Letter from Smucker Landing

LETTER FROM SMUCKER LANDING

Dear Shoeblossom,

I was featured in my brother's letter about being raised in a femdom family in "Letter from Lantham Chase" and I'm also in "Letter from Purcellville" having to do with a neighbor's early experiences when he met me in grad school.

I have been in the scene on and off for a while...and now I'm writing my own letter...about my training of a slave cuckquean!

Here goes...

Meaghan tries to stroke her miserable little clit faster. Of course she can only use her left, non-dominant hand, and her forefinger and middle finger are tied together just to make it a little more challenging.

Megs shivers in the chilly garage. Her right hand is behind her head, and as she kneels, she stretches her left hand to pull and push the shaven lips, and she bites her lower lip, trying hard to concentrate.

Two or three times, my boyfriend and I have thrown crushed beer cans at her head as she kneels naked on the hard garage floor, her knees apart, trying to get an chance at an orgasm, as she's not had one in thirty days.

My stopwatch goes off, I am a track coach at a small women's college nearby. I've been timing Meaghan's humiliating masturbation, and I snap my fingers.

And of course, it's time for Meaghan to stop her tortuous attempts to cum.

My boyfriend's wife, tears squinching out of the red eyes (she's cried a lot this morning) takes her right hand away and puts it behind her head, fingers interlacing with the left one.

"Sorry there, girl!" I grin at my boyfriend's wife. "Be a good little slut-bag, I gotta lock on the Lip-Clip until next month."

A Lip-Clip is so much better than a chastity belt, because Meaghan can pull and prod her clitty all she likes, teasing it further without any hope of a release for the next thirty days.

Meaghan works as Head Epidemiologist at the medical center of the school where I coach track, and where Boyd is a landscaper.

And, she has a nice luxurious office, and when she's not working, she often kneels naked on the floor of the office, clothespins on her nipples, fruitlessly pulling and prodding her hole to maximum stimulation but no relief...

Until she gets her monthly chance to diddle in front of her husband and his hot girlfriend, right?

Yes, how Megs has been pining for an orgasm, a blessed release. She had her chance today, her once-a-month chance to rub her nasty for ten minutes.

One minute over time, if Meaghan's paw is still on her vaj, Boyd will thrash her palm with his rattan until it bleeds.

It's time, sadly to have her lips locked so she can just hope for the next month's explosion. If she can just bring herself over the edge!

IT might be less distracting if Megs could do it inside, and not have to kneel on the hard garage floor, but it was originally HER fantasy, wasn't it?

Boyd and I are bright-normal, relatively mentally healthy folk, and we don't think of this shit ourselves. From what he tells me, Megs purchased the Nip-Clip years before she even met him, and had herself on first a weekly, and then monthly release times.

Now Meaghan sighs dramatically as she puts her arms behind her head. She really wanted to cum.

This pisses Boyd off. He gets up off the tires he's been sitting on in the chilly garage. (I get the lone lawn chair) and walks over, reaching down to slap his wife hard across the jaw.

Meaghan and I both admire how great he looks in his tight stonewashed jeans.

"How dare, you mope." Boyd asks at the top of his lungs. "Here, put on your Naughty Lip-Clip."

But Meaghan is so tense. "P-please, can I just have thirty more seconds, Master...please let me touch myself a bit longer, Sir."

Boyd slaps her hard again, laughing. "I know you're a horny bitch, Meggie Motor-Mouth. You were sobbing last night when I made you sit in the closet when I banged that little waitress from Abbott's Spinney."

I bristle slightly. I guess I have no right to be jealous, since Boyd is cheating on his wife with me, but it enrages me still that he fucks other girls too. But such is life.

"Poor Meaghan. She's so damn horny. I try to oblige her, I let a bunch of frat pledges take turns fucking her mouth recently, how many blowjobs did you give, honey? And still, she never gets to cum."

We watch in great amusement as Meaghan clips her clitoris shut and then, taking the little padlock with great reluctance locks it.

And, as she looks at the lock, she cries even harder. But all she'd have to do is say the safe word, and I'd leap to take it off, and so would Boyd.

Really, we're just puppets in Meaghan's fantasy.

