8. Reynardine: San Francisco Weekend
Dear Lucinda,
I had an absolutely marvelous weekend. I'm still reeling from it, sort of groggy. Must get my head together if I'm to face the world this week. In any case, my parents picked up the kids in the morning and we drove down to San Francisco, checking into a fabulous Bohemian hotel with a great deal of elegant flair. We checked in, ate lunch in their marvelous basement restaurant.
I wore a very elegant, fitted, shoulder-padded '40's gabardine suit that has exactly the shape style and form of the suits featured in the latest Vogue and Harper's (except that I got mine out of a house lot for $25). Saw something like it in the Versace collection at Barney's for $4000. I wore the jacket open over a black silk shell and I wore my best '40's style girdle, the Vanity Fair Double Tulip. No woman should even think of wearing a fitted gabardine suit without an exceptional girdle. My Queen Anne-style heels were comfortable enough to walk in but gave my step a pretty swing and sway. My husband, elegantly attired himself in vintage tweed, made a point of noticing the especially felicitous and intentionally vintage way in which my suit skirt, girdle, and heels worked together as I walked. The poetry of inhibited motion. Well we made quite an impression as we carefully and knowledgeably surveyed, in the presence of the waiting model salesgirls, magnificent clothing we would not buy even if we had the money.
After a drink in one of our favorite hotel bars, we went back to the room, and prepared for an evening of elegant underdressing (wildly successful as it turns out) that I would not have thought up if it hadn't been for what I've learned from your letters. I decided to wear my full 13" Victorian corset underneath my gabardine forties suit. Now I have always worn this corset for costuming, over something, and never with anything with a straight skirt (because the corset line would show at the hips). But Lynn said she wore her corset directly against the skin and she had learned from her corset newsletter that wearing a girdle over the bottom of the corset prevents any corset line from showing.
Well, Lucinda, for future reference, it works. By tucking the corset garters up under the bottom of the corset, and by wearing my tight but flexible Subtract girdle over it, I had a completely smooth, perfect, and comfortable corset and girdle shape for a suit (this wouldn't work under a clingy dress, because the corset is too heavy). I wore no blouse, just the corset under the suit jacket, and a silk scarf.
My Victorian corset under the forties jacket gave me exactly the shape you see in all of the magazines now. I've never been more chic in my life, and it is quite an experience to sashay out into the glittering elegance of San Francisco dressed like that. We went to one of our favorite SF bistros and then to an impressive but rather boring nightclub. We found a quiet dim corner and began to make out a little.
My husband, squiring such an obviously and gracefully corseted woman around the hot spots of San Francisco was beginning to be quite a hot spot himself. Well, in the obscurity of our corner, I felt his hand discreetly slide up under my jacket to untie my lacings. Knowing him, I held my breath. I knew he had no interest in loosening me. When he untied the knot, he, sure enough, pulled me tighter as I leaned my head back and opened my bright red lips in both genuine and performed ecstasy. I know this sounds like a fantasy, but I swear to God, Lucinda, this really happened. We were a bit drunk, to be sure, and enjoying being in what was for us, an incongruous place where we never would encounter anyone we knew. But what an experience.
Although it embarrasses me a little to acknowledge it, there is a part of me that is turned on by making out in "sort of" public. This is all we really did, kissed and hugged and laced. But then we got so hot, we left. In the cab we made out some more and I had the experience of him lacing me tighter once again while peering out of the taxi window at the city lights.
When we got back to our hotel, we went up to our strange little room, where I carefully undressed him, (he loves that) and took off my suit and my girdle and stockings. I freshened my lipstick and scent, and feeling totally in control of the situation as the only person in the room with a garment on (a Victorian corset laced to impossible, yet paradoxically comfortable tightness), we began to do what we normally do when we make love with me in a corset. We sat on the edge of the bed for a short time, passionately embracing and kissing like 19th century French lovers (or like the people in that old perfume ad with the man with the violin and the woman at the piano).
And then, with my legs over the foot of the bed, a pillow under my head, my love on his knees at the foot of the bed (when you're in your corset, you'll see exactly the reason for this arrangement) my man began to slowly yet perfectly tickle my clitoris with his tongue (blushing to the end of the page). The experience of this, while tightly laced in a corset, is like nothing else, nothing else, Lucinda. You feel as if you'll drown in the waves of passion that rise from your tiny waist into your heroine's breast. All right, then, on his cue, after he's given me enough to remember for years, he comes up onto the bed and lies down in all of his hairy magnificent maleness, with two pillows under his head. Whereupon I, feeling my magnificent poitrine rising above my impossible waist, gently, slowly, and carefully lower myself onto him, if you see what I mean. This is never any problem because he is so straight and firm under these conditions, that, well.
