Loading...Marcellus Tvaris was a tailor. He was the very best of tailors. He could fit a dinner jacket with such precision, he fit his dresses with such delicacy, that he was able to keep his shop open in a suburb on the west side of Detroit for twenty five years. He had an exacting and accurate eye for detail. He would take notice of the particular way a man’s waistline might bulge, of all a client’s proportions, of how a man walks in his pants and use this information in his tailoring.
He took special notice of some of the female clients he had. Some had near perfect proportions. He noticed how they walked. He noticed the curvatures of their thighs, their spines. He measured them almost maniacally, breathing heavily and brushing aside what little hair he had left.
Mr. Marcellus Tvaris was in his early fifties. He was relatively short for a man. He was very near bald save for a strand of hair that circled about his head. He had a well defined pot belly from eating seconds at dinner every night but still had muscular shoulders and thick forearms. He wore slacks and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. That’s how a tailor should dress, he thought. Marcellus spent twenty five years building up a reputable business. Working hard. Charging honest prices. Putting in the best work he could. But Marcellus had an underground business as well. For some of his wealthier clients he worked as a designer. He designed custom corsets and occasionally formal skirts to match them. He designed the new Mrs. Buckingham’s wedding dress, though she had to promise not to tell where she’d gotten it.
Marcellus reveled in his corset making. He loved the idea of these women willfully walking into the restraints of corsetry for him. He enjoyed listening to them talk about what kind of fabric they were looking for, what they wanted done with their waists, their breasts, what they wanted the overall effect to be. He enjoyed measuring them, around the waist, from nipple to navel, from navel to groin. He most enjoyed presenting them with the final product, lacing them in, pulling them tight as they grasped a column in the fitting room, gasping for air, eyeing their own reflections.
Marcellus so enjoyed his corset making that he began to make a few corsets on the side, his own designs. These corsets were more extravagant than the ladies of his suburb could rationalize. They didn’t sell. They became part of Marcellus’s private collection. One was made entirely of layers of purple crinoline. Save for the strategically placed boning it was quite see through. One had the boning extended quite a ways down from the bottom. Marcellus was able to twist the boning in its black casing using pliers into spirals and sew red silk gauze across all of it along the bottom. Yet another, a dull pink leather corset with brown trim was sewn with pockets, a belt and buttons down the front to look like a sleeveless jacket.
Marcellus lived a simple life. His alarm rang at six in the morning. He showered, shaved his entire rounded face, coiffed his hair carefully, meticulously with disdain and a tinge of shame, trying to cover up every inch of scalp with what little hair he had left. Finally he sat down for breakfast. He lived alone above his shop. He ate eggs and bacon. A hearty meal for a hard day’s work, he thought. He worked from eight until eight at his shop and usually made a dinner of meat and potatoes.
He did his tailoring in the back room of his shop. A bell rang in the back room when the front door opened. It was in this manner that Marcellus was able to work on clients’ orders and sneak away time to work on his private collection of corsets. The bell rang. Mr. Tvaris straightened his hair and walked out front, self assuredly with his right hand sticking out far too soon.
“Mr. Buckingham! It’s wonderful to see you. What can I do for you today?” Marcellus asked.
“How are you, Mr. Tvaris? I wanted to thank you,” said Mr. Buckingham.
“Thank me. Whatever for?”
“My wife made me swear not to tell. But she told me her wedding dress was made by you. She looked stunning. You are a real talent. You should market your design skills. Really. I think more women would like to look like that,” urged Mr. Buckingham.
“Oh that’s just the fun stuff. I save that for my most discriminating clients,” flattered Mr. Tvaris. Really he secretly found corset making seedy, repugnant, disreputable. Not at all like tailoring suits or hemming dresses.
“Well she felt very special, very beautiful. She was glowing all over that day. I’d like to say it was because of me, but I think the dress had something to do with it.” said Mr. Buckingham. Very restricted, thought Mr. Tvaris. He had made a white overbust corset a size too small so one could see the lacing up the back. Mr. Tvaris had fashioned a voluptuous skirt, floor length in the front and with a train in the back. He continued the lacing of the corset all the way down the back of the skirt to accentuate Mrs. Buckingham’s hourglass figure. The lacing stopped just at the back of her knees, folds of raw silk bursting from beneath the restraints of the lacing. The fabric fluttered as she walked as a result of this effect and gave her the appearance of floating.
“I’m glad she enjoyed the dress. Now what is it I can do for you, dear Sir?” asked Mr. Tvaris.
“Well. I bought the spectacular slacks that fit perfectly in the waist but are too long. Do you think you could…”
“Consider it done. I have your measurements on file. Your waistline hasn’t grown in the last month, Mr. Buckingham?” asked Mr. Tvaris looking at Mr. Buckingham over the rims of his reading glasses. Mr. Buckingham laughed.
“No, it hasn’t. Still trim.”
“Good. Your measurements should still apply. I’ll have these ready for you in two days,” said Mr. Tvaris.
“You’re the best tailor, Mr. Tvaris. Thank you. I’ll pay at pick up?”
“As always.”
“Thanks then,” said Mr. Buckingham on his way out. “See you Wednesday. What time is a good time?”
“They’ll be ready in the morning,” said Mr. Tvaris. “See you then.” And Marcellus took the two pairs of slacks into the back room. He set aside his current corset and got to work on the slacks. They took him a very short while. Two days was an overstatement. The fact was that after twenty five years of steady business, business was now slow. Sure, Marcellus had his usual clients, the usual men and women who needed things altered regularly. But there was little walk in business. Marcellus wracked his brain about how to get more walk in business. Maybe business from the city. Maybe he should advertise. Maybe that was too ostentatious. Advertising. He had always relied on good word from his clients to get around. But it seemed, in these rough economic times, that wasn’t enough, though it used to be.
