The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 2 (Part 8)

I obeyed. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! I lifted my buttocks higher to meet the swung leather. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! M’Lord was also an artisan of the corporal trade. On the soft and yielding canvas of my nubile body he painted a solid red overlay; the cane tramlines submerged as if a fevered dream forgotten. I broke my promise: I cried out and stamped, begged for forgiveness. Well presented for correction, naïve as I was, I knew there existed more. Mrs. Cleanknockers had gently primed my pump: m’lord drew down the liquid treat with masculine authority. Short, stubby, his digits penetrated.

This link goes to The Bumhampton Chronicles category so you can catch up at any time.

Fouetté derrière: Kate dances for her Master

Authors note: Now that I’ve finished my spanking novel and novella and writing the Bumhampton Chronicles, this 500-word excerpt is a possible story line for a new novel based on a fellow blogger’s posted information written here with her permission. Feedback on the concept is appreciated. The title is a ballet term literally translated as ‘Whipped Behind’ when the foot is placed in back of the body during a dance position.

Kate was at the barre – that’s not a urban renewal hipster watering hole – exercising her etiré passé and battement fondu when she received the news that caused her life to pirouette into a dizzying life of discipline and submission.

“You are still here.”

“Hello Hazel.” Kate gave her mentor a big hug. For twenty years she’d been dancing for the woman she considered her second mother and had noticed a disturbing lack of energy from her during the summer. Every time Kate had inquired, Hazel had brushed aside the concern and continued with the lessons.

“Thanks Kate. I still remember the day when you toddled in here as a two-year old, all wide-eyed in your pink tutu, white tights and black shoes. I am so proud of you for passing along your passion for dance to the little ones these last four years as a teacher. I know that finishing college is your priority right now but have you given serious thought to owning your own studio?”

“I’d love to,” Kate said wryly, “but I still live at home because I can’t afford to be on my own. Maybe in the future I can give dance and piano lessons part-time, who knows, if a tall, dark handsome man sweeps me off my feet, I’ll have a passel of kids at home soon enough tooting the clarinet.”

Hazel gave a slightly guilty grimace and glanced around at the mirrored walls as if seeing them for the first time. “I’m going to miss this place,” she whispered softly.

Not softly enough. “Hazel?” Kate asked her carefully. “What’s going on? You haven’t been yourself all year. I’m very worried about you. Are you sick? Please tell me.”

While Kate talked, Hazel slowly strolled around the perimeter and ran her hands over the smooth wooden rails tacky with resin and chalk residue left behind from decades of aspiring hopefuls. “Kate… I have something to tell you.” Hazel took a deep breath and faced her favorite student, her friend and someone she admired deeply. “I’ve sold the studio: the entire building actually.”

“You’ve what?” Kate’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“I bought this building over thirty-years ago as an investment for my later years; and those years are here now. To put it bluntly Kate, yes I’m sick and I need the money.”

Kate rushed over and grabbed Hazel in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I knew something was wrong. Why didn’t you tell me? What can I do to help?”

Hazel patted Kate’s back and said, “I’ll be alright my darling. I’m moving back to New York to be with my daughter. She’s got room for me and I haven’t seen my grandchildren in too long. I’ll be fine.” Tears flowed freely as they both realized they might never see each other again.

When they had composed themselves slightly, Kate asked, “Will I be able to continue teaching here?”

“That would be up to the new landlord.”

“And who is that?”

A rapid double knock on the door jamb. “That would be me.”

“Ah.” Hazel cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. “Kate, this is your new landlord, Montgomery Jefferson Spencer III. Monty, this is my best student and fellow teacher, Kate Welden.”


The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 2 (Part 7)

“Mrs. Cleanknockers is an artist with the stick,” m’lord said with approval. He squeezed firmly. I was determined to take my punishment in silence. I learned something that day: the male fingers are nothing like the female touch. The leather strap lay cool and slick on my bare hindquarters. The first blow is always a shock. The sharp snap rings in your ears. The bite on your flesh stings, there is a delayed reaction as the mind tries to reconcile sound and burning sensation. The second blow compounds the confusion. The third and the fourth: you hiss. “Lift up Ruby.”

