Letter from Burden City

LETTER FROM BUREN CITY

Dear Shoeblossom:

Gillian often awakens me by kissing my inner thighs. Feeling her full lips moistly kissing around my crotch area, sometimes with playful tiny bites, is really a sensual experience. After Gillian has perceived that my eyes are open, she pushes her little body up to my face, her big soft breasts grazing my hard cock until she rests her chin on my chest.

Gillian is not allowed to speak without permission, but I know from certain hand signals that she’s asking me “Would you like me to service your cock, Master? A blowjob? Or should I go to directly making your breakfast?” Often then I stick my tongue out at her.

When I’m in a churlish mood, I grab Gillian by her long mane and pull her off the bed, and then I arise and put on my slippers, gently kicking her out of the way. Gillian’s big house is so much nicer than my cramped apartment—I saunter across the bedroom, heading for her private bath—but then Gillian will crawl ahead of me on hands and knees, blocking the bathroom door.

She wants me to pee in her mouth—the commode is an insult to Gillian’s swallowing abilities. When I tap my ass, though…she lets me in, she’s too hygienic for copraphilia, apparently.

We’re working on that, though…I am making Gillian drink a tiny blot of my shit with a glass of milk every day, and it seems that soon enough she will be able to get lots of my poo poo down. We just need to work on it, right?

So then we adjourn to the living room, so I can pee in her mouth, generally starting off at about two feet away from her chin. Gillian has perfect poise—she is able to kneel with her mouth open, and then I begin peeing in an arc across her expensive Oriental rug.

At first, my urine shoots powerfully out, the result of too many Amstels the night before and Gillian juts her chin out, opening her mouth to catch it all! But then, as my shoot begins to falter, Gillian is able to scoot closer and closer, still on her knees, never missing a drop. For if she does, and a single driblet hits that rug,  I will give her a vicious whipping with the cut off garden hose that I keep by the door.

Finally, when I’m almost done, Gillian crawls right to my penis, taking it directly in her mouth, and slurping up the last of the urine, quite lovingly. The old adage goes, “No matter how you jump or how you dance, a few drops remain in your pants” but not with my Gillian…she makes sure I am dry and comfortable, actually bathing my cock with tongue and warm breath, before it is returned to my pajama bottoms.

Then I generally return to my bed and Gillian brings my breakfast. The maid actually makes it…Gillian is one shitty housekeeper, but the maid has been in Gillian’s employ for some years, and is used to her employer coming into the kitchen, naked except for pierced hoops through her nipples, picking up the tray and running back to the bedroom!

Breakfast is always excellent, and I let Gillian spoon feed me and refill my coffee…generally though, I find some imaginary fault with burnt toast or cold coffee, and then, after Gillian puts the tray aside, I slap her hard, until her teeth jiggle, my hand crashing back and forth across her small chin. No matter how hard I smack, she never complains!

Think of it, Shoeblossom, a little one hundred and five pound girl (albeit with big boobs and a round bubble butt) taking my big, meaty hand whacking her face back and forth in a bitch-slap, and she never murmurs complaint, not even when there’s a trickle of claret from her dainty, aristocratic little nose.

If we have the day off, I instruct Gillian to put her hands on her head in the bedroom, or sometimes the parlor (The maid just ignores us, as she dusts around) and then I fun stuff like attach little spiked weights to Gillian’s clit lips, watching them grotesquely hang down, cruelly snapped on with  heavy chains…

Or I attach rat-traps to Gillian’s full pink breasts and knock them off, laughing as Gillian bursts into wet tears. Or I put a chain through her ringed nipples and drag her around the apartment on her knees, which makes her cry harder…in silence of course, for she’s not allowed to speak. Her nipples are quite tender, she tells me. But again, she never complains.

It’s just the most kick-ass way to live, man!

I used to be a copy editor for  a mortgage banking newsletter, and then we were shut down thanks to George W. Bush’s recession…I had little training at anything else, but then I got a temp job at Knout magazine, one of the bigger BDSM journals in this part of the country.

This was incredibly lucky, as I was pushing forty, and was in that horrible position you get in when you’ve depended your whole life on a career, and it’s pulled out from under you!

How I met Gillian Federman, the twenty-six year old publisher of this strange periodical, is a remarkable story. She owns about five different magazines, and was fairly well off. I of course was just doing drudge work, but I had to bring her some copy to review, and I was quite taken with her. Gillian has sandy hair and wide green eyes, and a healthy chest. “Irv, is it? We’re glad to have you here at Knout…it’s probably not what you’re used to!”

