Tightlacing

      Me.  Her.  The Holiday Inn.  Over three days, we explored a thousand and one ways to reach sexual satisfaction.  Ping-pong paddles.  Hair brushes.  Enemas.  Furry, fox pajamas.  The works!  Since we planned our weekend respite, I was ecstatic about one thing: breaking out my new corset from The Folsom Street Fair.
     After fumbling with the clasps on the front, I was ready to be zipped up tight.  I hissed, "Tighter," the way the corset compressed my torso pressed all of my hot buttons.  Pulling the laces tighter and tighter, she squeezed the air from my lungs.  My spine was forcefully straightened.  My submissive side awakened.
     Pulling my hair, she barked, "On your knees."  After running her tongue across my face and around my open mouth, she pushed me on all fours.  Planting her foot on my ass, she grunted as she tightened the laces even further.  I was surprised by how much I wanted it be crushed.  Putting her weight into it, I could feel my insides collapse.  To be bound this way felt so fucking good.
     Still on my knees, I could hear her toy box rattle.  The anticipation for me is always more painful than anything in her arsenal.  Deep down, I fear her.  I am scared of her sadistic nature.  No warm up.  No warning.  My body stings from the hairbrush striking my ass.  The sound of the plastic slapping against my ass cold be heard throughout the first floor.  I don't know if it was the corset restricting my breathing or if I was feeling more feminine.  A soprano whimper escaped my bearded face.  A second blow soon followed.
     I couldn't turn away.  I couldn't turn around.  Nothing is more vulnerable.  My entire body was hers for the taking.  With this black opportunity, she chose to beat and fuck me into climax.  That was the night I fell in love with wearing corsets.