The Halloween Corset

Many people assume that I have no arms. They are wrong but I, Emma, can no longer prove to them that I do. This is the consequence of the events one fateful Halloween ten years ago, events that emerged from the confluence of several factors.

You could say that it first began when I read a description of something called a Venus corset. For some time, I have been interested in corsets, admiring their elegant designs and the comely shapes they mould their wearers into. The times I had worn a corset, I had enjoyed its constant pressure and rigidity as it reminded me of what it was doing for my figure. A Venus corset is no ordinary corset, however.

Named after the armless Venus de Milo statue, a Venus corset is noted for the armless silhouette it creates. This is usually achieved by fastening the wearer’s arms into a ‘reverse prayer’, with the arms folded behind the back, the forearms held against the spine, and the hands at the base of the neck. The corset itself is then worn over the arms, trapping them in place and hiding them from sight, resulting in an appearance of armlessness. This is the situation I now find my arms in but it doesn’t explain how I came to be wearing a Venus corset or why I am still wearing one.

Ever since I first saw a picture of a woman wearing a Venus corset, I was entranced by the clean and elegant silhouette that wasn’t possible with an ordinary corset, yet this corset could afford her. Immediately, I began to envision what it would be like to wear such a formidable garment myself. I pictured myself exuding regal, sensual beauty while the corset held me at its mercy, with my trapped arms serving to amplify the effect. All I needed now was an excuse to wear something so outlandish.

That excuse to wear a Venus corset emerged just over ten years ago as I contemplated what I could wear for the next Halloween, the season when freaky, sexy, or just plain eye-catching costumes were not just acceptable but encouraged. A Venus corset would cover all three. Oliver, my boyfriend, was disbelieving when I first proposed the idea to him but he came to see the appeal of my outfit, at least for him. Whatever his motivations, I was grateful for his assistance as I was going to need his help and my plan wouldn’t work without him.

The foundation of my plan was simple: I would wear a Venus corset as the centrepiece of my Halloween costume. I also decided that the appropriate shoes to accompany the corset would be something similarly extreme in the form of a pair of ballet boots. Also fitting into the category of freaky, sexy, and eye-catching, ballet boots have heels so high that they hold the wearer’s feet vertical, in line with the calves and giving the appearance of seemingly endless legs. I eagerly pictured myself regally towering atop these boots while they forced me into a sensual stride.

Obviously, Venus corsets and ballet boots are not everyday items and I had to order them specially. Given this, I saw no reason not to take my bespoke order one step further. While wearing the corset, my trapped arms would make me helpless and I would be dependent on Oliver to look after me and to free me at the end of night. This set my mind astir with thoughts and fantasies as I contemplated the possibility of being locked into the boots and corset by my boyfriend. It would make no practical difference as I would already be reliant on him to free but there was something deeply sensual in the notion of being locked in with only him being able to free me.

I did not leave things at just the notion of being locked into the corset and boots. Instead, I discovered that I could go even further and maximise the feeling of security and confinement by getting them both made out of the most indestructible material I could. Not only would this material be essentially impossible to destroy once I was in it without harming me, it would also be porous meaning it could theoretically be worn for a long period of time. Obviously, I had no intention of testing the material’s indestructability or its long-term wear credentials but it was the concept of them that appealed to my fantasies.

Unsurprisingly, with an order as bespoke as mine, the corset and boots took a long time to arrive. In the meantime, I prepared my body for the task of wearing them. The biggest task was perhaps ensuring that I was capable of achieving the reverse prayer position, or at least close enough to it, with my arms. Fortunately, I had done ballet as a child and I was quite proud of the flexibility I had attained and had since maintained. I supplemented this pre-existing flexibility by having Oliver tie my arms in stricter and stricter positions until I was capable of holding the reverse prayer position required by the Venus corset.

The reverse prayer training necessitated spending time with my arms rendered useless, leaving me reliant on Oliver to look after me. This didn’t seem to bother my boyfriend, who was quite happy to dote on me during my helplessness, making the experience in many ways romantic. His caring behaviour gave me the confidence that I would be able to rely on him when I did put on the Venus corset.

The other aspect of preparing my body was in relation to the ballet heels. This primarily involved wearing the highest heels I owned as much as possible to make me as good as possible at walking in high heels, even if the ballet heels would be notably higher than anything I had worn before. To make up for this, Oliver fashioned me a pair of crude shoes with ballet-height heels so that I could practise walking with my feet at the steep angle the ballet heels would require.

Given how close to Halloween it was before the corset and heels arrived, I opted to hold out until the day itself before I put it all on. Instead, it sat quietly in the corner while I tried to contain my nervous excitement. I got so bad that Oliver threatened to tie my arms into a reverse prayer and then tie me to a chair and gag so that he could get some peace. I was almost tempted to try him to find out what it would be like but I refrained.