I nodded, and tried to smile. “Well, you know, a job’s a job, right? I probably should’ve taken my dad’s advice and majored in engineering like my brothers did.. But I’m really grateful for the temporary position here, Ms. Federman. I can adjust to anything, even these wild pictures, really I can.”

Gillian had smiled, and it was a dazzling  event, that smile. “Well, it’s up to me whether or not it’s a temporary position, Irv. Perhaps we’ll have permanent use for you.” Then we went over some of the pictures and articles.

I admitted to her that it was really startling to see what these models would go through—being hung by their breasts, and having the whip hit their butts, leaving serious damage—to a Pentecostal boy from the Bible Belt, it was heady stuff.”

“Well you know Irv” Gillian said, looking straight at me, “Some of the models just have rouge on their butts where the whip supposedly hit them…there are some very talented makeup artists that do this sort of thing, but you’re right—you can’t really fake nipple torture. The girl must like it, don’t you think? I mean, we don’t pay THAT much.”

I had looked at her. “The nipple is so sensitive though, Ms. Federman…it’s hard enough getting that kind of pain…shit, my sister’s friend once just flicked my nipple playfully, and I almost cried. And this girl is hanging from her nipples!”

Gillian had tossed her pretty sandy hair and laughed. “Well, Irv—and by the way you can call me Gillian—maybe she likes it. After all, someone must, to publish these magazines, right? I’m a millionaire, after all.”

“Sure, but it’s probably perverted old men, not the women that go through this” I protested. Gillian was edging just a little closer to me, and I smelled her perfume, it was something else. “Girls can’t possibly enjoy this. I mean—but on the other hand, the Story of O was supposedly written by a woman, so maybe I’m wrong.”

And then Gillian  invited me to dinner. And she paid for it, too. Good thing, since I didn’t have much in the way of greenbacks.

We went back to her place, which was a nice Colonial house on the better side of town, and began making out on her couch…and then she unzipped my pants and gave me a long, sloppy blowjob, followed by a really excellent massage on her Princess bed. I wanted to reciprocate, but she would have none of it.

“I like serving a man” Gillian had said, shyly. I was totally grooving on her beautiful body. Round pink breasts, long legs, it was just incredible. “I actually started my magazine chain because I have a strong interest in female submissiveness, when I was about nineteen, and now I have a bunch of them…but it’s what I love, you know?”

“But you’re a heartless businesswoman” I said playfully, as I caressed her left breast. “How does that figure in with being a slave girl?”

“Don’t be silly, Irv.” Gillian said, grinning. “How many old businessmen do you think are getting whipped by dominatrixes? Probably quite a few, they buy my male slave books from me at quite a rate. I am a powerful, bitchy woman in public life, but here at home, I just want to find a man who will you know, direct me.”

There were a few more dates, and every time, Gillian insisted on performing fellatio on me, and having me lie back and enjoy it. The massages were incredible. When I insisted I wanted to fuck her, she bent over so I could do it doggy style. “Or if you like, you can invade my anal area, Irv…I’ve been sodomized many a time.”

“Is that really what you want then?” I asked later, as we were sharing a joint and idly watching Conan O’Brien. “To be pushed around and humiliated?” In a way it was kind of a turn on, thinking about it. I’d been shat on by so many women, and was now supporting two ungrateful ex-wives and five bratty kids through my efforts to find a little love…

“It’s not a matter of being pushed around, Irv.” Gillian said sincerely. “You couldn’t really push me around, I’ve got an IQ of 150 and megabucks. I want you to be my Master, but really, it’s my choice and I’m controlling it, I think.”

“Think so?”I felt a bit annoyed. “You and your IQ of 150.” This hit a nerve because it was true, I wasn’t super-bright. And I was sensitive about it. “Get up, you whore.” I pulled Gillian up and took one of her slippers off her foot, jerking her over my knee. Gillian was wearing a shortie nightgown and panties, and I dragged them down and began whipping her with her own slipper, hard.

I was angry…angry that my life had turned out so badly. Angry that I was temping for this little bitch who was nearly fifteen years younger than I…who’d had more luck in business. I whipped her harder and harder with the slipper, and Gillian stayed silent, and I hit her even harder, until the slipper broke.

