Erin Ch. 17: An Hourglass Figure

{Note: This is the seventeenth in a multi-part story series cataloging the progressive evolution of a relationship between a dominant woman who provides leadership and discipline for her husband. Each installment can stand alone, but they read much better if you start at the beginning. Go to: Erin Ch.01: Female Led Relationship. JQGraves}

Erin has been counselling me about my weight for months, and several times I have promised to start a serious exercise regime. Twice, I actually started taking long, brisk walks, but both times, after a week or so and without telling Erin, I lost interest and went back to sitting in front of my keyboard, exercising just my fingers. [I'm not really that fat, more comfortably plump.] The final straw came when my weight and soft middle embarrassed her at a dress fitting with Mrs. Campbell. Erin finally recognized that I was not going to lose the weight if left to my own devices and resolved to take action. That Friday evening marked another watershed in our evolving relationship, which I mark on my internal calendar as "The Fitting."

Saturday morning Erin had me hand-wash the frilly, pink panties I'd worn the previous night, along with the spangly, pink ankle socks, then press them between two towels to dry. "You're going to need them when we go shopping later," she said. [A little ominous, wouldn't you say? What difference could the choice of panties possibly make on a shopping trip. What difference if no one sees what I've got on under my pants.] Damn!

That afternoon, Erin told me to put on the pink panties and socks, dockers and a white, loose-weave polo shirt. Thankfully, she did not make me wear the pink, fuzzy platforms I'd worn to the fitting, but the black patent-leather mary janes she insisted on were almost as bad.

Erin drove us to the downtown mall, and I hoped my guess was wrong about where she was taking me. The mall contains a couple dozen stores, one of which is a very exclusive women's apparel boutique she patronizes and in which she has a Personal Shopper to help her find and purchase the items that match her sense of style. Sure enough, we walked directly to that boutique. I did not resist when she led me in, although I was the only man in the place.

Bethany saw us enter and strode over to greet us. "Erin, it's so good to see you," she said and gave my wife a brief hug. "I've been preparing for your visit." Her attention slid to me. "My, I see your reason for concern. He really let himself go, didn't he. I mean he was heavy when you were last here, but now... You're right, basic shapewear is great for minor problems, but we'll have to get more serious if you want him to look fit. That is what you have in mind?"

"Right. We need to shape his body so he looks fit enough to fit into the new dress I'm having made for him."

"A dress?" Bethany snickered. "Okaay. We clearly need to lunch together one of these days so you can bring me up to speed. You didn't buy a dress for him here, should I be offended?"

"No, you shouldn't. He's getting a little-girl style party-slash-punishment dress. It'll be very elaborate in pink and white with built-in petticoats, lots of ribbons and lace for decoration. It will also feature locks at collar and waist so that once I put him in it, he cannot remove it until I let him out."

I could not believe that Erin was being so open about what we were doing. My face burned redder than any item they had in the boutique, and there were several red silk panty and bra sets on display. I couldn't bear to look at Bethany, so I kept my head down and my eyes on the floor at their feet.

"That diverges somewhat from our standard offerings." Bethany laughed. "Well, if we put your husband in a corset, that will give him back his girlish figure. There is a hook and eye version with steel stays that might be up to the task. To get even more extreme, you'd have to go to the versions that start there but can also be laced up the back for the ultimate effect."

"That's what his seamstress used to fit him into her demonstration model discipline dress."

"I would have loved to see that!"

"It was a pink and white number with sewn in petticoats, very short, with lots of bows and ribbons. He looked darling in it, didn't you, dear?"

I was trying to block out this entire conversation, but I heard Erin's question and knew that both women were looking at me, waiting for my answer. "No, I didn't look 'darling,' I looked like an idiot," I said.

"I suppose you're right," Erin said, "but it was effective, wasn't it? For its intended use?"

