Inspired by smā¦
* * * * *
When I heard the key in the lock, I asked myself for the hundredth time how I came to this strange pass. Instead of doing the sensible thing like a normal suburban, middle-aged housewife, I sat, skittish and blindfolded in an upholstered chair situated in an obscure but well-appointed London hotel room. Did I mention that besides the blindfold, all Iām wearing is a corset, stockings and high heels? Oh, and Iāve never been to London before. I flew in for only one reasonā¦ and for only one night.
The corset arrived three weeks earlier by courier, custom-made to my measurements and it is a beautiful thing. Pale peach satin, the color is a perfect compliment to my unblemished ivory skin and chestnut hair. The corset squeezes my breasts upward with vicious efficiency, causing them to spill generously over the top. When Iām wearing it, those supple globes of flesh look like an invitation to plunder. The first time I laced myself in (no mean feat without help, I might add), the garment nearly cut me in half at the waist. I spent patient weeks, slowly lacing it tighter and tighter, until I managed to carve four inches off my normal 27" waistline. Two weeks in a corset managed to accomplish what two sweaty years in a gym couldnāt even hope for.
If the effect on my figure was stunningā¦ the effect on my erogenous zones was equally impressive, and entirely unexpected. All that displaced flesh, blood and energy has to go somewhere.
But Stephen knows all about the clandestine joys of corsetryā¦ Stephen, a man Iāve never seen but have been fucking over the telephone for the past nine months. He sent the corset and it was he who arranged for me to be in this hotel room. I bought only the plane ticket.
Weād met online in an adult chat room, and quickly discovered a shared appetite for the forbidden. He never wanted a true affair and neither did I, but over the months that followed our contact became more daring, darker, more experimental. Inadvertently, we stumbled into a connectionā¦ that kind of coupling two people make only by rare accident.
In answer to his repeated requests, Iād sent picture after picture, each more revealing than the last. He encouraged me to write out my fantasies, and to delve into certain secrets lurking in my past. With Stephen acting as the goad, Iād discovered a place in my psyche I never thought existed. Heās a pretty persuasive kind of guy. Over the months, Iāve given him virtually everything heās asked forā¦
Stephen, on the other hand, sends nothing in return, especially information. But he does pay for every phone call, and I was at least smart enough to never give him my home phone number. We use my dedicated computer line when he wants to call. Otherwise, all contact is strictly up to him. Weeks can pass and I hear nothing, then we enjoy a frenzy of days where he calls or writes constantly and I spend hours in illicit orgasmic bliss.
I know sum zero about Stephenās personal life--and honestly, I donāt want to discover more. Heās British; Iām American. He is happily married, so am I. Iām a little older than he is. Thousands of miles safely separate us. We exchange fantasies, not confidences. Itās as if weāve created a private, dark chamber where each of us can explore the hidden sides of our sensuality. Things we would never share with our spouses or friends. Things to be shared only with an intimate stranger.
The hands-off sex we have is so intense, at times mind-blowing, I think we independently realized that one day, despite our original and best intentions, we were going to wind up fucking for real. Looking back, the outcome was as inevitable as sunrise.
At his initial, tentative suggestion that we meet, I balked. After all, I have no idea what he looks like, whether he is ugly as sin or repulsive in character. But he does have a very nice voice, seductive and deep. There is a tremulous quality to it when heās about to cum which drives me wild. Itās so easy to imagine his need when I hear those husky tones detailing his passion into a red-hot telephone receiverā¦ so addicting to listen to.
Although there is a certain amount of legitimate fear tied up in deciding to have sex with a stranger, somehow I trust Stephen. He is in this for the same reason I amā¦ sex so gripping every dormant desire we secretly harbor explodes into dynamic, steamy life. Itās a way of living more intensely, where every sensation is sinfully delicious and every taboo is eagerly welcomed. Not at all like a marriage where every toe and fingertip has to land on exactly the legally approved spot, year after year after year.
So I agreed to fly to England. Stephen had a reasonable answer for my every objection. And why should I have to see him at all? Hence, the blindfold.
The corset was a whimā¦ almost an afterthought. Or at least Iād thought so until I found myself seated in that comfortable chair, nearly naked, waiting for a man whose only intention was to fuck me senseless and then leave without ever showing his face.
Corsets are, without question, a bondage device. Wearing one purchased by a lover is an act of utter submission. An unspoken agreement is reached by accepting a corset as a gift, although I am not normally an easy woman to dominate. So the alacrity with which I submitted to Stephenās plan was all the more shocking.
It would be impossible to describe the emotional turmoil that tangled through my common sense as I sat in the chair, waitingā¦ I told myself I could still stop this, I could close my legs and leave.
And then I heard the key. There was no knock, no greeting. I knew it was Stephen, just as he knew I would be here, aroused and ready.
A new scent entered the room, a masculine aroma of soap and aftershave, something spicy and indefinably wild. This was happeningā¦ A block of air solidified in my lungs, and I couldnāt have moved if the building shook down around my feet. I heard the latch click as the door closed.
He was in the room with me. My every nerve went on high alert, tingling with anticipation. Bright, colorful spots of light danced throughout the black backdrop of my hooded eyes.
I could hear him breathing, a slow, steady sound. I could hear his footsteps bringing him closer to my chair. But he didnāt speak. He stopped briefly, just in front of me. I could feel his eyes appreciating the pretty picture I must have madeā¦ my erect nipples proudly on display over the satin edge of the corset, my legs slightly spread, my pubic hair neatly trimmed so that he was bound to see a glistening invitation in the lowered light. The sultry scent of sex hung in the air between us like a hint. The blindfold must have made me appear like a sacrifice on the altar of his pleasure, although I was not bound in any other way besides the ties of the corset and the power of my own desire.
Involuntarily, I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue and my fingers gripped the arms of the chair harder. I heard him circle the chair, felt him staring. Then there was a long, low whistle followed by a brief chuckle.
I jumped when his finger lifted my chin, tilting my head up. My skin seemed to burn at the contact.
"You really are quite something, arenāt you?" he asked. "I knew itā¦"
It was the same voice burned into my memoryā¦ that husky, seductive promise of a voice. His finger slid up to my lower lip, rubbing back and forth across it with a light touch. It was a caress that encouraged my silence. This was his game.
He stepped back, that tempting finger fell away. I remained in the chair, uncertain what he wanted from me. I could hear him moving, a rustle of clothing as he undressed. Then I heard a clink of glass as he fixed himself a drink. He was taking his sweet time, savoring the momentā¦ and I.
"Stand up," he finally said. "Turn slowly around."
I peeled my naked thighs out of the chair and stood. Leaving one hand on the back of the chair for balance, I turned.
"Lovely," he said. "Very nice. Now face me."
I felt almost dizzy. When was he going to touch me? I was on fire to be touched, to be stroked and pleasured. The corset was sending all available blood up to my nipples and down between my legs, and the sensation of engorgement was intense.
