Tight First TimebyLearningfast©
My first full sexual experience occurred at the age of 20; a bit late by modern standards but I'm talking about the mid 1960s and the sexual revolution was still getting into full swing.
We hadn't got to the stage of assuming intercourse on the first date or even after three months. Also, my experiences were tied to a strict religious upbringing in the Pentecostal Church in England. Sex was not mentioned and it was assumed that it could take place only within marriage. This had left me with a strange mixture of feelings, combining guilt with an overwhelming curiosity and a desire to make up for lost time. Little did I realise on that day in November 1964 that my mind and senses would be opened to the two major influences on the rest of my life: sexual excitement and corset fetishism.
At a northern English newish university in an industrial town, I was in my second year as a student of mathematics and economics. For location, think of parochial Bradford, Manchester, Liverpool, Sheffield but not Leeds, which even then was a cosmopolitan European city. My subjects are now and were then immaterial to the experience of the next few weeks, but they give you some background to my activities and expectations in a career. I belonged to the student religious society, of course, and had met a number of others with the same hang-ups and desires. Every single one of us was serious about our religion but also on the lookout for new experiences. For me, the former was assuming less importance as the weeks went by, and the latter more. This wasn't universally the case in the society and some were real zealots with an American tendency to preach perfection all the time, and show little tolerance of humanity and its frailties.
Another member was Mary; her real name but it is sufficiently common that I needn't hide her behind an alias. Mary was not a great beauty. She was too tall to be petite but not tall enough to be model-like or willowy. She tended to wear tweeds when the rest of our generation had moved into flower-power, and she had "proper" shoes; no stilettos or boots for her. Her features were rather masculine and her smile didn't show a straight row of pearly white teeth. Her posture and movements were unusual. She always carried herself with an uprightness that I interpreted as reflecting her religious conviction, and she didn't slouch or collapse into a comfy bundle on a sofa or easy chair. She seemed to have a nice figure and especially neat shapely waist and hips. I thought that she displayed the very essence of her family membership of the Plymouth Brethren. It was true that they were the "Open" Brethren, so she was allowed to communicate and take part in the Christian observances of other denominations.
Mary always showed an openness and friendliness towards me that took me by surprise at first and then became a sort of routine. Mary would touch my arm whenever we met and beam a smile straight into my eyes. I never touched her, assuming that she'd be offended if I did and, anyway, I didn't know where to touch or hold her for safety and decorum. In many ways, I treated her as I would my older sister although she was a year younger than I was.
Every week, the Christian society met for prayers and other religious activities. We met twice during the week; say Tuesday and Thursday. It became a routine that I gave three other students a lift back to their lodgings because I was one the minority with a car. Don't be impressed by this; the car was 33 years old then and cost me all of £12 10s 0d or £12.50 as we would say now; or €20 or $25. It cost me more in repairs and spares each year than I spent to buy it originally. Anyway, I gave a car-load of students a ride home twice a week and Mary was one of them. Usually, she was delivered to her door last because it was the furthest from the university meeting room, and the journey took about one hour after touring various suburbs. The first time I dropped her off, I hoped she'd ask me in for a coffee or something, because it was so long since we left the university and it would have been hospitable. I let her out of the car and walked with her to the front door of her "digs", only to be told that her landlady and husband wouldn't wish me to enter since they were Exclusive Brethren and didn't welcome non-members into their house. I thought then that was a strange sort of Christianity and now I find it easy to reject utterly such exclusive and discriminatory notions. However, I left her at the door and drove back to my place.
On another Tuesday in November, the trip went the same as before but Mary said, "They're away for the week, so you could come in if you wish. They'll never know". So I locked the car and followed her into the house. It was nothing special and did not smell of sanctity or even sanctimoniousness. I turned to push the door shut and then back to face Mary. She got hold of my hands and raised them to her lips and kissed them. Then she let them go and reached up to kiss my lips, which I let happen and found her to be a good, erotic and forceful kisser. We held each other and did it properly. I ran my hands down over her shoulders and into her waist and onto her hips, which she wriggled slightly to indicate some pleasure, I thought. The feel of her figure was unusual; more curvaceous and less yielding than I'd felt with other girlfriends, but I wasn't aware of any reason or cause for it and let it pass from my mind. Then she said huskily, "Come to my room" and dragged me after her, not unwillingly.
