Letter from Naylor Gardens

LETTER FROM NAYLOR GARDENS

Dear Shoeblossom:

I met Mariah when she came to rent a room from me some time last year. Mariah is an engaging auburn haired court reporter, with a lovely figure, though somewhat petite. Although I told her she could call me Emmeline, she insisted on calling me Mrs. Kipps.

Mariah’s a quiet girl, and I was somewhat startled when I accidentally opened one of her plain brown wrapped magazines—she subscribed to a rather graphic whips-and-chains periodical entitled “BITCHES AND WITCHES”.

When Mariah came home, she saw me deep in the magazine, and she looked a bit alarmed. “I’m-I’m so sorry Mrs. Kipps, I didn’t—“ I was so amused at Mariah’s reaction! I am certainly a steel haired old thing, but I wasn’t born in the 19th century! We sat together and discussed “BITCHES AND WITCHES” and its focus on BDSM and the gay woman.

“Oh Mariah, it takes me back—when I was a kid in the late nineteen sixties, I was in a brief bisexual relationship with this peculiar flower child called Charisma McCloskey—this was before I met Mr. Kipps, of course—and Chari often asked me to tie her to the bed and whip her with a razor strop…it expiated her guilt at her lifestyle, I suppose.”

I smiled, thinking about how silly I’d been, and I didn’t really notice the look on Mariah’s face as I reminisced. “Then when my oldest daughter was giving me trouble, I dug out the razor strop, and took her panties down after catching her in bed with Mr. Kipps’s business partner…and I welted her until she just howled!

But strangely, she didn’t object strenuously, she was about nineteen at the time, and after that she’d come to me with a bad grade and tell me she needed my “special loving” Can you imagine?” I had shaken my head at the memory and asked Mariah if she wanted more tea…but as you probably suspect, as I’m writing you this letter, she asked for the razor strop!

“D-do you still have it, Mrs. Kipps?” Mariah asked, biting her lower lip. She shook her pixie hair and looked shamefacedly at the floor, and then back up at me. “It’s been almost eighteen months since I moved here from Seattle. I miss my dominant Mistress so much…”

Mariah began quietly sobbing, and I could tell that she was mortified to ask a woman she’d been living with for three weeks about something so personal, and of course she missed her er, Mistress?

Normally, I would’ve tried to change the subject, but the fact is, Shoeblossom, I felt sorry for Mariah, and also, as I am still a not-so-attractive elderly bisexual woman, was quite attracted to her…what could I do, really? I had been mentally undressing her on a regular basis since she’d moved in, I’m ashamed to say (I lead the Naylor Gardens Methodist Bible Study after all, Shoeblossom).

The poor girl’s eyes were streaming with tears. “I-I’m so sorry I mentioned it, Mrs. Kipps. Really, I-I hope you’ll forgive me, I’ll just go upstairs—“ She moved to leave.

I clucked my tongue at the sobbing Mariah. “I can’t believe you’re whining like this, Mariah. A grown girl going on like that! It’s appalling, and not how I would have raised you.”

A light went on in Mariah’s eyes as I got up off the couch and went to my armoire and took out a thick ivory hairbrush, the kind that they don’t make anymore. It was five inches long and almost as wide as a Ping-Pong paddle.

Mr. Kipps, it is sad to say, used to use this on my own bare bottom when I exceeded our Master Charge card. It didn’t reform my spending habits one bit, but did lead to some interesting evenings….

“I also can’t abide the way you dress for your job at court. Those disgusting blue jeans--“

“No, Mrs. Kipps, I just wear them to take depositions on Saturdays—“

SLAP! I reached over and gave it to her right across the face with my left hand. “Did I ask your opinion, young lady?” I stood back and tapped the hairbrush on my palm, admiring the hard red palm print on her face. It helps to wear lots of rings!

“N-no ma’am, you didn’t.” Mariah had said, staring at her moccasins.

“Well, you know what happens now. Take down those faded disgraceful dungarees, and bend across my lap, you disobedient little whore.” I felt I might be going a bit over board, but life can only offer you the little hints.

