised such memories canlı bahis şirketleri for me.

After Kate undressed completely, I knelt in front of her and unzipped the girdle down its left hip-side. And made sure the hooks under the zipper were also undone. Then I offered the long girdle for her to step into it. Right foot first and then second; and then I raised it slowly up her calves and onto her thighs. I have got the correct size for her current waist of 34 inches and the hips were about 42 inches, I guessed. Should be a perfect fit. But getting that Rago girdle into place on her hips and around her waist took much more effort and determination than I expected. At one point, I thought Kate would back out of the idea but no; she helped me by pulling on the front panels even as I was tugging upwards on the back part. This girdle has bones down the front and back, and around the waist; and they provided good tugging-points, so to speak.

Slowly, by many small manoeuvres of one-tenth of an inch, we got it into position around her waist; ready for the hooks and the zipper. Kate stood quietly as I urged the 6 hooks and eyes to link up. To be honest, it took more force than I was expecting from distant memory and now I know why. A brand-new firm-control girdle is quite stiff in its fabric and not yet flexible to the figure of the woman. Also, this style assumes a 10-inch difference between hips and waist, but Katherine’s figure showed a heavier waist than that. Anyway, we got it done up eventually, with hooks done up and the zipper run up to cover them with a smooth tautness. I could resist running my hands over her in this semi-dressed state, just to get the sense of the pressure and the smoothness of her body inside the garment.

Then I knelt again and offered both stockings to her feet. One at a time, I slowly gathered them, placed each of them on a foot, and ungathered them up her legs and onto her thighs about 2½ inches below the bottom edge of the girdle. There are six suspenders on a Rago 1294, three on each leg; and I attached the stockings. Now she was contained from under her bust to the tips of her toes, apart from a smooth area of skin high up on each thigh. I can remember that stocking-top skin-area from my petting and smooching days. It was so exciting, and meant that you were making real progress with a girl if you got to feel it. We seemed so crude in those days, judging now from the experience of age. Girls could agree to be topped, meaning breast-handling; or bottomed, meaning leg and pubic handling. Squeezing and pressing her breast was called “grawling” in my neighbourhood but I haven’t heard it since. Almost 40 years since, that is. A girl who agreed to be bottomed was a real prize and not to be lost easily. Such a girl would be guarded and cared for most jealously. Of course, any girl who agreed to be manhandled both top and bottom would soon move on because she was obviously seeking her own sensations and experiences.

Anyway, back to Kate. The long bra had shoulder straps, so I stood in front of her and lifted it into position for her arms to go through. Then round the back as she adjusted her breasts into the cups. She’s a 36D or 38C, depending on the maker. I learned that some years back when trying to get undies for her as a birthday present.

I slowly pulled the edges of the bra together and connected the 10 hooks and eyes. This bra extended down onto her hips and nipped into her waist with a cuff about 2½ inches wide. When she was completely dressed, she looked amazing. The girdle held her thighs and bottom, smooth and rounded; very smooth indeed and shaped by the fabric panels and the bones that extended down the length of the girdle. At the front she was smooth and flattened for the first time in all our time together. From her ordinary bra-line to her thighs, she was tight and almost flat. At the sides, the girdle was reinforced by the bra to nip her waist and show off the smooth curve of her ribs down to her hip-bones; over the reduced waist. Not a great reduction, but an inch or so smaller than before; and very noticeable. I stood back to look at her and admire the woman she had become in just a few minutes of special dressing. The future looked very exciting indeed. But then I got worried about Kate’s response to so much underwear, unfamiliar to her, and pressing on her figure in a new way.

I need not have worried. She looked in the long mirror and ran her hands down her figure; from her contained breasts all the way to her thighs and the stocking-tops. She stared at herself in the mirror before a smile came to her lips and she turned to me.

“Wow,” she said softly, “I didn’t realise what this would do for me. I like it a lot. Hold me now.”

I held her and walked her slowly to the bed, where I laid her down and played my hands over her contained body; and my lips as far as I could reach up her legs into the tunnel made by the Rago girdle. She was excited and moist and she smelled wonderful as I got my head up her legs canlı kaçak iddaa towards her labia and vagina. Her excitement was obvious and later I came to attribute this to the clothing and the unusualness of the situation.