Finally the big day arrived. It was a hot, dry day, characteristic of the weather that we had been having for several months and giving the expectation of a pleasant evening for Halloween festivities. Our plan was to get ready at home before we would drive to the other side of our small town where a friend of ours was hosting a dress-up party to suitably celebrate the date. It was mid-afternoon when we decided to get ready and I quickly did my make-up before we started on the main event.

At long last, I got to open the package containing the Venus corset and ballet boots and inspect the fearsome items I had ordered. And I was not disappointed. Each item was expertly crafted and everything from the material to the locks that would trap me in the items looked formidable. After a quick test of the three keys in the identically keyed locks, I was excited to begin.

We decided that it would be easiest to start with the ballet boots. I stripped naked from my waist down, reasoning that panties were just likely to get in the way. I sat down on a chair and held out my right leg towards Oliver. He took the first boot, loosened the laces that ran down the outside of it, and gradually fed it up my leg. As my foot reached the boot’s stiff ankle, I got my first taste of how straight the boot would hold my own ankle.

Once my toes reached the bottom of the boot, the boot reached up to just below my knee. As Oliver retightened the laces, my leg and foot settled properly into the boot. By the time he had closed, but not locked, the clasps that would hold the boot closed, my foot was being held vertically and in line with my leg. If it weren’t for the boot’s tall, thin heel, it would have been difficult to tell where my calf ended and my foot began. The apparently endless leg was superbly sexy – and a little bit freaky – perfect for Halloween.

With the right boot in place, we repeated the process with the left until both my feet were equally strikingly shod. My boyfriend then gave me his hand and helped to stand in the fearsome boots. After a few wobbly steps relying on his support, I was able to take some steps on my own; the practice in the boots he had made was clearly paying off for me. It took several more laps of the room but soon I was feeling comfortable walking in the ballet boots and ready to move onto the next stage.

With a little nervousness, I moved my arms into the reverse prayer position behind my back and mentally prepared myself to lose my independence for the evening. Oliver tied my arms together at my wrists and elbows using straps that had been thoughtfully provided with the Venus corset. He then wrapped the corset itself around my torso, covering me from my neck down to my hips. Only my breasts were left uncovered, although the corset did include quarter cups to provide welcome support.

As my boyfriend proceeded to tighten the laces at the back of the corset, my arms disappeared from sight. Simultaneously, with each pull on the laces, the corset strengthened its grip around my midsection, bringing in my waist and making each breath more laborious. By the time he had finished, I had a pronounced waist, my breasts were displayed more prominently, and there was no sign of my arms trapped behind my back. The closure (but again not yet locking) of the locks emphasised that I was now dependent on my boyfriend till such time as he released me.

My first task in my newly dependent state was to stand up without the help of my arms to push up with. I was able to do so after a couple of attempts and started acquainting myself with my new centre of gravity now that I was walking on ballet heels with my hands behind my back. After a few worrying steps where my balance was in jeopardy – and once even needing Oliver to catch me – I proved that I was able to walk in both of my severely restrictive fashion choices.

While the corset and boots were the only restrictive items I was planning to wear, I still had to finish getting dressed and I needed Oliver’s help to put on my dress. The dress that he unzipped the back of and had me step into was just a simple black number that would reach from my collar down to nearly my ankles. The dress wouldn’t, however, completely cover the corset and boots as the neck portion of the corset would poke above the collar of the dress and the boots would poke below the hem.

As he pulled it up and zipped me into it, my modification became clear: I had removed the sleeves and sewn the armholes closed so that it emphasised its wearer’s armless state. I chose to emphasise the other effect of the corset by wearing a belt that drew my dress into and highlighted my narrowed waist. I would have tied my past-the-should hair into a practical ponytail but Oliver preferred it loose so that is the way he left it. Admiring the final result in the mirror, I was confronted with a powerfully sexy woman whose armlessness only reinforced that appearance. I was dressed for the party.

I may have dressed for the party but we weren’t quite ready yet. The dressing process had taken a couple of hours as we had had to break to give me time to get used to my extreme attire. Consequently, we – or at least my boyfriend – were hungry and he made us sandwiches and fed me mine, bringing the sandwich up to my mouth for each bite. That I needed him for such a simple act reinforced how helpless I was.

This present reality was also very apparent when Oliver helped me go toilet. After he had hiked up the skirt of my dress, I was able to sit myself down. He kindly left the room to minimise my embarrassment while I did my business but it was embarrassing enough when he had to come back in to clean me as I could not do so myself. Fortunately, I had a chance to move on from embarrassment while he finished getting himself ready; his attire was just standard smart casual, ostensibly not to take away from me.

