Showing posts with label fetishes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fetishes. Show all posts

Friday, April 19, 2019

The twelve-inch waist and other curiosities




"Here is a 'reader's letter' from New Orleans Times-Democrat, 22 March, 1896
 (though from the reference to India I suspect it may have been reproduced from a British source):

A correspondent writes from Jhalra, Central India:

“I wish more girls would write their figure-training experiences to your paper. I have just left the finishing school where I was for two years, and have come out to my father in India. I may say, without conceit, that I have a good figure and small waist, which are entirely due to the careful system of figure-training enforced at the school I had the good fortune to be sent to. I wish first to protest against the common belief that a small waist and tight-lacing are synonymous terms, that a small waist can only be the outward and visible sign of a tightly-laced corset, whereas it is much more usually the result of years of careful training while the figure is growing and supple and can be molded. 



When I went to the Paris school, at the age of sixteen, my waist measure was twenty-one inches, and I had never worn any but ready-made stays. On reaching my new school my figure was very carefully measured round chest, waist, and hips, my height and weight were taken, and all details entered in a book. After a few days I was fitted with a pair of long, fully-boned corsets with shoulder straps, the waist measure being twenty inches. I was laced into these without much difficulty, and at night I had to wear similar sized, though less stiffly boned, corsets. I at first felt very uncomfortable, but I was old enough to admire and envy the beautiful figures and tiny waists of the elder girls.

“The system enforced was that our waists should be reduced a quarter of an inch every month until the Superior considered that the utmost limit of tenuity, consistent with good health, bad been reached. Great attention was paid to our food and exercise, and drill, and corsets formed the medium through which we received our rewards and punishments. There was considerable rivalry between the girls, and rewards consisted in being allowed to lace our waists in as small as our vanity, or spirit of rivalry, desired on Sundays, and after 5 o'clock In the afternoon on week days. Punishments consisted of what was called ‘backboard drill’ and punishment corsets; the latter were very long, and as stiff as steel bones could make them, and were certainly instruments of torture. When I left school my waist measure was fourteen inches, and I can honestly say that I enjoyed good health and suffered no more than slight temporary inconvenience, and that, with one or two exceptions, the Superior and her staff had to exercise more vigilance to see that we did not lace in our waists smaller than the decreed size, than to see that the decreed size was not exceeded.


































“During our free time in the evenings we used to see how small we could make our waists; and I dare say that many will disbelieve me when 1 tell you that many of us often succeeded in getting the tape to meet at twelve inches. I do not mean to say that I could have exhibited my waist laced in to twelve inches; on the contrary, we often were so tightly laced that we could scarcely breathe, and sometimes fainted before we were released. Since I have been “out” I have not been allowed to show my waist smaller than fifteen inches in public, Father says “people stare so at you,” but my night corsets are still always laced in till my waist measures only fourteen inches.





“Everyone here seems to think that I must be fearfully tight-laced. and must be suffering agonies, but it is just as easy and comfortable for me to wear a fifteen Inch waist as it is for untrained figures to wear a twenty or twenty-five inch waist, and I am able to take as much exercise walking, ruling, dancing, tennis. badminton, etc. as my larger-waisted girl friends. I am thankful to say that father likes to see my waist small, and when we dine at home alone I never show larger than fourteen inches, and in one pair of corsets with a lovely frock I exhibit a thirteen and a half inch waist: to make sure of this I am wearing that frock to-night, and father has just measured my waist, and says he certifies it is just over thirteen and a half over dress measurement.





“I am afraid you will think my letter very long, but I must add one word more. The superior's rule was that as long as a girl could wear her corset day and night for a month without such pain as to necessitate relaxing the lace, she should have the usual quarter-inch further reduction on the 1st of next month, and that a corset which could be worn from month's end to month's end, without release was not tightly laced.





“Tight-lacing only began when the corset was so tightly laced that it could not be worn all day and night without such pain as to necessitate relaxing the lace, and that there was hardly any limit to the tenuity to which a girl might reduce her waist provided that she always relaxed the lace when she found she was suffering from being too long in confinement at the extra small size; and she used to warn us never to allow our vanity to risk exhibiting in public a smaller waist than we had proved by private practice we were able to bear.”


