Zippers, Hooks, and Bones

She was standing where I'd placed her, in front of the long mirror on the wardrobe door. I stood behind her. Her eyes were cast down and the expression on her face was neither happy nor sad; neither worried nor expectant. Her lips were closed and relaxed. Her hands were down by her sides with her palms open against her thighs. I looked for a few moments into the mirror; first to see if she would raise her eyes to meet mine and then to survey what I had standing in front of me. She was short; only about 5 feet tall but now she was wearing 3 inch high heel court shoes in black patent leather. The top of her head was on a level with my shoulders.

I liked what I saw and placed my hands on her waist; one palm on each side with my fingers and thumbs stretching to the front and back. As if I could hold her waist in my fingers, which I couldn't, of course. She made no movement of her body or of her facial muscles; she was as passive as ever, and her eyes still looked down. I pressed slightly with my middle fingers at the front of her waist and could feel the smooth tight fabric under my touch. Also, I could feel with each finger the long spiral bone that reached from the top edge of the girdle, under her breasts, to the bottom edge in the front-middle of each thigh. But I didn't move my hands up or down; I just felt the bone through the taut fabric, and marvelled as I always do at the firmness of the feel of a tight panelled girdle on a shapely woman.

With my thumbs, at the back, I could feel two more of the bones that reached from the top edge of the girdle, under her shoulder blades, to the bottom edge at the centre-back of each thigh; tucking under the shape of her bottom. I pressed a little more on these back bones and felt the girdle flex slightly into the flesh of her beautifully shaped waist and hips. I looked again at her face in the mirror and saw her downcast eyes, but then realised she was looking at my hands. I squeezed them both a little into her waist and her lips moved to the beginnings of a smile. We stood there for a minute with me gently squeezing her waist and she watched my hands, wondering what I would do next, I supposed.

Under my squeeze, I could feel also the cuff waist of the long bra that she wore underneath the high girdle, and the bones that held it firm against her skin. Her midriff and breast were held immovable with the strong fabric and the boning of the girdle on top of the bra. She felt like a piece of warm carved wood, rather than flesh and skin. Through my finger tips, I could feel the panels of the two garments, and the stitching that held them with their respective bones. I lingered for moments on each line of stitching, to feel the pressure of the corsetry on her body; the tension in the fabric; the stretching of the material over every small undulation caused by the bones. As well as the panels, this girdle was made with double thickness Lycra at the sides but a rigid panel at the front and a down-stretch satin panel at the back. There were at least 12 rows of stitching holding the various panels together, with the intervening bones.

I kept my left hand on her waist and pushed my right hand forward to the middle of her stomach and let it rest there for a few seconds. I could feel the flat tautness of the corsetry over her compressed figure. Then I let the hand move slowly down, feeling the tight smooth fabric and the bones; all the way to the bottom edge. There I let my hand rest with just the tip of my middle finger pressing under the bottom edge of the girdle. I could just sense the small curly hairs of her pubic mound but made no attempt to go further. At that stage.

Now, moving my left hand from her waist, I brought it to her back and let it drift down the tight contained shape of her hip, her left thigh and onto her left buttock. On the way, I enjoyed the feel of the back bones and the stitching of the girdle as it held her in its hard embrace. I let my fingers dwell over each millimetre of the boning and tight stitches, over the panel edges, over the specially sewn bottom, with its narrow stretchy lace edging that gave an appearance of gentlessness but actually spoke of even more control over her thighs and bottom. I let me hand slip under the smooth curve of her bottom until it rested half on the edge of the girdle and half against her stockinged thigh. I rested it against one of the back suspenders on the left side of the girdle for a moment. As well as the suspender and the bottom edge of the girdle, I could feel also the ends of two of the long bones in their channels, within the firm stretched Lycra.

