LETTER FROM RALEIGH

Dear Shoeblossom:

What will happen now? Yesterday, Pebbles summoned me from the closet (I undress and kneel there as soon as I come in from work) and instructed me to put on my pink panties and my pink and purple lacy floral print baby doll nightie and high heels.

I walked into the living room, and there was Peb,  and her sister Faye, and the six guys in my darts league! “Leary, since you’ve been bitching that I make you miss your darts throwing on Wednesday nights to do a little housework, I thought I’d let the guys know that their ace thrower is a little sissy faggot.”

I’m not sure what was worse—that I blushed, or that I got a hard-on. We don’t use a chastity device—I’m on the honor system—and I have a big dick, not that it gets used much.

Denny Parsell, who I’ve known since we were at Chapel Hill began laughing his ass off. “Leary, what the fuck’s wrong with you? You look like such a fool in that thing.”

I tried to laugh. “Denny, it’s just a joke, just…” But it was too late, they were all laughing their asses off at me.

Kevin Kirtley, whose always hated me because I’m a better municipal bond salesman than he is, was laughing especially hard. “Damn, Pebbles, you’re married to a fairy, honey.”

“A weird fairy” Peb said cheerily. “You should see him when I order him to lick piss off our bathroom floor…”

“Goddamn if he ain’t wearin’ toenail polish too!” Ephraim Albemarle, our local grocer commented. “God that makes me a little sick.”

I blushed hotly and balled my fists up, but that made the guys laugh even harder. I did look ridiculous, as I noticed in the mirror over the mantelpiece. A macho guy in a pink and purple flowered nightie is not going to be too scary…

Faye, Peb’s sister snapped her fingers. “Now then, Leary you’ve been complaining that you haven’t gotten to jerk off much in the last four months—“

“Jerk off?” Varnum Coates, another asshole laughed. “He don’t get to jerk off? Y’need permission for that? Wish I’d a’known that when I was fourteen!”

I balled my fists and stomped my feet some more, and of course that hurt, as my huge feet were stuffed in Peb’s small high heels.

“Do you want to jerk off, Leary?” Faye, the uber bitch asked. “If not, you can just go kneel in the closet some more, and I’ll just send the guys home. But it has been a while, right?”

It was true. I hadn’t had an orgasm in 73 days…long ones. But if I jacked off in front of my friends—well, they weren’t really my friends anymore….and I was so damn horny. Much as I hate Faye, she looked very hot in an aquamarine top and short skirt, and my beloved Peb was in a snug tube and shorts….and I was horny!

Certainly I was grateful for the honor system, but it drove me so crazy, not being able to touch myself, when my dick was right there…at work, whenever I was away from Peb and Faye. But they’d trained me to be honest, and not touch myself when they were not directly with me…

Though sometimes Faye would lock a chastity device on me, one that precluded masturbation AND peeing, and then she’d lock on a five-dial combination padlock, give me a few hours to go back and forth with the combination until I finally got it right and released myself, but by that time I’d generally peed myself and was too turned off to jack off anyway!

But now I was so horny, but I really, really didn’t want to do it in front of the guys!

“Leary, if you want to jerk off, you’ll have to take off your top and pull down your pink panties and touch yourself right here in front of the guys, and then resign your position as captain of the darts league—“ Pebbles said.

“No no, we want him to throw darts in his nightgown, that’ll do real well at Marley’s sports bar.” Kevin Kirtley said, chortling.

My tears were blinding my face, I was so goddamned humiliated. Raleigh is a small town, unbelievably. And this story would travel all the way to my friends in Greensboro. Leary Maher, former tight end for Chapel Hill and expert in municipal and institutional fixed income bonds, was a transvestite pervert.

But I pulled my nightie over my head and pulled my panties down, exposing my cock, and hit my knees. I began rubbing my cock, and the guys laughed and threw beer cans at me

“Stop…take your hand off your wee-wee, Leary” Peb ordered. “Remember that you have to get your props.”

The guys hooted, not knowing what “props” were…

“P-please, Pebbles, let me go on this one…no props, please” I begged, real tears coursing down my face.

“Sorry, or do you want to not jerk off today?” Faye added. “Go get ‘em.”

