callistra | Corsetry Pron Part 1 I guess

Madame watched as giggling girls poured past her window. The school was just two doors down, and the noise from a girls only college would be enough to set any one's teeth on edge. Madame just smiled, and returned to her correspondence.

Morning tea time. Again, Madame watched out the window as she sipped her english afternoon tea, a fresh scone with jam and a healthy serve of cream on top nestling beside the saucer. A small violet graced the petit fours. A tinkle alerted her to an intruder into her quiet domain.

"Madame..." A hesitant, quiet voice eased itself into her office. Madame stood gracefully and smiled her welcome.

"Melana, do come in," Madame indicated a chair for the young woman to sit. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine, thank you Madame," the girl was quiet and shy; her reserve kept her head tilted slightly so she could avoid looking Madame in her eyes. Instead, Melana stared at Madam's brooch. Melana shut the door behind her, also not looking into the mirror of her own eyes on the back of the door as she did so.

"It's been some time since I saw you last, my dear. Would you like a cup of tea, perhaps a scone?" Melana shook her head; Madame's brooch was a mother-of-pearl oval, in a gold setting. It was placed squarely in the middle of Madame's expanse of lace. Cool fingers forced Melana's head to tilt, and she found herself looking into the sea green eyes.

"Madame, may I ask..." Melana swallowed her nervousness. Madame's eyes were kind, but Melana had to ask for what she wanted. She knew this. This was why it was so long between visits... why she had to brace herself to come here, and why her need had to grow so great before she could make herself come. And it was always so hard to ask... the words never seemed to make it to her mouth. In her mind, they screamed for release, but in her mouth.....

"Yes, Melana. What would you like to ask?" Madame's eyes were slightly amused, but firm. Melana would have to say the words herself.

"Please tie me into a corset. Please make me perfect." Her shoulders eased as the words made it into the world, and out of her thoughts.

"Yes, Melana. I can do this for you." Madame's cool hands let go of her chin, and then her thumb briefly traced Melana's cheekbone.

Melana had brough her trunk with her. In it was her secret; all the frilly lace and material and silks and fripperies of a by-gone age. Today, she selected a plain natural coloured corset, sturdy and strong, but decidedly lacking in lace and silk.

"No, Melana, you are very lucky today. I will make you more perfect than you have ever been. You must wear this." Madame reached beyond her and drew out her most shameful secret - a red silk corset with black lace trim, suspender belts, and a busk. "With these." Madame slipped her hands into the trunk again to bring out silk stockings, black with seams down the back. "You will be here some time. Do you wish to inform any one that your prescence will not be available for some time?" Madame closed the trunk and placed the garments on the lid.

Melana turned to her in surprise; Madame was pleased to note that Melana turned fully to her, and did not look away even after the first initial surprise was gone.
"Madame... Yes, I will need to pen a quick note..."

Madame indicated that Melana might use her writing desk, and Madame returned to her window gazing, sipping her now lukewarm tea. Melana straightened up, and realised Madame had turned from the window and was gazing at the length of her. Melana wanted to hide; her shoulders hunched slightly and she looked to the left of Madame. Melana's ash blonde hair was pulled tightly into a chignon; Madame looked at it critically, and then her gaze dropped to Melana's breasts, which were showing Melana's obvious emotional state. Then down, down the long skirt which showed nothing, to the little black boots which were excellent wearing for the muddy streets of London. Outside, girls screamed and gossiped. A bell rang, and the silence filled the room.

"Take off your clothing." Melana started to undress. Her hands shook as she reached for the buttons of her skirt. She had undressed many times for Madame before, but the unknown length of her stay today unnerved her more than she could control. She eased off the skirt, and folded it neatly before placing it on the chair she had been sitting upon. She started to unbutton her shirt, the white cotton slipping away to also be neatly folded and placed on the chair. Her small black shoes, similar to Madame's were placed on the floor next to the chair, and her tan stockings rolled down and folded together. She reached behind her to unhook her bra, and folded them in half to place on the growing pile. Madame had not indicated any underwear other than the corset and stockings; Melana slipped her knickers over her hips and past her knees before she made this realisation. She looked up in her awkward pose at Madame.

Madame nodded. The underwear were also folded neatly and placed on the pile of discarded clothing.

Standing, Melana shivered. It was not cold. Her shoulders slipped back into a hunched pose; her hands rose defensively against her breasts and belly. Madame still continued to just look. Melana did not look back, but instead focussed on Madame's skirt hem.