Then with co-ordinated movements I moved my right hand to the middle of the front edge of the girdle and my left hand to the middle at the back, and pressed slightly. When I glanced into the mirror, I saw that she was looking directly into my face and our eyes met. Still there was no smile or other recognition of the sensations she was feeling under my hands. So I extended the middle finger on each hand; the right one into the bush of her mound and the left along the crack of her bottom. I kept pushing, pressing on her lower abdomen and her buttocks through the girdle, against her labia at the front and the space between her thighs at the back: until eventually my fingers met and I held her whole sex in my hands. It was a long stretch for my right arm but we stood there for some time, maybe two minutes, as I felt the warmth of her crotch. I noticed also that my right hand was becoming moist; perhaps from the closeness of our bodies and the pressure of my hand; but also perhaps from her excitement. I would find out later.

I relaxed the pressure on her lower body and moved my hands up the front of the girdle, under her arms, feeling again the shiny hardness of the inflexible front satin panel with its bones, and the construction of the long bra underneath. I continued until my hands were just under her breasts and I cupped each of them through the bra. She was not a big-breasted woman, say 36B, but she was firm and pointed, and very well held in the bra. The material of that bra was amazing; it looked soft and lacy but actually was firm and stitched, and had bones running down the side of each breast, the full length of the bra, in addition to the underwires. She was standing with her arms out from her body and stretching her calves because of the high heels. Her stance reminded instantly of a photograph I saw many years before in a brochure from Gardner & Sons, corset makers of London. For a corset style called "Jean," I think, the model had been standing for the shot with her arms out to show off her waist and pitched slightly forward to exaggerate the curve over her hips. That memory and the feel of this woman excited me more than anything I could remember.

I allowed my hands to let go of her delicious breasts and move down to her thighs, slowly to feel the tightness and the firmness of the corsetry with its unyielding bones; and her arms relaxed again over my hands. I traced the length and the shape of each bone from her waist to the bottom edge of the girdle. And then I moved across to the next bone and felt along that one; and so on for all the four bones either side of the girdle that kept it straight and controlled on her figure. I knew that girdle well; it could stand up by itself and I had done that with it many times in my planning of this evening.

[.....a month earlier, she had rested back after our first lovemaking and I leaned on one elbow, reaching across to kiss the nearest breast. She'd put her hand on my head and murmured softly, "So nice. So good. You're a lovely man."

I'd wagged my head even as I'd kissed her nipple, and then moved to look into her face, "No. You're wonderful. I want so much more with you."

She'd been quiet for some time and then said, "You can do what you want."

She hadn't realised what she was saying to a man with my special interests. I'd run my hands over her figure and estimated her measurements for what I'd had in mind. I'd known then that this woman would look and feel amazing in classic, vintage corsetry with tight stockings and high heels. I'd known already what I wanted for her. A high-line panelled zippered girdle, boned over its length, and with at least six suspenders. I'd seen the bra I wanted for her as well; long line with a cuff waist; also boned down the front, sides and back; and with a long row of hooks at the back.

I would make love to this woman when she was dressed to my liking. No; I'd plough this woman, grind this woman, fill, squeeze, stretch, bend, contort and explode this woman until I was exhausted and she was hardly conscious. Only her restrictive underwear would save her. And so I'd started my planning...]

I moved closer to her so that my chest touched her shoulders and the back of her head rested against my chin. I stretched as far as I could reach and pressed both hands under the bottom edge of the girdle. I held the front suspender on each side in my hands, and tugged gently on them. I moved both hands to the middle and pressed my fingers under the edge, into her pubis. I was right; she was wet and warm; so I pressed both middle fingers into her labia and felt her move for the first time. Looking in the mirror, I saw that her eyes were closed and her lips slightly open, just enough for me to see her front teeth. Her head bent backwards against my chin and I moved to let her throat to be exposed.

Slowly, I started to move my middle fingers against her labia and her clitoris, which was well-hidden. I remembered that from our first time together and now I knew where to search with my fingers. Her head and throat stretched further back against me and her eyelids closed tightly; almost as if she was in pain but this was pleasure. I could tell, so I kept up the gentle pressure and the rhythm for a long time. It took many minutes before she started to breathe deeply, then rapidly and then gasping through half open lips. Until, at last, she shuddered and her eyes opened, looking straight into mine through the mirror. She didn't smile and her eyes closed again as she took a deep breath and I felt her relax, but with her head still arched back against me. I never knew a woman who could reach orgasm standing up like this, and I was excited by her.

