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LETTER FROM TAMPA
Dear Shoeblossom,
This morning Dawnette Erin McE____ came to see me. She's a slightly chubby blonde, busty deputy of the Hillsborough County Sheriff's Office, located midway along the. West Coast of Florida.
Dawnie came in and I smiled at her,boredly. Of course I was smoking a bowl, and Dawnie was trying not to notice this as she reached into her purse, handing me my $250 tribute.
"Hi, Searle," Dawnie said hesitantly. I snapped my fingers, and she began unbuttoning her ugly brown uniform top, folding it neatly and putting it on the chair.
As she stepped out of her pants, I noted with amusement that once again she was trying to woo me with cheap Frederick's of Hollywood underclothes.
I casually went to the couch, and picked up a hazel switch that I cut this morning.
"So how's your week going, Dawnie?" I asked, tapping the switch against my hand.
"P-please...let me suck you, Searle. Let me bite your scrotum like the last time--"
WHACK! Right across the stomach. A tear rolled down Dawnie's cheek, but she said nothing.
"C'mon, don't you have something to brag about, you fat piece of shit...haven't you ruined some poor woman's chance of ever getting a security clearance by busting her for pot or something?"
I swatted her across the shoulder with my hazel switch, and grinned.
Dawnie rolled her eyes, but was up to the challenge, and she is such a braggart.
"Well, I am runner up for an award with the Florida Sheriff's Association. I stopped a--"
WHACK! I slashed Dawnie across her cleavage, nearly knocking her bra off. Dawnie bit her full lower lip, so glossed, and spasmed silently.
"I give a shit about your award with the Florida Sheriff's Fag association." I said, giving my pipe a final toke before setting it down on the coffee table.
"P-please, Searlie, darling. Let me titty-fuck your penis or something." Dawnie was negotiating now. She stepped closer, and reached out for my shirt with her pathetic purple nails.
I stepped back. "I don't need your mind-bending sex acts, babe. Or whatever you call it."
I snapped my fingers and Dawnie bent over and grabbed her ankles, now crying in earnest.
I stepped around her and used my thumb to pull Dawnie's panties down to her knees.
" 'Cause you see" I said, enjoying myself as I raised my hazel switch, "I'd be doing you a disservice...in not punishing you for being the over-fed bureaucratic gun-pig that you are!"
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The hazel switch landed repeatedly against Dawnie's full shaking butt cheeks...I put my muscle into the blows, and finally she was sobbing loudly.
"Aaw...what a crybaby...Boo hoo...you lard ass!" I was laughing openly now.
"Take off your bra, Miss Piggy...let's see them jugs." Dawnie was fearful now, she knew where this was going. She unbuckled her bra though, and dropped it on the floor.
"My God, I've never seen a saggier set of teats in my life." Actually, Dawnette is quite a stacked babe, albeit 20 pounds too heavy.
I understand she is the County Comptroller's mistress, which is how she gets all the moolah to pay me...
I went in with the hazel switch, and eventually broke it...and by that time poor Dawnie was covered with long red streaks, her chubby breasts bleeding slightly from my tremendous efforts.
Finally, I allowed Dawnie to get on her knees and suck me to a nice heavy jism shot, and was it fun, face-fucking her!
But I had to hustle her out before Eden, the software developer for higher education girl... When I got her tribute, I had to get the leash out and make her sniff my ass!
Opal is one of many clients I have who feels guilty about her big, beautiful breasts. Yes, it's true. Natural, gravity ignoring mammaries that have gotten her many B movie parts and lingerie modeling jobs, and now a superb position as weather girl for a cable station.
"Hi, Searle, how've you been?" Opal says, handing me my tribute. It's true, the sight of her heaving breasts in the snug pink top does make me a little weak, but I ball my fists.
"How's Udder-lady doing?" I sneer, punching her lightly in her left boob as she backs up a little bit.
"Those boobies get you all kinds of jobs, don't they...you think you're hot shit because the high school boys are checking you out when you leave the news station?"
I chortle. "I see you on TV with these ridiculous lingerie tops...the FCC should put your fat ass in jail, Opal."
Opal gives me her most alluring look. "Wouldn't you like to suck them, Searle?"
Opal's boyfriends are always crazy for her boobs, and she usually makes them buy her all kinds of crap before they get her shirt off...wouldn't they like to see the situation here?