With both of us now properly ready, we made our way into the still baking outside. Oliver had one of the keys to my corset and boots with him in case of an emergency – the key was in his pocket with his house and car keys – and we were leaving the other two at home. We had opted to take the car as our friend’s place on the other side of town was too far for me to walk in my extreme heels so Oliver opened the door for me and helped me in. Again, I had to rely on him for something as simple as buckling up my seat belt before he hopped in himself and we drove off.

Unsurprising, my arrival at the party caused quite a stir. The first reaction of many of our friends and acquaintances was serious concern that I had lost my arms. When I assured them that I still possessed my arms, their reaction turned to bafflement as they tried to figure out where my arms had gone. Whether or not they figured that out – I generally preferred to leave it up to them – they would typically move onto admiration of my outfit as a whole, marvelling at my ability to stand in the ballet boots and commenting appreciatively on my reduced waist.

I was grateful that Oliver stayed by my side throughout the evening, usually with his arm draped around my waist, indication some combination of protection, possession, and support. As such, it was easy to ask him to get me a drink or a snack when I felt like one. Obviously, he would have to feed it to me as well, which had a romantic vibe to it as well. He could also refuse to fulfil my request if he chose to, which added a playful dynamic to my helplessness.

I was far from the only one dressed up at the party with other costumes including typical array of ghosts, skeletons, and zombies joined by sexy this, that, and the others, the latter having the advantage that they often did not require so much clothing on such a hot evening. The consensus was, though, that mine was the most impressive of the lot, which made me proud of what I had managed to achieve. Such considerations became irrelevant, however, when the winds changed – literally – for the worse.

The party went quiet as the announcement was made. A wildfire had started in the intense heat on the other side of town, the side where our house was, and it was heading towards our small town. There wasn’t time for us to do anything but flee the fire by heading out of town and hope that the amazing firefighters would be able to save the town. In a matter of seconds, the party broke up as everyone made a determined movement outside and towards their cars.

Oliver guided me out to our car and, after fumbling his car keys out of his pocket in the rush, he helped me into the car. The mood was very different from the last time he had done so and we anxiously joined the exodus seeking safety out of town. There was no possibility of heading back to our house to pick anything up and there wasn’t even time to free me from my corset and boots, so I was stuck as I was for a while yet.

We made it safely to a larger, nearby town where the authorities had set up an evacuation centre that would allow us to wait in safety out of the path of the fire. At the centre, we joined the throngs of evacuees, many of whom were also still in their Halloween costumes. Amidst the chaos, I found myself entertaining a bunch of kids with my one-woman freak show, which was surprisingly fun and kept my mind off the fire just as much as it kept the kids’ minds off it as well. Nonetheless, the day had been so exhausting that I fell asleep next to Oliver on one of the mattresses provided without even attempting to get out of my boots and corset.

By morning, it was time to face up to reality. News was beginning to filter through that the fire had burnt through much of the town but we did not know yet if our house had been affected. In preparation, we decided it was time for me to get me out of my boots and corset; I had already been wearing them for many hours longer than intended. This did not, however, go as planned as Oliver’s increasingly frantic search of his pockets failed to bring up the key to my freedom.

After a moment of calming ourselves and rationally considering the possibilities, we realised that the key must have fallen out of his pocket in our rush to get into the car as we fled the party the evening before. As we had been given the all-clear to return to the town, we would stop by our friend’s place and look for the key before continuing on to our place. Feeling a little apprehensive at what we would find and with me still locked into my boots and corset, we hopped into the car and drove back to our town.

Reaching the town, it became clear that the situation was not good. We stared in dismay at house after house that had been reduced to ashes. Our friend’s house joined those that had been burnt to the ground with little but scorched concrete and deformed metal remaining. Forlornly, we went through the motions of searching for the key with little hope. We were surprised when we found the key but immediately gutted to see that it had been deformed beyond usefulness by the fire’s immense heat. We now had to hope that our home had survived or, at the very least, one of the keys we left there.

I was now afraid of what we would find when we reached our house. The prospect of losing our house would be devastating but we would be able to rebuild. The stakes had been raised, however, and it was no longer just our house on the line but the use of my arms and nearly every aspect of my way of life. The corset and boots were designed to be essentially irremovable without a key and it was a terrifying prospect that there would not be a key to find, rendering me absolutely trapped.

I broke down in tears upon seeing our home. All that remained was more scorched concrete and deformed metal. Oliver was really good for me, unbuckling my belt and bringing me into his arms so that I could weep on his shoulder. The devastation to our house was as bad we had feared and now the prospect of being truly trapped in the corset and boots was now very real.

After some time, Oliver coaxed me out of the car so that we could survey the damage. The foundation was still visible so we were able to navigate to where we had left the keys to my freedom. Confirming my worst fears, they too had melted into uselessness and with them, my hopes of freedom had melted too. Again, Oliver was there for and wrapped me in his arms.