She lay back and raised her arms above her head, onto the pillows. This always means, “Do as you wish” so I did. I knelt between her knees and gripped her calves, raising them and the whole of her lower body. My erection was poised at the opening to the girdle tunnel and pointing at her vagina. As I let her down a little, the girdle came opposite my groin and I thrust forward into her. The front edge of the girdle pressed into my own groin as I continued my forward movement, and then I let her legs down all the way to the bed. I was inside her but being pushed out by the bottom edge of the girdle. I pushed my arms forward and took hold behind to her shoulders and used her own body to pull myself into her. I was deep inside this fabulous example of girdle-corsetry, feeling the tension in the fabric and the hard control of the bones, and the multiple stitching of the panels and the edgings of the girdle. I let me elbows shift inwards until I was holding her waist with my forearms and could feel the extra tension of the cuff-waist of the long bra. She was panting by this time, partly from my weight and also from the pressure of the clothing into which I had installed her. My orgasm began to build and I shifted my position again, so that I could hold her waist in my hands and squeeze my own extra pressure to make her smaller. In my imagination, she was already 21-inches and that image gave my climax extra strength. I came and flooded her. And a few moments later she came also. No hands or lips or love-toys. She simply came, in a way I couldn’t remember for many years.

We collapsed together with my juices seeping out of her, drenching the back of the girdle. “Damn, always the need for laundry,” I thought through my post-orgasmic haze.

This was it: the start of my adventure and her something-else. I hesitate to say “her imprisonment” or “her training” but, in my mind, both of these could have applied because my goal for Kate’s tiny waist came before everything else in our love-lives.

Over the next few weeks, I bought her six more girdle-stocking-bra outfits. Different styles and the final two in black, which was always my plan. But they had one thing always in common: each was firmer, more severe and more restrictive than the one before. By the time Kate was wearing the final set of foundations all day and every day, she was accustomed to the pressure of the clothing, the routine for getting her figure into it. And the effect it had on her sexuality. There is no doubt that she responded erotically to the touch of the fabric and the bones and the zippers on her skin. Even as the girdle was lifted into place and fastened on her, her face and throat became flushed. As I attached her stockings, I could smell the scent of her excitement. And the different long bras all had the same effect of making her nipples stand out. Eventually, Kate was wearing one of these outfits 24 hours each day and that is why she needed so many in her undies-drawer. Her life now revolved around dressing and undressing in firm classic-style foundation-wear. She felt wonderful every moment of the day and night; and my appreciation showed. She would come close to me, just for me to hold her waist; or from behind holding her breasts through the hard detail of the bra; or placing my hand on her thigh to feel the multiple suspenders and her stocking tops. She loved it and I revelled in it.

The last one of these outfits was outstandingly severe. The black girdle contained no fewer than 12 long flexible steel bones; down the front panels, over the hips and down the back from top edge to each of the four back suspenders. There were four on each leg. Putting Kate into this girdle took a long time and getting it hooked and then finally zipped into place took force, perseverance and quite a little grunting on her part. The bra was equally effective and held her rigid from armpits to hip-bones. It also contained spiral steel bones that prevented it from riding up on her figure or turning over under her arms, or moving from its allotted position on her waist where it overlapped the long girdle. When fully installed with the addition of shiny black stockings, she looked magnificent. And then her sexual response was sometimes too much for me: I couldn’t get into her quick enough or I couldn’t last long enough. My own excitement was so heightened, that ejaculation overtook me long before I planned it; certainly long before she wanted me to keep ploughing into her and her girdled body. But we got by, shall I say? One way or another, we both got the excitement and the final release that we needed, as we learned to please each other and get our timings together.

Then came the day — or rather the night — when I made the important announcement.

“Tomorrow I’m going to order you a lace-up corset; canlı kaçak bahis so then I can start to change your figure.”

