Z is for Zealot

A person who is fanatical and uncompromising in pursuit of their religious, political, or other ideals.

Zealot is a negative word. After all, compromise is at the heart of human endeavors. When it comes to spanking though, I’ll accept the label of zealot. 😉

I love spanking. As my blog address states: I Lurv Spanking. Why? No idea. I just know that no sexual act brings me as much satisfaction as spanking. And yes, I do believe that spanking is sexual. [Discuss that among yourselves.]

When it comes to D/s, I am fully uncompromising in supporting spanking between consenting adults, whether it be punishment, discipline, erotic, playful or therapy. Spanking is not weird, abnormal, deviant or damaging when done correctly and with respect.

I’m fanatical in reading and writing about spanking. As the saying goes: Spanking; I’m a big fan. I do think though, that too much time and effort is wasted on analyzing the whys and hows of spanking. Either you enjoy spanking, top, bottom or both; or you don’t. I don’t actually go out of my way to eat Brussels sprouts, but I don’t mind them. If that’s how you feel about spanking, then you’re not a spanko.

Nothing wrong with that. Spanking is not a litmus test for D/s. You can be submissive and never be spanked. Boundaries are there for a reason. On the other hand, just because you enjoy being spanked doesn’t mean you are submissive. A real zealot [I’m just a wannabe] insists on strict rules and has zero tolerance for deviation. That’s not me. Spanking should always have at its core, a feeling of naughty fun.

Happy Spanking!!!!!!

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

Y is for Yes

Yes: Old English gēse, gīse, probably from an unrecorded phrase meaning ‘may it be so.’

Da, Ja, Oui, Si, Ha, Ya, Hai and many others represent a simple, yet very complex word. Yes is not simply the opposite of no. In BDSM, yes is actually a physical representation of the dichotomy between Dominance and submission.

“Yes, I want you to spank me.” is a more difficult state of mind than: “Do you want me to spank you?” requiring a yes in response. Both of those however, are more difficult for a submissive that simply hearing; “I’m going to spank you now.” or, even better, “Bend over. Now.”

The latter two statements are not a result of saying yes, but rather, having a D/s relationship that includes a default “yes” as the primary driver of action. For a Dominant, the assumption is — unless otherwise negotiated — that yes, once given, is permanently in place and therefore consent is not needed again. The submissive in this case will likely get… cheesed off by his/her Dom/me constantly asking for permission to proceed. Nothing kills the mood faster than “Are you okay, honey? Is your butt too sore?”

Domly confidence is the ultimate aphrodisiac. So says 4 out of 5 subs. 🙂

Confidence is not arrogance though. Nor stupidity. Or cruelty. Or just being a bloody stupid wanker who shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a bare bottom. In those cases, yes means no, and fuck no! is an always appropriate response. Don’t be taken in by slick lines and thick wallets. Yes maybe fine for a one-night stand, but in the long-term, getting to yes means finding out what triggers the no. If the nos outweigh the yeses, it’s time for a rethink.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

X is for Xenophile

This is a made-up word. You would have thought some fusty man embarking on a Grand Tour would have created this several centuries ago, but it is a fairly recent word as vocabulary goes.

Xenophile: an individual who is attracted to foreign peoples, manners, or cultures. 1922: from Greek, from xeno– + –phile, first usage 1948 in current definition.

I want to concentrate on culture though; specifically the BDSM culture.

First though, a side trip into anthropology.

Most “experts” would state that somewhere between 100 and 300 individuals comprise the optimum human village or tribe. Any less, and the group will not remain viable long-term and any more, the individual gets lost in the mass. This group is considered family, or at the very least, close friends. Once the numbers spiral past 300, the excess become strangers or foreigners.

The internet was supposed to allow/permit humans to transcend the biological ties of blood and place by finding individuals and groups that shared similar interests and hobbies. But instead of highlighting those similarities and bringing peaceful interactions, the internet has created a harsh forum whereby all the actual differences are used as weapons against anything foreign, whether nations or people.

BDSM is no different. Each of us has a level of comfort, of experience, of desire and of longing to find that “perfect” partner/s to quell the yearning in our kinky souls. Yes, the internet has facilitated the linking of like-minded kinksters from around the world, but being attracted to the D/s culture is no guarantee you, as an individual, will be allowed entrée into the rarefied stratus of the discerning beau monde of BDSM.

Millions of friends on social media, do not a culture make. Some would argue that the maximum number of people you can have a close and meaningful relationship with, is only four. Higher that that, the connections become ever more tenuous. Being attracted to foreign cultures, manners or peoples, raises the salient question: What does being foreign even mean? We are all foreigners.

Often even to our neighbors, co-workers or family.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

W is for Wonderful

Wonderful: inspiring delight, pleasure, or admiration; extremely good; marvelous.

If that’s not a definition for how a jolly good spanking feels, then I don’t know what else comes close. 🙂

I do realize that defining spanking, D/s or all-out BDSM as wonderful, likely causes a few eyebrows to twerk. But I respectively submit that a bottom, bared for chastisement, does indeed ‘inspire delight’ and the feel and sound of palm spanking fulsome cheeks is a source of great ‘pleasure’ for both parties involved. One can feel ‘admiration’ for how wonderfully a willing submissive takes a good, hard thrashing; while the reverse is certainly true as the Dom is rewarded for their expertise with sexual favors given in admiring gratitude. An ‘extremely good’ spanking is a ‘marvelous’ thing of beauty that rivals any masterwork displayed in a museum.

In this day and age of instant gratification, and the tsunami of information available with a few clicks and swipes, there is good reason to turn off the devices, draw the curtains, and spend some quality time over-the-knee contemplating all the wonderful things in your life and relationships. Connecting through spanking and D/s is a time-honored tradition and one that is both solemn and silly. So embrace both and enjoy the wonder of D/s. Happy Spanking everyone.

Wonder: Old English wundor (noun), wundrian (verb), of Germanic origin; related to Dutch wonder and German Wunder, of unknown ultimate origin.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

V is for Violent

A violent thunderstorm. A violent earthquake. A violent eruption.

A violent spanking?

Using or involving physical force intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone or something. Middle English (in the sense ‘having a marked or powerful effect’): via Old French from Latin violent– ‘vehement, violent.’

To non-practitioners, BDSM is often linked with domestic violence. To many, there is no possible consent when it comes to using physical force intended to hurt. Yes, spankings hurt. So do floggings, canings, whippings, paddlings, tawsings, and the occasional wooden spoon and other handy household implements. But intending to hurt, depends on the intent. Simply stating “please spank me”, does not give anyone the right to do so in a reckless and violent manner. D/s is a serious business.

I don’t think anyone who loves BDSM would consider themselves or what they do to be violent. By the strictness of definitions, a spanking involves force whether by hand over-the-knee or tied to a bench and caned. Unless the spanked doesn’t have a functioning nervous system, then it will hurt to some degree depending on the boundaries previously established and the level of consent given by all involved parties. Having said that, the intersection between hurting violence and damaging violence is where a consensual relationship meets law enforcement.

It is never alright to force someone into submitting against their will. It is never alright to physically or mentally abuse someone without their knowing consent and cooperation. It is never alright to be violent for violence’s sake.

And lastly: Self-violence may be a sign of serious health issues and should not be taken lightly.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

U is for Unstable

Two of the most powerful forces in the universe are chaos and entropy. When it comes to D/s, it often seems that those forces are the only ones that matter. When combined, chaos and entropy lead to the inclination to simply give up and stop trying. Being unstable is a physical law of systems both comprehensible and complex, and the most challenging of those is likely the human brain.

Unstable: prone to psychiatric problems or sudden changes of mood. Middle English: from Anglo-Norman French, from Latin stabilis, from the base of stare ‘to stand.’ Un-: Old English, of Germanic origin; from an Indo-European root shared by Latin in- and Greek a- .

We are all unstable in some way. Internally we often feel inadequate or outright fraudulent when going through our daily lives. We crave stability, but tend to be knocked around by events not within our control. Even our own moods and mind seem to spin like a galaxy no matter how disciplined we pretend we are. You can certainly put forth the argument that the ‘natural’ state of being for humans, is to be unstable. A blissful and centered existence is the unicorn here.

So the question perhaps is: Are those involved in BDSM more or less unstable than the mean? And what is the mean? If everyone is prone to some level of psychiatric problems, then what use is the word normal? Or: Are sudden mood changes helped with a healthy dose of discipline? Does D/s cure instability?

I haven’t posted in three months. Haven’t written a word. Felt unstable, often extremely so every day. It’s a struggle, and at some point, I may finally learn to stop wrestling with my reflection because neither of us can pin the other. I guess that’s the entire point of D/s.

Surrender.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

T is for Tormented

Middle English (as both noun and verb referring to the infliction or suffering of torture): from Old French torment (noun), tormenter (verb), from Latin tormentum ‘instrument of torture,’ from torquere ‘to twist.’

Tormented serves as a very ‘good’ word for my recent state of mind. I haven’t written anything in months. Haven’t commented. Haven’t cared about much of anything. For some reason every year I forget how I feel about The Holidays. In simple terms: I hate them.

Beginning before Halloween and lasting until the New Year, all my self-doubt and -loathing get all twisted up with memories and emotions that have never been settled, never mind with any permanent closure. It doesn’t help that my other personalities have different desires; some (as in Rose) love the hype and color and social doings and would be partying every night if I let her. Some of the others that lived before me, and more importantly lived through the trauma, roll their eyes at her and want to stay in their rooms until spring. But, having to work ‘nearly’ full-time in order to keep a roof over our heads and the larder stocked, means that five days a week I have to grit my teeth, force all my feelings back into the closet and do my best to survive. Plus, being my wife’s caretaker can get stressful.