I was sobbing as I ran into the bedroom and came out with two vibrating electric dildos. One I put in my mouth, and the other up my ass, and then I began jacking my dick again.

My former friends were now in absolute hysterics. Big, bad Leary Maher, the dirty joke-telling waitress pinching stud, was in his pink panties and sparkling pink toenail polish, jacking off with two buzzing phalluses in each of his holes…yeah, I wouldn’t really miss being on the Darts League!

Could it get worse? But it did because then, when I was about to cum, Faye, the uberbitch, told me to take my hand off my dick.

“Sorry, Leary. I didn’t say you COULD cum, just that you could jerk off a little. Say good night to the boys and go kneel in your closet!”

How I hated her!

It’ s hot this time of year in North Carolina, but especially hot when you’re crouched in a closet, about 90% of the time that you’re home, right? Pebbles will really give it to me if she catches me out right now…she’s a tough girl!

But she has to be. Pebbles was named by her thirteen year old mother, a Downs Syndrome case, who watched television cartoons all day…by the time Peb and her younger sister, Faye were five and seven years old, they were taking full care of  poor befuddled Mom. Peb learned quickly if she wanted anything in life, she’d have to go get it herself.

But it was Faye who taught her older sister the power of dominance!  Both girls are curvy, tousle-haired blondes, and Faye began sleeping with her high school biology teacher, Mr. Corcoran, and then learned that what Corky really needed was to be tortured.

As Faye tells it, Corky had taken her to their usual Motel 6 (Mrs. Corcoran and the brats would have raised a fuss if he’d brought Faye home) and Corky asked Faye to tie him up. “Dude, you are so weird” Faye said. “Tie you up? When you were teaching us about organelles, Buddy Fabian told me that you were a spazz, and I think Buddy was right.”

Finally, though, Faye tied Corky’s wrists to the headboard, and then she began playing with his cock. “Corky, you are a spazz, but you do have a nice big dong…ooh, it’s getting bigger.”

“If it gets too big, Faye, you should hit it. I’m a bad boy, you know.” Corky said, and this made Peb’s sister stare at him. He was such a goofball, but then he dripped some precum on her hand, and she became annoyed, and she punched Corky in the balls.

“There, you like that?” Faye asked, laughing as tears came out of her teacher’s eyes. “Not as good as the fantasy, right?” And she punched him again, this time right on his glans.

But then she felt badly, and she caressed Mr. Corcoran’s cheek, leaning over to him. “Corky did I go too far? Dude, I just did what you told me to.”

Corky smiled at Faye through his tears. “No, no…Faye. It was great. You need to keep me in line, if you know what I mean. I love it, the way you’re teasing me, and then punishing me a little bit…”

With this kind of encouragement, Faye began stroking Corky’s cock a little faster, and he began moaning excitedly. Faye ran her long nails up and down his cock and flashed her boobs by pulling down her tube top with her other hand, and he became really excited.

And then as he was moaning and gasping, his hips bouncing up and down, Faye punched him in the balls again!

Later on, when they were shoplifting at the mall, Faye told Peb about it. “Seriously, the guy was almost staggering when we left the motel, but hey, he gave me a hundred bucks, and that was so cool. I think men like to be teased and then tortured, kind of a Madonna whore thing, I don’t know.”

Peb wondered. The next time the welfare caseworker made a surprise visit to their trailer,  Peb wandered to the back room and came out in a little halter top and cut offs, that showed her figure to the max.

The caseworker, Mr. Schulman, was writing things down, and pestering Peb’s mom with questions she wasn’t up to answering, as Mom, drunk on paregoric, wanted to get back to watching “Bob the Builder”.

Somehow, Peb got Mr. Schulman to come into her bedroom area, and she crawled on his lap and told him some bullshit about being  uncertain about boys…and the poor fellow left the trailer, not answering any more questions, and minus four hundred dollars from his ATM card!

So that’s where the girls were coming from! Need. I, on the other hand was raised fairly well off, some would say in the lap of luxury, but still, I suffered too, as I was raised in a female dominated family.

