A Very Firm Fit

Ben Esra telefonda seni boaltmam ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


Meena is a school teacher. She teaches English literature. In a girls’ school. She is well thought of by her pupils and the school principal. After 12 years in the school, she’d become part of the structure of the place. She’d been there longer than the principal herself and is a source of advice and insider-information whenever it’s needed.

Her full name is Wilhelmina but she’d shortened it and there are only two choices: Willy or Meena. So she chose the latter. This past few weeks, Meena has undergone a kind of conversion, with two influences working on her.

First, she’d never had an orgasm. In fact, she’d not sure what it’s meant to be like, or how to achieve one, and certainly not how to talk about it. She’d had boyfriends [OK, men friends; she is 35 after all] but none of them has ever given a pleasure that she could recognise as the orgasm described in magazines and books. She likes men and spent time with a number of boys and men over the years, so she’s assumed the fault must lie in her. Maybe in her anatomy; weak responses in her clitoris; a sort of numbness in her vagina. She’s only ever had a feeling of fullness or friction; sometimes just an annoying irritation or tickle. Her men were pleased to help themselves on her body, and none ever complained. But none have stayed either. And Meena is alone again; and wondering about orgasms.

Secondly, Meena’s become aware of her figure in the past year or so. Looking in the mirror in her bedroom, she’s seen a woman; a mature woman; not a girl; a woman who’s no longer “a young woman”; slightly sagging muscles; all the signs of advancing years, shall we say. Even so, Meena is an attractive woman with beautiful face and hair, good legs, and a bust that many younger women would envy. She is 36DD and dresses to show it while holding it steady, at the same time. But, the big problem she believes to be her tummy and her hips. They seem to have blossomed [the gentle word she uses herself] to a degree that really needs some management.

As part of her teaching commitment, she offers an evening programme for adult learners and one series is especially for women. It is called “Women, Pleasure and Power” and she is tracing the development of women’s votes, feminism, contraception, sex-education, girl-power entertainment, pornography and violence. She adopts an academic approach, so as not to get closely involved with women who have real issues with violent husbands, or collapsing careers, or unbearably badly-behaved kids. Her role is to open women’s eyes and minds; to help them see that feminine freedom is more than just voting in elections and wearing what they like.

One of her literary sources has been Beatrice Faust’s book “Women, Sex and Pornography.” It is over 30 years old but much of it still rings bells with modern women. A single sentence has stuck in Meena’s imagination. Out of 200-plus pages, say 100,000 words, she remembers these,

“… many women experience a slight but sustained feeling of arousal when wearing a moderately tight girdle…”

This has echoed around her mind and imagination for weeks. “…a slight but sustained feeling of arousal…” She wants that feeling. For the first time, someone has offered her a recipe for sensuality that she’s been missing; and without the inconvenience of involving men. Or so she imagined.

Added to this, perhaps these clothes will help control her figure a little as well.

Acting on this, a month ago Meena ordered two modern control pants; “shapewear” as they were described on the Net. As soon as they arrived, she knew they were not the things to give her “…a sustained feeling of arousal…” Even the description on the pack was a disappointment: “Magic Knickers.” She didn’t want knickers. She wanted a girdle. She tried them on and true enough; they were just big knickers; like cycle pants; or some of the gear she’d seen other women wear in the gym or even on the beach. She wore them for a few days and was disgusted. Apart from a slight pressure on her skin, there was no apparent effect on her figure; and certainly no “…sustained feeling of arousal…”

She looked at them in detail. She put her hands into the legs and stretched them easily until they were twice the size. No pressure at all was required. Similarly, she took hold of the waist of the one of them, with both hands, and pushed her hands apart. No pressure. They were just slightly-heavy knickers whereas she wanted real support and control on her unruly body.

“Well, they were a waste of time – and money,” she thought to herself, “now what shall I try?”

She justified her disappointment in terms of failed figure control; the management of her waist and hips. But secretly, in the depth of her consciousness, she still searched for the fabled orgasm.

Another web search seemed a good idea and her perseverance paid off. She found two girdle blog-chat sites and read avidly every entry she could find. She then knew exactly what she was going to buy and what other women said about them. tuzla escort About figure control, of course; not orgasms.