In the corset, to talk straight and practical, it seems easier for you to be on top. At least we find that this is so. The posture into which a corset forces your back seems perfect for this position, but not perfect if you're flat on your back, because, if flat on your back, you don't seem to have the ability to bend your pelvis into the right position to receive him. I can't believe I'm talking like this. But I find I genuinely enjoy it and am glad for the first time in my life to be able to share it. Well so I get to show off my corseted beauty to him as he looks up at me. This is all very exciting. So exciting that you have to be careful. He is so aroused, and you want to sheath him to absolute ecstasy and wondrous depth, but you don't want the whole thing to be over too soon. So you exist in a state of cosmic, slow teasing, and then, and then, he unties your laces and as you gasp and your vagina throbs, he slowly but mercilessly laces your corset entirely closed (full 4" reduction).
This is the way we do it, and believe me, Lucinda, it is never anything less than what you might imagine. Well, so, on Friday night we do this, but we are so turned on by the excitement of the mini-vacation, and by the foreplay in the club and in the taxi, that the poor man cannot help himself and comes before I am anywhere near ready to be finished. Now, at this age we find that it is always best for him to come just once, and if it is necessary for him to come a second time, it is best for us to take a half an hour off. Well I am bubbling like boiling water, we don't feel like we're in reality anymore anyway, and so I do something that I would never have dreamed of doing two months ago and was like a fantasy come true. I pull myself up off of him and go ferret out the three silk scarves I brought along (to wear around my neck).
Whereupon, assuming a very authoritative tone, and feeling like a dominatrix, charged with sexual energy and tightly corseted, standing over a man who seems in awe of what he is experiencing, I tell him that I am so filled with sexual tension that the only way in which I am going to be able to keep from going crazy for the next half hour is if he will tightly bind and gag me. I tell him that if he doesn't do it, he will have to take full responsibility for what I do and say during that period. He looks frightened and intrigued and takes the scarves from my hand. I lie face down on the bed, place my hands behind my back and my legs together. I tell him to do to me what he has to do. In a few seconds, I feel him knotting one scarf very tightly around my wrists. I have a very elaborate orgasm, the kind one has if a fantasy is being fulfilled. Then, he quickly and too tightly ties my ankles and gags me. I writhe a little to feel myself as bound and I hear him say, "Oh my God, what are you doing to me?" Of course I want to ask the same question, but I cannot speak. So I settle in for a half hour, and he goes and sits in a chair by the side of the bed, pours himself a glass of wine and watches me. I feel his eyes upon me. I feel my freely chosen submission, which I am experiencing as a result of my own command.
I am in seventh heaven, and I lie there, with bound body but entirely free mind. He has tied everything too tightly, and I hurt a little, but I realize that I encouraged this. I am immediately reminded of having my wrists tied much too tightly by the arresting policeman at the demonstration with the plastic handcuffs. As I say, I am beginning to eroticize that in retrospect. I think the policeman undoubtedly got a kick out of tying me and I think I even responded to that a little at the time. My husband watches. Time passes. I feel a delicious feeling of surrender and submissiveness suffusing my entire body and soul. I feel totally ruled by him in a pleasant way I am proud to acknowledge. Finally, when the time is "up," I feel his big strong hands releasing me from my bondage. Then gently, he loosens and unhooks my corset. He massages my wrists, ankles, cheeks, and waist.
I feel unusually naked, and submissive, aching to be taken again. And then, with powerful and irresistible male force, he takes my waiting and unbound, yet still bound, totally female body. Obviously it turns me on to retell this. But I love having the opportunity to savor and immortalize such an experience.
Whew. Blush. Wow.
Anyway, the next day we have breakfast in the lobby and go off to see my favorite sights. I wear a very funky white fifties housewife dress with red designs (ladies with poodles, sublimely tacky). My skirt is wide, but, hey, I'm a fifties housewife, and I don't leave the house without a girdle and stockings. I went to charm school and was trained by my sorority sisters. I wear my Sears high-waisted super-duper old-fashioned long-leg panty girdle, the same one as you have. And so, no this isn't over.
After a day of this we get back to the hotel to prepare for our big night of dining and dancing. I wear an aqua boned and crinolined fifties evening dress. Spike heels and my best vintage rhinestone jewelry. In addition to my obligatory but largely unnecessary Sears girdle, I wear my short 8" ribbon corset, laced very tightly after three tightenings, by my cooperative husband who acts like something's been dropped on him.
We dance the night away. Get back to the room at two. It is clear to me that he doesn't have the energy for anything like the previous night, so I discreetly orchestrate the removal of all of our clothes and a relatively brief but very passionate session of lovemaking. He falls asleep in my arms.
The next day, I girdle up tightly (Subtract) under a fairly easy going black knit skirt and maroon silk blouse. Girdle worn over black opaque pantyhose. We go out for brunch, buy a few souvenirs, and then get in the car for the long drive ahead. As I sit up straight beside my man, girdled and dressed for his pleasure, I think of you girdled and dressed for your man's pleasure on the cross-country car trip you mentioned. I wonder what you wore and what went through your mind when you decided to wear a girdle for such a long car trip, when no one but him would see you. As I've said before, this sort of feminine dedication represents the lost art which we seem to be committed to recovering.
Well, I have lots of things I want to address from your previous correspondence. But I figured I had to get the weekend report off to you. You'll be hearing from me very soon.
Reynardine
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