None of that feeds my creativity. I’m never been someone that uses adversity to strive for change. I tend to pull back and curl up into myself. My only escape is to read. Or YouTube; but I won’t blame my depression on that addiction. I/We have always been depressed to some degree, but medication doesn’t work and therapy became a crutch. I don’t really want to be tormented all the time, but I don’t know how to stop.

Lest you think this is self-pity or a ‘woe-is-me’ diatribe… it’s not. Rose slaps me upside the head (well, inside the head. So to speak.) whenever I wallow. As she points out — and I know — there are billions of people on this Earth who can’t fathom the luxury and security of my lifestyle. I just get stuck. Internally. I can counsel someone else quite readily but when it comes to introspection, I suck. I don’t blame anyone. I accept full responsibility for my lack… of many things.

This was not what I intended to write today, but it needs to be said. I write when I feel like it, not to make a living. To some of you, that undoubtably disqualifies me from the Authors Guild, but that’s okay. The pen maybe mightier than the sword, but in my case, at least it doesn’t serve as a tormentum. I’ve got my mind serving that post.

And it is a very, very competent torturer.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

S is for Savage

If you were Roman, you had a love/hate relationship with the wilderness. On the one hand, there were Silvanus — woodland deities — but then there was the Teutoburg Forest. The natural world was not something to be trusted or admired, only an obstacle to or opportunity for wealth. Thus the root Latin word of silva — a wood — gave us both the modern English word ‘sylvan’ [conjuring vistas of misty woody hills and frolicking fauna] and ‘savage’ whose definition is both lengthy and traumatizing.

Middle English: from Old French sauvage ‘wild,’ from Latin silvaticus ‘of the woods,’ from silva ‘a wood.’

adjective (of an animal or force of nature) fierce, violent, and uncontrolled.
• cruel and vicious; aggressively hostile
• (chiefly in historical or literary contexts) primitive; uncivilized.
• (of a place) wild-looking and inhospitable; uncultivated.
• (of something bad or negative) very great; severe:
noun (chiefly in historical or literary contexts) a member of a people regarded as primitive and uncivilized.
• a brutal or vicious person
verb (especially of a dog or wild animal) attack ferociously and maul
• subject to a vicious verbal attack; criticize brutally

Thanks to Hollywood, the image of shrieking warriors in little clothing and painted bodies charging innocent colonizers [ie. eco-tourists] who just happened to be white, nearly always male — except when helpless females were being threatened by the savage natives — and standing up for truth, justice and the way of the gun; we have a deep-rooted social bias towards those that live alternative lifestyles or off the land.

Naturists [as they preferred to be called] are considered perverts at best, secret pedophiles at worst. Vegans and the many off-shoots of vegetarianism that have evolved through the millenniums, are labeled with numerous unflattering and oftentimes hostile epithets. Environmentalists are flat out accused of lying in order to push their alleged agenda of destroying civilization if not outright extermination of the human race.

And outside of fiction, any savage who would physically strike another person is obviously a threat to the general public and should locked up as a primitive being. Unless you’re a boxer. Or a martial artist. Or an athlete in a contact sport. Or involved in consensual BDSM.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

R is for Ridiculous

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of.” Indicating contempt.
“Don’t be ridiculous, nothing happened.” Indicating exasperation.
“Why would you even consider doing such a ridiculous thing?” Indicating disbelief.

All three of these sentences could be about anything at all, but for the sake of this essay, let us assume the subject matter involves spanking.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. You want to be spanked? That’s just stupid.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, nothing happened. I would never spank someone, no matter how badly they behaved.”
“Why would you even consider doing such a ridiculous thing? Spanking is so perverse and degrading.”

Ridiculous: deserving or inviting derision or mockery; absurd – mid 16th cent.: from Latin ridiculosus, from ridiculus ‘laughable,’ from ridere ‘to laugh.’

Is BDSM ridiculous as described in the definition above? Deserving derision or mockery? Absolutely not. Inviting the same? Wellllllll. Like every human endeavor, there is always a hint of the absurd lurking in the not so distant background. However, it is also the case, that only those involved, deeply involved in a particular activity, are allowed self-mockery. Spanking is a serious business: except when it’s not. If you’re not a spanko, you’re never understand the need — the craving — for the burning heat, and orgasmic submission that spanking can engender in the parties concerned.

What is ridiculous is how often we humans feel the need to poke our digits in other’s private lives. It’s absurd that my welfare could be endangered by consensual BDSM practiced halfway around the globe. [That’s ‘globe’ as in the Earth, not globe as in an arse.] Personally, I feel that if more people gave spanking a try, they’d discover that life doesn’t have to be a dreary slog towards the inevitable end. Carpe diem, and all that. Get that slogan off your shirt and back where it belongs. Over a knee and loving every smack.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

Q is for Quixotic

Having a lifestyle of BDSM can seem at times to be like ’tilting at windmills’. This phrase as well as the word ‘quixotic’ derive from the novel, El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha, published in two parts by the Spanish author Cervantes in 1605 and 1615. There are currently 22 English translations beginning in 1612 and the most recent, in 2011. Most readers are familiar with the truncated title, Don Quixote.

The hero of this romance — a satirical account of chivalric beliefs and conduct — Don Quixote is a character that has a romantic and naive unworldly idealism. Thus giving quixotic its definition: exceedingly idealistic; unrealistic and impractical.

It is after all, exceedingly idealistic that the general public will ever accept BDSM as a normal and healthy variant of romance. It is also unrealistic and impractical to agitate for PDAs [public displays of affection] to include spankings in grocery stores, anal plug insertions during staff meetings or nipple clamping during an opera intermission. Stories about fundraisers involving sexy calendar shoots are just that, fantasies. And yes, there are locales that have public BDSM during a festival setting, but obscenity statutes still are enforced.

But I venture to state that many of those who ‘venture’ into BDSM, do so out of a longing to conduct themselves in a more formal manner. Chivalric even. Being beholden to a Lord, or Mistress, who takes away the stress of day-to-day romance and codifies behavior into strict protocol with seemingly harsh consequences for errors of submission and omission. Punished for minor lapses in order to forestall major mistakes. It may seem naive to outsiders to willingly submit and surrender control of self to someone whip-in-hand, but that submission comes from strength, not weakness, and certainly not, unworldly idealism.

Tilting at windmills may indeed give a knight’s lance a strenuous workout, but the giants are real. Those monsters that seek to devour and conquer through fear and violence. The world doesn’t need more dictators strutting on the stage, but more Don Quixotes would be very welcome. Only this time, let there be spanking.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

P is for Prurient

Prurient: having or encouraging an excessive interest in sexual matters — is a word passed down from Latin unchanged in spelling, and nearly so in definition.

Purient, late 16th cent. (in the sense ‘having a mental itching’): from Latin prurient– ‘itching, longing’ and ‘being wanton,’ from the verb prurire– ‘itch, tingle’ ‘I long for’.

This word shows that — despite the preference for visual cues — the largest and most dominant sex organ is the brain. The ‘mental itching’ we feel varies upon individual triggers, but it’s the longing that causes arousal, not the other way around. After all, if you are sightless, imagination is what engorges your clitoris.

But who decided that excessive interest in sexual matters was a bad thing? Is being wanton such a threat to society that the Romans [not known for restraint] needed to separate the sensation of attraction to a potential sex partner, from the action of intercourse? Reproduction [not the ‘fake’ authentic antiquities peddled by the roadside] has always been controlled by DNA, despite the best efforts of despots, religion and fanatics to sanctify the process through the dubious institution of male/female marriage. I say dubious, because marriage should be a private matter untrammeled by bureaucracy of any flavor. If hand-fasting worked for the Scots, you shouldn’t require a license to wed your lover.

Certainly the rise of the internet has given new life to prurient behavior with unlimited excesses at your fingertips 24/7/365; but on the balance, I would argue that more people have been helped than harmed by the flood of sexual information now available. Yes there are lots of bad things and evil people online, but they already existed in real-life. But for every stalker or troll, there are thousands if not millions of LBGTQT+ persons who have finally found affirmation that they are not damaged, not defective, not diseased for being who they are. They are normal people for longing for someone other than the accepted binary coupling. It’s not prurient: it’s natural.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

O is for Obscene

Obscene speech is not protected speech, per the United States Supreme Court in 1957. Nor are obscene actions in public, and in many locales in private, protected either. The most famous case still remains, Jacobellis v. Ohio, decided June 22nd, 1964 in favor of the defendant that the screening of The Lovers, was not obscene. Included in the judgement, which makes for interesting reading is this:

3. The test for obscenity is “whether to the average person, applying contemporary community standards, the dominant theme of the material taken as a whole appeals to prurient interest.” Roth v. United States , 354 U.S. 476 :1957:. Pp. 191-195.
(a) A work cannot be proscribed unless it is “utterly without redeeming social importance,” and hence material that deals with sex in a manner that advocates ideas, or that has literary or scientific or artistic value or any other form of social importance, may not be held obscene and denied constitutional protection.

In 1973, the Supreme Court further refined, in Miller v. California, the definition of obscenity from that of “utterly without socially redeeming value” *see 3a above* to that which lacks “serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value”.