Mariah’s eyes were welling up, and her lower lip was trembling. “Puh-please, Mrs. Kipps…I’ll not do it again, please don’t punish and humiliate…” But as she said it she was unsnapping her blue jeans, and taking them down, and as I looked on severely, she blushed and took down her lime-green  lace panties as well. (They were adorable, and matched her blouse).

I pointed to my lap, and Mariah lay across my legs, and I looked with considerable satisfaction at her bubble butt. Lovely. “Listening to you whine when I was trying to give you a bit of tea—and reading this pornography of yours, has truly disappointed me, and I am going to make you realize how a citizen must behave.”

I stifled a laugh, considering that I’d had about ten bong hits that morning, and was consorting with the husband of the woman across the alley. I lifted the ivory hairbrush that Mr, Kipps’s grandfather had brought back from the Philippines.

WHACK! THWACK! One on each cheek! Marvelous. THWACK! WHACK! SNAP! CRACK! Blotchy red marks were appearing on her vanilla cheeks, and all was well. I used my right hand with vigor, and I heard a few low moans from Mariah, but she took pain much better than that idiot Charisma McCloskey from forty years ago.

After about ten minutes of the hairbrush, I remembered the razor strop. My oldest daughter, Stephanie, is married now, but I keep the strop behind the door and often when she comes home, I send her husband and children to the mall so my daughter and I can have “quality time”

And then I instruct Stephanie to unsnap her suburban mom jumper and undress to her bra and panties, and I lay her across the bed and give her what for with the strop. It seems to serve some sort of catharsis, and after all, I am a loving Mother!

But Stephanie always sobs and breaks down after about ten with the strop, and we stop then—all the pressures of career and children are expiated, I suppose. Mariah however, has rare stamina.

I gave Mariah forty with the razor strop, and didn’t hear as much as a gasp. I was actually worried that the girl had died, but then she turned up to me and told me that her Mistress liked whipping her breasts as well.

“How impudent you are, Mariah.” I lectured as I took her by the ear and forced her to get on her back. “Telling me what some pervert back in Seattle does to you. Put your hands behind your buttocks, dear.” I felt the razor strop was a bit too intense for Mariah’s breasts, perhaps too unwieldy

Fortunately, I have a radio antenna, a long wire thing from my son’s discarded VW van. I cannot remember why I snapped it off, but it was in the kitchen, and when I brought it back, Mariah’s eyes got very big. Lifting it, I swung it over her round breasts, but didn’t hit them first. I wanted to tease her a bit first.

Mariah closed her eyes and breathed silently. “Is this too much for you, dear?” I asked, but I got a shy head-shaking…she was ready. “Well I don’t want any whining or crying if this stings a bit. No one likes a crybaby.”

“Yes, Mrs. Kipps. I’ll be a brave girl and take my medicine.” Mariah’s little voice made my legs press together—I was so excited by this! It had been so long since I’d had such pleasure, and I didn’t have the guilt that happened when I enjoyed whipping my oldest daughter a bit too much.

SNAP! The wire slapped Mariah’s breasts right across the nipples. Mariah bit her lip, and a tear rolled down her chin…well across her chin, because she was lying down. WHACK! SNAP! TWACK! Mariah was trying hard to keep her wrists behind her back, but I knew it wasn’t easy for her.

Smiling, I swung again, and finally, Mariah screamed. Well, the girl was human. “Is it too much for you yet, dear?” I didn’t want to kill her, and although the long red welts across her pretty 36 C’s were enticing, one had to be careful!

“That-that’s your decision, Mrs. Kipps.” Mariah said, her eyes closed…but  I could see the tears pouring across her cheeks. “I will take as many as you deem necessary.”

“You know, Mariah…I’ve been working rather hard here. I think I deserve a reward.” As I said this, I stepped out of my own panties and climbed over Mariah’s face and lowered my aging vagina onto her young mouth…and she rewarded me!

I mean, REALLY rewarded me. Mariah was such a quiet girl, as I’ve said, but she almost pulled me down on the bed and began covering my body with kisses…she really took over then, taking off all my clothes and…oh, it was exquisite.