She looked into my eyes again and moved as if to turn round to face me, but I stopped her by holding her hips and kept her facing the mirror. Quickly and smoothly I moved my hands up the front of her body, under her arms, first holding her breasts momentarily, and then pressing on the front of her shoulders, until my hands rested on her stretched throat. Both hands pressing from the front and curling my fingers round to the back in a soft unpressured strangle. I smiled back at her and pressed my hands a little more into her throat. Her arms were stretched out, held my mine as I reached around her throat. I could feel her breath and the pulse in her neck under my hands. She was no longer smiling and her eyes were wide open; not the languorous half-shut eyes of a few moments ago. I relaxed my grip and her body slumped slightly against my chest; and she smiled again.

[...a month earlier, I'd asked her, "Will you dress specially for me, next time we're together."

"Of course," she'd replied immediately, as if it had been nothing new to her. She'd probably thought about frilly panties and a satin basque or suspender belt. Perhaps she'd thought about a maid's outfit, or a schoolgirl, or a nurse; all well established turn-ons for some men. She'd not known then about the girdle fetish and the lengths some men will go to for that special pleasure.

I'd decided to obtain as much commitment as possible before starting down a road that she my have baulked at.

"It'll give me great pleasure and I'll make it as comfortable for you as possible," I'd hinted and smiled. She had frowned a little.

"Will it be uncomfortable for me?" she'd asked, "what will it be?"

"Just nice clothing to show off your shape. Nothing to worry about. Shall I send you some pictures, some ideas, so that you'll know? Or shall we make it a surprise?" I had offered, hoping for the latter.

"No. Surprise me," she had said, "it will excite me if it excites you. You know that," she had replied. I'd known then that this was an extraordinary woman that I would enjoy, and enjoy, and enjoy...]

Now I placed my hands on her waist again, and backed away from her, pulling her with me slowly. I twisted my hands so that she turned and faced me with her back to the mirror. She raised her arms and held me around my neck as we kissed. I wrapped my arms around her upper torso and let the sensations of the corsetry filter through all my senses. She kissed me standing on her tiptoes, as I felt her hips with my hands, and her torso through my forearms. I could feel the firm tautness of the girdle and the bra, and the lines of the bones pressing against my skin. In addition, I could smell the distinctive aroma of warm Lycra, nylon, elastomeric fibres; as well as the warmth of her excitement as it arose between us from between her legs.

I pulled her towards me and felt the front of the girdle, tight and flat against my groin; against my growing erection. The front suspenders of the girdle pressed against my thighs, and her stocking tops felt smooth and warm somewhere just above my knees because of her short stature. She kissed and kissed me; full kisses with her whole passion; lips and tongue; teeth chewing at my lips; opening her throat for me. I explored her mouth to her back teeth and sucked on her tongue and her lips as well. That kiss by itself would have got me to an erection, but the feel of the corsetry doubled my arousal.

I brought my hands down to hold her waist again and pulled her towards me with a gentle increasing pressure, so that I could feel my erection trapped between my own abdomen and the central bones of her girdle. She wriggled slightly as we kissed and the bones moved against my erection, bringing me to a fever of excitement. Slowly as we kissed, I walked her towards the bed and we broke contact as I laid her down gently. She was still wearing her high heels.

There was no pillow on the bed so she lay completely flat with her head back on the mattress and her throat stretched just as it had been a few minutes ago. I bent over her and kissed her lips, moving then to her breasts as they pointed to the ceiling, held within their firm bra cups. I kissed the bra cups themselves and felt the stiffness of the fabric, the stitching and the edging, all enclosing her strong little breasts. I breathed in and could taste the slightly chemical smell of the nylon and other fibres in the bra. It was intoxicating.

