Dear Shoeblossom,
I enjoy your letters, and greatly identify with many of your readers. Not a lot of kinky adventures happen in our little hamlet of Frog's Neck, but I can attest to some action here!
My wife Eris is my dominant, and at first I think we tried to keep our tête-à-têtes between us, but Eris at some point decided she wanted to expand my horizons, as it were.
Eris is quite fetching-curling blue-black hair, and creamy vanilla skin, full red lips and a glorious curvy figure that made delivery boys stop in their tracks.
We had had quite a "normal" sex life for some time before I proposed, hesitantly, that she give me my first spanking, and Eris, who had somewhat of a bitchy personality from time to time, took care of the rest!
I perhaps made a mistake in confessing to Eris about my relationship with my domineering father. I didn't do as well in college as he would have liked, and Father decreed that I would live at home.
When I was nineteen years old, he purchased a razor strop, a thick one, and when my grades were poor, or an essay looked a bit slovenly (back then, they were hand-written) I'd be ordered to pull down my trousers and he'd give me fifteen to thirty hard whacks as I wailed, clutching my mattress.
Although, perhaps, the end justified the means, and I did end up graduating magna cum laude, the thrashings were painful and humiliating, as were some of Father's methods of discouraging my distractions, such as dating.
Once he invited a girl over who had caught my eye in a Trigonometry lecture, and had her watch as I was forced to walk around our living room in a baby-doll negligee and puffy bunny slippers!
When I'd spoken up to him defensively, Father had yanked up my lingerie and used the razor strop on my defenseless derriere until the girl had run out of our house, screaming!
The next day, all of Frog's Neck Teacher's College had heard of my punishment, and any hope of a social life disintegrated. I just slunk to school, studied hard and returned home amid snickers and whispered questions.
After graduation, I moved out of my father's house, and had minimal contact with him. I met my beautiful Eris, and was prosperous in my career, and only introduced Eris and my Dad after we'd gotten married.
To my dad's credit, he never told Eris about how he'd treated me during my college years, and was always courteous though a bit flirtatious when I brought her by for dinner.
But, I'd had a nightmare of being beaten, and my lovely wife had comforted me, asking if it was one about HER whipping me with her trusty bamboo.
I'd confessed that no, it was the razor strop that Father had used on my bare buttocks during my nineteenth through twenty-second years, and Eris became intrigued.
One night, after Dad had made us dinner, Eris climbed into his lap, and she was clad in an adorable minidress.
"Mr. Ahrlquist, Weston tells me you used to keep order in your house with a leather razor strop." Eris punctuated this with a kiss on my Dad's ear, and Dad chuckled good-naturedly.
"Well, Eris, I'm afraid Westie could be a bit of a lazy student, and I wanted to make sure I got my money's worth when he went to school. "
Eris giggled good naturedly, and rubbed her behind into Dad's lap as I gritted my teeth and tried to stand manfully by the dining room table.
"His mother and I never laid a hand on him as a youngster, but if we were going to pay for college and let him live here rent free, he'd better bring home good marks. Otherwise, I marked him!"
Eris kissed Father good-naturedly again and asked to see the strop in question. "Weston tells me it was a big, thick thing."
I could stand this no longer. "Eris, you don't need to see it. I certainly don't want to. It was a difficult and unpleasant-"
"That's enough out of you, boy." Father's voice was cold. "If you'd not been such an ornery, difficult kid, preferring your damned X-Box to doing your equations, it wouldn't have been needed in the first place. If Eris wants to see it-hell, if she wants to borrow it, it's hers for the taking!"
They disappeared in the kitchen, and my mother gave me a guilty look, and went upstairs for the evening. They were in the kitchen for a long time, my wife and my dad. I walked around the living room, feeling confused. I thought of the time I'd been forced into the pink nightdress, and humiliated in front of-what was her name from Trig class? Chrissy DeSantis?
When Eris came out of the kitchen, she was holding the strop and running her long red nails up and down it thoughtfully.
"Your dad's doing the dishes, hon. Let's go home." I was speechless. I couldn't believe she was holding the terrifying thing in her little white feminine hands.