After I’d had about four orgasms, Mariah moved to the floor, on her knees, eyes once again downcast. “Would you like some return attention, dear?” I asked in a friendly way. I’m not too fond of kitty-licking, but she had such a beautiful body, that I wouldn’t mind…

“I’d-I’d like permission to masturbate, Mrs. Kipps.” Mariah said hesitantly. I nodded assent, and watched interestedly as Mariah ran her fingers through her pubic lips, stroking herself into a very hot finish. I noted that Mariah had two small rings going through her separate clitoral lips, and asked her about them.

“Well, they’re chastity rings, Mrs. Kipps.” Mariah explained. “My Mistress had a tiny padlock and locked the rings together, and often would make me go for months without an orgasm while I was giving oral service to her and her male and female friends. A masturbatory experience like this, where I frigged myself while being supervised, was a rare treat for me.”

Getting up, she ran to her own bedroom and brought back a padlock, it didn’t look THAT tiny, more like the kind a kid keeps on her diary, and I imagined it must be somewhat uncomfortable bouncing between her cooch lips as she jogged, for instance.

“You must be relieved that you don’t have to wear that anymore, dear.” I observed as she handed the little padlock to me. “It would seem that a lock like that would put somewhat of a crimp in a young woman’s social life.” But as I looked into her eyes, I knew I was getting yet another request. For a dominant, I was getting a lot of direction from this young woman!

Mariah hung her head. “Yes, it’s true, Mrs. Kipps, ma’am. It was especially difficult because although my Mistress encouraged me to go on dates, I couldn’t get fucked…so a lot of guys got quite lucky with my oral attentions. They called me “Oral Annie” at the courthouse back in Seattle, but I had to do something to beat down the sexual tension that grew with almost no orgasms.”

“But I’m mystified.” I said as I turned the little padlock in my fingers. “Wasn’t your Mistress attentive to your needs?” Actually, the padlock was quite benign looking, was it silver?

“Mistress Courtney loved me, but she had an active social life, and was out of town quite a bit.” Mariah said shamefacedly. “She didn’t have a lot of time for me, and when we were together, it was mostly for painful sessions and then oral worship of Mistress Courtney’s glorious nether region…

The rest of the time I was left to my own devices, except of course that I couldn’t have an orgasm without Courtney’s permission. When I came here, she gave me the key to the padlock, instructing me to find a caring person who could supervise my ‘self abuse’ as she called it.

Without that, I spend almost all my time masturbating, and neglect my hobbies, such as recreational reading, biking, etc. So I need someone to help, if you know what I mean.” Mariah looked up at me wistfully, wondering, I suppose, if I were up to the “task” of getting unlimited orgasms from her, and only allowing her an occasional frig when she was a very, very good girl.

I instructed Mariah to stand up and present her shaved quim to me. Of course she put her hands behind her back and separated her legs, and I locked the not-so-tiny padlock between her pussy lips and locked it. “Is there a key now?” Mariah handed me the key, which I dropped in my purse.

“Goodness, I hope I don’t lose this. It would be unfortunate if we had to use bolt cutters so close to your tender lips, eh Mariah?” Mariah looked terrified for a moment, but hey, I didn’t care. “I don’t know what you did for your Mistress to prove you were deserving of an occasional orgasm, but one thing that might help would be working around this house.

You know, I am somewhat arthritic now (I wasn’t, but damn lazy) and it’s so expensive paying the maid…I know you pay rent, and that can continue, but while you’re still naked, why don’t you get busy scrubbing my kitchen floor?”

The house was spotless by that evening. Even the heavy cleaning, such as window washing with vinegar and newspaper shreds had been done by my horny little tenant. When I went to bed that night, there was a slight shake, and of course Mariah was standing in the darkness.

“Climb in, dear…give me a bit of pleasure, that’s wonderful.” After Mariah was done between my legs, she asked for permission to masturbate, and I thought of the irritation and worry I’d have to go through searching for my purse. “I’m afraid not…and for pestering me about it, you can’t go back to your comfortable bed. Get on the floor. You can use that warming brick as a pillow.”

