Bound In Leather 12 | bride corset bondage story

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Finally, Nicki reappeared at the head of the stairs in her going-away costume and slowly descended. She still wore her Venus corset but no imitation arms. Instead, she had on a tight-fitting, armless, green velvet jacket, with a little round collar and a puff of yellow silk scarf around the neck. Two cut outs in front of the jacket allowed her to thrust forward beneath a yellow blouse. Below the waist, just to the tops of her very long brown kid, eight-inch heeled thigh-boots, she wore an ultra light, brown velvet skirt. Her head was covered with a discipline helmet of the same leather as the boots, though it seemed to be in two parts, the area over the mouth and lower face being strapped on over the crown of the head. Final touches were supplied by a green velvet beret on the smooth leather head, and a narrow spray of pink orchids on the left shoulder. So easily and surely had she managed the stairs, that it was not until she stood uncertainly at the bottom that we all realised her helmet had no eye-holes and she was blind. I didn't feel quite ready to go, so, with assistance, I stood her precariously on four champagne bottles for forty-five minutes. She didn't dare move a muscle, or she would have fallen and probably hurt herself. When I was good and ready to leave, I lifted my charmingly defence-less bride down off the bottles, and, guided by Dick and Vicki, led her through the back of the house to the garage.
Yes, this must be one fo the few houses left in the city with a private garage, formerly coach-house, attached. Made it very handy for getting tightly bound and strikingly costumed girls into and out of cars without exciting interest in the wrong quarters. Dick had the station wagon ready for us. It was packed with numerous suitcases of Nicki's (and mine, which I had brought over earlier). There was a queer arrangement like a folding door frame, whose use I couldn't guess. But, oddest of all, was a large, vaguely pear-shaped leather bag, hung from a special hook in the roof of the wagon. I couldn't figure it at all.
	Right back of the front seat, convenient to hand, was a large chest of bondage material.From it I took a long, fairly heavy cord and tied one end of it as tightly around my wife's rigid waist as I could pull it. I helped her seat herself on the front seat. Then I brought the rope up behind her and around the bar on the back of the seat and pulled it so tight before knotting it, that nearly all her weight rested on the rope. To keep her from leaning forward, I ran another short rope around her leather neck and to the back of the seat. I figured this arrangement would give her something to think about-especially going over any bumps. As a final touch to complete her helplessness, I corded her legs together as tightly as possible at ankles, insteps and above and below her booted knees.
Vicki gave me a warm kiss and Dick slipped an envelope into my pocket as we shook hands, saying: "Open it after you're out of the city. .. The best of luck, my boy and remember, in marriage there's nothing that can't be settled by a smaller corset, a higher heel, a tighter restraint or a more severe gag. So long." I slipped behind the wheel as he opened the garage doors and away we went. Naturally, we kept to the darker streets, but I still had ample light to admire the lovely figure at my side. Silent, bound and corseted to utter helplessness, Nicki was, to me, the acme of feminine desirability. For her part, I could feel, from the faint but definite responses to my kisses that she, too, was more than content with her condition. When we were some miles out in the country, I stopped the car, turned on the map-fight and read the letter. It said: Dear Ted: Of course you'll want to spend your honeymoon at your cottage, but don't forget that our place is just up the road. Make yourselves at home there. You'll have space, apparatus and privacy Vicki and I are sending Fifi along to help you. She can do all the things, like housework that I'm sure you'l1 keep Nicki too firmly restrained to do. When you want privacy, just add a blindfold to her gag. Handle her just as strictly as you do Nicki; they both thrive on severity. Oh, be sure and set up the portable lacing frame I let you have; neither girl is strong enough to pull herself in without it. Happy honeymoon. Dick So Fifi was with us! That was very generous of Vicki and Dick, but where was she? Suddenly I realised what the contents of that swinging leather bag must be. What a delightful way to pack her for shipment! Soon we were pulling up outside the cottage.