This link goes to The Bumhampton Chronicles category so you can catch up at any time.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 2 (Part 6)

Gentle Reader, I have not yet mentioned the uniforms: even today, worn for my husband’s pleasure allows a blush. The Ladies Journals with engravings of floor length modest dresses: we maids were not allowed such protections and, except during our delicate time of the month, no undergarments. Unaware, until m’lord reached behind me, there was a drawstring, when pulled and hooked to a button at my lace collar, raised the flounced hem in back as a curtain at a bawdy play. My entire nether cheeks were exposed to a male gaze for the first time. M’Lord traced the cane welts.

This link goes to The Bumhampton Chronicles category so you can catch up at any time.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 2 (Part 5)

I gulped back sobs as His Lordship shut the wardrobe. “I was going to strap you later after you’ve dusted, but based on your hysterical overwrought theatrics you’ve now earned twice daily discipline for the next week.” He touched my tear stained cheeks and smiled affectionately. “You are not going to be ‘sold’ you silly chit: all my girls are offered the opportunity of marriage to established men of the mercantile class. We will train you in the social and amorous arts and provide you with ample funds. Now! Bend over my desk Ruby and prepare to be soundly strapped.”

This link goes to The Bumhampton Chronicles category so you can catch up at any time.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 2 (Part 4)

Through thick fringe I covertly watched as m’lord rose and walked to a tall wardrobe. The doors were swung open and he pulled a tray outwards. I saw hundreds if not thousands of vertical folders in varying thicknesses. “Ruby, luscious Ruby,” m’lord muttered softly and placed my fate into a vacant slot. “Please m’lord,” I beseeched, “I’ll do whatever you say, but don’t sell me to a brothel!” M’lord spun around. “What on earth?” His mouth gaped. “I heard Mrs. Cleanknockers sir!” I could not prevent the tears. “Ruby! Cease your caterwauling at once! This is not a Penny Dreadful!”

This link goes to The Bumhampton Chronicles category so you can catch up at any time.

Daddy’s Playboy March 1965

A drabble of exactly 100 words.

Monthly Friday Flash based on the picture below

vintage playboy
Miss March 1965

“What’s that honey?”

“It’s Daddy’s Playboy from March 1965. The issue when I learned I was attracted to women… and when you spanked me for stealing and sneaking into your bedroom.”

“I remember now. You were one unhappy young lady for the next month.”

“I never could decide which was worse; your hairbrush or his belt.”

“Are you ready to get your wife?”

“In a minute. I want to add the magazine.”

Mother and daughter closed the door leaving behind a Purple Heart, a Silver Star, the Playboy and a beloved father and husband in his satin lined oak coffin.



The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 2 (Part 3)

Mrs. Cleanknockers handed over a thin folder. “Ruby’s intake m’lord.” She paused. “If I may be so bold m’lord, I believe that she would suit Mr. Jones-Smyth admirably.” I felt Lord Caneshard’s intense scrutiny on my bowed skull. “You state she’s untutored.” My mind raced in panic: had I been deceived? Had I fallen into the evil and depraved clutches of White Slavers? “Untutored yes m’lord, but very responsive.” I felt Mrs. Cleanknockers gloved hand raise my frightened chin. “Obey His Lordship Ruby and you will prosper.” She pressed her moist lips firmly to mine and swept out the door.

This link goes to The Bumhampton Chronicles category so you can catch up at any time.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 2 (Part 2)

The dark oak walls were lined with stuffed animals heads and stuffier ancestral portraits. I giggled nervously as naughty thoughts of mounted Lords filled my mind. My mirth was doused by the stern glare I received from Mrs. Cleanknockers. “This is the Gun Room Ruby,” said icily, “where you will be trained and chastised.” We passed by the locked door. There was no sign that stated ‘Abandon all hope’ but it was implied in her tone. She knocked on m’lord’s office and we entered. “Ruby sir.” I curtsied and when prodded, approached the desk. “You’ve been willful I understand. Excellent!”