The next morning, Mariah brought me coffee and rolls in bed, and the question “Can I masturbate” was in her eyes. Manipulation always annoys me, though breakfast was delicious. I did spill some crumbs in my sheets, and for some reason I decided that was Mariah’s fault.

I took her out in the back yard. “You are an insolent little minx, and a degenerate slob, Mariah.” Mariah looked at the ground. “Go to that rose bush and cut me a long branch, and don’t cut the thorns off.” Then I  ordered her to pull up her miniskirt and take down her panties. “Bend across the picnic table, that’s a good girl.”

It was glorious watching the thorns rip through Mariah’s tender and soft buttocks—and I whacked again and again, and astonishingly, she was able to stay silent! “Now arch your breasts, dear…we’re going to see if you’ve learned any self-control. If you can’t control your  howling, why should I entrust you with the key to the padlock?”

Interestingly, the thorny branch actually stuck in Mariah’s soft nipple and I had to yank to pull it out, but she gritted her teeth and took it well. I whacked her breasts again and again, and Mariah obediently held her hands behind her head. I noted that a couple of neighborhood youths were watching from the next yard, and decided to give them a bit of a show.

I tossed Mariah the key to the padlock, and she unlocked herself. I ordered her to pick up a pinecone and to begin jamming it into her clitoris. “P-please, I prefer using my fingers, Mrs. Kipps.” Mariah said with true fear in her eyes.

“Toss me back the keys, Mariah. You apparently don’t need to cum that badly.” Mariah’s face panicked, but I was  adamant, and she tossed me back the keys, and we went inside.

Then she dressed for work, and went off to the courthouse looking, I am proud to say, rather respectable.

About eight days later, Mariah introduced me to a friend of hers, called Cooper. Coop is a statistician for the Department of Something-or Other, I’m having a senior moment, but he’s a pleasant and well mannered young man, and was in need of a room!

Mariah met Coop at the Penalty Box, Naylor Gardens’s lone BDSM society. I am not quite as attracted to Coop as to Mariah, he’s a fair haired little nancy boy, but almost immediately upon moving in, he presented me with his chastity key.

He even told me that he would add a thousand dollars a month to his $600 rent for my small attic room for the trouble I might take with his training. Fortuitously, I had a piece of ice in my mouth, and Cooper mistook that for indecision…”Or even two thousand dollars a month! I am selling my townhouse so I can live here.”

Joyous day, I was able to quit my job at the Piggly-Wiggly. Cooper was a bit more maintenance than Mariah—he is a howler when punished, and after the first time, I gagged him with a bar of laundry soap whenever I felt like using the cane on him.

And Coop was constantly trying to break into his chastity belt. The boy is a compulsive masturbator, and I became quite annoyed with his efforts to get unearned pleasure. One day, I had him kneel on my kitchen counter, naked, with his hands cuffed behind his head.

“Cooper, you must stop trying to break into your belt, dearest.” I said while stroking his temporarily free cock. “You are making Mrs. Kipps rather angry, you know.” I took a tiny bit of cut habaneras pepper  that was lying next to Coop’s knee and rubbed the side of Cooper’s cock with it.

I don’t know if you are familiar with habaneras peppers, Shoeblossom, but it is a nasty, sizzling pepper that must be sparingly used when cooking. But also, it has a marvelous effect on skin, I’d been trying it out on Mariah’s nipples after hearing her use the word “Fuck” on the telephone. As I rubbed it (wearing a glove) all over Cooper’s unfortunate penis, he began to weep silently (because of course the laundry soap, vile stuff that it was, was in place in his mouth.)

After I’d coated Cooper’s penis with the habaneras pepper, I picked up a metal carrot shredder and began gliding this up and down his now stinging penis. “Your lack of control saddens me, Coop. I don’t know why you think you must masturbate all the time.”

I reached between Coop’s legs and pulled his testicles out and whacked them with a wooden spoon, another creative implement in my well stocked kitchen. Coop looked dangerously like he might collapse, so I rubbed some ice cubes on his face. I don’t want him falling asleep when I’m trying to deliver a valuable lesson!

