Waist of LovebyLearningfast©
It was a bright, blue, cold day in February. As she walked towards me, I could tell that she had a neat figure. She was dressed in a beige belted trench coat and colourful scarf. She was wearing high heels and walked carefully so that I was reminded of a glider; smoothly weaving her way through the other shoppers. Her advertisement had said, "Very shapely woman wishes to meet caring man who can appreciate her style and wishes." I have always had a real liking for very shapely women, not just big breasts but good proportions and especially small waists. The advertisement was irresistible and so we were meeting.
We met and shook hands. "I'm Madeleine," she said. She pronounced her name as Madd-lenn, and spoke with a slight French accent. I asked if she would like to drive out to a country place for a drink, perhaps.
She asked, "What is your car?" It seemed a strange question but I told her that I have a MPV, people carrier, 4x4, whatever we wished to call it.
"That's fine," she replied and she saw the unspoken question in my face. "Because I cannot sit into a low car. I'll tell you later. Maybe I'll show you."
We went to the car and I helped her into the passenger side. It was true: she moved stiffly and could not bend her shoulders and hips into the seat. I wondered if she had some medical or surgical problem. When she was comfortable, I drove off and we talked as we travelled. She told me about her life as the information manager for an international university. She was very knowledgeable about computers but also students and academic finances. Then, at one point in our 30-minute journey, she unbuttoned her trench coat and let it fall either side of her legs. I saw that she was sitting upright with a very flat tummy and also absolutely still as the car moved a little on corners. Under the coat, she had on a bright print dress and a loose linen jacket. I tried to watch her and take a look at her figure but somehow she was hiding it from me and, anyway, I had to drive the car.
On one particular corner, the car lurched as we climbed a gradient at the same time as turning sharp right. Any passenger would have moved a little and she did a surprising thing. She placed one hand on the door rest to steady herself, but the other hand pressed into her waist. It was then than I saw what 'shapely' meant. Her hand disappeared into the folds of the linen jacket and then moved further towards her waist and then further and then further again. All this happened in a second or two but when her hand got to her waist she wrapped her fingers round to grasp her waist, and I could see that she wasn't just pressing on her waist. She was actually holding it as if it were her arm or her ankle.
She saw my gaze even as I let the car slow down for safety. I was much more interested in her than in the journey or even in any other road user. At the first opportunity, I pulled over to the side of the road. I swivelled in my seat and looked her full in the face.
"What is your waist like?," I asked. "It seems tiny."
"It is tiny," she said softly, "smaller than any waist you will ever see. Now you may not want to be with me any more." Her eyes began to well with tears and I could see that she'd wished to keep this secret for longer.
I reached over and held her hand. I lifted it to my lips and kissed her fingertips. As I put her hand down towards her lap, she moved it towards her waist and I realised just exactly what she had meant. I place my hand on her dress where her waist should have been and found that I moved it further into her body until I was holding a stem, a tube, around which I could curl my fingers and thumb. I seemed to be able to reach half way round with just one hand. All the time we looked into each other's eyes. Hers were apprehensive. Mine were wide open with each discovery and the lust began to rise in me. This woman with the minuscule waist I wanted for myself. My erection started to build, and filled my briefs until it became uncomfortable. She must have seen my look and recognised the feelings which were developing in me. She seemed relieved and the wetness in her eyes dried.
"Aren't you repelled?" she asked. "All my men friends have found my figure too extreme for them. They were ashamed to be with me in public. They made me hide myself away."
"You're the most fascinating woman I've ever met," I said softly with complete honesty but with the lust showing through the sincerity. Much later, she was to tell me that then was the moment she knew that I was the man to "appreciate her style and wishes."
We'd stopped in a small clearing on a country road. Suddenly, my wish was to hold her. I got out of the car and almost ran round to her side. I opened the door and helped her out. She stood before me with the trench coat and the linen jacket both open. I could see a broad leather belt round her waist and, sure enough, it seemed no bigger than her throat. I reach out to her and held her waist in my two hands, with my fingers overlapping at the back and my thumbs touching at the front. We kissed and our excitement was obvious as my sex pressed against her tummy. She was passionate and flushed with her own excitement.
"Please can we go to my apartment?" she asked in a voice which trembled a little. And that's what we did. We didn't get as far as having the drink in the country.
