THE CORSET
Dorothy Freed

I want you to wear this to the party tonight,” Duncan said. “You’ll be the hottest woman there.” Smiling, he handed me a gift-wrapped package and sat beside me on our sofa to watch me open it.

“Thank you, Sir, I can’t wait to see what you’ve brought me,” I said, smiling, addressing him in the deferential tone required of me by the rules of our relationship. I thought he looked pretty hot himself in a black jacket and T-shirt, with his thick dark hair combed back and his moustache freshly trimmed. I opened the package, drawing in my breath at the sight of the corset inside. I lifted it from the box. It was shiny black satin with lace trim at the top and bottom, with black garters attached.

“But Duncan, look,” I protested, holding it up. “There are no cups for my breasts. They’ll be naked.” I felt a small shiver of fear. Silly as it sounded—considering I’d been Duncan’s submissive for almost a year, and did what he told me to—I was still unwilling to bare my 36Ds at public functions, and so far had avoided doing so.

“You’re right, Geri. What an oversight,” he agreed, taking my hand and heading for our bedroom. “Let’s put it on you and see how you look.”

It took some major pulling and tugging on Duncan’s part—with me holding my breath and sucking in my stomach while he laced up the corset tightly in back. He finished and turned me to the full-length mirror on my closet door, where I stood, barely breathing, staring at myself in awe.

Talk about an hourglass figure! Flexible metal bands sewn into the corset bent sharply inward, constricting my already trim waist, forcing my stomach in and my rib cage high. My generous asscheeks swelled outrageously from beneath the fringe of black lace that extended below my waist in back, and my pubic mound in front. My cunt lips, visible through sheer black panties, were plump and moist with excitement. Silky black stockings, secured by the garters, encased my legs.

But hot as the rest of me looked, my full, firm breasts took center stage that night. The metal-stiffened, lace-trimmed upper edge of the corset pressed them insistently upward, while an inch-wide satin tab between them kept them slightly apart. As a result, they jutted out before me—never mind my being in my late thirties—as high and proud as they were when they first developed years ago. They felt heavy and aching with excitement; my prominent nipples were hard, like little rocks.

Duncan teased them lightly with his fingers, smiling at my sharp intake of breath. Then he had me bend my head and lift my long curly hair out of the way while he buckled on my studded slave collar, securing it at the back of my neck with a heart-shaped lock. High heels and a black crushed-velvet coat completed my outfit.

He looked me over and nodded. “You look even hotter than I imagined. I can’t wait to show you off. Let’s go party.”

“Like this?” I asked, hesitating, looking down at myself, then up at Duncan. There was just a hint of brat in my tone. After all, it was one thing to play kinky games with him alone, or with a compatible couple or two—scantily dressed or even naked when the play got going. I was up for that. But it was another thing entirely to walk into a party full of dominant men, leading with my breasts.

Duncan’s look reminded me who was in charge. “Exactly like this, Geri,” he said. His hand on my neck steered me to the door. “Let’s go.”

In spite of my concerns about my flagrantly sexy appearance, I was so aroused I could hardly speak—all the way from our San Francisco flat to our host’s home in the Oakland Hills. Duncan instructed me to sit up straight in the car—as though I could sit any other way in this corset—and clipped a red plastic clothespin to each of my nipples. This sent a jolt of arousal through me that had me breathing hard and squirming on my seat the whole way over. I shot Duncan some pleading looks, which he chose to ignore. A truck passed us going over the bridge. I was too embarrassed to look up, but I think the driver saw me because the truck wheels, visible from the corner of my eye, stayed right beside us all the way across.

My nipples were stinging by the time we arrived. I attempted, with looks and whimpers, to guilt Duncan into taking the clothespins off, but he was unmoved. Taking my arm, he helped me from the car and assisted me up the well-lit walkway of a nearby house. I took small careful steps, because of the tightness of the corset, the four-inch heels—and those damned clothespins. My open coat barely covered my breasts, and instead brushed against them with each step I took, making me gasp. Blushing, I kept my eyes down and prayed no neighbors were watching. Duncan removed the clothespins before ringing the doorbell.

