Tightlaced for a Gay EveningbyLearningfast©
For as long as Peter could remember, he'd liked wearing women's underwear. Now in his mid 20s, he wore his own panties every day. He got them in UK size 8 or 10, and always made in Lycra so that they gripped his groin, bottom and testicles nice and hard. Usually black but sometimes white. Over the past year he'd been exploring other items of feminine underwear, including panty-girdles and waist-cinchers. He had a number of deep suspender belts which he wore with Lycra support stockings under his socks and trousers. He realised that they were a real and important fetish for him. Without being "dressed up suitably" he couldn't masturbate to a proper ejaculation.
In addition, he'd started experimenting with ball stretching. After a few months, he'd got his scrotum contained in a 50 mm stainless steel collar behind his testicles, so that they stood out under his groin. The latest collar weighed 500 grams, over a pound in weight, and was beginning to draw his scrotal sac into an elongated shape inside his left trouser leg. Quite soon now, he thought he'd be able to go up to the 75 mm collar with its weight of 800 grams, almost two pounds. He wore the 50 mm weight all day and every day until he got back from the office and then he's shower and clean the weight before fixing it back for the night. He didn't know where this particular fetish was going but he knew that he's push it further in the future, until his scrotum was longer than he could imagine. Sometimes in his dreams, his testicles hung down to his knees inside his trouser leg, with a long sleeve to hold them in place.
Sometimes Peter ventured out in the evenings to the pub with his friends and was always very careful not to "show any evidence", so he wore loose trousers and his shirt outside, not tucked into this waist. He's been on a few weekend trips with his office friends, and was convinced that his secret was his alone, and he'd return to his apartment for his final pleasure with a massive ejaculation. He never once thought of himself as homosexual, but knew that he could easily be a practicing transvestite if the opportunity presented itself in a group of friends who shared the same likings. But, for the time being, he was happy and content to enjoy himself by himself, surrounded by his collection of feminine foundation wear.
He'd had a girlfriend for a year but she'd found someone she preferred and walked out a few months back. He'd told her of his own underwear fetish but also asked her to dress in classical styles with girdles and other items of corsetry, which she'd refused.
"Maybe that's why she left," he surmised to himself, "I'm sure there's a girl out there who likes old fashioned underwear and will wear them for me."
He didn't seem to think it necessary to include in his specification an acceptance for him to wear corsetry, as well as being keen herself.
In fact, Peter's former girlfriend had said as she left, "Do you know what a turnoff it's been for me to lie in bed next to a man dressed like a woman?"
Now, months later, his memory had submerged that conversation because he didn't know how to handle its implications for the rest of his life.
Last week, he'd received his latest very special item: a black satin back-laced corset in waist size 22 inches; 12 inches less than his natural waist. It had been delivered in yesterday's post, left at his apartment door in an anonymous long brown paper parcel. He couldn't wait to try it on after work that evening. In fact, he was so preoccupied during the day that many conversations went completely over his head. He heard only a fraction of what was said to him, so captivated was he with the prospect of lacing himself into the corset that evening.
"Do you want to come out with my bunch, this evening?" Alastair, one of his work mates, had asked, "We're going for a drink first, and then we thought we'd find some entertainment."
"No thanks, I've got something on this evening," Peter replied absent-mindedly.
"Ooooh; someone nice, I hope," Alastair teased him.
"No, just something I need to do," he was still serious because his mind was elsewhere. In his underwear drawer, in fact, where he imagined the corset waiting for him.
"I've been watching you, you know, and I'm worried about you, Peter," the other came closer and spoke more softly, "you're alone too much. It's not good for you. You should have company -- the kind of company that would suit your personality and the things you like. Yeah?"
"I'm fine," he'd replied, "I like to be alone sometimes." He hoped the other would drop the subject but no.
"Well, I think you should share more of yourself with people like you. You'd enjoy it, you know? There's lots of guys just like you and they'd be good company. Why not come out one evening?" pressed Alastair.
"Yeah. One evening. Thanks."