Of course, brides always have to be carried over the threshold for the first time, so I lowered the tail of the wagon and carried Nicki around to fix her properly. I secured a rope several times around her armless shoulders and ran a cord from it back to the one around her ankles, pulling it tight until she was bent backwards like a strung bow. Then I took the cord that still retained its position under her body, up the back and tied it to the lace of her helmet, drawing her head back to the utmost. She was now in a beautiful Crapaudine position and utterly without the power of movement. It was thus that I carried my bride into her new home. I left her in that position while I went out, leisurely, to unpack the station wagon.
Naturally, I emptied the baggage and so forth out of the wagon first, including the lacing-frame. I set that up in a little utility room behind the bedroom. (How it works you'll see in a future chapter.) Then I was ready for that interesting-looking leather bag which still hung from the roof of the automobile. A little examination showed the bag was nothing but a cover-that is, it took no weight. That part of it was handled by a metal loop that emerged from the tied neck of the bag.
Untying hte cord, I removed the bag, disclosing Fifi, bound in a manner I had never se seen before. Since, owing to the deep curve her body had been forced into, she could not wear a conventional stiff corset, her sole clothing, aside from the usual stockings. was a super-tight fitting, heavy, dark, rubber garment like a one-piece bathing suit. To get her into the necessary position, she must have been made to sit, flat on the ground, then her head and arms were forced forward and down, while her knees were brought up until a bar, with securing straps at the ends, could be passed under her knees and across the back of the shoulders. Her arms, which were now on the underside of her thighs, were brought around the outside of them and forced as far back as possible by means of cords from wrist to wrist across the small of her back. Later I found out, when the subject is left in this position, it is called "The Grasshopper," from the raised position of the knees. But in Fifi's case, her feet were laced into soft bootees, without heels, the toes of which were sewn to the ring by which she was suspended. Thus, the least movement was impossible and escape, or even modification of the position, was out of the question. Her discomfort was greatly increased and silence assured by a huge pad of sponge rubber crammed into the gaping mouth and held in place by a narrow strap, buckled as tightly as possible around her head. Fifi's tear-filled eyes gazed at me in mute appeal as I slipped the bag off. Knowing that release form a cramped position such as this can be very painful unless done slowly, I carried her, still bound, into the utility room, placed her gently on the floor, and removed her bonds.
Then I left her to untangle herself as fast as her stiffness allowed. Nearby I placed one of the suitcases on which was stencilled her name. Then I went back to the living room and my helpless bride. I released her, too, at least as far as her bonds went. Then I led her to the couch seating myself at one end and settling her so that her armless ,trunk rested against me and her attractively booted legs extended along the seat. Even though I couldn't hear it, I could feel her sigh and relax at least as much as her rigid costume allowed. I took off her beret and then unbuckled the lower part of her helmet, the part over the lower face and jaw. This disclosed the obviously wide open mouth and cheeks were covered by a smooth-fitting three-inch band of leather, which turned out to be laced down the back of her head, over the helmet. This actually had a triple function, to jam the mouthpiece of the gag all the way back in the mouth, to seal the mouth completely, to present a smooth surface, so the part of the helmet over the mouth could fit without the least crease or bulge. Under this wide band when I unlaced it, I found the mouth packed wide open by the largest possible leather egg which was held in place by a strap through fit and around the back of the head, pulling the corners of the mouth far back. At first, Nicki's mouth was so dry and stiff and cramped, she could say nothing. Finally, she managed to ask for some water, which I gave her I was just beginning to unlace the rest of the helmet when she begged: "Please, master, not yet I want to look my best when you see my face. I've got no makeup on and my face will be full of pressure-marks from the mask Let Fifi fix me up as pretty as possible, then I'll be glad to show my face to you. I hope you like me," she murmured anxiously. It was more than an hour later I suppose (after all, who keeps track of minutes at a time like that?) when Fifi knocked on the door of the living room. Fifi was her usual dark Parisian self, from the crisp white cap on her dark hair to the tips of her high-heeled, black patent toes. Her first words were: "Fifi weeshes to thank Monsieur for putting up ze lacing frame. Wizzout eet, she could not have lace' her corset. You theenk she looks nice, oui?"
