LETTER FROM ITHACA

 

Dear Shoeblossom,

 

I am worried that my BDSM tendencies were created by my Mother, who I still live with. For instance, my butt is still stinging from the other night, when I got home late from work. "Leland, where have you been?"Mother asked me. She is a striking woman, and once won the Cayuga County Joan Collins look-alike contest.

 

"Mother, the bus was late...I wish you'd let me get a driver's license." Really. I'm thirty-three years old, Shoeblossom, and Mother won't let me drive yet.

 

Mother took out her old fashioned gold pocket watch and inspected it. "That's ridiculous, Leland. You leave the office at five-thirty, and it takes you 20 minutes to get home. We went over that when you took over Daddy's firm. We took the bus, and timed it together."

 

Mother shook her head, and looked at me with dagger eyes. "It is now seven ten.You have an hour and a half to account for. What have you been doing, Leland?"

 

Mother sighed impatiently, and inadvertently, I watched her considerable bosom shift under her pearl lined sweater. I knew I had to stand up to her.

 

"Mother, I did stop for a drink with some co-workers, just briefly--"

 

"A drink, Leland?" Mother's eye brows raised. "You had an alcoholic--"

 

"A Shirley Temple--"I protested. "It was just a Shirley Temple, with ginger ale and grenadine."

 

"You know, Leland" Mother said. "I didn't tolerate punctuality problems from your Daddy when he was alive, and I won't tolerate it from you either."

 

Mother  smiled, tapping the watch, and looking at my reddening cheeks.

 

"After all, when your Daddy was running the firm, he was NEVER late, and that was before the bus line." Mother said, with a bitter smile. "He walked home, and did so quickly."

 

A memory came to me, kneeling on the stairs in my pajamas (I had a very early bedtime) one night when Daddy came in just ten minutes later than he should have.

 

I remember hearing Daddy's agonized voice, Mother's strident tones...he'd stopped to play cards, or something, with one of his business partners.

 

 I remember Mother's voice growing louder and Daddy's protesting...

And then the sound of unzipping, Daddy's pants coming down. "But what will Leland say?"

 

From Mother: "Never mind, Auberon. If you were a responsible Daddy, we wouldn't have to go through with this, would we?"

 

Of course I had sneaked downstairs to see what was really going on, and there was Daddy, pants and underpants around his ankles, in the library, begging Mother before she shoved him across the arm of her settee...

 

And then Mother's marine ivory inlaid mahogany mounted malacca cane  raising and falling again and again...the slashing cane bouncing on Daddy's wrinkled old bare bottom.

 

Yes, twenty-five times before the poor man fell to his knees, begging with tears in his eyes for her to give him mercy!

 

And oh, Daddy's rear was covered with welts, weals and purple marks, Mother had been relentless in her attentions...

 

And then, as Daddy's tears rolled down his face, Mother unbuttoned her blouse and pulled Daddy into her considerable bosom...."There you go, my little prince...Mommy's forgiven you now...."

 

And Daddy was pounding his pud, right there on the Oriental rug!

 

I of course even then had experienced Mother's corporal punishments, so, cowering behind the door, I sympathized with Daddy.

 

Mother was very over-protective of me when I was a little one, and did not allow me to leave the front yard without permission. She tutored me at home, as Ithaca public education was filled with corrupting influences.

 

So except for violin lessons, and dancing school, I didn't get out much!

 

I can remember sneaking off to try and play ball with the other boys, and of course they just made fun of me...

 

Mother had me dressed in Donald Duck like sailor suits when I was young, and then Swiss lederhosen as I grew older. (Mother was a big fan of the children's uniforms in "Sound of Music")

 

I can remember one rather traumatic time, when I was about fourteen. I thought Mother was out shopping, and I sneaked away from my Latin lesson at home.

 

..Mother had me construing Virgilius Maro, but I figured I could get an hour to play a little football in the street.

 

But when I got to the field, the boys saw me in the new outfit Mother had gotten me--an Edwardian purple velvet suit with ruffles and lace, and patent leather buckle shoes and stockings.

 

Mother also had me wear my hair long, with ringlet curls that she curled herself! I was truly a Little Lord Fauntleroy look-a-like, but my protests had never gone well with Mother, who didn't brook dissent well.