This link goes to The Bumhampton Chronicles category so you can catch up at any time.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 2 (Part 1)

Dressed in my new black and white uniform, Mrs. Cleanknockers led me to the kitchen, introduced Cook, and fed me lunch with the downstairs staff. As the new girl the maids and footmen scrutinized me closely for signs of moral failure. Clearly I was not welcome and the slights were not long in manifesting. I ate my meal in silence while Mrs. Cleanknockers grilled her underlings and assigned the afternoon roster. I was exempt: I had an appointment with Lord Caneshard. The sly grins and elbows did not go unnoticed. “Emily and Louisa. Report to the Gun Room at 2.”

Due to a personal request, I’m looking at you Missy, the Bumhampton Chronicles will continue. However, I will write the story as a drabble – 100 words – at a time and will be posted several times a week.

This link goes to The Bumhampton Chronicles category so you can catch up at any time.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 1

A tribute to the great Victorian Age of Erotica, where orifices were plundered and bottoms were whacked. I now present the following account for your prurient pleasure. Please note at 3,500 words it is fairly long but I didn’t want to split it in two parts. I am the original author posted elsewhere 3/8/08

“The Bumhampton Chronicles”

There was an old man in the cottage at the end of the lane on every day at 2:30 in the afternoon took his curly-coated black terrier for a walk. Quartz gravel crunched softly beneath his booted feet. Dressed in a corduroy jacket with worn leather patches, rain or shine the gentle thud of his cane echoes between the hedgerows.

He goes to the pub for a pint and then the post office to mail a letter. After, he crosses the road and reads the real estate listings. He buys a loaf of bread at the grocers and then returns home where he opens a tin of sardines and pours a glass of red wine. If you ask the villagers, who amongst them is eccentric they will point at the old man in the cottage at the end of the lane.

Look at him shuffling along. Sad isn’t it? To think of whom he once was. You mean you don’t know who that is? That, my friends was his Lordship. Yes, a real Lord: with a title and everything! The Venerable Lord Caneshard the Omnipresent of Lower Bumhampton. A silly title you must agree, but it suited him. Now look at him; talking with his dog, posting a letter everyday with another true episode of his memoirs. Problem is, no one believes him the poor sod. They all think he’s gone around the bend. I’ll tell you a secret though. Every word is true.

Don’t roll your eyes at me, I’m telling you this because I know the truth. Who am I? My name is Slapumcheeks; but my friends call me Ruby. I should know about His Lordship, because I was on the receiving end many times of his particular method of motivation. You see Lord Caneshard strongly believed that young ladies of a certain class needed regular exercise and discipline in order not to fall in with the wrong crowd. That’s right, spanking, caning, whipping, strapping; my poor sore bottom was thoroughly chastised on many an occasion. I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on Lord Caneshard ………

“Your Lordship?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Your nine o’clock appointment is here sir.”
“Thank you, Miss Frothinglips. Show her in.”

I walked into a large, illuminated study, shelves upon shelves of books lining both sidewalls. I must have looked a fright, gawking like a provincial rube, but I’d never seen so many books before in my life. I could read, after a fashion, but I was feeling out of place in this luxurious manor. His Lordship had stood up when I entered the room, and I started when I realized he was staring at me. I blushed and dropped a fumbling curtsy.

“Your Lordship.”

He nodded at me, and motioned towards a leather wingback to the left of his magnificent desk. I sat down, and nervously clasped my hands in my lap.

“I believe you have something for me?”

I reached into by reticule and pulled out a sealed letter from my previous employer. I made to get up, but he bade me stay seated and came around his desk to receive the missive. Perching on one corner, he cracked the seal and proceeded to read the contents. I covertly studied him as he perused my life’s work. He was short, maybe 5′ 6′, with reddish hair and a mustache. His clothes were of the finest cut and gems sparkled in his waistband. He finished reading, and setting down the papers, reached down and lifted my chin in his calloused hand.

“How old are you child?”
“I’m 18 and three quarters sir.”
“You have very fine credentials, Mrs. Allechat speaks quite glowingly of your morals and ethics.”
“I try sir.”
“Yes, well we shall see about that. I must say though, there is no mention of instances of discipline listed. Were you not punished ever?”

I do realize that in these enlightened times corporal punishment is frowned upon. However, in our time, a spanking was considered normal and nothing to froth on about. I explained to His Lordship, that I was occasionally smacked, but never more than once a month. He frowned at that, and muttered that perhaps I was not suited for this position after all. I swallowed hard, and asked in a meek voice what would I be expected to endure.