As Marcellus was removing the cuffs from Mr. Buckingham’s pants the door rang again. It was a busy day, he thought. When he walked up front the nearly stopped dead in his tracks. There stood a beautiful freakish creature. She had soft locks in her hair which were died a purplish black. Her skin was very fair, almost white. She wore high heeled boots and hip hugger leather pants. She wore layers of multicolored mesh tops of varying sleeve lengths. Her makeup was elaborate. Her skin, powdered. Her eyes covered in black shadow with an accent of red at the tips. She wore red lipstick with purple liner and no rouge. She was just closing her black umbrella from the rain as Marcellus walked in from the back room. She was fussing with it. She was colorful. She was outrageous. She was dressed in a way most of the women in this town would not be able to rationalize. She was like a living, breathing personification of one of Marcellus’s own personal corsets. She had long shapely legs, full breasts, and an already corseted waist. He could see that through her mesh tops. The strings of her corset hung beneath her tops onto her rear. They tapped her rear as she walked. She was holding a garment bag under her arm and having significant trouble juggling it with the umbrella.
Marcellus was also appalled by this new customer. She was a scallywag. A low life. He didn’t want another customer to walk in and see them together. The Great Mr. Tvaris and this sordid character. He wanted to get her out of his store as soon as possible. He’d tell her he didn’t work with her fabric. He’d tell her he didn’t accept her form of payment.
“I’m sorry. We’re swamped,” he said, noting the garment bag. “I wouldn’t be able to get to whatever you have for a month.”
“That’s okay,” she said in a high pitched voice. “I live in Ferndale and I’ve tried all the tailors in town and none of them can do this for me. Or want to. But you have such high reviews online and-”
“Wait a minute. I’m reviewed on the internet?” Marcellus didn’t own a computer. The girl giggled.
“Yes. Very highly. And I was hoping you’d take a look at a costume dress of mine. I’ve recently lost weight and it doesn’t fit quite right anymore.” Marcellus sighed.
“Okay, let’s have a look.”
“I warn you. This dress is a bit eccentric,” said the girl.
“My girl,” said Marcellus, thinking of his private stash of corsets, “You don’t even know what eccentric is.”
“Well, okay. You’re all right, old man,” said the girl as they walked back to the second room of the shop. The second room was a small octagonal shaped fitting room lined in mirrors save for one wall which served as a doorway into the third room, the back room, where Marcellus did all his work. Marcellus showed her into the fitting room and instructed her to put on the costume so he could pin it. He disappeared into the back room and moments later shouted.
“Let me know when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now,” the girl shouted back. When Marcellus returned he was stunned. The girl looked magnificent. Her dress was of tight satin material. It had a high collar and a neckline so low it went down to her stomach. It was tight across the hips but loosened severely around the knees. It was too big for her. This was going to take careful precision for the dress to fit just right. Marcellus could feel himself rising to the challenge. The heightened collar framed her face. It was just like the panache Marcellus added to his corsets. No, this girl wouldn’t have to wait a month.
“Might I ask your name,” Marcellus said as he was pinning the girl’s hem.
“Snow. And yours?” she asked
“Marcellus Tvaris, at your service,” he said feigning a slight bow. Snow put one hand over her mouth and giggled. “You know. This is a lovely dress. But it would look even finer with a corset over it. I have just the one. Would you like to try it on?”
“Oh no. I can’t afford a corset. It’s best I don’t even try it on,” she said.
“No you could just borrow it. For this special event you’re going to. I’m never going to sell it in this town. The neckline matches your dress perfectly.” Marcellus was being pushy. Marcellus was being pushy because he found himself drawn to her. He wanted the experience of binding her into a corset. He wanted to put the purple crinoline corset to use. She agreed. He wrapped it around her tiny body and began laboriously lacing it into place as she held it up with both hands in front, over her breasts. Marcellus began to loose his breath. He began to break into a sweat.
When he was done he asked her, “What do you think?” She ran her fingers along the front and sides of the corset. She ran her hands down the back of her dress and examined herself from the side. The necklines matched up perfectly. The corset pressed her breasts upwards and outwards. She looked like a caricature of herself. A sexy caricature.
“I’ll take it,” she said. Marcellus looked at her quizzically. “I’ll take the corset. How much?”
“Well it hasn’t been for sale. I haven’t set a price,” Marcellus stuttered. “Twelve hundred,” he finally said.
“Sold.” And Snow left Marcellus with her information and left his shop for the first time. Marcellus finished Mr. Buckingham’s pants hurriedly and got to work on the dress. With every inch he took in it was as if he was caressing Snow’s curves. The fabric was fine. It slid between his fingers as he ran it through the sewing machine. He imagined it was Snow’s skin. He’d felt it as he’d measured her. It was terribly soft. Like satin.
Over the course of the next week, Marcellus Tvaris got to know each and every part of Snow’s body through her dress. He showered and shaved especially fastidiously before work. He combed his hairs ever so delicately. He prepared his meals particularly precisely. There was a kick in his step. One day, he fell in love with the curvature of Snow’s thighs and hips, sewing them at a bias. On another day he was captivated by the protrusions of her breasts. Each day taking scheduled breaks to eat. Each day meeting walk in customers with a bit of annoyance at having torn him away from his task of the week. Normally such an alteration would take a day, but with her, with Snow, he wanted to get it perfect. Finally, he was done. He called Snow. She was to come in tomorrow.
And she did. She wore a black dress with flared sleeves with torn hems. The bottom of the very short dress had torn hems. Marcellus shuddered and then had an idea for a corset. “Ah. Miss Snow! How lovely to see you!” he said. Snow giggled again. Marcellus found this giggling intoxicating. He led her into the middle room by her fingers. He had a bottle of champagne there, already opened. “I’m celebrating! Would you like to celebrate with me?”