As I was kissing her, I let one hand wander down her midriff, over her waist and so to the bottom edge of the girdle. I lingered as I went, feeling again the structure of her corsetry; the firm panel at the front, the bones and the stretch panels either side, and so to the edge with its suspenders. I dipped my hand under the edge and into her pubic hair, feeling for the little valley between her labia. It was easy to find. She was so wet; my finger slipped inside with no pressure and she opened her legs a little to allow my whole hand to rest between them, as I probed deeply into her. She moaned a gentle "Aaah." She was ready.

[...a month earlier, I had said to her, "I'd love to make love with you dressed. Will that be ok?"

"Fully dressed?" she had asked, with a little rise in her voice.

"No; dressed in nice underwear that I'll choose for you. It'll be a surprise for you. Ok?" I had asked, not wanting to give away too much of my plan.

"Of course," she'd replied. Clearly she had still been thinking still about flimsy sweet lacy undies, and I let her carry that thought.

I had known already that I wanted her in the firmest and most restrictive corsetry that I could get, short of a real steel-boned lace-up corset. That would come later, if I could arrange it.

"I look forward to the surprise," she'd said, "whatever you want. You please me so much..."]

Pressing my middle finger into her, I could feel the bottom edge of the girdle against my wrist. I pressed a little and the edge resisted me. I knew that sensation would be magnified as I got my erection into her; very soon.

Lifting myself on the other arm, I shifted myself on top of her and rested with my knees inside hers and my arms stretched out either side of the bra. I pushed with my hands and brought my erection down to the bottom edge of the girdle, and let it rest on her pubic mound under the edge. With one hand still on the bed, I moved the other down to lift behind her knee so that her knee bent and came up to meet my ribs. Placing that hand down to the bed, I did the same on the other side but she got the idea before I lifted her knee and raised it voluntarily. Now she was exposed to my erection in a tunnel made by the bottom edge of the girdle all the way round her hips. As I dropped my position slightly, I could feel the back edge of the girdle against my testicles, even as I probed forward and began to move between her wet warm labia. Her arms were stretched out on her either side, and she made no movement to assist or resist me. Her eyes were open and looking straight into mine.

I probed a little more and found myself entering her with no guidance by hand or other movement by either of us. She was smooth and firm; not too tight; slightly ridged; very slippery. I entered as far as I could in that position, until I felt the girdle edge pressing against my groin and resisting any advance. I stayed there for a few moments, feeling the firm girdle against my erection, and the smoothness of the front panels against my abdomen, especially the bones pressing against the hairs on my lower body. The corsetry felt wonderful. I was stretching her and the girdle, as she was doubled up with her feet now up near my shoulders. She closed her eyes with the pleasure, I presumed, of being entered and filled.

I leaned forward by bending my arms and rested my torso on hers, feeling as I did the full length of the girdle and bra beneath me. My chest pressed against the tight filled bra; my midriff against the combined tension of the bra and girdle over her waist; my groin against the now tightened stretching of the bottom edge of the girdle. I could feel the taut fabric, the hard-pressed body within the clothing, the bones and the stitching against my skin. The sensation and the knowledge of it gave impetus to my erection and my urgency.

Now her feet in their high heeled shoes were pressed up near her own ears, and her knees were near my shoulders. I leaned my full weight onto her and plunged my erection into the tunnel of the girdle. The back edge was hard against my scrotum and my testicles were rubbing at the stretched fabric; even as the front edge was pressing on my groin and resisting my movements. She was immobile beneath me, partly because of my weight but also because of the tight constraint of the corsetry. Her eyes were closed tight again, crunching her eyelids together; this time maybe through discomfort and apprehension, but perhaps through pleasure. I didn't know. I didn't really care. I was lying on an erotic bundle of corsetry and I was plunging into a delightful vagina that could not move in any direction other than that I gave it with my thrusting.

[... a month earlier, I had asked her, "Do you ever take the dominant role with a lover?"

"What do you mean?" she'd asked in return, "do you mean with a whip or something?"

"No. Course not. I mean do you like to take the lead with situations, and positions and movements? When you've been with a man?" I had clarified.

"Oh no," she had said softly, "I like things to happen to me. I like it to be a surprise. I like it when a pleasure finds me unexpectedly. Do you understand me?"