But lets go back to the beginning.

The word ‘scene’ comes from the mid 16th cent. (denoting a subdivision of a play, or (a piece of) stage scenery): from Latin scena, from Greek skēnē ‘tent, stage.’ The prefix ob-, is directly Latin, meaning: ‘toward, against, in the way of.’

Combined however, ‘obscene’ arrives later in the 16th cent.: from French obscène or Latin obscaenus ‘ill-omened or abominable.’ In modern English, ‘obscene’ has two definitions. 1. (of the portrayal or description of sexual matters) offensive or disgusting by accepted standards of morality and decency. 2. Offensive to moral principles; repugnant.

But the true root of ‘obscene’ is this explanation. To be ob “off of” the standards of the scaenus “the Theatre stage”. In other words, miss your mark, fumble a line, act in a way unbecoming to the profession of acting, and you are obscaenus.

Is acting out BDSM obscene? Are spanking blogs obscene? Nudity? Are the things we [meaning those that write, speak, show the human body in a sexual manner] project to the public truly obscene? Is it really the court’s job to mandate how each person lives their life? To me, there are a lot of obscene things on the world stage; what consenting adults do or say or exhibit in a sexual way in public or private, is not one of them.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

N is for Naughty

There are certain word pairs in the English language that automatically go together. Bacon and eggs, milk and cookies, fish and chips… it seems that many of them are food. But the pair I’m thinking about is:

Naughty and giggles.

Think about it. Say ‘naughty’ out loud. Are you grinning? Smirking at least? There is something so satisfying about doing something, or simply being, well, naughty. The fact that naughty boys and girls get spanked by their Doms and Dommes is merely icing on the cake for the kinky spankos of the world.

Being naughty is also how most — if not all — of us got interested in BDSM. Looking up spanking in the dictionary. Playing with dolls or soldiers and punishing them for various nefarious deeds. Realizing that rope is useful for far more than skipping or that a spatula creates a lingering sting. Discovering that secret and furtive masturbation is much more explosive when fantasizing about being taken-in-hand, or taking the hand to a supple bottom, or two or three. ‘Don’t be naughty!’ is one of the first phrases we learn to obey when young, and depending on the upbringing, one that can sink deep hooks into our psyche.

When it comes to D/s, any conversation that brings it up, not matter how obliquely, is likely to result in stammers and blushes. After all, is there anything more naughty than sitting with friends discussing sex and spanking? How embarrassing to know that your family and/or friends now know you’re a submissive, and that your Significant Other is fully empowered to discipline you at any time. Why, they probably think you’ve got a flaming sore bottom right at this moment! How… Naughty!

But you see, I like to spank my Naughty Girl, not because I can [of course I want to as often as possible] but because she wants me to spank her. And if she’s honest, she’d admit, even if only to herself, that she needs to be spanked. So even though adult spanking can be done because somebody was naughty and needs a sharp lesson in behavior, it also can be done as foreplay, or even spanking to orgasm. So when your naughty submissive starts giggling, it’s past time to put them over your knee and treat their bottom to some loving, albeit naughty smacking.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

M is for Miserable

“To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

late Middle English: from French misérable, from Latin miserabilis ‘pitiable,’ from miserari ‘to pity,’ from miser ‘wretched.’

To quote the great bard himself {Mr. T} “I pity the fool.” It’s hard to say if more people believe that those involved in BDSM are wretched and depraved individuals, or pitiable for being trapped in a cycle of domination and submissiveness. To us however, the ones who love D/s and understand that the “dark folds of life” are not an excuse, being miserable is simply part of the reality.

To love someone is always risky. Even if you live — or attempt to live — in a 24/7 D/s relationship(s), it is never, and never will be, perfect. If you are always yearning for the next spanking, or dissecting the previous flogging, you will also likely always be feeling inadequate and pitiful.

“Was I enough?”
“I’m too fat.”
“I’m too thin.”
“I don’t know why he/she stays with me.”
“I always fuck things up.”
“I’m not good enough.”
“I hate my thighs: butt: breasts : penis.”

Just kidding, no guy ever has hated his little buddy: a no more accurate algorithm has ever been created. Of course, it’s also incredibly stupid, but maybe that’s a lesson. A penis {or a search engine} is never miserable, as long as it gets to come frequently.

Which loops back to the top. I pity the fool that wallows in misery, not from contempt, but from compassion. As this author knows all too well, being miserable feels great at first, but always leaves me empty and with an aching heart.

I’d much rather love. Which I do. Which I am in. Always.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

L is for Libidinous, Lascivious, Licentious, Lubricious

And these [not even including Lewd, Lecherous or Lustful] are all bad things?

Libidinous: showing excessive sexual drive; lustful.
Lascivious: (of a person, manner, or gesture) feeling or revealing an overt and often offensive sexual desire.
Licentious: promiscuous and unprincipled in sexual matters.
Lubricious: offensively displaying or intended to arouse sexual desire.

What all four have in common, besides coming from Latin, is that they reached Middle English around the time the Protestant Reformation was nailed to the door and the Church of England broke anyway from Rome. Considering that literacy was very limited at the time and predominately the bailiwick of religious orders, along with clerks attached to the Crown(s) and upper nobility, the need for specialized new words describing well-established sexual behavior seems a bit odd on the surface. Like most of human history though, it all revolves around controlling wombs. Creating a sense of shame, fear and guilt over natural urges was the most efficient way [short of a harem or convent] to keep women subjugated. No culture ever, has successfully legislated morality. Rulers pick morals; the masses cheerfully ignore them. Makes clerics pull out their hair with frustration: when they’re not abusing their underage flock of course.

Does an interest in or practicing BSDM cause libidinous, lascivious, licentious or lubricious behavior, or does behaving in a libidinous, lascivious, licentious or lubricious manner lead someone towards the forbidden temptation of BDSM? If a female acts in a sensual way, she’s labeled a slut, a whore, a fallen woman or a home-wrecker. A man is called a rake, a bounder, a player or a sower of wild oats. {Have to get that DNA spread as wide as possible} Is this a double standard? *Insert wild laughter*

How many of you reading this have had to overcome an upbringing that treated all things sex as a ‘bad’ thing unless married and then only for procreation? In your current relationship(s), does D/s help or hinder your actions in sexual terms? Do you ‘own’ your body now, in the sense of empowered to maximize your pleasure? How large a role does guilt play in spanking? Does being ‘turned-on’ immediately create shame and doubt?

I ask these questions not to elicit comments, but to start a conversation amongst yourselves about your personal feelings in terms of sexual… randiness. I don’t believe being horny is a crime; the crime comes from forcing your lubricious attentions on the unwilling.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

K is for Karma

Karma derives from the Sanskrit karman, which is a philosophy and word at least 5,500 years old. In English, the first usage was in 1827 brought to Europe as a result of the British rule in parts of India. The proper definition of karma is: “the sum of a person’s actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in future existences.” There are parallels in Western thought, primarily phrases such as: What goes around, comes around. Reap what you sow. Treat others as you desire to be treated yourself. They all have roots in religion and serve as parables pointing out the dangers of being a jerk; as in what [if anything] comes after life is determined by how you behaved towards others.

So is there a Golden Rule in BDSM?

Well, deciding that would be like herding cats; frustrating and ultimately futile. Every single person has their own idea of what is correct behavior according to their own experiences and expectations. But for the most part, ‘karma’, is used as a negative in conversation in order to justify an event as deserved. “Did you hear what happened? That’s karma for you.”

So if someone tells you they are interested in exploring D/s, where does karma fit into the equation? If you are a Dom, is it positive karma or negative if you spank someone at their request? If you are a sub, does instigating a paddling by bratting mean your karma took a hit for deliberately being naughty? What are the degrees of karma when it comes to domination and submission? Who gains and who loses?

I don’t believe BDSM [done right {and don’t get me started on what constitutes right}] is a zero-sum game. On the contrary; when involved in any aspect of D/s in any intensity or scope, the more attuned the partners are to each other’s needs, the more ‘good’ karma is gained. Giving or receiving pleasure and pain should be about selflessly serving a loved one without requiring reciprocation.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

J is for Jaded

Sometime in the 14th century, the word ‘jade’ was coined to define a horse that was broken-down, vicious, or worthless. By 1524, that had expanded to a verb meaning: “to wear out by overwork or abuse.” It quickly morphed from there to include a disreputable woman or rarely a flirtatious girl as a ‘jade’. The verb added the sense of “being worn out” via the equine definition in 1600, and then became ‘jaded’ meaning: “made dull, apathetic, or cynical by experience or by having or seeing too much of something.” by 1630.

Considering the life expectancy in the UK during that time was around 35, with likely 40% of the population dying before reaching adulthood, one wonders how anyone could have experienced such ennui as to need an entirely new vocabulary describing the human tendency to become easily bored. Perhaps it had more to do with Henry VIII and Elizabeth I and the vicious politics surrounding their courts, than tinkers and farmers struggling to survive.

Becoming jaded is the bane of BDSM. At the beginning, you’re all fired up to play and explore and test your stamina through convoluted games and scenarios. Life is marvelous and every new implement or toy simply sends the endorphins even higher. At some point though, you reach a plateau, that place where responding is a struggle, and finding time isn’t worth the trouble. Family and friends make demands and and your Dom’s commands lack zest. So you rest, and ponder if D/s is worth the tests. Stress rises until you feeling like shouting, but resort to pouting when all you need is a damn good spanking to snap you out of your funk.