“All my girls are thrashed at least once a week, and with new girls, I always break them in with daily, if not twice daily discipline.”

The shock must have shown on my face. I certainly felt light headed. Never in my wildest dreams, could I have envisioned that at 18 and three quarters years of age, I would fall into the clutches of a upright man such as this. I was ecstatic, but I managed to remain calm.

“My apologies Your Lordship, I did not understand the requirements of the position. Perhaps, it would be best if I left.”
“Nonsense girl. It is my duty as the Lord of the Manor to provide both discipline and a healthy, happy work environment.”
“Besides, where else were you planning to go?”

He was right of course. As an orphan, my prospects were bleak; this was the 10th interview I had been to, but this was this first job that I was interested in enough to commit my bottom too. I did not want to wind up out on the streets selling my virtue for pennies.

“Very well, sir. Is there anything else I need to be aware of?”
“There is a rigorous and cleansing examination before you are officially hired. Need to make sure you are flexible to do the proper job. Stand up please.”

I stood up in front of the chair.

“Stand up straight girl! I expect all my girls to be willing and able to whatever it takes to satisfy his Lordship. No milquetoasts on my watch! Hrumph!!! You are nicely built, sweet face; let me see the rear view. Ah!!!! Excellent form. I say, good show.”

*smack* *smack* The quick spanks on my bottom caught me by surprise.

“Yes girl, your backside will get quite the workout with my strap. I am looking forward to your working for me. So, are ye interested in the post? It comes with room and board, 10 pounds a week with one day a week off plus regular and rigorous discipline. Speak up lass, now’s not the time to be shy.”

I of course, said yes; and thus began a most educational journey into the lives of masters and servants and men and woman. Would you like to hear more?

Peacock House was a trim country manor. His Lordship ruled over miles in all directions, including the little village of Lower Bumhampton. I was guided by another servant, Anna, and made my way to the rear of the manor and the servant’s quarters where I was met with the very severe and formidable Mrs. Cleanknockers. She pursed her lips and glared at me. I lowered my gaze demurely and spoke of His Lordship’s desire to have me cleansed and examined.

“Well, I determine who is allowed to stay at the manor miss, and you can be sure that when I am done with you, your very innards will squeak.”

I must interject here; I was in fact, quite naive. I was raised in the city, and thus had no congress with young men, other than the uncouth tradesman and street urchins. My mama, when she was still alive, God rest her soul, was not one to explain the bodily functions. I bathed once a week, as was normal; that is until I started employment. Truth was, at that age I was very shy and private. Had I only known…

“Stand over here Miss, against the wall.”

She measured my height, and used a scale to find my weight. Her hands roamed freely over my covered limbs, and she bent me forward and back in all directions. I was dizzy, and the pins in my black hair had come loose, causing a cascade down my back.

“Very well, you will now disrobe. If you pass muster, then all your clothes will be provided for you.”
“Are you disobeying me already miss?”
“No ma’am, but there is no screen.”
“Child, privacy is not a concern at this place. Disrobe or leave.”

What choice did I have? I must admit to tears as I undid my buttons on my floor length frock, and handed it over to her waiting arms. My chemise was next, and as I did not wear undergarments, I was soon naked and shivering as I cowered under her stern gaze.

“Stand up straight! Thrust your chest out!”

Two quick strikes, one on each bottom cheek, and I was stiff and rigid as a Guardsman at attention. Thus began the examination; Mrs. Cleanknockers ran her fingers through my hair, probing my skull. She checked my ears, my eyes; her fingers entered my mouth and gently massaged my teeth. Her roved lower, always lower until my breasts lay in her strong palms. She squeezed, like a melon, checking for soft spots, and then, and then. Oh my, I thought as she plucked and rolled my stiff nipples. Hard points, in and out, stretching: I cried out as she tormented my flesh.

“Good response. You like pain, I can tell.”
“No Ma’am, it hurts.”
“Little liar. M’Lord will soon enough cure you of that trait.”

