Changes Ch. 07

Author's Notes:

(1) This is meant to be an additional installment of the whole story called "Changes". Reading this chapter alone may not do much for you, unless you are a crossdresser or femdom freak, or both;

(2) Being laced into a corset for the first time is a cherished experience for many crossdressers and transvestic fetishists. It can change you in so many ways, both physically and psychologically.

(3) Enjoy the experience.

*****

It wasn't until late July that I was laced into the summer mesh corset. This was my final fitting, after several mock-ups, and if it was suitable, Sarah told me that the waist training would begin immediately, despite the hot weather. I hadn't been wearing the silicone hip and butt padding so far that summer, but today I did, and the corset contoured over top of it with a beautiful and feminine curve. With every pull and tug of the laces at my back, my waist began to taper, as if my life was changing shape as well. My lower ribs bent inward relentlessly as the process continued. Sarah stood in front of me in the fitting room smiling and coaching me like I was giving birth.

"The emerging sculpture...steps into the unknown," she said philosophically, "Another deep breath out. That's it. Now we take it away."

The problem (and the delight) was that with every breath out, I never got it back. I felt my stomach. It was as hard as a rock with the excessive and rigid boning, and it arced inward, with the effect of pushing my breasts outward. When the corsetiere tied the corset off at the back, she told me to put my arms down and comment on how it felt.

I couldn't tell her the truth that I was close to orgasm in a fetish dream come true. "Wow!" I said between short puffy breaths, mainly from physical compression, partly from excitement, "It's extremely tight, but damn...it's surprisingly comfortable! I, uh...wow, it's so... I feel so, uh, controlled, I guess."

The lady said, "Well, it is a type of control garment; that's for sure, but actually, it's not really tight. Not yet. You'll have restrictions to movement, but that just requires life adjustments on your part. Bend over, twist, and move around. Any "hot" spots?"

My movement was definitely severely restricted, but that and my breathing were the only issues. "It's fine," I said, "But I can't imagine it any tighter. The laces have to be closed at the back, aren't they?"

Sarah laughed at this and said, "Of course not! Not even close. This is only the start and we don't want to hurt you or destroy the corset by tightening it too far right away. It's going to be a long haul for you. You're squeezed in about two inches right now, and I'd say there's about three inches more before the laces close. Then we'll see if you want to take it down further with a new corset. Even now though, you look great, really curvy."

The corsetiere, wanting to get back to business, said, "Okay, now I need to explain how waist training works. Stephanie, you must wear this corset for twenty three hours a day, every day, for months, and maybe the rest of your life if you want to have a female waist. Use that one hour out of it to shower and shave and things like that, and then get laced back in right away. About every one to two weeks, lace it a bit tighter, and keep track of the reductions. You'll know when it's time to take each new step, but you have to push it a bit at times."

I was really turned on by this regimen, but I tried not to show it, just agreeing with them that this was a long commitment. "Well, it seems really tight already. I guess I can loosen it myself if it becomes annoying or if I get tired of it, right?"

"Well, yes you could. But that would defeat the purpose of this. If you want a female waist..."

Sarah chimed in now and said, "Stephie won't loosen it or take it off, will you sweetie? She has a fetish for tight women's underwear."

I was annoyed. "Sarah! Don't say that!"

She shrugged and smiled.

Recovering, I said with a laugh, "Well, I suppose I might adjust the tightness if I felt like it, and you wouldn't know, would you?"

This is when I found out that Sarah had told the corsetiere much more about my personality and sexuality than I had anticipated. Neither the corsetiere nor Sarah laughed at my humor. In fact, it was explained to Sarah (not me) , "If she does try to cheat, as I told you before during our original discussions, I can add a lock-on flap which encloses the laces so they can't be adjusted without destroying the garment. Your daily record of her measurements will be the telltale on whether she is cheating. It's your call. And the degree of your control over her corseting will be a function of how severe I make the locking flaps. There's fine chainmail that can be used in extreme cases."

