Today I'm giving you a sneaky preview glimpse of my work-in-progress, Falling Deep, which I aim to finish by the end of the year...
Liz has been taken to Glastonbury for a corset fitting:
“Is this a social call?”
“Lizzy here needs to be fitted for a corset. One that will please Yohan.”
I do, do I? Right. Liz had never worn a corset, unless one counted the cheap basque for that Rocky Horror party way back in college.
Madame Moone raised an eyebrow. “I see.”
“Nothing too uncomfortable,” Liz muttered. She’d never considered herself the least interested in women, but she was finding it hard not to look at Madame Moone’s dramatic décolletage. It drew the eye invitingly, as if just begging the viewer to plunge face down into that deep cleft.
“Shall we get some measurements?”
“Fine.” Somewhat ungraciously, Liz stripped down to T-shirt and skirt, staring determinedly at the shelves as Madame Moon stretched a cloth tape measure along and around various parts, noting down each assessment. Waist and hips, back length, underbust, boobs – even, disconcertingly, her throat. The whole process made her squirm inside, feeling as if she were being reduced to an object.
“Shall we go into the back room, and take a look at the different designs?” asked Madame Moone.
“I’ll wait out here,” said Moira.
The back room was tucked away behind a red silk curtain. It was a little darker than the front parlor because there was only a round skylight overhead, leaded with a spider web pattern, to admit daylight. Sharp spotlight gleamed on the wares displayed. As soon as she stepped over the threshold, Liz realized that this was where the scent of leather emanated from. The undergarments in this chamber were of a completely different order to the flirty, lacey, feminine teasers out front. Everything was made of leather - stiff or supple, and almost all red or black. Corsets with laces yards long, studded gloves, high collars, even a full-length ballgown in supple midnight skin. A lot of cows died for that one, she thought.
And masks. Carnival style, mostly, but one on a wig-stand was a full-face hood with hooks around the mouth to lace it closed.
This is hardcore.
“The specialist stuff then,” she remarked wanly. She felt out of her depth. This was not something she’d ever really seen outside of a music video.
“We have a devoted clientele. Do you like leather?”
“Um … I’ve not really thought about it. I guess I’m vanilla or whatever you call it.”
Madam Moone smiled indulgently. “Have you worn a corset before?”
“Well, how about we try some different corsets on you, so we can see which style suits you best? That way you can get used to how it feels, and give me some idea of comfort levels for lacing.”
“Fine, I guess.”
“Can you undress down to your bra and knickers, please?” She turned away and opened a drawer. “We’ll start with a long-line one I think.”
Liz opened her mouth, then found she didn’t have anything to say. Given what this was all in aid of, it seemed a bit pointless to be shy now. At least she’d put on matching undies this morning, for once. She laid her skirt and shirt over a rack and accepted the corset Madame Moone offered her – a chestnut one with decorative brass-colored hooks. “Wow - Brown?”
“Steampunk. It’s very popular at the moment. Now, if you slip it round like that … you do up the busk at the front first. Work from the center outward, it stops the clips popping … that’s right.” She pulled the snug sheath up into the correct position, wriggling it round over Liz’s hips. “Now I’ll lace it at the back. It’s a lot easier if you have someone to help you, for sure. With the laces … you work in toward the middle, from hips and shoulders, so that when it’s tightened you’re cinching the waist area. Straighten your back. Now, tell me if this is in any way uncomfortable.”
The cords made little purring noises as she pulled firmly upon them. She had strong hands, and Liz had to brace her feet to stop herself being unbalanced. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though the constriction around her lower ribs felt a little strange. She found herself taking shallow breaths, which made her bust heave.
“There you go,” said Madame Moone, laying hands on Liz’s bare shoulders and turning her to face a mirror. “What do you think?”
“Wow,” said Liz after a moment. The results were little short of spectacular. If she ignored her pale legs poking out below, it was definitely a sexy look. Her bosom was plumped up to become an astonishing spectacle, her waist emphasized, and her hips made to swell in a delightful curve. It made her feel terribly wicked.
“Now you need to keep your shoulders back, and your spine straight. Never droop. What do you think? Do you like it?”
Liz loved it. Which was helpful, as the next twenty minutes were spent trying out different permutations of hip- and bust-line, whilst remembering not to stare too much at the other woman’s cleavage as it flitted before her eyes. The longer corsets were definitely was more flattering, to Liz’s mind. There were fewer unsightly bulges that way. She liked the steampunk styling too, but Madame Moone shook her head.
“Yohan Ywen’s tastes are more conservative. Have you met him yet?”
“No. I’ve met several of his brothers though.” They exchanged a coyly conspiratorial smile. She knows, thought Liz. “What’s he like then?”
She shrugged, her curtain of hair flicking back over one shoulder. “Strict. You’ll get on best with him if you have a bit of a submissive streak.”
Liz grimaced. “That’s a shame. I’m more the bolshy sort – Moira will tell you that.”
Madame Moone began folding corsets away into boxes, as Liz spun to admire herself in a deliriously slutty scarlet number. “Is that so?”
“We’ve had a few vigorous disagreements.” Liz wandered over to a tall display and peered at the wares arrayed within. “What’s that?”
“That?” Madame Moone looked over her shoulder. “It’s a flogger. You can pick it up.”
Liz plucked the object from the rack. It was bright turquoise – the color was what had drawn her eye – and made of some sort of suede, both the stiff braided handle and the many narrow thongs. She felt it up and down. It looks gorgeous. And so soft! “Does it hurt?”
“That one won’t – it’s very light. It might sting a very little. Here - hold out your hand.”
Automatically Liz passed the little whip to the proffered grasp. Madam Moone didn’t smack it down on her open palm though, as she expected. She just trailed the soft thonging up and down the bare skin of Liz’s inner arm, making her burst into giggles. “That’s … quite nice!”
“The idea is to sensitize the body and make it responsive to all sorts of sensations.” Up and down, to her shoulder and back. The lashes slapped down lightly on her hand at last, with the tiniest of stings.
“It’s good for stimulating the breasts.”
“No!” she said, appalled and delighted.
“But your bottom is a lot tougher of course. Want to feel?”
Shaking her head at her own daring, Liz put her hands on the sideboard top and stuck her bum out with a cheeky wiggle. When she turned her head to the side she could see herself in the mirror, red corset and clashing pink panties, with the tall woman lifting her arm behind that rounded target. The first swish impacted like a thousand tiny kisses and she squeaked, “Oh!” The matching blow even up the compliment on her other cheek. “Ooh, that’s …”
“Of course,” interrupted Madame Moone, “it should really be applied to the bare arse for full effect.” So saying, she snagged the lacy cloth of the seat of Liz’ s knickers, pulling them right up into the bum-crease and baring her cheeks. The tug became quite firm – a wedgie of sorts. To Liz’s chagrin the drag of the cloth across her clit area sent a frisson through her from core to toes. And just as the thrill awoke in her flesh, the flogger descended sharply, the stinging tips going off like fireworks under her skin.
Damn right it didn’t hurt - at least, not in a bad way. The shock was enough to freeze Liz where she stood, though. She was still trying to wrap her head round whether she liked what was happening or not, when Madame Moone released her grip and stepped back. That was when Liz saw it, picked out by the pale light from above – either Madame Moone was smuggling a length of thick hose down her jodhpurs, or she was sporting a fat curved cock under the tight fabric