Continuing now, she loosed my red and inflamed bosom and seized both arms and once more checked my flexibility. My hands, and nails did not pass muster, but she merely murmured ‘later’. My torso was next, then, she spun me around and pushed her thumbs hard into my shoulders and down my spine. I was just a puppet in her capable hands and I began to sense something stirring in my unmentionable areas. My lower extremities did not go unnoticed, but I was bade sit on a towel that rested on a stone counter, next to a sink and a floor drain. I tried, I tried still to be modest, but after massaging my sore feet and calves, she ran her hands up my thighs and patted them. Her intent was clear, she wished me to spread them wide.

“Please? No?”

She walked away without a word and opened a cupboard. Returning with a stiff riding crop: tap, tap, she touched my thighs once more, but I just shook my head and wept in shame. Thus began my first whipping, but by no means my last, at Peacock House. At the time, I screamed with the pain, it was so severe; what did I know, I was an innocent. In truth, she was very careful, and struck with just sufficient force, repeated blows raining down on my upper thighs. How many? I do not know, but when I looked down expecting to see blood, all there was, was a pinkish hue to my skin. I looked up through the film of my tears, and nodded. She stopped at once, and then tapped me with her hands once more. This time, I spread my legs as wide as I could while she poked and prodded my inner thighs.

“Lay back, and raise your knees to your chest; grasp them firmly with your hands, and keep them wide spread for me.”

The screeching of wooden legs on the stone floor grated on my nerves as she positioned a stool in front of my feminine opening.

“Are you still a virgin?”
“Yes,” I replied with some vigor. “I am a proper girl!”
“I shall soon find out if you are telling the truth.”

Thus now, the examination portion was drawing to a close, and the cleansing portion soon to commence. But first, I felt a stranger’s touch on me. Down there: the place of bleeding shame and pain. What possible connection could still being a virgin have to do with my monthlies? Once more, those strange feelings swirled in my tummy as several fingers rubbed me down there, up and down. I thought I heard faint squishing noises, but then all else fled as a slender digit entered my body! My back arched, and I squealed as she manipulated me and probed deeper and deeper.

“Ah, you are intact, excellent. You will be quite the prize filly for some lucky man. Move your bottom over the edge, keep pulling back. Further, further.”

By now, my knees were pressing against my chest and just when I believed that my ordeal was over, another shock. A greased finger slid abruptly up my fundament! I do not have to explain the shame I felt being treated this way, yet, yet; a part reveled in this treatment of me. I realized that Mrs. Cleanknockers was not being cruel, but that she was in fact quite efficient at her job. She then slid a second finger in my nether hole, whilst returning yet again to my womanly opening. I could feel, oh I could feel her fingers touching inside of me through both holes and my body began to rock ever so slightly. I gave myself over to the rush of new sensations and closed my eyes.

I was climbing. I was soaring as Mrs. Cleanknockers’ wicked manipulation had caused all sense of propriety to flee. My hips, my bottom, my cunny; all had betrayed me, and they all worked in consort with her fingers and thumbs. Then, all thought faded as she touched a certain spot that flared like a torch and the heat engulfed my blood. I know that I shrieked then, but even as I prayed to God for His forgiveness and mercy, my lower holes thrust harder and harder upon her hot flesh. So this is lewdness I marveled, and I sinned willingly and cast my soul into the flames of Hell.

Just like that; I would have wept, but I cared not. Something was happening, something that my body knew well, but that I did not. She rode me hard, did Lust. Lust whipped my flanks and she drove me ever onwards with biting spurs as she caused rivulets of secretions to pour from all my orifices. The ground fell away abruptly as I had a fit, and my muscles locked in rigid display. Dangling in air, I fell. I fell hard, and a sound issued from my throat. I can only describe what happened that first time, as the sound of a thousand crystal goblets shattering on a marbled ballroom floor.

My senses slowly returned and I discovered myself being cradled in Mrs. Cleanknockers arms, her cleaned hands brushing my hair.

“Your first spending?”
“I’ve never… What was that? What happened to me?”

She laughed then, a silvery tinkle, which brought to mind skylarks in spring display. Not unkindly, she kissed me lightly on my trembling lips and squeezed me tight.

“You’re a precious jewel, sweet Ruby. We will have such a time together. You will learn, and be well rewarded for your efforts.”