Friday, July 6, 2018

Golden lotus: the binding of women's souls




Blogger's note. Foot binding was a practice which was almost universal in China for nearly a thousand years. It was only banned in the early 20th century, though it was carried on in secret for many decades. Little girls had their feet contorted and crushed into the “ideal” measurement of three or four inches. A powerful fetish sprang up around this hideous practice, with men becoming “connaisseurs” of foot deformity and the various ways in which the instep buckled and the toes were crushed into lifelessness. Feng Jicai’s novel The Three-Inch Golden Lotus is both brilliant and hair-raising in exposing a barbaric, horrifying practice which made little girls marriageable and desirable, providing their only chance to “marry up” and save their families from destitution. Many say Jicai's novel is satiric, not just uncovering a shame from the past but holding up present-day social atrocity for close, uncomfortable scrutiny.





In this excerpt, Fragrant Lotus, a five-year-old girl who already has beautiful tiny feet, is initiated into womanhood by her beloved grandmother. To start the process, she forcibly breaks the little girl’s toes and folds them under the sole.






















“Granny’s hands moved fast. She was afraid Fragrant Lotus would start to kick and scream, so she quickly completed the binding. She wrapped the bandage around the four toes, down to the arch, up over the instep, behind the heel, and then quickly forward, over the four toes once again. . . Fragrant Lotus’ mind was filled with waves of pain and pinching, folding and contortion. . . The four toes, now next to the arch, were locked firmly in place, as if by metal bands. They were unable to move, even a minute fraction of an inch.





























“. . . She set about collecting shards of broken bowls, spread them on the ground, and smashed them into small, sharp bits. The next time she rebound Fragrant Lotus’ feet, she put the bits of porcelain inside the bandages, along the soles of her feet. When Fragrant Lotus walked, the pottery bits cut into her skin. . . The cut feet suffocated by the bandages became swollen, inflamed, and pus formed in the wounds. Whenever the bindings were changed, the old bandage had to be ripped off, tearing off pus and chunks of rotten flesh. This was an old method in the north China foot-binding tradition. Only when the bones were shattered and the flesh was putrid could the feet be properly molded into the most desirable shape.”























ENOUGH! We won’t get into the way Granny pulls out Fragrant Lotus’ toenails and pounds her feet with a rolling pin to make them more malleable. Though I am sure Jicai did his research with the utmost care (it matches everything I’ve ever found on the subject), at a certain point it becomes too headspinningly horrendous to even take in. How many millions of little girls had their childhood stolen from them in this way, forced to live the rest of their lives with a literally crippling deformity?
































But even this isn’t the worst. Jicai also delves into the creepy fetishes men developed around bound feet, which were sometimes unwrapped and “played with” in the marriage bed. Foot competitions, in which feet were judged on size and shape (the smaller and pointier the better) were a common diversion, with women hiding behind screens so that only their deformed feet showed in their three-or-four inch, gorgeously-embroidered, teeteringly high-heeled shoes.



















Because of her exquisitely-bound feet, Fragrant Lotus has “married up” into a wealthy family with a typical foot obsession. An impromptu foot contest springs up when a number of perverted old men show up to indulge their fetish. Mr. Lu, a self-appointed expert on the subject, begins to expound: 




“Small feet are beautiful or ugly based on their overall appearance, which can be further divided into two elements: shape and form. Let us discuss shape first. There are six terms to describe shape: short, narrow, thin, smooth, upright, and pointed. Short refers to the foot’s length from back to front, and it should be short, not long. Narrow refers to the breadth of the foot from side to side, and it should be narrow, not wide. . . "




"Pointed refers to the toes, which should not be blunt but should come to a sharp point. If they have a slight upward turn, they are even more seductive. However, the degree of upturn should be just right. Too much will cause the point to stand upright, like a scorpion’s tail;  too little and it will droop downward, like a rat’s tail. Neither of these will do. And that, gentlemen, completes the discussion of the shape of the lotus.”






























It goes on and on from there, for pages and pages, as various points of confirmation are discussed in detail as if the men are talking about flower varieties or dog breeds. The longer you think about this, the worse it gets: these crushed feet are being celebrated, the women’s lifelong crippling lifted up as rare beauty. The most unbelievable aspect of all this is the true meaning of the term “fragrant”: what it comes down to, as far as I can tell, is the horrid whiff of dead flesh coming from the rotting toes.

From a foot binding site come these startling revelations
:




“Men who were turned on by bound feet were referred to as “lotus lovers”. They were aroused by the mysterious feet and were thrilled when the cotton covers were taken off. They inhaled the fragrant aroma and took delight in smelling the bared flesh. The husbands would fondle the foot in the palms of his hand before gradually caressing it with his mouth. He would place watermelon seeds or almonds between the toes before eating them from the woman’s foot. Beside these strange fetishes some men would drink the water that had previously been used to bathe the feet. The bound feet would be treasured like gold.”