 

So there I was, trotting over to the field. It was weird being out of the yard, except for medical appointments, but I knew where it was, as the boys often threw things at me when I trotted by for my violin lesson.

 

When I got to the field, the boys were playing football, dressed in torn T-shirts, jeans and motorcycle boots, some wore sneakers, of course.

 

 Mother always said that wearing tennis shoes was a good way to get a cold!

 

As the boys threw the football back and forth, tackling each other three girls mimed cheerleading. When the football landed in one boy's arms, the girls would chant something like

 

"Tommy, Tommy, he's our man, if he can't do it..."

Then when the ball went to someone else, they finished "Alvin can!"

 

The girls were really hot, and had big boobs and cut-off shorts. One of them, Bonnie, I knew slightly because she sometimes came over to iron for Mother.

 

I'd given her hesitant looks, peeking in at her as she ran the iron back and forth, her bosom bouncing in a tight green halter, until of course, Mother would drag me away by the ear, goading me back to my studies!

 

But she'd always looked sympathetic, and when I came up to the field that day, Bonnie had smiled and waved. "Hi, Leland!" The other girls paused and lit cigarettes, which Mother always said was bad for you.

 

The game stopped briefly, and one of the bigger boys, a ruffian with a Mohawk, looked over at me. "What're you doin' here, faggot?" The others laughed,and I'm afraid even Bonnie smiled.

 

I protested that I was just coming to play ball, and they all laughed at this, and I was feeling quite embarrassed...how could it be worse?

 

But it did get worse. There was a beeping of a horn, and I turned around, and Mother's 1976 Mercedes-Benz 250 had just pulled up.

 

Mother popped out of the car and strode over. "What are you doing here, Leland?"

 

The boys became silent. Mother was wearing a short red skirt, matching red pumps and a snug white sweater that showed off her full bosom.

 

I think she dressed this way and went out on real estate calls to charm clients that my father, who was somewhat ineffective, could have lost!

 

But that day she came right up to me, pointing a scarlet nail in my face. "How dare you leave the house without my permission, associating with these...barbarians."

 

I tried to make an excuse, but of course my knees were knocking, and my hands were wringing.

 

Mother went over to a nearby rose bush and, using her pearl handled penknife, cut  a branch, trimming off SOME of the thorns and leaving others.

 

"Now then, Leland" Mother said, tapping the long branch against her skirt, "I instructed you to stay home and construe two hundred lines of Virgil, and apparently you decided to gallivant...with these juvenile delinquents."

 

The boys were silent, though...some were staring at Mother's boobs and the others were just terrified of her!

 

"N-nuh-no, Mummy." I said. "I-I didn't mean to--I just went out for a little while." After all, I was fourteen years old!

 

But Mother would have none of it. "Take down your breeches, Leland, I'm going to show you how to comport yourself when I am not present."

 

"C-can't we do this at home?" I blubbered.

 

Mother smiled grimly and slapped the switch against her knee. She shook her head.

 

Biting my lip, I unzipped my pants and pulled them down, sparking a hoot from the boys as they saw my underwear, Mother made me wear ladies panties covered as they were with little hearts.

 

Daddy had to wear them as well. Mother felt that it was a waste of money to buy individual underwear for the various sexes in our family, as she could get all the ladies undies she wanted from a wholesaler!

 

"Now take down your panties too, you know the rules." And I did. Mother had been whipping my bare bottom since I was old enough to walk...she never left my behind covered.

 

I looked over at Bonnie and her friends. They were giggling, blowing gum bubbles and smoking their Marlboros. The guys were staring slack jawed at me.

 

But I knew that Mother would make things worse for me at home if I didn't obey.

 

"After all, Leland, if you act like a baby, you should be treated like one--so bare your bottom." Mother smiled cruelly.

 

"Come up, girls, watch this rebellious baby get his punishment."

 

And the three hot girls came up, Bonnie in the lead...they stared as I rolled my panties down to my knees, and bent over, grabbing my ankles.

 

I'd never gotten a thorny whipping before, and the first smack of the branch ripped skin off my chubby buttocks.

