The word “arse” was oddly jarring; perverse as our conversation was, it had the feel of polite dinner party chat.
“Yes, I see, and there are these small metal loops around the … anus and the … er …”
“Yes, they don’t have to be metal, though. I will leave that to you. The idea is that a vibrator or dildo can be screwed into each ring and inserted into my wife when she is wearing the corset. The part of the strap that passes between her lips should also have a patch of some reasonably rough or coarse fabric stitched on, which will rub against her clit when she walks. Our aim is that she will be in a state of permanent sexual stimulation, though I would prefer that she cannot quite achieve satisfaction. So the fabric will need to be just a little too rough to be comfortable, and the penetrative objects just long enough to enter, but not so long as to provide relief. What do you think? We can go elsewhere …”
“No need for that,” I said quietly, though I must admit I had been rendered momentarily speechless by what he had said. Speechless and extremely aroused. I wondered how she felt about it all; she maintained her statuesque pose throughout.
Head bowed, hands clasped.
“I will need to take additional measurements.”
“As you wish.”
I stood directly in front of my subject, unwinding the tape measure very quickly so she could hear the light swish of it, such an efficient sound.
“Your nipples first, I think. Are they quite hard enough?” I turned to her husband.
“Perhaps they need to be a little harder,” he agreed.
The pad of my thumb described a light circle over both tips until her chest began to buck and heave a little. I applied my finishing touch – a firm pinch to each – then wound my tape around the pair, pulling it as hard as I could get away with, looking for a grimace or, better, a sound. I got the grimace; the sound did not come.
“Small but not too small,” I noted. “There will be a standardized size of clamps for them.”
“Oh, I’m aware of that.”
“Now to the matter of the rings. What size of penetrative object were you considering?”
“Big enough to be noticeable. If you could perhaps measure both holes and then order rings for perhaps half a centimetre larger all round. She will need to be stretched a little.”
“I understand. Well, shall we start down here? I think, my dear, I will need you to bend over. Could you put your hands on that footstool just there and spread your legs as much as you can. That’s … just the job, dear.”
The whole spread was wide open and willing, from the swollen ruby of her clitoris to the brown bud peeking at me from between her cheeks. I felt like a gourmet at a feast, unsure of which dish to sample first.
I started at the top, or rather, the bottom.
“Perhaps if you use your fingers? To get an idea of what she can comfortably take?”
I acceded to her husband’s request, snapping on a pair of thin latex gloves, and took a jar of lubricant he had produced from his trouser pocket. I smeared it liberally around the entrance of her pucker, greasing it up and pressing my thumb against the ring. “Don’t clench.”
My gloved index finger snaked slowly and surprisingly easily beyond her sphincter. I twisted it around in there for a minute until she began to squirm, then introduced a second finger. She began to whimper a little, so I went for the third, ramming them up as far as I could repeatedly and pressing down on her little red mark with my other hand. “Yes,” I said, now having to work at controlling my own breathing. “If I measure the width of these three fingers, that should be sufficient.”
I took off the glove and wound the tape around my fingers, enjoying the residual warmth from the invasion of her most private space. I thought about putting a fresh pair of gloves on for the next part of my measuring mission, but the prospect of all that hot, wet, yielding flesh against mine was too much to resist.
One finger was sucked into the tight, slick cave of her cunt; two were better, scissoring and prodding at the sides, feeling for the bump of her g-spot, finding it and rubbing it. And then, yes, she definitely moaned; her walls quivered, and I added a third finger. I could feel the suction; she was pulling me in and I was tempted to stay, but I realized that this was not on today’s agenda, so I pulled out with a luscious squelch and added the figures to the list.
“She’s extremely receptive,” I remarked to her husband.
“She’s a slut,” he said, and the smallest of sighs escaped his wife’s lips.
That night I thought about Ruby for the first time in years.
I thought about how she had loved to be on display, how she would contrive to show off her suspenders even in polite company, how she would goad me into meting out discipline, how she would beg to be shared.
And that had been the sticking point. I had been unable to share her.
Mr Fox, it seemed, had no such scruple. Sharing his wife would be my first taste of that particular brand of honey in almost a decade. But was she like Ruby, or was she just doing it to please her husband? Perhaps I should just take her gushing pussy as a silent consent. Yes, perhaps I would do that.
Production of the Foxs’ custom corset was a complicated job, involving much research and negotiation with some of the BDSM toy suppliers, but I looked upon it as a labour of lust.
When I was eventually able to stroke the leather nether harness, poking a finger or two through its rings, I called my deviant couple to invite them for a final fitting. On the mannequin, the contraption looked devilishly wicked and alluring and I could not seem to stop experimenting with tightening and adjusting its fixtures. The two specially made dildoes – thick, but not quite long enough to go far – stood on my desk like sentinels, ready to greet her when she walked through the door.
She saw them straightaway, flinched and then turned to the mannequin.
With her eyes, she asked her husband’s permission to touch and examine her new garment, and she stood before it, running her elegant fingers over the smooth silk and the expensive leather; moving closer in to gape at the shining silver nipple clamps.
“You’ve done a wonderful job,” commented Mr Fox. “My wife will get a lot of pleasure from this. And so will I.”
