LETTER FROM MEMPHIS
Dear Shoeblossom:
I always thought I was just an ordinary Tennessee farm girl until I graduated from secretarial school and went to Memphis, the big city. My life now is unbelievable!
Just yesterday, I was in my short-shorts and high heels, watching poor Aleron scrubbing my floor. She kept looking up at my long legs as she pushed closer, naked, pudgy and sweating.
"You missed the baseboard" I said calmly, and thwacked her across her broad back. Then I went behind her and scientifically applied my cane to her sagging buttocks.
"You need to focus more on scrubbing and less on my legs, you horny old dyke!" I landed the cane all over Aleron, as she buried her face in her arms and sobbed.
"I try so hard, Kamryn, I really do!" Aleron ended up eating me out and then diddling her clit as she knelt, sweating on the floor. We went to dinner, and she bought me jewelry.
I work for Aleron at a big Memphis securities firm, and I remember Aleron would just look at me longingly while the other brokers complained about my inefficiency and laziness.
It's true, I type about twelve words a minute, and I'm way too dyslexic to file.
Computers baffle me, but I know how to wear a short skirt, and my other boss, Mr. Goodall made the "mistake" of letting me see his Fetlife profile.
Often I spend my lunch hour whipping Goodall's bare butt as he weeps over my knees. He loves rubbing his hard cock on my scratchy nylons, and then I enjoy having him fellate my heel.
Downstairs, Mr. Clemesceu is a chastity pig. I met his wife, and now, sometimes I take an afternoon off (paid) and Clem and I go to a hotel room. I have him undress and he's crying with desire, looking at my clothed body.
I tie Clemmie down to the bed and use the spare key his wife gave me. I love running my French manicure up and around his sweating glans, and listening to his pleas, because of course he wants to cum, and that's not my bailiwick.
Over and over again, my nimble fingers bring the poor bastard to the point of finishing before I pull off my panties and hop on his face, to finish myself.
Clem, still without an orgasm (which is his wife's decision) does a great job of tonguing my clit to true joy...
And then I re-lock him and we go back to work, and how he suffers...really, really tense for the rest of the afternoon.
But we know what he needs, don't we?
What I've noticed about chaste men is how devoted they are.
My landlord, a sweet old guy, now gives me free rent and upgraded me from one of his slums to an attractive little cottage--
Philbert was in a long term marriage where he'd been kept in chastity, and after his wife passed, he was feeling at loose ends.
Being a rich property owner, he'd had no end of dates with attractive golddiggers, but somehow we began discussing a personal arrangement when he brought me my mail, some of which were interesting magazines.
Five months into chastity with me, Philby is an amazingly talented lover, and spends hours between my legs. Unlike Clem and others I have dominated, he is quite stoic about the long periods (three weeks this time) that I sentence him to.
I have Philby in a chrome plated tube, and it seems impenetrable.
When Aleron isn't cleaning my house, I have Philby do it, and monitor this with an antique buggy whip we picked up at a flea market.
Recently I put up a large wheel, similar to a chore wheel, on the wall of Philby's ornate living room.
On the rim of the wall, I lined various labels One said "ORGASM-BLOWJOB" another "TWENTY WITH THE RATTAN CANE" a third was "ORGASM--RUB THE FLOOR" which of course referred to rubbing his dick on the floor.
The rest of the labels were various chores such as washing my car or cleaning my gutters, that sort of thing.