“I dunno. It’s only 3:30 in the afternoon,” Snow said.
“It’s a business celebration. There’s no time limit on that,” Marcellus said. He got her a glass and filled it with champagne. Snow took the glass from him. She was wearing that frayed mini dress and knee high chunky boots.
“And what exactly are we celebrating?” she asked.
“New target populations,” said Marcellus.
“And what target population might that be?” Snow asked.
“Your population,” said Marcellus shaking his head in Snow’s face. “Come with me here,” he said, leading her into the back room. Snow followed. She saw on display, corset after corset, each unique, each completely different from the last, each with its own personality. Snow let out a, “Wow.” Marcellus looked at her awestruck face and smiled.
“I think you do have a new target population. I could help you get a website together. These are amazing,” said Snow. The ends of the laces of her corset hung just below the frayed ends of her dress. Marcellus was overwhelmed with an urge to grab her by that knot he knew would be at her back and push her towards the wall by it. Face down. He did. Snow giggled, her hands up on the wall. He pulled an extra length of corset tie from a table nearby and tied her wrists. He just had to tie her wrists. That stopped her from giggling. He pulled her aside and bent her over a table, spreading her booted legs apart, feeling up her dress. All the while Snow was obedient. Snow must have liked something about Marcellus. Maybe his exacting mannerisms. Maybe his good manners. Maybe his generosity, he thought. She wanted to mess his silly hair. She wanted to run her hands along his pot belly. She wanted to bury her face in his chest hair. But she had her back to him and had her wrists bound. She could feel the buttons of his shirt on her ass.
“Are you okay with this?” he asked. Snow nodded and smiled back at him. He pulled her dress up over her waist. He ran his fingers along her slit, letting them stray inwards as he passed that point. Snow let out a small exhale. Marcellus carefully arched Snow’s back with his hands. He positioned her. He arched it severely. Marcellus squatted down to observe Snow, to look at her in the most private of places. Both her inner and outer labia were small, her inner labia being a light pink on the outside, and a brilliant pink on the inside. She had no hair and no stubble. She must have waxed. He carefully placed each labia in the open position. He then licked those insides hungrily, but without messing their positioning. Snow let out a breath and slouched her back one bit. Marcellus immediately slapped her ass and then was taken aback by this, by his own actions.
“Oh my! You’ll have to forgive me,” he said. “I don’t know where my manners are.”
Snow turned her head around and said, “It’s okay. I deserved it.”
“No you didn’t. You were merely having a pleasure response,” he said.
“One I should have restrained,” she said, “if I were going to be a good girl.”
“I think you were doing just fine,” said Marcellus trying to ignore his persistent hard on.
“But I was a bad girl,” she said, leaning into him, with her upper body turned around now.
“No. No you weren’t.”
“I was a very bad girl. Admit it. You liked it. I was bad.” Snow turned around again and rubbed her ass into Marcellus’s groin. He cannot explain it but he slapped her ass again, and Snow moaned out in pleasure. He slapped her ass again, and Snow yelped out in pain, but urged him to go on. He slapped her over again and over again, until her ass was nearly purple, until he could sense she’d had enough. Any customer could have walked in and Snow and Marcellus wouldn’t have heard the chime over the slapping, but the customer would have heard the slapping. Then Marcellus squatted back down and made sure both inner labia were open, exactingly and stood up and pressed his cock against her pussy. He ran his hands along the outsides of her ass, the parts he hadn’t spanked. Her skin was fair. It was like porcelain. But unlike porcelain, it gave to his touch and all he wanted to do was touch her, watch her skin give way to him, look at the contrast between her slapped rear and that which was not slapped, gaze upon her perfectly open labia. He wanted to see her, feel her, and these sensations were overpowering, overwhelming to the point that Marcellus came all over Snow’s ass without entering her. He could feel the excitement building in him as he touched her and felt her. He felt the weight get heavier in his cock and balls and he came.
“Oh, my. Oh my! Let me get that for you.” and Marcellus scrambled for a towel. He found one and wiped Snow clean. Snow straightened herself out while watching Marcellus. She walked right past him, while watching Marcellus. And she walked out the door, grabbing her dress and her corset with her, smoothly leaving a cash payment behind. It was in this manner that Snow walked out Marcellus’s door for the second time.
For the next week Marcellus thought about whether to call her or not. At times he thought he mustn’t, not after what he’d done to her. And then, there were times when he thought he must, after what he had done to her. He finally decided not to call her. He thought she would initiate contact if she wanted to see him. But three weeks passed, and he hadn’t heard from her. He missed her, so he called. She forced him to do it. To call. Her voice sounded excited. His sounded apologetic. He invited her back. He told her he’d have something very nice for her, that he was sorry for the way he’d treated her. She bashfully accepted the invitation. They were to meet at Marcellus’s place, two weeks from then.
Marcellus went into a fury designing a dress. It had to be perfect. It had to drape across her body and caress her curves just as Marcellus wanted to do. It had to confine her and restrain her severely, just as Marcellus wanted to do. He had already forgotten why he had been apologizing to Snow in the first place. All he wanted was to tie her up. He couldn’t explain why, but that was his only urge. He just kept thinking about her bound wrists in his back room. He worked on nothing but the dress for two weeks. It was made of a silk satin that was a burgundy wine color that shone black. The skirt was basically cut on a bias but had this multiple fold train in the back. The waist was cinched by a corset made of the same fabric and laced with black satin. The corset was an underbust, but it had a full back and straps that came over to the front and pressed the breasts inward. A loose twisted amount of fabric draped across the top front, covering the bust. The boning of the corset was encased in thin, soft, fine black leather. From the back, from the spine of the corset were affixed two massive butterfly wings in an intricate network of boning, silk satin, and black leather. Light shone through the silk satin pieces.