She ordered three girdles over the Net. The first was a white Custom Maid Style 299; with a high waist, long legs and a side zipper. It looked ferociously firm on the webpage and she selected it with some doubt over the size she needed. She ordered 30-inch waist. The other two were Rago products. One was another long-leg, high waist zippered girdle Rago 6210; but this time in black.

“In case I need to wear dark clothes over it,” she justified to herself.

The third was quite different; a black open girdle with stocking-straps [suspenders or garters]Rago 1294; also high waist and with a zip-side fastening.

“That’s a bit old-fashioned,” she thought, “but the reviews are very nice for this one. I wonder if it will give me the feelings I want?”

She awaited their arrival as if she was a schoolgirl waiting for her first date. Wondering how they would feel; if would they give her the sensations she sought; if she’d ordered the correct sizes; if their design would match those mentioned in the book. So many thoughts and apprehensions.

And so they came one day, when she was at school. They were waiting for her in the front porch way of her little house. The postman always knew to leave parcels there. The quickly dropped her bags and coat, and took the two parcels up to her bedroom.

She opened the smaller one which must have contained a single girdle. It was the CM 299 and she took it out to inspect it. She put her hands into the legs and tried to stretch it. No; they did not stretch easily. She got hold of the width of the girdle across the hips; one hip in each hand; and tried to pull them sideways. Again, No; she could not stretch the hips with her arms. “Will it be too tight,” she worried.

Undressing quickly apart from her bra, she pushed down the zip fastener, checking that the hooks were undone also on the left hip. She leaned forward to place her left foot into that leg. Pulling the girdle a short way up her left leg, she balanced on that foot to place her right foot into the other leg. And then she started to pull the girdle into place. It was not at all like the “Magic Knickers.” It was much much more difficult, and she resorted to a gradual lifting the girdle up by small steps over to her thighs and over her bottom and her groin. With increasing difficulty as she progressed. The final stretching pull over her buttocks really proved the firmness and tightness of this girdle. And then up, over her ribs until she thought it was stretched tight all the way from her thighs to her bra line.

She tried connecting the five hooks and eyes but it was a new process for her and she simply couldn’t get them lined up while standing there in her bedroom. She realised how unaccustomed she was to this fastening, so she went across to the long mirror on her wardrobe door. Slowly, one hooks at a time, she pulled the girdle gap together and got the hooks to slip into their eyes; until all five were connected. She took a breath and took hold of the zip tab, and moved it a short way up the hooked gap. Then it stuck and she needed to look sideways in the mirror to see how to loosen it. She realised that she must pull upwards on the top hook, to straighten out the entire row of hooks, so that the slider could ride over its teeth. And so she slowly got the whole fastening closed.

Standing back from the mirror, she took her first step in a firm girdle. At that moment, she understood the words and the meaning in Beatrice Faust’s book. The girdle gripped her waist and gave her a shape she had not seen for many years. Not a tiny waist but a clearly defined waist. The long legs, half-way down her thighs, compressed the muscles [and the fat also, she knew] so that each stride became an effort to overcome the tension and the sensation of being packed into a smaller space.

She ran her hands over her figure and felt the tension in the fabric. And the stiffness of the bones over her hips and down her back; which she hadn’t realised were there until that moment. She felt firm and smooth; unlike any feeling she had from her body for many years. Between her legs, she was even more surprised to feel the pressure and the rubbing of the girdle on her labia and her mound; which she knew to be called mons veneris, of course, being a schoolteacher. She imagined that she could almost feel her clitoris under slight pressure as well, although she had no experience of that sensation; so she couldn’t judge.

“I’m in a boned girdle,” she said to herself out loud, looking into her own face in the long mirror. She moved across to her clothes and began to dress. With each movement, the pressure and the firmness of the girdle impressed itself on her with increasing urgency.

She dressed completely apart from her panties, which she decided she didn’t need. Slowly and with some effort, she bent to put on her shoes and realised again the tightness and the slight restriction of the tuzla escort bayan girdle on her movements. She walked to her kitchen door and went out into her garden.

