Dear Shoeblossom:
Do you get many letters from Jeff City, or from Missouri at all? Harmon, my husband tells me we are the "silent majority" and no one cares about us, until the Presidential elections come around. Then we're considered the conservatives, I suppose.
Harmon and I were at one of those Tea Party Town Hall events, and I remember reading an editorial about us later, describing us as semiliterate malcontents with false morals. Morals? Who knows.
I don't feel terribly moralistic on Tuesday afternoons when I dress Harmon in a platinum blonde wig and a taffeta dress and have him suck off soldiers and sailors and other macho men who see our ad in an alternative weekly.
Harmon is not a particularly pretty sight, in his bouffant wig, fake nails and lingerie underwear, but the boys stick their dicks in his lipsticked mouth quite willingly.
I collect the five dollar bills by the door and donate them to UNICEF. I suspect they support pro-life causes and that sort of thing, but hey, no one's perfect.
Sometimes Harmon whines that he'd like to use some of his cocksucking earnings to go bowling with the boys, since I give him almost nothing from his paycheck...and then, if he whines further I am afraid that I get perturbed and I bring out the cat o nine tails.
Before we took up this lifestyle, Harmon was surviving, just barely guzzling martinis, smoking three packs a day, doing cocaine and running around behind my back with floozies and strippers, AND he took Valium, Paxil, Fioronal, Topomax, Librium and a dozen other prescribed mood alterers...
And he was 120 pounds overweight, and just miserable. He was seeing psychiatrists, counselors, clerical types. He was diagnosed as having Attention Deficit Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Inner Child Syndrome, and Post Traumatic Stress something-or-other...it was bad!
But since I agreed to become his dominant Goddess, Harmon has given up everything but Diet Coke and he jogs, does all kinds of Yoga, and is a different person. No therapy needed anymore, which is money back in our pocket. His discipline by me has done wonders, and I wonder sometimes if I should write a book!
Sometimes he comes in, I'm bored, reading "Elle" magazine. Harmon is athletic, and somewhat distracted, and when he comes home, he just wants a beer from the refrigerator. "I had my nails done at Saks today" I said...
Harmon looks at me, his eyes glazing over. "You want to, you know?" He always hopes for a tease! "Please, Licia, can we?" And then I nod, and permit him a smile.
Running my long blue, shiny nails up and down Harmon's cock after he's been stripped and bound is such fun! Now that he's in a chastity commitment, of course he lives for my attentions to his starved organ.
I thought seriously about locking him in a belt, but you know then the belt is keeping him honest, and not the Goddess.
The honor system isn't perfect, though. Sometimes he calls me from work, begging for permission (can you imagine) to masturbate in the bathroom, and I just laugh and hang the phone up.
But then when he comes home, and I tie his large, muscular arms behind his back,, and begin playing with his penis, running my long blue nails up and down his growing cock, he knows it's all worthwhile.
"Oh, Licia, I love you." Harmon moans, gasping inwardly as I twitch my nose at him, and give him a shot of my cleavage. My boobs aren't big, but they're perky in the right kind of bra.
I've usually glossed my lips an intense burgundy, and I move my mouth just over his thrusting cock, but never do I actually touch his dick with my mouth! I keep rubbing and stroking his dick, while he continues with his incessant patter.
"Can't I cum soon, Licia, it's been so long." All that whining. It's almost unbearable, and sometimes when I'm stroking him I gag him or put Tracey Chapman on the Discman so I don't have to hear him go on, I mean all he does is repeat himself.
Sometimes as I'm stroking, Harmon pulls at his bonds, and shakes his entire body around. It's like having a rabid dog, foaming from the mouth, you know. That's when it's time to calm him down a bit, and I generally fetch my nice long fiberglass riding crop.
It looks like Harmon's about to cum, and we can't have that...so I use the crop. TWAK! SMACK! And his bloated penis goes down a bit, and I smile, dropping the crop beside me, and continue with the stroking.
Harmon's underside is especially sensitive, and when I toy with it the right way, his cock restores itself magically. I stroke some more, and oh boy, he's beginning to get all het up again. Good that I have the crop next to me.
