The Joy of Lacing
She pulls the laces behind me, forcing me forward.
I am a marionette, pulled then pushed.
Chest OUT. Arse UP. Waist PERFECT. I stroll towards the mirror; I am Mae West, Dita Von Teese, the power of two Bettys (Grable/Page) rolled into one.
This is corsetry. And it feels oh-so-lovely.
Perhaps it is testament to the woman who laces me up. She used to make them for museums, so the stiff cage of black satin is 'fitted' to me, rather than just 'tried on'. She takes the time to re-lace, tweak and straighten.
The results are secure, not strangling. I am starting to understand the appeal of being restrained. There is a comfort in this fabric and steel discipline, holding you in a manner which forces the posture of a goddess, chin no lower than a sphinxs'.
I love it, I take it (no, I can't REALLY afford it) and the saleslady is glad (being the third person she's laced that day) that someone has bought it.
So. A toast to new addictions.
I am a marionette, pulled then pushed.
Chest OUT. Arse UP. Waist PERFECT. I stroll towards the mirror; I am Mae West, Dita Von Teese, the power of two Bettys (Grable/Page) rolled into one.
This is corsetry. And it feels oh-so-lovely.
Perhaps it is testament to the woman who laces me up. She used to make them for museums, so the stiff cage of black satin is 'fitted' to me, rather than just 'tried on'. She takes the time to re-lace, tweak and straighten.
The results are secure, not strangling. I am starting to understand the appeal of being restrained. There is a comfort in this fabric and steel discipline, holding you in a manner which forces the posture of a goddess, chin no lower than a sphinxs'.
I love it, I take it (no, I can't REALLY afford it) and the saleslady is glad (being the third person she's laced that day) that someone has bought it.
So. A toast to new addictions.