"Shall we come round this evening for you? I can promise you a really good time. We'll laugh a lot and enjoy the same things. You'll see."
"Another time, thanks."
At the end of the day, he could hardly wait to get the train home, and he actually ran to the underground station. He didn't notice a small group of other men his age walking behind him, and keeping pace to catch the same train, but in another car. All the way home, he thought only of the corset and the long process he'd go through to undress and fit it onto himself. The small group was with him all the way to the front door of his apartment block but they stopped just out of sight, as if waiting for something or someone.
In his apartment, Peter did exactly as he'd planned. Taken off the suit and revealed his delightful underwear. That day it had been a nice deep white suspender belt, black support stockings, and a pair of Lycra full briefs size 8 that had held him firm and excited all day. As he took the panties off, and then each stocking, and finally undid the six hooks of the suspender belt, he surveyed himself in the long mirror. He could see the marks on his skin where the underwear had pressed lines into his flesh. He turned sideways and looked carefully at his profile. He was in good shape but not athletic; trim but not small or emaciated; and his erection was standing out as if in appreciation of his own sexuality and of the pleasure to come. He released the scrotal collar and cleaned himself and it, before replacing it. His testicles hung down by two inches below his growing his erection. This was his evening routine for pleasure and excitement.
He could wait no longer. He emptied his bowels to make room for the corset's constriction. He took it out of the drawer, laid it open on the bed, and pulled the laces a little more open so that it should fit around him easily. He lifted it in both hands and swirled it round his back, so that he could catch one half and connect up the top peg on the busk front. Then he connected up the others, all six of them, until it was in place. He'd imagined this process and the feeling for weeks, since he'd ordered the corset. But now the sensations were better than his imagination. He reached around to grab the laces and began to pull the middle of the corset together and then a little at the top and then the bottom.
Although he had no personal experience of corset-lacing, he'd read hundreds of articles and advice sections on fetish sites. All went smoothly until the corset was about four inches away from closure at the waist and he stopped. He'd read that corsets need to warm up and become adapted to your shape before being finally and tightly laced. Anyway, he wasn't sure if he could close the corset all the way, with a twelve-inch reduction in his waist. He'd heard that six inches was the most anyone should try.
He stopped his tightening, wrapped the lace around his waist just once, tied a bow and went to the mirror, and his erection went before him. He was stiff and enormous. He couldn't remember ever being so excited and heavily stiff, and he looked forward to the giant ejaculation that would come later. He felt at the smooth satin fabric and the hardness of the bones set into the corset; no fewer than twelve of them, six each side, and the hard steel busk at the front. He traced the position of some bones with his finger tips and marvelled at the tension in the fabric between them and over his body. At the back he felt at the gap remaining between the eyelets. He ran his fingers under the bottom edge to feel how it gripped his thighs and his groin. At the back, he did the same to feel the corset settling tightly over the top of his buttocks. He was so excited: his erection was massive and pointing upwards, which didn't happen often with Peter.
Whilst at the mirror, he placed his hands on his waist and pressed. To his delight, he could feel the corset give a little more under just the force of his fingers and thumbs.
"More," he thought, "tighter still." And so there, in front of the mirror, he undid the lace knot, stretched out his arms and pulled a little harder on the laces. The waist of the corset shrank further and he could feel the hardness on his skin as his insides were compressed. He was conscious of being slightly breathless, and tied off the laces again. His bottom felt as though there was a big ball inside of him, trying to get out. His ribs were contained and pressed, and he wondered how long he could take such constriction to his breathing.
There came a ring on his doorbell. "Aw, fuck," he thought, not wanting to be disturbed tonight of all nights. He grabbed his dressing gown off his bed, went to the door, and looked through the spyhole. It was Alastair from the office.
Should he pretend not to be in? Not possible, because Alastair was waving at him through the spyhole, so he must have seen the change of light through the glass. Alastair knocked on the door to reinforce the ring of the bell. There was nothing for it but to open the door and send Alastair away.
He undid the bolt, twisted the lock and opened the door a little: just enough that Alastair would see the dressing gown.
