Letter from Vancouver

LETTER FROM VANCOUVER

Dear Shoeblossom:

Having enjoyed so many of your letters from BDSM enthusiasts in the States, I thought I would tell you about my husband, Conrad, the Canadian Cuckold. (Catchy?)

My husband Conrad and I are at the Levinger’s party, socializing, but of course he is almost ignoring all the other women there, he just gazes earnestly, plucking my arm…he is in LOOVE with me!

I am busy in conversation with Grigsby and Gail Gorlitz; Grigs is secretly my toilet slave-we meet in a hotel room once a month so he can roll in my shit, and his wife and I have been having a lesbian affair for years; neither knows of the other’s participation in my life.

But Conrad, my husband, is riveted to me, and of course I must attend to him.

I feel his eyes on my thick dark curls, my full lips, and high full breasts. He hopes he can please me, and maybe he’ll get lucky tonight.

Getting lucky isn’t like other guys get lucky…Con doesn’t get laid…but maybe I’ll let him rub his long chaste cock against a piece of rough sandpaper until he spurts, and his wee-wee is all bloody and injured. That’s the best he has to hope for!

But the way he looks at me, you’d think he just started dating me last week instead of us having been married nine years. When we married, I was a nineteen year old club girl-cocktail waitress and he was a thirty year old bookkeeper, and I still look like a club girl! That might be part of the fascination…or his not being allowed to cum much…that might be what pumps up his jam.

But now at the party, I look into Con’s eyes, and I know he’s hot to please me.  I signal him to follow me up to the host’s bedroom and I stare intently at him.

“You are my husband and my slave. Will you do something for me, if I command it?”

Now he’s scared. Will I require that he drinks out of the toilet? I’ve done that one before.

But Con stares back earnestly. “Of course Sagesse darling. Anything you want.”

“Conrad, I’m going to invite one of my male friends to come in here, and I want you to suck his penis…that’s right, here at this party. Is that all right?”

Conrad begins sweating a bit. “Sagesse, please, this isn’t one of your kinky events, dear, I don’t think—“

I step a little closer and grab his nipple through his Oxford shirt and twist it violently. “I asked you if you would do as I asked, Conrad. If you don’t feel like pleasing me—“

Con winces as I let go his nipple. “Of-of course I will do anything you want, just don’t let Philippe [our host] find out, all right?”

I beam at Con. “You’ll be well rewarded. Now I’m going to invite Ryan in here, and I want you to fellate him and let him cum in your mouth. Don’t worry about the health risk, I’m sure Ryan’s all right. He’s a Virgo.” I pause. “I know you don’t’ want to do this, but I’m asking you, and I hope you’ll please me, and I want to please you.”

Con’s face has fallen and he looks sad. “Of course, I will, Miss Sagesse.” But then he brightens. “And-and maybe later—“

I smile winsomely. “I can’t make any promises, but you know how I am when I’m in a good mood, dear.” I pat his arm. “Now take off all your clothes and kneel here while I call Ryan.”

Con is even more upset that he must undress. What if one of his precious business friends walks in and sees him kneeling?

“Darling—how about just taking off my shirt or something, I mean really—“

Stepping up, I not so slightly knee Con in the nuts, and he buckles, apologizes, and quietly undresses. God, Con’s a blusher. It’s astonishing; he’s like a stop light or something.

Ryan is a friend of both of us, he and Conrad co-coach our daughter’s soccer team…and the look of amused contempt on his face when he comes into Phillipe’s bedroom just destroys Conrad. But perhaps Con could derive some amusement from the fact that Ryan likes having his dick sucked by another man?

After Con’s sucked our friend Ryan’s dick…now he and Ryan will no longer be buds, the relationship will forever have changed—we go home, (Ryan is following us in his car, but Conrad doesn’t know this)

Con is thinking that I will be nice to him when we get home but I coldly tell him that he didn’t do a good enough job with Ryan, that he was lackadaisical in sucking Ryan’s cock. I order Con to strip and lie on the bed in the small guest room.

I bind his wrists and ankles, and I get the razor strop and make his buttocks, back and lower thighs a mass of red and purple welts. And then I turn Con over, and take off his chastity device, and just rub the tip of his cock with my little finger, and it stands straight up.