When Fragrant Lotus loses the foot competition, not by inferior feet but a cheap pair of shoes, she decides to commit suicide: “In the Tong family if your feet were bad, you were finished. This family was like a chessboard, and bound feet were the individual chessmen. One false move and the game changed completely.”

Her only solution is to consult with a foot binding expert who says her feet are not "bowed" enough to be truly beautiful and must be rebound. ("Bowed" refers to the buckling upward of the crushed instep, forcing the front of the ankle to bulge outward.) Thus she experiences the torture of her girlhood all over again in order to gain favor in her own family.






The Three-Inch Golden Lotus isn’t history so much as social satire. Jicai seems to be whispering to us beneath the fascinatingly awful story: “Have things really changed so much?”  Instruments of torture, all the various means of squeezing, deforming, removing, wrenching out of shape and cutting away: they are all part of woman’s presence on earth. 










































Corsets, high heels, female circumcision, clitoridectomy, where does it stop? Now women are having surgery on their feet to “correct” problems that might keep them from wearing the five-inch skyscraper heels that are currently in fashion. In fact, the newest invention is the "ballet" heel in which the wearer literally walks on the ends of her toes with seven-inch stilts under her heels.







All in the name of fashion, but why? Do women do this for each other? Why are men so afraid of women? Why won’t they let us walk, breathe, have an orgasm? Why was being deformed and crippled such a sexual turn-on in an advanced civilization for a thousand years? Do we really think all this pain is part of the past, has come to an end? Why do women collude with men in taking on so much pain in order to be “beautiful”? What’s beautiful? And why?




Please note. This is a summer repeat, but from 2011 (!), so I didn't think too many people would remember it. The line spacing may be a bit "off". This is one of my few posts  that actually got some views, though I'm not sure it will play the second time.

Saturday, March 31, 2018

Reborn or undead: the Edison talking doll





I hated dolls as a kid and never went near them, though my mother bought me something called a Debbie doll - she was brunette, with a large head, much larger than Barbie's. I think my mother was afraid I would be a lesbian if she didn't do something pretty quickly. Obviously I wasn't a proper little girl at all.

Now I am dragged as if by hypnotic persuasion to the idea of dolls. I watch "reborn" videos obsessively, even though I think the dolls are insanely creepy and most of the women who own them borderline-unhinged. Some of these dolls actually pee (I've seen footage), some cry and coo, move, and have a heartbeat and an internal heating system. All this is to reproduce, as closely as possible, a Real Live Baby. Reborn videos commonly show the baby being "sick" so the "mother" has to hover over it and pretend to take it to the doctor, or going on shopping trips where "Mom" takes them out in public expressly to shock people and weird them out. (The video of the woman "giving birth" to a reborn has, unfortunately, been deleted.) I don't know if this is just a nasty prank, or a form of casual sadism.

The true glory of the reborn, as with all dolls, is that it never changes. The agony of watching your child grow away from you never needs to happen. That little vinyl blob in your arms is forever in your thrall. In fact, it is under your complete and total control at all times. Think of the power. Women actually weep when they lift seven pounds of quivering silicone out of the cardboard box from eBay. They sob and gasp and whisper to the "baby" for the whole 15-minute video.






I don't get it. Except that I do, or I want to. I'm collecting trolls again, enjoying it hugely - trolls, to me, weren't really dolls, they were a little too weird and subversive. My mother wasn't pleased and did not consider them real dolls, and still wanted me to play with my Debbie doll. My Debbie doll sucked rocks, as far as I was concerned.

I played trolls with two friends, both people who "got" me, and I don't need to explain to you what that means. I don't think it has ever happened to me again. I was ten, and that was my golden year, though I didn't know it at the time. It was my year of the Beatles and having a horse of my own, and being in the special advanced class in which I did not learn a royal rip because I did not have to. We all "learned at our own pace", which means we learned doodlysquat. It was total anarchy, and we literally gave our poor greenhorn teacher a nervous breakdown. He had so been looking forward to teaching this avant-garde, even prestigious class.





I was ten, and there were trolls, and now when I go back to trolls I see they are different, and yet the same. They have come and gone in waves, disappearing for 20 years after that first crest in the '60s, surging again in the '80s, then disappearing, until that Godawful movie came out.

But never mind. I ramble. I was going to talk about the Edison talking doll, but there isn't much to say, is there? It was a hideous thing. Edison was an arrogant asshole and thought he could make fools of the public just by putting out something with his name on it. It didn't happen. The dolls had a tiny version of his new-fangled gramophone embedded in its hard tin carapace. The tinny distorted recordings of nursery rhymes that issued forth when you turned the crank were nothing less than demonic. Curdled dulcet tones waver and shriek, making you wonder just who was  paid to spew this stuff, and how long they've been dead by now.