We had a nice roomy house and a pool, but no one was allowed to go into the basement, except Mother and Dad. Sometimes I thought Dad didn’t want to go down there anyway, but Mother was always dragging him, and although it was soundproofed down there, if I leaned closely and listened, I could hear Dad’s cries of anguish.

And, when we were old enough that it wouldn’t warp us, Mother began punishing Dad in the living room. Dad would forget to wax the kitchen floor, or he would try to sneak out with his friends to play poker, and Mother would find out.

“Spivey, take down your pants” Mother would order. “In fact, take it all off right now.” Dad would sweat. He looked quite dignified at home, always wearing a vest and long sleeved white shirt and a bow tie, and very ironed to the crease trousers…being humiliated in front of his children was awfully difficult for him!

“Darling please, think of the children” Dad would say as he sweated bullets “Think of the effect on them. And it’s true, I did want to go play poker, but it’s due to my standing in the community, you understand.” It was comical to hear Dad arguing with Mother, as he was a sharp-tongued lawyer, in fact one of the Assistant District Attorneys in Greensboro, but he couldn’t talk Mother into a damn thing.

Mother was just gorgeous, her hair was up in a moderate beehive like the Marion Cunningham character on “Happy Days” but she was curvy and quite domineering. Dad just loved Mother, and I’m sure he wanted to please her, but you can’t please a woman all of the time.

Mother would take out her dark chestnut staff—it was quite a cane, and tap it on her hand as Dad would finally begin sweating, and then, looking sadly at my simpering sisters and I, begin undressing.

“You see children” Mother addressed us, “Your Dad has lost his privileges in the range of being the dignified Daddy when he misbehaves egregiously, especially when he wants to gather with men below his station to play gambling games with the Devil’s pasteboards.”

When Dad was naked (Except for his chastity device, surprised they had them then, aren’t you?) Mother would point a long red nail to the armrest of the divan, and Dad, weeping silently, would bend over.

“Think, children, “ Mother would say dramatically as she raised the cane over Dad’s bare buttocks, “If my own mother had taken your grandfather in hand like this, he would never have gambled away our family money at the racetrack.”

Mother could really deliver a caning, and she paced her strokes half a minute apart, so that Dad could get the true effect of her displeasure. I wanted to pull away, but I couldn’t—it was so fascinating to watch the welts being raised on his corpulent buttocks.

“That’s right, Spivey, keep your legs apart, no cinching your buttocks—that just makes things more difficult you know.” Mother said as the cane came down several more times, and Daddy wept bitterly.

Mother’s arm did a merry battering on Dad’s bottom

The welts that Mother landed on Dad’s buttocks were cruel, and I knew this because Mother also whipped me with vigor when I disappointed her, though of course I wasn’t on such a stringent leash as Dad was—not then.

“Listen to your father, crying like a little girl” Mother called over Dad’s screams for leniency, for mercy. The cane came down in spaced whacks, and you could see Mother gritting her teeth as she put her beef into them.

Finally, Mother would order Dad, weeping to the corner, and then later, I’d peek back into the parlor, to witness an even more disturbing scene.

Now Mother, still fully dressed, had unlocked Dad’s chastity device, and was rubbing his penis and cooing to him, as he babbled apologies, sitting on her lap on the same divan that she’d so viciously thrashed him on!

“You see, Spivey, I just want you to be an obedient boy. What kind of example are you giving to Leary and his sisters?” Mother’s low tones were impressive, and Dad was crying still, it had been quite a flogging, but was rapidly being soothed with the hand job.

“Your two oldest sons have abdicated their lives here and gone to live in complete irresponsibility, and now I am worried our younger children might do the same if you can’t be a good example as a father to them.”

I would think frustratedly that it was Mother who had driven Spats and Terp, my two older brothers off, with her warped views on parenthood, but there was no arguing with Mother!

Eventually, as I watched, Dad would begin pleading Mother for them to “go upstairs”.  “I just want to make love to you” he’d plead…because Mother at this point was flashing him her cleavage and he was out of his mind with lust.

“No no, Spivey.” Mother said. “I have allowed you to seed me with three children, and now there is really no need for us to have relations any longer, you know that. You are a sexually unappealing naughty boy.”

Mother’s hands and fingers would be exploring all over Dad’s thrusting cock, and then she would tell him, finally, that it was time to lock him up again.

