LETTER FROM BATON ROUGE

Dear Shoeblossom:

I always swore that when I graduated from the Ludlow School, back in Wales, that I’d live an independent life…it was so humiliating having a female Headmistress! Mrs. Sandefur was a comely woman, with short bright red hair, and she was definitely a “sweater girl” of the Lana Turner type of old movies…but what a bitch!

I had such trouble with punctuality to classes, getting up on time, not making it to breakfast…and Ms. Sandefur would summon me to her office, ordering me to explain myself. “Why, Mortlake minor can you not be more punctual? And why are you failing your Greek course? Are you not doing your evening preparation?”

And then she would order me to remove my breeches. I’d blush and bite my lip as Ms. Sandefur, and her cute secretary Hillary, would laugh and chuckle….taking down my pants and under pants and bending across a large blue stuffed chair.

Ms. Sandefur knew how to swing a cane, and I’d be reduced to helpless tears as Hillary popped her gum and pretended to focus on the filing. Then Ms. Sandefur would begin playing with my penis with her long red nails, lecturing me about the evils of masturbation.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you do in your spare time, Mortlake Minor.” She said this, snorting with humor, licking her painted lips and tugging at my penis. Worried that I might have too much male ego, Ms Sandefur would  order the school nurse to come in and shave my private parts, and then she’d tell me that if I thought being the child of a Ludlow school trustee meant I should be qualified for special privileges, I had another thing coming, and she would cane me again!

On my eighteenth birthday, Ms. Sandefur summoned me and forced me to perform between her legs, and came wetly on my face, telling me that she’d taught me a valuable skill. Who knows?

After I left school and started at Balloil College, part of Oxford University, I thought my days of cowering before women were over, but I couldn’t get over my memories of the canings. It was remarkable….I had a nice allowance, and began seeing a professional dominatrix, Moira, and got caned regularly, twice a week, either at her place or in my rooms.

Moira was the first girl to teach me about cock and ball torture. She explained to me that cock caning would take my mind off of sex so I could focus on my academics. And indeed, after her rattan had caught my balls a few times, as well as welting my penis, took my mind off getting a little fun…my tutor was quite happy with my devotion to the Classics!

Sometimes she also would cane my pudgy stomach and my nipples, and I would cry in pain and frustration…and then Moira would belittle me, telling me that she caned longshoremen who could take it with an amazing stoicism.

I begged Moira to make love to me, I felt like we had a real connection, but she’d just whip my cock, sometimes just with a rolled up magazine, and laugh as I cried bitterly. “You just don’t know the meaning of a woman’s body, Lord Fleamarsh…you are only good for cleaning other men’s scum from my crack, you know.”

And this was literal…Other men were allowed to sodomize Moira for free, and I had to pay two hundred fifty pounds for a caning and then to be allowed to lick her rectum clean, and then masturbate on the floor, on my knees in front of her! Oh, and I am an English Lord!

And then I moved to the States…would it be different here? Of course not! You can emigrate to find freedom,  many have, as it says on the Statue of Liberty, but if you are only aroused by enslavement and imprisonment, I fear all is lost, and it certainly was for me…but of course I am hard-wired towards being a submissive male…

And my beloved Stella has emphasized this! She is a wonderful wife…she’s taught me good habits, and broken me of bad ones!

It took Stella a long time to break me of masturbating. She’d find clues—a stained Kleenex or the manhandled Victoria’s Secret catalogue in the bathroom, and I’d get a horrible whipping. Or she’d get Roger and my other friends together, and put me in my fishnets and high heels.

“Now pull your wee-wee for the folks, Edie.” Tears would be coming from my eyes. Why couldn’t I receive my friends in my familiar turtleneck and corduroy pants? Why did I have to be stripped like this?

“Show your friends how you can’t control yourself, Edie…you bad little girl!” My eyes brimming with tears, I beg Stella to let me off, and let me put a bathrobe on. My friends are either laughing or contemptuous, Roger and Zlotnick, my Russian bartender are tossing beer cans at me and screaming “Go, faggot”

George Sutherland, my basketball buddy, no longer shoots hoops with me—he screams epithets when I go by, and only drops in to fuck my wife and watch as she humiliates me. Willis Van DeVanter and James McReynolds threw me off their bowling team, telling me that after they’d seen me in the fishnets the first time, they laughed too hard to throw a strike, and Pierce Butler, who used to throw darts with me at the Four Horsemen bar has had me banned from drinking there, because they don’t want “pansies” But they all come to see me subjugate myself!

