Bosom Bondage Buddies
by Brandy Dewinter
Chapter 1 - The Challenge
"We need to lose some weight," my wife Kelly said as she poked
me in my over-inflated spare tire.
"Me more than you," I agreed, "but you're right. If I don't
lose some weight, I'm headed for heart attack, or diabetes like my
father. We've tried though, and nothing seems to work."
We had had this conversation before, both of us were cursed
with an endomorph body, short and highly efficient at storing fat.
About the only advantage that we could imagine for our body type was
that we would be the last ones to starve to death if ever shipwrecked
on a deserted island. In all other aspects we were fighting a
constant battle against fat. Relative to the other members of our
respective families we had done pretty well in overcoming our genetic
disposition, but neither of us were satisfied. My wife is a petite
5'3", or would be, except at her weight it would be more accurate to
describe her as "cherubic" than petite. For myself, at 5"8" I was
fairly short for a guy and the pounds I carried included entirely too
much fat, even though there were muscles in there somewhere, too. She
is blonde, with eyes such a pale blue they seem like sunlit ice, while
I have dark brown hair and midnight eyes as far to the other end of
the spectrum as possible and still be blue.
"Do you have any new ideas, or were you just stating the
obvious?" I asked.
"We need a new, more effective incentive," she declared.
"Long term threats like heart attacks twenty years down the road don't
get the job done. We need to set positive, short-term objectives."
"Okay, Okay, I've heard this speech before. Do you have any
specific ideas?"
"I already thought about that. Since you don't mind wearing
pantyhose, I think we should encourage your feminine side," she
offered with laughing eyes.
I tried to hide my blush, probably not too successfully. I
had started wearing pantyhose for protection while playing
racquetball. My usual partner and I were more enthusiastic than
skilled and racquetballs tended to fly everywhere, with great speed if
not great accuracy. As a result, we ended up with welts on our legs
that made the effectiveness of rubber hose interrogation painfully
obvious, yet cumbersome sweat pants interfered too much, as well as
being hot. When I complained about the bruises my wife suggested I
get some men's exercise tights and wear light support pantyhose under
them. These had really helped to protect my legs and I had discovered
that the feel of the pantyhose was so interesting that I had begun to
wear them at other times as well. I had always known about my latent
transvestite tendencies but had been afraid to indulge them openly,
even around the house. However, with my wife's encouragement at least
pantyhose had become acceptable.
Now she was offering to extend the limits of acceptable
cross-dressing, and I had to tightly control my urge to seem too
enthusiastic. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"For your incentive, if you can lose ten pounds, and keep it
off for a full week, let's get you a full outfit of ladies underwear.
In fact, let's get you three. One set will be a bra and panties, with
garter belt and stockings. One set will be a tight, lace-up corset,
and one set will be a nightgown, with peignoir. I thing you would
look darling in ladies lingerie," she giggled.
"What makes you think I would want to wear women's clothes?" I
inquired breathlessly, trying not to show how excited I was getting.
"Oh come on, Ran, I've known you wanted to wear women's
clothes since before we got married. You're entirely too
knowledgeable about ladies fashions and I've seen you fondling my
underwear when you help with the laundry. I think it's wonderful.
I've always heard that men who are in touch with their feminine side
are much better lovers. Besides, that bulge you're trying to hide
gives you away!"
At this I blushed openly, surprised at how well she had
identified an interest I thought was secret. Clearly, she was even
more observant, and tolerant, than I had known. "I can't deny that
the idea is intriguing. It certainly would provide an incentive for
me. What about you? What's your incentive?"
"Pick something," she said. "Show me that you have been
paying attention to my desires as well as I've been tuning in on
yours."
"That's a challenge," I laughed. I thought for a moment and
said, "Okay, here's the deal. If you lose ten pounds and keep it off
for a whole week, we will also buy you three new sets of lingerie.
We'll get matching outfits except for color and size. In addition,
we'll get you a set of handcuffs."
Now it was her turn to blush. "For me to wear, or for me to
use?" she asked, clearly focused on the handcuffs.
"That'll be up to you," I responded. "I've always known you
were fascinated by control. This'll be your chance to bring your
desires out into the open, just like my desire for ladies clothes. We
can discover if you like being mistress, or slave."
She looked at me tentatively. "I'm not sure I like that," she
said. "Why would I want to hurt you, or have you hurt me?"
"Bondage and discipline are not about pain," I replied.
"Bondage is about trust, and responsibility. Bondage and pain are
like straight and gay sex. Some like both, but many people like one
and find the other uninteresting, even distasteful."
"Don't worry about it," I continued. "We have to lose the
weight first, anyway. Is that a good enough incentive for you?"
"Sure, if you want me to handcuff you, I think it could be
fun."
I could see I would have to work on her about the idea. It
was clear from the way she caught her breath when I captured her arms
while kissing or making love that she was excited by the restriction
on her movement. She also had often grasped the headboard of our bed,
as though her arms were forced above her head. However, in her own
mind I expected she envisioned herself as mistress. She tended to be
a "take charge" kind of woman, which had caused us some major
arguments when we first got married. We had eventually worked things
out, but I knew she was remembering those arguments and that she
thought her excitement was at the chance to be in charge. I though I
knew her better, but time would tell.
"So, have you worked out any further details?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied, "it will work like this. We'll go to the
exercise club in the morning and weigh on their scales. That's our
baseline. Once we make our goal, we get the prize. However, if we
gain the weight back, our prize goes away as well. That okay with
you?"
"Uh huh. Now let me see," I mused, "where did I put my heavy
boots, sweats, winter underwear, and . . . "
"No fair," she laughed, "whatever you wear on the first day is
what you have to wear for all weighings."
"Oh, well, you can't blame a guy for trying," I grinned.
