Ivy
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Letter From Ivy Hill free porn video
LETTER FROM IVY HILL
Dear Shoeblossom:
I am a female submissive. I never wanted to be, but my father raised me in a truly disciplinary fashion. My mother left us when I was young, and my father told me that he was going to teach me to not be a wandering slut like Ma.
I think part of it, of course was that Pa wanted to get his hands on me. I am a curvy redhead, about five seven, and I’ve been that way since about sixth grade. I know that I was adopted when I was young, and my birth folks must’ve been much more physically attractive than my adoptive parents?and I think Pa never got to touch anyone as attractive as I am.
When I misbehaved, often Pa would take me out in the back yard, telling my younger brother Lorne to gather the neighborhood kids?they’d all watch as Pa would order me to take down my blue jeans or pull up my skirt, and then my panties would come down.
?Please, Pa? I’d beg, my lips trembling as the teenage boys began climbing over the fence and the giggling girls watched, too. ?Please punish me inside, Sir. I’m so sorry I didn’t clean the baseboards completely, but I can’t have everyone looking at me like this—?
Pa would slowly cut a switch from the spruce tree, grinning and winking at my brother, Lorne. It was always a long, evil looking thing, and as he trimmed it, I could see his eyes on my little bud breasts, poking through my T-shirt.
?Theresa Marie, you are a disobedient slut like your mother, and I am going to teach you that you can’t rebel against me. Take down your pants immediately. Right now, and don’t make a scene.? To the other kids, Pa would instruct, ?Go home after you see this, and take it as a warning not to violate the Commandment that tells you to honor thy father and mother.?
Weeping, I would unbuckle my pants and bring them to my knees, and pull down my panties as well. There was no point in arguing with Pa about my panties?he wanted maximum impact with the switch, on bare skin, and of course he enjoyed humiliating me and seeing my little tuft of hair peeking out from my round, vanilla buttocks. I had, what was known as a ?bubble butt? and it was quite enchanting, or at least I was always told this.
Sometimes, when Pa just had the hairbrush or the wooden paddle he had fashioned and cured in his woodshed, it would just be an over the knee affair?throwing up my jumper dress, pulling down my panties and going at it until my butt was reddened and I was sobbing, and the girls and boys in the neighborhood were laughing with amusement.
But a Spruce Switch affair was quite different. After my drawers were down, I would bite my lip and bend across our picnic table, and Pa would begin the whipping with intense vigor. WHACK! THWACK! SMACK! SLASH!
I always tried to keep from sobbing. But the thin hot lines of pain would attach my buttocks, lashing across the full cheeks as I bit my lip, and sometimes I would peek through one eye at Elmer Simonsky, a boy I liked, who of course gave me no interest, since he got to see it all naked whenever Pa felt like thrashing me.
Elmer and the other boys would be playing pocket pool in their jeans as they watched Pa break two or three switches across my tender rear, until the skin was broken and blistered, from the tops of my butt to my lower thighs. I would be crying with true energy, and the kids would watch and chant ?Give it to her, Mr. Lonigan, give it to her GOOD.?
Often after this, Father would be worried that my whip marks might become infected, so in the spring and summer months, he’d order me to take off all my clothes so he could hose me down, telling me I wasn’t fit to use a bathtub of his. This was especially thrilling to the neighborhood boys, who didn’t usually get to see such a hot girl naked, other than in their well thumbed Playboy magazines.
I would be standing there, shivering and sobbing, and Pa would become enraged as he’d watch the boys staring at my breasts?especially as I got older and they grew bigger! He would forget, somehow that he had ordered me to strip naked, and he’d grab his switch again, or cut a rose branch with thorns, from the corner of the yard, (putting gloves on of course) and then he’d approach my breasts, dropping the hose.
WHACK! ?YOU THINK YOUR BOSOM WAS MEANT TO THRILL THESE BOYS?? Pa screamed this, and would swing the thorny branch against my poor boobies again and again as I’d cower and try to cover my boobs with my arms.
Once, when this was happening in my senior year of high school, Frances Gorman, a homely girl with tiny boobs who had always been quite jealous of my beauty, told Pa that she wanted to help him by holding my arms back so he could really ?punish? my beautiful tits.
Fran grabbed my arms and held them behind me as Pa whipped my breasts for about ten minutes, screaming about my vanity and how the Wrath of God would be visited upon me one day, as it had for my mother. By the end of this punishment, my breasts were covered in purple marks and welts, and I was sobbing like there was no tomorrow.
That night, I stole Pa’s wallet and hitchhiked from my Nebraska home across America until I wound up here in Ivy Hill, where my mom lived. I hadn’t seen much of her since she’d left, but she was quite loving to me, and arranged for my school credits to be transferred here, and I ended up graduating from college and medical school here as well.