 

Bonnie's girlfriend, who had a pierced navel under her crop top had gasped, watching me get my correction!

 

Mother whipped me with the thorny branch until I was on the ground sobbing as if my heart would break. The boys and girls laughed until they were sick, watching my humiliation.

 

"Now get up, Leland" Mother said afterwards. "No, don't pull up your pants yet."

 

"You see girls...he just has a little wee-wee...oh, what's this?"

 

Sadly, my penis, small as it was when I was fourteen, was hardening, mostly because I was staring through tear blurred eyes at Bonnie's ample chest...

 

THWACK! Mother's rose branch slammed against my hard cock five times until, covered in thorns, it wilted.

 

"You are much too young to be having such impudent thoughts, Leland...let this be a lesson to you!"

 

Then she chased me back to the car whacking my bare buttocks as I stumbled with my pants around my knees, finally falling in the back seat.

 

When we got home, Mother gave me an ice cold enema, and then some hot chocolate...when Daddy got home, she told him of my malfeasance

 

. I thought he'd defend my right to go outside with other kids,  but he just went upstairs!

 

Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised that Dad was so cowed by Mother...Everyone seemed to know that Dad was just Mother's pathetic subbie, even in the free and easy 1970s.

 

Most children,when they are young and their parents have guests, are trotted out in their jammies to kiss the guests goodnight before an early bedtime...

 

But Dad had an early bedtime! So when he and Mother had friends over, they could talk about opera and culture til about seven-thirty, and then Mother would tell Dad and I to go get in our Dr. Denton's with the footies and the snap up behind...

 

And we'd come out, blushing to kiss the guests (Literally, Dad had to kiss his male contemporaries on the cheek) and go to bed early,  while the party still went on for Mother and her friends!

 

Once, actually Dad complained about it. "This is bad enough to do this to me, but Leland isn't seven anymore, he's sixteen! Can't we stay up with everyone else?"

 

And for that one time standing up for me, Dad and I had to come out in pink night dresses with frilly panties to say goodnight!

  

Dad was just no support to me, Shoeblossom. It's like I never had a chance. Just in case Bonnie had missed what pathetic status I had at home, after the scene at the football field,  the next time she came to iron...

 

Mother trumped up an offense I was supposed to  conjugate the Latin verb "iuvo, iuvare - to help" in present, imperfect, and future tenses, and she claimed I did it wrong, and gave me a bare-bottom slipper whipping RIGHT IN FRONT of Bonnie!

 

"You see, Bonnie" Mother shouted above my wails, as the slipper slapped again and again against my purple bottom "What I must put up with? He's like a pathetic child, isn't he...what a crybaby!"

 

As punishment for being a crybaby, Mother had then painted my nails and put me in a frilly tutu, and made me serve Mother and Bonnie tea, and curtsy!

 

Bonnie was almost falling over herself in giggles while this was going on, unfortunately!

 

Mother called me "Leila" instead of "Leland" throughout the afternoon!

 

Later, when I whispered to Bonnie that I'd like to sneak out and take her to the movies, Bonnie giggled "Don't you think Mummy might smack your bare butt, Leila?"

 

Oh, God, Shoeblossom, I was so humiliated!

 

Another time, I said "darn" in front of Mother, and with Bonnie watching, I was forced to eat an entire bar of old fashioned yellow laundry soap, the kind manufactured from animal fats, olive or palm-kernel oils and caustic soda.

 

It was so bitter!

 

And on that day, to remind me I was just a little boy, Mother had shaved my pubic hair off while Bonnie had looked on, interestedly.

 

"If you can't behave maturely, why should you be treated like a man...profane language is infantile behavior!"

 

And Mother had put me in adult diapers, Depends, I believe theyre called...I looked ridiculous!

 

I had to go around on my hands and knees, with a frilly bonnet and the diapers...and Bonnie had been in hysterics!

 

It got worse when I was accepted to college--I thought that I could go away, but Mother insisted I attend Cornell, which of course is right here in Ithaca.

 

Mother was concerned that being out at a school would make me too independent. She really worked on me the summer before I was to go...

 

Mother made me wear only a pair of long johns in the house with the crotch cut out, so my penis and balls hung loose...