Dad never took this part well. “But I don’t want to be locked up” Dad would whine. “It’s been a month and a half since I got to have a ‘wettie’, and I had to stimulate myself—“

Mother’s low tones, trying to be sweet and consistent…”Spivey, don’t give me a hard time dear. Go and fetch the chastity device. I really don’t want to have you give me a tantrum—“

“But it’s not FAIR” Dad’s voice came again, sounding oddly like me when Mother wouldn’t buy me a model airplane. “I just don’t think it’s—“

And then Mother picked up the cane and whacked it across Dad’s cock and balls and he screamed shrilly, so shrilly that I almost fell through the door. “Now Spivey, are you going to go and get me the chastity device, or are you going back over the armrest? I was thinking of letting you jerk yourself to a wettie next Monday, but with your attitude, I may have to wait until Christmas!”

There was a good deal of unfairness to Dad on Mother’s part, I always thought. I remember tiptoeing by their room in the middle of the night, on my way to the toilet, and hearing a strange voice in Mother’s room.

I was able to peek through the doorway, and there Mother was with Francois our gardener, rolling around in her bed! Dad, astonishingly, was kneeling by the side of the bed in his chastity device, looking rather sad.

I watched in adolescent horror as Francois, who was big and burly, but not overly bright, would hammer  Mother with his big cock, and I listened to her moan in pleasure, trying to keep her hand in her mouth to keep from waking us children, I guess.

“Spivey, don’t look so depressed.” Mother called over to Dad, who was frankly on the verge of tears. “You know you’re not up to this…you might as well just accept that Francois is so much better for me! And of course you’re going to have to give him a raise.”

Francois was a French-Canadian who had been transplanted to Greensboro some years back, and he wasn’t much of a gardener. He spent a lot of time sitting in the zinnias drinking schnapps, but now I understood why Mother wouldn’t let Dad fire him.

Apparently, Francois was good at planting the seeds that Mother especially needed!

“Spivey, Francois needs a bit of stimulation” Mother said next. “He is a bit exhausted since he’s been giving it to me for nearly an hour. Why don’t you stimulate his anus with your tongue.”

At this I almost fell through the door. What kind of depraved pervert was my mother? And would my father go for this? He had to stand up for himself. Come on, Dad.

My dad just looked at Mother from his kneeling position. “I just—I can’t put my tongue in his smelly rear end, Earline.” Dad begged. “P-please don’t make me—“

Francois jumped off the bed and grabbed Dad by his left ear, and whacked him in the face with his other hand. “You weel do what Meesees Maher says, you fat cochon you…or I will beat you weeth my belt!”

Then Francois got back on the bed and spread his cheeks and looked back at my Dad threateningly. And Dad sighed and crawled on the bed and began reluctantly tonguing Francois’s anus, and soon the French-Canadian gardener, worthless as he was, began hammering Mother once again.

When I crawled back to bed that night, I wondered if I was losing my mind!

Of course the other issue, which was even more embarrassing, was how Francois and Mother sent Dad out dressed in drag to pick up men. Sometimes my pals and I would be cruising the Greensboro red-light district in Tommy DeHoya’s ’83 Audi on a Saturday night, looking to buy some pot, and we’d pass the corner where the hookers were…

And there, among the ladies of the night, would be my Dad, who would be done up in a fake beehive wig, grotesque makeup and press-on nails, and a ludicrous gold lame dress that made him look like a Sold Gold transvestite dancer (that’s an old reference).

“Dig that ugly cow!” Tommy would laugh, and the other guys would hoot and scream at poor Dad, and I’d just blush and be quiet. I wondered if they might note the family resemblance, but thankfully, that never happened.

Then late at night, I’d be in bed, having gotten home by my midnight curfew, and I’d peek out of the bedroom as Dad would come in, and give Mother and Francois the money he’d made giving head to various weirdoes in their cars…

And Francois would curse Dad for not having made enough, or for holding out on them (But my God, poor Dad had five o’clock shadow under his makeup, how much could he possibly make?) and then Francois would beat the shit out of Dad while Mother watched and laughed…

And the next morning before we went to church, Dad would be making our pancakes with a black eye and a bloody, fat lip…it was sad!

