Manisha's First Girdle

Gently raising myself and lying between her legs I began probing with my erection, to see if there was a way into her without using my hands. I could feel the slippery warmth of her labia but did not press too hard. I just revelled in the feel of her corsetry against my own abdomen, the suspenders pressing into my thighs, and the stretched bottom edge against my groin. I spread my legs so that hers were splayed out even more so. Then I could feel the vaginal opening, inviting me in and I thrust a little; slowly and gently until I could feel her labia closing round my glans, I was just inside her and could feel the full length of the underwear from my chest to my thighs, and her stockings down to my ankles. She was so firm and smooth; I could hardly contain my own excitement but determined to keep close control and make the pace to suit me.

I reached up and took her hands in mine, while still lying between her legs and spreading them at a very awkward angle. With a smooth and quick movement, but not jerky, I held her hands above her head, hard against the bed, and laid my ankles across hers. Now she was pinned to the bed by my hands, by my erection, and by my legs. My full weight lay on her and she gave a little gasp as air was forced out of her lungs. I started to pull and push myself into her with my full weight pressing on the corsetry. At every movement, I could feel every feature of the girdle, with its front bones and the suspenders, and especially the tight bottom edge, now pressing against the top edge of my erection at each thrust. It was as if the girdle was trying to push me out of her body but I was stronger than the satin front, the powernet construction and the strength of Lycra. I felt like a man making love to a magnificent display of vintage corsetry on a delectable young body; both added to my excitement and my orgasm began to build.

As I plunged and pulled on her, I could feel the corsetry containing and controlling her, but still she was being pummelled under my full weight. Her breath was coming in short pants as I partly withdrew from her after each plunge. I managed to glance at the face and saw her wide-eyed, with mouth also wide open, and gasping for each breath. Momentarily, I tried to imagine how she felt inside the foundation wear, and then to feel also this man plunging into her and pinning her down for his pleasure. It seemed to me that she was accepting it, and maybe enjoying it, as something new.

Then I changed my position a little. I left her hands above her head and brought my hands to hold her waist through the girdle and the bra. I placed my fingers and thumbs around her waist and pressed as hard as I could. If it had been possible, I would have pressed her until my fingers met at the back but that was only a fantasy. My full weight was now exaggerated on her body, as my chest was taking my upper weight and pressing down onto the bra, with her head turned to one side under my chest. I half expected her to bring her hands down and to push me off her, because of the weight and the difficulty she had breathing, but she didn't. She lay there, contained in the corsetry and held down by this plunging and bucking man. She took everything I could give to her.

Now my senses were filled even more by the feel of the underwear. My fingers and palms could feel the bones, the seams and the zipper of the girdle. I could detect as well the firm and panelled long bra underneath. Her hips seemed to stand out as little shelves; so much pressure was containing her waist. For a man with my likings, every part of my body was in contact with tight corsetry and my whole skin became a component of my erotic responses. She was delightful and the corsetry was perfect for my mood.

With my usual slowness, my orgasm came into the pit of my stomach and then began to creep down my groin until I exploded deep inside her at my last extra powerful thrust. I poured my entire collection of juices into her, and relaxed my hold on her waist. I collapsed onto the corsetry and she brought her hands to my shoulders. I thought she was about to push me away or, at least, to make me shift my chest off her. But I was wrong; she held my shoulders to her and pressed her breasts up into my chest. She was still gasping and I deliberately did shift my weight until I was lying at her left side, on one elbow and playing with the corsetry, and feeling her body through the layers and the boning. She brought her legs closer together from the prodigious spread into which I had forced them. She took a deep breath, the first for ten minutes, and relaxed under my hands.

She looked up and we both smiled. I kept my left hand on the bra cups, feeling at the seams, and running over the curve of her breasts, and the flatness at her midriff, under the girdle. When I moved my hand down to her labia, she was flooding the bed with a mixture of both our fluids. The bottom back edge of the girdle was wet as far as I could reach under her bottom and up the back of her thighs. She mewed as I moved my hands around her lower body, and especially as I cupped her vulva and pressed a little with my middle finger into her lips. Then we both relaxed and went into a sort-of slumber but with full awareness of where we were and what had happened. Every few seconds, I traced again some feature of the corsetry and felt the firm tautness of her body inside it. She felt delightful and the corsetry felt so erotic, stretch as it was across her skin and figure.

After maybe 20 minutes, I looked at the clock and realised we had been on the bed for two hours. For so long I had been feeling and enjoying this bundle of corsetry and the restricted little body inside it. I raised myself from the bed, as her eyes were still closed, and went to the bathroom. I peed copiously, and took a damp cloth to wipe around the tops of my legs. As I stood up, she had entered the bathroom as well in her sodden foundation wear. I could see that her labia and pubic hairs were dripping onto the floor, and the bottom edge of the girdle was clinging to her skin because of its wetness. I stood up and undressed her in reverse order to before. First the stockings, then the girdle and finally the long bra. She let me do all this and to hold her body periodically during the process of becoming naked again. Finally, I held her to me and she nuzzled her face into my shoulder, and her hands held my waist.

She spoke but I still don't know what she said. It was a question; I could tell from the inflexion and the look on her face. I imagined her asking: "Is this how western women make love? Do they wear these special clothes to give them extra excitement and to support them during the roughest part of it?"

I didn't know what to respond, so I just held her again and moved my hand over her tummy and onto her mound. She held onto me and made little pussy-cat noises to show her pleasure.

And so our first escapade ended. I washed her and then helped her dressing. As she left the room, and then the bungalow, she looked back and sent me a massive grin, as if to say, "Very pleasing -- will there be another?"

In English, I spoke for the first time, "We shall be back here sometime soon, little Manisha. I hope to show you something new then also."

In her ignorance, she made no reply but I could see that she wanted a farewell kiss and my hands over her body, and I obliged. This time I revelled in the naturalness of her figure inside the saree.

The next and final time we spent time together would come three days later; but that is another account.