Dear Shoeblossom
One night, some years ago, I came home late from work, and at the time, I had a tenant, Pilcher.
Pilcher has always had the hots for me, he was just a friend for the longest time, and then I found out he had two avocations--one was to move out of his parent's basement, and the other was a deep interest in BDSM
I had once shared my group house, an inheritance from my mother with seven dominant black women, and they'd given me quite a run for my money, but times were lean for this submissive hucow.
I am very bisexual, and so I advised Pilcher of my inclinations, and he told me he'd seen me at various clubs, but had been too polite to "out" me.
I told him, "And I need you to take care of me, as I really need rules and structure."
And, he was very under-employed (I think he had a big paper-route) and so I told him he could move in with me, room and board taken care of.
And housekeeping--the dominant black women had trained me to scrub, and scrub THOROUGHLY.
When I got in one night from my very overbearing job, Pilcher looked up from his graphic novel (Pilcher is a bit of a dim bulb; an Xbox can amuse him for hours) and he said to me in his dorky stutter,
"Muh- Querida, you're not s-s-supposed to be w-wor-working this late. You are exhausting yourself."
"I know, Pilcher," I said lamely. "I dropped my handbag on the table."
"We had an ag-agree--agreement that you would c-c-call if you were guh-going to work too much." Pilcher said severely. "I mean, if you we-went out for drinks with your friends, I thoroughly a-approve of that, but you are way too stressed out."
"Pilcher, go squeeze your zits. Read more 'Batman'. I have a career."
"No. You puh-promised that you w-ould tell the client that you need time to yourself."
I looked at Pilcher, dweeby stammering creature that he was. I wondered what he would do. I wondered what I would do as well.
Can such a Nerd be my Master?
I need a guy who will make my socks go up and down.
I need a man who will ring my chimes.
I need a fella that will control me.
Pilcher took a deep breath. "I-thu-think you ne-need to go and get the Puh-Ping-Pong paddle and buh-bring it to me, now."
I smiled at Pilcher tolerantly. "I've had a big day, Pilcher. Let's just order some take-out--"
But Pilcher stood firm. I could tell he was more than a little nervous because after all , he was a wimpy kid, and he thought I was gorgeous, even at my advanced age at that time of forty-seven.
"I-I d-don't want t-t-to have to count ten, Querida--"
I could have walked out. I could have ordered Pilcher out. I could have used a safe word, called the cops if it came to it. I am a judo expert, and Pilcher, sadly, must lug around an oxygen tank.
But I remembered my elders" counting ten" and it hypnotized me.
I went to the armoire, retrieving the old Ping-Pong paddle that I'd drilled little holes in so it didn't meet with wind resistance back when I started getting whipping punishments from my roommate in grad school.
Trembling slightly, I brought the paddle to Pilcher.
I am quite a bit older than Pilcher is, and it was so long that I'd had the paddle, it might have been older than he was. I think one girlfriend used it on me to get my mind off things after the "Challenger" exploded in 1986.
Good old Tootles, she would use the paddle on my bare ass when I lost our car keys or forgot to do the laundry.
Then my ex-husband had carried the paddle in the glove compartment of his Audi and later his Nissan "Sentra", giving me blistering corrections on the side of the road, when we couldn't get to a gas station latrine.
And also in the changing rooms of Niemen Marcus when we had that age old argument over whether the leather miniskirt I wanted cost too damn much.
Now, Pilcher sat down on the couch and looked up at me. This would be where the rubber met the road.
He took a little puff from his asthma inhaler. (An inhaler AND an oxygen tank? And nights he had to get additional air from a sleep apnea machine? Really?)
Pilcher had once seen me disrobed at the Whitacre Township Consequence Club, where a dominant Master had ordered that I remove my party dress for a bare-bottom whipping, but this was really boundary time for geeky Pilcher.
Pilcher apparently was thinking of taking down my pants himself, but he couldn't do it. Maybe next time.
"P-Pull down your jeans, Querida, Y-you're going to learn that when I w-want you home by suh-six you'll be here."
Shouldn't I laugh in his face? Evict him? But I heard myself saying "Yes, sir" and I unsnapped my pants and pulled them down, following this with my panties.
Pilcher breathed heavily (and more with the inhaler) at the sight of my shaved, pierced and tattooed clit, but he recovered himself and pulled me over his knee.
It was really embarrassing. To be partially naked in front of PILCHER. My gracious!
For a moment, Pilch paused. I could tell he was appreciatively reviewing my plump, sexy bottom. He'd drooled over it for years as it bounced around in front of him in cut-offs and miniskirts.
I had been close pals with Pilcher's maiden aunt and one of his au pairs when he was young. At twenty-three, he was still enamored.
"C'mon, Pilch. Get with it." I couldn't help being sassy. This was ridiculous!
Pilcher raised the paddle and brought it down mildly on my defenseless buttocks.
I laughed as I lay there. "That's the best you can do, Pilcher?" I had to spur him on.
And Pilcher got pissed and began hitting my ass very hard and slammed it about fifty times, even after I started crying.
Once he asked, amid swipe "D-do you n-need to use your safe word?"
"No, sir--" I had screamed as I wept. "I-I can take it...I-I-know I deserve it." Now who was stuttering?
Finally he'd ordered me off his lap and he'd told me to go stand in the corner while he called for take-out.
And I was, yes, completely wet. Especially at having submitted to such a schmeil. I did think he might be worried that I was angry that he'd gone too far.
He finally summoned me over to eat and then we watched some Netflix together.
But later that evening, I went into Pilch's room and asked him with my eyes downcast, if he wanted me to give him some head.
And the next night, when Pilcher came in from his Dungeons & Dragons group, I was home (early). I was naked on my knees, awaiting him with the paddle sitting in front of me on the floor, accompanied by a cane.
Pilch really manned up in the next year. His stutter went away, and eventually we broke up and he found a job and moved West, though I am sure he enjoyed the memories of the kinky times we had together.
But recently, Pilcher got a letter from a friend of mine, Lady Thora, inviting him to "Sub Querida's yearly humiliation"
As I said, I've been in the "scene" for a bunch of years and have served many Masters, Mistresses, and Goddesses.
Some, I broke up with after a while. Others dumped me, but every year I give them all a chance to get together and get their own back against me.
And my old acquaintances give me a session to remind me what a sad little slug I can be.
I can't imagine what he must've thought when he got the letter. Pilcher loved spanking and torturing me, amateur that he was, but he'd met and married some sweet gal and had rug rats in the suburbs now.
I had been having my annual multi Master/ Mistress torture sessions for several decades at this point.
Sometimes I would serve as many as nine or ten dominants that had been in my life.
They ranged from professional hire-to-torture types to roommates, ex-spouses (had three of those) and people who I'd worked with who had stepped up to the plate when they'd discovered they could push me around...
Secretaries, receptionists, paralegals, security guards...they came back to take another shot at me...
To make the challenge interesting and keep my submission supreme, six weeks before the event, Thora, who had been a dom of mine when I'd lived in San Francisco, would lock a chastity piercing on my clitoris.