"No, please, Licia, don't hit me...please, maybe I can make it go down on my own." But who has time for that? WAK! CRACK! TWAK! The trusty crop does it's evil work, and Harmon's dick falters, just for a moment of course until I start up again.
A bit later, and I'm rubbing the side of Harmon's face and telling him what a sexy, sweet man he is...and he's going for it, getting real excited. Then, while he's not looking, I slip off my high heel, and, grabbing it by the tip of the shoe, slam it into Harmon's balls.
And then Harmon cries. A big, strong man, can you imagine it? Remember, he is the one who asked me to dominate him, and every now and then he tells me how satisfied he is with our new relationship, but the crybaby thing is not too charming.
So I let him sob into my scented shoulder, and rub his wet face on my boobs, and tell him how much I care, and rub his penis gently until it's getting all hard and excited once more, and then I reach for my shoe again, and drive the heel hard this time right on the tip of his dick, and he of course starts screaming again.
Then there are times when I get so sick of what a wimp Harmon is that I tell him he's getting something to cry about.
I make him stand with his penis over the bed and I whip it with his leather belt, alternating of course with my soft strokes. By the time a session like that is over, he is willing, quite willing not to touch his cock, or pester me about touching it for a while.
Harmon's objection to my finding other playmates is gone pretty much, too. Sometimes I'll bind him naked in one room, after having toyed with his cock for awhile, and then I go and fuck the guy in the living room, and just come back to refresh my lipstick (if my mouth has been busy) and play with Harmon's cock a little bit!
Boy, does Harmon get resentful about that. I have also been carrying on with Harmon's twin brother Hatcher for some time. Hatch has known about Harmon's interest in BDSM their entire life, since their early twenties. Unbelievably, Harmon used to ask his identical twin brother (though Hatch is now in better shape than Harmon) to tie him up and whip HIM when they were in law school.
Apparently, this used to go on in the tree house they'd built . As they'd grown into men they'd used the tree house more for smoking pot and storing their Playboy magazines, and then Harmon asked Hatcher to tie him up and whip him with their grandfather's cane.
"God, I'll never forget it" Hatch told me once, as we were sharing cigarettes after a love making episode. "Harmon and I were such competitors, in academics and athletics, and he could pretty much kick my ass three ways from Sunday back then when it came to wrestling, but he wanted someone to whip his ass."
As Hatcher told me this, Harmon was kneeling in the corner, but I could tell he was terribly embarrassed that Hatch was telling this story. So I made him go and get us beers in the kitchen, to spare him the gory details.
"As I realized how much pain Harmon could take, I began making him do shit for me...the guy was such a submissive. I got my first blowjob from my twin brother, and sometimes I used to tie him to the side of our cow barn and shoot BBs at his cock and balls with our air rifle." Hatcher's eyes seemed to go off in the distance, telling this story.
"Then one night, I made him dress up in women's clothes and makeup—real slutty miniskirt and all that kind of shit. Harmon already had shoulder length hair, so we styled it, and gave him some hoop earrings. What a riot that was.
I got Harmon to put in some cotton balls to make up breast forms, our sister helped me—and I drove us to St. Louis, and we went to a seedy part of town, and I was wearing this ridiculous fedora and a raccoon coat that my great-gramps wore in college in the 1920's."
By this time, Harmon had returned with our snacks, and he put the tray in front of us, gave Hatcher a baleful look, and went back to kneel in the corner.
"So I began flagging down passing cars" Hatch remembered, "and finally this creepy Ford Coupe pulled up and I asked the guy if he wanted a BJ, just ten bucks. Harmon was not happy, but I hit him in the back with this policeman's sap I ordered from "Soldier of Fortune" magazine.
My brother got in the car with the guy, and they went into an alley, and I took my sawbuck...by the end of the night, I'd made nearly two hundred." Hatcher and I laughed at this memory, but of course that's what gave me the idea for raising UNICEF money.
And I base Harmon's production on how many orgasms he gets to have. I let him fuck me, no masturbation, but a genuine screw, every time he makes two hundred dollars for UNICEF, and charging five to ten dollars a blowjob, that's a lot of sucking! But he's gotten quite good at it.
We tell the UNICEF people that the money is being raised by our son's Cub Scout troop, and that makes everyone feel good. Except, perhaps Harmon, whose jaws are starting to rust over!