"You think they're so cute, don't you..." I laugh, slapping her in the face. "Maybe we'll just ignore them, this session...let you do some work scrubbing my garage floor, whaddya think?"
Opal began shaking. "N-no...they need attention, Searle. You can give them attention, right?"
I laugh. "Show them to me if you like...I could care less, really. But they do need to be taken down a notch!"
Opal strips off her tight pink top and black frilly brassiere. Pouting, she turns those gorgeous pink things towards Master Searle.
For Opal, I keep my ball-bearing whip in the freezer-- six strands of marble sized ball bearings with holes punctured through them...
And metal strings through the holes...tied together in a long leather handle.
Kind of a tiny six o' 9 tails! The freezing BB strands make nice markings across Opal's quivering breasts...yessir, 'tis a joy to hear her howl!
"No more, Master Searle, Oh, my poor nipples!" Opal screams, but relentlessly I swing again and again...the cold really helps to make the nasty little strands ever more vicious.
"No no, Opal...don't back up, you need just a few more shots.." And the ball-bearing whip lands again and again, making her orbs dance merrily to whatever weird tune is in my head, you know?
Sometimes I go out and cut stinging nettles, using gloves of course, and then I have a merry time swishing them across Opal's tender nipples as she cries bitterly.
I can tell, though, that her clit is almost soggy with desire. She's a sick girl.
And then I hang Opal through her pierced nipples from the ceiling in my cellar...and try to ignore her hysterical, self-hating sobs as I mount the stairs to go meet Demaris.
Demaris, who handles range of litigation and transactional work for some bullshit company, is too obsessed with masturbation.
I keep Demaris in a chastity belt, allowing her out to be diddled with a Clitoris Stimulator now and then..it so frustrates her when I tie her down and run the little whirring machine!
She squeals and moans as I make the little Stimulator tremble along the walls of her vulva, and cries with bitter vexation when I shut the little monster off...and lock her up for another week!
But for sure, Demaris is far more productive than she was nine months ago, before I got her on this chastity training program...
In nine months she's had four orgasms, and I've given them on the basis of her work bonuses...do your work and get rewarded, you know!
When she does well enough for an orgasm, I make Demaris suck me to several orgasms before I finally stick it in, and she gets a little thrill.
I'm actually not that good in bed, but when the girl is frustrated enough...I can get a lot done!
Then comes Kheryn. "I hope I'm not late, Searle"...
Of all my clients, Kheryn is the one I'm closest to having a crush on. Not only does she have a beautiful, slender body, and sassy blue-black hair, but Kheryn is an intellectual--I am relatively well read for one who last sat in a classroom at age thirteen...
But Kheryn is a Romance Languages professor at USF--Sarasota, and we both love Henry James, Edith Wharton, and have had many great conversations about postmodern art and anthropology,etc... over dinner...but Kheryn's gay, and her partner doesn't like domming her!
"So, did you bring the essay...ten thousand words on what it means to submit?"
I love giving Kheryn assignments. I understand at the University of South Florida, Kheryn is a tough grader.
"I...I was only able to write about six pages, Searle, finals to grade..." I grabbed the six pages that I am sure she labored on for hours, and I ripped them up in little pieces.
Then I took a ruler from my desk. "Hold out your hand, Kheryn...palm up!"
Kheryn is not a whiny piece of white trash like Dawnette Erin...no, she holds out her hand, biting her lip.
Six times the ruler lands on her tiny palm. "Other palm please." Ten times on this one, and I can tell her hands are throbbing now.
"Hold out your forefinger...you don't need it, you've got a secretary."
Kheryn is crying now...but her finger comes out and I drop the ruler, picking up the hazel switch that did such lovely work on Dawnie...
Thrice hard on the finger as Kheryn holds it out with amazing self control. "Clothes off, and over my desk, please, Kheryn."
Kheryn's buttocks are tiny, but when I aim carefully, I can land a scorcher right on the tender area just below her bottom cheeks. I hear just a slight moan.
The girl is amazing...a true masochist. Last week I covered her naked little body in sixty rat-traps, and then invited a homeless man in to knock them off...
and the final humiliation, Kheryn, the feminist lesbian, had to suck his smelly cock for nearly an hour!
Because of my true disappointment at Kheryn's lack of energy in writing the ten thousand requested words, I lock her in my steamer trunk in the stifling attic and go downstairs to meet Boniface.
"Hello, Mr. Searle, I'm so sorry I'm late." I love my male clients! As a revered and quite macho Florida fight promoter, Boniface is called "Buck" by most of his friends..