	She pirouetted for my approval. As a change from the usual black, she wore a steel grey, satin uniform. It had a very high, stiff tight collar, which came up in a fan of lace behind, almost to the top of her head. Over the shoulders, bosom and hips, it fit like the skin on a frankfurter. It continued down, still ultra tight, to about a few inches above her knees-far longer than her usual skirts. Her stockings of ordinary length, were dark beige, and in spite of the pull of the four tight suspenders to each leg, there was a band of bare flesh between stocking top and skirt hem. Finishing touches were the white apron, edged with lace and the wide lace cuffs on the full-length, tight sleeves. "Very nice, Fifi," I told her, "but tell me, why no black stockings? I thought French maids always wore them." "Oui, monsieur, for ordinary occasions. But zees ees no ordinary occasion. Zee only black stockings worn tonight will be on Mam'selle. Fifi would not dream of offering, what you call, competeetion . . . Eef Monsieur weel permit, Fifi will take ze bride, an' dress her in a pretty negligee, for ze bridal supper an' prepare her face for ze great unveilfing." I helped Nicki to her feet, and after a final kiss, she minced out, followed by Fifi, who gave me one of her inviting smiles before closing the door.
There was quite a lengthy wait part of which I filled by getting out a bottle of champagne and putting it in an ice-bucket. Finally, I heard Nicki's slightly husky voice, outside the door, asking, "Will you let me in please, boss?" My first reaction was to tell her to open the door herself, since it wasn't locked. Then I realised, happily, she was probably incapable of doing so. In two strides, I was across the room and had the door open. My wife took two or three tiny steps into the room and posed, awaiting my approval. She was well worth approving. Her feet were shod in very low cut, black patent pumps with the slimmest of seven-inch heels; her legs were displayed as Fifi promised, in the finest gauge, black nylon operas, stretched as taut as possible and beyond the tops of the legs at the sides by a single, wide, black suspenders which were attached to the lower edge of the Venus corset which still enclosed her trunk, compressing her arms into invisibility. Her undergarment was of black lace, with a matching brassiere. The negligee which Fifi mentioned was made without arms to fit over the corset, was of black tulle, buttoned closely down the front to the waist; then it was steeply cut away to leave the legs fully displayed.
The most surprising part of the outfit was the thin, but opaque, black satin hood, which was tied bag-like around her neck, completely concealing her head and face. Eagerly, I led her to the couch and as I reached for the knot of the draw-string, she cautioned me: "Are you sure you want to see my face? I-I may not be at all what you expect." "I'm not worried," I assured her, "though I'll admit to certain nagging doubts. I'm sure you're lovely-and anyway, I can always keep you masked and gagged if I feel like it." I undid the knot and slipped off the concealing hood. There was a long silence after I slipped the hood off Nicki's head, disclosing her face. Finally, she murmured anxiously: "What-what's the matter? Don't you like me?" "Like you!" I exclaimed. "You're so lovely, you left me speechless." Her resemblance to her beautiful mother was striking, with the same attractive, wide-set eyes under carefully plucked, high arching, dark brows, a little similar, slightly tip-tilted nose over the generous, beautifully shaped lips, slightly parted to disclose the white, even teeth. Perhaps the most striking difference was her hair, which instead of being dark, was so blonde, it was almost white. She wore it in a sort of angel cut, a mass of short curls that would have looked quite boyish if her features had not been so feminine. I found out she wore it in this style because it was so practical with the wigs and helmets she wore so much. Her features were brilliantly made up, as though for a stage appearance, with ultra long, artificial eyelashes, deep eye-shadow, pale skin with a touch of rouge high on her cheek-bones and her pretty mouth outlined in the brightest possible red lipstick. As soon as I had reassured her, she glanced up at me flirtatiously through her long lashes and murmured: "How about a kiss?" Eagerly I pulled her to me, wrapping my arms crushingly about her armless trunk; as my mouth approached hers, her eyes closed langorously. Finally, while we were taking a sort of breather, and I was trying to tell Nicki how much I loved her and how delightful she looked, there was a gentle knock on the door. "Come in," I said, and Fifi minced in, murmuring: "Eef Monsieur weel fix Fifi like ze Bridal Soubrette, she weel serve ze Bridal Supper." "What on earth is a Bridal Soubrette?" I asked. My wife explained, "She's sort of a couple of steps beyond a French maid. Her job is to wait on a bride and groom without interfering with their privacy. That means she cannot see, speak, or release herself from her restraint. Bring the things in, Fifi, I'm sure my husband is more than willing to fix you." Fifi curtsied, minced out and returned with a tray on which were the necessary materials. The first items were a pair of arm corsets, which were like shoulder-length gloves, except that the; arm parts were heavily boned and laced up like a corset, so that once on, Fifi could not bend her elbows.