So saying, she eased me down off the counter and led me to a small antechamber. My cleansing was nearly at hand, but this, I knew well; though to my fevered mind, all the apparatus appeared sinister and foreboding. Hanging on steel hooks, implements of correction covered one entire wall: canes, straps, paddles and many others. If the purpose of this display was to intimidate, it succeeded, for I fairly leapt onto the padded table and assumed the prone position on my belly.

Miss Cleanknockers busied herself at the sink, mixing and filling several bags, four in all. I waited, and watched, if not serenely, at least resigned to my fate at last. Lavender and sage, the tang of mineral oil wafted across my nose as my face lay resting on the sheet. Finished with her preparations, she approached my upturned bottom cheeks and gently spread them wide exposing my quivering anus. Her forefinger once again penetrated my inner recesses and twirled, lubricating the dark and humid corridor. She reached back, and pulled the pump closer and pressed the nozzle firmly in. One thrust, slow but sure. It was enormous, much larger than anything I’d ever felt before. My hands clenched the fabric on which I knelt, as a high-pitched mewling noise issued from between taut lips.

“Are you hurt?”
“No miss, it is very large though, and so deep!”
“Not as large or deep as the real thing will be my dear.”

Fully plugged, I arched my back and presented: raising my hips ever higher, desperate to ease the fullness. She released the stop, and warm soapy water, in a relentless flood, invaded my bowels. Perhaps to modern sensibilities, this seemed obscene, but back then, regular purging were prescribed for all types of ill humors. I could not even tell you how many I had endured already in my life, but this treatment at least I thought I could pass with flying colors. And I did, if a red striped bottom indicates success.

Gentle Reader, if you have never undergone a full course of enemas then you cannot truly know the urgency with which the urge to expel strikes the laboring bowels. I had learned much control, though of still tender years, and I tried to impress Mrs. Cleanknockers with my stoicism. The first bag was emptied, and she reached under my torso and rubbed my slightly protruding stomach. At least a quarter of an hour passed as the solution churned and sloshed in my innards until at last, she brought over a large basin and directed me squat directly over while she removed the nozzle. I did my business, with the minimal of fuss; closing my senses to the sounds and smells. She wiped back there, and removed the basin to the adjacent water closet. She was gone so long I wondered perhaps she was divining my future, like a gypsy reading tea leaves. I giggled to myself as I once more clambered onto the table.

The second and third courses went much the same, the third being an herbal concoction that smelled heavenly and felt even better. She allowed me use of the WC for that expulsion and I was actually smiling when I returned. That faded as I spied the last bag. A full gallon, with a nozzle twice the girth of what had been used before and shaped with a queer bulbous head. I did not protest, but meekly followed her directions as she had me lay facing her on my side, with the top leg drawn up to my chest. To my shock and amazement, the fearsome weapon slid in with ease, and Mrs. Cleanknockers spent many minutes gliding the probe in and out of my clenching rosebud, until thrusting it home to the root. This bag was plain water with extract of peppermint, and as it gurgled in, I could feel a burning sensation moving slowly higher and higher until it reached my tummy. She took my hands and laid them on my slowly inflating stomach.

“Just think Ruby, this is what you will feel like when you are with child and ready to birth.”
“I’ll birth through my arse?”

She merrily laughed again at me, but I was truly vexed.

“I am so sorry that my innocence and ignorance amuses you. I am just a simple girl with no prospects, except to be abused for the rest of my life.”

She said nothing, but I sensed an immediate chill in the room as she monitored the last drops. I heard a crinkling noise, and then as she withdrew the flared nozzle, she replaced it with what felt like a cork that went but a short distance within, but blocked all egress of the liquid. I sat up and looked down, ashamed of my outburst, although it was all true to my nature.

“Miss Slapumcheeks, you will stand up and walk to the far wall and choose an implement of chastisement. Then return and bend over the table.”

I didn’t walk, I waddled and as I gazed upon the multitude of items hanging there, my eyes were drawn to a long, thick cane. I handed the cane to her, bent over and waited.

“You…” WHAP “are…” WHAP “not…” WHAP “ignorant…” WHAP

“You…” WHAP “are…” WHAP “simply…” WHAP “untutored…” WHAP

She drove her lesson home, with three more quick strikes on the tops of my thighs and I gasped as the welts stung my entire bottom in regular stripes that rose like puffed pastry. She spun me around to face her and inserting the tip of the cane between my legs, lightly tapped at my still wet sex.