Erin clearly intended to embarrass me in front of Bethany?and any of the other women in the store illegal bahis who noticed me blushing. I prayed she would not go into further detail describing to Bethany some of the special features of Mrs. Campbell's "party" dress. Such as the convenient bow high in the back for tying my wrists up out of the way, or the dangling ribbons strategically placed to bunch the dress and petticoats up in the back to display?or provide convenient access to?my ass. Or how Mrs. Campbell took advantage of that access to cane me, followed by Erin taking me over her knee to paddle me to tears. I quickly responded, "Yes, it was that," hoping that would bring an end to this particular discussion.

"You really must bring him in some time so I can see this marvelous dress," Bethany said, laughter in her voice. "Perhaps we could convince the owner to expand our offerings."

"We'll see," Erin said. "He would have to be very naughty before I would embarrass him to that degree, but you know how naughty some boys can be."

"Do I! Don't get me started," Bethany agreed. She led us to the foundations department, where she and Erin examined and quietly discussed the options. I heard giggling and the phrase "husband in a corset" several times, which did not help to diminish the humiliation I felt standing there. They finally settled on a black bustier style corset, and Bethany led us back to the fitting room, outside of the changing booths.

Bethany handed the corset to me, and said, "The booths are all empty at the moment, you may take your pick. Whistle if you need help pulling this on."

"Once he gets that on, he may not have enough breath left to whistle," Erin said, and they both laughed.

I snatched the corset from Bethany and stepped behind the cloth curtain of the nearest changing booth. It had the distinct, lingering scent of the many women who had used it. I was not getting any sympathy from Erin or Bethany, and I stood for a moment, struggling to control my emotions. This was so humiliating, I almost wanted to cry. Not manly, I know, but these two women were really getting to me.

I took off my shoes, shirt and pants, stepped into the corset and struggled to pull it up. It was tight, and I had some trouble getting it past my ass without causing severe pain from the resultant wedgie as the corset tried to take my panty, and with it my testicles, up my body as well. I probably should have taken the panties off first and put them back on once the corset was in place, but I was reluctant to strip completely naked in this women's boutique even though I was in a changing booth with the curtain shut. Bad enough to be in nothing but panties.

Once I had the corset in position, I used the hooks and eyes to close it in the front. I then yanked the panties back down out of the crack of my ass. Between the compression of the corset and the anxiety of knowing that Erin and Bethany were waiting for me to step out of the changing booth, I was having trouble breathing. I calmed myself, pulled my dockers on and stepped into my mary janes. The dockers fit loosely about my waist, but still hugged my ass. There was no sense putting my shirt on, I was sure that Erin would want to fiddle with the laces to make me even more uncomfortable.

When I finally exited the booth, Bethany looked me up and down and said, "Let me help you with that." She stepped in front of me, grabbed the two sides of the corset and worked down the length of it, pulling the hooks over to the next row of eyes. Now I was really having trouble breathing.

As she approached the bottom of the corset, she pushed my dockers down so she could adjust the last few attachments. My dockers fell down to my knees before I realized what she was doing, which gave her an unhindered view of the frilly, pink panties Erin made me wear. Her mouth opened in surprise, then she laughed, uncontrollably. Obviously struggling, she squelched her laughter, but took another look and lost it again.

"Excuse me a moment," Bethany managed as she stepped into the changing booth and pulled the curtain closed behind her. Then she really cut loose. I thought she was going to hurt herself; she was laughing so hard. And I would not have minded if she did hurt herself. This entire experience was certainly hurting me. In retrospect, I wish with all my heart that I had heeded Erin's many past hints and encouraging advice for me to lose weight.

I pulled up my pants and looked at Erin, who was fighting a smile but just shrugged her shoulders. "Turn around," she said. "Let me see if I can take some slack out of that thing."

"Slack?!" I said, "I can barely breath as it is."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," she illegal bahis siteleri said. "None of this would be necessary if you had not let yourself go." Erin took the laces and pulled them tight, working from the bottom up. "Inhale," she said. When I did, she gave the laces a final yank and tied them off.