Mention of his wife’s pleasure struck me instantly as a subtle green light. I smiled at him and nodded. “The pleasure was all mine. I do enjoy these projects.”
“Good. Should we move on to the fitting?”
Without having to be asked, my model tugged at the ties of her wrap dress until it fell open, exposing her bra. She slipped off the skyscraper heels she was wearing, but her husband shook his head, and she put them back on again. She had only to shrug off the dress, unclip her bra and step out of her knickers today, and it was scant minutes before she stood in front of us in nothing but hold-up stockings, high heels and that silver collar.
Having removed the corset from the mannequin, I prepared to transfer it to Mrs Fox – a complex operation, involving much unlacing and unclipping. First I tied the main body of the corset tightly, but not too tightly, reining her in until the required hourglass was moulded. The straps at the front hung down between her thighs, but I left them there and began work on the thin chains that were to cross her breasts.
I clipped each chain to her collar, so that silver Xs adorned the pert little tits, then I went to work on attaching the nipple clamps. One notch, then two; the nipples crimsoned and stood out like tiny beacons. How lickable they looked, and the discomfort indicated by her gritted teeth was not putting me off in the least.
Nonetheless, it was time to move downwards, to fix the leather straps, passing them down between her thighs to hook them up at the base of her spine.
“Open your legs; this needs to pass between your pussy lips,” I told her, keeping my voice dispassionate. I manipulated the strap until it sat inside her labia, pressing directly against her clitoris. I lined up the ring with her vaginal entrance, then pulled the strap upwards between her bottom cheek
s, performing the same alignment exercise over her hidden rosette.
“Is that tight enough, do you think?” I asked Mr Fox, tensing the strap as much as I could.
“That seems just about right,” he opined. “Let me check.” He pinched and felt his way around the new features, nodding approval as he did so. “She certainly won’t be able to forget she is wearing it. Even less so when the extras are added.”
“Shall we try them out?”
“Oh, yes, I think so.”
I picked up the thicker of the dildoes, relaxed the strap enough to screw it into place in its ring and then ordered Mrs Fox to bend over on the desk with her legs as wide as possible.
“Is she wet enough to take this straight in?” I wondered aloud.
“Why don’t you test her with a finger?” suggested her husband.
I took him up on it, giving her clit a good workout before pushing two fingers into the soaked void. She was wet enough all right, wiggling her bum frantically and trying to pull me in further. Oh no, she was not getting that yet.
“She’s saturated,” I laughed to Mr Fox. “I don’t often see a customer as satisfied as this!”
He laughed back at me. “Not satisfied yet. Not until permission is granted, at least.”
“I quite understand. Now let’s stretch that dripping little quim, shall we?” I pushed the dildo inside in one swift move; her hips rotated, desperate to suck it in further, but she would get no more than the four inches of smooth black silicone.
Now I was too involved in my work to think about donning gloves; I affixed the anal plug to its ring and lubricated her clenching and unclenching arsehole with some of the copious juices of her pussy. I took my time with this operation, keeping the cheeks spread wide while I worked, talking to her in a low voice as one would to a skittish horse, for she was trying to hump the dildo in her cunt like a woman possessed.
“Keep it nice and relaxed, dear,” I whispered. “It will stretch you, and you will feel it, but it won’t fill you; no, you mustn’t have that satisfaction without your husband’s permission, must you, my dear? I do wonder where you will be wearing this lovely thing; I’m sure no amount of cover-up would hide the obvious fact that your holes are filled and your nipples as swollen as overripe cherries. I expect you’ll draw quite a lot of attention, wherever you go. I like those heels, my dear; they do thrust out your bum quite helpfully – look how ready you are now. Now keep still, dear girl, and don’t tense those muscles.”
I pushed the dildo against the tight little pucker, easing it in, keeping a tight hold of her spread cheeks in case she panicked, though I suspected she was well used to this method of penetration. She took it without protest, grunting quietly and rocking back and forth, until it was fully seated.
All that remained for me to do was to tighten the straps so that neither dildo could possibly be dislodged and leave her to accustom herself to the sensation.
“Well, that’s … very nice,” said Mr Fox, and I had to agree with him. The slightly protuberant flange of the anal dildo separated her cheeks pleasingly, and her pussy lips swelled out at either side of the invasive strap. Now I was tempted to take up Mr Fox’s offer of a photography session, but he interrupted my train of thought, ordering his lady to, “Walk across the room for us. No tottering on those heels.”
Mrs Fox straightened, straining to keep her posture dignified and refined, but from the moment she took her first waddling step, it was obvious that dignity and refinement would not characterize her gait in this garment. Unable to close her thighs, and highly conscious of her penetrated bottom hole, she had to bow her legs slightly in order to get anywhere. Keeping her head down, she shuffled across the room, working hard at keeping upright on those vertiginous five inch heels, coming to a halt at the full-length mirror.
“Lovely. Now get on your hands and knees and crawl back.”
She dropped to all fours and began to creep towards us. Oh Lord, I had never seen anything so exquisite than this beautiful, silent, submissive woman in her depraved garb, crawling in my direction, embodying all my sublimated fantasies together.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” Mr Fox picked the strangest moment to leave the room, just as his wife had arrived at my feet.
