Every guy who grew up watching Dahlia walk around in those tight little dresses already knew what they wanted. Blonde pinup curves, heavy soft tits, and the way a corset made her waist look unreal. The first time she locked eyes with me and said the words Corset Training, I was done. She didn’t ask if I was ready. She just told me to strip and stand still while she laced me into one of her own.

The first few sessions were pure torture. Tight enough that every breath reminded me who owned my body. She made me walk around her apartment like that, young cock locked, while she sat on the couch with her legs open showing off her wet pussy and told me to crawl over and worship her. My tongue stayed on her gooey cunt until my jaw ached and tongue went numb. Every time I got too eager she pulled my hair back and made me slow down. “Good sissy sluts in corsets don’t rush,” she said. “They leak and they thank me.”

Once she decided I could handle more, the real Corset Training started. She bent me over the bed, still laced tight, and slid a thick strap-on cock between my ass cheeks. Slow at first. Then harder she fucked me. She talked the whole time — how pretty and slutty I looked taking her toy cock, how my locked clitty dick was dripping onto the sheets, how she was going to keep fucking me until I came from nothing but the stretch and her sultry voice. I did. Shaking, moaning, completely ruined while she kept thrusting and laughing.

Now I show up already soft and ready. She laces me in, chooses the toy dick, and uses me however she wants. Sometimes it’s her pussy on my face for an hour. Sometimes it’s that big strap cock buried to the hilt while she reaches around and teases the cage. Either way I leave marked, aching, and already counting the hours until the next Corset Training session. Dahlia doesn’t just dress me up. She rewires what gets me off. It’s all I ever needed.