She walked to the bottom of the garden path, holding her own hips with her flat hands. She could feel the smooth firmness and the bones on her fingers and palms, through her clothes. She liked what she felt.

Something else was happening. The tension of the girdle across her groin and over her labia was now becoming more noticeable. She could feel every stride as if her labia were being pulled, that way and this. She liked that sensation and felt the pressure of the girdle also across her bottom; sneaking up slightly between her buttock cheeks. Not pressing on her anus but generally pressing on her anal region. She wiggled a little to see what happened to the sensation; and got a pleasant shock. The wiggle increased the pressure and the rubbing all over her perineal region. And then a new sensation hit her awareness. Something at the front of her groin was becoming warm and seemed to be sticking into the fabric of the girdle.

She reached down and did something she scolded kids for doing, in her classes. She reached her right-hand fingers under her mound, and pressed with her palm on her labia and the mound itself. Her fingers pressed harder between her legs and she found the new warm hardness; and pressed it even harder. She realised her clitoris was swelling, and the sensations around it were very pleasant indeed.

“I’ve got an erection,” she thought to herself with mounting excitement.

Her walking continued in a haze; almost oblivion. If a neighbour had called to her at this stage, she wouldn’t have heard it. The excitement of the sensations was rising every second and she decided to hasten back to the privacy of her own kitchen door. Even as she did so, a welling sensation grew from the pit of her stomach at the same time as from her thighs. It converged on her hand between her legs and she stopped short of the door to rub her labia and clitoris with her hand, feeling all the while the extra pressure of the girdle and its fabric.

And then it happened. For the first time in her life, she reached a peak of sensation and her breath caught in her throat. A little noise escaped from her throat at the same time. A sob, almost a hiccup, a moan. And the orgasm shook her body as she leaned against her door with her hand still between her legs and pressing on the girdle.

“Oh. Oh,” she said out loud and then checked herself. Her spine tingled from her waist downwards; her breasts seemed heavier; the flesh between her thighs felt as hot velvet ought to feel; her anal muscles were closing rhythmically, as were all the interior muscles of her vagina. She had never experienced before anything so comprehensive or so exquisite. She didn’t know whether to close her eyes, to keep the sensations in her head, or to stare down at her tingling breasts, because she realised that her eyes were wide open. She stared, like a child watching fireworks.

Even as the orgasm was subsiding, Meena quickly opened her kitchen door and slipped inside. There, she leaned against the work-surface and pressed her labia some more; this time with the back of her hand. Against her knuckles, she brought another wave of pleasure through the girdle, until she collapsed onto a bar chair and wrapped her arms around herself. That night, she slept well.

The following day at school, Meena found the hours dragging even more slowly than ever. She wanted the day to finish, so that she could go home and experience the pleasures of her girdle once again. She left as soon as she could, without spending time with her colleagues, which would have been her usual pastime at the end of the day.

Arriving home, she took the second larger parcel, which she hadn’t opened. It had been left as a surprise for this occasion and now she relished opening it.

“Like a kid at a birthday party,” she thought to herself.

Meena took out the two Rago girdles and compared them. The one she had decided already to wear that evening was the long-leg Style 6210. She did her usual test on it; putting her hands inside the legs and the waist and stretching them – or trying to. She realised that this girdle was firmer and even less stretchy than had been yesterday’s. But she didn’t worry about the size because now she knew that she would make it fit on her body, no matter how tight and controlling it would be. Her girdle-confidence was growing already.

She undressed and felt at her own body again. Even without the girdle, she found it more exciting and acceptable to herself than ever before. Holding the girdle down, she placed both legs into it and slowly urged it into place. There was no pulling; just urging because it was very tight on her thighs and over her buttocks and onto her waist. This was a different class of girdle altogether. Firmer, with more tension in the fabric and a different arrangement of bones. Even as she felt it moving over her skin, escort tuzla and beginning to press on her thighs and bottom, her excitement was growing. The struggle came again with the hooks and then the final zipper, to hold everything in place. Now she understood the words used by members of the girdle-blogs, “Putting myself into the girdle – not putting the girdle on me.” That’s exactly how it felt.

