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Babes

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 Starzbet 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.

For the next month and a half, I could service whoever I liked with my mouth or anus, Starzbet Giriş but I wouldn’t be able to have a happy ending.

By the evening of the “annual humiliation” I would be ravenous for release!

The players changed every year…people had dropped out, new ones had joined up, but on the night of the main event, many would be there.

I often funded transportation and lodging in hotels for those who were not financially well heeled.

I made a lot as a consultant, and had inherited even more, and had patented something necessary, but the expenses related to this gala were often quite high.

For most people, it would have been ruinous, really.

Since I had served citizens from around the globe, some would come from as far as Maputo, Africa, Saudi Arabia or Madrid.

And, I gave quite an evening. Remember, I was super-horny at this point, having been deprived for a month and a half.

The game was, if I could endure all the punishments and satisfy everyone with my oral skills…gratifying them again and again…

At the end of the evening, Thora would remove my chastity piercing and I would be allowed to masturbate on my knees in front of all my assorted “lords and ladies”.

If I balked through the night, or used my safe word more than twice during the games, I would be denied an orgasm at the end of the night.

Thora would not unlock my piercing, no matter how hard I begged.

In fact, she wouldn’t let me out for an additional ninety days after everyone had gone home.

Also, since I catered a party for my friends, if I had disappointed everyone, or anyone, I would be locked in a closet while everyone had a great time drinking, eating and carrying on.

This often put me in mind of how I had to come in early and go to bed while the other youngsters were still outside.

And, since I had had a sensitive stomach and was the offspring of health nuts, I had to bring powdered oatmeal to eat at birthday parties as the others enjoyed cake and ice cream.

And of course my friends had made merciless fun of me!

So being deprived had a special sting!

Another punishment that Thora had enforced lately was me eating cold porridge and kneeling on the floor while my guests were eating steak tartare, salmon and foie de gras and other sumptuous fare on my dime, sitting at my festive table.

This horrifying humiliation made me cry bitterly, since I was now nearly fifty years old, but the insult made me so aroused.

And of course for ninety days after this event, three long months, I would be unable to masturbate to orgasm reminiscing about all this.

Of course I’d feverishly frig myself thinking about it, but it would stop short of the glorious explosion.

If I’d not “made the grade” in serving my former dominants, Thora would mischievously feed me porridge and then let me try to cum in front of the others, hysterical in my frustration because the piercing, so cruel allowed stimulation but no finish.

All the attractive people who had come would tease me with their genitals, and ask me if I thought I deserved anything, being the ungrateful little tool that I was…

My former cronies would throw empty beer cans or lawn darts at me and I would duck and try to diddle myself, skinning my knees on the hardwood floor.

And, after my porridge was consumed, while I watched everyone else eating the expensive and delicious meal I’d paid for, and my jaws were numb anyway from having serviced everyone…

I’d be sent, sobbing into the closet, or down to the cellar to kneel and listen to the laughter and music from above.

But don’t get me wrong. I loved doing this at some level. And the whole thing, including the catering, new whips and implements…

housing my friends in nice hotels (The Ritz Whitacre, for one) ran as much as ten or fifteen thousand dollars.

For this expensive if tortuous evening.

I lived for this great experience…especially during my month and a half of chastity!

I am not the only masochist insane enough to go through this sort of nonsense.

Thora has another rich slave boy who has his own humiliation party.

Soaky Starzbet Güncel Giriş has a brace on his leg because of youthful polio. He has reunited from school bullies from long ago, and hires them to kick him around and face-fuck him…

And Soaky hires beautiful twenty something fashion models who come in wearing their hot imported dresses and they laugh at him, after the bullies take Soaky’s brace away and make him try to dance…

Sometimes the fashion models pee on him!

So I’m not the only crazy one here.

So generally at my party, I am able to complete my punishments and oral tasks and at the end of the evening I can dress and enjoy the party, and of course I get my clit lock removed!

Sometimes one of my dominants would actually, if I did well enough, take me to a room and “get it on” with me in a highly satisfying way, since I’ve been orgasm free for so long…

But finally I told Thora that I needed more of a challenge.

So now, after I’ve gone through seven or eight hours of humiliations, whippings and oral service…if I’ve done well without a murmur…

I don’t qualify for an orgasm and to join the party, but just to pull a marble out of a bowl while I’m blindfolded.

Thora will add two black marbles for every dominant guest in attendance, and one white one.

If I get a black marble, it would be relegated to cold gruel, sometimes with cigarette butts in it, which I had to eat while kneeling.

Then I’m required to orally service each member of the party one more time and get them to cum at least once, which can be difficult if you’ve been cumming in my mouth and ass all night.

Whoever doesn’t get a final orgasm gets to give me a final whipping before throwing me in the cold closet.

And of course I do my ninety days of orgasmic celibacy. Also, if I fail to make more than three people cum one final time, I get bullwhipped and Thora won’t return my key for six months!

But, if I was lucky enough to draw a white marble, I would not only allowed to frig myself or choose a member of the party to fuck me to orgasm, but I could dress and enjoy my own party!

So I was excited to invite Pilcher this year, my geeky former roommie. He had not been one of my more memorable Masters, but he’d tried hard for the nine months I’d served him.

It had been a pleasant distraction!

Of course Pilcher didn’t have a lot of money–he and his wife ran a struggling 7-Eleven convenience store with their in-laws.

So I’d funded his travels here and Pilcher was going to room with Master Duolton, a Master I’d served on the Isle of Wight.

Duolton had helped Thora to create the game I would be put through.

“Oh, you got a seven? Querida must open her mouth and offer her tits and bare stomach as a human ashtray for the smokers–and then the butts go in her porridge for later.”

“Mistress Tilden, you got a six? That means you can pee in Querida’s mouth, or if you don’t need to whizz, you can give her an ice cold enema.”

“Tootles, did you get an eleven? Dice be nice! You can give Querida twenty with the blacksnake cracker and three with the scourge. Not a sound, Querida, or we’ll really give you something to cry about.”

Then, after throwing the dice a bit, there was the “Fun Box” which had little nasty messages in it.

The janitor at my work building, who came every year might choose–

“Querida must bring you to three orgasms in fifteen minutes or her ass will be subjected to the dildo driller fucking machine for an hour, while the rest of us go out for Margaritas at Scully’s where she has a tab.”

My Pilates instructor, an entitled little bitch, would seize a message in her French manicure that read–“Tie Querida to her backyard electric fence and we’ll turn the hose on her.”

Mistress Chrysanthemum, with whom I’d taken an Italian cooking class in ’01 might get “At midnight, when we hope her neighbors are asleep, you can have Querida jog naked around the block while you chase her shooting BBs at her butt with an air pistol.”

Auden “Gopher” Prairie, my grotesque, and lustful mechanic and second husband picks out “Put Querida in a hood and take her to Whitacre National Park and have her blow drunks in the rest room for half an hour.”

So we know that Pilcher will have quite a time tonight. Yes, tonight is the night.

If I qualify for an orgasm, I think I’ll let him do me from behind!

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