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.

 

 

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