She got a new corset the other day. She has a couple already, but this was the real deal. It had big, heavy duty clips on the front and laces in the back—real laces, not just some decorative strings. The boning’s made of steel, not plastic, and the soft, satiny fabric is as tough and unforgiving as canvas. This one’s meant to be put on and laced up tight. We’re talking serious female compression here.

I had to lace her into it. She came to me in her stockings and heels and turned around while I pulled the laces tight, starting at the middle and working up for one set, down for the other. Her waist pulled in till I could almost put my hands around her and touch my fingers together. Her hips expanded. Her tits threatened to spill over the top like champagne bubbles. When she stood up, she was red and flushed, and horny as hell.

It must be the compression. She had to stand with her chest out, her ass up, and when she breathed her tits crowded together in the most beautiful way. I didn’t even let her finish dressing. I grabbed her and ran my hands over that silky tightness and she melted, pushing her tits into me. I reached down and touched her and she was soaking wet.

She could hardly move, but that was okay. I did all the moving, and she was so aroused that I didn’t have to move much before her eyes rolled up, her mouth opened, and her sharp red nails dug into my arm. I wasn’t far behind. That corset was so tight that it didn’t feel like there was room for anything else inside her.

But there was.