Letter from Jefferson City

LETTER FROM JEFFERSON CITY

Dear Shoeblossom:

Do you get many letters from Jeff City, or from Missouri at all? Harmon, my husband tells me we are the “silent majority” and no one cares about us, until the Presidential elections come around. Then we’re considered the conservatives, I suppose.

Harmon and I were at one of those Tea Party Town Hall events, and I remember reading an editorial about us later, describing us as semiliterate malcontents with false morals. Morals? Who knows.

I don’t feel terribly moralistic on Tuesday afternoons when I dress Harmon in a platinum blonde wig and a taffeta dress and have him suck off soldiers and sailors and other macho men who see our ad in an alternative weekly.

Harmon is not a particularly pretty sight, in his bouffant wig, fake nails and lingerie underwear, but the boys stick their dicks in his lipsticked mouth quite willingly.

I collect the five dollar bills by the door and donate them to UNICEF. I suspect they support pro-life causes and that sort of thing, but hey, no one’s perfect. Sometimes Harmon whines that he’d like to use some of his cocksucking earnings to go bowling with the boys, since I give him almost nothing from his paycheck…and then, if he whines further I am afraid that I get perturbed and I bring out the cat o nine tails.

Before we took up this lifestyle, Harmon was surviving, just barely guzzling martinis, smoking three packs a day, doing cocaine and running around behind my back with floozies and strippers, AND he took Valium, Paxil, Fioronal, Topomax, Librium and a dozen other prescribed mood alterers…

And he was 120 pounds overweight, and just miserable. He was seeing psychiatrists, counselors, clerical types. He was diagnosed as having Attention Deficit Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Inner Child Syndrome, and Post Traumatic Stress something-or-other…it was bad!

But since I agreed to become his dominant Goddess, Harmon has given up everything but Diet Coke and he jogs, does all kinds of Yoga, and is a different person. No therapy needed anymore, which is money back in our pocket.  His discipline by me has done wonders, and I wonder sometimes if I should write a book!

Sometimes he comes in, I’m bored, reading “Elle” magazine. Harmon is athletic, and somewhat distracted, and when he comes home, he just wants a beer from the refrigerator. “I had my nails done at Saks today” I said…

Harmon looks at me, his eyes glazing over. “You want to, you know?” He always hopes for a tease!  “Please, Licia, can we?” And then I nod, and permit him a smile.

Running my long blue, shiny nails up and down Harmon’s cock after he’s been stripped and bound is such fun! Now that he’s in a chastity commitment, of course he lives for my attentions to his starved organ.

I thought seriously about locking him in a belt, but you know then the belt is keeping him honest, and not the Goddess.

The honor system isn’t perfect, though. Sometimes he calls me from work, begging for permission (can you imagine) to masturbate in the bathroom, and I just laugh and hang the phone up.

But then when he comes home, and I tie his large, muscular arms behind his back,, and begin playing with his penis, running my long blue nails up and down his growing cock, he knows it’s all worthwhile.

“Oh, Licia, I love you.” Harmon moans, gasping inwardly as I twitch my nose at him, and give him a shot of my cleavage. My boobs aren’t big, but they’re perky in the right kind of bra.

I’ve usually glossed my lips an intense burgundy, and I move my mouth just over his thrusting cock, but never do I actually touch his dick with my mouth! I keep rubbing and stroking his dick, while he continues with his incessant patter.

“Can’t I cum soon, Licia, it’s been so long.” All that whining. It’s almost unbearable, and sometimes when I’m stroking him I gag him or put Tracey Chapman on the Discman so I don’t have to hear him go on, I mean all he does is repeat himself.

Sometimes as I’m stroking, Harmon pulls at his bonds, and shakes his entire body around. It’s like having a rabid dog, foaming from the mouth, you know. That’s when it’s time to calm him down a bit, and I generally fetch my nice long fiberglass riding crop.

It looks like Harmon’s about to cum, and we can’t have that…so I use the crop. TWAK! SMACK! And his bloated penis goes down a bit, and I smile, dropping the crop beside me, and continue with the stroking.