By that time Ryan is in our house and watching the scene from the bedroom door. I get up and leave Con there, stark naked with his dick standing up.

“Good night Conrad” I say as Ryan puts one arm around my shoulders and lays his other hand on my breasts (a forbidden area for Conrad). “We’re going into the master bedroom, so I can get some real pleasure. You are such a disappointment as a husband.

And as we shut off the light, Con cries!

A memory: We are in The Bay, a large department store here in Vancouver, with Conrad, and I see a pink button down shirt that I’d love him to wear. “Honey, I want to buy that for you, and I want you to model it for me.”

Con looks at the shirt with disdain. He fancies himself to be very macho. “Sagesse, that’s a woman’s shirt, I think. Not that I couldn’t wear a pink shirt, but—“

“No no…” I smile at Con. “All clothes are unisex, or so I believe. Why don’t you try it on? If it looks good on you, you can wear it to your Board meeting at work on Monday.”

Conrad shakes his head. “I have to look my best on Monday. I can’t look ridiculous—“ I take Con not so gently by the ear, and grab the shirt with my other hand, and waltz him to the dressing room with the entire store watching, salesgirls giggling, etc.

What is comical about this, is Conrad is only working at my sufferance. I got him hired by Silverlode Coggs, who comes to my house one afternoon a week for a blistering bare-bottom spanking…he’d hire a chimp as his accountant if I ordered it!

But Con is happily unaware of this, and thinks he must impress Sil Coggs. It’s actually impossible, but let him believe he’s a puffed up hot shot, why not?

“Sagesse, this is not the time for you to—“ When we get into the changing room, I briskly unbuckle Con’s pants and yank them down, and sit on the small bench, pulling him down across my lap, going through my purse in a businesslike fashion to get my faithful large hairbrush.

Forty whacks later, Con is weeping, and buttoning up the feminine shirt, which indeed looks to be a woman’s blouse. (It was found in the Young Ladies’ section, after all.) Of course he can’t wear it to work, but I love threatening him.

“What’s wrong, Conrad? If I want you to, I could make you go to work wearing a cocktail dress, couldn’t I? You’d look so cute.” I hiss as my face gets close to his. “I should put makeup and nail varnish on you and have you prance around in front of your big, masculine office for an hour or so. You could be the world’s ugliest receptionist.”

Wasn’t that a charming interlude?

On another day, Conrad is pooh-pooling my concerns because our daughter is homesick from day camp, and he says she shouldn’t be such a crybaby.

This irks me. “You’re a crybaby yourself sometimes, Conrad.”

He doesn’t hear the edge in my voice… “No I’m not, Sagesse” Conrad says. “I hardly complain at all, and I always give you your way!”

I smile at him. “I’ll bet you that you’re wrong.” When we get home, I order Con to go upstairs and come back down with his handcuffs, dressed only in his underpants. Conrad has a look of trepidation on his face. “Wh-what did I do wrong, Sagesse?” This is a fair question, but I just beam at him and repeat my request.

He comes back down, eyeing me nervously. But of course appreciatively too, as my firm, full breasts are encased in a pale blue turtleneck sweater. I am the ultimate in femininity, and Conrad knows it. “We’re now going to prove that you really are a crybaby.”

“N-no, I didn’t mean you can’t make me cry, I just meant that I don’t complain a lot-you-you don’t have to—“

But I smile sunnily at Conrad. “I’m out to prove my point dear. I suggest you cooperate. I was thinking you might like to masturbate this evening, right?”

And of course he’ll do anything for THAT privilege!

So Con hands me the cuffs and I lock his wrists and turn him over the sofa, pulling down his underpants before fetching my scourge, with the metal stars attached to each tail.

“Puh-please, Sagesse, I-I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’ve been trying to stay on your good side—“

I whip Con’s bare buttocks relentlessly, until he is screaming and sobbing in abject pain. It’s true, my husband is peaceable, well mannered and goes out of his way to please me and not complain, but by George, I can prove he’s a crybaby if I want to!

And by the end of ten minutes, Conrad is weeping, snot is running out of his nose, and after I unlock his arms, he is grabbing my legs and sobbing and admitting that yes, he is a worthless crybaby!

