I fucking love a corset.
The tightness, the way my boobs bunch up and spill out, all of it. I am disabled and sometimes struggle to think of myself as overly sexy. Not so when I am wearing a corset.
Firstly, there is the cost. A proper steel boned corset is not cheap and though I do go to Corset Story UK (they did not pay me to say this) and they do always seem to have a sale of some kind on (multibuy 4 for 1 at the moment) they are still a very occasional treat. And for me, that is the point. Buying a corset is a special occasion, something that makes me feel decadent, sultry, feline. They deliver very quickly (postal strike notwithstanding - Solidarity with the CWU) and when it arrives the excitement begins.
Because, secondly, I find myself sexy in a corset. I open it carefully and put it to one side, and naked, pile my hair up onto my head and slip into a pair of heels. I can't walk in them, I can't walk much without them to be honest but they look good and thus make me feel good. I stroke my skin, which will have been showered and lathered with scented creams and shiver at how soft it feels. I don't pretend that my hands belong to a lover, that would defeat the point, I know it is me. This is self appreciation and self care taken to a sexy extreme and I love it. Minimal make up. Heavy eyeliner, mascara, red lips.
Then, on goes the corset. Slowly, caressingly. Doing the fasteners up, one by one. Zipped? Pull it up haltingly. The idea is the opposite of a strip tease. It is getting ready for a one on one. Both ones being you. When everything is done up and all your bits are in place, reach backwards and feel for the strings. Let them slide through your hands then -pull- firmly, with intent and moan as the corset squeezes you tight. I have proprioceptive disorder which means I don't always know where my body ends, but in a corset I do. I feel. I exist. I look in the mirror. I am pleased and turned on with what I see. I pull poses, one arm straight up and the other resting on my head while a leg stretches out. I stroke my breasts, licking them and loving the taste of myself. I turn round to see how great my ass looks pushed out like that and revel in the feel of the strings stroking it as I move.
My hands wander all over the steel and fabric while I meet my own eyes in the mirror, I sit on the edge of my bed, legs apart, knees up, and then lie back.
Because thirdly, why wouldn't I masturbate over myself right now? I look amazing and feel sexier than I have for a long time. My nipples have been bullet hard since the postman knocked on the door. That I can't get to them now just makes them strain harder and my breath quicker. My clit has been twitching since the first hairgrip went in and I am so, so fucking wet.
Slowly, lovingly, I reach down with one hand while my other gently squeezes the part of my breast that is exposed. No toys needed for this, I am going old school and using my hand. I dip my fingers in now and then and taste myself and that sends me racing towards an orgasm I knew I was going to have from the time I entered my credit card numbers and have been building towards since that moment. I am good at this, the best lover I could have. I know how to turn myself on, and where the point of no return lies. When I have edged myself sufficiently and I can take no more, I take a deep breath and cum. And cum, and cum and cum. Arching my back is near to impossible and that only adds to it. I don't so much squirt as flood, my thighs and ass soaking as I shake.
I look at myself in the mirror. Wet, red faced, hair a mess, beautiful. I pull a sheet over myself and tell Google to wake me in an hour.
I sleep in the wet patch, heels, corset and all.
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