“Oh …” I glanced after him, mildly consternated, then turned my attention to the woman on the floor. Without looking up at me, she crouched over and kissed the toe of each of my patent leather court shoes.
Then she spoke.
“Mistress,” she said. Her voice was low, almost a groan.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Please forgive me,” she murmured, her lips still so close that her breath misted the shiny shoes. “I have not been quite … honest with you.”
I reached down and hauled her into a standing position by the elbow. “What do you mean?” I snapped, horrible visions of myself and her in the Sunday scandal rags springing into my head.
“No, no, there’s no harm done, I hope!” she beseeched. “I’m sorry; let me tell you the truth and I hope you can forgive me. Please?”
I nodded and went to sit behind my desk, indicating that she should remain standing. When my mind was at rest, then so could her body be.
“I … the thing is … I’ve spent months wondering how to set up a meeting like this. I’ve thought and thought about it, but I’m quite shy …”
She looked at me questioningly.
“Go on,” I said.
“That man – Mr Fox, or whatever – is not my husband. He’s a friend of mine. He agreed to do this for me. The thing is, you’ve probably forgotten, but I came in once with a girlfriend. She wanted a rubber one. I just … I suppose I became a little bit obsessed with you. Your manner, it’s very mistressish, you know, and I really like that … I longed to come in and get fitted myself, but I was just too shy. I couldn’t face it. I fantasized about it all the time though, discussed it with my friends on the net until they got quite sick of hearing about it. It was me that emailed you about the corset design, thinking at least if I had the corset … but it wasn’t the same. I knew I had to come in myself, but there was no way I could ask for this on my own behalf. Ralph agreed to help me. I know him quite well, from the internet and a couple of parties. I was pretty sure I could trust him.”
She stopped for a second, her darkly lipsticked mouth half-open, as if it had run out of steam.
“You wanted me to dominate you while fitting a corset?” I asked for clarification.
“Oh yes. And afterwards, of course. But I do love corsets. The fabrics, the restraint, the frills and finishing touches. They are so erotic to me.”
I half-smiled at her. “Well, I certainly agree with you there.”
I stood up and positioned myself in front of her. Even on her heels she was a few inches shorter than me. I wrenched up her chin and put my lips against her ear. “I don’t know your name, little girl, but I do know your game, and it’s an exceptionally dangerous one.”
She moaned, pushing her face against me, trying to divert my lips on to hers. I wouldn’t have it.
“What about your friend Ralph? Do you want to involve him in this game now?”
“I want him to watch. He wants to watch,” she half-sobbed, her body gyrating again in an effort to get some pleasure from its stubby shortened intruders.
“Where is he now?”
“He said he’d wait by the stairs.”
“Then you’d better go and fetch him.”
I released her chin and turned her towards the door, setting her on her way with a stinging slap to her bum.
Off she waddled, returning five minutes later with her mildly embarrassed-looking friend.
“Ah, you’re back,” I said. “I have a favour to ask of you. In my desk drawer you will find a selection of full-length dildoes. I would like you to replace those in Miss here’s harness with two larger examples. Then, while she is busy using her tongue to satisfy me, I want you to make sure that she is feeling the full benefit
of the replacements. Do you think you can do that?”
“I’m sure I can,” he said smoothly, rummaging in the drawer while my little admirer stood trembling with arousal at the side of the desk.
“Good. Bend over then, girl, and wait for him to saddle you up.”
I watched while the shorter objects were removed and long, thick rubber intruders took their place. She whimpered a little when the anal plug was halfway in, but Ralph was not one to allow that kind of thing to put him off, and he slid it slowly to the hilt, tightening the strap in place once more. Now she was barely able to walk at all, but, at my command, she knelt in front of me.
I leant back against the desk, steadying myself. I did not want that imposter Ralph to get a good eyeful of my cunt, so this would require some delicacy.
“Now I want you to push my skirt up just enough so that your tongue is able to reach my quim. Can you do that?”
“I’ll try, ma’am,” she said, pushing her head under the tweed and up to my stocking tops. I rarely wear knickers when I am corseted myself, so she had no obstructions to encounter. The rumpled skirt rested on top of her head, and there was no way Ralph could see anything forbidden to him.
“Good girl,” I crooned. “Now, Ralph, get down on your knees behind her and work that arse and pussy hard. Come on then, girl, get to it.” I reached down and tweaked a clamped nipple; she squealed and her tongue darted out, hitting the spot perfectly.
What a hungry little mouth she had, devouring my liquid heat, running the tip of her tongue around my clit in luxurious circles, waiting for it to swell to unbearable proportions before sliding her lips over and breathing on it, lapping at it, sucking on it. Tiny yelps issued from her throat, vibrating over my whole sex, in time with Ralph’s diligent pull-and-pushing on the deep-set dildoes.
“You can’t imagine what you look like, can you, you little trollop? Kneeling here being fucked in both holes while you eat pussy as if your life depended on it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a slut to compare with you. I’d love to introduce you to my friends.”
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 10 Page 10