I knew he was. It will make him more compassionate to our daughter’s needs, don’t you think?

What I love about dominating Conrad is, that it doesn’t take a lot of expensive equipment—sure, I got a good, strong chastity device, and a few scourges, whips and other implements, but it’s amazing how much good work can be done with a simple stainless steel, one inch wide  shish kebab skewer.

I can bind Con up, naked as a jaybird and tease his easily excitable cock until it’s bulging happily…and then THWACK it with the metal skewer four to eight times. And then of course I begin rubbing my fingers on the cock again, making it full, pulsating and frustrated once more.

And then I can also POKE the poor wee-wee with the sharp end of the skewer, and that tends to calm my boy Conrad down quite a bit!

The big goal is to get Con to go limp on command, as he has such a rebellious member. It’s the only rebellious thing about him. He does almost everything I tell him to, but when he sees me, and his dick isn’t locked up in the chastity device, it stands straight up like a saluting soldier!

Of course this can be taken as an act of respect. I should be flattered…but my friend Marcie can snap her fingers and her husband Willis’s dick just wilts on command. This, of course took much training and punishment on her part.

I have been able to train Con to kneel perfectly still while I walk around in front of him scantily clad as they used to say in the fifties—I challenge him to move. But his dick goes up, it’s an anarchistic member, you see.

When he’s kneeling still, I test him in other ways. I’ll put duct tape all around his cock and balls and RIIIP it off, tearing off much of his pubic hair, and if he yelps, he’s beaten…for he’s got to learn about mind over matter, don’t you see?

Sometimes I’ll run an electric toothbrush on the underside of his stiff cock as he kneels in front of me. His eyes are straight forward and he is trying not to move a MUSCLE, but you can tell there’s an inward struggle going on…it’s arousing having the infernal brush irritating the frenulum, and it’s also quite ticklish.

Once, he was able to stay still, utterly motionless while I ran the brush, but then he came, in huge spurts. (He had been denied for 108 days) and of course that couldn’t be tolerated. I punished him by driving him out in the woods near our house and leaving him naked, and handcuffed with the keys to the cuffs in a block of ice.

Poor Con had to wait for the ice to melt, and then unlock his handcuffs and then dart around under hedges and behind trees, so he wouldn’t be arrested before he came back to the safety of our home. (And I locked the high fence so he had to climb over accompanied by the derision of the laughing adolescents next door.

I can torture Conrad’s nipples with automotive hose clamps, tweezers, stick pins, thumbtacks, electrical wire ties, vice grips (really, really painful) and of course binder clips and clothespins.

Conrad is absolutely possessed by my body. My tits and ass just do something to him, it’s almost frightening, the power I have. One fun thing I love doing is tying poor Con over a hassock, naked, and rubbing my full buttocks up and down on his hard, long denied cock.

He is not allowed to rub back—that would be tantamount to disrespect, and I won’t tolerate it. If he can cum by just feeling my soft cheeks causing friction against his weiner, so be it, but I am too smart to rub for that long.

Titty-fucking Con is also fun, but of course I must be even more careful. More than once, before I locked him in the chastity belt, I’d find him jacking off while kissing one of my lacy bras!

Now I can manually fondle Conrad’s dick and arouse him totally, while being deft enough not to let him have a release without permission. During the holidays, (Christmas, really) I am more generous, and Conrad and I make love now and then…and after he’s cum in me, he must go down and lick it out…disgusting, eh?

Sometimes, though, the sight of his rock hard member is annoying to me, and I’ll whip it with a belt or my wooden spoon. Con has been trained to kneel motionlessly, as I mentioned before, but of course when the cock-whipping is going on, it is much more difficult for him to maintain this pose. I am disappointed that he is not better trained in this area.

Even if he grits his teeth, that counts as having changed his posture, and it makes me so angry. When I want a motionless slave, by George, that’s what I want.

Sometimes, after many months of chastity, I will take Conrad to a strip club, and hire girls to give him lap dances—to writhe naked on his lap, and I order him to keep his composure. This is invaluable, I think, in making him a more self-controlled being.

From time to time, I have allowed Con to fuck me, and forbidden him to cum. This is very difficult for him, but it allows him to give me maximum pleasure, and is an excellent exercise in self-control. I just wish he didn’t weep so miserably during our after glow, when I’ve had so many orgasms and he’s still stiff and frustrated.

