for a few hours by convincing them she had a "boring literary thing." I actually did manage to find leather pants. They look...pretty good, I think. A little ridiculous, but I think the good-ridiculous line is one I'm cursed to walk when it comes to fetish wear.
I haven't seen Lissy's outfit yet. I have to admit I'm desperately curious. Back when we met, and she was still at the temp agency, she always looked pretty cute in her business casual clothes. After she got laid off, it was mostly jeans and sweatpants, which didn't make her any less cute. But they didn't exactly do much for her curves. She's always had this fantastic hourglass figure, which of course she thinks is "too fat" because she's not airbrushed in the mirror. My few suggestions at outfits were always shot down, and after the first time I tried to give her a sweater that hugged her chest but apparently made her stomach look "huge," I gave up.
I've managed to get myself pulled together into the pants and a nice shirt when I hear her voice coming out of the bedroom.
"Dean?"
The door's closed, but she obviously wants me to come in. Shrugging, I push it open.
Well, fuck me.
She's mostly dressed. Her leather skirt comes down mid-thigh, enough to suggest but not openly confirm that she's wearing stockings with garters. And yes, that's definitely a corset. Not some zip-up stretchy corset top, either. The real deal.
Which is, I realize, the reason why I'm here.
"Lace me up," she says calmly, gesturing to the loose ribbons hanging at her back. Well, God damn . She looks like a wet dream already, and it's not even properly cinched yet.
"I..." The ribbons sit there innocuously, mocking me. I'm pretty sure my laces just got a little tighter. "I've never done this before."
"It's just like tying shoes," she says, impatiently.
"It's really not," I inform her. "If I tie my shoes wrong I don't risk smothering someone to death."
"If I can't breathe, I'll tell you ." She rolls her eyes at me in the mirror. "Come on. You just tighten the two loops on the back and do the bunny ears. I promise I won't let you bruise my ribs."
What would a Dom do? Well, he certainly wouldn't chicken out on this. With a confidence I don't feel, I grab one of the sets of loops and start pulling it tight. Tighter. She's right, it is a little bit like tying shoes, except tying shoes doesn't give me a hard-on. The more I think about how much I really don't want an erection right now, the more determined it becomes.
She takes in a sharp breath. "Okay. That's it. Tie it there."
I do.
The next one is easier, and I'm harder. Thank God she's standing in front of me in the mirror. Her tiny gasp as I cinch the corset tighter sends an almost painful throb to my groin.
"That's a little too much," she tells me, her voice a little breathless. "Let it out."
I stand there, still holding the ribbons, wondering how she'd react if I threw her down on the bed right now.
"Let it out!" she insists, glaring at me. "Dean?"
I grin at her reflection. "What's the magic word?"
"Go fuck yourself." She tries to twist around, but I let the ribbons slack a little and tie them off.
"Asshole," she snaps when I finally let her go. She turns around to face me. "I swear I'm -"
That's when she notices it. She stops mid-sentence, stares, tries to look like she's not staring, deflates slightly, and blushes a deep red.
"Um," she says, sidestepping around me to the doorway. "We're going to be late. I'll meet you in the car."
If she imagines she's doing me a favor by giving me a chance to jerk off in the bathroom, she's absolutely right.
***
The car ride is silent and awkward. She's slipped out of her coat and shawl since it's toasty-warm in the car, a bit too toasty-warm to be strictly comfortable in leather pants. And it's even less comfortable with her tits calling to me like a homing beacon from the other side of the backseat.
How can I not look? They're pushed up high and proud, the corset doing its job like
I haven't seen Lissy's outfit yet. I have to admit I'm desperately curious. Back when we met, and she was still at the temp agency, she always looked pretty cute in her business casual clothes. After she got laid off, it was mostly jeans and sweatpants, which didn't make her any less cute. But they didn't exactly do much for her curves. She's always had this fantastic hourglass figure, which of course she thinks is "too fat" because she's not airbrushed in the mirror. My few suggestions at outfits were always shot down, and after the first time I tried to give her a sweater that hugged her chest but apparently made her stomach look "huge," I gave up.
I've managed to get myself pulled together into the pants and a nice shirt when I hear her voice coming out of the bedroom.
"Dean?"
The door's closed, but she obviously wants me to come in. Shrugging, I push it open.
Well, fuck me.
She's mostly dressed. Her leather skirt comes down mid-thigh, enough to suggest but not openly confirm that she's wearing stockings with garters. And yes, that's definitely a corset. Not some zip-up stretchy corset top, either. The real deal.
Which is, I realize, the reason why I'm here.
"Lace me up," she says calmly, gesturing to the loose ribbons hanging at her back. Well, God damn . She looks like a wet dream already, and it's not even properly cinched yet.
"I..." The ribbons sit there innocuously, mocking me. I'm pretty sure my laces just got a little tighter. "I've never done this before."
"It's just like tying shoes," she says, impatiently.
"It's really not," I inform her. "If I tie my shoes wrong I don't risk smothering someone to death."
"If I can't breathe, I'll tell you ." She rolls her eyes at me in the mirror. "Come on. You just tighten the two loops on the back and do the bunny ears. I promise I won't let you bruise my ribs."
What would a Dom do? Well, he certainly wouldn't chicken out on this. With a confidence I don't feel, I grab one of the sets of loops and start pulling it tight. Tighter. She's right, it is a little bit like tying shoes, except tying shoes doesn't give me a hard-on. The more I think about how much I really don't want an erection right now, the more determined it becomes.
She takes in a sharp breath. "Okay. That's it. Tie it there."
I do.
The next one is easier, and I'm harder. Thank God she's standing in front of me in the mirror. Her tiny gasp as I cinch the corset tighter sends an almost painful throb to my groin.
"That's a little too much," she tells me, her voice a little breathless. "Let it out."
I stand there, still holding the ribbons, wondering how she'd react if I threw her down on the bed right now.
"Let it out!" she insists, glaring at me. "Dean?"
I grin at her reflection. "What's the magic word?"
"Go fuck yourself." She tries to twist around, but I let the ribbons slack a little and tie them off.
"Asshole," she snaps when I finally let her go. She turns around to face me. "I swear I'm -"
That's when she notices it. She stops mid-sentence, stares, tries to look like she's not staring, deflates slightly, and blushes a deep red.
"Um," she says, sidestepping around me to the doorway. "We're going to be late. I'll meet you in the car."
If she imagines she's doing me a favor by giving me a chance to jerk off in the bathroom, she's absolutely right.
***
The car ride is silent and awkward. She's slipped out of her coat and shawl since it's toasty-warm in the car, a bit too toasty-warm to be strictly comfortable in leather pants. And it's even less comfortable with her tits calling to me like a homing beacon from the other side of the backseat.
How can I not look? They're pushed up high and proud, the corset doing its job like
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