Through the upper points of the wings, the lower points, and the middle points were pierced thick o-rings. These o-rings were so that while Snow was lying down on a bed a bungee chord attached to a carabineer could be hooked into each o-ring on one wing and attached to the matching o-ring from under the bed by another carabineer. But the o-rings looked like adornments. Only Marcellus would know why they’re there. When Snow showed up at his shop he led her into the dressing room where there stood a very strange covered figure. Marcellus swiped the cloth away from his creation and Snow squealed. She asked if the dress was really for her. She walked up to the dress and ran her fingers along one of the middle o-rings.
“And what about these, Marcellus? What are these for?” she asked. Marcellus was inflamed.
“Put it on and maybe I’ll show you,” he said carefully. Snow, continuously looking at him, took off all her clothes and stood before him in bare feet.
“Can you help me into it?” she asked, both shyly and boldly. Of course he could. He slipped the dress over her head, adjusted the hem so that it was just so, he corseted her tiny waist as she held on to the column in her dressing room just like many woman had before, but never one of his creations, one of his designs. Only Snow. And now this design. He carried her upstairs to his simple home and laid her down on his queen sized bed. It was a traditional four poster canopy bed made of mahogany, stained darkly. The posts were intricately carved. The entire bed itself was raised higher than a normal bed. The bedcovers were red with gold jacquard and the mesh fabric of the canopy was thin and light and swayed with the smallest of Snow’s or Marcellus’s gestures. It matched the gold of the duvet cover.
“Is this where you live, Marcellus?” Snow asked.
“That it is,” replied Marcellus, getting to work on his bungee chords. He could barely fit under the bed. Snow could feel herself being pulled piece by piece into the comforts of the mattress. Marcellus came up from under the bed and straightened his hair. Snow smiled at him. Marcellus had black satin ribbons in his nightstands. Snow smiled at his preparedness. She gave her wrists willingly to him. He started to tie one, paused, and looked at Snow. Snow nodded. Marcellus carefully tied each wrist to each corresponding post. He positioned her legs, one slightly more bent than the other. He adjusted the skirt of the dress so that it draped over Snow’s lower body just so. He arranged the locks of her hair. He squeezed her by the jaw, pressed her cheeks together. He kissed her like this, sweetly, deeply. Snow kissed him back. Sweetly. He climbed up onto the bed and gazed upon his creation. She was perfect.
He carefully and exactingly pulled Snow’s skirt up. He folded the dress over itself until Snow was exposed from the waist down. He turned her legs to face him. He put her feet on his shoulders and moved his head down below, between her legs. He began kissing her all over at first, but then his tongue would press at the surface of his lips as well and he would get a little lick in along with his kiss. These licks became longer and longer until Marcellus was fully exploring each and every crevice of Snow’s pussy. He licked symmetrically, twice on the left side of the inner labia, twice on the right side, thirty seconds on the top of the clitoris, thirty seconds on the bottom.
“Keep your feet on my shoulders,” he said and he raised his head up to Snow’s face and kissed her again. This time more savagely. Snow could taste her pussy on Marcellus’s mouth. Her feet were high in the air on his shoulders. He unzipped his pants and pulled, with his left hand, Snow’s labia open. He was more self-confident this time. He pressed himself into her and Snow let out a moan. This position, this angle was most agreeable for her. Marcellus began to pound into Snow hard, but only once every three seconds or so. She longed for more. She writhed beneath him, circling her hips around on his cock, pushing her shoulders together, exposing one breast. Snow became very wet and with every thrust Marcellus became more lubricated. He ran his hand down Snow’s rear and stuck his finger in her ass. Snow arched her back as best as she could. He could see the effects of his thrusting on Snow. Her chest muscles became strained from the restraints to which Marcellus had tied her. Her breasts shook even higher than the corset could push them with every thrust. Her voice broke.
Marcellus pulled out momentarily and began pressing his way in to Snow’s ass. He could feel Snow actively relaxing for him. She felt compelled to. He lowered himself to be near to her face, pressing Snow’s feet nearly at her ears. He kissed her again and he felt the circumference of his head enter her ass. He pressed into her slowly but firmly until he was all the way in, feeling the slick lubrication of her pussy on the walls of her ass. Snow let out a slow, low, deep throated groan. She felt herself being filled up. Her eyes closed halfway in the corners. Her body became limp except for her hands, which were pulling Marcellus closer to her, further into her. Marcellus moved smoothly in and out of her until he came, letting out a loud, strained noise, as if he was picking up something very heavy.
He delicately pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and placed it under Snow’s ass, so as not to mess the dress. He took her feet by their ankles off his shoulders and placed them together to one side of him. He carefully tucked in his shirt and buckled his pants’ belt. He untied Snow’s wings and her wrists and lied down beside her. He kissed her face and her neck, her breasts as she lie there on her back, still unable to move much due to the size of the wings affixed to her back. Marcellus stood up and picked Snow up and placed her onto her feet. She threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped his around her hips. They did this in silence. They walked down the stairs and back to the fitting room in silence. Marcellus helped Snow out of the dress and back into her street clothes. He carefully packed the dress in a big white box with red tissue paper and placed it in a large paper bag with handles for her.
“I’ll come in to take pictures for your website next week,” Snow said and she left his shop once again. She was so mysterious, Marcellus thought. How had she come up with the twelve hundred for that corset? What did she do for a living? Just how old was she? He would have to learn the contents of her mind and the specifics of her life next time they saw each other. Snow came in the following Tuesday with her fancy digital camera. Marcellus noted it.
“Do you have any lights back here?” Snow asked, looking around for the perfect backdrop. “Contruction lights would do.”
“Yes. Yes. I have those. They are right here,” obliged Marcellus and he pulled out two lamps on high adjustable stands.
“Those’ll be perfect,” said Snow, excitedly. “Where’s your computer? I want to show you what the site looks like so far.”