The dolls worked for about five minutes, which must have broken a lot of little girls' hearts, and most customers angrily demanded refunds. They stayed on the market for less than a year. Edison was known to refer to this project as "spilled milk", another way of saying "writeoff". And yet, and yet. A few must have remained in working order, or we wouldn't still have these blood-chilling horror-movie sounds.

I even wondered if the sound had been recreated artificially, like that wretched so-called recording of Au Clair de la Lune where some electron microscope scanned a very old piece of black paper, fed the random scratches into a computer and came up with The Very First Recorded Sound. It's a known fact that we hear what we expect to hear. I could write a whole piece about that, but I won't. A few years ago my granddaughter had a baby doll that talked, and one of the things it said was, "Allah is great!". Of course, what it really said was "gagamamamblllllgagmmmm", but once the rumor got around, EVERYONE heard the doll say"Allah is great". The dolls were soon pulled off the market. Allah, as everyone knows, is the embodiment of evil.





This video has the largest collection of talking doll horrors I've heard. I won't tell you to enjoy it. Just prepare yourself.


Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Miss Sadist's School of Tightlacing




From the “Sheffield Independent” July 18th 1896:

SMALL WAISTS AND EDUCATION.

Nowadays, when almost every pastime is being annexed to the use of girls and women, and when, if we fully believe the more advanced ones of the sex we are within a reasonable distance of the day when the petticoat and skirt will be abolished in favour of the knickerbocker, at least when taking exercise, the manner in which girls were trained for their after positions in life at fashionable finishing schools forty years, or rather less, ago, will, says “Hearth and Home,” surely prove interesting reading, though, perhaps, almost incredible.





Not long ago, among a number of old books, the writer came across a diary of school-girl life from which extracts have been made showing how the girls are turned out in one (the conventional) mould without regard for differences of either disposition or temperament. Nothing could be plainer than the entries of the diary itself; and in the light of modern feminine development it becomes a valuable, if a frivolous, “human document.” Let it speak for itself.

August 15, 1858. — I am fifteen years of age to-day, and I haven't a lover. Margery has two, she tells me, but then she has such a very, very tiny waist— l can easily span it— and Mary tells me, when I say my new stays pinch me, that young ladies ought not to mind how much they are pinched in, because if they intend to make a good marriage they must have a jimp, small waist. Perhaps it is Margery's waist has got her a lover, for she is not sixteen quite.”





“September 27 (same year)— At last I am at school. I have been here three days; how long they have seemed away from little Bob, mother, and Kathleen. What a wasp-waisted lot we are, all except myself and the one or two other new girls; but we have all been measured, and when Mrs. B— sends out her stays from Brighton I suppose we shall be pulled in like the rest, and be laced up till we can scarcely breathe. What the girls hate (and what I shall hate, too) is never being allowed to loosen, except for the bath on Saturdays. And then, I have never worn stays at night. 

Last night I could hear Madge T— groaning in her sleep; she said she hardly slept at all, her new stays cut her so horribly. She has been here more than two years, and Mrs. M— says she has a lovely little waist— it is only 15 inches — and that though Madge could scarcely walk or breathe sometimes, she will have a perfect figure when she leaves at Christmas. Madge told me all about poor Sarah W—, who used to faint, and whose mother fetched her away. But Mrs. M— doesn't allow it to be talked about.”




“September 30. — Margery is in disgrace. Mlle. V—  found a note she had dropped from Harry. Madame M— is very angry at the very idea of a lover, although, after all, she is always telling us girls, if we complain of our stays pinching us, or that Marie or Mademoiselle hurt us when they rub our chests to make us develop, on Wednesday and Saturday mornings, that we must have good figures and small waists, so that we can make good marriages. Madge tells me that Violet S— and some of the other girls in her room— the bigger ones, of course — wear poultices very often at night to make them plump.”

“November 7. — This morning was ‘corset parade,’ as we girls call it. Madame, before we put on skirt and bodice, came round with the measurement book in her hand accompanied by Mademoiselle, tape in hand. Martha W— got into rare trouble; she had been faint in the night and obliged to loosen. She did not lace up again quite as small as she should have, hence Madame's anger. Amy T— was much commended, though she was white as death till she put on rouge, because she was only fifteen inches. How she panted and gasped while Margery and I laced her in. 