As we entered her room, I realised it was a double bedroom with en-suite bathroom, which was extremely unusual in those days. We got ourselves into a clinch immediately and she was working on my jacket and my shirt buttons. I reached down and undid a belt at the waist of her skirt, letting the skirt fall around her ankles. Then I moved onto her blouse buttons and she didn't stop me as we continued to kiss and wander our hands around each other. I took off her blouse at the same time as she got my shirt off, also. Then I got a surprise. Her bra was the longest and firmest I'd ever seen except on my mother, although a much smaller size and fitting her perfectly. Looking back now, I think she must have been 36B and the bra went down and down into her waist, with a row of hooks at the back, and cuff around the bottom edge.
Then I got my second surprise: the rest of her body above her thighs was contained in a form of corsetry that I'd seen only in magazines for middle aged women, and occasionally among the older women in my family at weddings and suchlike functions, when they had to present a very respectable appearance. This garment was white, brilliantly so, and fastened at the right-front with a vertical row strong hooks, and I could feel that the back was held taut by lacings. She wore stockings attached to four suspenders on each thigh. Two were practically at the centre front and two more almost at centre back, so she must have felt them with every stride and whenever she sat down. I looked into her face and she sensed my surprise.
"Wait", she said softly, "I'll take this off."
The problem for me was that my erection was now raging and the more so as I touched her and felt at her underwear. The firmness and tightness of her shaped body exaggerated her eroticism for me, and I didn't want her to undress any further.
"No", I said equally softly, and drew her to me. "Show me other things later. I like this here and now. You feel wonderful".
It was her turn to be surprised. "Do you really like this?" she asked me, as if incredulous.
"Hmm. Certainly do", I replied and we moved to the bed.
After that, what can I say? I enjoyed a couple of hours with a hot woman dressed in underwear more restrictive than I could have imagined then and frequently do imagine now. She was easily orgasmic and I used my meagre collection of sexual techniques with her to give her whatever pleasure seemed to be right for her. Her responses were unequivocal; literally. She was vocal and noisy, and it left no room for doubt that she enjoyed the evening also.
For myself, I found my excitement rising throughout the evening with each touch of her corseted shape. From her shoulders to her knees and down to her stockinged feet, I kissed and stroked her and she loved every second and every inch of my attentions. I made love to her on top and from the side as we lay like a pair of spoons; lying on her front with me kneading her waist and thighs; her sitting on me; and doggie-style. Kneeling behind her, I got the full benefit of the view of her neat waist, contained and hardened by her corsetry and the cuff bra. My hands danced over her controlled hips and bottom, and over the lacings which fanned out either side of the centre back. I held her waist as much as I could wherever we lying and in whatever position we made love. I was amazed at my own stamina and knew instinctively that the corsetry was part of the allure and the setting.
I expected her at any moment to tell me to stop short of ejaculation but she didn't. So I didn't either and filled her up, irresponsibly and carelessly I thought afterwards. When she explained to me some hours later, I realised how safe we were. She was being treated for severe monthly period pains and the doctor had told her that the treatment involved the new oestrogen pill which would make conception practically impossible. "Lucky us", I though later.
At one point, she said, "You can do anything you want, you know." I was too young and inexperienced to be able to take advantage of her offer, and assumed she simply wanted more of the same but rougher, perhaps. If I'd known how to respond, I would have used her mouth and throat, and put my hand inside her and tied her hands and .... lots of ideas came to me much later. As it was, all I could think of was rougher sex and some contortions. Actually, this latter point came as another surprise to me. She was more flexible in her corsetry than most women I met later when they were naked. The strain on her clothing must have been colossal, and the tension across her groin and over her waist must have been painful sometimes, but she showed no sign of it. At one point, her heels were over her head as she lay on her back and I was leaning on her and into her with my full weight. The corset was straining around her bottom and the suspenders were stretched to their limits. I think that's when the stocking tops gave way! Her eyes were screwed tight shut and her lips slightly open as she murmured her pleasure at this treatment. I still haven't experienced that level of commitment and pleasure in a woman, related to her underwear. Mary was wonderful.