“You’d better play with your dinkie, or Momma’s going to burn it with her Cigarillo” warns Stella, and I know she ain’t kidding. I bite my lower lip and begin slowly playing with my penis, but the shame of the whole thing makes me unable to get hard. Really, it’s almost impossible.

“C’mon!” George and Pierce start shooting rubber bands at my stockinged thighs as I wince and pull my pud, but it’s almost no use. Can my friends have really turned against me?

Jim McReynolds laughs his ass off. “Jesus, you’re a friggin’ English Lord, but now you’re just Edie the Transvestite chicken-choker.” Everyone laughs at this. It is no wonder I’m not invited to Super Bowl parties any more.

Stella is so sexy, laughing at me as I fumble with my shrinking penis. She has a way of showing off a leopard skin bra through her pink top, or wearing ruffles, and pushing the swelling top of her cleavage to drive me wild!

Sometimes when I’m pounding away, trying to get excited in front of our friends, Stella will turn to Pierce or George and let them nuzzle her beautiful cleavage, which has been forbidden me for the last nine years of our marriage.

Stella has huge breasts, and just a perfectly flat stomach, and sometimes, if she really wants to reduce me to sad tears, she’ll actually pull off her shirt and bra and let one of my buddies suck her boobs right in front of me!

“Do you miss it, Edie?” she asks, giggling, and of course I’m just shattered inside.

Stella loves to torture me in other ways as well. She sometimes, while the gang is making fun of me, and my dick isn’t working well enough to cum under pressure, will order me to kneel at her feet…and then she begins playing with my penis with her high heels!

Stella loves wearing punitively sharp spike heels, and kicking and kneading my penis with energy. And then when my dick DOES get hard from this, all my friends are convinced that this means I really am a masochistic pervert.

Roger was drunk one night when I was being manipulated with Stella’s heels, and he stumbled over and kicked me in the balls with his Doc Martens. “What, don’t you like that, Fleamarsh?” Of course I was dazed with pain from this assault…but I’m not complaining, I’m not really allowed to complain.

Usually during these evenings, whenever someone, male or female needs to pee, they drag me by the ear to the bathroom. When Celine McReynolds, Jim’s wife, peed in my mouth, that was kind of a thrill, she is a curvy monster and has a well trimmed pubic area…but the night that Stella’s sorority sister Eunice, all 270 pounds of her, sat on my face and emptied out, it was quite disgusting.

I’ve also been trained to take a man’s urine loaded cock deep in my mouth and let them pee down my throat. I am not supposed to wince or make any faces when this disgusting thing is going on.

It is sometimes arousing for them, as along with my fishnet stockings, I am forced to wear Seventies light blue eye shadow and heavy, shiny lip gloss. (A horrible contrast with my balding pate).

Pierce always wants a blowjob after he pees in my mouth, and I’ve learned the quickest way to get a man to cum, so we can return to the hell in the living room, is to lock my lips at the base of his penis, suctioning them up and down the bottom half of his shaft quickly, and steadily, flattening my tongue against his frenulum, the sensitive vein under the head.

“That’s good. That’s a good boy” Pierce will mutter as I am pushing my tongue and lips against his rock hard penis, trying very hard not to gag as he grabs my ears and tries to skull fuck me. I have never, never realized how heterosexual I am then when I’m feeling utterly nauseated while sucking another middle aged man’s penis. Generally, after Pierce cums, I vomit my dinner into the toilet. It’s that bad.

Once or twice Pierce has dragged me into the bedroom (Yes, I think he’s a little bi) and butt-fucked me, and then I must use my anal sphincter muscles to tighten around his big cock so he’ll cum as fast as possible as well.

It’s just the most revolting experience. Stella has shaved most of my body hair off me, and plucked the rest (worse than being whipped, let me tell you) and having the dick jammed up my ass over and over again is oh, so horrible. But then Pierce cums and I can get up and waddle back into the living room to resume my masturbation exercises.

Sometimes Stella decides that no matter how horny I am, no matter how long I’ve been denied, I have to jerk slowly, and NOT cum. This is even harder, though perhaps it’s easier to be distracted when my friends are jeering at me.

“Come on, there Edie, go a little slower, you pathetic piggy” Stella will say, laughing as I gingerly stroke my erection, trying not to go over the edge. Then it’s really hard, because I have to not stroke the sides of my penis, and sometimes Stella will do something like order me to only stroke the head of my cock, or just play with my balls.