Then I dragged the still silent Gillian by her left nipple, through the flimsy nightgown into the bedroom, and threw her across the bed, and took my belt off and began whacking it against her round, full bottom. WHACK! THWACK! SMACK CRACK! Finally she began sobbing slightly, and I realized I might be going a little too far.

I put my jacket on and got out of there, expecting to be fired Monday morning. But on Monday, Gillian called me in the office, and, head downcast, told me that she was sorry if she’d provoked me. “I really appreciate that you were able to show your feelings to me, Irv. We’d also like to have you come on as an Executive Editor on a permanent basis here at Knout, if you’d like.”

She quoted me a salary like I’d never had running the online mortgage banking newsletter. Irving Banahan, Executive Editor. I knew this had nothing to do with my talents as a copy editor. I wasn’t much of one, had only taken up the work after flunking out of law school…but the way she looked at me!

“Please shut the door, Irv” Gillian said, and after I shut the office door, she came around the desk looking hesitantly at me. “I really appreciate you helping me adjust my attitude, I know it’s been shitty, and I need to show you more respect.”

“No no…I’m sorry I lost my temper—“ But then I shut up. Shoeblossom, I’m not bright, but I was starting to get the picture. Gillian didn’t want me to be sorry. She wanted me to take charge, and show her that she was a bad girl.

“You’re right” I said to her in a slightly menacing voice. “You need to show me respect, and give me a little bit of loving, you inconsiderate bitch.” I unzipped my pants, and Gillian went to her knees and began tenderly sucking my cock. She slurped it and really took it down her throat, gulping it huskily.

Her desk buzzer rang, and the secretary’s voice came up “Miss Federman? You have a meeting with Austin Coliskey in ten minutes.”

Gillian pulled her head off my cock and shouted “Fritzie, just tell Coliskey to wait. I’ll be there in half an hour.” But then I whacked her head, and she amended it to “No, an hour. If he can’t deal with that, he can reschedule. I’m busy meeting with Executive Editor Irv Banahan right now.”

Gillian returned to licking and sucking my cock, and I discovered she could deep throat, as well. I ordered her to put my balls in her mouth, and she sucked those as well.

“You do that well.” I commented, and Gillian nodded assent. After I came in her mouth, Gillian told me that she’d recently broken off with another Master who had taught her much over a four or five year period.

“He was my husband” she said, tossing her hair. “He wasn’t in the magazine field—he didn’t do much of anything except dom me…and he taught me all sorts of tricks on being a submissive. But then he got a girlfriend..she wasn’t very pretty, but Adney—that was my husband, he gave her permission to punish me and put me through lots of disciplinary training.

The woman, Loretta, she was jealous of me because I was pretty, and when Adney wasn’t home, she would strip me naked and whip my breasts with thick branches she found in the back yard, and sometimes she’d drive her fist into my cunt until I was bleeding…and Adney thought this was funny!

I mean, it was bad enough that my husband was cuckolding me with this woman, but making me wait on her, and letting her put out her Marlboros on the areolas of my breasts was just a bit too much—and when I complained to Adney, he tied my head in the toilet and let her shit on my face!

Sometimes Loretta would take me to the mall with her and then pull out a wooden spoon and order me to take my pants and undies down, and whip my ass in front of everyone going by…and what could I do? I’m a total submissive. This fat pig had me absolutely helpless.

Other times, she’d force me to wear slutty clothes and go to bars and suck guy’s dicks in the bathroom. And you know me…I’m a very private person, and I don’t like fooling around with anyone I’m not seriously involved with.  But I think Loretta had a desire to make me pay, and I also think she was mad because when she went to those SAME bars, she was ignored—I don’t know what it was.. because even after the guys tried to pick me, up and I serviced them, Loretta would beat my ass for being ‘so pretty’ what a drag was that, huh?

Finally Loretta had me eating out of garbage cans and dog dishes, and I realized it was going too far. I was okay with cleaning up their crotch areas after Adney and Loretta made love, and having to sleep under their bed, but eating Alpo was just a bit too much…I just couldn’t take it! So I left….”

I digested Gillian’s statement, and then about nine months later, we were at a BDSM club, and she pointed out Adney and Loretta…and I ordered Gillian to drop her jeans and bend over and locked her hands and head in a pillory…

And then I invited Adney and Loretta to come over and whip Gillian’s bare ass! I worried that Gillian might feel so betrayed that she’d want to leave me for this…but with streaming tears, she’d driven me home and sucked my balls clean…she knew who was boss!