“This virginal opening is where a man will plant his seed, and your womb is where your babe will grow. You will birth through this selfsame opening nine months later. All of this knowledge will be given to you, and much more. You, dear Ruby, will have a chance that few other girls will ever see. A chance to be an independent woman of means.”

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

seasons of spanking

“When you find the one…”

in spring meadows, dance with me
budding blossoms, throb with bees
run through orchard, of our youth
make me happy, cut bundled switch
bent over stile, will be in truth
raise floral dress, panties at knees
carve your love, creative red lines
my pussy wet, jet cum inside.

in summer sand, swim with me
gather shells, tossing sea
find sheltered cove, kids away
treasure trove, driftwood staves
on all fours, presented high
remove two-piece suit, ass to sky
impart your love, burning stripes
spread my cheeks, hard anal night

in autumn leaves, wrestle me
piled high, leap with glee
under skirt, deep fingers quick
eager hands, collected sticks
relatives inside, need a rest
nude on my back, knees to chest
whip your love, both ends seep
suck hard cock, swallow deep

in winters drifts, support me
a gentle pace, that’s the key
now in bed, they’ll soon be here
put on the kettle, be a dear
before you go, make a wish
hold me tight, sealed kiss
spank your love, were always mine
make love to me, one last time

Novel notes, and when did Tumblr consume the spanking world?

Some updates on my writing status. My spanking novel is finished at 107,000+ words and currently nearing beta reading and editing status. Stephanie of spanking misadventures fame has been posted up through Episode #9 here on the blog. I’ve now completed writing the entire story which ends on Episode #21 and 24,300 words. Now that it is complete, I’ve decided to turn the serial into a novella instead. I need to redo the first episodes into a format matching the later episodes, beta read and edit, and then submit to a publisher for their attention and hopefully approval.

After thinking about it, with 12 episodes of Stephanie left to post at one a week, I plan on keep to my schedule and post a new episode every Tuesday for my loyal readers until and if the series is accepted for publishing. At that point the posts will likely be pulled.

I know I was away for seven years from the spanking blogging family, but when I go to My Bottom Smarts to check the feed, almost every single blog listed is a Tumblr blog. The only Tumblr blog I follow is Spanking Theatre because the fiction is brilliant. What I don’t understand is the constant reblogging of posts which seem to be mainly pictures and video pulled from other Tumblr blogs. I know I’m a dinosaur but I happen to enjoy comment threads where people actually connect and have conversations rather than simply an endless circle of likes and links.

I don’t have the time nor the inclination to have a Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest, Tumblr and who knows have many other social media platforms. I like being a reclusive curmudgeon who reads and writes about spanking. Does that make sense?

Any opinions on this?

The Lust in Lace anthology is now available with my novella. 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.

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

A guide to giving Therapeutic Spankings for couples


This post is only my opinion and is intended to be the basis for facilitating conversations about using therapeutic spankings in relationships.

I wrote the comment below on my post ‘For couples seeking spanking’ on 10/29/2009 in response to a question from a reader as to why I wrote that punishment and discipline were different.

“Punishment is for specific events and is meant to hurt both physically and mentally. Punishment is a price paid for making an error in judgment despite and in spite of knowing the consequences for misbehaving. Punishment is not the result of bratting however [unless specified in a contract]. Discipline is best recognized in the sense of achievement. As in ‘she was disciplined enough to run a marathon’, ‘meditating took self-discipline’, ‘not eating all the muffins was a sign of a disciplined mind’. Discipline is an incentive, a reward, a motivation to do better in very detailed goals. They can be goals based on relationships, personal or spiritual growth, professional career, the list is endless. The key is how those involved feel. If you feel punished, then you were punished. If you feel disciplined, then you were disciplined. It’s all in the perspective: bottoms up or hands down.”

One category of spankings I didn’t include though was therapeutic spankings. Some may argue that therapy spankings fall under discipline or maintenance but for the purposes of this post I will consider them to be separate.

Definition of Therapy: 1. the treatment of disease or disorders, as by some remedial, rehabilitating, or curative process: speech therapy.
2. a curative power or quality.
3. psychotherapy.
4. any act, hobby, task, program, etc., that relieves tension.