But if that’s all D/s means to you, physical sensations and humiliating placations, then the seething emotions are not firmly planted in love and respect. For how can you be jaded when every devious smirk and sly touch sends your pulse pounding and clothes flying? Each encounter is unique, each growl is the very first time you felt submissive. Being jaded means you’re not connected to the now, to the essence of D/s in which you dance with your partner(s) in an intricate waltz of call and response.

Stop what you’re doing and look at each other. What do you feel? Make your choices, make them well.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

I is for Indignant

Two things came to mind when I picked this word. The first being the childhood mantra we all utter at some point: “It’s not fair!” The second being a distinctive sniff followed by: “Well. I never!”

Both phrases encompass the definition, but one is inward and the other not. (Feeling or showing anger or annoyance at what is perceived as unfair treatment.) While it’s true that unfair treatment — perceived or otherwise — is a staple of growing up, by the time we reach adulthood, that anger is more often directed at causes than at personal circumstances. Interestingly, the root word from Latin is spelled the same and stems from ‘not worthy’ as indignus, to ‘regarding as unworthy’ as indignant. The problem is of course, what defines as unfair? While we cling to the notion that justice is blind, humans are most certainly not and given any issue, you’ll find indignant people on all sides.

Is BDSM unfair? Typically you have a Top and bottom, or Dom and sub, and that appears on the surface to be inherently unbalanced; even cruel. But you can’t be indignant about BDSM or those that partake in the lifestyle unless you can prove it’s abusive, illegal or unjust. You may be personally offended by spanking, or bondage etc, but claiming indignation on behalf of the perceived ‘victims’ of D/s, falls well short of any legal proof of harm. If you’re indignant over tattoos, piercings, baggy pants, loud music or any other aspect of someone’s appearance or activities, then you are using the word incorrectly.

There is a darker side to being indignant though, and that links to the emotions of both Dom and sub when they feel unworthy of each other. When self-confidence wavers — or does not exist — the discipline and domination that is the hallmark of D/s, can turn toxic in an instant. What was agreed upon treatment becomes unfair. What was a partnership, becomes two hostile camps and the bonds are dissolved. BDSM is not static, and if you find yourself indignant due to actions by your Dom or sub, it is past time for a frank conversation about needs and wants.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

H is for Horrendous

It should come as no surprise that horrendous comes from the same root word as, horrible, horrid, horrific and horror. That word is horrere, Latin meaning: ‘tremble, shudder, (of hair) stand on end.’ The contemporary definition is: ‘extremely unpleasant, horrifying, or terrible.’

Hair standing on end though can result from many different things. Fright, yes, but also emotions such as awe, arousal, happiness and the awareness of being attracted to someone. For many, that feeling occurred the first time they realized an aspect of BDSM was the missing piece in their life. What happened from there depends on whether or not — horrendous — is as negative as its definition.

Extremely unpleasant: not only unpleasant, but extremely. That seems a bit… extreme. Horrifying: that seems a bit more understandable, considering how successful roller-coasters and horror movies have always been. Terrible: a little weak; a meal can be terrible as can a traffic jam.

When it comes to D/s, the area I like to focus on is spanking. Straightforward, over-the-knee, skirt up, panties down spanking. Can that experience ever be called horrendous? 🙄 Of course it can, ladies and gentleman of all persuasions. {Keep in mind always, that I only write about consensual spanking between legal adults in the jurisdiction of your domicile.} Grabbing someone and flailing away as if trying to swat a mosquito seldom leads to a happy ending. A spanking received by someone who is clueless and unaware of the nuances can be extremely unpleasant.

By the same token, a spanking delivered by a “professional” — any Dom in good-standing may rightly claim this address — can also be extremely unpleasant when circumstances warrant. The difference is that in this case, the recipient knows full well they deserved a ‘damn good thrashing’ and can count themselves fortunate that the chastisement wasn’t longer and harder.

There is nothing more horrifying than your Dom stating, quite calmly and pragmatically, the whys, wheres and hows of your transgression and then pointing out, “you’ve earned every stroke with your — fill-in-the-blank — behavior.” Your stomach starts flip-flopping and you break out in a fine sheen while you grow light-headed. The top of the hill grows ever closer and the terrible realization that you have no choice but to go over the edge has your heart pounding.

When it’s over, and the closing ceremony is complete, you look back, rubbing your sore cheeks, and bite your lip, wondering when you can experience this crazy, wild, horrendous feeling of helplessness and terror all bound together with arousal and acceptance that always leaves you a bit more in love and a lot more submissive than when you first stated an interest in BDSM.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

G is for Grotesque

 

“BDSM is Grotesque.”

A rather jarring headline, don’t you think? Sweeping in its condemnation and wholly without supporting documentation. A phrase that fits well in the fractured media of today. Allow me to don my lecturing fedora.

Like Baroque, Grotesque was originally created to describe a style of artwork. From Old Italian — (pittura) grottesca — simply meant ‘cave painting’, or ‘(Roman) pictures found in a grotto.’ Via Middle French and first recorded in English in 1561, the primary definition of the noun version of Grotesque is: a style of decorative art characterized by fanciful or fantastic human and animal forms often interwoven with foliage or similar figures that may distort the natural into absurdity, ugliness, or caricature.

The adjective arrived in 1603, and for our purposes matches up with the third of three definitions: of, relating to, or having the characteristics of the grotesque: departing markedly from the natural, the expected, or the typical.

Few would argue that Gothic architecture and 1960s concrete office buildings are both grotesque, yet they also have a beauty of form and function. BDSM is another such edifice; appearing to be strange, ugly — even frightening viewed from the outside and judged solely on appearances. The caricature of BDSM has found its high culture in Gor (even though the first Gor novel was published in 1966 and the term ‘BDSM’ was not in print until 1991) and that series is used as a whipping girl to label all D/s as perverse.

But again, if D/s departs ‘markedly’ from the natural, what exactly is being used to determine said ‘natural’ behavior? In statistics, there are two ways of measuring groups of numbers. The first is an average — adding all numbers and dividing by the total of entries — and the mean, which is taking that total number of entries and finding the point of equality with the same amount above as below. In other words, the average of 1, 5, 10, 12 and 99 is 25.4, but the mean is 10. That matters a whole lot when talking about the 1%, or the poverty line, or how many personal automobiles the average household owns. If the average participant in BDSM enjoys spanking, where does the mean fall when spanking is all over the place culturally?

Lastly, I like to think that grotesque can be utilized as a term of endearment. After all, most of us in D/s proudly claim the banner of being different. “Darling, your expertise with the paddle is grotesquely arousing. When can we do it again?”

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

F is for Fragility

“Move fast and break things” was quoted in Business Insider, October 1, 2009 during an interview with Mark Zuckerberg. The full quote is actually: “Unless you are breaking stuff, you are not moving fast enough.”

Time has shown the fallacy of that business model. [Not let it be said from a profitability standpoint]; but from the collateral damage to trust, truth and the overall well-being of the public. In fact, if there is one quote that can confidently be shown as the antithesis of how BDSM should work, it is Zuckerberg’s infamous mantra.

People are fragile, you need not but read the latest tragedy to realize that fact. Physical weakness aside though, it is in relationships where the worst cracks can appear caused by careless words and deeds. The care and feeding of D/s does not prosper when moving fast and breaking hearts.

On the other hand, fragility is not an ordained state of being for a submissive. One of the oft stated phrases might even be, “Go ahead, spank me harder, I won’t break.” And that brings up the key point in all this. Living a D/s lifestyle does not equate to tip-toeing around the fact that we’re fragile creatures. It requires an honest assessment of when and how fast to move so that the needs of all participants are being met. For the fragility of Doms is a truth often overlooked, and that is something that many are loath to admit.

Fragile: late 15th cent. (in the sense ‘morally weak’): from Latin fragilis, from frangere ‘to break.’ The sense ‘liable to break’ dates from the mid 16th cent.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

E is for Enraged

It’s been written that the English language has a word for everything. What doesn’t exist, is simply borrowed from another culture. The root of the most common words and phrases is Latin; that ‘dead’ language of science, medicine and diplomacy. Consider the following statement:

“The enraged supporters of _____ rave about _____ glowing pronouncements while foaming at the mouth with rabid vitriol directed upon those in opposition to their hero.”

Enrage: late 15th cent. (formerly also as inrage): from French enrager, from en– ‘into’ + rage ‘rage, anger.’

Rage: Middle English (also in the sense ‘madness’): from Old French rage (noun), rager (verb), from a variant of Latin rabies [late 16th cent.: from rabere ‘rave.’]

As the etymology above shows, enraged, rabid and rave, all stem from the same source. “Foaming at the mouth” is a physical description of a symptom of rabies, and as a descriptive phrase, means someone or someones caught in the grip of a maddening and uncontrollable rage.

Ignorance is bliss, comes from the poet Thomas Gray, who in 1742, wrote the poem, “Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Eton College“. The final two lines read:
No more; where ignorance is bliss,
‘Tis folly to be wise.

‘Twould be folly indeed to discount the enraged diatribes of wise elders. Except of course, when those fulminations are directed at oneself. We are, after all, enraged too.

