LETTER FROM SHERIER PLACE

Dear Shoeblossom:

I am a member and Substitute Treasurer of the Keeplock Club, a select group of women who keep their husbands and significant others in chastity belts. Our oldest member is seventy-eight, the youngest, a high school junior. It’s a constant vigilance, and I thought you might find it interesting, as your column discusses much of this.

On Wednesday morning I was drinking coffee, and trying to find a three letter word for “garbage” for the crossword. The word, incidentally is “orts”. Can you imagine? The doorbell buzzed, and I opened it, and Claudine Claricoate was there, with her husband Boland. Claudine and Boland are nice people, but a bit younger than Archibald and I…but we’re all Keeplock members!

“Claudine, Boland…how are you both!” I smiled. “Come in and have some coffee and rolls.”

“Nettie, I’ve got a problem. Apparently when I was playing bridge with the girls, Boland sneaked home from work and made a copy of his chastity device key.” Claudine is a cute blond with a button nose, but she didn’t look too cheery this afternoon. “He’s been sneaking orgasms for weeks now.”

Boland blushed, then grew angry. “Damn it, Claudine, this isn’t anyone else’s business. I’m sorry we’re bothering you with this nonsense, Mrs. Fomorowski. “ Boland is certainly a tempestuous young man. He put his adorable hands into fists at the kitchen table. Men are so funny, aren’t they?

Claudine looked calmly at Boland. “Boland, you wanted me to put you in chastity. We made an agreement that you wouldn’t try to break into the belt. If you don’t want to be in chastity, that’s fine, but if we do it, we do it MY way, and you are due for punishment.”

Boland looked at his clenched fists. “I-I love being your slave, Claudine. If you want to give me a whipping, I understand. If you want to whip me in front of Nettie Fomorowski, to humiliate me, I can deal with that, too.” Claudine and I exchanged an amused glance. It’s always funny when the sub wants to choose his punishment, isn’t it?

Ignoring Boland, Claudine looked at me, her red nails toying with my saltshaker. “I’ve tried whipping and torturing Boland when he did this before, but it’s not really working—he enjoys punishment too much, or possibly he has something of an incredible tolerance for pain, I’m not sure.”

I thought about it. “Well, at the last Keeplock party, you did give him about twenty-six strokes from the bullwhip before he began crying like a baby.” Boland blushed.

“I really want to punish Boland, I want to humiliate him.” Claudine said earnestly. “I think what would really teach him a lesson, to give up the conniving for extra orgasms, for buying porn, would be to force him to suck another slave’s cock.”

I am not sure who was more horrified, me, or Boland. We both were slack jawed as Claudine continued. “I was wondering…perhaps your husband would enjoy having Boland suck HIM off? We owe you both so much for assisting us, and it might be good for bringing Boland down a little bit.”

Boland shook with fear and rage. “Are you mad? Archibald and I are in the Rotary together. We go to the same Superbowl party! We’re both Little League coaches! I can’t-can’t suck his penis!” Boland got up and began pacing around the kitchen, looking angry. Claudine rolled her eyes at me, and I ate a bit more of my roll. Cinnamon is wonderful, and they tell me it’s low calorie, but I know this is nonsense.

“Well, Claudine, if that’s what you want, I’ll ask Archibald if he wants an extra orgasm this month. That would be the way to sell it, dear. He’s quite heterosexual, as I suspect Boland is as well. It doesn’t seem like a pleasant proposition for either of them.”

Boland mumbled and cursed, and paced, and finally Claudine ordered him to strip and kneel in silence. This is a good pose for a Keeplock husband to learn. It teaches them that argument is futile, and that they must be good boys.

As Boland knelt there, he began crying softly, and  Claudine winked at me. Coming close to my ear she whispered. “Do you think he’s learned his lesson? Or should I really make him suck Archibald’s cock?”

“Tell him he gets a break this time, dear, but really, you must find a safe place for your keys.” I whispered back. “Men are like jackals, or perhaps vultures…they can’t be trusted.

And we both laughed.

Yes, my husband Archibald and I have certainly enjoyed your letters, and your brief “advice” that you give various bondage and discipline enthusiasts is encouraging. Archibald is my chastity slave, and we would not normally be in need of advice, but I wanted to let your readers know that chastity training truly is building character in many men that I know here in the city of Sherier Place!