 

It became my responsibility to shave my own crotch, and Mother would inspect me afterward, pulling neglected hairs from my crotch area with a nasty pair of tweezers!

 

And she would often flick my penis when I made an academic error, or talked back.

 

I can remember standing miserably in the living room, my penis flailing as Mother whacked it with a spoon because I didn't polish the silver well enough!

 

"You are going to have to get a better attitude Mister" she said as she slapped my poor dickie..."You're going off to school like a big boy, but you can't even do an adequate job polishing the silver!"

 

I looked a bit ridiculous, no shirt on, my gut (even at 18, Mother allowed little exercise) hanging out, and those ridiculous long-johns on, with the hole crotch!

 

Mother flicked the tip of my penis with a sharp red nail. I jumped, howling.

 

As I covered my penis, Mother reached up and tweaked one of my nipples. "Did I tell you to cover up? I know your lack of enthusiasm for polishing is related to your secret onanism habits, Leland."

 

Mother's war against my masturbation was a vindictive one at the time...

 

She was constantly sneaking up on me in my room, trying to prove I was choking my chicken. And when she caught me, there was hell to pay.

 

One night, she caught me with a Fredericks of Hollywood catalogue that I'd stolen from a neighbor.

 

Mother tied me down naked and showed me pictures of the women, stabbing my tender cock with a heated fireplace poker whenever it got hard!

 

After that, I didn't touch myself for weeks!

 

But anyway, Mother had me there, all summer long, afraid to leave the house (as I was wearing this humiliating crotchless long john thing) and by the time September came, I was thoroughly cowed...she set a schedule for me at Cornell, and I had to adhere to it!

 

I had to be back home by four o'clock and I had to call Mother after each class. Whenever I got less than an A on a quiz, Mother would strip me, and bind my hands behind my back, laying me across the bed.

 

She would then take her two foot long, two inch wide supple leather tawse, and whip me ten times for the first point off my quiz, and one lash for every additional point.

 

 ( I remember a C- I got in an Intermediate Macroeconomic Theory Class...she nearly killed me! 74 out of 100 points, that was twenty-six lashes, and of course she poured Ben-Gay on my butt to soften it...oh God.)

 

Some time after this, I just realized I'd had enough, and after I graduated from Cornell, I surreptitiously joined Teach for America, a part of Clinton's Americorps program.and moved from Ithaca to Talladega, Alabama.

 

Thanks to Mother's ministrations, I had graduated college summa cum laude, and so after a year with Teach for America, I was able to get a job in Los Angeles as an investment banker...and I spent five years making up for the freedom I'd missed!

 

Cocaine, women, parties...I had a Ferrari 430 Spider  and a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, and I began having a REALLY good time.

 

But...I had perverse desires. For a while I dated little blond bimbos, they were everywhere, and many dropped heavy hints that I should propose. But when we went to bed, there seemed to be something missing.

 

And I discovered that the only time I felt complete was when I visited Miss  Eliza Scunthorpe. She had an odd position in Los Angeles--Ms. Scunthorpe was a Keyholder.

 

I became interested in chastity sites on the internet, and discovered Ms. Scunthorpe's program some time into my third year in LA.

 

 Ms. Scunthorpe, a busty blonde in her mid forties, locked me in chastity, and charged me $1200 monthly for keyholding and "maintenance visits"

 

 If I wanted more than a weekly "visit," I had to pay an extra $500 per visit...and I wanted them, because quickly Ms. Scunthorpe had me in a tough situation.

 

Here's an example of a typical visit: I showed up every week, and it went something like this:

 

I come into Ms. Scunthorpe's attractive Huntington Beach townhouse, and I'd sit down. "Well now, Leland, how have you been?" Ms Scunthorpe, dressed in a snug blue low cut gown would ask...

 

"Well, Ms. Scunthorpe, I've had a stressful week, it was so disappointing last week, when you told me I hadn't earned an orgasm...You teased me so much,and locked me back up!"

 

Ms. Scunthorpe snorted. "Don't whine to me, Leland. I suppose you're going to bitch that you went on some dates with Lala land sluts, but you couldn't go all the way, because you couldn't show them your little belt..."

