Letter from Des Moines

Dear Shoeblossom

My first husband was an asphalt salesman; he sold cork flooring, too. I locked him in a plastic belt soon after we met; that much time on the road can make a man quite frisky.

And of course you know the type. Ralph "Rip" Muztagh was a flirt from the word go.

And he had what you'd call a long "cunt collar" amongst his friends. One of his exes, Nadya, had jumped or fallen off a bridge after he'd betrayed her once too often.

Mum had locked Daddy in a chastity belt back in the Eighties, and it seems to change a man, make him more devoted, perhaps.

Dad was an old fashioned sort, a Czech poet who had escaped with his family from the Nazis. Very stoic, Daddy.

When I was twenty, Mother first exposed me to the femdom lifestyle, and I watched wordlessly as she ordered my big, muscled father to strip and bend over her knee.

Neither of my parents had ever raised a hand to me, or really punished me at all; and I was so impressed by their kindess to me and each other that I had been a fairly good daughter.

But apparently, when I'd been away from the house--and I was an active girl--Scouting, music lessons, hanging with my friends at the mall--

Mother had used a series of implements on Dad, belts, straps, hairbrushes, racquetball paddles.

And, although she'd been fucking three or four men from the janitor at Tucker's Tavern to the tennis pro at the Y and then Dad's best friend as well, poor cuckold, my dad--and he, Dad had been slavishly attached to Mom.

I guess he still is. But I imagine even now, at seventy-eight, he is still locked in chastity.

Dad was a bit of a hippie, he and his first wife, and they were on a commune or something, and named their kids Brahmin, Druid and then there's my half-sister Lotus.

I guess when Dad re-married Mum, his adult kids, or at least one of them was influenced by the chastity movement (or maybe influenced them, my parents, I don't know)

But my half-brother Druid who is about seventeen years older than I, rented me a room, or really gave it to me, when I went through a phase in my early twenties of being a San Francisco glass sculptor.

Dru had been in a long-term chastity/keyholder arrangement with two holistic Tantraologists, Bentley and Q-Tip (Frisco and all that).

Druid didn't have a whole lot of money, so what he'd done was, gone without orgasms while locked in his belt, sometimes months, until he had enough to pay for a session.

And of course, sometimes the girls didn't let him cum, just gave him very long hand jobs, and locked him back up. As Druid had always found me kind of hot, my little pixie cut and all that--

I took over the penis rubbing for free...Bentley and Q-tip handed the keys over to the chastity cage with grace, and even gave me an impromptu lesson. I knew a bit about this, of course, because of my experiences with Mom and Dad, as well.

Three nights a week, spread out, usually Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, I would bind Dru to his bed, and unlock his belt and bathe his cock and balls, my boobs bouncing earnestly in my tube top.

I wore this pinkish-purple nail polish and it really fixed my half-brother's eyes on my cuddly bosom. The start and stop hand job I did was more than distracting.

Sometimes Dru would be weeping, but very aroused, at its non-orgasmic completion.

As Environmentally Conscious Tantrologists, Bentley and Q-Tip had advised using vegetable oil as a lube, but I thought this was ridiculous...

Old fashioned may not dispose well, but how long are we frickin' here for? Live it up!

I discovered with Druid, and kept this for my successor chastity boys, that there should be about 2 months between orgasms.

Perhaps a minimum, and days and weeks should be added and subtracted on the basis of good behavior.

And I guess Druid found me to be a bit of an iron fist in a velvet glove.

I ran around in short-shorts and open buttoned tops, Bay area weather permitting, and kissed and rubbed up against him quite a bit, even when I had a boyfriend.

But, Dru could be a pain in the ass sometimes, and I returned this with vigor.

Before I left home, Mom had tucked a short dog's whip, 'bout three feet long, in my luggage, and did that boy get his hair cut fast!

And the house became much cleaner.

At some point, I was at a leather party in the Tenderloin, and that's where I met Rip.

He, at the time was living in Sausalito, near Mount Tamalpais, and was extremely impressed by how I was leading my half-brother around.

Dru was naked, and the chain was attached to his chastity device, and I of course was in a Pleather minidress, very popular around '98.

I tethered Dru to a radiator (why let him mingle?) and went to talk animatedly to Rip, who had brought me a Long Island Iced Tea.

"I travel a lot for work, but I've always been kind of impressed with ladies like you." Rip had said to me. The Pleather minidress was silver, and it just hypnotized him!

"No kidding." We were sitting on a couch amid talking kinksters, and I casually rubbed his crotch with my foot. Things tend to move faster in the California cities.

"Yes. I've visited dominatrixes in about thirty-eight states, but I always wanted a girl to call my own."

Rip had shifted as I'd leaned over and unzipped his trousers and pulled out his cock, and rubbed my feet together against it...

It's fun for a girl to take off her shoes when the weather is decent, and I foot jobbed him for a bit. Rip was kind of cute, although I had had many sexual partners.

Finally, I had scratched his penis severely with my hard big-toe manicure, and I leaned over and zipped him back up.

Rip was a crybaby, and had begun weeping.

"Aw what's wrong, princess." I said cruelly that night. "You upset? Maybe I should put you in diapers right here in front of all these beautiful women. "

Rip blubbered and clutched his cock.

"Why don't you go over there and suck that homely old man's dick, the old black one, he looks lonely."

I'm a huge fan of social integration!

Things moved fast, and Rip moved in with us, and then, after Dru began seeing his former masturbatologist Q-Tip "romantically" Rip and I gave them our blessing, and split for Oakland, and then Rip was transferred to New Haven Connecticut.

I guess they sell asphalt everywhere!

But, you can't hang a relationship just on teasing, denial, cuckoldry and corporal punishment. Rip and I divorced in 2001,and I ended up employed as a glass blower here in Iowa.

I live just outside Warren County, and was able to add a nice presentation to the Equitable Building in downtown Des Moines.

This is also where I met Moishe, who commissioned the damn thing. I had kind of the ditzy artist relationship to serious Moishe, and he treated me like a silly daughter.

But then he saw a little tattoo that is popular in the "scene" in communities all over the world, and we talked.

And my personality changed quickly to cold, cruel and calculating.

In fact, we had a conversation right there on Locust Street, and then I saw his eye wander to a crop-topped skateboarder hottie passing by and I slapped Moishe so hard he almost fell down.

This is not usually how you treat a potential client for your art, but he got up and apologized, his eyes devouring me, at last.

I gave Moishe a vicious dog-whipping with my lash, which amazingly does fit in a large handbag...

Not out front, but in a nearby parking garage. The nice Ethiopian parking lot attendant was highly amused as I made my old Jew drop his pants and bend over his own Lexus.

Then, weeping copiously, Moishe began kissing my feet, and then doing the unmentionable on the Ethiopian's cock. I just love making white boys suck black fellas!

We were married, Moishe and I within five weeks, and eleven years later, it seems to be prospering.

Life is what you make it!