Archibald thinks it’s silly to write you—he is a traditional Midwesterner, and is afraid that I am airing our dirty laundry, along with letting you know how progressive our town has become in the area of sexual domination. Ordinarily, I would agree with him, but I am amazed at the lack of character of men I see on television, the lack of control.

I remember when Archibald and I were watching the Kathleen Willey interview, the poor woman who was groped by President Clinton…and then of course the insane slut Monica Lewinsky. Think how much better off the country might have been if Hillary had kept Bill in chastity! And it’s done wonders for other family members as well.

My youngest son Gator, so called because he won a Jimmy Carter infant look-alike contest in 1978 also is in chastity, and when he and his wife divorced, she sent me his keys. “He just is too immature to be left with his dick to manipulate alone” she told me.

When Gator came to see me, he was livid. He actually didn’t know until I told him that Fiorella had sent me the keys. “Mom, that’s ridiculous…outrageous. You have to give me the keys. I’m—I’m not dating anyone right now, much less in a femdom relationship, so the whole thing is moot.”

“Dear, you know I always care about your wishes…indeed I’ve always put you first, but I’ve always noticed that you have a disturbing trend when you’re dating. In high school and college, you constantly exploited young women, they were always calling the house crying.

Archie Jr. had a lovely fiancée until he caught you in the back of our Celica with her, and it’s been how many—two marriages? Obviously you need a halt. Certainly I can’t compel you to keep the chastity device on, but you did tell me you want to move back in because the child support will be so prohibitive (two marriages, three children, alas) and your father wants to charge you a nominal rent, but I’m willing to overlook that if you’ll follow just a few rules, including a curfew drug urine tests and my holding on to your keys for a while.”

Poor Gator didn’t know what to do. He is not an over- bright youth, and it was only my husband’s connections that got him the position he has selling farm equipment. He finally nodded, and I told him to take off his clothes and meet me in the bedroom.

I bound Gator’s hands behind his back and took the chastity device off, just I do his Dad’s, to check for excess hair and then I bathed his crotch area briefly before locking it back on again. Gator made an unfortunate remark about his privacy issues, so then I turned him over on the bed, taking my wooden spoon out of my apron.

It works as well on his bare bottom at age thirty-one as it did when he was six! Gator is a natural crybaby and was weeping and snuffling along, and so I sent him to the corner for a bit, and then made him copy out five pages of Webster’s Dictionary.

I gave him another belt-whipping that night, after finding an unfortunate video in his room, and then there were no real problems during the next eight months, during which I allowed Gator to masturbate three times. Finally he began courting  Cidette, a lovely girl that he met at a Keeplock dance, and they have been married for nearly a year now.

My second cousin, Ivar was having a quite a time with his temper, and a few years ago, his wife and I worked out quite a pleasant arrangement. They live in North Dakota, and Christabel put Ivar in chastity, and sent the keys to me. Four times a year Ivar comes through Sherier Place on business, and he stays with us! If Christabel’s e-mails about Ivar have been positive, then he qualifies for a possible spurt and I put him through “hurdles”.

One of my favorites is assignments that I’ve sent him back home, like memorizing Susan B. Anthony’s speeches, and quizzing him on them. Then there are the more physically rigorous ones. Ivar is a homophobe, so I’ve mailed him dildos in various sizes to try sucking, and he’s graduated to some big ones!

One night during his visits, I take him to Geppetto’s, a tranny bar in downtown Sherier. The “girls” are usually playing bezique around a table in the center of the room, and Ivar must go under each of their skirts and use his mouth to maximum advantage.  After my cross-dressing friends are all cooing in delight, I let Ivar get up again, though usually his eyes are filled with tears.

Sometimes I make Ivar dress as a ladyboy himself, and have him try to pick up a normal man at a bar. Ivar is quite handsome, and pretty as a woman, very slim, that sort of thing. Often the smallest men are the most abusive to women, and I pay Ivar out for his past treatment of poor Christabel by having him flounce around in the different meat markets here in town, though as of yet he’s not had to go home with anyone…I just make him get their phone numbers!

You must imagine that Ivar is quite desperate to go through this sort of thing. And of course, he is. He’s orgasm-less for all but four days out of the year, and we don’t even milk him from behind to reduce the pressure on his prostate. It’s just hoped that when he has his four orgasms, they shoot out all the necessary semen.