English Therapeutic first known use in 1646: [New Latin therapeuticus, from Greek therapeutikos, from therapeutēs, one who administers, from therapeuein, to serve, administer treatment, from theraps, therap-, attendant; see therapy

Therapy – for those who have gone through it – is very traumatic and spanking therapy should never be used in lieu of professional help nor should it ever replace the normal means of communication between partners. A therapeutic spanking is never, ever punishment and if after a session, the person receiving therapy feels punished then the spanker has fucked up big time and needs to do damage control immediately.

The Process:

  1. The persons involved need to have clear expectations of the need for and the desired results of therapeutic spanking.
  2. Before attempting therapy there must be concise written instructions based around constraints of work, family etc.
  3. Spontaneous therapy should always occur within the established guidelines whenever possible.
  4. Choose a ritual that works for all partners concerned and follow without deviation once established.
  5. Use a timer for a standard 50-minute OTK session that involves both spanking and talking designed to help not hurt.
  6. The person requesting the therapeutic spanking should make an appointment as if it was a professional consultation even if it means taking time off from work.
  7. Choose a location – if possible – where spankings normally do not take place away from distractions.

The Appointment:

  1. The participants must treat the appointment seriously and the spanker should role play rather than be the normal partner.
  2. The spankee must arrive five to ten minutes early and sign in for the session with the therapist.
  3. Dress as you would for a real therapy appointment and the spanker should be business professional.
  4. Start promptly and give full respect to the spankee at all times.

The Set up:

  1. The spanker should always welcome the spankee by their real name and ask them why they are there for therapy.
  2. The spankee should always feel safe enough to articulate the reasons and to request a therapeutic spanking.
  3. If the spankee cannot proceed at this point, do not continue with a spanking!
  4. It is the spanker’s responsibility to make sure that they listen, repeat and clarify each statement during therapy.
  5. Invite the spankee to remove clothing below the waist and lay over the spanker’s lap.
  6. On the floor at the spankee’s head should be a box of tissues and the timer already running.
  7. The spanker should have a notepad to write down the session as it happens.

The Spanking:

  1. Begin the therapeutic spanking by repeating the reasons for the session.
  2. After the spankee finishes speaking the spanker should begin with a short hand spanking.
  3. Again, the goal is not to punish but to utilize spanking to break free mentally of whatever is stressing the spankee.
  4. The spanker should always use leading questions such as: ‘What is causing your stress? What changes can you make? Why does this make you so unhappy?”
  5. The spanker should pay close attention and spank harder as needed if progress is not being made in answering.
  6. ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I’m not sure’ are possible signs that the spankee is not feeling safe enough to reveal information.
  7. Repeat the leading questions(s) and offer suggestions based on experience of knowing your partner.
  8. Offer to use a mutually preselected implement to allow a harder spanking as a means of releasing blocked emotions.
  9. The spankee will nearly always accept the offer because they want to talk freely but cannot due to many reasons.
  10. It is the spanker’s responsibility to moderate the strength and frequency of blows and to use talking and positive feedback during implement usage.
  11. The goal is always to allow the spankee to concentrate on releasing the cause of seeking therapy rather than the pain of spanking.
  12. The emotional pain of memory, loss, lack of motivation or confidence is always greater than the pain in the bottom.
  13. Pain from a spanking fades quickly but the tangled mess that is our minds always remain pain filled.
  14. A positive session should always involve emotional release up to and including sobbing.

The After Care:

  1. When the timer goes off the therapeutic spanking is over.
  2. The spankee should remain over the lap for at least an additional five minutes.
  3. The spanker should apply lotion to the spanked areas but no sexual contact is allowed at any time.
  4. When the spankee is calm and no longer crying allow to stand and get dressed.
  5. Thank each other formally and hug.
  6. Make an appointment immediately for the next normally scheduled maintenance time to discuss session to make changes if needed.

In closing I would like to reiterate that therapeutic spankings should only be attempted in relationships that have a strong and stable foundation of mutual respect, dignity, discipline, communication and love for each other within the dominate/submissive dynamic. If you have found this article helpful and try a therapeutic spanking session I would be very interested in hearing your feedback.


LS aka Dr. Discipline