“I don’t own a computer, I’ve never needed one.”
“Well you do now. We’ll just have to remedy that,” said Snow, arranging the corsets out of order, moving tables and sewing machines. This made Marcellus anxious.
“What are you doing, child?” he asked, exasperated. “There is an order to things!”
“I’m making the backdrop to your corsets. Trust me, it will look fantastic. Don’t worry! I’ll put everything back just right,” she said, leaning into Marcellus, running her hands along his neck. The front door chimed. Marcellus cleared his throat.
“I have to work,” he said, going up front, unsuccessfully straightening up his hair to find the new Mrs. Buckingham waiting for him there. She wanted another corset. Something wilder this time. Something sexy. Marcellus thought this was the perfect time to show her his collection of corsets but Snow was back there. Would she be jealous at the possibility of him making another corset for another woman? No. Snow wasn’t like that. He led Mrs. Buckingham into the backroom and showed her all of his corsets.
“Pardon the disarray. We’re gathering pictures for my new website,” Marcellus said proudly. At that moment Snow emerged from behind a bookcase holding a corset and some feathers. “This is Snow. She’s helping me with my website,” he said and he turned his back on Snow so that she may continue working. He loosely put an arm around Mrs. Buckingham and began discussing each corset with her. She decided to try on three of them. Snow had to listen to the sounds of Mrs. Buckingham exhaling in the next room. Snow stayed busy with her picture taking. When she was done, she returned all the furniture to its original positions and left, walking through the fitting room to get to the front door, catching a gimpse of that intimate moment of Marcellus lacing Mrs. Buckinghams corset, Mrs. Buckingham in only her ruffled underwear and the corset. Snow left. Marcellus paused a moment, thought maybe he should go after her, then thought, “Of course not,” and continued cinching Mrs. Buckingham’s near perfect proportions. He found himself wishing she were Snow. Snow had perfect proportions. He stopped again to wonder if he shouldn’t have gone after her. “Of course not.”
He spent the next week working on his newest creation for Snow. It was the darkest of purples, to match her hair. It was a ball gown with a straightjacket for the top. The straightjacket had a low square neck line and ample boning in place to ensure the flattening of the chest within the dress, and the over voluptuousness with which the breasts would pour out the top. The fabric was again a silk satin, very thick. The sleeves were longer than that of a regular straightjacket, so they could be tied the usual way and then a bit lower, down across the thighs and tied together behind the knees with ribbons at the ends. This tying served a duel purpose. It further restricted the wearer to their walking and it accentuated any bit of hourglass figure a woman had. The skirts were multi layered and of varying lengths and heights cut at angles. Marcellus made a sleep mask to match this dress, which tied in thick black ribbons on the side of her head to serve as a blindfold. When the dress was finished, three weeks later, Marcellus called Snow. To his surprise she was not upset with him. She was happy to hear from him. The website was almost done. It looked great, she said. She couldn’t wait for him to see it, she said. Since Marcellus did not own a computer he’d have to meet Snow at her place. In Ferndale. He’d have to drive.
Marcellus, out of his element, out of the comfort and safety of his shop knocked on Snow’s door. She answered wearing a black mini skirt and a black Type O Negative tee-shirt. All this black made all the skin she was showing seem all the more fair, white almost. He wanted to run his hands along her porcelain skin, to feel it give way to his touch despite its hard outer appearance. But he was there for another purpose. To look at the website. He had to keep his mind clear.
“So let’s see this site!” Marcellus said, overly excited.
“Relax. Would you like something to drink? A beer? A water?”
“What kind of beer?” asked Marcellus
“Dogfishead. Raison d’etre,” replied Snow.
“You sure know how to pick a beer. I would love one of those.”
“Have a seat on the couch,” called Snow out from the kitchen. “My laptop’s set up on the coffee table.” Marcellus just had to sneak a peek. The whole site had a black background with tribal designs in purple all around. “Get yourself acquainted with the site. I’ll be right there. Glass or bottle?”
“I’d love a glass if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“Glass it is.” Marcellus found the captions, “Discriminating corsets for the discriminating corset owner. Finely tailored by one of the best tailors in the Detroit area.” He scrolled down to find pictures of each corset with sewing machines and sewing dummies draped beautifully in the background.
“I know for some reason,” said Snow bringing Marcelus his beer, “you want to remain anonymous. You could hand deliver the corsets. The customers would never know where you shop is. And as for the out of state orders, you could use a phony name, or a second business name.”
“A second business name…” pondered Marcellus. “A Firm Grasp,” said Marcellus, thinking about all the times he’d laced women into corsets.
“Perfect. A Firm Grasp it is!” said Snow excitedly and she furiously began punching keys on her laptop. Finally she showed Maarcellus the final product. “A Firm Grasp” was written across the top of the page in an arching motion. Underneath it were Marcellus’s anonymous credits. Below that was picture after picture of Marcellus’s corsets. When one clicked on a corset they got a 360 degree view of it.
“Now all we have to do is set the pricing.”
“I don’t know. They’re all so priceless to me.”
“You sold the purple one to me pretty quickly” said Snow. And they began the tedious processes of setting prices of each individual corset. Marcellus had to take into account the amount of detail put into the corset, the amount of embellishments, the fabric that was used. This was going to take another beer. This time Snow had one as well. When the website went live they leaned back on the couch, hands behind heads, proud of their accomplishment.
“You know what’s next?” asked Snow.
“Dare I ask?” asked Marcellus.
“Don’t be silly. You need a computer. So you can keep track of your sales. I’ll help you get one. It’s only 1:30, the stores are still open.”
Marcellus was warmed by Snow’s devotion to him. He wanted nothing more that to take her in this devoted state. He wanted to take this devotion for his very own and devour it. He leaned onto her on the couch so that he was laying on top of her.