I am always a good girl, Madame says, though I don't pull myself in till I'm almost strangled, but content myself with seventeen inches — which, alas, Madame says must be sixteen by Christmas. I often laugh and say we girls are entered up like pieces of furniture, or something of that sort. Madame always reads out each entry from the book as each of us are ‘paraded.’ Mine was ‘Figure satisfactory, waist ditto; to be reduced to sixteen by December 18th; bust improved, but to be frictioned three times a week with linseed oil. Two pairs of new stays to be ordered from Madame B made extra stiff.’ Heigh-ho wee me, and I suppose I shall be a little more uncomfortable than before.”





Then a year after comes the following entry: — “How delightful to be home for good. Nurse is charmed with my figure, and says she is sure Captain W— admires it. He was watching me all across the lawn to-day while they were playing croquet. I can scarcely eat anything when laced in like I am, but she says girls don't want to eat much, and mother [says] that many women ruin their figures by eating.”


Friday, December 2, 2016

Happy and well and corsetted to the limit




The Saga of Abbie 


Who Is Happy And Well And Corsetted To The Limit 
by Anonymous

1 In my hourglass corset I'm laced every day,
My little wasp waist is shrinking away.
The stays squeeze me inwards so small and so nice,
In a pattern of lacing that grips like a vice.


2 When I was a child I could never understand
Why the shape of my mother was stately and grand,
But early one morning I once chanced to see
How Dad laced her corsets as tight as could be.
























3 Dad said to Mama, "You're not tightened yet",
And he pulled till his forehead was glistening with sweat,
While Mother said gaspingly, "Close them you must",
While breathing so fast in her trembling bust.

4 At last Dad succeeded, the laces were tied,
An Ma was so slender, I ran to her side,
My eyes big with wonder, my mouth wide agape
As I longingly gazed at her beautiful shape.




5 "O, Mother, O Mother", I gasped out of plea,
"O when can I have a wasp waist for me?
A real lady's corset, all lace-trimmed and blue.
I so want to be beautiful, just like you".

6 Mother smiled as she held smelling salts to her nose,
Then she said "Ask your Daddy", and pulled on her hose,
But Daddy demurred, "We need more time to think",
But Mum whispered, "Let her", and tipped him a wink.

7 That night Mother said as we sat round the fire,
"Is a nice waspy waist what you really desire?"
"O yes, Mummy, yes. Do let it be soon".
But suddenly Mummy fell down in a swoon.


    


8 Up jumped my Daddy and went to the drawer
And took out the scissors (I'm sure that he swore)
To cut Mummy's laces. She feebly gasped,
"No, don't cut the lace", as her waistline she clasped.

9 It did not take long for my Mum to recover,
While Dad fussed around like an overwrought lover.
He said, "Listen, Abbie, now I'm warning you
That's what tight-lacing will usually do".




10 I replied, "So I faint, but I truly don't care,
I want a wasp waist like my Mummy, so there.
O, please Mummy do try dear Dad to persuade,
To let me be corsetted. Please get one made".

11 Daddy hummed and he hawd, "So that's what you say,
You're just like your Mother; she gets her own way.
If that is the garment you're dying to wear,
Tomorrow we'll go to the corsetière".

12 My anticipation was loaded with bliss,
I rewarded them both with a hug and a kiss.
That night in my bed as in slumber I curled,
I dreamt I'd the tiniest waist in the world.




13 We went the next day to the corsetières.
And inside the shop she displayed all her wares.
So graceful the shapes of the corsets and stays,
I stood there enchanted, my eyes all a-glaze.

14 She measured me up, she measured me down,
She looked through her pince-nez, her brow in a frown.
"A wasp waisted corset? We have just the thing
To make you a lady with a waist like a ring".

15 They took me upstairs, I was in such haste,
The corset was clasped round my tender young waist.
"Now come to the mirror and see with your eyes
Your waist whittled down to its tiniest size".




16 I looked in the mirror, my heart was so full,
And then on the laces I started to pull.
I wanted the tightness, so comfy to savour;
My parents had done me the loveliest favour.

17 "Do you think you can manage to lace in yourself?"
Asked Mother. In answer I grinned like an elf.
"I love the sensation", I tugged hard with zest
Till my arms ached again and I took a short rest.




18 "How do you feel?" asked the corsetière,
"It's a lovely sensation", I had to declare.
"I want to be smaller, with bosom up thrust,
And the smaller the waist the larger the bust".

19 Then mother said, "Let me start pulling you in".
"Your arms are not strong enough for you to win".
So taking the laces she started to tug;
Oh, the sheer joy of that beautiful hug.




20 "Please pull. O please pull my little waist in,
I want to be tiny, delightfully thin".
I felt the desire to endure like a saint,
But I fell to the floor in a rapturous faint.