The following weeks were the most emotionally draining of my life. Foremost, I had to adapt to a life without arms where I was dependent on others to help me with the most basic tasks; I couldn’t even switch to using my feet as they were trapped in the ballet boots. Amid this, there were bouts of anger: anger at myself for deliberately choosing such an indestructible material for the corset and boots and for wanting to be locked in; anger at Oliver for dropping the key; anger at the world for the fire that destroyed everything. I had plenty of anger to go around.

As if the stress wasn’t enough already, I held little hope of holding onto my job without the use of my arms so I had to quit before I got fired. Fortunately, Oliver worked from home so he was able to work and look after me without threatening his job but we no longer had a home to live and work in. Unsurprisingly, all of this took a heavy toll on our relationship and we held several bad-tempered arguments between us.

Things did slowly get better. We were able to stay with my parents (who were obviously shocked and distraught at my situation) so that we had a place to live and they were able to help us until we could sort things out. The insurance money seemed slow to come through but, once it did, we were able to buy a new house, this time closer to my parents. And with time and some wisdom and hard truths delivered by my parents, we were able to repair our relationship.

Acceptance of my situation also came with time. With no success in our endeavours to free me from my mobile prison, I reconciled myself to this being my future. I did not expect to use my arms again and I abandoned my unwinnable and mentally caustic fight seeking otherwise. This acceptance was facilitated by the loving care Oliver bestowed upon me, making it easy for me to surrender myself into his hands.

I soon came to find that there could be joy in surrendering myself to Oliver. He could do whatever he liked to me and it was unlikely that I would be able to stop, something that he used for advantage for both of us. The most obvious cases would be when he turned his attention to my fortunately still exposed breasts or to my crotch to provide us with a pleasurable time. Less obvious were the times he overrode my objections to pretty me up when I was feeling down, thereby giving me a boost to my confidence and making me feel loved when I most needed it.

Life did get easier for me when we set up our new home. Wherever we could, we tweaked the house with my armless state in mind, whether it be swing doors I could push open or levers I could pull with my mouth (never the most dignified action but often the most practical). Even more impressive was the wireless headset we got me into which I could issue voice commands for many items around the house. Connecting it up to a computer allowed me to operate that computer and do work, meaning that I could become Oliver’s assistant. This by itself had a huge positive impact as I now felt I was at least partially earning my way and was no longer just a burden on my boyfriend.

Even with the headset, there were still many things I couldn’t do and I was still greatly dependent on Oliver. As such, I felt tied to Oliver and sought to tie him to me by getting married. Oliver didn’t object to us getting married <em>per se</em> but he wasn’t convinced I would want to marry him as he still felt guilty for his part in my current trapped state. I reassured him that I bore more responsibility for my state and that he had shown himself to be more than dependable in the time since. With more discussions, we were able to get over the fears we each held related to our marriage and come to look forward to it for its romantic promise of spending the rest of our lives together.

Our wedding was the most perfect day. I wore a brilliant white gown that showcased my trammelled state, highlighting my apparent armlessness, my narrow waist, and my extraordinary heels. Obviously, we had to adapt the exchange of rings. Mine took the form of a necklace that Oliver fastened closely about my neck. Meanwhile, I wasn’t going to stoop to putting Oliver’s ring on his finger with my mouth so Oliver had to put his on himself. Nonetheless, it was a joyous day as we promised ourselves to each other.

The honeymoon that followed was all that it should have been as we got to spend the weeks in the sexual bliss of newlyweds. I may have been limited in what I could do but crucial parts of me were still accessible: my mouth for kissing, my breasts for fondling, and my crotch for all kinds of pleasure. In fact, there was often no need for me to do anything as I surrendered myself to whatever delightful torture Oliver wished me to endure before I earnt that wondrous pleasure.

Since then, life has settled down into a comfortable existence. We work together from home with me assisting Oliver however I can, forming an efficient team and allowing Oliver to look after me during the day. There won’t be any kids for us as the corset would be problematic in a pregnancy and my inability to use my arms would be impractical while parenting. We seem to be managing to get a fulfilling life without any.

There is a purpose to this reminiscing. Today is the tenth anniversary of the party and fire that irrevocably turned my life upside-down. Back then, I was an unremarkable, independent small-town woman with just the occasional whacky idea to her name. Now I, Emma, have transformed into an essentially armless woman trapped in a mobile prison and dependent on her loving husband.

Oliver and I have been invited to a get-together with those same friends and acquaintances to remember the events of ten years ago today. Once again, Oliver has dressed me to showcase my absent arms, corseted waist, and extreme heels, as well as my now waist-length hair, proudly exhibiting the way that the corset and boots in which I am trapped transform me into a freaky yet sexy vision. This is not the life I would have planned for but it is a life I am content living. And believe me, my arms do still exist; you just can’t get to them.