“I made you another dress,” he said, heaving into her neck.
“Oh yeah? What kind of a dress?” asked Snow.
“A far more restrictive, disorienting dress..” Marcellus was rubbing himself along Snow’s body. His belly was significantly smaller as he’d stopped eating seconds at dinner and ordered a treadmill installed in his living room, which he used regularly.
“That sounds exciting! When will I get to wear it?”
“I have plans for all that. But for now, I have plans for you.”
“Oh yeah? What sort of plan?”
“I’m going to take you into the bedroom and have my way with you.” Marcellus led Snow by the hand gently to the bedroom. He carefully unzipped her skirt and took off her tee-shirt. She was wearing a purple scalloped edge bra with beige trim and matching g-string. He unlaced her boots as she sat on the bed. He removed her underwear carefully, excitedly, dutifully. Marcellus was still dressed
“I have gear,” said Snow and she walked into a corner of the sparsely decorated bedroom. She opened her chest full of gear and Marcellus was shocked by how much was in there. He pulled out wrist and ankle restraints and carabineers and affixed them to the appropriate body joints. He clipped the wrists to the posts of Snow’s headboard just above her head. He then pulled her up severely by her ankles and clipped them as well to the headboard. Snow felt severely constrained. Marcellus looked back, to see the position he had created. To see the pussy protruding from between Snow’s legs. It was tight. Tight outer labia, tiny inner labia, pink. He ran his hands down her legs from the restraints at the bed down to her ass and pussy, touching them on the surface only. Only awakening the outer senses. Her legs were slender but muscular, and slanted inwards just at the hips. He closed his eyes and imagined the soft dress she had dropped off for him to alter, how soft it felt between his fingers. Her skin was softer than the finest fabric, he thought. She was fully exposed to him. He could play with her as he liked. He felt excited by this gift, this display before him, at his disposal to touch, caress, play with, fuck as he wished. He was glad he’d taken her order that first time she had entered his store. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers along her slit, noting the moments when Snow inhaled a little breath or writhed a bit in her constraints. Her pussy was sensitive. It jumped to his touch. Her ankles were clipped far apart, so her legs were open. She was splayed. The sweet and salty smell of her sex filled the air. Marcellus climbed in between her legs and onto her shoulders. He’d never been so far above another woman. He’d never felt such a sense of power before, his cock near her mouth. He held on to the top of the headboard and slowly began fucking her mouth. She resisted at first, but Marcellus moved in and out slowly, shallowly, so as to gain her trust and she relaxed her throat. As soon as he could see that Snow could take his depth he’d move in deeper and deeper still until he was nearly gagging her with every thrust, fucking her with every bound of the bed. He could hear the saliva moving around in her mouth, choking forward every time she gagged, he saw spit drip down his shaft as he pulled out. Just as he sensed he was going to come he pulled out, trails of saliva led from his cock to her mouth and fell upon her chin. He climbed off her and kissed her mouth deeply. He wanted to taste his cock in her mouth. She kissed him as though she wanted to give him that flavor, transfer it all into his mouth.
He trailed his soaking wet cock down her body, down her throat, down the straight line of the top of her breast and the curved line of the bottom of it, down her stomach, over the extra bit of fat that surrounded her navel and pressed himself into her pussy. She felt his head slide around her labia and make its way inside of her. She felt him pound into her, not like before. Harder. Faster. More self assuredly. He was still holding on to the bars of the headboard. He was breathing rhythmically. Snow was breathing irregularly, unsure of what was going to happen next. Marcellus was completely self-absorbed in his fucking, fucking the way that felt good to him, not caring about Snow’s needs. But Snow seemed to enjoy these movements and cried out in pleasure, she grinded back into him, she stole glances of his cock pumping in and out of her. She tried to meet Marcellus at his thrusts but she was so confined by her position there wasn’t much she could do but lie down and receive her fucking. Marcellus starting grinding into Snow, running himself along her clit with each thrust. Snow let out howls and moans. It was at this point that Marcellus put his left hand around Snow’s perfectly white throat, obstructing her breathing slightly, bending her neck, and then slightly more, until Snow could barely breath. She felt all her senses heighten, she felt the surface of her skin swell and become hypersensitive. She felt her pussy become engorged and more sensitive. Marcellus braced himself on Snow’s neck and began grinding into her harder, faster than ever. He was single minded now. He could sense the beginnings of convulsions trembling in her body and he exploded, Snow exploding with him. Marcellus went home and clipped off his comb over. He bought a computer the next day.
Marcellus looked like a completely different man now. Bald. His forearms and shoulders were strong. His belly almost completely gone. Time had creased his face some but he was sleeping well now and the nights no longer drew dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t bow down to his customers like a servant anymore. He informed them of how their alterations would be made and when they would be done and the customers always seemed to approve. Business was looking up. Corsets were selling just as fast as he could produce new ones. He even got requests for custom corsets. Corsets even he would have never imagined. This brought into his shop all manner of customer. He was seen measuring characters his regular customers would not approve of but he no longer cared. His talents spoke for themselves. The customers kept coming. Marcellus could be confident about this.
One day Marcellus received a call from Snow. It took her some time to get to the point, but she wanted to know about this new dress he’d made for her. He had special plans, he told her. A weekend, he told her. At the State Parks.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not the hiking, fishing, camping type,” she said.
“I wasn’t thinking of doing any of those things. I’ve found a cabin. It has a fireplace and lots of beams,” said Marcellus. Snow was silent for a moment.
“That sounds perfect then. A weekend in the woods. I never thought.”
“Shall I book it for next weekend then?” asked Marcellus. Snow giggled. “All right, next weekend it is,” and he hung up the phone.