While BDSM attracts its share of abuse, nothing — not the economy, religion, sports, politics — raises the ire of so many, as same-sex relationships. Spanking is now seen as a ‘safe’ kink, as is the mild bondage represented by furry handcuffs. Cosplay has made it to the mainstream thanks to video games and superheros. But while girl-on-girl action is a revered meme of pornography, IRL [in-real-life], lesbians are considered a threat to the moral fabric of society. There is nothing worse than two women in a sexual tryst, especially when they have the gall to get married!

“The evil that was unleashed in the Garden Of Eden has reached its deepest depravity in the travesty of perversity of so-called women’s emancipation.”

What’s that you say? There is worse than sapphic lust? Men? Together? In a non-binary opposing gender state? Gay?

Thus do the torches kindle, and banners unfurl, and marchers chant slogans of rage and violence towards those deemed enemies of the natural order. We all have a choice in how we react to the day’s events. While being enraged may feed the beast within, it seldom ends well for those infected with rabid hatred.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

D is for Disgusting

Disgust dates from the late 16th cent.: from early modern French desgoust or Italian disgusto, from Latin dis– (expressing reversal) + gustus ‘taste.’

Reversal of taste. An interesting concept. What is taste? Foremost it is the ability to discern food and beverages that are pleasing to the palate — which is itself a derivation of taste. When we say someone has ‘good taste’, we are not talking about a specific item to eat, but more of a sophisticated and civilized style of life. Someone who is glamorous, elegant, discerning. Someone who thinks IKEA is beyond the pale. To whom farm-to-table involves helicopters and couriers.

So how does this relate to BDSM?

“That’s disgusting!”
“What a disgusting habit!”
“You’re the most disgusting person!”
“Why do you read those disgusting blogs?”

I doubt anybody anywhere has ever said to someone involved in a D/s relationship that they have good taste. Outside the community that is. I’m talking about parents, relatives, co-workers; people that may equate fetishes to disgusting. Male penis in female vagina is normal: anything else is disgusting. But who decides what is in good taste? Community standards? Whose community?

To say something/someone is disgusting actually states that it is dangerous; dangerous in the way lack of taste can cause illness and even death through food poisoning. We instinctively know when food has gone off and through our upbringing and indoctrination, have expanded that wariness to all things that don’t fit the societal norm. The fact that we can’t detect someone else’s cultural norms, doesn’t even register in our minds.

“How can you eat that disgusting thing?”

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

C is for Capitulation

Definition: The action of surrendering or ceasing to resist an opponent or demand.

To many people in the modern world, capitulation is the very essence of what has gone wrong. The Borg may have droned: “Resistance is futile”, but to the angry masses, bread and circuses no longer work. The fact that political and monetary power have solidified in the hands of fewer than ever before [on a per capita basis, not absolute] makes the unwillingness to negotiate for crumbs even more pressing. The stark fact that to outsiders capitulation appears to be at the heart of BDSM: that does not make submission appear to be an attractive lifestyle.

For a female, submission is intrinsically linked to surrender. The ceasing of struggling against forces that are more powerful than the individual.

“Always keep your knees together.”
“Boys don’t make passes at girls with glasses.”
“No one wants a brainiac.”
“Sex is for marriage.”
“She’s a slut.”
“Did you see what she was wearing?”
“Everything online is perfect: you suck.”

Is it any wonder so many girls are lost?

It certainly seems counter-intuitive to claim that D/s can help a woman reclaim her power through willing capitulation, but the anecdotal evidence is compelling. What people don’t understand — both within and without the BDSM community — is that the opponent is not the Dom, it’s the Id. The part of you that reacts to stimuli and strives to blend in with the tribe you follow on Instagram. Your Dom is not demanding your surrender in order to ravage, but in order to help free the person you were before society’s mores forced an unwilling capitulation upon you.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

B is for Beaten

It is possible that some people believe the ‘B’ in BDSM, stands for ‘Beaten’. It is indubitably a harsher word than spanking, but on par with whipping, flogging, caning, scourging, and all the other delightful words humans have created to describe the act of physical chastisement. In D/s however, being beaten can describe an intricate and intimate dance. An artistic performance if you will.

“Why would you let him/her/they beat you? Are you crazy?”

Well.
No, actually. I’m quite sane.
Thank you for asking.

Beating — in whatever format it takes place — can be fun. It can be pleasurable. Or painful. For many, humiliation plays a vital role in intensifying the endorphin high. For some partner(s), being beaten is punishment. Punishment requested, often demanded, by the submissive. Being beaten cleanses the palate, clears the guilt and shame from wrong-doing. No matter what role it plays, playing a role in which beating takes center stage, allows the trust to become ever deeper.

But there is another definition more commonly utilized that explains why describing an over-the-knee, skirt up, panties down beating creates such a visceral reaction in relation to D/s. It is the zero-sum game we call competition. Humans are naturally competitive, but we all too often reduce that to a life-or-death equation. There can be only one winner in a contest between individuals, institutions, businesses, teams or nations.

I/we win. You lose. Nah-nah.

D/s is not a zero-sum game. (And no, I’m not talking about abuse and domestic violence.) D/s is about… well, whatever you want. Foreplay or role-play, a hobby or a lifestyle, it can be whatever you need so that all participants win.

Gold medals for everyone!

P.S. Just a thought for you: Why are male Doms viewed with suspicion, but female Dominatrices revered?

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

A is for Adversary

“One’s opponent in a contest, conflict, or dispute.”

With every passing day, BDSM — consensual violence — becomes both more intriguing and controversial. To those in the so-called mainstream, BDSM is simply an excuse for patriarchal oppression cloaking hatred of women in a media-friendly guise of ritualistic violence. Certainly the top-rated streaming television shows and some movies of recent times offer up plenty of female nudity, torture and rape, all in the name of artistic prose. There is certainly no excuse for the revelations brought forth by #Metoo, nor for the feeble defense offered by those in political and legal power. Yet, the abuse and exploitation of the weaker by the stronger is a story older than human civilization. Men have always been adversaries of women.

Or have they?

Are women fragile creatures in constant need of protection and guidance? Are men ravenous beasts always seeking another hole to plunder? Is BDSM all about male pleasure and cowering females?

Those are the wrong questions. The notion that everyone is identical with identical motivations and desires is bullshit. That doesn’t stop politicians and marketers [Is there a difference?] from exploiting the fears of the unwashed masses by goading them into turning on those not of their tribe. [Tribe being a loosely defined term based on all sorts of factors.] The freaks usually get the brunt of that anger.

Even within the BDSM community, tribal boundaries make uneasy bed-fellows of participants. While it’s true that BDSM may stand stalwart at the barricades against the thunderbolts cast by vanilla hysteria, the gulf between those that enjoy spanking as foreplay and those using knives as an erotic boost is as vast as religious wars. Hyperbole? We are all guilty at times of mocking those who choose a different lifestyle.

Our fetish is normal, those other people…? Yuck!

But what if we weren’t adversaries? What if we didn’t troll someone by sneering “You’re not doing it right” or “What do you mean you’ve never tried spanking?”. What if we sought to understand each other? What if instead of turning away from our differences, we made an effort to communicate and listen? Men and women don’t have to be adversaries, anymore than ethnicity should divide neighbors into ‘us’ and ‘them’.

D/s is a true partnership between equals who find things that both enjoy in a loving, respectful and most importantly, with honesty in a relationship with full knowledge, consent and trust.

Byron Cane

The Bumhampton Chronicles: The Complete Chapter 12

Gentle Reader: Sunday erupted with a flourish of cornets and thunder of timpani. The birds were chirping sweet melodies as I shook a grumbling Louisa awake. “It’s time to get up! Our chariot awaits.” Alas for poor Ruby. In truth it was pouring. Typical dank English weather and the roads would be a quagmire for coaches. No matter: if we stiff upper-lipped Britains cowered at the sight of mere liquid from the skies, we’d never have ruled such a vast Empire. “Forward Louisa! Once more unto the breach.” She whacked me with her pillow. I yanked her off the cot.

Church services were not mandatory, but I’ve always found the liturgy soothing and the sermons to be comforting. Peacock House had a family chapel, but the village of Lower Bumhampton was within easy walking distance. My boots were soiled, my soul in mortal peril, but my heart danced on rainbows. I was going riding with my lovers; my mind turned wicked envisioning the possibilities of three enclosed in private carriage. I searched my conscience, but found no jealousy at the thought of Chester fucking Louisa. I am sure having wet drawers in church is a sin, but how can love?

It is said the sensual and spiritual cannot co-exist, yet, unrepentant sinner that I am, I do not feel my prayers vanish unheard into the void. Unheeded perhaps: but not unremarked. By the time I trudged back, in silent company with those who had joined in raising voice in hymn, my entreaties seemed to have had an effect. Coyly peering around sullen ranks of stern, grey clouds, frowning in displeasure at Sabbath activities, was the welcome disk of golden sun bathing me in warm benediction. One must seize signs when they occur. To do otherwise mires the soul in hopelessness.

After luncheon I changed my padding. Thankfully I was only lightly flowing and had only minor symptoms from the assortment of ailments the woman’s curse brought each double fortnight. I resolved not to mention my courses to Chester, unless his hands strayed toward my southern hemispheres. I fretted over what to wear — or not to wear. We only had two hours together. I didn’t want to be seen as a frivolous, vacuous female; but I cared about my appearance. My wages had yet to be paid for the first week: at month’s end thirty pieces of silver creased my palm.