When she’s kept me sexually chaste for long weeks at a time, and I’m super horny, that’s when she decides to have a pizza party, invite the males of the neighborhood over, as well as various women, including sometimes the members of her Ladies Church Choir group…it’s just awful.

Then, Stella will let me jerk off quickly sometimes, but I’m distracted because she’s got two of my male friends whacking my ass with paddle and cane, and it’s almost impossible to focus on my hopeful orgasm!

Or, I’ll be on the verge of cumming, and then Stella will quickly kick my nuts, or, if I’m lying on the carpet, she’ll drive a sharpened spike heel into one of my nipples!

If I go through all the bullshit of the evening and have been a good submissive, sometimes Stella will let me fuck her, using a condom, and then she’ll order me to drink the condom empty…I’m used to this, as I am frequently drinking her lover’s condoms as well.

Since I don’t wear a chastity belt, sometimes Stella will call at work and ask my secretary, Beulah, an overweight black woman, if she’ll check after I get out of the bathroom to see if I’ve been jerking off.

It is really horrible when Beulah orders me to step before her desk, and she unzips my pants with her press-on nails and pulls my dick out, touching it and rubbing it to see if it gets hard (not that she’s any visual prize, 55 years old in an ugly lemon velour pantsuit) and then she’ll say into the phone “It’s okay, Miz Mortlake, he still got his dick full” before letting me zip up again and go, humiliated back in my office!

Then I of course feel ridiculous when I ask Beulah to do any typing or copying for me…might as well just do it myself. Oh it’s awful!

Initially, when I told my beautiful wife that I wanted her to sexually dominate me, to reduce me to jelly, she was mystified. I guess she thought that I’d be happy enough to have such a gorgeous partner.

I am not very good looking, and probably wouldn’t have gotten so lucky if I wasn’t British and unusual. But it’s astounding how fast darling Stella became my strict dominant.

When I told her I fantasized about being humiliated in front of our friends, I didn’t think we’d actually go through a literal scene like this. I thought she could put sour cream in her vagina and we could pretend that I was licking out another man’s cum.

But the fact was, Stella was kind of bored with me after about eighteen months. Sure, she’d quit dating handsome jerks and married a nice stable, considerate guy, who made her feel special, but she still needed to have hot orgasms…so now she could fuck the Alpha jerks and have Beta male me take care of our twin daughters, look after the house and all that sort of thing.

It was actually a rather brilliant solution on Stella’s part…and I love it, but I hate it, too, Shoeblossom! Sometimes we go out in the car, and she makes me wave down young guys driving along on their bikes, and give them her number. Or we go to a singles joint, and I have to go up to frat boys and tell them “my wife wants to fuck you”

And then she has the young men humiliate me before they fuck her, or she tells them “If you make Lord Fleamarsh here cry hitting him with the belt, I’ll suck your dick extra special.” And what can I do? It makes me so excited!

But the absolute worst is these masturbation sessions in front of the old gang. Pierce’s wife, Claire is reduced to helpless laughter when I am trying to jerk off my limp, weak dick. Claire, who used to listen to my political opinions with such attention!

But Stella is the best wife in the world, and I am learning to appreciate her more!

I always thought of myself as a Louisiana gentleman, but traipsing around in full drag to entertain my wife’s friends—and my former friends—is enlightening. I was once an English aristocrat—Edmund Mortlake, Lord Fleamarsh, but now I am just Edie, the scullery maid.

It’s tough, being “Edie.” Stella forces me to wait on our friends wearing only fishnet stockings and high heels, and, of course, tassels on my nipples. I am not a particularly appealing middle aged man, balding gray hair and stomach gone to fat, and of course the mincing about does make my cock hard, which my old friends think is really funny.

Roger Cotting and his wife Jennifer poke fun at me this afternoon. At one time, the four of us did normal things like go golfing or sailing. two normal couples. But now Roger says “Get a move on it, Edie, you slut. I want my damn Martini, and get Jennifer her Cosmopolitan, easy on the lime juice, or I’ll tan your fat, bare ass!”

I met Roger when we were graduate students in Public Administration at Southern University…we used to get drunk, chase girls, and he introduced me to Stella, his cousin, right after I got my M.P.A. degree. Of course I fell in love with her and never went hack to the U.K. But now Roger isn’t my pal anymore, he’s one of my Masters!

Roger loves to take me over his knee, him fully clothed, and whip my ass till I’m bawling with a Ping-Pong paddle. I could easily kick his ass in a fight, but since my beloved Stella has me completely submissive, what else can I do?

