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DOROTHY’S DESCENT INTO GIRDLE BONDAGE The day I first saw her I was wandering aimlessly and window shopping a few blocks off of the main street that I usually frequent. I was depressed about my weight, my dull predictable life, and thinking, as I frequently did in those days, about sex and the fact that all of my sexual activity was confined to those rare occasions when I would masturbate myself; which was seldom if ever exciting, and always produced such a load of guilt that I would abstain from such things for months and sometimes even a year or more. At the height of my despair for that day, I happened by what appeared to be a specialty lingerie shop, but it was like nothing I had ever seen before. It was a girdle shop, and proudly proclaimed itself as such by the name over the shop window, which read in big letters: Georgette’s Gorgeous Girdles. I hadn’t seen a girdle shop since I was a young woman and was drawn to it for that very reason. I quickly recalled the panty girdles I wore as a teenager and as a young woman, and how they had helped to control my figure, which had started to fill out more than I cared for even by that point in my life. But as a looked into this shop window, thinking to myself that perhaps a good panty girdle and a new bra are just what I might need to control some of my excess weight, I was a bit stunned and became even a bit depressed as I looked at the heavily boned, obviously very rigid monstrosity of a girdle that was displayed on the torso mannequin. It looked like something women from my mother’s era might have worn. It was extremely high wasted, had lacing the entire length of the front of the garment, had countless numbers of garters dangling from its hem and just generally looked more like an instrument of torture than something to smooth out and control my fleshy tummy and thighs. Then I noticed a pair of boots on display on the same low shelf in the shop window, but these were not ordinary boots. They were made of gleaming black patent leather and looked very formidable with what appeared to be at least six inch, pencil thin heels, and dozens of eyelets for the incredibly long laces. As I sighed in disgust, and was about to walk away, thinking I had stumbled across some unusual fetish wear shop for perverts and degenerates, I noticed the most striking looking woman I had ever seen in my life. It was Georgette. She was looking at me across the low curtain of the shop window and through the glass, and seemed to be beckoning me to come in side. Although going in side that kind of shop was the last thing I wanted to do, I was mesmerized by the appearance of the woman in the window. She was wearing an extremely tight, figure hugging, fuchsia colored satin dress that looked like it was made with special bra like cups built into garment to hold and mold her ample, and what I thought were obscenely displayed breasts. The dress also had some sort of lacing in its stiff, satin covered collar, as if she had a corset around her neck, which was not out of place as the woman’s waste and entire figure looked as if it were molded into an hourglass shape by a corset or the type of garment on display in the shop window. She had a wide, shiny black patent leather belt about her waste which only accented its relatively small size all the more. She was also wearing a pair of very tight, black kidskin gloves that appeared to be fitted over her tight sleeved satin dress and they reached to 4 or 5 inches above her elbows. Once again, these reminded me of things from my mother’s era, as they had lots of little pearl buttons at the wrists and running up most of her forearms. Her hair and make up were also like something out of the 1950s or 1960s. Her hair was piled high in an almost beehive like effect and her eye make up and lipstick were quit over done, yet somehow terribly erotic. As much as I wanted to turn away and leave this perverse shopping establishment, the woman through the glass was so striking and the intense gaze in her heavily shadowed eyes with their long lashes was too compelling to turn away. I then noticed that she was smoking a long slender cigar that she sported so confidently and matter of factly in her kid gloved hand. What kind of woman is this, I thought to myself? The longer I looked at her and she at me, the more mesmerized I became with her blatantly powerful sexuality. Finally, the look in my eyes gave me away. She knew that she had reeled me in and that I was powerless to resist her. I swallowed hard, attempted to control my breathing and headed for the door of the shop. Thus began my descent into the world of perverse sexuality, unspeakable humiliations and complete subjugation at the hands of Mistress Georgette.
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In many ways it seems like only yesterday that I first encountered Georgette, the woman who would cast an almost hypnotic like spell upon me and pull me deeper and deeper into her perverse world of Girdle Bondage. She has been my trainer, my disciplinarian and my domineering Mistress now for almost two years. Under her strict guidance I experienced a complete metamorphosis from a dull and drab, plumpish, 52 year old spinster into the oversexed, obscenely voluptuous, severely figure trained, bound and hobbled, perverse sexual pleasure object that I am today.