	That means she could use her hands, but could not get them near her face. I laced these as tightly as I could, then put on the leather branks, which was an arrangement of many bridle-like straps which went over her head and around her face. The function of this, aside from its attractive appearance, was to hold a padded leather patch over each eye, blinding her, and the biggest possible leather pear as far back as possible in her gaping mouth, gagging her completely. My helpless bride stood by my side, supervising the adjustment of the straps and laces, insisting that everything be pulled as tightly as possible without regard to the victim's feelings. Poor Fifi writhed and waved her stiffened arms uselessly, as under Nicki's guidance I pulled the blindfold strap a hole tighter or took up two more on the gag-strap.
As a final perfecting touch I buckled a narrow belt around her waist and ran a strap from the back of it to a ring on the top of her branks. As Fifi couldn't see anyway, Nicki made me pull this check rein up until I was afraid the wretched maid's neck would be dislocated; but Nicki knew what she was doing. At last she said smiling sweetly, "All right Fifi you may serve supper. And if you spill a drop of anything, you'll spend the night pulled up like that." The supper table was already laid out on a little glass-enclosed porch which is nice and warm, even in the cool of the evening.
	The table is one of those wrought-iron, glass-topped jobs, but only one place was set, since my armless bride would have to be fed. Arrived at the table I made her stand astride the chair, and with some cord I had brought, I tied her trunk to the back of it. Then I doubled her legs at the knees, cording her ankles to the side members of the chair, opposite her hips.When I was through all she could move was her head. As I took my place beside her, she smiled. "It's always fun to be tied up, but it's especially delightful to be tied by your husband." Naturally, I kissed her. Several times. Then Fifi began serving the meal. Incredibly, she managed the whole deal without spilling a drop of anything. She was slow, yes-but who was in a hurry? She seemed to know almost by instinct where the kitchen door was and how many steps she had to take from the door to the table and so on. At one point, as she took a tray-load of dishes back to the kitchen, walking through the door without even crashing it, her slow, stiff movements reminding me of a mechanical figure, I asked Nicki how she managed it.