That’s’ why largely, I find my pleasures elsewhere. There are lots of other guys who I can let spurt over and over again in me…and I don’t have to worry about the rules I’ve set!

Shoving frozen grapes up Con’s butt while he is kneeling motionless is often an interesting challenge… and speaker wire is good for whipping his sorry ass, and making him scream like an injured woman!

But enough about my loser husband. He is not the only shot in my gun! I also dominate his boss, and I’m damned good at it!

As I said earlier, I have been having a long-term “fling” with my husband’s boss, Silverlode Coggs. Conrad is a pitiful creature who must be belted to stay chaste, but Sil has quite a bit more discipline…so I let him masturbate all he likes!

And I call him in his office, to see how he’s doing. My husband and all the sycophantic staffers are busily humming away in their cubicles, while the Big Boss has locked his door to his magnificent office, and is naked, on his knees, clothes piled next to him, jerking his dick and talking to me.

It’s tough, rubbing and pulling his wee-wee constantly, and not being able to cum. And I tease him, constantly.

“Silverlode darling, do you want to cum? I bet you do…you’d love it if you could get me to put my full lips around your sex-starved cock, wouldn’t you?” I breathe throatily, and hear his gasp over the phone. “You’d love for me to lick and suck those swollen balls…it’s been what, 93 days since I let you have a squirtie?”

And then I laugh. “Too bad we’re not at your house, and then I’d have you with your red nail polish on, the mousetraps on your nipples, kneeling on broken glass and jerking yourself with a rubber glove rolled in honey and nettles…that was so painful last Saturday, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss Sagesse” comes the strangled reply. I can tell that he’s having a hard time. His breath is ragged and he is forcing himself to rub his dick just a little slower. God help him if he has an accident, right?

Yes, last weekend was wonderful; watching poor Silverlode jacking his swollen organ with the rubber glove with tons of nettles sticking to it was priceless. The broken glass was cutting into his knees, and I told him that if he could reach orgasm in five minutes, it was his…but of course he couldn’t take being on his knees, having his dick tortured that long. Wimp.

I am extensively cruel to Silverlode. Probably the cruelest thing I’ve done to Conrad lately involved his weekly cleaning—I rarely tease Con anymore, and so the only time my hands are on his dick, briefly—is when I clean his penis and balls while he’s tied.

And of course after I clean the genitals and the chastity belt, I lock it right back on him, sans orgasm. But he does get the pleasure of my delicate white, manicured fingers on his dick briefly.

But last week I hired an overweight homeless man to clean him and lock him back up again, and Conrad was quite depressed!

But Con would be considerably cheered if he knew that I hired that same homeless man to cum in his boss’s mouth, just because I felt like it!

It’s really good for Sil to suck dicks. I try to get him to do about eight or nine dicks a month. He keeps hoping that I will have mercy on him because he’s being so obedient in these odious activities…and I might fuck him, or even let him jerk off, but performance has nothing to do with treats. Like a hunting dog, I want him to do it for the joy of the thing.

I have been training Silverlode for twelve years now…I’ve only been married to Con for nine, and it embitters Sil that I didn’t marry HIM. But Sil’s an old geezer of forty-seven, and Con is younger and has much more energy. ‘Course I won’t fuck either one of them, ha ha.

Sometimes I go and visit Sil, I don’t have to pass Con’s office to do this…I bring my nice whippy cane and as soon as I’ve called Sil from the car, I know he’s stripping and getting ready for me in his office. By the time his secretary lets me in, Sil is naked with his head pressed against the Oriental rug.

I love pulling Sil’s balls out from between his legs, and then taping them upside down to his butt…and then I go at it with the cane! Sil clenches a washcloth in his mouth to keep from screaming. It’s really good for him to re-prioritize his issues with pain.

Because of course, he should welcome pain. He should be grateful that I bring him a little bit of true sensation, so he’s not just a corporate vacuum.

Sometimes I make him get up and put his penis in the paper cutter, and then I threaten to just CHOP it off with that big blade. “C’mon honey…don’t you think you’re sick of your wee-wee by now? After all, you’re always complaining that I won’t let you cum, Silverlode. Maybe if we just cut it off and threw it out the window, it would bring you some relief, baby!”