But I call him "Bonnie". It fits, you know, since as soon as Bonnie comes in, he changes into a frilly white petticoat underskirt often trimmed at the hemline as with lace and ruffles, and a pink schoolgirl gown over it, with a nice bonnet and Mary Jane shoes....
I put him to work cleaning the cellar, which he just never does well...
So off came the skirt, and he bent over in his garters and stockings having his bare buttocks thrashed with my marvelous Headmaster's Birch--five stout twigs tied together with string! Oh, the welts and weals they bring up on Bonnie's bubbly bottom!
And then of course Bonnie's penis must be teased and thrashed...Five or six lubed strokes...I'm not gonna do it, Bonnie must edge his own penis to the point of orgasm...
He looks so ridiculous, standing there, six foot two in his stockings and garter, wanking his dick again and again.
I'm only five six, and Bonnie could kick the living shit out of me if he liked, but instead he chooses to pay five hundred bucks for two hours of this nonsense!
He strokes and strokes...sometimes I let him use traditional lube, other times Ben-Gay when I'm feeling mean, or motor oil...
Once I hired five large black men to come in and take him in his petticoats...they skull-fucked him and ass fucked him til Bonnie's Republican tushie was just in bad shape!
And then other days, when I'm horny, I have Bonnie suck my dick to acute hardness, I fuck him in the ass, and cum hard...
And then he must clean the shit off my dick with his pretty little mouth!
But today Bonnie just jacks and jacks his dick, using the merciful Astroglide...finally he's on the verge of cumming...
"Mister Searle, I'm ready, sir." I snap my fingers...
Bonnie puts his hands behind his back and closes his eyes. The ugly, vicious five twigged birch slashes his penis again and again until it's just a bloody little tissue...
And then Bonnie must jerk it again! Six times we go through this ritual until his pee-pee is too sore to touch...and then it's time for a few more lashes to the bottom...
And then I let Bonnie jerk off into a shot glass...well the shot glass is set a few feet away, and God help him if the spew doesn't land there!
If it does, then he licks it out and goes home...but if he misses, I bring out my nice big blacksnake whip...and we begin anew!
So, Shoeblossom...
Do you think I should incorporate my business? I'm called Searle. My first name has never been used, really--it was a common one in the Florida Baptist Heritage Children's Home, so I was called by my last name quite early.
You understand...if there are eight "Ralphs" in a group of sixty, you have to differentiate through the surname. I have no idea who my parents were, but Mom, who birthed me and took off, was called Agnes Searle on the birth certificate, and Daddy was Unknown.
Orphan Searle became Inmate Searle, after some youthful proclivities involving Home Invasion and Grand Theft Auto..
Then Corporal Searle was tossed by Uncle Sam after some insubordination, blessedly, just before our unit was to be shipped to the Gulf in '91.
Busboy Searle was finishing up his shift one night when Corrine, the prettiest of the Pancake House waitresses offered an invitation...
"You want to come over my place and listen to some Tracy Chapman, Searle?"
Corrine had fifteen years on me, easily, but was quite beautiful, with an old fashioned auburn bouiffant hairdo.
I on the other hand looked exactly like I've looked since puberty-- five foot six, pudgy, zits, with hearing aids and thick glasses, one foot shorter than the other and a slight harelip...
The only difference now was, the hair in my twenty-two year old scalp had almost completely fallen out.
Okay, I'd had a couple of girlfriends, and even been married briefly between prison and the Army, but none of them looked like Corrine.
What did she want with a disabled seventh-grade dropout ex-con with no money? Had to find out.
I was amazed when she began kissing me on her waterbed, and horrified when she brandished a Ping-Pong paddle and asked me to spank her.
She sat there, smiling in a kind of shy way...which really puzzled me, since Corrine was a loud flirt at work,and the guys loved her...she'd rejected lots better looking men than me!
"You're kidding, right, Corrine? What would you want me to hurt you for, honey?" I shook my head, puzzled. I'd never read any sadomasochistic literature, though later Corrine was to give me a copy of the "Story of O".
"Searle...I like to be punished...I need to be punished." Corrine looked at me searchingly with her big brown eyes.
"But it has to be by the right guy. In the time we've worked together...I've had these needs, these fantasies."
It was true--I'd seen her a few times, gazing at me as I carried the garbage out, or sneaking a peek at me when we had our smoking breaks in the parking lot. Weird.
