Letter from Grand Island

Dear Shoeblossom,

As an artist of sorts, I remember reading that the writer William Burroughs spent his final years, after his debacles in New York and Tangier, in very quiet Lawrence, Kansas.

It wasn't as exciting as Mexico, where he'd shot Mrs. Burroughs' head off while playing "William Tell" with a martini glass so precariously placed...but it was time.

I was once an industrial designer, and retired to Grand Island, Nebraska, which is in the county seat, and is pleasant and relatively cheap.

I was born in Omaha, and grew up in Lincoln, but spent much of my time creating business miracles elsewhere, and was happy to return to simpler climes.

James Baldwin had to leave Harlem for France to write about...HARLEM. And I got away from all the businesses, and have now completed my greatest industrial design. I have created...Marsalis.

I bought one of those seven thousand dollar "Love Dolls" that are so popular with the incel communities. A gorgeous thing, a tall redhead with bright green eyes, and tits out to--well you can imagine.

But, given my masochistic tendencies, I didn't want a limp mannequin to play with, and since I have some skill in robotics, I seem to have created an android Domina!

I won't go through all the machinations that I had to go through. But I've spent years going to various dominant professionals. I've been thrashed in Paris, skewered in Switzerland and denied in Poughkeepsie.

Most of my experience pre-Marsalis has been cerebral and masturbatory, which is a sad thing, but of course one wants a fantasy that follows a script. There's only a certain amount of spontaneity a submissive can tolerate, no?

"What do you want me to hit you for?" I remember my first wife, Estelle asking me. I finally got my buxom hausfrau to take me over her knee, and administer the paddle to my bare bottom, but of course what ended up happening was...

Estelle ACTUALLY tried to get me to do more housework and give her the credit card more by scaring me with the threat of excessive punishment!

That's not a fantasy, is it?

The fantasy is, I am the servile oaf obeying a dominant wife's every whim--not being allowed to watch sports, or hang out with the guys, spending time in the corner when not getting my ass flogged , and only being allowed a paltry orgasm a month with lots of excessive teasing.

But when I'm not into that "space" I enjoy my life, and have many interests, and certainly don't want to waste more time than maybe a couple hours a week serving a beautiful woman, or at least what I created.

This morning, I pressed a few buttons on my remote, constructed from a neighbor's discarded Iphone and beautiful statuesque Marsalis strode into the house and smiled at me cruelly.

"Lionel, you bad, bad boy. This place is a shithole." The voice comes from a domina friend of mine, and Marsalis is programmed with a vocabulary of three thousand words.

"Y-yes ma'am." I began trembling slightly and rubbing my hands together nervously.

Marsalis came closer, and I sniffed her perfumed cleavage.

I had dressed her the night before in a bright blue tube top and shorts, and armed her with a wooden Ping-Pong paddle, and of course the dreaded strap.

I certainly don't want to clean the entire house, I have a service for that, but just for the fantasy, I can do one chore, it's about an hour on Marsalis's battery.

"I told you to keep this place clean, didn't I? Drop your pants."

"Oh, I--please, Miss Marsie!"

Marsalis grabs me by the belt and deftly takes down my pants and underwear, and then her lovely, manicured fingers grasp my right ear and she drags me into the living room.

The first time this happened, I had a glitch in the system, and Marsalis's fingers held on to my ear for the duration of the hour, and it was bad, but fortunately the battery ran out.

I had to drag her body (her chassis?) still clutching my ear to the garage workshop, and find pliers to pry her fingers loose.

But today, all is well, and she brings me into the living room and then lets go of my ear.

"Now bend over the arm-rest you little pig!"

I am standing shamefacedly, my naked legs trembling...I try to argue and she slaps me hard across the face and then points to the arm rest, and weeping, I bend over.

"Now we'll see who learns to obey orders." she says animatedly, and she begins swinging the Ping-Pong paddle against my bum, just as Mother once did,''

In time I am weeping, and then she starts up with the belt.

The first time I had her whip me, I was afraid, of course that she might not stop, being a machine, so I had a friend who is a bit of a kinkster, observe.

Marquis (so he calls himself, the poor geek) asked that I program Marsalis to be a submissive for HIM, and he loves to turn her over his knee and whip her rubbery bottom until she squeals in imaginary pain.

I've also programmed her to give Marquis long and sloppy blowjobs, though I've had to re-place the wet roast beef I line her mouth with to make it supple.

But how many real girls will blow you for an hour and a half until their battery dies?

We've thought about renting her to others, but I really love having my android to myself at this point, and I'm not really in need of money.

After the belt has landed about thirty times, I am a blubbering mess.

Marsalis snaps her metal fingers and, sobbing more in humiliation, I strip off everything, and then she escorts me into the kitchen, where I don an apron, and I begin scrubbing the floor.

She laughs raucously and cruelly as I work on my knees, and tells me what a wimpy piece of shit I am. She's brought the strap in, and now and then, if she imagines I've missed a spot, I get a few cracks on my thighs.

After all that, I get to eat her bush, made of Brillo and steel wool, and then I lie on the cold kitchen floor and Marsalis uses her high heel to bang on my poor cock until I have a big spurt.

First, though, she unlocks my chastity belt by an electric maneuver. I have my chastity belt locked except for my two sessions a week with Marsalis, and this increases my devotion to the robot and excitement about the sessions.

She is still going on about how she wants me to suck off colored men who work on the next farm, and all that.

After her spike heel hits my cock for the final time, and I spurt, there is a sensor that gets her to stop and shut down.

I go and shower, since chastity belts can get grimy, and re-lock the belt and take Marsalis back out to the garage and re-plug for three or four days from now.

Technology, truly, is the bomb!