And Silverlode will cry and beg me not to do it, and of course then I just let him kiss my feet…and then I pull my panties down and let him lick me until I’ve cum about ten times, before leaving the poor fool in his office, utterly mystified by how much control I have over him!

As I leave, I stop and have a brief exchange with Sil’s secretary, Roxanne Huff-Voss, who is in on the secret. I instruct her to punish Sil by not giving him the key to his private bathroom until five o’clock, so if he has to pee, he should suffer a bit…

I had to pluck several hairs from his genital area, which was painful,but I ordered him to shave it, and he was negligent, so not being able to urinate is the penalty.

Roxi is happy to help! Her dad Herdrich is one of my submissives, and when I first met Roxi, she was an angry 15 year old, with no goals in life, and so I got her into being a dominant secretary, and then she trapped Gaylord Voss, one of the firm’s P.R. men, into a chastised marriage. So now she is sitting pretty, and in return for my kindnesses, she helps me torture Silverlode!

And then I have other troubled men in need of supervision.

Myron Caxley  is a young man who lives about a mile from me. I met him through a personals online chat group, and we have been having a thing for about three years. Like Conrad, he is rich and spoiled, and is absolutely fascinated by his orgasms being monitored.

My mother toiled in one of Myron’s father’s dry cleaning emporiums, and his father, Cicero Caxley was a real asshole…And, Myron’s uncle, Fairacre Caxley, once called my esteemed mother a “cow”. I’ve never mentioned this to Myron, but certainly this has fueled my intensity in his training!

Unlike Conrad, Myron has amazing musculature and not an ounce of fat. He is locked in chastity about eleven months out of the year, in four month portions, and when he is allowed to cum, he must suck his own dick! Myron is an autofellatrix, and I’ve met so few of them!

After we have a grueling weekly session, for which Myron reimburses me rather generously, I unlock his chastity device, and then I tease him for about an hour before instructing him to suck his own penis, his hands manacled behind his head. The number of crunches he must do to achieve this feat I can only imagine.

But, after he’s sucked for a while and he’s on the verge of cumming, he takes his head off his dick and asks permission, and 90 % of the time I deny it. I tap his dick into wiltedness with my wooden spoon, and then he sucks again…

Sometimes what I’ll do is toss a single dice, and whatever number is on the die when I toss it, is the number of minutes that he can suck his dick, and get an orgasm out of it. Since the maximum on the die is six, that’s BARELY enough time to slurp his dick into a state of orgasm

And Myron does his best, but usually fails. I also distract him while he’s sucking, by tapping the back of his head, flashing my boobs and sometimes shooting vinegar into his eyes from a squirt gun.

Or, while he has his hips jacked over his head, and he’s licking away at his glans, straining his neck to get the damn thing in his mouth, I’ll go on the other side and stick my dildo in his butt and ram it in and out with my hand…that got him so upset once that he bit the head of his dick!

At one point, Myron was still just masturbating on a monthly schedule, and finding ways to hamper this took my full imagination. Whipping his ass while he pounded away was often fun…and I’d make him stop again and again, until he was super horny, and then I’d pull his expensive silk shirt, the one he was wearing on a hot date, in front of him, and he’d cream all over it!

And after thirty days, he’d cum like a fire extinguisher. The frustrated man fascinates me. Myron has a twin brother, Byron, who is also my slave, but lives in the U.S. Byron is kept in chastity as well, and when he comes to town, about every two months, if he qualifies for an orgasm, I have Myron suck him off, which isn’t too thrilling for either of them. But getting to cum is big, right?

As I said earlier, Myron dates, he’s a handsome kid, but he is very careful about not letting the date go too far.  They can’t get his pants off. Sometimes he can con a girl into stripping, and he keeps his shorts on, and goes down on her…but that can’t get past two or three dates. They want to see the wee-wee. As a result, Myron doesn’t have many long-term relationships!

And the best part of this, is Myron salts a little bit of Cicero “Chick” Caxley’s filthy lucre into my pretty purse every month. And this makes up for more than a few past wrongs, eh?

