Description
Our Story Begins:
“I get so damn excited when I see your incredible curves clad in leather, darling-g,” Mavis Wortham said to Olga Demitroff as she pressed a silken knee into her friend’s back and drew the rawhide laces of her longline corset tight.
Mavis’ armpit length white glacé kid gloves protected her fingers, enabling her to take two wraps in the laces and exert a tremendous amount of pressure.
“No more so than when I see you the same way, precious,” Olga gasped as her friend drew her waist in to an incredible degree, emphasizing the enormity of the teats that jutted out from her ribcage directly above. As always Olga was experiencing an erotic pleasure as the brilliantly polished leather corset gripped her waist tighter than a second skin. It was pinching deliciously, constricting, giving her a wild sense of power. To Olga there was something strengthening and invigorating about leather; the toughness of it, even the gamyscent. It was all part of the Spartan process of becoming a strong and dominant female. Acting the part of a dominant female was terribly important to Olga, the Russian born raven-haired enchantress was a sadist, her friend, Mavis, a masochist. They were both nurses, living together in a small apartment on east eighty-first street in Manhattan. Dressing up in their vast assortment of leather garments had become a six P.M. ritual with them. It was the cocktail hour, and although they would always start out with one, they would down it quickly, breathlessly excited over the prospect of dressing up for one another.
When Mavis finally knotted the laces, the two leather-clad women stepped back to admire one another. With the exception of her blatant black hose, Mavis was petite, ample of bosom and bottom cheeks, Olga was a tremendous woman, towering over her friend in her eight inch skyscraper heels, the proud possessor of a forty eight inch bust that jig—–