"Easy," I was told. "She does it by sound. She and mother and I, have all learned to move around blindfolded by listening to the sounds we make being reflected by walls and even big pieces of furniture." "Could you move around blindfolded, as easily as she does?" "Certainly. Even better. I've had more practice," Nicki asserted. Well, that was a nice bit of information to file away for the future. When the time came to serve the champagne, I got it out of the ice bucket, loosened the cork and shook the bottle before making Fifi turn around. I flatter myself that I scored a very good hit right where it would do the most good. Her stiff arms flew back uselessly and I'm sure she tried to cry out, but no sound penetrated the super-tight gag. Filling one glass, I made Nicki take a sip for herself, then one for me which I took from her lips. So we slowly killed most of the bottle-and I may say champagne never tasted better than it did from my lovely wife's ruby lips. Though Nicki drank her share of the wine, she ate almost nothing, explaining the corset she was going to wear later wouldn't allow her to take more than couple of mouthfuls. I didn't argue. Supper over I carried my bride, her ankles still bound to her thighs, back to the living room where we had coffee. She was warmed and relaxed by the champagne, obviously glorying in her helpless attractiveness. Along toward midnight she suggested: "If you'd like to take Fifi's blindfold off, she could help me out of this Venus corset and into the other one I mentioned. Then I could get ready for bed and we could get rid of Fifi." "Sounds like a fine idea," I agreed heartily. Nicki and Fifi, her sight now restored, were out of the room for so long, I had begun to worry about what had happened to them, and was just going to go looking for them when the door opened. Fifi entered first, looking much the same as before, save that her leather branks seemed to have been pulled even tighter, the blindfold replaced and her relatively long, tight skirt had been pulled up slightly at the sides so the wrists of her rigid arms could be strapped to her thighs making her arms useless. Just behind, and urging her along came my bride, wearing a night-gown of sheerest, black nylon The night-gown was enclosed at the waist by a very short, stiff, black patent corset, which pulled Nicki's wasp waist into sixteen inches, smaller than I had ever seen it. The corset was unusual in another way. It closed at the back and laced at the front-it was now standing open about two inches. The night-gown, which reached the floor at the sides was slit at back and front. There were two narrow straps in front of the corset, fastened to the lower edge about six inches apart' they went down and up to fasten to the corset in back. I found, they were called "Martingale" straps and were intended to hold a short corset like this one from riding up uncomfortably; they helped the figure in other ways, too. Her black opera hose were held up by being rolled down a couple of inches to meet a fancy black lace garter on each lovely leg. Finishing touches were supplied by ultra tight black gloves, reaching to above the elbow and seven-inch heeled, black patent sandals. "How do I look?" she smiled, posing for my pleasure. "Without doubt, you are the most lovely and desirable creature the world has ever seen," I declared firmly. She flashed me a teasing smile and then made quite a production out of pulling up one sheer stocking and then the other. I noticed her hands were so tightly gloved, she had quite a little difficulty in closing her fingers. "Tell me," I asked, "why the front lacing corset?" "Well, I assume you're going to strap my arms up behind me, at least, I hope you are. And if the corset lace was at the back, under my arms how could you get it closed?" "You mean you could stand being laced even smaller?" I gasped "Oh, yes. I've had this corset closed to within one inch. But with my arms anchored behind my back and maybe a nice tight gag in my mouth, I couldn't very well stop if you decided to close it all the way, could I? Now," she said briskly, "how about getting rid of Fifi for the night?" and she gestured toward Fifi, who was standing stiff and still as a post beside her. I got a heavy travelling rug and a long length of rope and some straps. "Bring her out on the porch," I ordered. As she pushed her victim along, Nicki explained: "I've plugged her ears, so she's deaf as well as blind and dumb. That's why I have to move her around this way." On the porch, I spread the rug, laid Fifi down on it, strapped her legs together in several places and rolled her tightly in the rug. Then I laced the cord around and around the silent, helpless bundle. Nicki looked at me and smiled, "Would you strap my arms up, please?" "It will be a pleasure," I assured her wholeheartedly, "if you will get the straps." Gracefully, she rose from the couch, and before going on her errand, she pulled up her garters and smoothed out her black stockings. In a few minutes, she was beside me on the couch again, wrists strapped together between her shoulder-blades and elbows tightly in contact in the small of her back. She sighed happily. "Oh, if you only knew how wonderful and exciting it is to be dressed like this and helpless in the bargain," she said. Later on, I suggested, "Let's begin tightening your corset. I want to see it closed all the way down the front." "So do I," Nicki nodded, continuing, "Maybe you'd better gag me. Otherwise, after about an inch, I might be trying to get you to stop pulling me in, instead of leaving the decision up to you, the way it should be." "What kind of a gag do you want, a choke-pear?" "Anything you please, master. Of course, a choke-pear is a good silencer and it's nice and severe as well." A moment or so later, my bride was mute, her jaws fully distended by the strong spring of the leather-covered pear. Her eyes were also wide open in the pretty "gag-look."