My brother Bertrand was my first submissive…and he still is! Bert was a tough kid, and he was the one who stood up to my father when Papa was beating my mother and the rest of us. We were living in Nova Scotia then and quite poor and Bert worked part-time jobs to give my mother money and to keep me in Barbie dolls.

But then when I was in high school, I found some femdom magazines under Bert’s bed. Terrible pics, terrible writing (this was way back in the early 90’s, dark ages) and when Bert came into his room, I was sitting there in my short-shorts, thumbing through it, and then I looked up at him insolently.

“What the hell are you doing with that magazine, Sagesse?” Bert demanded. “Give it to me. Why are you in my room at all? Do you need some money, or to borrow my car?” He was, like I said, tough, but incredibly generous.

“What’s the deal with this dude?” I asked, neatly pulling the magazine away from Bert’s lunge. “He’s got, what is it? Clothespins all over his body. And that woman in the hideous corset is knocking them off. Why are the pictures in black and white?”

“It is none of your fucking business, first.” Bert said, as he finally pinned me down and took the periodical out of my hands. “And secondly, she looks great. And that guy is being put through a lot. It’s an um, interest I have, bondage.”

“You’d scream like a pig if someone knocked clothespins off your body” I said, giggling as Bert good naturedly tickled me. “I’d have to get you a bonnet and a rattle, you’d cry like a damn baby.”

My brother is a big, tough kid, muscle bound, and he can never back off of a dare. We went out into the woods, and he took off his shirt. “No, you take it all off. I’ve seen it before, big brother. Get naked!” I ordered.

Once Bert was naked (and blushing) I used some baling wire to tie Bert’s wrists to a tree branch, and then I covered his body with clothespins. Nipples (he winced) arms, underarms, stomach, cock balls, inner thighs, the whole deal.

His dick was especially difficult to do, as I had to give it a couple of licks to get it utterly hard…and then I put nine pins on, which is remarkable, as Bert, a Catholic is circumcised.

And then I walked away from him. “Where the fuck are you going?” he screamed. Of course, Bertrand didn’t want to be found naked in the woods, covered with clothespins. He’s shy like that.

But I leisurely walked away, waving my tight little ass at him, and found a willow tree. I took Bert’s Swiss Army knife and cut a long switch, and trimmed it, listening to my big brother’s outraged screams in the background.

Then I lit a joint and smoked it, and that took another five or six minutes. And finally I returned to him.

“Now we’ll see how tough you are, Bertie.” I grinned at him.

“Let me go, you little bitch!” Bert was outraged that this was happening “What if Dompierre (a local farmer) came by?” He struggled, but baling wire is tight stuff.

I walked up to Bert and laughed and swung the switch, knocking off one of the pins from his forearm, and Bert winced. But he said nothing. I swung again, and got one off his stomach, and he bit his lip.

“Forget it, Sagesse, you’ll never get me to moan a bit.” I noticed that his dick was quite hard. I aimed and tried to knock one of the clothespins off the head of his swelling cock, and it didn’t come off, so I got irritated and hit his cock again, and yes, Bertrand screamed.

“Oooh, do I hear a little girl crying for her Maman? (We were speaking in French) I held my hand delicately to my ear and rolled my eyes, and Bertrand blushed in absolute rage.

Then I leisurely knocked all the clothespins off his shoulders, neck, chest and arms, and then went for the legs. By the time I knocked the last clothespin off Bert’s legs, he was weeping. For the first time since he was five, I suspect.

But I ignored that. I leaned down and stroked his cock, which still had many clothespins on it. “Poor thing. It’s been tough, huh?” I gently tweaked one of the clothespins which was pinching the side of Bertrand’s shaft.

Bert’s face was covered in tears and shame. “I guess you learned not to doubt your baby sister, eh, Bertrand?” I asked, and he nodded. “But we have to finish the job.”

And then Bert began shaking his head, but his dick was SO hard. I decided to listen to the little head. WHACK! WHACK! THWACK! SMACK! Bert’s screams could be heard throughout the fortunately deserted woods.

Then I went to Bert’s behind, and broke the switch on its 49th swat on his quite welted buttocks. And then I released him, a little worried that he might take revenge, though my brother had never been anything but gentle to me…

But when he was completely free, I looked up at him anxiously, and he picked me up in his arms, (I was five three to his nearly seven feet) and kissed me, and held me close in his arms, stroking my dark curls tenderly.