 

I looked down shamefacedly. It was true, I'd met a cute little computer programmer, Thalia, who I'd necked with madly in my convertible, but when she'd said, "Baby let's go up to my place," I'd had to demur...

 

And then Ashleigh, a restaurant hostess from Dave Chasen's had offered me a blowjob, but I would have needed a  blowTORCH to get the belt off!

 

 Then I hesitantly said "But even if I could have just had a masturbation session last week...it's been 93 days since you let me have a release."

 

Ms. Scunthorpe snorted. "Well, did you complete my assignment? A five thousand word essay on the meaning of obdience, one letter in pencil, the next in pen?"

 

But of course that had been impossible. Composing the thing was tough enough, but pen and then pencil for hours? I shook my head mournfully. "I did about seven hundred fifty-six words--"

 

But Miss Scunthorpe shook her head. She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her dress, showing me her marvelous cleavage.

 

"Leland, don't you understand? If you can't please me, then what's the point of me letting you play with yourself? What's the point of me letting you touch my breasts...which I know you want to do?"

 

My lip trembled. "It's...it's just too much, Ms. Scunthorpe! A few weeks ago, you made me go out in drag and make up and perform oral sex on truckers for money, and then I didn't make enough, so you rejected my plea for an orgasm...and another time you put your fist in my rectum--"

 

SLAP!  Ms. Scunthorpe's hand hit my face and I burst into tears.

 

"Your whining makes me ill!" Ms. Scunthorpe said savagely. Her cleavage bounced in the pale blue dress.  "Take off your clothes and lie down over my ottoman."

 

Crying, I undressed and lay over her footstool, and Ms. Scunthorpe bound my  hands and legs. I heard her going into the other room, and she came out with her Scourge.

 

Ms Scunthorpe's blonde hair was piled over her head, but I looking over my shoulder, I saw her undo it and shake it around her head, and my cock swelled against the cruel little metal tube it was locked in.

 

Shoeblossom,you wouldn't believe how tight that little tube was! One of Ms. Scunthorpe's other slaves was a metalworker, and she'd instructed him to make an especially snug one for me, so I couldn't really get an erection, and my dick would just crush itself when I got excited...

 

So all week long, I was constantly in pain because of the temptations of all the hot girls in LA...gaping at them, having my cock contract and squeeze in frustrated agony as I watched some hottie's fake breasts bounce as she waltzed down Melrose Avenue...

 

It was quite unpleasant..and it was double-locked so there was no way I could sneak out of it!

 

The scourge Ms. Scunthorpe used was a Flagrum, which had been used for mortification with priests in the last century. It was a wooden stick with leather cords with metal objects interspersed through the cord, sharp little pieces, and very painful.

 

Ms. Scunthorpe gave me thirty with the Flagrum, until my buttocks were purple and bleeding, and finally, she helped me up,and, after toweling my butt off, and rubbing it with witch hazel (even more painful) she took me to her bed.

 

Ms. Scunthorpe lay me on her bed, on my back.with a pillow to prop up my head. My hands and feet were still bound, She unlocked my chastity device, as she did every week, to give me a teasing.

 

I watched in awe as she pulled off her dress and sitting with her lingerie bra  holding her considerable breasts, began to rub and play with my hard cock, pulling and squeezing it...

 

"There there, darling" Ms. Scunthorpe crooned. "I'm not going to let you cum until you show some attitude adjustment...but doesn't this feel good?"

 

Her long French nails teased my bulging penis and soon I was on the verge of cumming.

 

Then, Ms. Scunthorpe went back in the living room and got the Flagrum.

 

"No, no please..." I begged. "Not my cock!"

 

"Well, go limp then, honey." Ms. Scunthorpe said soothingly. "I'll give you thirty seconds..."

 

But of course I couldn't...and she kept stroking my cock a bit, until I was even closer to orgasm!

 

"Oh...too bad." Ms. Scunthorpe shook her long hair around her neck, and swung the Flagrum viciously.

 

Five times across my cock and balls until they were  a bloody, limp mess...and then of course Ms. Scunthorpe cleaned them off with Witch Hazel and locked me back in the chastity device!