The office was not cold, but not overly warm either; Melana's nipples had started to pucker before Madame moved. Her movements were sharp and controlled, and Melana stared at the brooch which was suddenly inches from her nose.

Cold hands took a firm hold of her shoulders, and pushed them back. Her hands were grasped and dragged to next to her. A hand snaked around her waist, and pushed her lower back, thrusting her into a better posture, and her breasts perked outwards. Rising heat made her want to hide her face in shame; she was sure she would melt the cream from the scones with the heat of her blush. Lastly, a cool hand once again grabbed her chin and thrust it upwards; her eyes were level with Madame's, even though Madame still wore her little heeled boots. But Madame's eyes were not on hers. Instead, Madame stepped away to look at her.

"Much better." Madame was amused and almost laughing. Melanna wanted to hide. "You should visit me more often."

Madame walked back to the trunk, upon which the garments had been laid. She picked up the corset, and with her right hand, stroked the ruby satin. She placed the garment on the office desk and began to loosen the lacing. The corset truly was a work of art. The satin was the highest of quality, and the boning stiff and yet yielding at the same time. The busk was of metal, and ran down the front of the corset, hooking together for ease of use. Down the back silver eyelets held the lacing. Madame loosened each cross of lacing, making sure the tension was even and each cross was the same as the one before it. Melana stood, feeling exposed, and watched, struggling to keep her hands by her sides and her breasts thrust forward. Madame turned the corset over, and unhooked the busking. There were six hooks, and then the corset lay flat, the two peices held together by the lacing, and the two parts of the busk as widely opened as Melana felt.

Madame turned to her with a smile, and corset in her hands. She walked to Melana, and swung the corset around her. The tiny lace trim, across the top line and bottom line of the corset, tickled her as it passed. Madame wriggled the material slightly, and started to hook up the busk.

The lace trim tickled her nipples. The corset barely covered her aureole, and the lace was tickly stiff into the sensitive parts of her. She restrained her urge to giggle or wriggle or hide or scratch or move ... The sensation of being hugged began to grow within her as each hook was entwined with it's partner. Once complete, Madame stepped back for a minute, reached forward, and adjusted the corset on her hips, and then reached into the corset itself and adjusted Melana's breasts. The coolness of Madame's hands after the tickling torture of the lace send something running through her spine; from nipple to spine to the base of her back, and then all the way back up again.

Madame was behind her now, even as the tremors eased away. She took hold of the loops of lacing at Melana's waist, and pulled. There was a lot of give; the lacing tension ran up and down her back simultaneously. Melana gasped. Madame then returned to tightening the corset, ensuring the stress on the lacing was evenly placed and the corset taut and comfortable. Melana's hand, of it's own volition, eased its way up the corset, feeling the silk and the underlying boning. The corset enclosed her waist with strength and conviction; she felt something in her ease as the corset tightened, and her hand continued its lazy examination of the texture of satin and metal.

Once Madame was happy, Melana was comfortably tied in. She stepped away from Madame, to look at herself in the mirror on the back of the door. She met her own gaze fearlessly. Her eyes took in the tiny waist and the curve of breast above the tiny hint of black lace. The red silk brought out the red highlights in her ash blonde hair, and the black lace trim drew the eyes along the line of her breasts, and then to the line of ... her more private areas...

"Please... just one more inch." She breathed gently, as if frightened of upsetting the delicate balance of her breasts being cupped by steel boning and red satin.

Madame started to tighten the base of the corset, around her hips. The sensation of being hugged, all the way up and down, became stronger and more possessing. Madame hooked her finger into the next lace crossover, and tightened it further. Each time Madame tightened the corset, Melana's whole body moved and she enjoyed the doll-like feeling of being entirely under Madame's power.

"Breathe," she was reminded. Her breasts thrust forward as she did as commanded. In that instant, Mistress tightened her waist a full inch more. Melana gasped with the delicious delight. Working her way upwards, Mistress started tightening each cross a third time, particularly the crosses which held her breasts in place, quick glances into the mirror over Melana's shoulders ensuring that each tug was sending her voluptuously up-thrust hills quivering. Madame smiled at the look in Melana's eyes. They were distant; and in them Madame saw a place she had found within herself many times.

"Satisfied?" she queried as she tied the laces into a knot and tucked them into the back of the corset. Brought to herself, Melana once again stared at her own gaze in the mirror before her eyes dropped over herself. Once again her own eyes drew her, and looking at herself, she nodded. "Yes," she said, her voice as soft as it had been before she had been stripped and then tied. "Yes, I am satisfied." But there was something different in the words. Madame put her hands on the beautifully formed and shapes waist, and guided Melana back to the table, where she placed the girl's buttocks and then made her lean backwards with a gently push to the shoulders. Melana braced herself with her hands on the edge of the table, and then leaned herself back as indicated.