Roger does let me perform sexually with my mouth on Jennifer when she comes to visit, and I do enjoy that quite a bit. Jen is a petite brunette, and a lot of fun, and I do enjoy my duties between her pink thighs. But then when Roger’s poofter fag brother Dumbarton comes to visit, he also expects me to suck Dum’s dick, and Stella encourages this…and it’s so damned disgusting. But what can I do to object?

Our twin daughters, Meryl and Beryl also ridicule me, although Stella forbids them to actually discipline me. That would be something else. But they’ve got me under their manicured thumbs, and often threaten to tell Stella about made-up “offenses” in order to finagle spending money out of me, or to get me to do the few chores they have.

But Stella has changed the way almost everyone in my life reacts to me and treats me, and I love my blonde Valkyrie so much! She is the be all and end all of my life. Although she can be cruel and demanding, she possesses a lively sense of humor, and I know in my heart that she has my best interests at heart.

I’d do anything for Stella. She is a beautiful full lipped blonde goddess! Quiet, but firm, and just a wonderful spouse.

I love watching her chest heave in her tank-top camisole as she watches me mince about on those damned six inch heels. If I spill anything from a tray, she picks up her cane from the coffee table and makes me bend over, my hairy butt looking ridiculous in contrast with the fishnet thigh highs.

“Edie, you’re a bad girl!” Stella says, and she lands the cane sharply across my tender globes fifteen to twenty times as I grasp my ankles, weeping. Later on in the evening we cuddle a bit (unless she has a boyfriend over) and she teasingly scolds me for wimping out.

“You shouldn’t be such a crybaby, Lord Fleamarsh” she tells me sometimes. “Think, if you could ever take a good whipping without blubbing like a little bitch, I might—just might let you kiss my glorious breasts?”

I am not allowed to touch my beautiful wife’s breasts. That’s right. It’s heartbreaking. But she’s right, I am a crybaby, and a wimp. And oh, how I wish I could “man up” and be eligible to kiss her beautiful pink nipples, to kiss her large areolas.

But as soon as Stella discovered my submissive leanings, things really changed for us. I had sort of hoped that she would whip and tease me now and then, but we’d keep having a normal sex life as well---Stella gives terrific blowjobs!

But it turned out that Stella wasn’t terribly attracted to slave boy types. Not that she wasn’t going to take advantage of nonstop oral sex, and having me do 90% of the chores. She still cooks—I can’t cook worth a damn.

But I serve dinner and stand around in my fishnets, refilling her wine glass, and then I am required to eat my meal in the kitchen after cleaning up the mess from dinner. It’s very regulated at our house.

This is what makes Stella laugh as she teases my cock late into the night. I am allowed to cuddle around her neck and shoulders, though no touching of the titties…and she loves to play with my poor penis until it’s swollen and purple!

Then generally, if Stella doesn’t want oral attention, she turns over and goes to sleep, and I have to work hard to keep from playing with my wee-wee. Stella sees no reason to order me a chastity device. She says all I need is self-discipline, and if that doesn’t work, she’ll use REAL discipline.

This is no idle threat!

Stella has a way of making me realize that there is no way I’m up to bucking her authority. She twists my nipples, whips my ass and humiliates and ridicules me at every juncture.

The hardest part, I think is walking around in the fishnets, with the damn tassels attached to my nipples. Having her egg me on with the riding crop to dance to Olivia Newton-John’s “Physical” song in front of friends and colleagues. I’m the laughingstock of the neighborhood, though in a sense, BDSM is more and more commonplace these days.

I am a lucky man, Shoeblossom. My wife loves me, although she keeps me in this humiliating posture, and I am untroubled by many of the addictions of my peers—I don’t drink, use drugs, or even tobacco, and darling Stella makes sure my weight is kept down..

Really, she does. She has me weigh myself in my fishnets, and if I have gained a bit too much, I am bent over the carpenter’s sawhorse in the cellar and she breaks  four or five canes on my ass!

Sometimes we go jogging together, or she has me jog in the nude at midnight as she drives alongside me, screaming encouragement. The girls, Meryl and Beryl report me for snacking illegally, and I am given further punishment for this. I am a lucky man, and certainly I am reminded of this!

I am a happy, though complaining submissive male!

Best,

Edmund “Easy Edie” Mortlake, the Earl of Fleamarsh

Dear Edie:

The British caste system has always fascinated me, and it sounds like your wife has democratized you well! Hope you continue to entertain your friends. Sounds like it’s better than cable!

Best,

Shoeblossom