I was loath to ask for an advance, and the few shillings I brought with me to Peacock House wouldn’t even purchase a yard of ribbon, never mind fabric for a new frock. Louisa attempted to soothe my fret as I paced our room, oft-darned shift twitching with every impatient spin. “I don’t have anything to wear!” My plaintive wail was so unlike my normal disposition a part of me mockingly chided my immaturity. “Ruby, Mr. Jones-Smyth won’t give a fig about your attire. Look at me! Compared to you, I’m a drab hen in the shadow of your plumage.”

I paused to glare at her. There was no heat in my expression. Pouting in the small mirror, my voice was sulky. “I want him proud to be seen with me.” I spun back to face Louisa, pleading for her understanding. “A man of his social stature needs a helpmeet of impeccable grooming and manners.” Her response was a derisive snort of mocking laughter. “Will the introductions take place before or after he’s whipped and fucked you into submission?” I raised my hand. She was spared a good bare-bottomed beating over my knee by a timid knock on the door.

Nearly lost beneath a puffy mound of silk and lace, was Miss Frothinglips’ personal maid, Ellie. “My mistress sent me with this loan of a gown.” Any trepidation over her possible motive instantly turned to greed. In a trice, Louisa and Ellie had me trussed into stays — Miss Frothinglips’ sylphlike figure was several magnitudes thinner than mine — multiple petticoats and even silk stockings with frilly garters. With my hair piled high into an elaborate twist, the girl now staring wide-eyed in the mirror, bore only a passing resemblance to the orphaned waif of the prior week. “That’s me?” I marveled.

Internally though, I was wracked with nervous doubt. Louisa — bless her deviant heart — had the perfect cure for my jitters. Ordering me to place my unshod foot upon the ticking, Ellie then supported my lower torso. My hems were lifted. Sinking to her knees, Louisa burrowed under my borrowed finery. The first touch of her calloused fingers on the backs of my thighs made me start. Ellie tightened her grip as my head lolled onto her shoulder. I felt a brief twinge of embarrassment when Louisa lowered first my drawers, then my girdled padding. “What are you doing? I’m ble—”

Lowering my voice, I hissed with mixed emotions. “I’m bleeding!” A matter-of-fact, “So?” was all Louisa said as her nimble tongue followed the righteous path blazed by her sturdy hands. Soon they were working me over in tandem. Muffled snuffles made me giggle, but two slender digits slipping into my slippery pussy made me gasp with surprise. Whatever shame I still felt was soon swept aside by rising lust. This was not a leisurely poke on a lazy afternoon; Louisa was determined to frig me off in a hurry. My clit hardened. My nipples engorged. Tangy musk permeated the room.

I was proud of my tight purse, the friction growing hotter as she increased her tempo, slamming her palm against my swollen lips with each inward thrust. The slurpy sounds made me aware of how soaked Louisa’s hand must be. For some reason, I felt a brief twinge of embarrassment. That was subsumed with rapture when the straining tips of her nimble fingers rubbed a place deep inside. I instinctively tilted my pelvis, begging as I did so. “Again. Right there. Oh. Oh. Yes. Harder.” Waves of contractions crashed over my nerves, muscles tightened, clamping down as my orgasm crested.

It broke on the shore of hedonism. I gave a strangled scream, choked off with held breath as my climax rolled on and on; the white frothy comber sweeping all thought before its relentless power. It wasn’t until we were walking down the last flight of stairs — me on shaky legs and Louisa still licking her chops — that I realized my borrowed silk drawers were missing. Louisa gave me a wink and a nudge. “He’s only got two hours with you, Ruby, I think he should have easier access, don’t you think?” Despite the padding, my thighs were very damp.

The thought of Chester nuzzling me down there caused a fresh spurt of moisture. I moaned. “What is he going to think of me?” She patted my bustled behind whispering, after she nipping my earlobe, “He’ll think he’s a dashed lucky cove for having such a randy piece for a fiancée.” She gave me a sharp jab, like an angry goose; my bottom awoke and peered round seeking more pinches. What I got was more teasing. “I can’t wait to see you… flat on your back. Knees pinned to your shoulders and Mr. Jones-Smyth pounding your messy quim into meringue.”

I staggered; her words — and my vivid imagination — sent another climax ripping through my pussy. “You won’t be able to walk straight for a week.” Louisa’s laugh was low and evil sounding. “Maybe after he’s done fucking you senseless, I’ll be able to push my entire hand up your creamy cunt and show him how rough you like to be treated.” My groan was pitiful. “Please, Louisa. No more. I’m about to combust.” Saved from likely self-immolation by the dashing bloke himself, who popped to his feet as we entered the front parlor, I managed a wobbly, but credible, curtsy.

The bouquet was lovely. I searched out a vase, my automatic response as servant eliciting a giggle from Louisa and an arched brow from Chester. He deftly inserted conversational remarks about the weather [the geese were happy this morning] my outfit [the colors brought out the highlights in my eyes] Louisa’s ruddy health [such a delightful contrast to fragile porcelain] and with steady social banter, managed to guide both of us to the waiting coach. It was a struggle, but I managed to both keep my feet and wits from stumbling. “Will you be our whip this afternoon?” I blushed.

He laughed at my faux pas, giving us a hand up, each in turn. “No, dearest one, I shall seize the moment to relinquish the reins… and whip, to instead sacrifice the fresh air and drama of driving for the opportunity to ride inside two beautiful ladies of my recent acquaintance.” His double entendre made us titter like choirgirls. I didn’t know much about carriages or horses, but it had four wheels, an enclosure and a driver who was seemingly impatient to get rolling. Thus began my first liaison; complete with a duenna of dubious worth, as events soon proved.

“So, where are we taking us, Chester? Are the roads passable?” I sat across from him, facing forward, Louisa at my side. He smiled and nodded. “Yes, to your latter question and, I thought I would show you one of our — my — factories that is fairly close by.” He nudged the bulging hamper on the floor with his foot. “I’ve taken the liberty of procuring some provisions for a light repast, should you be so inclined.” I smiled too, a little ruefully. “Normally, I’d never turn down tea—” Louisa interrupted, “Or a man offering to take liberties with your person.”

I smacked her arm as I continued, “—al fresco, but this blasted corset has squashed my liver to paste.” Louisa honked in mirth. “And besides…” I hesitated until he encouraged me to explain. I gazed out the window with blushing cheeks. “I’m… I’m having my monthly.” His inscrutable expression reminded me of when my late mother would play cards, late at night, with some friends of hers. I’d watch from my cot, thin blanket pulled tightly around my head, as they gossiped and bluffed the hours away, pretending for a short time that the wolf was at someone else’s door.

I was yanked from my poignant memory by his serious and thoughtful response. “Rest assured, Ruby, I will not banish you to a red tent every four weeks out of some belief you are unclean. Your cycle is part of the natural order of life.” My heart flipped cartwheels at his declaration. He reached over and clasped my hand. “As my wife, you will be accorded all due respect and courtesy inherent to your position.” The imp perverse couldn’t resist tweaking. “Even when that position is over your knee?” I squawked when he swiftly slung me across his broad lap.

He fumbled with my voluminous skirts then, with an exasperated command, ordered Louisa to assist in baring my bottom. “But I can’t be spanked!” The carriage swayed as it rounded a corner, and his hands reached out to steady us both. “Why ever not, Ruby?” I craned my neck around trying to express my earnestness. “Mrs. Cleanknockers said that no maid is to be disciplined during her time of the month.” I pleaded with Louisa. “Tell him it’s the truth.” Rather petulantly, I thought, she reluctantly corroborated my explanation. “So you see, Chester, you shan’t spank me today.” He pinched.

I squealed. “If you put your glove back on, sir, you’ll be able to give Ruby a right sound thrashing for her impertinence. I certainly won’t rat you out to Mrs. Cleanknockers.” Louisa sounded so sweetly innocent. “Don’t listen to her, Chester, she just wants to see my bottom turn red.” The leather covered hand he stroked across my upturned cheeks felt as soft as silk. “Do you offer an alternative, Ruby?” I waggled said cheeks, impatient for him to probe deeper into the dark dell. “Well…” My voice was triumphant. “I offer you my handmaiden and whipping girl instead!”

“What?” shrieked Louisa, “I shall not be beaten in your place, Ruby! You are a cruel and wicked mistress.” The driver called out, “We’ve arrived, sir,” saving her from imminent defilement. The rocking motion ceased, Chester lifted me to my feet. I shook out my skirts and plumped back down in my original place next to Louisa, who gave me a murderous stare. As he hopped out, reaching in to snatch the hamper, I squeezed her fingers in warning and winked. “This isn’t over, Ruby,” she hissed in annoyance. I whispered just as he offered his hand, “How about sex?”

The buildings were quite impressive. Grimy red brick, ivy growing in wild profusion interspersed with wild roses; the complex stretched along the river and up the hillsides. “This is all yours?” Something fleeting and indecipherable passed over his face before he gave a tight, little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “This, and multiple others elsewhere in Britain.” I dismissed the shadows in his expression and nattered gaily as we strolled in the copse of above the placid millrace. Reaching a stone outcropping, he snapped out a folded blanket and opened the hamper. We arranged ourselves: a trio of strangers.

Strangers I say, and strangers I meant. We conversed as we nibbled cheese and bread; sipped cider and lemonade. We were awkward; Peacock House hovered over us like the dark storm gathering in the southeast. Before the first splatters of precipitation blew over the manufactory complex, we were snugly settled back in our coach, and headed towards Lower Bumhampton. My earlier rash statement lingered like an overripe pear. “If that’s what want, Ruby, I’ll do it.” Louisa sudden outburst startled both Chester and I. We began to answer, “Wha—”: he deferred to me with studied gesture. I nodded my thanks.