I undid the long lace that was wrapped around her corseted wrist and began pulling. For three quarters of an inch it wasn't too tough. The next quarter was a real fight. Nicki's lovely legs squirmed and she shook her head in a vain attempt to make me stop. Obviously, the gag was a fine idea. I tied the lace and let her rest a few minutes, while I told her all over again how lovely she looked and how much I loved her. Then I stood her up, fastened one end of the lace to a doorknob, and began pulling at the other. As the lace slowly slipped through the holes, I had to keep tying it and then working the lace down from the top and up from the bottom of the corset. Then I would let her rest some more. It took over an hour before the gap was closed from top to bottom. As I was knotting the lace, Nicki's knees buckled and she started to fall. I picked her up and put her on the couch. I think she fainted, but I knew enough not to loosen the lace and in a few minutes her eyes were opened. I let her rest, while her body adjusted itself to the strain, for about half an hour. Then I asked if she wanted to have the gag taken out of her mouth.
She nodded. In a few minutes, she was able to whisper, "You've got me laced to fourteen inches. I never thought I'd make it. I feel like I'm cut in half. It's delicious. It's uncomfortable and wonderful at the same time. Now if you'd strap a flirtation bit in my mouth, you can go to bed." "I'll go to bed, but I've got something better than a flirtation bit to go in your mouth. It's a copy of an old Spanish bridal bridle." "A bridal bridle! It sounds interesting but exciting. What is it?" "It's what many a high-born Spanish bride had to wear on her wedding night to impress her with her new condition. I'll get it." I went down into my workshop and was up in a moment with the Spanish bridal bridle. I showed it to my interested bride. It combined the finer points of a branks, a human pony bit and a choke-pear. It was designed to hold the mouth wide open, with the jaws at their fullest stretch, so that the wearer was in the same condition as if she was wearing a flirtation bit, but much more so. In addition, a plug hung from a short chain, so that if her owner desired silence, he had but to insert the plug and the subject was tightly gagged. "Well," said Nicki, "it certainly looks uncomfortable, but it looks exciting, too. I won't give you any trouble with that in my mouth. Let's try it," and she opened her mouth as wide as she could. It was quite a tussle to get the bridle between her teeth, and she couldn't restrain an "Aaaaoooh!" of protest, as I tightened the fastening behind her head, forcing the device deeply into place.
	Experimentally, I put the plug in place and her protests were silenced as though by magic. Later, on the night-table, I saw a note leaning against the lamp I opened it and read: "When the time comes, please take off my high heels and put on my training-boots to sleep in. You'll find them under the edge of the bed." Your proud, helpless wife" . I sat her down on the edge of the bed and fished for the boots. I found them and put them on. Basically, they were like ballet toe slippers, save they had no padded toe; in addition, a heavy steel strip ran backward from the toe, shaped the arch of the foot very steeply and then straight back for about a foot. At the end of it was a strap. Obviously, this strap went around her leg, just below the knee and from the mark where the buckle went, it was pulled very tight. The effect was to make her arch her instep so far downward that the sole of her foot, her heel, and the calf of her leg were in a straight line. I didn't see how she could even wear such an arrangement, let alone sleep that way.
But that was what she wanted, and I certainly didn't think it my place to argue. The boots in place, I lifted her carefully, because she was so severely restrained, she was on the verge of fainting, and made her kneel in the middle of the bed. Then I strapped her ankles to her thighs. I gave her a push and she fell backward. She was in a perfect "trussed chicken" attitude. Laced as tightly as she was, she couldn't pull herself upright again, and with her arms and legs doubled up and bound behind her, she was unable to even turn on her side.

Of course, I relaxed the severity of my bride's bondage to a great extent. But she still retained her training boots and while her hands came down from between her shoulder-blades, I did keep her wrists strapped together behind her back. Likewise, the bridal bridle came out, and was replaced by the far more comfortable flirtation bit.

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