Eventually, we became tired and she was replete. I was still stiff after numerous ejaculations and still handling her body and her underwear. The stockings hadn't survived and were laddered down to her toes and frayed at the suspenders, but neither of us cared by that stage. The corsetry had certainly survived and contained her as firmly at the end of the night as it had at the start. She said, "Please help me undress now", so I did and eventually got to hold her skin next mine, and to feel the creases and wrinkles left by the corset and bra.
In our semi-slumber, I asked her, "Why do you wear those things?"
"Because I always have", she replied quietly, "my mum put me into a girdle at the age of 12 and by 15 I was in the laced corset-type. I wear something like it all time, every day. My mum and dad think I need it for me to be a proper Christian woman. It makes me feel very feminine, you know. More womanly than some of these girls we see around. They look like boys to me!"
"Do you always wear something as tight as this one?", I continued to probe.
"Not always. Sometimes I need a bit more comfort -- every month you know -- and then I wear an elastic girdle with a zip", she offered more information, "and other times, I wear something harder and more firm. That's for formal occasions or for church on Sundays."
"Will you show me?" I asked, and she said, "Next time", which I took to mean that we'd be here again soon and that I'd get even more enjoyment then.
Morning came and I left her still half asleep, and went back to my place in time to get ready for university lectures at 10 o'clock. Later in the day, I met Mary and she spoke softly to me, "Thanks for last night. Are you free this evening?"
Of course I was and that night we enjoyed ourselves even more, and I learned a great deal about her underwear. She did a fashion parade for me lasting an hour or more, with six different types of girdles and corsets, complete with a selection of long bras. I learned later that she had styles by Berlei, Warner, Blair, M&S, Spencer, Spirella and a private corsetiere named Fawcett, which was a good joke for us since it rhymed so well with his or her trade. Her firmest corset-girdle didn't just make her tummy flat; she was concave between her hips bones and her waist even more firmly held than before. She was compressed into rigidity from her bra line to her thighs. Making love with her then was a life-changing experience and confirmed my corset fetish. From that evening I was a hopeless corset and girdle addict, and have remained so ever since.
Mary and I met this way for about six weeks, until the Christmas recess, but not again in the home of her landlady. We took motel rooms and she came to my bedsit a couple of times. In the New Year, things were different, somehow. She delayed some of our meetings and then cancelled one, and then told me she had to start thinking about the future, so we'd better be very good friends from then on. I was devastated: I'd spent all the recess imagining how we'd spend the first few weeks after being separated for a month, but it wasn't to be.
Three months later, Mary announced her engagement to a fellow student named Bob, and they planned the wedding for the week after graduation 18 months later. I don't know if Bob enjoyed her underwear as I did, or even if it became part of his special sexuality. I know it was a major part of hers. She was no virgin when I first made love to her and I never found out who had that privilege with her. I'm sure Bob got all the benefits of her experience and her special gifts of excitement.
They became an item in the Christian society and with the local Brethren assembly, to which Bob "converted" from his Anglican upbringing. I imagine that she showed him such excitement and pleasure that Bob was swept off his feet for the rest of his life. They had three children, all daughters, and I wondered it those girls of the 1970s submitted to the corseting regime of their mother. I haven't seen or spoken to Mary or Bob since 1972, and I wonder what became of them as they must now be I their sixties.
So there it is. My introduction to overt 60s-style sex but more than that; the start of a lifetime searching for corseted women and for corset sex. My own preferences expanded with time, so that I came to corset my own figure. Also, I began to enjoy my own bodily functions, but all this was much later and must await another time to recount.