Bethany finally came back out of the booth and said, "Need any help?" The laughter was still in her voice, but she'd regained command and was holding it in.

"No, I think we've got it," Erin said. "But now he's going to need a bra to contain the flesh that's bursting out the top."

"I see what you mean," Bethany said, in her most professional clothier's voice. "But we're going to have trouble finding one that will match his panties."

"Now stop that," Erin said, "or we'll both wet our pants. So, a training bra, or do you think he can fill an A-cup?"

"Oh, an A-cup. With a bit of padding, you could put him in a B-cup. It depends upon the look you're after."

"Put your shirt on, honey, and we'll go out to the sales floor to pick out the rest of your outfit."

"Can I take this thing off first? It's damnably uncomfortable and I can't breathe. I feel like I'm going to faint from lack of oxygen."

"Don't be silly. You are not going to faint. Get used to it, you'll be wearing it often until you lose all that extra weight."

"Here," Bethany said, "let me just remove this tag, so you can wear it home." She grabbed a pair of scissors, clipped the tag from the corset and slipped it into the pocket of her blouse.

I pulled my shirt over my head and followed the women out to the boutique's sales floor to look at bras. Although I was strongly tempted to bolt for the door, I was afraid the exertion would be too much in my breathless state. I'd probably faint half way there and crash headfirst into a panty display rack. Several women did double-takes when they looked at me. My white knit shirt was a poor choice to hide the black corset underneath, plus the new hourglass shape of my body must have looked a little unusual on a man.

"We may have trouble finding an A-cup in your husband's size," Bethany said. "Most of the As are sized for much younger girls. Girls less... erm... broad in the shoulders."

"Let's see what you've got," Erin said, "and if we have to go to a B-cup, we can fill it out so that the excess material won't sag. You see that on pre-teen girls sometimes," Erin said to me. "They buy a bra one or two cup sizes too big, hoping that they will quickly grow into them, but unless they add a little padding during the interim, it is obvious that their wishes are ahead of their bodies." Bethany and Erin sorted through several bras on a display table until they agreed that they would have to accept option two.

"We have several B-cups in pink," Bethany said.

"Undo your belt and open the fly of your pants so we can be sure we're getting the right shade," Erin said to me.

"What? I'm not going to lower my pants out here on the sales floor," I said. "People are watching us. It was embarrassing enough being half dressed in the fitting room."

"I didn't say you had to drop 'em," Erin said, "although, if you continue to be difficult, that's exactly what will happen. For now, I want you to open the fly in the front so we can try to match the color. You can hold your pants closed with your hand when we're not doing actual comparisons."

I did not look around to see who was watching, although I swear I could feel half-a-dozen pairs of eyes staring in our direction. Sure that Erin was not making an idle threat about making me drop my pants to my ankles, I undid my belt, unsnapped and unzipped my fly, and held it briefly open so that Erin and Bethany could do their matching.

"Close," Bethany said, holding a satiny pink bra down by my open fly, "but not quite right. I'm afraid that even if we match the color, there's no way we can match the style. We don't carry delicates that are so... decorative."

"I know," Erin said. "Let's do the best we can for now, and I'll go to the original source online to purchase the other half of the set."

Neither woman was making any attempt to keep their conversation private. I was sure that every female in the establishment was listening and fully aware of whom my wife was shopping for. If I looked around, I knew I would see groups (gaggles? Flocks?) of women and young girls pointing and laughing at the pussy-whipped husband in a corset being feminized by his dominant wife.

Finally, Erin selected three bras, all of them B-cups, one pink, one black and one nude.

"Let's go back to the fitting area and finish getting you dressed," canlı bahis siteleri Erin said, taking me by the arm.

"But..."

"Unless you would rather do it here?" I shook my head. "I thought not. Every new bra requires some adjustment to the straps for a proper fit on its new owner."