“Thank you, Sir,” I said gratefully, wincing as the blood flow to my nipples resumed.

A bald man in black leather opened the door for us, checking me out with interest. Eyes downcast, I took a deep breath and hung on to Duncan, worried that he’d make me remove the coat immediately. He let me wear it into the dining room, allowing me to calm myself at the buffet table with brie, French bread and dark chocolate truffles.

The play space downstairs was huge, with a low-beamed ceiling; a sturdy redwood whipping post dominated the center of the room. Several couples were engaged in play when we entered. Most of the men were fully clothed. The women were in various stages of undress; all of them wore collars, and some were leashed.

Several feet to our left, a Rubenesque woman with jet-black hair was strapped naked to a spanking bench. Thwack! Thwack! The broad wooden paddle connected with the cheeks of her large, fleshy ass. She cried out plaintively with each stroke, asscheeks quivering.

To our right a movie-star-pretty blonde sat rope-bound to a kitchen chair, legs spread, arms behind her, with a ball gag in her mouth. Her top, a small muscular man with hawk-like features, was spanking her inner thighs and creamy pussy with a tiny red whip. The glazed look in her pale blue eyes told me she was flying. My clit pulsed and my breathing quickened as I watched the couple play.

Across the room two doms sat chatting on an overstuffed sofa while enjoying blow jobs from the slaves kneeling at their feet. The insistent beat of the music was accompanied by squeals of pain and moans of pleasure—and the arousing sounds of hands and whips and paddles striking flesh.

“I’ll take your coat now,” Duncan said, reaching for it.

I don’t know what came over me then; my disobedience wasn’t planned, it just happened. Instead of handing Duncan my coat, I resisted—crossing my arms over my breasts and clutching my sleeves above my elbows, so the coat wouldn’t slip off my shoulders.

“I’m cold, Sir,” I said plaintively, looking up into his eyes. “Maybe I should keep it on awhile.”

“Your coat, Geri.” Duncan repeated. His tone brought me to my senses. I gave up the coat without further resistance—and my big naked breasts burst into the room.

I stood, eyelids lowered, hoping Duncan wasn’t annoyed by my misbehavior, but of course he was. His eyebrows rose quizzically. He cocked his head. The wry little smile at the corner of his mouth told me I’d broken an agreement and was in trouble. Reaching out, he took each of my nipples firmly between his thumbs and forefingers and pulled me to him.

“Bratty girl,” he said softly, and took a pair of shiny, steel clamps from one of his pockets.

The clamps, connected by a foot-long chain, were the heavy-duty ones Duncan reserved for making strong statements. As always, his stern demeanor aroused me. I gazed up at him lovingly, regretting my defiance, longing to melt into him and be forgiven, but he wasn’t letting me off that easily. I gasped and moaned from the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain that rushed through me from the instant those clamps crushed down on my nipples. Grinning, Duncan clipped a short leash to the chain—and to my horror proceeded to lead me around the room.

“Hands behind your back,” he said, turning to look at me. I obeyed instantly this time and my breasts jutted out even farther. They jiggled with each step I took, making the chain sway and tug at the clamps.

Duncan was enjoying the party, checking out the room, stopping to chat briefly with doms he knew—while I waited behind him like an inanimate object, my pussy wet, swollen and tingling with excitement. I flushed, certain that everyone looking at me knew how aroused I was. I kept my eyes downcast and followed Duncan closely, doing my best to avoid any further pull on those clamps.

When the grand tour was over, he led me to the whipping post. Smiling, he looped the leash handle over a hook above my head. Heart racing, I faced the post, which I was bound to by my nipples.

“Raise your arms over your head, Geri. Hold on to the leash.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, and reached for it, grateful for something to hang on to. Mortified, I stood on display in the center of the room.

Duncan was behind me, his large hands cupping my breasts. I could feel his body heat and the hardness of his cock, which was pressing insistently against my ass through his clothing. My cunt clenched in response and my ass cheeks tightened. I moaned again, back arching, hips swaying, and rubbed my bottom up against his crotch, pleading to be fucked. His fingers teased my aching nipples, sending sharp little jolts of pleasure straight to my clit.

