Oh, how I complained when, at the tender age of fourteen, Mummy insisted
that I wear old fashioned corsets with bones and laces. Not one of my
friends wore them, I bleated tearfully, not anyone at all. In fact, I had
not even heard of corsets until then. Mummy was completely unaffected. "I
was exactly the same, darling, and, when I was your age, lots of girls wore
them." The corset maker nodded. " I wish I was as busy now as when your
Mummy was a girl. Now let's get on with fitting your lovely corset."
I must say I had a very good, very mature figure for my age. My breasts were
full and well-shaped, my waist was much smaller than any of my friends, and
my hips and bottom looked fine in the jeans I
usually wore. But when Mummy and the corset maker fastened the busk, as I
learnt it was called, and began to haul in the laces, my figure began to
look incredible. Strangely, the feeling was quite incredible too. The corset
was neither very rigidly boned nor very long in relation to the models I
wear nowadays as a matter of course. However, I found the feeling of
firmness and compression, particularly over my tummy and bottom, very
pleasant.
The corset maker saw my smile. "There," she said to Mummy, "I said Dorothy
would be a good subject. We could have started her with a training corset
right from the word 'go'." The lacing was completed to their satisfaction,
after a few rests, and the suspenders were fastened securely to serious
looking lisle stockings, and, apart from a few aches - particularly when I
bent to put on my new high heeled court shoes - I felt just fine.
The corset was not high enough to reach my bosom but it was tight enough to
force a lot of surplus flesh and fat up to it. The corset maker had
anticipated this and helped me on with a new quite firm but agreeably much
larger bra. My bust seemed much bigger and so beautifully shaped.So, wearing
just a low cut sweater, a wrap-over skirt and my wide red leather belt
fastened tighter than I could have ever believed, we went out for my first
corseted walk. Lots of people looked at me oddly and I soon realised why.
The corset, my lovely corset, held me quite rigid and upright. "Hardly
anyone walks like me," I said to Mummy. "More's the pity," she replied.I was
only to be corseted after school, at weekends and during the holidays and I
really missed the embrace of my corset when I was not wearing it.
When I left school, my real corset training was to begin and, from a couple
of months before the appointed date, I was looking forward to it with eager
anticipation. Mummy was so pleased with my reaction and my appearance that
she had begun to wear a real corset again herself and we had had lots of fun
helping each other to get laced up and dressed.
Mummy told me that she had promised my father when I was a little girl that
I should be properly corseted when I grew up . Sadly, he had died as a
result of a terrible car accident and Mummy said that without the admiration
of a husband to encourage her she had abandoned the tight-laced regime she
had enjoyed since she was only fifteen. She had started off this time
wearing the same model of corset as me but she had quickly graduated to a
heavier, longer and, of course, much, much tighter one. It was really
rigidly boned as well. Mummy was very pleased with herself. " Everyone used
to say that if you had got used to being very tightly corseted and then
stopped you would never be able to lace tightly again to anything like the
same size, I’m so delighted that I’ve managed it," Mummy said, " I think
it's because we eat much more sensibly now. Just look at me, darling!" She
did look beautiful standing there in her corset, stockings and shoes, and I
asked her whether it hurt to be laced so tightly. Her waist could have been
no more than nineteen inches. She smiled at me in such a patient way. "Yes,
darling. Sometimes it really does hurt a lot. I realise now that once you
learn to love being pulled in really tightly, any pain or discomfort can and
has to be endured." I kissed her impulsively and she laughed as my flimsy
busk knocked against the long hard front of her stays.
At last the day I had waited for so eagerly finally came. I had left school,
and the corset maker, by now an old friend, was to come to our house within
the hour. She came carrying a big box. "Here's your new corset wardrobe!"
she called out as she came up the steps to the front door," And some other
things as well." It was then that I learnt that being properly corseted was,
in effect, to become my career. I was told that I was far too plump for
tight lacing to be properly effective, that it was a waste of time to try
and corset fat away. Before I could even try on my new corsets I had to
spend as much time ‘as was necessary' in what my mother called the Rubber
Maiden.