21 I opened my eyes, and I smiled with delight.
There, I'd had my first faint in my corset so tight.
I rose to my feet and I asked, "Where's my corset?"
Mother said, "It is here, but this time don't force it".




22 "Please Mummy replace it and wrap it round me,
A wasp-waisted lady I'm dying to be.
I'm no longer a child, I'm a woman, so there,
And when I get home please put up my hair".

23 Once more in my corset, the corsetière
Pulled slowly the laces with consummate care.
"I'll not close the corset this time", she averred,
"We don't want a faint like the last", she observed.

24 Gently she pulled the laces along,
My waist became small in the corset so strong.
The stays, readjusted less tight than before,
Were fastened, but open an inch or more.




25 Across at the mirror I gazed with awe;
I stared, and could hardly believe what I saw.
My waist was a stem, a beautiful figure,
My chest looked and felt extended and bigger.

26 I saw my breast heave I was breathing so fast,
But I had an hour-glass waistline at last;
And later as Mum and I walked down the street,
We were conscious of pride in our figures so neat.

27 Then back at home the day was to face,
With a corset so tight that I could not unlace.
At lunchtime I ate up as much as the rest,
And felt that my dinner was stuck in my chest.








28 "Don't worry", said Mum at the end of the meal,
"It's only a transient discomfort you feel;
It will all pass with patience and rest,
And in time you will tackle your eating with zest".

29 I patiently got trough the rest of the day;
My corsets felt tighter, but I felt so gay,
And upwards and downwards I savoured the touch
Of the tapering body I wanted so much.

30 My waist is reduced to an eighteen inch span,
A sight for the eyes of susceptible Man.
Be it never so tight I'll endure the squeeze,
For a lady must ever appear at her ease.

31 One lovely night I went out to a dance.
My favourite swain I sought to entrance.
A corset that measured half an inch less
I wore with patience under my dress.




32 Then David my boy-friend said, as he went past,
"Our Abbie's a grown up young lady at last",
And in the first dance, he held my hand tight,
And asked "How many dances can you spare tonight?"

33 In no time at all my dance card was filled.
This night was my night, and how I was thrilled;
And as we whirled round in the gaslight so shady
I was no more a child but a regular lady.

34 My little wasp waist felt as solid as wood,
I bravely endured it as much as I could.
The joy and excitement helped me to forget it,
A wasp waist is mine, I'll never regret it.




35 And as we went round in a lighthearted whirl,
David said softly, "You beautiful Girl".
I gently responded without any haste
And daringly guided his hand round my waist.

36 And then on the lawn outside the dance floor
He placed his two hands round my waistline once more.
We kissed and we kissed, and he held me so tight,
I very near fainted with tightness that night.

37 My next tiny corset reduced by an inch
To sixteen and a half, a regular pinch.
I'm wearing the corset, awake or asleep,
My hour-glass stem I'm determined to keep.

38 Now that I'm tight in my corsets all day,
I sometimes feel consciousness fading away.
The pain and discomfort deny me my peace,
But nothing will urge me my stays to release.




39 It's my firm intention with might and main
A sixteen inch corset my size to attain.
Said Mum, "It will cost you devotion and tears
If you want a waist measure the same as your years".

40 The new corset came and was opened in haste,
A garment in elegant beauty and taste.
A sixteen inch corset with lace white and blue
To make my desire to be smaller come true.

41 "Please, Mummy, come help me the corset to try".
"You'd better ask Daddy, he's stronger than I".
So up in the bedroom, the corset was placed
Around my slim body prepared to be laced.

42 As Daddy pulled only gently at first
I felt that my up swelling bosom would burst.
The tightening in was an exquisite thrill
As I put all my trust in his strength and my will.




43 Daddy tugged on the lace until he perspired,
And the corset was closed as I had desired.
Across to the mirror I tottered to see
My new shape reflected; oh could that be me?

44 Hips flared into curves so majestic and sweet,
My chest was so large I could not see my feet.
My waist was a sensuous curve of blue,
A tight little thread that united the two.

45 As I went to the door, I knew I was pale,
But I entered the room like a ship in full sail,
My chest, as I walked swayed from side to side
And Mummy and Daddy surveyed me with pride.

46 That night in my bed, so determined was I
To sleep in my corset I wanted to try;
But try as I might, I started to weep,
For the merciless corset would not let me sleep.




47 By midnight I just couldn't stand any more,
And I tiptoed downstairs past Mum's and Dad's door,
And there on the sideboard, because it was handy,
I took a large drop of Napoleon brandy.