Madame eased herself to her knees. She picked up a silk stocking from the trunk top, and ran it through her fingers. She rubbed the silk together, pleased to feel no catches or roughness. She eased the stocking open, gently teasing the material, working the circle wider and wider. The tapered foot drew careful attention, to ensure that the right shape fit the right part of the limb. She took up her charge's left foot, and eased the toe into the stocking.

Madame's hands were not as cool as they had been; Melana had been dressed many times by her, but the delicious anticipation of an extra long visit and the potential of what this might mean encompassed her and seemed to heighten each of her senses. Her feet, already sentisized, felt Madame's approach from inches away, and her gasp was embarrassingly audible, even above the raucous sounds of girls from outside the window. Momentarily distracted, Melana realised that the girls had been at lunch for the better part of an hour, and neither of the women in the room had even so much as noticed.

The trailing touches of Madame as she drew the silk up over Melana's calf muscle were the sort of pleasure that could not be ignored; it could be hidden but would eventually take over all of Melana's senses; she tried not to be so audible as Madame's hands ventured further and further up the expanse of thigh. Madame, ever a perfectionist, her hands ran around the silk lace top of the stocking, ensure the fit was smooth and level before attaching the suspender straps. Melana burned and melted silently. And yet there was one more stocking to go....

Madam was holding her right foot. Melana was all too aware of the harsh sounds ofher breathing; but she was still in control. Eventually, Melana opened her eyes to see Madame reaching for the other stocking. Melana closed her eyes again; knowing the pleasure to come, embarrased by her inability to hide it, and taking pleasure in the dirty shame of enjoying such a simple act as being dressed by another woman. Hands on her toes; hands grasping her ankle, and then the whispers of the stockings on flesh. Sensation, too great to be pleasant, but pleasurable none the less ran up her calves and thighs; up her back and down again to the secret places within her. Her breathing even more ragged; but still not too loud, not too unmistakeable, perhaps Madame thought she might be just cold ... she could hope Madame had not noticed... but then the silk was drawn over her knees and up along her thighs. Her response was audible and unmistakeable.

Melana opened her eyes in horror, also realising in the same flush of embarrassment that Madame was kneeling in front of her thighs, and while there was no way she could mistake Melana's audible response, there was an even more embarrassing physical response that could never be hidden from any one kneeling right where Madame was. Melana could smell the hot humid heat of her own arousal, and the heady mix of shame and embarrassment incapacitated her.

Madame rang her hands around the top of the stocking, again ensuring they were even and matched the left stocking in height and evenness. She clipped the stocking into place, ignoring Melana's distress. Stiffly, she stepped up from her position on her knees.

"I have just the thing for you, my dear," she walked to her desk, her movements becoming graceful once more. In the bottom draw were a pair of red satin high heeled shoes. The heels were only an inch or two, but imposing enough and the satin matched the corset. Still unable to speak, Melana watched as Madame placed the shoes on the floor before her, and then took each leg and placed a foot into each shoe. Melana tried to catch Madame's eyes as she did so, but Madame continued in her actions without giving heed.

"Finally, one more thing." Madame stood before Melana, now slightly shorter due to the shoes. Madame reach up to Melana's hair, and unpinned the severe chignon. "Sit!" she instructed, and then swept Melana's hair into a looser chignon, more flattering, and with occasional thick tresses artfully dropping from the upswept hair. "Up!" Melana stood. Once again, Madame placed her hands on Melana's waist and pushed her to the mirror.

A harlot stood there. A beautiful harlot, but still a slut stood there; her sex unmistakably surrounded by silk and satin and lace. An expensive, beautiful harlot, but still a whore none the less. Melana touched her lip, seeing the whore in the mirror do the same. They smiled at each other. There was no fear to look in this woman's eyes, and a woman who looked like a beautiful harlot was a woman to be afraid of. Her groin warmed and heated in response to the days' ministrations, and she thrust her shoulders back, and her chin higher, and once again stared at the expensive, beautiful whore.

"Are you perfect now?" Madame's laughing, beautiful eyes caught hers in the mirror.
"Yes," she said, without rancour, without humility, without fear. "I am perfect now." Her gaze returned to the expensive beautiful harlot before her.