“What do mean, Louisa?” My tone was soft and compassionate. “You know. What you said before. About me being your whipping girl.” I laid my cheek on her rigid shoulder. “Oh, my darling, please forgive me. I was being petulant and naughty.” I kissed her gently. “I did not mean my rash words.” Some of the tension seeped from her frame. “But…” I grasped her face, turning it towards me. “But?” She met my intense gaze briefly, lowering her eyes to speak. “But what if I want it.” She looked back up with a troubled frown. “To be spanked. Fucked.”

The smoldering sensuality never far beneath my skin roared to life at her words. For once, caution held my tongue in check. I tipped her chin to mine: we communicated for long minutes silently until I was satisfied she was sincere. “On your feet, whipping girl.” My harsh voice lashed the placid air. Our conveyance swayed, Louisa teetered and half fell/was assisted over my knees. Her single layer of dress with a thin shift was yanked above her waist; her plump bottom cringed in anticipation. “Sir?” I addressed Chester. “I apologize for my uncouth behavior earlier and offer this recompense.”

He scooted forward to the edge of his seat; his boots anchored against our bench for stability. His gloved hands prodded and squeezed the bountiful flesh splayed out for his use. SMACK! SMACK! The first blows made her jump and catch her breath with a short squeak. As he liberally peppered her bared globes, I stroked her hair with one hand and the other resting on her bowed back. I avidly watched the milky skin turn steadily darker, a sunset on a hot summer’s evening, when the vivid colors draw your enraptured gaze heavenward. “So that’s how you spank hard!”

I could tell he was not using his full strength. Even so, it was an impressive display of martial prowess. It was enough to make me forget she was actually across my lap, so focused on her red bottom were we. Chester paused and shook his right hand with a rueful glance. “Even with the leather, it stings my palm.” Louisa shook as well, I think with laughter, for her tone was light. “Stings? Sir, you should see it from my vantage point.” He and I chorused in unison, “We are!” then burst into companionable chuckles. “It looks very painful.”

This time her voice was one of wounded dignity. “That’s because it is painful!” I rubbed her hot skin. “Poor baby. Maybe next time you’ll behave.” She harrumphed and wiggled her rump. “Does that mean you want more?” She pressed her butt higher. “Alright then, Chester, spank her another ten times and make them very hard.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Louisa cried out with each one and, when he finished, gave a little hip shimmy as she tried in vain to cast off the sharp sting in her tail. “Let that be a lesson.”

Alas, my whipping girl learned nothing about proper decorum for — no sooner had she rolled upright — she sank to her haunches and freed the lump that had grown in Chester’s trousers. His cock sprang out like Punch, as Judy likely did backstage, she devoured his stiff truncheon whole. Louisa made the most peculiar noises, growling and snuffling as if rooting for truffles. Bobbing up and down with evident enthusiasm, I thought she intended to swallow his seed, but instead — popping off with a loud ‘slurp’ — she spun around to face me, eyes hazed with lust and whipped up her skirts.

“Fuck me!” was all she screamed before clamping her mouth on mine. Three souls linked, I fancied I could taste their mingled juices and feel his cock pounding her from behind like an animal. It was raw, primitive and rough. Jolting through ruts, splashing through mud, the exterior world ceased to exist as the scent of sex drove us home. Frantic, she kissed me, her tongue trying to pull me inside her moaning mouth. As he stammered he was about to spend, in a flourish of lace, we were suddenly side-by-side on the floor, his pulsing cock spraying our faces.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 30)

“Fuck me!” was all she screamed before clamping her mouth on mine. Three souls linked, I fancied I could taste their mingled juices and feel his cock pounding her from behind like an animal. It was raw, primitive and rough. Jolting through ruts, splashing through mud, the exterior world ceased to exist as the scent of sex drove us home. Frantic, she kissed me, her tongue trying to pull me inside her moaning mouth. As he stammered he was about to spend, in a flourish of lace, we were suddenly side-by-side on the floor, his pulsing cock spraying our faces.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 29)

Alas, my whipping girl learned nothing about proper decorum for — no sooner had she rolled upright — she sank to her haunches and freed the lump that had grown in Chester’s trousers. His cock sprang out like Punch, as Judy likely did backstage, she devoured his stiff truncheon whole. Louisa made the most peculiar noises, growling and snuffling as if rooting for truffles. Bobbing up and down with evident enthusiasm, I thought she intended to swallow his seed, but instead — popping off with a loud ‘slurp’ — she spun around to face me, eyes hazed with lust and whipped up her skirts.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 28)

This time her voice was one of wounded dignity. “That’s because it is painful!” I rubbed her hot skin. “Poor baby. Maybe next time you’ll behave.” She harrumphed and wiggled her rump. “Does that mean you want more?” She pushed her butt higher. “Alright then, Chester, spank her another ten times and make them very hard.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Louisa cried out with each one and, when finished, she gave a little hip shimmy as she tried in vain to cast off the sharp sting in her tail. “Let that be a lesson.”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 27)

I could tell he was not using his full strength. Even so, it was an impressive display of martial prowess. It was enough to make me forget she was actually across my lap, so focused on her red bottom were we. Chester paused and shook his right hand with a rueful glance. “Even with the leather, it stings my palm.” Louisa shook as well, I think with laughter, for her tone was light. “Stings? Sir, you should see it from my vantage point.” He and I chorused in unison, “We are!” then burst into companionable chuckles. “It looks very painful.”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 26)

He scooted forward to the edge of his seat; his boots anchored against our bench for stability. His gloved hands prodded and squeezed the bountiful flesh splayed out for his use. SMACK! SMACK! The first blows made her jump and catch her breath with a short squeak. As he liberally peppered her bared globes, I stroked her hair with one hand and the other resting on her bowed back. I avidly watched the milky skin turn steadily darker, a sunset on a hot summer’s evening, when the vivid colors draw your enraptured gaze heavenward. “So that’s how you spank hard!”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 25)

The smoldering sensuality never far beneath my skin roared to life at her words. For once, caution held my tongue in check. I tipped her chin to mine: we communicated for long minutes silently until I was satisfied she was sincere. “On your feet, whipping girl.” My harsh voice lashed the placid air. Our conveyance swayed, Louisa teetered and half fell/was assisted over my knees. Her single layer of dress with a thin shift was yanked above her waist; her plump bottom cringed in anticipation. “Sir?” I addressed Chester. “I apologize for my uncouth behavior earlier and offer this recompense.”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 24)

“What do mean, Louisa?” My tone was soft and compassionate. “You know. What you said before. About me being your whipping girl.” I laid my cheek on her rigid shoulder. “Oh, my darling, please forgive me. I was being petulant and naughty.” I kissed her gently. “I did not mean my rash words.” Some of the tension seeped from her frame. “But…” I grasped her face, turning it towards me. “But?” She met my intense gaze briefly, lowering her eyes to speak. “But what if I want it.” She looked back up with a troubled frown. “To be spanked. Fucked.”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 23)

Strangers I say, and strangers I meant. We conversed as we nibbled cheese and bread; sipped cider and lemonade. We were awkward; Peacock House hovered over us like the dark storm gathering in the southeast. Before the first splatters of precipitation blew over the manufactory complex, we were snugly settled back in our coach, and headed towards Lower Bumhampton. My earlier rash statement lingered like an overripe pear. “If that’s what want, Ruby, I’ll do it.” Louisa sudden outburst startled both Chester and I. We began to answer, “Wha—”: he deferred to me with studied gesture. I nodded my thanks.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 22)

The buildings were quite impressive. Grimy red brick, ivy growing in wild profusion interspersed with wild roses; the complex stretched along the river and up the hillsides. “This is all yours?” Something fleeting and indecipherable passed over his face before he gave a tight, little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “This, and multiple others elsewhere in Britain.” I dismissed the shadows in his expression and nattered gaily as we strolled in the copse of above the placid millrace. Reaching a stone outcropping, he snapped out a folded blanket and opened the hamper. We arranged ourselves: a trio of strangers.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 21)

“What?” shrieked Louisa, “I shall not be beaten in your place, Ruby! You are a cruel and wicked mistress.” The driver called out, “We’ve arrived, sir,” saving her from imminent defilement. The rocking motion ceased, Chester lifted me to my feet. I shook out my skirts and plumped back down in my original place next to Louisa, who gave me a murderous stare. As he hopped out, reaching in to snatch the hamper, I squeezed her fingers in warning and winked. “This isn’t over, Ruby,” she hissed in annoyance. I whispered just as he offered his hand, “How about sex?”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

It’s not a moral failing

Two personal posts in a row, it must be something in the air! Actually, this week’s prompt, Sad, for Wicked Wednesday, is very apropos. Even since the clocks moved forward an hour 10 days ago, I’ve been struggling with depression.

There are two definitions of ‘Sad’. ORIGIN: Old English sæd ‘sated, weary,’ also ‘weighty, dense,’ of Germanic origin; related to Dutch zat and German satt, from an Indo-European root shared by Latin satis ‘enough.’ The original meaning was replaced in Middle English by the senses ‘steadfast, firm’ and ‘serious, sober,’ and later ‘sorrowful.’ It also is an abbreviation for “seasonal affective disorder”, which is something many people who grew up in northern latitudes suffer.

