Of Corsets. "For Me!"

Of Corsets. “For me.”

Some make choices. Some have choices forced upon them. Some mistakes have long-delayed outcomes. "Of course, it's for me" didn't I just say so.
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It used to be difficult to describe Richard Richardson. Then the easy words were rich, privileged, arrogant. He was vain, rude and overbearing to inferiors, and ever-willing to put down his peers. He even sneered upwards at those few he considered to be useful superiors. True superiors, those he treated as equals.

He might have had some good habit but they weren’t visible – even to his drinking-mates. Only the really generous would call them friends. And Rich mostly got them and held them by buying them. They called him ‘Too-Rich’ for his behaviour and he thought they were saying ‘Two-Rich’ for his names. He was an arrogant fool. Back then. Before.

But as well as drinking too much, he also smoked too much, ate too much and was becoming a flabby slob. No longer the fit young man with eager admirers. He decided to do something. And what caught his eye was ‘Hypnotherapy’

He knew little about it. What he didn’t even think about was ‘Don’t annoy someone who is hypnotising you’.

And, if you DO annoy your hypnotist, then be sure that she didn’t have a sister who you bullied to the point of breakdown.

Of course there’s rules and regulations about what a hypnotist may and may not do – but that’s for registered professionals. The Richard Richardsons of this world cut corners because ‘nobody’s going to mess with me!’. Ho ho ho.

Make sure that you know exactly what treatment you are asking for. Make sure she isn’t the aggressive family-centred sort. Be certain that the woman doesn’t know you through other links in a chain. That she never had a sister who you hooked and abandoned. Or a girl who couldn’t cope with your blunt and ugly rudeness. Indeed, some girls in that situation, alone and pregnant, they might even harm or kill themselves. And have an elder sister who has a vengeful nature. That might be complicated.

Nevertheless, the sessions went well. Rich began to slim down, take exercise, become moderate in several of his habits. But, one day, just after a particularly strenuous session where he had arrived steaming angry and been very rude to Rajida, he found himself noticing the contents of a local shop-window.

He felt drawn to the display. What was he doing? Why should corsets and lingerie be of interest? To his puzzlement, he was not just noticing all the pretties in the window, he was admiring them, interested in them. And his reaction said he was excited too. What was happening to him?

It got worse over the next few days. He had decided that the sessions were so worthwhile that he was going twice a week now. And spending longer every time. Looking with more intensity at the detailing, the lacing, the lacework, the frills and fripperies, the materials which included the colours as well as the different shapes that could be obtained.

On one occasion he was staring in at the window and the shopkeeper looked piercingly at him. The next time, it happened again, and then again.

Finally, the fourth time, the lady came out and spoke. “Are you wanting to have a closer look at some of our products. I can tell that you are especially interested. I’d suggest that you look first at the red and white full-figure Alessandra corset, the one to the left in the window. That seems to be the one you most ….. admire.”

Rich knew that he didn’t want to. Yet his voice was saying, “Oh could I please. It would be so nice to actually have a closer look.” [nearly at 500 words – but this one is escaping!!]

Moments later, they were inside the small shop. There were several large dressing-rooms to one side and Rich could see ceiling hooks. His time spent watching videos about bondage and the like told him what those were for. Although he had watched far more videos about bondage in the last few weeks. And whenever he saw a woman in a corset being treated thus – he got more enthralled. More entranced, so to speak. The room smelt gorgeous. Perfumes aplenty. Definitely feminine. Defiantly feminine.

“So, Mr …”

“The name’s Richardson. But I like being called Richie.” ‘What. No I don’t’’. Rich’s brain was on its own track.

“Would you like ….” The lady knew exactly what sort of customer she had in front of her.

Richie held the fascinating garment very carefully as if it was precious to him. As indeed his mind was telling him. His fingers stroked the satin. Ran softly along the seams and picked at the lacings. If looking had been wonderful, this was beyond. This was exhilarating. He held up the beautiful thing to the corsetiere (for that’s the proper word) as if to ask ……

“Would you like to try on a corset? Would you want me to help you test this one that you’re enjoying so much.”

The words were music to his ears. It was enjoyment that he was needing.

He blushed. This hard-guy tough business executive blushed. “Oh, yes, please.” Almost girlishly.

He began to give the lady the words that were ready and now triggered. “I’ve been trying to lose weight – but it’s so hard. The I remembered the history books and how the Georgians and Victorian gentlemen often wore corsets to help their posture. And I thought, perhaps that would help me at look slimmer. And the tightness of the corset would also encourage me to stick to my weight targets. But then I started looking and these ones are so much prettier. Do you do them for people like me, men I mean.”

And Mrs Sein-Hanches (trade-name of course) smiled. “Yes, we have men who need corsets. Mostly sportsmen who have strained their backs overmuch. But there’s also the men like you who need encouragement with losing weight or, at least appearing as if they’ve lost weight and there’s the others.”

“Others?”

“The men who want to wear corsets because it gives them a better shape, a better figure. A more controlled waist, hips and bust. Which is exactly what this pretty Alessandra will supply. Isn’t it pretty? It is the one you want to try, isn’t it?”