And here she was, still in her hot waitress uniform, crossing her long pretty legs, and handing me this paddle...
"Please, Searle? If you do a good job on me, I'll do anything you want." And she swirled a tongue across her lips.
Well, hey....I may be ugly and a gimp,but I'm no fool.
"So how do I do this? Just hit you on your butt?" I looked through my smeared glasses at her...this was too precious!
"No." Corrine looked down at her crossed legs demurely. "Pappy--my father--would lecture me, and order me to take down my panties. He usually did this in front of my brothers and sisters...first, because it hurt more with panties down, and secondly to embarrass me...it was a good lesson!"
Corrinne paused. "Then after he spanked me, and I got to cryin', he'd make me stand in the corner with my panties down, and then later we'd pray together for me to be a better girl!"
Corrine shook her head ruefully. "Pappy did this until I was twenty, and then I ran away from home...but now I know that I needed that discipline."
Well, to me, Pap sounded like a depraved old pervert. But I was hard as a rock listening to this, and immediately, I gave Corrine a stern lecture.
She knelt at her feet and looked up at me as if I was God. "You flirt with all the guys at work, and dance around like a tramp instead of a waitress, and I'm going to give you a good licking!"
"Now remember," Corrine said as I threw her across my knee, tossing up her dress and yanking down her drawers, "Give it to me hard, if I ain't yellin' it just isn't hard enough."
I gave her thirty with the paddle and twelve with my belt before she began to cry, and then I gave her twenty more...and off it was to the corner for that bad girl.
And I had to admit, seeing her there holding up her skirt with her panties down and that welted red bottom, each cheek looking kinda bedraggled did turn me on!
And later, Corrine left the corner, stripped off her clothes...and gave me seven hours of unholy sex...like I'd never had before! At the end of the evening, she left me in the waterbed and curled up on the floor at the foot of the waterbed.
Like a dog! Within a few weeks, Corrine had begged me to just quit my job and keep my energies up for being her Master...
It was just as well that I left the Pancake house. Let's face it, I was a limping cripple with crappy ears and very poor eye-hand coordination.
I'd failed at crime, I'd failed at work, I'd even had to give up being a drug addict at one time, it seemed whenever I went out to score, it seemed I had a psychic sign on me reading "Bust Me" on one side, and "Rip Me Off" on the other!
But, ugly, disabled and vocationally useless...I had a hidden talent. It came out in droves when Corrine took me to Club Blue, the local BDSM club in Tampa.
"C'mon Cory, this is ridiculous" I complained. "I don't want to dress in black and hang out with a bunch of Goth losers from the Dungeons and Dragons Club..."
Almost immediately as I came in though, things began changing. A skinny type with purple hair approached me and told me she liked my suntan...would I assist in her caning?
Making this creature, lead singer for Thumbelina Torres and The Candied Yams, howl gave me much joy...and then I had her rim my ass hole..I was suffering from a touch of diahhreah.
Or as I called them, the Hershey Squirts...and Thumbelina licked her way to coprophiliac nirvana! It's great having a human bidet, it's just the best!
Later I made Thumbelina and Corrine lick out all the ashtrays in the Club...and other girls were begging to do a little work as well. What the hell's going on with the women today?
Within three visits to Club Blue, I'd dropped Corrine, and was living with a banker named Shelly who made me keep her in a cage and attach electrodes to her nipples that would buzz when I woke up in the morning....
I can't even recall who it was that suggested I put an ad in the local alternative weekly. It sure wasn't my idea, as I'm not bright enough to think of money-making ideas...
But the banker girl was! And she wrote this fabulous ad for me...
"Naughty Girls and Boys...Master Searle is here to give you the guidance you've lost in today's free and easy living society. Caning, nipple torture, whips, and various other punishments will make you be a better person...and excite you just a little!"
It was a stupid ad, and unbelievably she had me put my pasty four eyed face on a photo...I couldn't believe anyone would go for it!
But there you go, right, Shoeblossom? I'm a junior high school dropout who has no work experience other than six weeks as a busboy and a few months in the military...and let's not forget those license plate stamping skills!
And now I make more than a hundred grand a year, whipping the asses that need it!
Who could ask for a better life? (But should I incorporate?)
Searle.
By all means, Searle... Incorporate and hey, sell training tapes. Or DVDs? Whatever it takes, capitalism and kinkiness have overtaken the country...why not cash in now?
Best,
Shoeblossom
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