I helped her undress. Her waist was held in the leather belt over the top of her dress and I could feel that she was also held rigidly underneath her clothing. We kissed and held each other. She let my hands roam over her body as we stood in her bedroom. She was held rigidly from her bra to her thighs. I could understand clearly then why she could not sit into a low vehicle. Her body did not bend at all. I undressed her before myself and realised that she could never have dressed herself. Her shoes and her panties would be impossible for her to put on. I did not ask myself who had helped her earlier in the day.
Under the leather belt and her dress, she was contained in the most ferocious corset I'd ever imagined. Her ribs were compressed until her breathing has achieved by upward movements of her breasts. She was as hard as a wooden carving from the top edge under her bra, right into her tiny waist. The white fabric seemed to be nylon or some kind of polyester but she was boned every centimetre around her waist and with shorter inserted bones over her ribs, up to the top edge. Her hips, likewise, were held as in a vice of fabric and steel. She didn't swivel her hips as she walked. Her whole body moved and rotated slightly with each step. I realised that she couldn't fully open her legs because of the corset's fit over her thighs and, therefore, her walking was more of a glide than a step.
But it was her waist that fascinated me beyond my imagination. Her waist was no bigger than her throat and was utterly rigid. It was as if she were encased in a metal tube for 10 centimetres which could be not have been more than 10 centimetres diameter. Even in my excited state, I calculated her waist to be no more than about 32 centimetres; about 13 inches. We lay down and I held onto her waist and we kissed and talked softly for hours. Later, we made love with us both on our sides and me lying behind her. She can't take my weight on her, whether she's lying on her back or her front. We've discovered ways for us to make love that don't put my weight on her. Some sitting positions, some lying sideways, one with her lying on her back and sitting across me as if on a seat, whilst I hold her amazing figure and plunge into her with as much energy as I wish. She wants to be held hard, filled completely, treated like a woman but also treated like a love machine in her corset.
That first night, we relaxed in each other's arms and she told me her story. At the age of 12, she had been put into the care of a distant woman relative who worked in the theatre. She had been registered in the theatre school. This woman had a small waist from long term corseting and persuaded Madeleine to be corseted also. By the age of 15, her figure had developed almost to a woman's but her waist was diminishing each few months by the application of a further tighter corset. She wore no fewer than forty different corsets between the ages of 12 and 20. At the end of her growing period, her figure was 88-33-90 centimetres and she could not survive without the support of the corsets. I had that figure in my arms on our first day.
Within a month, we were living together and we shall be married next year. I want this woman near me all the time. She is so excitable and exciting. Her passion increases every day. Her lovemaking is intense and consuming. Our daily life is geared to the ferocity of her corseting. She eats very small quantities every few hours and drinks throughout the day.
Each morning I lace her into her tight day corset and help her get dressed. In the evening, I help her to shower. For the shower, she's undressed and held in a sling under her arms and around her shoulders, suspended from a track in the ceiling. She has no strength in her torso and can't stand by herself. I hold her as she walks to the shower and she's supported while I make her clean and oil her skin. Whilst she's undressed, I administer her daily enema: it would be impossible for her to go to the toilet during the day when I am away. We have accidents some days but we are not ashamed because her body is our delight and her internal workings are a pleasure, not a problem. She never likes to be without her corsets and I've promised to lace her into them without question, whenever she asks. She's a self-assured and confident woman. She has presence and serenity. When we're together, we're ready to make love at any time and some weekends we'll spend the whole time in the bedroom or the bathroom.
At night, I lace her into a shorter corset now. It constrains her waist and ribs but not her hips. Sometimes she asks me to lace her whilst we're making love. We both get additional pleasure from the gradual increasing pressure. As I lie behind her, both on our right-hand sides, I can plunge my body into her whilst forcing the laces to become tighter and tighter until she is totally immobile and reduced. She is the most curious person I have ever known in her search for physical sensation and romantic pleasure. Her orgasms are colossal and noisy and reduce her to minutes of semi-consciousness.
Some mysteries still exist. Who dressed her on the day we first met? She's never told me and I haven't asked. Nor has anyone telephoned her or called at the house. It's as if her life started again with me on the day I first held her waist in my fingers. I know that mine did. How did she travel to meet me on that first day? She can't drive. How did she learn her computing? So many questions and I don't care about the answers so long as I can be with her, hold her incredible waist and put as much of my body as possible into her corseted figure every day for ever.