48 The tot was so strong, so I staggered to bed,
I fell on the mattress and lay down my head;
But sleep was denied and just would not come,
And by four in the morning my tummy was numb.

49 To breakfast I went all tired and teary,
My wasp waist had left me weepy and weary.
Said Mother, "In time you'll not feel the pinch.
Come up and I'll let it out just half an inch".

50 The pain and discomfort transcended belief,
I was grateful to Mum for providing relief.
But I was resolved that come what may,
My stays would be closed by the end of the day.








51 To hold and keep your waist small and indented
Expansion by night must be firmly prevented.
Your corsets by night will your figure be moulding,
A seductive wasp waist is an asset worth holding.

52 When I took off my stays a new pleasure I found,
Without their support I tottered around;
My uncorsetted waist was fragile and frail,
My top half would give way like a tree in a gale.




53 On opposite walls two mirrors I've placed,
So I can admire the back of my waist.
Minus my stays, of support I'm bereft,
And in rapturous pleasure I sway right and left.

54 I see in my mirror my outstanding chest,
While my heart is a-fluttering inside my breast.
A sigh of content comes up to my lips
As my burgeoning breast overhangs my hips.

55 My sixteen inch waist I now carry with ease,
My waist has adapted itself to the squeeze.
I thought I was down to my limit in size,
But the Man of My Heart thought otherwise.




56 Now Raymond my husband you must understand
Loves to caress my waist with his hand.
He said, "Now your waist is down to this size,
A waist like your neck would bedazzle my eyes".

57 'Twas the voice of the charmer, and I as his wife
Will go to extreme for the man in my life.
To be much smaller my waist must be pressed;
I'll make him so happy, I'll give of my best.








58 A corset of half an inch smaller was brought,
A body of fifteen and a half inches taut.
That evening my husband requested to lace,
And into his hands the new corset I place.

59 "Just let me relax for a moment", I said,
You can lace me in tight as I lay on the bed".
My spouse took the laces all set to begin,
And slowly but firmly he pulled my waist in.

60 He tugged at the cords till I asked him to rest,
To close the new corset would be a big test.
With only one inch left apart to defeat,
I arose with his help, and I swayed on my feet.




61 I found if I went on my hands and my knees
He could pull in my waist with more expertise;
The flesh fell away and my body felt lightened
As Raymond pulled hard and the corset was tightened.

62 He pulled and he tugged till the corset's constraint
Became far too much, and I felt a fresh faint.
With Raymond I desired no quarrel or friction,
But my waist was protesting against its restriction.

63 A last final heave and Raymond was able
To tie up the laces as taut as a cable.
He tenderly helped me to stand on my feet,
As he clasped me around his fingers could meet.

64 I hugged him and kissed him in mounting passion
My slenderness made me exult in my fashion.
Connubial bliss we have found every time,
Is enhanced by a corset, and truly sublime.




65 "I'll never remove my corset", I said,
"Until it has moulded my waist to a thread;
It shall squeeze me and train me, that's my resolution,
I'll take it off only for regular ablution".

66 Raymond's delight and encouragement worked.
From lacing my corsets my man never shirked;
And several weeks later without any haste
Another proud inch was removed from my waist.

67 At fourteen and a half my waist was my pride,
The pain and discomfort I took in my stride.
Though I sometimes have fainted because of the pinch
I'll not ease the lacing, not even an inch.

68 My hips and my bust were a sight to be seen,
My waist was a tiny tight tube in between;
Whenever I ventured alone in the street
I felt pride in the sound of following feet.

69 My husband, enraptured, was bursting with pride
At the way people stared when we walked side by side,
And often young ladies bedizened in style,
Asked, "How do you stand it and still keep a smile?"




70 If Ray wanted something, he put on the charm;
His speech became like silver while stroking my arm,
He murmured such love, so caressing his voice,
"Please, please lace in smaller", he gave me no choice.

71 I tried to demur, even put up defiance,
My smooth-tongued charmer induced my compliance.
I had to admit as he gave me a hug,
Tight-lacing had captured me, just like a drug.








72 He gave me the corset so tiny to don,
A fourteen inch body, Could I get it on?
As he pulled came Desire, to be smaller yet.
I will be fourteen inches without a regret.

73 The corset went in with a pitiless grip,
I said, "Hold the laces, don't let them slip".
Ray answered, "I'll close it by hook or by crook.
Ah, I've done it. Now go to the mirror and look".

74 "Hold me up. Raymond, darling, my knees feel so weak",
He did so, I leaned with my head to his cheek.
My waist was compressed in its captive confinement
In superlative style and rounded refinement.