For me though, being depressed doesn’t mean sadness. It’s more feeling empty; no emotion, no desire, no cares. Strangely enough though, it doesn’t impact me when I’m working, only when I’m at home; but that is when I have time to write. Which I am not. Writing.

The best expression of how depression feels is in this poem I wrote over a decade ago.

“D is for Depression”

it’s called the blues
not the music
but the soul
crushing despair
despair that grabs hold
and lingers
like a fungus
that grows on the tiles
in the bathroom of hell
you try bleach
you try scrubbing
til your fingers bleed
but it keeps
coming
back
over and over again
it’s called the blues

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

The Mystery Blogger Award

This award was Created by Okoto Enigma to highlight blogs that may be less well known.

This badge is courtesy of Anarie Brady, from her blog when she nominated me. I’m not going to nominate anyone however. I know, I’m a rule breaker. If you read this post and want to nominate yourself, go right ahead. 🙂


Rules:

Put the award logo/image on your blog.
List the rules.
Thank whoever nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
Mention the creator of the award and provide a link as well.
Tell your readers 3 things about yourself.
Answer the questions you were asked.
You have to nominate 10 people.
Notify your nominees by commenting on their blog.
Ask your nominees any five questions of your choice, with one weird or funny question.

Anarie’s questions for me:

1. What made you decide to begin a blog?

Back in February, 2006, I started my original blog as a way of bringing attention to a particularly grotesque and abusive situation involving women in the public retail sphere. After a few months, I started writing poetry and fiction. Within six months I started a novel and discovered — much to my amazement — that many of my female readers were spankos. I decided in 2009 to start this blog, Lurv Spanking, but kept it secret from my followers. At one point I had seven blogs; I currently have two active with three private plus one more under my real name. *See question #3 below.

2. Has blogging been an inspirational journey for you?

Short answer: No. What has been inspirational is the many friends — and some lovers — I’ve met along the way. They have encouraged me to write, to express, to embrace my true self and without them, I’d be a poorer man.

3. Do you write under a penname? If so, why?

My penname is Byron Cane. I decided to publish all my spanking and/or erotic fiction under that name. I’ve never linked my real name to spanking and very few readers of this blog know who I am.

4. Does your significant other, friends, and/or family read your blog?

No, no and no. My first blog, yes, yes and yes. Spanking is not something I talk about in real life. Although, I did have a co-worker who was interested in my fiction after he bought my first novel.

5. If you could have 24 hours with any writer, who would it be?

I honestly can’t think of anyone I’d want to spend time with. More than 24-hours, sure, but that’s in the future. I’ve probably read over 30,000 books in my life along with at least that many newspapers and magazines. I love to read, but have never desired to meet the writers.

Three things about myself:

1. I’ve lived in five different states, and have felt earthquakes in each one. No, never been to California. I grew up in Wisconsin. Moved at age 20 to Virginia, then Maryland. At age 22 moved to Massachusetts — where I met my wife — then to Connecticut. At age 36 moved to Florida where we’ve lived ever since. [I’ll be 55 this year.] 🙂

2. I had my first job when I was 12, and joined the wacky, wonderful world of retail sales at 16. 🙄 The most hours I ever worked in a week as a store manager was 110. ‘Nuff said.

3. In November of 2006, I self-actualized as a multiple personality. Up until that time, my entire life was a puzzling mixture of missing memories and a soft-focus dream-like quality of existence. In an instant, everything became sharp and understandable. “So that’s why!” My life made sense. I don’t blog about it here, because I did so ad nauseam for the next year plus on my original blog. The only one of the six of us — besides me — to spin off and blog, was Rose, but she stopped blogging her *two blogs back in 2009, with several attempts over the intervening time, the most recent in 2017. She may start again, but you’ll have to ask her: I’m just the bus driver.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 20)

I squealed. “If you put your glove back on, sir, you’ll be able to give Ruby a right sound thrashing for her impertinence. I certainly won’t rat you out to Mrs. Cleanknockers.” Louisa sounded so sweetly innocent. “Don’t listen to her, Chester, she just wants to see my bottom turn red.” The leather covered hand he stroked across my upturned cheeks felt as soft as silk. “Do you offer an alternative, Ruby?” I waggled said cheeks, impatient for him to probe deeper into the dark dell. “Well…” My voice was triumphant. “I offer you my handmaiden and whipping girl instead!”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

  • Corrupted

    Now available, "Corrupted", an anthology from Sexy Little Pages, including my short story, Ghosting Past Emily. Click the picture for ebookstore links.

  • Ghosting Past Emily — part of the Corrupted anthology

    After Amsterdam and Berlin, Tokyo was her favorite place to explore the latest in technological sexuality. Unlike in Europe though, in Japan she would always be gaijin, and the locals off limits to her needs. On the crowded streets of Ginza she felt the stares and heard the unspoken contempt, Go back to where you came from, which was something it had in common with America. She was too tall, too confident, too yellow and most of all, too female. She channeled the perceived insults into taboo actions.
    It was a tired and bitter Emily that touched down ten hours later in a San Francisco of bone-chilling damp and a watery rising sun. She needed a hard session at the Armory before returning to work on Monday. Her slave had better be ready to grovel and be pussy-whipped.

  • Purchase: The Case of the Disciplined Valentine

    Click the picture to purchase, The Case of the Disciplined Valentine.

  • The Case of the Disciplined Valentine

    A comedy of Victorian manners mixed with delicious spankings and sexual encounters guaranteed to raise even a vampire’s blood pressure. Byron Cane sets a torrid pace in his historical paranormal erotic novella.

    It is 1854 in steampunk London, and Sir Nachton MacRath is warily returning to his home isle after decades abroad. He has good reasons to steer clear of the Royal Family, but is immediately snared by the Queen herself, who anoints him, Her Chastiser of Loose Morals, complete with elevation to the upper reaches of the aristocracy. Rather than a quiet existence as a vampire, he is now a Peer uneasily rubbing shoulders with the most powerful men in the Empire.

    Phoebe Hayward is a lady of good breeding, but like all her contemporaries, longs for some excitement and romance. Valentine’s Day is only weeks away, when their paths cross with a bump. Despite later discovering the man ordered to discipline her is actually a vampire, she can’t help falling in love. The more encounters with Sir MacRath she has, the more her body yearns to know what it is to submit to his vampiric touch. When he reluctantly agrees to be her Valentine, thus begins a Domination and discipline the likes of which she’s never dreamed.

    MacRath doesn’t feel he deserves Phoebe’s love, and attempts to push her away by taking her deeper into sexual submission. She surprises him — and herself — by eagerly submitting to his every desire. Together, they explore the sensual heights that a woman and a man — a vampire — can reach. But politics and conflict are never far away, and the Valentine’s Day deadline comes all too soon.

    Note: The original version of this book was included in the Lust in Lace paranormal romance anthology.

  • Purchase: The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

    Purchase The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie by clicking the picture.

    Pity poor Stephanie: twenty-five years old and still spanked daily. She was intelligent, a college graduate with honors, articulate, a fashionista with a good job and an all-round delightful person with never a cross word and always a genuine smile for everyone. It was to her misfortune that she also exuded an innocent sensual charm, leading both men and women to have one uppermost thought in their minds: spanking Stephanie’s spectacular and epic rounded bottom. It was not her fault; genetics had blessed her with both the ideal rear end and a delightful bewildered submissiveness. It simply never occurred to her to challenge her discipline. If someone needed to spank her, well, obviously she was guilty of some offense and thus deserved to be spanked.
    When Stephanie crashes (quite literally) into the life of Ross, high flying exec in the fashion world and eligible bachelor, she is stupefied he wants her as his. Under Ross’ tutelage, as Brat to his Sir, she learns that she can be spanked for more than just being naughty! And Ross — he discovers there’s much more to Stephanie than just her submissive need to be disciplined, as he falls more and more in love.
    A brilliantly funny, light-hearted, spanking erotic romance novella by Byron Cane, with memorable characters and a beautiful love story interwoven into the sexiness, lending a contemporary twist to the princess fairy tale.

  • Lust in Spring

    Click picture to go to Lust in Spring Amazon page

  • Lust in Spring anthology

    In Byron Cane's, The Witch of Olympus Hollow, it’s 1952, and Gale Johnson is outraged when her parents send her packing to a tiny town in Appalachia to visit the mysterious great aunt she has never met. In the foothills of North Carolina, Gale will discover a wondrous birthright. A lifetime of discipline and sexual satisfaction awaits, but her destiny comes at a cost.
  • Lust in Lace

    Purchase Lust in Lace on Amazon Kindle. Click picture to go to Amazon.

  • Lust in Lace anthology

    In Byron Cane's Sir MacRath Thrashes his Valentine, MacRath is a centuries-old vampire returning home after decades of absence. It is 1854 in steampunk London, and Her Majesty has appointed MacRath Her Chastiser of Loose Morals. Phoebe Hayward is a lady of good breeding, but quite a handful. Despite discovering the man ordered to discipline her is actually a vampire, she can’t help falling in love. MacRath will ensure she is well punished and dominated in all ways as befits his naughty Valentine.
  • PNRLUST

  • Paranormal Erotic Romance

    Come visit the Paranormal Erotic Romance website for information about the Lust anthology series. Read Lust by the Sea, Lust on the Wing, Lust in Tooth and Claw, Lust in Winter and Lust in Lace.

  • ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot’ Oops. Does that date me? These are the top posts.

  • Back writing 6/30/16 short stories and a spanking novel