“Please, Sir,” I murmured. “Please…”

“Not so fast, my darling,” he said. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to fuck you.”

Duncan stepped back and around the post. Facing me, he reached out, smoothing the thick tangle of my hair with his fingers. Without warning he grabbed two fistfuls of it, pulling hard, forcing me to stand tall and taller still, until I was teetering on my toes, rib cage high and barely breathing. He bent, tilting my head back in order to bite at my pouty lower lip. He thrust his tongue into my mouth, licking at my teeth.

“Look at me.” He released my hair and took a step back as I gazed into his dark, deep-set eyes.

“I brought you here tonight, Geri, to show off my beautiful, big-breasted woman. And that’s what I intend to do,” he whispered. “In fact, I want you to stand here and let everyone in this room admire you.” He looked around, a little grin at one corner of his mouth. “I see several people admiring you right now. And that pleases me, my darling—because you are without doubt the hottest and most beautiful woman in this room—and I own you.”

He paused. “I’m going to whip you now for your show of attitude about the corset that I chose for you to wear—and for your deliberate refusal to remove your coat when I ordered you to. And everyone here tonight is welcome to watch. Do I hear any objections?”

My heart was pounding as I smiled into Duncan’s eyes. There I was, chained to a post, humiliated, hurting, objectified in front of an entire roomful of people—and more aroused, I thought, than ever before in my life.

“No, Sir.” I said, honestly. “No objections at all.”

I can hardly describe how hot it was to be put on display in the midst of that party.

Duncan moved around behind me. Slipping his toy bag from his shoulder, he reached into it and selected a whip. He teased me with it first, caressing my back and ass and thighs with thin strands of black leather.

“Keep count and thank me after each stoke,” he said, and without warning brought the whip down sharply against my flesh, where it landed with a slapping sound, making me yelp.

“One, Sir,” I gasped. “Thank you, Sir.”

I’d barely caught my breath when he delivered another stroke, then three in rapid succession—across my back, and generous asscheeks, and behind my sensitive upper thighs. These were followed by five more spaced wide apart—for which I was grateful—then five, fast and hard.

Duncan continued to whip me. My voice rose to a high-pitched squeal. Then, panting, I kept count of each stroke and thanked him for them—willing myself to remain still, to avoid extra punishment to my burning nipples. But when he paused to massage my reddened rear end, slipping knowing fingers beneath my soaking panties and up into the slickness between my legs, the exquisite sensations made my knees sag. The clips yanked at my nipples, causing me to yelp again.

By the time Duncan stopped whipping me, it seemed like I’d stood at that post forever—breasts aching, flesh flaming, pain and pleasure merging. Bathed in endorphins, every particle of me felt vibrant and alive with sensation.

I moaned, eyes closing as his fingers thrust into me. My back arched in response and the walls of my cunt contracted, clinging to him. It felt so good. I was gasping, flying, half fainting with delight. My excitement mounted, and when Duncan’s other hand reached around and began rubbing my clit in that special rhythmic way he has, I exploded, screaming, into orgasm.

“Who do you belong to and who do you obey?” he demanded to know. He looked down at me lovingly.

“You, Sir,” I whispered, looking into his eyes.

I screamed again when the clips came off. Duncan soothed my aching nipples with his warm, wet lips and tongue, turning the pain to pleasure. He loosened the corset, then held me for a long time, kissing and stroking me gently, caressing the tender places on my ass, calling me his good, good girl.

Later, we retired to a vacant couch where, bathed in afterglow, I knelt before Duncan, giving him head. I reflected on the events of the evening and the strange delight we shared. I’d never realized I was a big-time exhibitionist, but there was no denying it now.

Duncan knew that about me, I thought dreamily, my mouth filled with him, tasting him, breathing him in. That’s why he bought the braless corset, and made me remove the coat, and pushed me to my limits tonight.

And that’s why he’s the Master. That’s why I call him Sir.