Harmon’s underside is especially sensitive, and when I toy with it the right way, his cock restores itself magically. I stroke some more, and oh boy, he’s beginning to get all het up again. Good that I have the crop next to me.

“No, please, Licia, don’t hit me…please, maybe I can make it go down on my own.” But who has time for that? WAK! CRACK! TWAK! The trusty crop does it’s evil work, and Harmon’s dick falters, just for a moment of course until I start up again.

A bit later, and I’m rubbing the side of Harmon’s face and telling him what a sexy, sweet man he is…and he’s going for it, getting real excited. Then, while he’s not looking, I slip off my high heel, and, grabbing it by the tip of the shoe, slam it into Harmon’s balls.

And then Harmon cries. A big, strong man, can you imagine it? Remember, he is the one who asked me to dominate him, and every now and then he tells me how satisfied he is with our new relationship, but the crybaby thing is not too charming.

So I let him sob into my scented shoulder, and rub his wet face on my boobs, and tell him how much I care, and rub his penis gently until it’s getting all hard and excited once more, and then I reach for my shoe again, and drive the heel hard this time right on the tip of his dick, and he of course starts screaming again.

Then there are times when I get so sick of what a wimp Harmon is that I tell him he’s getting something to cry about. I make him stand with his penis over the bed and I whip it with his leather belt, alternating of course with my soft strokes. By the time a session like that is over, he is willing, quite willing not to touch his cock, or pester me about touching it for a while.

Harmon’s objection to my finding other playmates is gone pretty much, too. Sometimes I’ll bind him naked in one room, after having toyed with his cock for awhile, and then I go and fuck the guy in the living room, and just come back to refresh my lipstick (if my mouth has been busy) and play with Harmon’s cock a little bit!

Boy, does Harmon get resentful about that. I have also been carrying on with Harmon’s twin brother Hatcher for some time. Hatch has known about Harmon’s interest in BDSM their entire life, since adolescence. Unbelievably, Harmon used to ask his identical twin brother (though Hatch is now in better shape than Harmon) to tie him up and whip HIM when they were in high school.

Apparently, this used to go on in the tree house they’d built as children. As they’d grown into teenagers they’d used the tree house more for smoking pot and storing their Playboy magazines, and then Harmon asked Hatcher to tie him up and whip him with their grandfather’s cane.

“God, I’ll never forget it” Hatch told me once, as we were sharing cigarettes after a love making episode. “Harmon and I were such competitors, in academics and athletics, and he could pretty much kick my ass three ways from Sunday back then when it came to wrestling, but he wanted someone to whip his ass.”

As Hatcher told me this, Harmon was kneeling in the corner, but I could tell he was terribly embarrassed that Hatch was telling this story. So I made him go and get us beers in the kitchen, to spare him the gory details.

“As I realized how much pain Harmon could take, I began making him do shit for me…the guy was such a submissive. I got my first blowjob from my twin brother, and sometimes I used to tie him to the side of our cow barn and shoot BBs at his cock and balls with our air rifle.” Hatcher’s eyes seemed to go off in the distance, telling this story.

“Then one night, I made him dress up in women’s clothes and makeup—real slutty miniskirt and all that kind of shit. Harmon already had shoulder length hair, so we styled it, and gave him some hoop earrings. What a riot that was.

I got Harmon to put in some cotton balls to make up breast forms, our sister helped me—and I drove us to St. Louis, and we went to a seedy part of town, and I was wearing this ridiculous fedora and a raccoon coat that my great-gramps wore in  college in the 1920’s.”

By this time, Harmon had returned with our snacks, and he put the tray in front of us, gave Hatcher a baleful look, and went back to kneel in the corner.

“So I began flagging down passing cars” Hatch remembered, “and finally this creepy Ford Coupe pulled up and I asked the guy if he wanted a BJ, just ten bucks. Harmon was not happy, but I hit him in the back with this policeman’s sap I ordered from “Soldier of Fortune” magazine.

My brother got in the car with the guy, and they went into an alley, and I took my sawbuck…by the end of the night, I’d made nearly two hundred.” Hatcher and I laughed at this memory, but of course that’s what gave me the idea for raising UNICEF money.