"Allie!" he feigned surprise, "I'm just getting in the shower, and I can't come out this evening, like I said."
Alastair just smiled and then something happened that took Peter by surprise; so much so that he was momentarily totally unaware of what was going on around him and hardly conscious. He was lifted off his feet by hands that seemed to appear from nowhere. Five or six or more men grabbed him and carried him back into his apartment. He opened his mouth in fear and anger but he could get out of his lungs only an initial, "Argh." Immediately someone crammed a hard ball into his mouth and tied it in place with straps around his head. One strap each side, under his ears, and two more that went up over his eyes and fastened with the others at the back in some form of clasp. He heard the harsh clunks, as they were each fitted into a clip device. He could make only the slightest noise but realised that the ball had at least one hole through it so that he could breathe. He tried calling out again but the sound was muted and contained no words. He could see only a little round the sides of the head straps.
In front of him, other men were erecting a tall tripod of steel tubes; each as thick as his arm, taller than himself and with the feet about a metre apart on the floor. His hands were cuffed and attached to the top point of the tripod, stretching him slightly. His ankles were both attached to the feet of two of the arms of the tripod, spreading him widely. His erection disappeared within a few seconds as he realised that he was at the mercy of these men.
"Don't need this," said Alastair and got hold of the bottom edge of his dressing gown. It was made of cotton and Alastair simply ripped it up from the bottom edge and over his shoulder blades. Then with a great heave, he tore it off Peters shackled body, so that it disintegrated in his Alastair's hands and he flung it to the far end of the room. Peter could just see it flying through the air, and falling in a heap. He was naked except for the tight corset and the ball collar.
All this happened in less time than it takes to tell it, and Peter looked around himself at the first opportunity, squinting past the straps over his eye brows. He couldn't see how many men were there but they were all young, about his age, and healthy looking, and some of them were naked already. In his splayed-out position, he could easily fall forward into the gap of the tripod but he couldn't exert any force to move the tripod. He was forced to stand stiffly on his stretched legs and press his fettered hands onto the top joint to stop himself from falling. He wondered how long he could stand like this before collapsing out of tension and exhaustion. Then he felt a man's hands reach around his corseted waist and pull him slightly backwards and upwards, and that took some of the strain off his legs. For a moment he felt relieved and grateful, but only for a moment. Another pair of hands reached under his bottom, forced his buttocks apart and slowly fed something into his rectum. He tried to squirm and shout but he was held firmly by the corset and silenced by the ball gag. Something cold was being squeezed into his bowels. He stood still as it snaked up into him, feeling the coldness and wondering what it was. Then an object was removed from him and the remaining coldness was obviously a fluid of some kind.
The man holding his waist pulled him even further backwards so that his hands were straining at the top of the tripod. He felt something else pushing at his anal orifice and realised that the man was entering him. The entry was tight but smooth and lubricated, and he felt a moment of panic before the penis popped through the muscle into his waiting interior. The man kept him stretched backwards against the bonds at his feet and hands, and gradually penetrated to the full length of his penis. Slowly, he was fucked in and out and, to his embarrassment, his own penis began to swell again. He wanted to look down to see what was happening to him, but his position stopped any such movement.
"Oh, Jesus, he's tight," groaned the man as he revelled in his invasion of Peter's entrails.
Whilst the man was slowly fucking his bowels, Alastair came to his front and took hold of his testicles and their steel collar. He pressed downwards to the floor and Peter felt his skin lengthened and the pain inside his scrotum, as his urethra and spermatic cords were stretched almost to breaking.
"What's this, Peter?" asked Alastair, "two inches? By the time we go, your balls'll be on the carpet. How long did this one take you, Peter? Six months? A year? Tonight you'll get a real surprise. Won't that be exciting for us all? But a bit uncomfortable for you. And you'll never be a father after tonight."
He attached something heavy to the steel collar; really heavy and Peter thought his scrotum would be ripped off his body, leaving him with a gaping bloody hole in his groin. He screamed into the gag, wanting to say, "No, no, no."
"Don't worry Peter, we know what we're doing. Your balls will still be attached but somewhere down there." And he pointed down with his forefinger in Peter's limited vision.
