7. Reynardine: Feminine Surrender
Dear Lucinda,
One thing that being laced this week has made me feel as never before is the very specific pleasure I get when my husband does something for me behind my back. Back garter fastening and long-line hooking offer something of this. It's hard to define, but there is a certain kind of surrender to uncertainty when a man comes up behind you to fasten you, as you're battening your eyelids into space, feeling him, larger and stronger than you, hooking, fastening, zipping, or lacing you in. It's that chosen feminine surrender thing we've been talking about, the essence of female sexuality, perhaps, feeling your power in enticing the male, and then, once you've snared him and made him your servant, surrendering all power to him completely.
Last Friday, I prepared a lovely dinner and it was time for us to dress. I asked him if he had any requests. He immediately named a floral '50's spring dress of mine with a tight waist. And he specified that he wanted me to wear it with a corset. I smilingly agreed and led him upstairs. Well, as he began to lace me, following all of the usual rules (he is quite an expert by now), I noticed that he was acting a little strangely and beginning to pull the laces too tightly.
"What are you doing?" I gasped.
"I want to see that 25" waist again" he answered.
"Later" I whispered.
"Now," he said manfully, forcefully, and undeniably obnoxiously.
Well, I didn't stop him, Lucinda, and although to be corseted that tightly, that quickly, was a little painful, I really enjoyed submitting to him. Though we didn't measure, he definitely got me down to around 25". I gave him a smoldering, resentful look, half play, half real, as he finished and easily zipped the normally difficult dress.
"I said I'd do anything you ask, but this is really torture," I said. He smiled, worried that I was serious (it was obvious that he was nervous about acting that way, since he never really did before but was feeling emboldened by recent experiences).
I gave him a smile to reassure him and went downstairs to finish preparing a dinner I knew I was not going to be able to eat much of. Well, through the evening, I did get used to it, and I particularly enjoyed the tight-lacing as something he had imposed on me and to which I submitted. I really hammed up my distress, leavening it with humor so as not to worry him.
I don't think anyone should try this at home; remember, I have a lot of experience with these things. I pretended to be on the verge of fainting, I pleaded with him to loosen me, I gasped a lot. I developed a genuine case of hiccups (corseting hazard) which I used to flirting effect. (There's a scene in Francois Truffaut's film The Last Metro in which Catherine Deneuve is having dinner with her husband, while costumed in 19th century clothing for a play. Her tight corseting gives her an extraordinarily sexy case of hiccups. Well, this is the only thing I've ever had in common with Catherine Deneuve).
Well, by the time we got to bed, I had developed the most intense case of corseted-bondage-feminine-submissiveness imaginable. My intensely aware passive state of mind was enough to bring me to orgasm. Dropping to my knees, I begged him to unlace me. And when he obliged, he received all that was due a liberator. Excuse the purple prose, but this was fun.
Well, that's the story. Sorry I don't have the time now to say more. I hope to hear from you soon.
Reynardine
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