I also sometimes went downtown in Mother’s car myself, and I would sometimes watch as Dad knelt on his stained torn stockings, in a rainy alley, sucking off some tobacco farm hand, or some other derelicts that wandered through Greensboro in the evenings, looking for a little excitement.

I just couldn’t get over the look on poor Dad’s face when his cheeks were covered in semen, mixed in with the heavy pancake makeup. What had brought him to such a low? Could Mother be that demanding, that she and her lover, Francois, could make a once proud man behave in such a disgusting fashion?

When Mother disciplined me, she thankfully didn’t use the hiking cane, but certainly she had some deadly weapons! The one that I recall being the most painful was a fifteen inch loop of several ropes, that was locked in a Spanish Olivewood handle.

Originally this roped loop was used to beat carpets, but Mother certainly could find her uses for it in the house! My sister Drea loved to catch me in some misdemeanor…Mother forbade us to wear blue jeans, and it was quite difficult, growing up as a kid in the Seventies, always wearing tweed pants and brogans when the rest of the kids had dungarees and Keds.

“Mother, I found blue jeans in Leary’s room!” Drea got such a kick out of this. She and my other sister, Maura, would eagerly stay on hand to watch Mother’s wrath.

Mother would come upstairs, holding the triple roped and looped carpet beater, and search for the evidence. “Ah hah!” she would say grimly,  and she was upon me.

“Mother please, not here, not in front of the girls” I’d plead, but Mother had never had any compunctions about baring my bottom in front of my sisters, though I had never seen either of them unclothed at all.

Mother ordered me to undress, and after a look in her enraged eyes, I would obey, while my sisters giggled uproariously. “Now I’m going to tie your wrists together and your ankles, because you’ll try to squirm away.” Mother would then say with clenched teeth.

Finally I was on my bed and she was bringing the carpet rope thing down on my butt forty, fifty times as I screamed and howled. What was amazing was, Mother could find my testicles and somehow pull them through the back of my legs so she could whip them with the ropes as well, and I just went insane with pain and misery!

Mother’s swings often hit the underside of the curve of my buttocks, and she always managed to break skin, amazing with ropes. After there was a bit of blood, she would sigh with appreciation, and stop the thrashing, although my sisters would clamor for more.

Then, a few months into my sophomore year of high school, Mother found my stash of “Penthouse” magazines in the garage. For this offense, she brought out her acetal cane. Acetal is a sort of  polyoxymethylene plastic, quite durable and almost as tough as fiberglass.

After she’d stripped me and left marks up and down my naked body with the cane, Mother told me she was taking me downtown to the Scourge Society carpenter’s shop for a “purchase”. Mother and Dad were experienced players in the Scourge Society, which at that time was Greensboro’s premier BDSM group.

The Society had a gift shop and of course their carpentry store, and I was taken down and Mother fitted me for a chastity belt. “I know you are opposed to this, Leary, and I want you to have the same amusements as young men your age—I don’t object to your dating, and certainly not to having friends, but I must keep some sort of watch on your sexual activity.”

I knew this chastity belt thing was coming—my oldest brother, Spivens “Spats” Hartley Maher the Fifth, had been a victim of Mother’s chastity leanings.

My middle brother Terpsichore had also been forced into a belt, but had broken out of it and stolen the family car, and had spent the next decade selling methamphetamine or being imprisoned for selling methamphetamine.

When Terp finally got the lethal injection needle for shooting a rival dealer who was unfortunately related to a State Senator, his last words were “Well it’s better than being locked in Mother’s chastity belt.”

I’m sure Spats agreed with Terp, but he had attempted to deal with the chastity thing by figuring Mother was just going through a phase, and he willingly allowed her to lock the belt on.

And Mother kept Spats at home, not only through high school, but he went to college at Guilford, a Quaker school right in Greensboro. So for a good seven years Spats had the chastity belt on, and Mother released him about twice a month, when he’d completed his home chores and could produce a good transcript for grades.

It was quite a production, and it always amused my sisters, though it horrified Terp and me, until of course Terp stole the car and ran off for good. Spats would undress in the living room, right next to Dad, and they would deposit their chastity belts on the coffee table.