I laughed nervously and awkwardly and said, "Really? Chainmail? You have to be kidding. Anyway, ha... I was just kidding about loosening it."

Sarah snickered and said, "Well, that's good to know. But we weren't kidding. There are no halfway measures on this; you either do it or you don't. If you like the idea of corsets (and I know you do sweetie) , then you have to do it this way, my way."

I stared at Sarah, looking for clues as to whether she was kidding or not. She turned away and checked a text message. There were no winks or smiles. "Well," I said, "Now that we're clear on that..." I was thrilled. She wasn't faking her domination and control; it was real.

I attached my stockings to the garters and from then on when I walked I felt the tug of them, so different from wearing pantyhose. I still needed to wear a girdle to help keep the hip and butt padding in place, so I pulled it on and then looked in the mirror. The result was a shock, and in addition to being physically breathless, I was now sexually breathless as well.

As a general comment, girdles are not "shapewear" as advertised; they only compress the fat and flesh. Corsets, on the other hand, actually shape a person with brute force; they redistribute the fat and flesh into places where it is wanted and eliminate it where it is not wanted. Even internal organs are forced into areas that they would not normally be over time and continuous contouring. I felt this forced shaping now. The corset allowed no compromises; my body had to submit and obey. Just like me. I looked at Sarah and I was unable to express myself.

She shook her head from side to side very slowly and said, "My, oh my! The shape is really good. After a few months of continuous wear, you'll be down about five inches and then just imagine the shopping we can do together! But even right now, my goal of not having you look like a man in drag is a success. We can go out (you can go out) looking like this in daylight, any time you want now without concern. No one will question your gender. I feel better about that, and I bet you do too."

I had a thought. "What if I decide to go out dressed as a man in the future? I mean, I haven't committed to being a woman full time, you know. So, uh, I can just take the corset off, right?"

Sarah looked at me curiously and said, "No, the corset stays put. Why would you want to do that? That would ruin your waist training. If you want to dress as a man (and I have no problem with that) , then you can just wear something that conceals the corset, that's all. I told you; you're in this for the long haul. Corseting is forever."

This was an epiphany. I had spent all my adult life concealing the fact that I cross dressed as a woman. Now I would spend the rest of my life concealing the fact that I was a man? The enormity of the shift in thinking hit me like a bus. I was gobsmacked.

"Forever," I repeated in a flat tone, trying to comprehend that measurement of time, "I see."

I didn't really see, and in my head, I always thought I could just change my mind and stop all of this any time I wanted, like that first cigarette or hit of heroin. Now I began to see my future. I loved being bound into this corset, being controlled by it, and indeed by Sarah. I was addicted to this, to being a woman and wearing all things feminine and that excited and terrified me. There really wasn't a way back.

Sarah and the corsetiere left me alone to put my skirt and blouse back on so they could conclude the payment. When I walked toward them I heard Sarah comment that the delivery of the other satin brocade corset would be sometime in August. I felt like a child in a clothing store where everything was taken care of by someone else. They decided what to buy, the price, and what I looked best in and I just had to comment on comfort and fit.

We exited the salon to the sunny street and walked side by side and hand-in-hand toward the parking lot two blocks away, in appearance, two lesbians in love. Everything was different now. My walk changed that day, and I felt like I was gliding in my high heels, with the corset forcing me to keep my body straight and erect, proud of what I was, what I had become. Both women and men glanced my way with that subtle up-down gesture of the eyes, surveying my shape, my clothing, my makeup, and judging all. It was nondescript for the most part, and each person passed without changes in expression. But I was still not accustomed to the stares of the men. They tended to linger at my breasts and hips like I wasn't a person, just an object of sexual fantasy, and being a heterosexual male myself (as hard as that is to believe) , I knew they judged me to see if I'd be worthy to fuck. I found that disconcerting, and looked away blushing in the hot summer sun.

Just like a woman.