Bert dressed and we walked back to the house together (after cleaning up the somewhat bloody clothespins) and we didn’t discuss it for several weeks. And then one day I came home from school, and he called to me from upstairs.

“Guess what I bought at the trading post?” I looked in the bedroom, and there was a short carriage whip, with an intimidating handle. “I thought it would be um, cute.” Bertrand said nervously.

I walked over and picked it up, leaning so he could see my cleavage in my tank top. “This is a nice thingie.” It had a nylon lash. I fingered it. “And where’s my baling wire?”

“They had police handcuffs at the Trading Post too” Bert said, a little eagerly.

When we got to the woods, Bertrand stripped and I locked his hands behind his back. I shoved one of his smelly gym socks in his mouth. “We don’t want people to think I’m killing a pig out here.”

The carriage whip did lovely things to Bert’s ass, back and lower thighs. Within fifteen minutes, he had black and blue marks, bloody lashes, and he was lying on the ground, weeping abjectly.

With typical adolescent enthusiasm, I made  him roll on his back, which must’ve felt horrible, all the bloody welts blending in with the sharp rocks and broken glass from numerous discarded whiskey and beer bottles from the log-cutters in the forest.

I bent down and stroked Bert’s cock until it was rock hard. He was terribly embarrassed, because although he’d suggested I take some of my own clothes off, I’d actually put a snug turtleneck on, because it was rather brisk on that fall day.

“What a big dick you have, Bertie darling.” I rubbed it some more, my red nails blending easily with the pinkness of his cock. “But you know, big dicks aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. I know your girlfriend Tinette thinks this dick is hot stuff, I’ve heard her talk about it at the school dances…but it can’t stand up to real punishment can it?”

I stood up and lifted the whip. Bert’s eyes pleaded with me for mercy, but I was, as Clint  Eastwood would say “fresh out”. CRACK! The short carriage whip left a long red weal on Bert’s still rather engorged member.

I lashed his dick again, and he howled, even around his gym sock. Now his dick was small. So I stepped out of one of my clogs and rubbed his dick with my small painted toes, and what do you know, it sprang back up again!

“What are you a degenerate?” I asked him, shaking my head. “To lust after your baby sister’s toes like that. You need more punishment!”

I swung and landed the whip ten more times on Bert’s dick and then kicked him in the balls. Then I picked up his clothes and walked off with them in my arms, and he had to rise, with his hands still manacled and follow me back to the house.

We did live in a rather secluded place, but people are often around. A young man, Sebastian was walking by. Bert and his friends often harassed Basty, because he was gay, although they were never violent with him.

Basty of course thought Bert hot stuff, and so when he saw my naked, welted brother following me with a gym sock in his mouth and his hands cuffed, he stopped and gazed.

“Basty! Would you like my brother to suck your dick?” My first words to him, I swear. Bert shook his head violently, so I went back with the whip and made a few new scars…and within five minutes, Basty had a condom on his dick and not only did he cum in Bert’s mouth, but also in his blistered ass! It was quite an afternoon!

After Bert had emptied Basty’s balls for the second time, I decided it was Bert’s turn, so I let him masturbate in front of us while I poked his balls with my heavy clods. I know I seem like a heartless bitch, but Bert went back to the woods that evening, and got the whip, and a couple of days later, he was knocking at my door with it!

Today Bert is president of a bank in Halifax, but he comes to visit every few months, and you’ve guessed it—he’s in a chastity belt and I have the key! We’ve worked out a system where we meet at a hotel whenever he passes through, and I tease, torment and tie him up, and he gives me way good head.

Con and Bert don’t get along, which is odd, since they have so much in common. But I don’t have to keep my admirers apart, they never see each other. And when Con can’t afford to buy me a new car, Bert does it, or Silverlode, or Myron. I’m a happy girl!

Fondly,

Sagesse

Dear Sagesse

I can’t tell you how ingenious your life seems! Hope you can continue it this way. You seem appreciated, and isn’t that what life’s about?

Best

Shoeblossom

All my stories are here!

 http://stores.lulu.com/justincbenedict