Richie knew the answer was ‘no’. But his treacherous, salivating lips said “Yes, please.”

And the Alessandra was indeed gorgeous. It held Rich in tight where it should and yet yielded elsewhere. He looked in the mirrors – so many of them – and knew that he looked better than ever before.

But also, something was missing. Several somethings. He patted his hair as if that was wrong. He stroked the corset and it was evident by the way that his fingers curled that he wanted more. He turned to see if his rear was more overt than it should be. He almost said ‘does my bottom look big?’

Madison Sein-Hanches had seen it all before. She asked her next question. “I assume that you’ll need more than one corset. While one is being washed, for example. And you might decide that a night-time corset will make a real difference. A night-time corset is lighter and not so severe.” She saw him react to the word ‘severe’. “But my clients say it makes an enormous difference. Would you be wanting your night-time corsets in any particular colour.”

She knew most of the keywords for ensuring a sale. She didn’t ask him whether he wanted a night-corset; his decision was merely what colour to choose.

Rich, properly obedient to a strong determined woman, answered “Oh, yes. I’ll need, well, would two be enough.”

“I’d recommend two of the Alessandra. They’re only available in white and black or white and red. But there’s lots of colours you can have for night-time.”

“Well, I’d better have one of each of those. As you don’t do white, cream or pale fawn that is. And since nobody will see me at night, I’d like a set of four in pretty colours say pink, pale blue, pale green and a medium yellow. Would that be possible?”

At the commission she was getting on these six pieces, almost any options could become available if the saleswoman was willing. “Well, Mr Richie, we don’t have every colour in stock. If you were wanting speed-delivery then that could be arranged for a small charge.” Just a little pressure to ensure the sale made itself.

“Oh, yes. I can pay.” And you will, dearie.

“That will do nicely. Now, do you want some help taking Alessandra on and off a few times. So that you have complete confidence that you can manage by yourself. There’s a trick to the knots so that you can undo them yourself. [ Indeed a trick. Going over and round instead of round and over meant that help would almost certainly be required.]

With careful attention, Richie learnt how to take off, put on and care for his new purchases. Under Madison’s thorough endorsement, he bought vests to go under or over, new panties, garter-belts ['what’s the point of a corset with suspender-straps without wearing stockings, silly billy'.]

So Richie was richly costumed with clothing rich and rare.

And with all of Madison’s encouragement and determination, he went with her pressure to wear his new corset home. “You’ll have to get used to it. And the more you practice taking it on and off, the better. So scoot off and do as you’re told.”

And Madison patted him on his 32 year-old bottom as if he were a badly behaved girl-child.

Richie did not know what to think. He felt SO comfortable in his well-fitted figure-shaping garb. He had no idea what he looked like because he knew he looked smart and as feminine as possible. But he also knew that something was amiss. He didn’t feel right. Once again, he thought, perhaps it’s the hair. Or …. his brain really wasn’t working properly.

As he approached his house in Fulham, he began to wonder who would notice him. In fact, he wondered if he was noticeable. He shouldn’t have worried. He was noticeable. And amongst the perils of his journey was that he lived within yards of a pub. Not his favourite, but one where there were often people who knew him or had known him. After all, bought friends don’t stay long. Their price goes up and your boredom threshold rises – and – paf – gone.

So there were people drinking and enjoying the early autumn evening. Crisp sunshine and leaves of every colour from yellow to red to black to bronze. And Richie comes strolling past. In his new costume. Tight trousers and fitted blazer accentuating his narrow waist. His shoes, albeit they only had 1 inch heels clip-clopped in a most non-macho manner. Noticeable - Yes!

Would YOU have been unable to notice? Would his ex-friends be able to keep quiet?

The gayest and boldest of Richie’s ex-friends slapped his thigh and called out “Well, lookee there. If I ain’t ever seen a picture of such a priggy bastard so prettily wrapped up then I ain’t never been given a big fat kiss by a himbo. And that there is himbo-bait.”

And they all looked where Ray pointed. And they shouted, “Coeee, Richie.” And they whistled and shouted. Apparently hypnosis can be triggered to release for wolf-whistles or similar.

So they all saw the Honorable Richard Richardson blushing like a beetroot. And running on his little heels as fast as they would carry him.

“Well,” said Ray the Gay, (he knew it was his nickname and quite liked it from those in his crowd] ‘that’s got our darlin’ Richie showing off his new colours. I knew he was a bastard – but I never knew Rich was going to be such a girly bitch. What fun. We can all be girls together. Doesn’t he look so sweet.”

Sitting at the back of that crowd was an older girl, pretty with some sort of Indian name. She wasn’t well known to the group. They knew her through her younger sister who had committed suicide a year or more before. Richard might have recognised her if he’d looked hard.

And if his mind wasn’t battered by exciting messages about his new interest in clothes. He almost didn’t notice the shouting as he so wanted to get home and try on his new night-corset. He wanted the yellow one most.

And deep inside, a small weakening voice wailed 'What did I do to deserve this."


I’m not sure this went quite the way I expected ……

By the way Sein-Hanches translates as Bust-Hips



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