After a decade away, I thought I’d go home and see Pa, and my brother Lorne. I was now an accomplished ear, nose and throat specialist?not only the first high school graduate in the family, but the first doctor! I figured that Pa would be more respectful to me, and I would rake him over the coals for his behavior towards me. I’d gone through extensive therapy for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and I’d found sweet, tender boyfriends who had treated me like a queen, and was generally popular?but I felt a bit like there was something lacking in my life. I couldn’t figure out what it was.
Often, when one of my boyfriends was fucking me, or just eating me out, and I was close to orgasm, I would think about Pa whipping my bare ass, or my tits, and it would excite me in a way that made me terribly uncomfortable. My therapists said I would outgrow it at some point, after I became used to being treated well?and I figured it would just take time.
But I went home, in my intimidating business clothes. ?You haven’t changed at all!? were the first words out of Pa’s mouth. He’d not written me in ten years, or sent as much as a card?I hotly argued with him that I was a medical doctor now, quite a different person from the girl he’d whipped and tortured. How could he, a sanitation worker, who’d failed out of the third grade at age eleven, look down on me?
And then astonishingly, staggeringly, Pa grabbed me by the arm, and ripped up my Louis Vuitton suit dress, and dragged down my pantyhose and under drawers, throwing me across his dining room table. Off came his belt and I got my first whipping in ten years. The belt fell and landed on my buttocks once again, and as I was screaming in utter misery and humiliation, Lorne, my long-lost brother came in, watching amusedly.
But, as Father lifted the belt the last time, he grabbed his heart, and fell. I was a doctor, but I couldn’t save him?he died. ?You’ve killed him, you inconsiderate bitch!? Lorne said with venom. ?Take off all your clothes and get in the closet upstairs, while I call the police.? Pa had often locked me in the clothes closet, and I forgot how tiny it was. I was up there, shivering and naked for nearly three hours before Lorne finally came upstairs.
Lorne took me out of the closet by my ear and I stood before him, humiliated as always. Lorne is not a handsome man—he is my parent’s natural child, balding with thick glasses and a harelip, and was not gifted much with brains either, and worked for much of his life on the back of the garbage truck with Pa. I noticed his eyes roaming over my beautiful classical features, my little nose and heart-shaped lips, my lush pink breasts and svelte body?I suspected that perhaps Lorne was a virgin, but said nothing.
?You’ve killed Pa. Because of my um, drinking problem, the only reason the garbage company here in town kept me on was his protection. We have no money. It’s all your fault. You’re going to be punished now.?
Lorne pointed to the bed, and I went and lay across it, and he bound my wrists behind my back and then also bound my ankles, so I couldn’t move at all. I could see his eyes enjoying my full bubble buttocks?I bit the pillow in acute fear.
Lorne went to the dresser and brought back Pa’s Razor Strop, which he’d used on both of us to keep us in line. ?Theresa Marie, you’re a nasty, greedy slut, and you’re going to pay for ruining my life?you’ve not had real discipline since you left, I know that.?
WHACK! THWACK! SLASH! The razor strop came down across my unprotected pink buttocks with a vengeance. First the strop hit my soft cheeks, and then just below them, on the tender area right under my buttocks, but above my thighs. I screamed and tried desperately to bite the pillow, but Lorne really knew how to make me bounce on the damn bed.
Lorne took a brief break and made me lick my blood off the strop?it was a merciful break, but a short one, and soon he resumed his thrashing. My buttocks felt as if they had been fried in oil.
I couldn’t move my wrists, or my ankles. I was trying to roll off the bed, but Lorne just kept lashing away with the razor strop, and I heard him sigh with satisfaction as he broke more skin and there were little blood marks. I felt him grasp my scalp and twist me over on my welted, tortured back.
Lorne ran his fingers around my full, beautiful boobs, exploring them. ?I remember how you could really tempt the boys with these mammaries? he whispered through his harelip. ?I useta take yer bra in the bathroom and jerk off with it, did you know that??
?That’s revolting? I said, without thinking. WHACK! Lorne slammed the strop right across my nipples and I screamed. ?Please, Lorne?my breasts are very, very sensitive. I know you have me tied up and everything but—?
Lorne swung the belt again and again across my breasts and belly, grinning as he did it. I tired to move, but of course he had me too securely tied down. The strop then swung between my legs, and I felt something different—some pleasure. I realized that although I was indeed humiliated and in intense pain, I was also aroused by Lorne’s punishment, and indeed, I felt fulfilled as I hadn’t felt in nearly ten years.