“I just don’t know why you have such disgusting desires, Cooper.” I said, picking up one of my long steel knitting needles. “Mariah doesn’t like being orgasm denied either, but I don’t catch her using a bobby pin or a Phillips head screwdriver to break into her padlock.”

I grasped a bit of skin loose from Coop’s uncircumcised penis, and ran the steel knitting needle through the fold. That seemed to awaken him nicely. Unfortunately, he spat out the laundry soap and howled, and this of course worried me. I didn’t want the police called, just because I had a landlady-tenant issue.

I grasped Coop’s nipple and twisted it. “Cooper, I will give you something to cry about if you don’t pipe down, dear. Now as I was saying, Mariah doesn’t break into her padlock, and she doesn’t take my laundry basket into the bathroom and masturbate with my panties around her nose.”

Tears were now coursing down Cooper’s face, as if he had a waterfall over his nose. “I-I promise to be as quiet as possible if you don’t put any more soap in my mouth, Mrs. Kipps.” He winced as I lit a Parliament and tapped ashes on his scrotum.

Cooper is a committed non-smoker, and this sort of thing was icky-poo-poo to him. The night before I’d made him lick out my ashtrays, all seventeen of them after a big party, and that hadn’t been fun either.

I puffed my cigarette and smiled. “Yes, dear, no more soap if you keep quiet. But about the panty sniffing—that’s an incredible violation of my privacy, and I just think you are a disturbed young man. It’s fortunate that you have me to guide you. Step down off the counter, I’ve got your elbow.”

Coop stepped down off the counter and stood miserably on my kitchen floor. Mariah and an attractive young colleague passed through the kitchen on their way to Spinning class, and they snickered at Coop, who was very naked and had a tiny penis.

“Good luck with that one, Mrs. Kipps.” Mariah said, laughing. “Too bad you can’t lengthen his cock.” The other girl was a bit distressed at Coop’s blushing, naked form, but she had to laugh at that one, too.

“I can’t work miracles, girls, I’m just trying to get him to stop sniffing my underwear.” As the door shut, Coop began crying softly, this time less from pain than humiliation. His cock still had the ridiculous knitting needle hanging from it, and he realized that probably wasn’t too impressive to Mariah’s hottie friend.

A week before, I’d turned Coop’s swelling glans into a pincushion, and he’d had to kneel before my sewing basket while I delicately worked on a sweater. So he was used to this sort of thing. I had told Coop that if he ever decided he wanted to rescind the arrangement, he only had to say so, and he wasn’t saying so…but he was crying.

“I-I don’t understand why I want this.” Coop said to me, as I playfully whacked the steel knitting needle that was protruding from his cock with a wooden spoon. “If anything, I’d be totally against it!” Coop looked earnestly at me. “My folks were really strict—they used to routinely make me take off my clothes for strap whippings and stuff…and I ran off to college and never looked back…and now I-I-“

“Yes Cooper…it had an impression on you, and I suppose you have to accept it. It’s difficult to accept things about you that you don’t like.” I was quite philosophical, but I stroked Coop’s hard cock with some affection. “I love meatloaf , mashed potatoes and canned peas because my mother served them…and I think they’re not good for me, but I can’t stop eating them, at least once every fortnight…and you and Mariah have your issues too…we must deal with it!”

And deal they do! And I help as their landlady. It’s peculiar, because recently Mariah and Cooper brought home a friend of theirs—Raymond, or Ramona, or Raymonette…The “R” person was a boy, and now is a girl, sort of…but still has a penis as well as nice big breasts.

She/he carries this equipment well, but needs a firm hand. And I’m getting three grand a month from the transsexual as well…it’s quite an interesting landlady arrangement, don’t you think?

Best, Emmeline Kipps

Dear Mrs. Kipps:

Live it up, but don’t let the Zoning board get wind! In my town they won’t allow me to even install a kitchen in my basement because they don’t want me renting to students and turning the neighborhood into an “academic ghetto” but your arrangement is just a bit too adventurous!

Shoeblossom

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