Gillian and I talked about it, and she’d said “Irv, I was pleading with you not to let that fat bitch whip my ass. I had proven so much in getting away from them, and maintaining my dignity after what they’d put me through, but the humiliation of being whipped like that by Loretta and Adney was so hot…it was incredible! I am totally in your power now, Irv.”

It’s funny, because Gillian has so much power in this town. Her magazines are quite famous, and she’s on TV a lot of the time, talking about BDSM,but I think people assume that if she has one side or the other in the sadist world, she’s a dominatrix, and that just isn’t that case! Life is weird, isn’t it?

I have found much peace since I limited what Gillian is allowed to say. I don’t let her talk much, and I do all her ordering for her in restaurants and also I buy all her clothes, though of course on her Platinum Visa. She’s allowed to shake her head or nod, but I am sick of her constant chatter and want her to keep her opinions to herself.

Probably there’s some class resentment—I barely finished college and one semester of law school, and Gillian has two master’s degrees and is a multimillionairess but really, does that mean I must hear about her interests in the Middle East?

She probably gets very sick of what I watch on television—I love situation comedies and televised wrestling, and she is no longer allowed to watch PBS or her ridiculous Discovery Channel stuff…and I don’t allow her to attend the opera or the ballet anymore, either.

When I go out with my friends, I lock Gillian in a cage, and when we return, I have her wait on us in the nude, and some of my really ugly friends have enjoyed having the first blowjobs of their lives from a beautiful rich publisher woman. And why not?

I guess the only problem that Gillian and I have now is, I don’t like her having unauthorized orgasms, and I am mystified as to how chastity would work for her. So when I catch her masturbating, she always protests that it’s my fault because I don’t fuck her—and I won’t. I just let her suck me off. I’m a Master, after all.

But she can’t keep her nasty little hands out of her quim! Last week I decided the best thing to do, after catching her misbehaving, was to cane her hands. This took a great deal of work. I had to have Gillian hold out her right hand, and I whipped it ten times with the cane, and then the left.

But by the third time I hit the right hand, she was crying and trying to hold her hand behind her back, the naughty, disobedient little whore. “Hold out your goddamned hand!” I screamed, but then every time I brought the cane down after that third swat on her bleeding palm, Gillian would pull it away, of course apologizing profusely.

So I figured, holding it out might be a little too freakish. I mean, after all, how are you going to keep your hand out when you know a cane is coming across it. “It’s easier when you whip my butt, Irv” Gillian said to me, tears streaming down her face as she put her hand under her arm to try to warm it up so it wouldn’t hurt so much.

So I tied her hand and arm around the coffee table with duct tape, and continued the palm-whipping, but she ripped  through the tape after swat number Six! “Look here, Gillian, you little bitch” I screamed at her. “If it’s going to be like this, I’m going to start all over again.” But the pain was just too much for her.

So I said, okay…we’ll try this instead. “You can write one thousand times ‘I must not masturbate unless permitted by my Master’ but you can’t go to the toilet until it’s finished, and I’m going to chain you to a wall in the garage while you complete this assignment.”

Well, do you know about four hours later on line eight hundred and seventy-six, I went to check on her, and she was shitting and peeing through her nice dress…tears coming down her face, but that was no excuse.

I’d left her a cell phone to call me when she was done, but all Gillian had done was send me these begging text messages, all about how she couldn’t stand it anymore, and she had to pee, and would I give her a break…and then she messes up the garage floor!

So I ripped up the pages, and told her she’d have to do them tomorrow, and I took her coiled blacksnake whip from the wall and I instructed her to strip and bend over her fancy Ferrari convertible…and I made her shitty ass bleed with lashes! I really hope that she begins to learn what obedience is all about…it’s tough training a slavegirl!

But hey, now Knout magazine is in my name! I am the publisher…and I own five magazines and a slavegirl! Whaddya think!

Best,

Irving Banahan, Rich Publisher!

Dear Irv…

I do like Knout magazine, though I wish you carried my column. It’s tough just selling through Lulu.com. You certainly have a good gig there, though I bet you earn your money with that disobedient Gillian. Hope you make BDSM a national conversation between the two of you!

Affectionately,

Shoeblossom

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