And I base Harmon’s production on how many orgasms he gets to have. I let him fuck me, no masturbation, but a genuine screw, every time he makes two hundred dollars for UNICEF, and charging five to ten dollars a blowjob, that’s a lot of sucking! But he’s gotten quite good at it.

We tell the UNICEF people that the money is being raised by our son’s Cub Scout troop, and that makes everyone feel good. Except, perhaps Harmon, whose jaws are starting to rust over!

I have told Harmon that I am going to train his rectum to take male cocks as well, though as of yet that hasn’t happened. I have used a series of  dildos on Harmon, graduating quite gradually to bigger and bigger sizes.

Sometimes Harmon tells me that he can’t take anymore, that the dildos are too big, but then I beat his ass, and give him a boiling hot soapy enema, and it seems to calm him down! I’ve promised Harmon that when his butt is nice and loose, he’s going to become a great anal fuck for the sailors and soldiers, and of course this terrifies him, but it’s just a joke.

I don’t want Harmon getting AIDS or other doses. We do still make love on occasion, and we still do it unprotected by any form of birth control. Now that Harmon has become such a good husband, I think he’ll be a better father, he’s doing a pretty good job with the four kids we’ve got now! Sometimes he is resentful, having to baby sit them while I go on dates with Hatcher and other men, but so far he’s been pretty good about not rebelling.

Although I don’t use a chastity belt on Harmon, I do use one on his son from his first marriage, Harmon Junior, called Honks. Honks came to live with us when he moved to Jeff City to go to college. Certainly I am not a wicked stepmother, and this wouldn’t have been an issue, but Honks began giving all the girls in the neighborhood syphilis.

He apparently has been a bed-hopper since tenth grade, and broke up his geometry teacher’s marriage.  Still, I would have been powerless to change him, but for the fact that Honks was in love with me. I am only eight years older than he is, after all…and one day when his dad was out, I let him strip me and go down on me a little.

He did a great job, and then we had an earnest talk about his sexual peccadilloes. Honks hung his head when I pointed out that I couldn’t be involved with someone who was causing all this pain! By this time he’d seen the doctor and cured his dose, but it was only so much time before he’d start up again, as Honks is quite a babe, shooting around the neighborhood on his longboard.

I tied Honks’s hands behind his back and began stroking his penis, just like I do his dad. “You want to please Step-Mommie don’t you Honks?” Honks nodded his head, panting slightly as I stroked and toyed with his burgeoning erection.

“I want you to stop fooling around with all these girls. You’ve given all this disease out, and then your mom has had to pay for two abortions, just this year. What can we do to keep you chaste?” Honks looked a little confused. He is not really a brain trust I’m afraid—he takes after his father. But hey, Harmon’s first wife wasn’t a rocket scientist either.

I ordered a chastity belt through the mail, and after locking it on Honks, I told him “Now if you find a girl you really like, then you tell me, and after say five to six months of dating, I’ll unlock you.” And I smiled. “And of course you can still play around with Step-Mommie in the meantime.”

It really seemed to work well. Honks reported to me that girls loved it that he could make out with them for hours without trying to go “too far.” They mistakenly thought he was working on a real relationship, where in actuality, he just was ashamed to take his pants off and show that his stepmother had locked him in chastity!

This also helped a great deal with Honks’s grades. Somehow, not getting laid got him to focus on his work, and also in getting prime internships. Last year he graduated from the University of Missouri-Columbia with a 3.8 average, and was able to find a plum job in Chicago doing advertising work.

I still hold his keys, and once every six weeks or so he drives home and I let him masturbate on his knees in front of me, as I show him a little bit of leg. I told him that he could get out of chastity if he liked at this point, having proven his maturity, but Honks insists that he looks forward to his supervised masturbation sessions.

“Seriously, Licia, you’re the only three-dimensional woman I know.” Honks told me last week when we were having lunch. “All these other women, once you get the possibility of sex out of the way, just seem shallow—they’re into shopping, none of them read much, and they waste their time at nightclubs…it’s really sad.”

I worried that Honks might not have enough to do socially in Chicago, but his cousin Henrietta, Hatcher’s daughter works there as a hair stylist. She began setting up appointments with her male colleagues to have Honks service them sexually, just so he’d understand what a woman must go through. It’s really made him into a feminist.