When that Friday finally arrived Marcellus picked Snow up at her apartment. She was wearing super low rise boot cut jeans with her chunky boots and a low cut black tee-shirt with long flared sleeves. Her locks were pulled neatly up into a high pony tail. He helped her with her bags.
“How much does one need for one weekend?” asked Marcellus as he loaded the bags into the trunk.
“I wanted to bring my gear,” she said, caressing the back of his neck. Marcellus smiled and closed the trunk of his Oldsmobile.
“I have a hanging bag in my closet as well. Would you be a gentleman?” asked Snow.
“Of course,” replied Marcellus, and he went upstairs, into her bedroom closet and began pulling on the garment bag. It was stuck. When he finally got it out he banged his fist on the shelf above. A scrap booking box fell out and the contents spilled. Several letters came out. They were addressed to “Mistress Snow,” and all started out, “Dear Mistress Snow, What it means to me, to be submissive to you…”
“So that’s what you’ve been hiding,” thought Marcellus as he cleaned up the box.
“What took ya’ so long?” asked Snow when Marcellus finally returned.
“Oh,” said Marcellus, holding up the garment bag, “It got stuck.”
“It does that,” said Snow, suspiciously. “I didn’t even know the state park area had cabins,” she said as they got in the car.
“They just built these. They’re brand new. Really unique construction. I inspected them myself,” said Marcellus, excitedly as he drove. When they arrived Snow saw they truly were of a unique construction. They were round, and inside there was an intricate system of beams holding the roof up. Marcellus was very thoughtful. There was also a wood burning stove in the center of the cabin and a porch lining all the way around outside. Inside there was a bed and a couch and a small kitchen area with a sink, a hot plate, and a coffee pot. Just next to that was the bathroom which housed a tiny shower, and toilet, sink, and complimentary bar of soap. Marcellus was carrying Snow’s bags, holding them, deciding where to put them when Snow took them out of his hands and put them on the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and excitedly kissed him. He picked her up and twirled her around once. Her feet knocked her bags over.
The truth was, Snow was a bit apprehensive about taking an entire weekend with Marcellus. He was so caring, so outwardly amorous. She wanted to be that way too. She didn’t want to admit it because of her cool exterior, but she enjoyed his attention. She enjoyed being doted upon. But her initial intentions for him were not to alter her dress. She did not intend to feel for him. She had a secret she was keeping from him. She kept herself at a distance so far, never showing her true emotions. But this weekend. She didn’t know if she could keep up this act for an entire weekend. And, she feared, she was beginning to have feelings for Marcellus. Snow was a cruel and heartless sadist Dominant when she was in role. But Marcellus was gentle and affectionate. When he tied her up she felt like a gift, wrapped in silk and satin, ribbons and bows. She felt beautiful. She felt a relief from the demands of being Dominant. She feared what revelations this weekend would bring.
“Let’s put ’em right here,” said Snow, gesturing at the bags then the foot of the bed. She wanted her clothes to be close to the fire. Marcellus carried them there. She liked when he did things for her. It reminded her of who she really was. He picked her up and carried her onto the bed and kissed her there. They ate a simple dinner of canned soup in front of the fireplace. Finally Snow got up the courage to ask about the dress.
“Yes I brought it. All in good time,” replied Marcellus, and they cuddled up under a blanket and on some pillows next to the blazing fireplace. Snow started to doze and fell asleep. She awoke unable to see, a silk mask was wrapped around her head. She was lying down, face down in the rug. She could feel Marcellus tightening a corset around her waist. She could feel silk slipping in between her legs. She relaxed and gave her body to the binding. She felt so relaxed she was nearly limp. Marcellus would tug and tug and then he would stop, hold the string with one hand, and feel her sides. He was feeling the taught silk for wrinkles but Snow melted under this touch.
She could feel by the fibers of the carpet on her breasts that the dress had a square neckline. Once the corset of the dress had been tightened Marcellus turned Snow from side to side, first onto her back, where he pulled on her sleeves and Snow let him cross her arms. Then he turned her back over onto her face, where he criss crossed the sleeves again, and again in front, and until he had run out of sleeve length and run into ribbon. He tied a bow. With a double knot. He lifted her up by the armpits and dragged her across the floor to the outer part of the cabin.
Snow felt herself get dragged off the carpet and onto the floor. She felt the air get cooler. Snow figured Marcellus was dragging her to the outer portion of the cabin where the beams where lowest and at the outer most edges they even touched the floor.
“Stand up,” he said. Snow struggled just to get to her knees, she was so disoriented. Marcellus leaned in to her and repeated himself. “Stand up.” Snow struggled in the kneeling position. She made exasperated noises. “Are you in need of assistance?” asked Marcellus coolly, calmly. Snow nodded her head and Marcellus lifted her up by her elbows. Snow teeter tottered for a moment on the high heels Marcellus had put on her. She felt Marcellus’s hands run across the top of her breasts, over her arms and down the sides of her corseted waist. Marcellus wrapped his arms around Snow and caressed her ass, squeezing her, pulling on her. Snow let out a breath and melted in his hands, arching her back, undulating her torso slowly, almost indiscernibly, while they kissed deeply, slowly. They kissed as though they were tasting fine truffles in each other’s mouths. Marcellus was the one to pull away.
“I’m going to untie you now, so I can use this dress to tie you to some beams. I’m going to tie your legs to the beams using silk ribbon. I’m going to undo your arms now. You aren’t going to run away now, are you?” Snow shook her head. “Good.” He untied her dress and Snow felt the slow release of her knees, of her upper legs and of her arms. She stood with her head bent back, awaiting another kiss. But Marcellus was busy tying ribbons. He placed one arm wrapped around one beam and wrapped the remainder of the sleeve around the beam, tying it off at the end. He repeated this with the other arm. Then he tied each leg, from the knee down to its corresponding beams. Her legs were tied low to the ground, as that is where the beams fell. The dress draped over Snow’s body. The silk fell in between and around her legs and hung to the ground on the longest skirt. Her head hung down low. The locks of her ponytail stuck straight out. Snow didn’t make a sound.