Mother didn’t give Dad as many orgasms as Spats got; but she cuffed both their wrists behind their backs and gave them each a “massage” every two weeks as they stood trembling with intense desire.

Mother usually did this interesting chore while dressed in a flimsy negligee…I am not sure what her oldest son thought of this, but Dad was terribly attracted to Mother, and would tell her extensively how beautiful she was.

“Really, Earline, you are so wonderful and you look so glorious in that peach body stocking! I am the luckiest man in the world, and so is Spats, lucky to have a mother like you.”

Mother would reply as she stroked Dad’s pulsating erection. “Now, Spivey, you’re quite the flatterer but you won’t be cumming this evening. Spats did so well on his Latin essay on Caesar’s campaign against the Germans—‘Bellicosissi Germani’—very good, dear—and your Geometry—“

Mother looked hopefully at Spats who recited “The square of the hypotenuse of a right angled triangle is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides”.

“I’m so proud of his good work, and of course he’s been playing so well on the basketball team…And he can play the most beautiful Strauss waltzes on his silver Boehm flute…so I’m going to let him have a squirtiee…”

At this, Spats always blushed, and I was somewhat horrified. I don’t know if I saw my future then, but it seemed clear that Mother had an agenda.

“But just before, Spats, darling…I’ve asked you to memorize and recite a piece by Thackeray…so can you do it?” Mother inquired.

This was 1979, and Spats wanted to just be an average teenage boy playing base in a rock band and raising hell…but Mother was determined that he learn the manners of Little Lord Fauntleroy.

Poor Spats begged Mother with his eyes. Was it not bad enough that he had to stand nude in the living room before his entire family, including his clothed younger sisters? But Mother just smiled. “Darling, if you want to wait another two weeks for a squirtee…but otherwise, please recite the Thackeray poem.”

Spats winced and then recited

“This I do declare

Happy is the laddy

Who the heart can share

Of Peg of Limavaddy

Married if she were,

Blessed would be the daddy

Of the children fair

Of Peg of Limavaddy

Beauty is not rare

In the land of Paddy

Fair beyond compare

Is Peg of Limavaddy

Mother would jerk Spats off into a little glass, while murmuring “Do you love your Mummy…Mummy hopes so…” and then she would feed it to him while his hands were still manacled behind his back.

Dad usually just got a bit of masturbation and then was locked up…it was rare that he had orgasms. Perhaps Spats should have felt lucky, but I didn’t get the impression that he had that perspective…

In time, Spats had high school and college girlfriends, and he would plead on his knees for Mother to lend him the key for a particular date…but no, she wanted Spats to stay pure!

Was that the most painful part of Spats’s training? I wonder sometimes. I also remember coming downstairs one evening, dressed to go out, and there’s my brother, dressed in a Farrah Fawcett wig and light pink lipstick, wearing a dress from Betsy Johnson, and yup, Mother had shaved his legs. And there are a couple of young sergeants who apparently drove over from Camp Lejeune, one’s talking to Dad, in his horrible outfit, and one to Spats.

And when the fellas go out for a smoke, Spats is telling Mother “I don’t think I can do it, Mother…please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to suck that man’s penis. Please, Mother don’t do this to me.”

And Mother ever the whorehouse madam is going “I’m sorry, dear, but if you want to cum again before you graduate, you’re going to have to do what Mother says. Or, I can whip your buttocks in front of the young men, would that make you more malleable?”

God I felt so sorry for him, my poor brother Spats. And then I’d hear Mother coaching him. “Darling, it’s all about an oral caress of the male genitals. Remember,  The softer underside of an erection shaft is usually more sensitive than the sides or top. Remember to warm the head of his penis with your breath, and lick the lower  part of the penis, the frenulum…it’s so exciting, darling. you’ll get good at it, your Daddy did!”

I am amazed my brother didn’t go through a nervous breakdown during this time. But he did what he was supposed to do, and he and Dad raised lots of money for the Greensboro Hospital Committee with their good work, so who am I to criticize?

It was of little surprise when Spats also cut his chastity device off, and ran off and joined a traveling carnival as a roustabout, and we’ve not heard from him since. But that didn’t discourage Mother!