Every couple of nights, Honks comes over and meets with one or two gay men in Henrietta’s apartment. He services them with his mouth, and they use his ass (with condoms, of course) and then he is rewarded by getting to make out with his cute little cousin Henrietta, and he licks her to many, many orgasms. He’s of course completely frustrated until he comes home to me, but still, it’s a good experience for him!

After we had lunch last week, we drove back to my house. Honks’s dad was at work, and Honks looked at me expectantly. “It-it’s been nearly two months, Licia…can I have a squirtee?” I love the look on Honks’s face when he begs. He is so much like his Daddy!

While Honks was at school, I let him masturbate if he made good grades, and kept the yard in shape while he was living with us. Henrietta requires that Honks keeps her apartment straight and she comes by his place unannounced, to make sure it’s not a pig sty either. Then she e-mails me with a report. It’s all terribly organized.

Sometimes Henrietta is not pleased with Honks’s behavior. Perhaps he took her to the ballet and fell asleep, or something. Then what I do is I PUNISH him. Sometimes I just send him back to Chicago, or even tell him not to bother to visit. It’s sad to hear a twenty-three year old man cry over the telephone.

Other times I’ll tie him down and stroke his dick for an hour and THEN lock him up and send him home. I am really the Stepmother from Hell, aren’t I?

But he’d gotten a glowing report from Henrietta, and he’d taken me out for a nice lunch at a great Jeff City restaurant, opened the car door for me at the restaurant and back home, so what can a Mommie do?

I was wearing a sundress that showed off my boobs, and legs…and Honks had been eyeing my body all day. I knew his dad wouldn’t be back for some time. “All right Honks, take off your clothes, dear.” Honks stripped down FAST, it almost startled me.

Honks is very punk-rock, so last year he replaced his chastity device with a Prince Albert piercing. I beckoned him over, and he was blushing, and I stroked his curved cock with my long nails, smiling as his penis swelled against the piercing.

“Aren’t-aren’t you going to unlock me?” Honks rasped, as his dick swelled in the evil curve. He was now standing right in front of me, starkers, with his hands obediently behind his back. The naughty boy was gazing into my cleavage!

“I don’t know, Honks.” I said sweetly. “I might just tease you with your piercing on, and let you come back next time to cum. It’s only a six week thing, isn’t it…you could stay chaste for Momma, couldn’t you?”

“B-but Licia.” Honks protested, his eyes welling up with tears, “I’ve been such a good boy, and I sucked off all those guys for Henrietta and all…and I’m straight! It’s tough having to do that. And I cleaned her house, and this morning before I took you to lunch I cleaned your basement and mowed the lawn and—“

I looked up at Honks with mock indignation and shock. “You-you mean you don’t just do those things to please me and your little cousin? I’m just trying to get you to improve yourself, and you want a reward, like when your little half-sister answers her Multiplication Flash cards right and I give her a Snickers Bar?”

As I keep up this absurd repertoire, I squirt a bit of Astroglide on my fingertips and run my fingers closer and faster on his swelling organ. I think Honks knows I’m just kidding, but he doesn’t know for sure, and is damn terrified.

“Please-oh, please Licia…don’t do this to me.” Honks pleaded. “I’ve-I was up all night playing with my piercing and watching porn on the computer and I’m so horny—“

And I laughed. “Really, Honks? I thought you were telling me how shallow women were over lunch, and now you tell me about you surfing pornography? I don’t think I should let you cum any more this year.”

And then the poor boy began crying, and he got down on his hands and knees and begged me, just begged me to let him cum…and what could I do, Shoeblossom? You see how I spoil these ungrateful children? I finally motioned him up, and I unlocked his chastity piercing, and took him into the bedroom, and fucked the daylights out of my little stepson…

A sin, perhaps, but unlike the other Tea-baggers, I don’t have false morals…I probably don’t have morals at all!

Best,

   Licia

Dear Licia:

I don’t have any real opinion on the Teaparty issue, but I must say, you are a lively Midwestern housewife. What would we do without you?

Best,

Shoeblossom

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