Think of it! Ivar is sex-free, and he also must perform orally on Christabel, who has a much higher sex drive than I’ve ever had, and also he sucks her lovers, which is rather unpleasant for him. But then before we locked Ivar up, he was quite the tomcat, so I can’t be too distressed over this.

Bronislaw, Archibald’s gay brother is also kept in chastity by his lover, and so when it comes time to give Ivar his orgasm, I generally have Ivar and Bronislaw jack each other off…rather a ruined orgasm for poor homophobe Ivar…but, we do what we do!

Then Ivar is locked back up, and sent back to Christabel in North Dakota, to await another four months before it’s his turn to “qualify” again! When Ivar fails to impress me, I send him home orgasm-free, and that is even more saddening to the poor thing, but so far he’s only failed twice, and that in eleven years!

Thaddeus Newland is not a relative, but he might as well be. Thad went to high school with my husband, and his son, Thaddeus Junior, (called, amusingly, Tad) married my middle girl. Thad and his wife, Muriel initiated us into the Keeplocks back in 1980, and so you can tell how far the intimacy goes.

But after Muriel died, Tad came to tell me that his father seemed to be taking the grieving process badly. Tad is not a submissive, and my daughter is not a domme, so they really know little of chastity training, but I wondered if that might not be the problem.

I went to see Thad. “Tad tells me you are very unhappy.” And it was true, the house was a mess. Muriel had always kept a sharp whip on Thad to scrub and clean while she, um, dated around. It was a system that worked for them for forty years, but now, with her death it had fallen apart.

Thad cried in my arms. “I miss Muriel so much…and I feel at loose ends with the keys lying out. I just spend all my time masturbating to pornography, Nettie. I’m retired, and have nothing else to do but masturbate and order take-out.”

What could I do, Shoeblossom? I took Muriel’s short dog-whip from where it was lying under their bed, and ordered Thad to strip and bend over, grabbing his ankles. (Thad, unlike my husband, is not a chubbo, and is physically able to do this.

I used to watch Muriel publicly whip him at Keeplock events, and was always amazed at what you get after putting a husband through Pilates.) The dog-whip left thirty red, dripping streaks on Thad’s buttocks, and he was crying harder than ever, but his hands had stopped trembling.

Spurring Thad on with the dog-whip, I had him scrub and clean the house, and burn the pornography stash in the back yard. I put Net Nanny on his computer, and locked him in his chastity belt. “Thank you, thank you, Mistress Nettie.” Thad said to me before I left the house. Twice a month I visit for an inspection, some thrashing, and then Thad masturbates on my shoes…and licks it up! I hope I’m a good citizen, Shoeblossom.

Archibald reminds me of course that chastity training must be desired by both husband and wife, and also that it took me a good fifteen years before I was ready to “play.” Our children were in high school before I felt comfortable locking my husband in a chastity belt…and for years, Archibald had begged me, pleaded with me to play domination games.

You see, Shoeblossom, I’ve never really been that interested in sex, since my hysterectomy. I am well aware than men still find me attractive, which is quite flattering.

The connection between chastity and being left alone, to get a little peace was incredible to me! I lock Archibald in a chastity belt, and I tell him “Once a month we will make love, and if you hint about wanting early release  it will be every two months.”

He has taken me quite seriously!

Unlike some of the young women I read about, I have little interest in sleeping with dozens of partners; it seems a little ridiculous to me. I do rather enjoy Archibald’s attention between my legs now and then; but much of the time, at my age, I just want to relax, garden, visit my grandchildren  and read my Nora Roberts novels.

Having locked Archibald in chastity, I don’t want him to be bored in his retirement, and so I encourage him to do chores…the unpleasant ones that I don’t like. Heavy housework, cutting around the edge of the lawn after he mows it, (And I check to see there are no high grass chunks, and if there are, my cane gets busy!) and clipping the hedges.

Now and then I allow him to go to the VFW to see his friends, but it is by no means a daily thing. I don’t need a beer soaked spouse losing the housekeeping money playing cards with a bunch of grizzled ex-sergeants. Most days Archibald is home cleaning, and then he can read, or watch television QUIETLY.

This is somewhat contrary to his lively personality. But what can I do? I need a tame, quiet husband, and he has admitted to me that he does enjoy having time to read his Barbara Tuchman historical books, and if he had all the free time in the world, he’d probably waste it down at the VFW hall or at Declan’s Pub.