But when the chastity belt time came for me, I was barely ready for it…sadly enough!

Putting a chastity device on a healthy teenage boy can be interpreted by some as being an absolute act of barbarity…All young guys do is think about girls and masturbate constantly, and I was no different.

And I was on the football team, and had lots of girls flirting with me, and one girl, Tempest, I was dating on a fairly regular basis. Tempest was a curvy girl with bouncing honey curls and she loved climbing on my lap and shoving her tongue in my mouth!

Drea, who knew my secret, would always laugh behind her hand as Tempest would begin making out with me. For Drea knew that I was suffering, as my poor cock was completely constrained by that evil chastity device!

Now and then Mother would remove the device, after she’d bound my hands behind my back of course. Mother was a strict hygienist, and would drop me in the bathtub and then order Drea to wash and shave my pubic area completely, so I would not get any infections when the chastity belt was locked back on.

Drea was quite a hottie herself, and she would tease me mercilessly, telling me how she was sure that Tempest would enjoy knowing that I had to be bathed like a baby, by my younger sister!

The dates with Tempest were incredibly frustrating to me, and I didn’t have as good an academic record as my brother, nor was I inclined to impress Mother with feats of poetry or music, and so on the bimonthly “massages” Mother generally unlocked me, and rubbed my penis into abject stiffness, while soulfully looking into my eyes and asking why on earth I couldn’t “please Mummy”

I am embarrassed to say that sometimes I would throw a fit, while my hands were manacled because I was so frustrated at not being able to cum.

“Please, Mother, you’re killing me!” I’d scream as Mother would be patiently bending over my erection, her gorgeous cleavage flashing in my face, while she rubbed and stroked my frustrated penis.

“Now now, darling, you know I can’t help you out” Mother would say in her Southern drawl, “After all, you got a quite mediocre 87 on your Precalculus quiz, and you’re not doing nearly enough studying. You spend a lot of school nights out driving around with your friends.”

It was true, but often I was driving around watching my father do his unpleasant duty as a transvestite hooker…I had to see it! And this had been making my grades suffer considerably.

Finally I would shriek at Mother, who was giving me an endless light fingered massage, and then she would tell me sorrowfully that she was going to have to punish me for my disrespect…and she’d bring out her long, thin switch from the elm tree in the front yard!

WHACK! THWACK! SMACK! SNAP! The switch would  come down on my frustrated erection until I was weeping for mercy, and then Mother would turn  me across her lap and welt my bare buttocks until I was howling and crying  in complete misery and humiliation…

Drea and Maura always found this to be hilarious, and I just didn’t understand why the women in the family were so completely cruel!

Once, after Dad had thrown a similar tantrum, Mother bound our testicles together and locked us in the cold basement, and then she took the girls out to Chippendale’s, a male strip dancing club. I was sure the Chippendale’s guys were gay, but it was still a terrible insult.

“Dad, how can you put up with this?” I pleaded with my father as we crouched back to back, our balls touching as they were so effectively cuffed together.

“Well, you know, Leary, it’s really my own fault” Dad said haphazardly. “I got Mother interested in BDSM and I got my own dominatrix, a Ms. Snaith, to work with Mother and have me trained. I never wanted you boys to be involved with this, but sadly, this was what happened…Mother is a bit of a manic depressive, and has taken on female domination as a full-time child raising philosophy!”

And you know, I talked Dad to death that night, and persuaded him to help me out a bit. He remonstrated with Mother, and told her that I didn’t want to become a male prostitute, and I wanted to control my own orgasms, and that she had to give it up, or I would run away like my brothers did!

And Mother took my belt off, finally. I was able to live in peace, and I went to college and began my career as a bonds salesman, and moved to Raleigh…but Mother left a bug in my bonnet, or a bee, or some such.

I met Pebbles and her sister when I was shopping in a local bookstore, the Sadomag, and of course you know what happened next. And no one was happier than Mother when I called and informed her.

So I am a happy but reluctant slave boy, and I guess that’s the way it must be!

Leary

Dear Leary:

I have heard from so many men in your situation, and no, therapy doesn’t help much. So you’d better just stick with your situation, and hope for the good life…it’s there for you, in a way!

Best,

Shoeblossom