“I’m going out to get firewood,” said Marcellus. But by the time Marcellus returned Snow’s skin had started to press through its bindings and turn from white to red and she was freezing. Marcellus calmly but swiftly began untying one leg, and it dropped down exhausted. So did the other leg. Snow’s arms fell upon his shoulders. He carried her limp body over to the bed. The only light in the room was that of the flickering and waning fire of the wood burning stove. Marcellus placed her on the bed and untied the sleep mask. Snow seemed revived by this and began looking around, looking at herself, her dress, Marcellus. She ran a sleeve covered hand over her bustier and smiled at Marcellus.
The dress was dark and shadowy in the sparkling light. The skin on Snow’s chest and face was luminous. She writhed on the bed trying to gain back comfort in her limbs but Marcellus was unrelenting. He flipped Snow onto her belly and tied each arm to a bedpost by the sleeve. He pulled her up by her hips, raising her ass into the air. Marcellus parted Snow’s knees. She began to tremble from the stress of the position. Marcellus fucked Snow. He knelt between her legs, shoved his cock in her pussy, grabbed her by the hips, and fucked her. He fucked her so hard Snow thought the restraints would come undone. He fucked her so hard a thick lock fell out of her ponytail. He fucked her so hard her ass shook to its furthest most limits on every stroke. Marcellus could smell the smell of his cock mingling with the smell of Snow’s pussy. He could see her bouncing her ass up and down to meet him. He could feel how exhausted her body was but how wet her pussy was. Marcellus couldn’t help but think about how wet she was, how slippery, how slick and he pulled out and came all over her ass.
“Do not move,” Marcellus laughed. “I’ll be right back.” By now Snow was trembling violently in this position but she obeyed. She did not move. Marcellus wiped his cum off her ass. “Stay here just a little bit longer for me,” he said. Marcellus kissed the two mounds of Snow’s ass. He kissed in between them, licking lower, tasting himself on Snow. His thumb flicked her clit and his middle and forefingers moved in and out of her. Snow slouched and arched her back when she came and fell flat on her face on the bed. The fire warmed her nudity and soon Marcellus covered her with her dress and untied her from the bedposts. She immediately wrapped her arms around Marcellus and they rolled in the bed kissing for many minutes. This aroused Marcellus, this deep kissing, this exploration of their mouths. All of Snow’s limbs were trembling as she ran her sleeved hands over his back, over his head, down his sides.
There was a delicate balance, sex in these dresses, where Snow was stretched to her limits, but the fluids of sex could not touch the dress for fear of messing the fabric. Snow couldn’t touch Marcellus’s cock with her sleeved hand as the cock was wet with fluids, both hers and his. But he loved the feel of fine fabric all across the parts of his skin that were sticking out of his clothing. He would have loved more the feel of Snow’s even softer skin, which he could see so little of. He flipped her over and started both meticulously and savagely loosening her corset. Marcellus pulled Snow to her knees and pulled the dress over her head, sleeves and all. Snow seemed saddened like a toddler whose toy was just taken away as Marcellus went to the closet and hung up the dress.
When he returned he fully undressed himself in front of Snow for the first time. Snow was already naked. Marcellus climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around Snow’s arms. He ran his hands up and down her back. He felt the curvature of her spine, her ass. He estimated measurements in his head. The measurements were beautiful. Their legs intertwined and Snow ran her legs up and down his so that he could feel their softness. Marcellus laid Snow onto her back and ran his dry lips down her chin, down her neck, her breast. He sucked on her nipple hard until Snow hissed and giggled. His hands trailed behind his mouth, squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, caressing her belly. His lips trailed especially slowly when he reached her pubis mons. He wanted to do it right this time and he kissed her there. He parted her legs, wrapping them around his neck, feeling the smooth skin of them with the whole of his hands. He kissed her inner thighs. He kissed her outer labia, so smooth, he then very gently kissed her inner labia and then pressed his tongue in the crevice between. With his tongue Marcellus played with the exterior of Snow’s inner labia. Snow let out one sharp exhale.
Marcellus put his finger there, splitting Snow’s inner lips, letting his tongue stray inwards, tasting the salty sweet mixture of the two of them. Soon he was pressing both his finger and his tongue into Snow rhythmically, pulling his tongue out occasionally to flick Snow’s clit. Snow has a highly sensitive clitoris. Marcellus couldn’t touch it directly very much. He moved his fingers and tongue in and out of her, occasionally moving his tongue or a finger to her clit. He worked in this manner for what seemed to Snow a very long time until she began to feel more naked, more wet, more warm. She slouched her body harshly and opened her mouth firmly but no sound came out. Her upper body convulsed. She ran her fingers through Marcellus’s chest hair. He ran his open hands all over her body, coming up to join her face, squeezing her breasts, her ass, her thighs, her shoulders. Snow could not imagine what it took for Marcellus to do that for her. Or maybe it was nothing.
On the way home from the woods they drove mostly in silence until Marcellus and Snow were driving through the city. Snow perked up and watched a house go by.
“Who lives there?” asked Marcellus.
“Nobody. Nobody lives there,” replied Snow almost sadly. When she returned to her apartment Marcellus helped her with her bags and sweetly kissed her on the cheek. They exchanged goodbyes and thank yous and as soon as Marcellus left, Snow walked to her closet. She took out her scrap booking box and grabbed her purse. She took the box to her car and placed it carefully on the seat beside her. She was going to take it to the Blue Water bridge and throw it over. “Just one more time,” she thought about the letters. Snow opened the box to read the letters and saw they were in complete disarray. The last person in her closet was Marcellus. Did he know?