After Lorne’s arm was tired, he stepped out of his sanitation coverall, and took down his under shorts. Lorne was rather obese, but he had a big cock. Lorne fondled my face, and stroked my chin, running his dirty fingers over my full lips. ?You’re so beautiful, Theresa Marie? he murmured. ?You’re much more attractive than anyone in the family.?
I smiled up at him through my tears. ?Lorne, you’re beautiful too, in your own way. I’m proud to have you as my brother, and I’m going to take you back to Ivy Hill with me, and I’ll support you, and look after you?put you on an allowance and you can keep me in my place, Sir.?
Then Lorne swung his big leg over my head and knelt on my chest, and pushed his cock in my mouth, and I took it and began slurping hungrily. I licked and sucked his penis and Lorne grabbed my ears and began skull-fucking me, but I was able to breathe through my nose, and finally he came hard?I swallowed it all, smiling bravely.
Lorne then untied me and took me into his lap, kissing me tenderly. ?You’re going to be a good girl, Theresa Marie. My good girl. We’ll pack up and sell the house and move to Ivy Hill!? And we did. And now, life is different!
Lorne is a loving brother, but he is also quite strict with me. He never understands that a doctor’s time is not always her own, and when I am late coming home from the office, he becomes very annoyed with me. He’s usually spent the day watching television and eating Cheerios, and he wants me to make his dinner.
Last week he was so irritated that I was late, he ran a wire through my pierced nipples and put it through a ceiling hook and hung me there, my hands manacled behind me, for nearly an hour! Although it was horribly painful, it did remind me that I had a brother to take care of, and I couldn’t be irresponsible.
Lorne gets terribly jealous of my dates, and recently I begged him to allow me to have a party?Lorne doesn’t do well at parties, particularly with lots of attractive professionals around.
He made me scrub the floor on my hands and knees, and really beg him to allow this.. And then when the party started, he stood around, following me at a distance as I laughed and talked with people, ever the hostess. He doesn’t allow me to attend parties, so this was an especially big deal for me?but then he became somewhat possessive.
Everyone stared at my peculiar brother at my party. Unlike the fashionable professionals, Lorne was wearing bib overalls and had a bowl haircut that the neighbor had given him. He chewed a piece of (imported) straw and looked somewhat menacing?but he’s my brother, right?
Every half hour or so, Lorne would tap my shoulder and point to the bedroom, and I’d have to go in, and give him a blowjob, before refreshing my lipstick and going back out into the event. At one point, Lorne heard me use profanity, (I was telling a dirty joke to some colleagues) and he lost it, I’m afraid.
?Bend across the armrest of that sofa, Theresa Marie!? Lorne ordered angrily. I looked at him in horror, as did all the doctors, nurses and lawyer friends that I had. ?You know Pa doesn’t allow you to use sinful talk! Pull up your dress and pull down your panties. You’re getting the razor strop right now!?
I was trembling. ?Lorne? I said in a carefully controlled voice, ?You can’t punish me like this in front of other people. These are people from the community, and you really can’t—?
I was silenced by Lorne’s backhand. As I staggered, my lip bleeding, Lorne dragged me to the couch. Fortinbras Rolfe, one of my medical partners moved to intervene but I found myself shouting at him, ?That’s my brother. You leave him alone!?
Lorne grinned through his grotesque harelip and took a wooden Spencer paddle, the kind with nine holes in it, and threw me across the armrest of the couch. He pulled up my hot little dress and pulled down my panties. WHACK THWACK! CRACK! SMACK!
Shoeblossom, I don’t know if you’ve ever had it from a Spencer paddle, but it really, really stings, the thick wood bounces, literally bounces, off the buttocks, and my butt began to turn red and then purplish.
But again, just like in my youth, the males who were watching my humiliation, began playing pocket pool, and the girls laughed, particularly those who were jealous of my looks and intelligence.
After Lorne finished thrashing me with the paddle, he took the razor strop and gave me fifty more, and then sent me to stand in the corner, with my dress held up and my panties strung around my knees. It looked quite unusual, with my high heels and everything!
And then a surprising thing happened. Lorne began feeling more at home at the party! ?The party must continue? he said happily. ?I am afraid my sister is being punished and can no longer participate, but everyone else can?and if any of the guys want a little oral relief, Theresa Marie can satisfy them in the bathroom!?
So that’s my letter, Shoeblossom. I apparently am hopelessly in the thrall of my baby brother, who is deformed in face but certainly not in character. The only really interesting thing that happened after this was, Lorne got a few phone numbers from attractive women at the party that wanted similar treatment! Isn’t that wild?
Love,
Theresa Marie Lonigan, M.D.
Dear Theresa Marie:
Life is unpredictable, and sometimes lonely, and I think you’ve found a way that works. I wonder how many other members of the medical profession could benefit from a little brotherly love, eh?
Best,
Shoeblossom
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