Archibald observed to me that his cousin, the safecracker, gets all his oil painting and poetry writing done when he’s in prison; when he’s out, there are too many distractions—bimbos, drugs, and nightclubs. In a way poor Scraggy is relieved when he’s given ten years in the stone hotel for some hobby time.

The same thing is true of my husband, who really gets so much productive work done, and enjoys life more, when he’s confined to the house and yard. His friends, who miss his participation in the bowling league and the poker games tell him he’s a fairy for obeying me…but I’m the ruler of the roost!

And, as I’ve said, several of the husbands are dropping out of the party circuit as the chastity belt craze rises here in Sherier Place. My girlfriends and I in the Keeplock Club (Many of whom are also in the Sewing Guild and the Sherier Presbyterian Church Choir) have gotten a true hold on keeping the boys tethered!

I read once that in ancient Troy, when women wanted the men to stop going to war, they refused to have sex with them. Men are motivated so much by that little rod between their legs! And, though Archibald grumbles under his breath, he spent so many years playing the S&M game without me…and he always begged me to play with him!

For a long time, I not only did not want to dominate  him, but I was quite liberal about letting him find his pleasures elsewhere. “Archibald” I said patiently, “I don’t want you spending excessive amounts of money hiring a dominatrix, but I can allow for a little leeway—you’re a good husband, and I want you to enjoy yourself.”

We had this discussion in 1964, and for some time, Arch didn’t bother me about his sexual needs.  Now and then we would have normal marital sex, but I didn’t get the impression he enjoyed it much—it was too placid.

In 1971, I noticed Archibald had begun fiddling around with chastity belts. I found articles about noblemen wearing their “Iron Maidens” and other nonsense. Four of our six children had already born, and if he wanted to wear a chastity belt, it really didn’t make much difference to ME.

But then, just after I’d given birth to our last, Arch came to me, and he told me he was tired of paying professional dommes, and that his last relationship with a sadistic girlfriend had sizzled.

“Won’t you please try locking me in chastity?” Arch begged, and I didn’t know what else to do! So he presented his belt, which was quite primitive (in 1979) to the ones they have now…but it was secure, damned secure, and I locked him in it.

Then I forgot about it. As I ‘ve told you, we were not terribly sexually active, and the last time Arch had had sex with me he was drunk, and I’d gotten preggers, and after Gator was born, I’d decided we needed separate bedrooms.

Two or three weeks went by, and then Archibald approached me, asking whether we could have relations, and I said of course not. “I’m done with that part of my life now, Arch. Let it go.” I moved away from him, but he darted in front of me.

“What about the keys? Can I masturbate at least?” I sighed. I couldn’t really remember what I’d done with them. When you have six children with skating lessons, soccer practice, violin recitals, homework, and all that, there really isn’t time to look around for chastity keys. I barely remembered the keys to our Dodge Dart Swinger!

So it took about three weeks, when I had time, to remember where I’d put the keys. When I finally found them, I handed them to Arch, who promptly ran into his room to do his business.

Then he came out, and gave me back the keys, and I put them in a drawer somewhere, and then of course he’d begun pestering me for them. It took Muriel and Thad to explain about how the keys to that silly belt were the keys to the kingdom.

Muriel had put Thad in chastity right after he’d come home from Korea, and gotten him to begin doing chores, and giving her flowers and buying her jewelry. Of course Muriel was different than I, she liked to date different men, and have Thad wait on them…it was a far more stringent schedule than I eventually put Arch on!

But I learned fast, and met the other dominant housewives and girlfriends in the Keeplocks…I really was able to make Archibald into a more dedicated husband, although sometimes I think I’ve gone too far. One night he was crying softly into a handkerchief because he missed cumming so much…but when I got upset too, he said “No no…I need this, it’s just so hard sometimes.”

But it’s not really hard, because I keep it locked in a belt so tiny that it can’t get hard!

Just a little humor! (No, Arch didn’t appreciate it either).

Thought you’d enjoy this little vignette of our lives!

Fondly,

Nettie F. from Sherier Place

Dear Nettie…sounds like you’ve got the community there in Sherier all locked up! Hope things continue on as smoothly! You probably should give the advice here, eh?

Best,

Shoeblossom

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