The man in his rectum was coming to his climax and making grunting noises. His penis was swollen to a gigantic size.
"Oh fucking fucking fuck. He's good and tight. This is it. Here I come. NOW." And his ejaculation poured into Peter's intestines. The coldness of the lubricant was replaced with the boiling heat of the man's sperm and seminal fluids.
Immediately, the man pulled out and another replaced him, also holding onto his corseted waist. Not so big but not so smooth or controlled either. He just plunged straight in and started fucking at a furious pace.
"Hey, watch out, go easy with him. Don't break him up. We all want to fuck him so don't wreck him so soon," Peter heard Alastair's voice and was scared by what he heard. "Break me up? Wreck me? What the hell are they intending to do with me?" were his thoughts.
The man inside him had no stamina and came to his orgasm quickly, to Peter's relief. No one replaced him but he felt the corset laces being untied and then tightened. Whoever was doing it knew what he was about: starting at the top and then the bottom edge of the corset, and finally at the waist, much greater pressure was put on Peter's figure. He didn't know if the corset was closed but his breathing and even swallowing became more difficult. He waved his head from side to side and mumbled into the gag but to no avail. Everyone ignored him as if he weren't there as a person - only as a piece of sex equipment that they'd all use eventually.
At the same time as a third man pressed up against his anus, Alastair came to his testicles and held up before his eyes a longer weight than the 50 mm version he was wearing when they started. This one looked to be 4 inches long; 100 mm.
Alastair smiled into his face and said, "Let's see if you can take this one yet, Peter."
He reached down and attached a leather harness with a great metal weight at the bottom of the tie. It felt as if it would be 10 or 20 pounds in weight; 5 or 10 kilos. Peter felt as if his entire body was being stretched out through his groin. Alastair fiddled with the collar key, and slipped the shorter weight off. Without a fraction of a second passing by, he slipped the 4-inch metal collar around Peter's stretched scrotum and fastened it with the key. He clearly knew all about this process because he was very careful not to catch any skin or fat or even hairs in the fastening. The harness and the massive weight were left in place, slowly tugging Peter's testicles and scrotum towards the carpet.
A fourth man got hold of Peter's waist and pressed into his rectum. By now, the passage was lubricated liberally with the original cold grease and who-knows-how-much sperm and sexual fluids. He felt the man enter and also his movements against his prostate, so that his own juices began to flow a little to the tip of his penis. Once more, his erection started to develop.
Behind him, he felt a commotion, as if a group of people were holding onto his shoulders and his hips, and jostling for position near him. Then he felt another object pressing against his anus whilst the first was still inside him. He knew they were going to double penetrate him and tried to struggle free and shout. It was Alastair that came to his rescue.
"Hey, you two. Fucking well don't burst him open; Okay? We all want some, you know. Let him get used to us first. I don't want his guts all over the floor."
"But Allie," said one of them, "we'll take him easy. You'll see. Like we did the Chinese guy - remember? We did okay with him, didn't we?"
"Okay," said Alastair, "But if you burst him open, or knock him out you be sorry. Okay?"
The two resumed their penetration until they were both inside Peter's rectum and slowly pumping away together. He realised that the first man was leaning backwards and the second was standing on two piles of papers and books, to straddle the first. They both took him and he felt their orgasms, close together, and the squirt of their juices past their two penises that couldn't block up the hole they were making of his anus. As they left him he ached from his knees to his ribs with the strain of their exertions, the discomfort of their plunging into him and the ferocious tightness of his corset.
Peter was beginning to weaken by this time. He leaned forward so that his thighs rested on the uprights of the tripod, and his head on his forearms as they were held together at the top. He wondered how long he could stay standing and not buckle at his knees and then just hang from the tripod. He had a mental picture of himself slumped under it.
He enjoyed just a few moments of thought, stillness and relaxation before another man grabbed his waist, leaned backwards and entered him. This man reached round and pushed down on the scrotum weight, so that Peter once again felt as if his testicles would be wrenched clear off his groin.