When she had finished all the fastenings and knew that she was installed in the girdle, she walked around her bedroom as if it were the garden. She walked into the landing of the bedroom-floor, turning round at the far end to re-enter the bedroom. He hands roamed over her new figure; the curve of her waist, the smoothness of her hips and thighs, the firm roundness of her bottom. She felt girlish. Walking about her house in just her underwear. Her new exciting underwear. The underwear that was going to give her pleasure.

With the first “lap” of her walking, she felt again the warmth over her groin and between her legs. Without stopping her walk, she pressed he hand onto her labia and clitoris, through the firm fabric of the girdle. This girdle felt different. Apart from being black, it was simply more controlling and pressed more urgently on her tender labia and clitoris. The orgasm grew quickly as she pressed and rubbed her hand over the swelling region; first with her palm and then with her knuckles; and finally with the joint of her thumb. She stopped walking and leaned against the door of her bedroom, as her thumb brought the orgasm she had been seeking. It swept over her with greater intensity and deeper sensations into her abdomen; snatching at her breathing and into her throat; opening her mouth whether she wanted to or not; staring her eyes without seeing anything. And then the climax came as she closed her eyes and almost stumbled onto the bed, where she lay as her body resumed its relaxation.

Both girdles were damp and stained slightly with her sex-juices, and needed to be washed. She did it with added pleasure, running her hands over them and wishing them to be ready soon for her next orgasms.

From that day, Meena regarded herself as a full woman; an orgasmic woman. The two long-leg girdles came into play every day and were washed regularly to provide one always available. She understood and agreed with the notion of, “…a slight but sustained feeling of arousal when wearing a moderately tight girdle…” She wore one every day, all day, before pleasuring herself in the evening.

She ordered two more of the same long-leg girdles, and now she wanted all the other pleasures that were waiting for her in the world outside.

Inevitably, Meena found herself thinking about a man. Not a particular man; any man who could fit into her life and give her pleasure, “Now that I know how to be pleased,” she thought.

The first encounters with men were not successes; it has to be said. The first one was gentle and affectionate but then he got his hand down to her legs and pubic regions.

“What’s this?” he exclaimed, “oh, no; let’s get that off. Ya?”

So she took off the black girdle she’d been wearing but received little pleasure from what followed. He roamed over her body and explored her with his hands and his mouth, but the pressure of the girdle was lacking. No orgasm came to her. After he left, Meena cried into her pillow, unable to re-create her excitement, and beginning to resent her need for the girdle. That feeling didn’t last long and within a few days she was enjoying herself again; and staining the girdles!

She met this man twice more, but always he seemed to regard the girdle as a barrier to his pleasure; as something to be removed as soon as possible. Meena cancelled their next assignation and didn’t see him again.

The second man was worse. He also got to the exploratory stage with great excitement. She could feel his erection through his loosened clothing; and her own excitement developing within her girdle. The legs were tight on her skin; the bones around her waist were pressing on her breathing; the fabric between her legs was pressing on her labia and clitoris. She was growing her own orgasm until suddenly he burst out laughing.

“Wow. Ha ha ha. My mum used to wear these. Even she’s given them up. Why are you wearing these? Oh, come on. It’s a joke; yes? Ha ha ha. I want chicks, not an old hen. Get them off.”

On that occasion, Meena refused to be intimidated and simply stood up, walked to the door, and left him there, with his trousers around his knees. Not a word was spoken and she went home. No crying this time.

It was at this time, in these circumstances, the Meena had a brain-wave. She would wear the open girdle with nylon stockings the next time she met a man. However, she hadn’t experimented herself with it yet. So that was the next project. And what a success if turned out to be.

It was a Saturday when she first put it on and attached a pair of nylons she’d bought the previous evening in the supermarket. Even that process was an education for Meena. As a girl in the early 1990s, this style of underwear had died out for her generation. She put on her bra first, “To keep the boobies out of the way,” she smiled at herself.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boaltmam ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

İlk yorum yapan olun

Bir yanıt bırakın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak.