Corset Friendship Renewed


This could become a very complicated emotional story so I’ll try to simplify it.

Barbara and I used to be an item. For six years, we did almost everything a sexy couple could do. Well; we did everything we could think of and had heard about.

Normal, oral, anal, toys, enema, binding, strap-on, golden showers, public places, suspended from the beams, tied together immobile, pumped up and squeezed down, fisting for us both, inflated with balloons and fluids almost to bursting point, rubber, ropes, Scuba. You get the idea?

But our big discovery was corsets. For years, I laced her into increasingly tight corsets. She wore one day and night for four years; getting smaller all the while. Her waist became tiny, so I could hold her in my two hands with fingers and thumbs touching. She loved the sensations of the tightness, and the effect the corsets had on her figure, and a greatly enlarged sex-drive in her and in me, of course. I used to get erect just touching her through her clothes; or even just by watching her move around with the knowledge that she was held in an hourglass by her underwear.

“Lace me and do me until I burst wide open,” she used to say. Of course, she never did burst, but we tried!

“Lace me so tight I can feel you in my throat,” that was regular request and I really tried to get that much of me inside her. I can tell you, she was so tight, I wondered how her insides could recover when the corset was let out or came off afterwards.

“Plug me up back and front, and then lace them out of me. Make it so tight. Then you can do what you want with me.” We did that many times also, and I debauched us both to frightening point afterwards. Did you ever get both your hands inside a woman, back and front, and also have her swallow your full erection? Let me say it took amazing contortions on both of our parts, and it was worth it. And she could accept anything I did with her. Amazing Barbara.

If you’ve never made love to a woman in a tight corset, then I would say you’ve missed something important in your sex-life. The pressure on her and the tension you can feel in your hands. The hardness of the bones and the laces mixed with the softness and flexibility of her body as it’s squeezed into the shape you want. The extra resistance inside her body as you penetrate. The extra swelling of her labia and her rectum as you play around on her and inside her. You imagine you can feel your own erection squeezing into her confined body, though your hands on her rigid waist.

This is true especially if you get behind her and she leans forward or kneels. Then you can hold that tiny waist and feel the tensions as you plunge and pull. As you hump into her, you imagine the tugging and the pressing on her insides. As if her organs and her intestines are massaging you with their extra compression.

All amazing and impossible to describe until you’ve experienced it.

And then our life fell apart. Barbara was divorced and had two boys. The boys kept regular contact with their father, who was a construction engineer but also, as an absorbing hobby, a martial arts expert. He won contests and had medals and cups for his successes. And the boys liked that.

And guess what: I just didn’t compare with their dad, did I? I’m an academic; a mathematics teacher, Professor in my own department in a minor university, written books, appeared on quiz shows on TV. Successful in my world but nothing to compare with jiu-jitsu or aikido. So one day the boys told their mum, my shapely Barbara, that they wanted to live with their dad; not keep having me around the place. All four of them had a pow-wow and I was duly removed from the scene.

“For the sake of the boys, you must understand,” she explained though her tears one day, “I want them near me, not just living with him.”

“But what about us – our love for each other – our plan to make a life?” I argued.

“Try to understand me. Don’t be so selfish,” she came back.

After that, it became a shouting session. Wagging fingers. Shrugging shoulders. Bad tempers. Words that sounded like “…never speak to you again…”

And that was that. I stormed out.

You see what I mean; complicated.

So to bring us up to date; I had spent 12 years away from Barbara but still living alone. And lonely much of the time because I never found any one so lovable, liberated or openly sexual as she’d been. I’d moved away; 300 miles away, to new jobs and better Bayan Eskort career prospects.

Then three months ago, an older colleague of mine died at the university near Barbara. The Vice-Chancellor [College President in USA, I suppose] called me at work one day and says that Professor So-and-so has died suddenly.

“The day before he died, he asked me to contact some of his old colleagues, to see if they could visit him. But then he died after only a few hours, and that was a big shock to us all.”

I got the funeral arrangements from him and decided I’d make the trip to see of the old boy; and maybe meet up with some former friends. It was to be just four days later, so I made my travel plans. Checked over the car, got out my funeral clothes, told my remote family I’d be away for a couple of days. Cancelled the milk and grocery delivery. You know the kind of thing.

But I decided on one extra item. I sent a text-message to Barbara. After all these years, I still had her phone numbers but hadn’t called her even once. This message was simple,

“Visiting your area suddenly for funeral Tuesday morning. Can we meet Monday afternoon or evening?”

Her reply was terse to the point of being a rebuff, it seemed to me.

“Sorry can’t.”

I interpreted that to mean “No. Too much time has passed. Life has moved on. Don’t contact me again.”

So I set off driving the 300-plus miles to a hotel near the funeral. I allowed seven hours to account for traffic and roadworks; a perpetual problem in Britain and has been for the forty years of my driving career. The highway authorities seem never to finish a road-building or repair project, before another one is necessary on the same stretch. Is it the same in other countries, I wonder?

At about the half-way point in my journey, my car-phone rings.

“Hello,” I replied in the usual unhelpful manner we all use.

“Hi. It’s Barbara,” said a familiar voice. My foot almost slipped of the pedal.

“Barbara. It’s so good to hear you. I thought you weren’t talking to me ever again,” I was truly surprised and didn’t know what to say.

“Well, I’m not, really,” she joked and giggled, “Where are you now?”

“About half-way. Maybe three hours from there,” I guessed and then had a second thought, “Can we meet after all?”

“Yes. I thought I couldn’t because of a problem at work, but now I’m free,” she explained.

“Tell me where to come and when. Anywhere. Any time,” I was speaking like a clumsy schoolboy.

“Shall I come to your place? What time? 6 o’clock. 7 o’clock?”

“Yes. Come here. Any time you can,” this sounded too good to be true.

“Barbara, don’t say that. I’ll be there at 4 o’clock if you’re not careful,” I joked.

“OK. Come at 4 o’clock.” Was she just enticing me or did she mean it?

Anyway, it was fixed; so I made my way to the motel as soon as I could. The motel was a dump; not a good choice based on my memory from a decade earlier. So I was glad to get away and make my way to Barbara’s place. About a 40 minute drive.

You can imagine what was going through my mind. I was going to hold her again and feel the bones of her corset, and the swell of her hips. Would she let me run my hands over her figure and feel her hard shape? Or would it be just a handshake and a cup of tea, for old time’s sake?

It was an awkward moment to drive up to her house, park the car and walk to the door. It opened as I approached and there she was. Older, but aren’t we all, and with a little dog at her heel. I stepped in and closed the door. The dog began sniffing at my ankles.

Straight off, with no greeting or warning, she reached up and put her arms around my neck, pulled me towards her, and kissed me full on the mouth. I held her waist and kissed her with the same vigour. I noticed that her waist was not contained in any firm underwear, and that it had expanded somewhat. Rather a lot, in fact.

“You look well,” she said as we disentangled ourselves, “just like I remember.”

“Not true, but thank you for saying it.” I was being truthful; grey-haired, stooped from a spine operation, and with bifocal lenses in my spectacles.

“But don’t look at me. I’m fat and I’ve lost control of myself since you left,” she was almost in tears and she held herself in a great hug, pawing at her figure as if it were made of putty.

I decided not to query her words, “…since you left…” For me it was always, “…when I sent you away…” Bit I left it unspoken at that moment.

I took hold of her again and she dissolved into full tears; sobbing into my shirt. She

came to quietness after a minute or two, while I still held her round her shoulders.

With a tear-stained face, she looked up at me and said, “I’m right, aren’t I? I’m ugly and fat.”

“No,” I said emphatically, “you’re the same Barbara I knew and loved. You’ve just lost touch with your underwear. Eh?” And I giggled a little. Thank God, she giggled back at me

“Yes. Time to get back into a corset, isn’t it?” she said softly, looking up at me. Her eyes were sparkling and could tell she was excited at the prospect.

But not so excited as I was; my erection was growing by the second.

“If you want to do that – and you know I’m the man to help you. Yeah?” I was beginning to form an idea and desire raised its head across my groin.

We kissed again and she whispered into my ear,

“Can you stay for…[pause]……breakfast?”

“Won’t the boys wonder about me?” I queried.

She laughed. “The boys are both married and working at the other end of the country. It’s just me and Alfie.”

She looked down at the little dog that was still sniffing around my ankles. So his name was Alfie, I learned.

The next 24 hours became a time of rediscovery for both of us.

A few minutes later, Barbara dragged me by my arm into her bedroom, and dug out from her drawers a variety of the corsetry I’d seem so many years before. She’d kept it all that time and now got out some things I remembered.

“I’m too big for most of these,” she said with a frown and a wrinkled nose.

I chose a corset from many years ago; when we first started to train her waist.

“Try this one,” I offered it up to her figure.

It was black satin, very heavily boned, underbust style, and looked like her size.

A few minutes later still, we were both naked and she was enclosed in the corset.

I stood behind her and tightened the laces until she made a little grunt to indicate the tightness. The corset was probably a 28-inch waist and was still open by a few inches.

I pushed my hands forward and held her breasts, and let them roam over her torso and onto her flattened tummy. I pressed my right hand down to the tops of her legs and under the front edge of the corset. I could feel her mound and her labia. She was moist and warm. Pressing a little further, I could feel her labia opening and also the entrance to her vagina. Moist and warm. She was ready.

Without my pushing or urging her in any way, she leaned forward and placed her hands on the bed, standing with her knees pressing against the mattress. Taking her rather large waist in my hands I slowly steered my erection into her. After all the years of separation, I still remembered the distinctive feeling of her labia and the little curve in her vagina; to the right and slightly upwards. Fortunately, I’m a “bent man” so my erection always fitted perfectly into her tunnel from behind. She mewed like a kitten and moved her body back and forth in time with my rhythm.

Through my fingers, I could feel the bones of the corset. Each bone in its taut fabric channel, stitched and now pulled tight, I could feel the stiffness of the bones as they supported the fabric which was pulled tight onto her figure. But I noticed a little movement in the fabric over her waist and her hips. That corset was not as tight as it could be. I squeezed a little to make it fit and she spoke softly through her gentle groaning sounds.

“Tighten me; see how far you can get me smaller.”

While still moving in and out, I grasped the laced, undid the bow I’d made, and started to tighten her further. First from the top edge, easing the lace through the eyelets, two at a time and making a loop. Then pulling it downward through successive pairs of eyelets. And eventually pulling it through the middle pair and lengthening the big loose loop.

From the bottom edge, I did the same; all the while humping gently and deliberately into her and out again. And she kept up the gently soft cooing sounds. I didn’t know how much tightening she could take but I decided to keep going until she asked me to stop. And then I might stop; but maybe not. I was getting strong erotic memories and sensations from this woman with the diminishing waist. Suddenly I felt like making her tiny, even though it was years since she’d been corseted.

I entered fully into her and took a stronghold of the centre loops of the laces, and crossed them over to gain leverage. With all my force, I pushed the loops apart and Barbara’s waist shrank right there, before my eyes. I waited for her to complain but no.

“More. Lace me more. Tight as you want me to be. Do it.”

This was like the old days and I was ready to do just that. With my erection still fully inside her, I started to lace her corset with as much force as I could put on those laces. I was squeezing her into a new shape, as much as her older figure would allow.

I kept tightening until no further force was possible. The corset was as tight as it could go without breaking the laces. It was still open all down the back but it wouldn’t go any closer. Barbara was rigid on her knees, at the edge of the bed, and stretching out her arms away from me. She was gasping for breath and I glanced in the mirror to one side, only to see her eyes staring out of her face. But still she kept humping back and forth on my erection. We seem to have returned to the “…corset me until I die…” stage. Within a few minutes of meeting again, after all those years apart.

To make things easier, I let my erection leave her and pushed her gently until she was lying full out on the bed, with her face turned to one side, still gasping. Then I climbed onto her thighs and placed my hands either side of her chest. She parted her legs and I entered her again. Her bottom pressed against my groin, and the back edge of the corset dug into me. I could feel the row of eyelets and the bottom coils of the lace.

As I forced my way back into her fully, I could feel also the back steel bones of the corset pressing against my abdomen as well as my thighs and groin. That is a most satisfying sensation when you’re getting into a corseted woman from behind.

And my fingers: on each finger I could feel the stiffness of the bones through the fabric, moving a little as I shagged. I squeezed her waist a little with my hands and could tell she would take some more tightening. Just to be sure, I pushed into her with my full length and as much pressure as I could against her labia; and sure enough, her waist was a little pliable still.

So the laces had to be undone, which took me only two seconds. I withdrew my erection mostly from her and then started the further tightening. Again, from the top to her waist and then from the bottom upwards. The long loops at her waist showed that I could take in another foot or so of laces. Crossing them over, to get the leverage again, I pushed outwards with all my might. Her waist crushed further.

Barbara went rigid in all her limbs as the extra pressure came on her waist. She took a deep breath and made the same grunt as before. I could tell that her eyes were wide open as well as her mouth, as she waited for my assault into her.

I tied off the laces in bow and grasped her waist again. And pulled myself into her. I could feel the difference inside her. More resistance, some extra warmth and tighter contact with her vagina walls. I was on the point of coming, and now I didn’t want to wait any more.

So with my fingers feeling the tightness and the bones, my groin crunching against the bottom edge of the corset, my balls smashing against her buttocks and my erection ploughing into her; I flooded into her. Emptied all my tubes and vessels. More juice than I can remember ever pouring into her. She was amazing. The sensations were unbelievable and I stayed still, squirting into her, until my reactions eased and the erection relaxed.

By this time, Barbara was gasping more and more; and she reached round to feel her own waist.

“Oooh; that’s tight,” she almost whispered, “I can’t move.”

“I’ll undo it a little, shall I?” I asked, and she nodded to indicate Yes.

So I loosened the laces by two inches in the gap at the back; and she collapsed on the bed, breathing freely. I noticed that she had one hand underneath her groin and was moving it in my wetness as it now seeped out of her. I could tell she was pleasing herself and stood back to leave her to it. With a little shudder, she seemed to arrive at a little climax and then flopped completely.

A wonderful evening.

Today, three months later, Barbara and I are together again. She is corseted to a waist of 22 inches already and we make love every day. Our goal is 18 inches again, like the old days, so I can hold her waist in my two hands.

I’ll let you know how it goes.