It probably doesn’t come as surprise that I have a corset in my wardrobe. I wish I had more than just the one. But it is really nice, authentic, the outside made of satin. I don’t know if they are made from whalebone (as original ones were), but it has “stays,” like ribs that run vertically. When I put it on, it’s as though I have an exoskeleton, a hard, outer shell. It laces up from both the front and the back, so I can put it on by myself, or have someone lace me into it from behind. It really accentuates my slender waist and full hips and bottom. (It can’t do much with titties that are barely there to begin with.)
Do you know that they designed furniture for women, back when they wore corsets? They made divans (small couches) where one could lay down, which made it easier to breathe than sitting up straight. It was called “having the vapors” if one was short of breath due to a tight corset.
I like to imagine that I could be transported back in time when I put it on. I’m a servant girl in Lord Dunsmore’s mansion in early 19th century England. His Lordship and the Lady of the house are in the sitting room, where I’m serving them before-dinner drinks. Because of the time-travel, I don’t know the manners and mores of this previous culture. Even though polite, I speak to them as though I was their equal, which gives offense. I am ordered to remove my gown and all the petticoats underneath. I obey quickly, mortified that I have committed such an error on my first day. I am turned over the back of a divan. Lady Dunsmore sits next to my upper half and holds my hands in hers, looking at me with condemnation. Lord Dunsmore decides that merely opening the back of my bloomers won’t be sufficient, so they are yanked down to my shoes. A butler retrieves a riding crop that is reserved for just this purpose, whipping some discipline into the servant staff. He hands it to the Master, then presses my corset to the divan’s back, pinning me in place.
“Is she new? I don’t recognize her,” the Lord inquires, looking at my buttocks.
“Yes, Sir, just hired,” the butler answers promptly.
“She has a nice, substantial backside,” the Master says appraisingly. “She should be able to take a good whipping…”
He applies the crop quite hard, to both my buttocks and the backs of my thighs. I try to be a good girl for it, but it becomes clear that he intends to break me. The beating goes on and on. Soon I am reduced to tears. My Lord stops only when he is winded. His Lady now looks at me with new-found admiration. She releases my hands, though I did not fight; I would not dream of resisting the will of my Lordship, even if he is cruel. She rises, caresses my cheek tenderly, which wipes away a tear. More take its place as my Lady walks around the divan to have a look at the handiwork of her husband on my hindquarters. She caresses these cheeks, too, patting me, parting me.
“You are to come to our bedchamber after dinner,” she says to me. I nod. I am released, stand, pull up my drawers over a very sore backside. As I gather the rest of my clothing, I hear her say to the butler, “Replace her on the wait staff who are serving dinner tonight.” He nods. Then, returning to address me, she smiles, “You have a big night ahead of you. Rest in your chambers until after our dinner is completed. The butler will bring you to us when it’s time..”
I will always remember this sitting room as the place where I was first whipped. I refer to it as “the no sitting room,” my own private joke.
I am served dinner in my quarters, which was quite unusual. I ate it lying on my tummy on my bed in the nude save for my corset. It hurt too much to wear any more clothing, to say nothing of sitting down.
The butler knocks on my door an hour and a half later, “You are summoned, girl.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be right there.” I did not put on all my under-clothes, just my gown. I guessed that I would just be taking my clothes off again soon. He escorts me upstairs without looking at me once. Knocking on their chamber door, he whispers, “Your life is about to change, both for the better and the worse…” and closed the doors after me.
Lady Dunsmore had her gown unbuttoned, and looks to be waiting for assistance to proceed further. Lord Dunsmore had his coat and waistcoat off, as well as his shoes. Yet they both stared at me with shocked surprise, as she said, “Girl, you’re not properly attired!” I am reminded once again that what was sauce for these entitled geese was not the same for lowly little old me.
“There wasn’t time. I didn’t want to keep you waiting…”
They apparently decide to let this go.
“Did the butler tell you…?” she smiles.
“You are no longer a servant; you are my personal maid! Here, help me off with my things.”
As I did so, I am given a lesson in how to properly put-away the expensive garments. Once she is nude before us, I am told where to find a nightgown, but there are many to choose from in the cabinet.
“I want a plain one tonight, so it won’t matter if it gets soiled,” she instructs obliquely. As I approached her with it, she sits, so that I could more easily put it over her head. I notice what a handsome woman she is, no longer young, I’d guess that she was probably close to forty, but very well-put-together with full breasts and womanly hips. When I look up, the Lord has stripped to the waist, and I admired his strong arms and barrel chest. He sits down next to her on the four-poster canopied bed.
“Stand before us, girl,” he directs.
I did. They both raise my gown over my head and leave it there. I was turned around, and they both fondle my buttocks, while I bent over in the darkness that envelopes me.
“She’s beautifully marked! You did such an excellent job thrashing her,” my Lady says to her husband.
“Thank you, my dear! I’m eager to give it another go…”
Only then is my gown taken completely off me, as I am assisted in lying down on a small bed next to their expansive one. My Mistress ties my hands and feet to opposite bedposts, as my Master selects a whip and tests it by cracking it in the air.
“What have I done wrong this time? So that I may learn from my mistake and not repeat it…”
My Ladyship laughs with great amusement.
“You’ve excited me with your demure beauty and then aroused me with your ability to accept the lash… My Lordship likes to whip young girl’s bums, and I’m of the opinion that it’s better yours than mine…”
With that I am flogged even harder than before. My Mistress raises her nightshirt and touches herself obscenely right by my face as her husband lays into me. Again, I was beaten mercilessly, and when I thought I’d pass-out, he tosses the whip down and enters his bride with his rampant manhood from behind. He rogers her for just a moment of ardent vigor, then they both stiffen simultaneously, and sigh in unison.
“Thank you, young lady, you’re dismissed,” he says as he unties me at both ends.
“Yes, well done! …What is your name again?” she chimes-in.
“Jean Marie, Ma’am.”
“Tomorrow then, Jean Marie.” And I let myself out and limp back to my quarters.
The stark contrast between my humble small room and my employers’ lavish boudoir strikes me. What those two cannot imagine is that his strikes across my backside, the flailings that seem to excite her so, arouse me even more. I lay down on my little cot, finally free from that constraining corset, finally able to breathe freely, and touch myself in the same way that my Lady masturbated. The mental images of this couple coupling right before me, the sting of my stripes, the stimulation of my magic fingers, my right hand playing at my pussy and my left up my bum, all of these factors bring on a monumental orgasm. Its convulsions whisk me back to the present time, and I’m lying in my own bed once more.
(The photographic inspiration of my “no sitting room.”)
(How I imagine I looked just before that first flailing in the “no sitting room.”)
(A mental image of his Lordship entertaining himself at my expense.)