75 My mirror I love, for to see myself there
With a waist like a wasp is an ecstasy rare.
There I can admire my middle so frail,
My breathing so rapid, my features so pale.

76 He held me so tight as he stood by my side,
He knew that my knees were about to subside.
My small strangled waist could be crushed in no more,
I felt my knees give and I sank to the floor.




77 A few moments later I roused with a sneeze,
For Ray had pushed my head down to my knees.
His murmuring words were of love and of praise,
But all I could say was, "Don't loosen my stays".

78 "Are you sure you can stand it", asked he.
I answered, "That only depends upon me.
I am quite determined the tightness to bear,
And I'll sleep trough the night in my corset, I swear".

79 I slowly awoke as the dawn came to creep,
And below my wasp waist my hips were asleep.
As Ray pressed my tummy with finger and thumb,
I had lost all feeling, my muscles were numb.




80 There are many sensations tight-lacing bestows,
There's a feeling of weakness from hips down to toes.
When walking your chest sways from side to side
And your waist gives way weakly if you take a big stride.

81 These lovely sensations when felt in good measure
Will give the tight-lacer a world full of pleasure.
All men will admire your delicate sway,
The envy of women will make you feel gay.

82 In spite of the pain and discomfort I felt,
I wished that my flesh could be ordered to melt.
Now Raymond has said that he'd love me to wear,
A thirteen inch corset like Madame Polaire.

83 He showed me Polaire in a corset of lace,
With an hour-glass form of perfection and grace.
"That's only a picture, it may be quite true,
But I'll have a REAL thirteen inch waist for you".




84 I wanted so much my wasp waist to maintain,
But could I endure being smaller again.
The drug of desire to be tinier still,
Has conquered my body and strengthened my will.

85 The promise of gaining a torso so trim,
To be really admired in my figure so slim
Was almost too much, I chafed at delay;
But the thirteen inch corset arrived the next day.

86 The corset was lovely, I just had to smile,
I held the stay up to admire it awhile.
"Don't let us hurry", I ventured to say,
"Enjoyment is better for a little delay".




87 Though Ray was impatient, "All right", he agreed,
"To see you laced in is a pleasure indeed.
Whilst I don't mind a little suspense,
My desire for your lovely wasp waist is intense".

88 With arms around each other we stood tightly clasped,
I could feel my heart thumping; "Please lace me", I gasped,
With a movement of joy and in trembling haste
He fitted the corset around my waist.

89 "Please place it on loosely at first", I began,
"My shape in the mirror I'd like to scan,
My fifty four inches of bust to admire,
I think my new corset can lift it up higher".







90 "I'm waiting no longer", at last he declared,
"I'm lacing you in, or will you be scared?"
I smiled at him fondly and said, "Let's begin",
And in tense excitement he was lacing me in.

91 He pulled on the laces quite gently at first,
Then tighter, still tighter, I was ready to burst.
The hold of the corset was gripping at length
As firmly he pulled with all his strength.




92 My waist in its corset was much tighter now,
I wanted it closed no matter how.
My tight little waist was protesting amain
As Raymond continued to tug once again.

93 "Don't stop, please go on," Ray responded with vigour,
While I held my breath and endured the rigor.
As Ray on the laces his finger did press,
I heard him ejaculate one word, "Success".

94 The corset was closed, I was smaller still,
My thirteen inch waist was martyring thrill.
Swaying I went to the mirror to see
My waist microscopic; oh could that be me?




95 I clasped my hands round it as tight as I could,
My waist felt as hard as a column of wood.
My fingers and thumbs almost touched front and back.
How fragile it looked, but I felt on the rack.

96 I walked up and down with unsteady stride,
Ray holding my arm as he paced by my side
My waist was protesting, I swayed like a tree,
Enjoying the weakness that came over me.

97 Ray gave me some brandy, I took it in sips.
I rested my hands of the shelf of my hips.
The cone of my bust emerged like a flower,
I could gaze at my figure for hour after hour.


























98 My thirteen inch waist by now is the norm,
My waist has surrendered, I keep it in form.
My body's resistance to corsets has gone.
No more do I tight-lace, I put corsets on.

99 The envy of women, the praise from the men
Would urge me to tight-lace all over again.
So if you desire to be praised for your taste,
Wear an unyielding corset and sport a WASP WAIST.




100 My upper part sways with each step as I stride,
My burgeoning bosom I carry with pride.
The ground I can only see eight feet ahead
In my six-inch heel shoes as I daintily tread.

101 The span of my waist is a minuscule measure,
A wee link my husband adores like a treasure.
I love my wasp waist, I'm the happiest wife,
With a waist like a stem I will wear all my life.