She made no response; just lay there in her underwear, panting slightly from our earlier sexual exertions; but not saying anything negative either. Not at that time, anyway. And so I got her out of the bed early next morning and measured her for the corset. I’d done my research and knew that corset makers needed up to 20 measurements to make a bespoke corset that would fit perfectly. I was surprised to find that her waist was reduced already to 32 inches, or even a little less. Such had been the long term effect of the girdles and long bras; gradually pressing on her flesh and fatty tissues, and her internal organs a little, I suppose. And her hips were now a little over 40 inches; so quite a reduction there also. Maybe she was eating less because of the pressure.

Another part of my research found that a waist-training programme should start with a realistic reduction of about 4 inches. So that is what I ordered; a corset that would fit Kate’s figure perfectly except at her waist, where it would be 4 inches less than her measured waist. Then we would take some time, maybe weeks and months for all I knew, to get her comfortable in that corset. What I hadn’t reckoned was the fact that this may take so long that more than one corset would be needed, even for this initial reduction. A few weeks later, I had to order another exactly the same; so that she could wear one and have another clean and ready at all times. So her waist was going to be 28 inches. Oh yes it was. For now; until the next stage, that is.

The first corset arrived in the post on a Friday morning. It was addressed to me so Kate didn’t open the parcel but she knew what it was and called me at my work.

“It’s here,” she whispered down the phone, as if the whole world were listening.

“Does it look nice?” I enquired since I had asked for a very attractive design to the top fabric.

“Don’t know,” she said, “I won’t open it ’til you come and show it to me.” And she giggled like a schoolgirl over the phone.

When we got round to unpacking it, 2 minutes after I arrived home of course, the corset was beautiful to look at and purposeful to feel, shall we say. I had ordered it 5 inches above her waist, to about her bra-line, and 9 inches below the waist to about the widest part of her hips. It had 24 spiral steel bones, four solid steel bones down the lacings at the back, and an almost-rigid steel busk at the front opening with 6 steel clips.

That corset looked as if it could control a rhino, let alone Kate, but she didn’t see this aspect. Only the beautiful patterned brocade fabric and some dainty lace at the top and bottom edges. That was lucky for me, since she didn’t anticipate the pressure and force needed to put her into it. As you’ll see.

Within a few minutes, we had disrobed her and removed her daily firm underwear. I went to her undies-drawer and got out a short bra; the sort she hardly ever wore these days.

“Why do I want this?” she asked.

“Because the long one will come under the corset,” I explained.

“But it goes right with my usual girdles,” she continued.

“The corset will be firmer so this short one may be better for now. Let’s see how it feels. Ya?” I offered, not wishing to explain the rigidity and possible discomfort of a tight-laced boned corset.

And so she put on the short white bra and I spent a moment untying the long lace at the back of the corset; and opening it is that it would fit around her. Then she stood facing me, as I wrapped it round her back and brought the front edges together. Again fortunately, I’d done the right thing and opened the corset enough to close the front busk without too much pressure on Kate’s skin.

When the clips were connected, the corset seemed very loose and floppy on her figure. She pulled as the top and bottom edges, and seemed disappointed that they were so loose.

“This doesn’t do anything for me,” she almost wailed.

“Wait,” I said and steered her towards the long mirror, “now I’ll start the fastening.”

Slowly, from the top and then from the bottom; and then from the top again; I took up the slack in the laces and brought the rows of eyelets closer together. Soon, the corset was lying on her skin at all points, but not exerting much pressure.

“How’s that?” I enquired casually, knowing what was to come.

“Much better. Now it seems to fit me,” she replied innocently.

“I’ll just tighten it a little more, so we can see the effect on your waist,” I explained.

With that, I started again pulling through the laces top and bottom, and taking up the slack with the big loops at her waist. The top edge was made to exactly her measurement, as was the hip edge at the bottom. So I closed those, and explained to her.

“The bust and hips fit perfectly. Your measurements. Looks nice, ya?”

“Feeling a bit tight. Smaller than I am — that’s how it feels,” she commented.

Now I started on the waist, and slowly but deliberately pulled the laces through the central eyelets until I could see the pressure on her skin. I kept going and she was silent, which surprised me. Eventually she spoke.

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