 

Of course I left her home, weeping bitterly...my ass and crotch were on fire, and my cock was lengthening AGAIN, because cute high school girls were passing the house, and I had still not cum!

 

But this was how Ms. Scunthorpe would reel me in! Now I had to complete the essay, five thousand words, one letter ink, one pencil, and I had a new assignment, to get a picture of me rimming a gay hustler's bare ass at the Fautline, one of the notorious leather bars in L.A.

 

I had to pay him to eat Ex-Lax, which cost a lot, since then he had to put up with diahhreah...and then I had to rim him on cam for ten minutes!

 

Then I had to pay another five hundred dollars to see Miss Scunthorpe again to see if I qualifed to jerk off! And of course she found a reason why I didn't qualify...damn it!

 

She made me go back to the male hustler and have him FIST ME...

 

And then when I did get to jerk off, I had to do it within three minutes with my LEFT HAND...

 

"After all, if you can't cum that way, you must not want to" Ms. Scuntthorpe said crisply.

 

I saw Ms. Scuntthorpe for three years, spent nearly $200,000 getting extra visits, and only came eight times!

 

 

I know you are getting rather bored of this story Shoeblossom (also I heard a rumor that you are compromising confidentiality by publishing these letters at BDSM library!) but I must finish.

 

After I'd been living in Los Angeles for seven years, I got a letter from Mother. Dad had died, and she wanted to know if I would come home and take over the business.

 

"I'm not begging you, Leland," Mother's letter went, "It is a munificent position, and if you decide to come back, you will live with me and by my rules. If you prefer to live a sinful life in California, that's your business, of course, and I will sell Daddy's brokerage and live quite comfortably on the proceeds."

 

I asked Eliza Scunthorpe what to do. "If I do go home, of course you'll have to unlock this thing" I said manipulatively, thinking about how I could jerk off in the bathroom on the plane.

 

"Give me your mother's address and I'll send the keys there--I've misplaced them." Ms. Scunthorpe said. "You can unlock when you get there..."

 

She told me she thought that it was a brilliant move, business wise, to take over my father's real estate brokerage, and said I should go home to Mother.

 

But when I got home, Mother had opened Ms. Scunthorpe's envelope and taken the keys!

 

Because masturbation is still a sin...Mother has not relinquished the keys in the eighteen months since I have been at home. Ms. Scunthorpe's letter to Mother told her how to anally "drain" me of excessive semen, so that's all up for me and my sex life!

 

She took my driver's license away from me, and put me back on the bus going to work, and she hired Bonnie, who is still GORGEOUS to be my administrative assistant.

 

Whenever Mother gives me a chastisement at home, she calls Bonnie, and when I get to work, I must bare my bottom so Bonnie, her secretary and our typist, all cute girls, can examine the welts.

 

On weekends, I am back in the horrible long johns with the crotch cut out, forced to work in Mother's yard, trimming the bushes, while she has tea with Bonnie and the girls from the office.

 

But there's one broker who is so nice, she works for us, and has no idea of my subservience, and I stopped for a drink with her the other night...and Mother punished me for it...back to the story that began this missive!

 

So I'd gotten home, and I was protesting to Mother that being an hour and half late wasn't that big a deal...

 

"Mother, I'm a grown man in his thirties." I protested. "I just wanted to have a little social life with friends...I'm home by five-thirty most nights, and in bed by seven, right after supper, as you request...but it's Friday night. Can't I have a little freedom?"

 

My bottom is scorching now, and I have been weeping in my Doctor Denton's on the bed for an hour. My penis is uncomfortably locked in the damn cage...(Mother does unlock me for bathing now and then...she bathes my wee-wee slowly and deliberately, once a week, before locking me back up, she says the belt is a great Christian invention).

 

But I'm horny and in pain...and I still go on BDSM sites at work, constantly. Do you think I need some sort of therapy? I am just afraid if I went back to L.A., I would fall in Ms. Scunthorpe's hands again...and that would be a travesty!

 

Thanks for reading,

Leland, Ithaca, New York

 

Dear Leland.  My AA sponsor says "Happiness is wanting what you have." You are pitiful. If you can't live a normal life, you might as well stay with Mommy...enjoy it!

Best,

Shoeblossom

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