We adjourned to the fitting area where Erin made me remove my shirt. I held out my arms, and she slid the straps of the pink bra up to my shoulders. The top straps did require some adjustment after the bra was fastened in the back. I could feel where it connected back there and was certain that I could not possibly get my hands that high up my back to unfasten it. How do women do that?

As Erin was making the final adjustments, Bethany came in and packed something into the bra cups to fill them out. I reached up to stop her, but Erin said, "Hands at your sides and stop moving around!" which put an end to that.

"These are sheer ankle-high hose," Bethany said. "You don't need much padding to make that bra sit properly." Looking me in the eye, she said, "I'll bet that right about now, you are wishing you had not let yourself get so out of shape." She fluffed the bra cups into a natural shape.

"Got that right," I murmured.

This entire exercise did not take more than five or ten minutes, but during that time, three different ladies walked through the fitting room past me to the changing booths to try on new dresses. It was no coincidence. You'd think they'd never seen a husband in a corset... and a bra before.

"There," Erin said, "how does that feel. Is it pinching anywhere?"

"No, it's fine," I said. "Can I put my shirt back on now? Please?"

"I suppose, if you're sure. A badly adjusted bra can be very uncomfortable. I don't want you to suffer because we didn't take the time to get it right."

"I know what you mean," Bethany said, as she reached up to slide her fingers over a shoulder strap. "Women hate a poorly fitted bra."

"It's fine. Really. Can I just put my shirt on?" Pretty soon, smirking women would line up in the fitting area, staring at the husband in a corset and bra, waiting for an available changing booth. I should get a commission from the boutique.

"Well, if you are absolutely sure," Erin said.

"I'm sure," I said and quickly pulled my shirt over my head before either woman thought of another reason to delay me. "I think I'll wear it untucked," I added. "This type of shirt can be worn either way."

"No, tuck it in," Erin said. "It looks neater that way, don't you think, Beth?"

"Oh, I agree completely," Bethany said. "It is much neater tucked in. The whole effect of the corset is lost if you don't tuck it in and tighten your belt around it."

I wanted to argue. If I tucked in my shirt, my lumpy chest and tiny waist would be obvious to every passerby. Plus, the pink of the bra and black of the corset were visible through the weave of the white polo shirt. I really, really wanted to argue. I had already been so humiliated that I wasn't sure I could stand any more. But... I know my Erin. So, I tucked in my shirt. My belt fastened at three holes tighter than it did when I put it on this morning.

When it was time to check out, Erin left me to do it as she did on our last visit here. And, like our last visit, Bethany held up each item, identified it and folded it in tissue before placing it in an excessively feminine bag with the store's logo. The exception, of course, were the bra and corset I was wearing. For those, she took the tags from the pocket on her blouse, announced what they were for and dropped them in the bag. Certainly, none of the other shoppers would wonder where those two items actually were; she sure wasn't putting them in the bag. Bethany also identified two pairs of smokey, black stockings and a pink garter belt that I did not notice Erin adding to our purchases.

When we finally returned home after shopping in the boutique and wandering the mall for an hour or more, with me carrying the bag with the boutique's logo, while Erin did some "window shopping."

Back in our home, with the door closed firmly behind us, Erin grabbed me, held me tightly and gave me a kiss with plenty of tongue. She backed me against the wall and one hand went to my bra to squeeze the flesh beneath, while the other went down to rub my caged cock through my pants.

Erin's fingers went to my belt and zipper, and when my dockers slid to the floor, she backed up a step and said, "You have no idea how hot that shopping trip made me. Lose the pants, shoes and shirt. I want you in position on your knees on the bed, still wearing your bra, corset and panties. Be there by the time I have my strapon all lubed and ready, or my paddle will redden your cute little bottom to match the blushes I saw on your cheeks at the mall. You just got lucky, my girl; you're getting fucked tonight!"

END of Erin Ch. 17