"Part of the problem is, you take the damn antidepressants, and you know the Lexipro keeps you from being able to achieve a big O." Boyd laughs harshly.

I massage my big tits in my crop top. It's March; so I have a jacket on over it, but I keep the zipper down to remind Meaghan that I have such luscious mammaries.

Meaghan's sad mosquito bites are so very inferior. And of course I rub them to keep Boyd in mind of what a hottie girlfriend he's got!

"Yeah, Megs." I say, chuckling. "You shouldn't be depressed just because I'm fifteen years younger than you, and stacked like a brick shithouse. You don't really appeal much to Boyd, except of course that you have such a good job."

This isn't really true. Meaghan was a competitive ice skater once, and is model-pretty. But she is nearly fifty years old, and I have the hourglass white-trash appeal.

Meaghan begins sobbing harder. Boyd laughs, checks to see that the tiny padlock is secured and waves at me to follow him inside.

Megs leans back on her heels but when her butt touches them, she straightens right up. I gave her forty with the Ping-Pong paddle just before she was allowed her monthly masturbation session.

Megs has a high sex drive, even though she can't finish often with the meds she is on. Sometimes Meaghan cries as she watches Boyd slamming me with his big dick.

But it's good that she can't relax on her heels after I whipped her tender derriere, posture is so important!

"P-please, honey, can't I come in, too?" Meaghan asks, her eyes welling further. "It's-it's so cold out here."

What's sad is, if Boyd gave in, you'd see him lose respect in her jaundiced eyes. We have to stay firm, ordering her to stay in the garage, and forbidding Megs from entering the house she actually owns.

Boyd looks back at his sad little wife firmly. "No, you stay on your knees for an hour. I'm going to fuck the shit out of Amantha here. We don't want you to disturb us."

"But-but I can clean up after you." Meaghan asks, trembling. "Or I can stay in another room and not bother you--"

"The clean up part does sound fun, I love it when she licks your mess out of my hole and gives me a couple of bonus orgasms." I say, winking at Boyd mischievously.

"Well, I think we'll be fucking for more than an hour anyway, Sweet Pea" Boyd returns. "Meaghan can stay out here for an hour--not one minute less than sixty minutes."

Meaghan bites her lower lip and stares at the floor as she kneels, freezing on her knees, with her hands behind her head.

"And you keep those hands behind your head. I have a nanny cam out here, you know it's good because you bought it yourself, and I don't want you wrapping your arms around yourself, acting like you're shivering to death. My drama queen."

"Yes-s sir," Meaghan stares at the hard floor of the garage. She wants to come over and lick Boyd's boots. I don't blame her. Her poor knees. I wonder if they are truly skinned yet.

"Then-and I'll leave the stopwatch to time you, you can come in and make us lunch and then get that nasty little tongue to work on us."

Boyd pauses and takes out a rubber band and shoots it expertly at Meaghan's right nipple. She steeled herself to it, keeping her hands behind her head as it nicked.

It was fortunate that Boyd had recently quit smoking. I remember he used to flick lit matches at Meaghan's tits, ordering her to knee motionlessly, hands behind her head.

And of course he put his lit butts out on her skin and had her eat them afterwards, but now she is just adoringly obedient. Lucky her, he's not taking snuff today and making her catch his loogies...she makes an efficient spittoon.

"I love you Master." Meaghan says, biting her lip.

"Do you have anything to say to Amantha?" Boyd grins. He knows that Meaghan hates me. Though she is the one who recruited me for their little game. And she needs me to remind her of what a sad rejected little slug she is.

I hate Meaghan too; because I know that eventually Boyd will break up with me and find a different, younger little harlot help him dominate his submissive wife. They've been doing this for 23 years.

"If it angers you, Amantha, take it out on me." Meaghan has told me on more than one occasion, when we are having a rare but civilized glass of wine together. "I love my husband and this is what I'm into--what we're both into, though I got him into it."

Having grown up around kinky people, I shouldn't be surprised, but still, Meaghan has been looking for masters and mistresses since her junior year at Mount Holyoke.

And, when we have wine or a Cobb salad together, in a nice restaurant, I see the triumph in her eyes--she is a submissive at home, but she gets to keep the guy in the end.

So I take it out on her whenever I can!

Best,

Amantha K.