The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 3 Part (30)

My hand dropped away. He rocked gently back and forth until half his length was inside my salivating mouth. I suckled. “That’s enough for now, Ruby,” Mrs. Cleanknockers said. “Now put his cock in her.” I trembled a bit as I carefully fed the end of his cock into Louisa’s open mouth. “You are being punished Louisa. You know what that means.” She managed a nod. I could hear her take a deep breath. “Ruby,” Mrs. Cleanknockers next instructed. “Stand behind Mr. Steedstiff and push against his lower back.” I was puzzled but complied. I gasped, “Where did it go?”

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

Flashback Friday: “I’m gonna whip your ass until I can cook bacon”*

This week’s Flashback Friday was originally posted September, 15th 2009. The title came from a post the day before.

*For my Jewish readers: “I’m gonna whip your ass until I can smoke lox”
*For my Muslim readers: “I’m gonna whip your ass until I can roast lamb”
*For my Hindu readers: “I’m gonna whip your ass until I can fry nan”

“Beating up my inner feminist”

I suppose y’all think I’m a beaten down, trailer trash, crack smoking barefoot and pregnant whore for wanting to be whipped, but I ain’t. I blame my daddy – God rest his soul – for my peccadilloes: and don’t think for one cotton-pickin’ minute I don’t know what that word means. Daddy used to whup my ass every Sunday before church, just so’s I would pay attention to the preacher. Lord I miss my daddy. He raised me right, tried to beat the sass outta me – and failed – but I know he loved me. Told me to stay in school or else; the principal damn near wore out the paddle on my naughty butt and momma made sure I paid with blisters for every C I brought home.

Thing is, that’s what I want from a man, a real man that is. Not the lowlife cretins covered with sores and staggering drunk before noon. No, a blue-collar man: with grease under his fingernails, a hunting license and a big dick that I can suck until the cows come home. With a good job, a home and a 4×4 with a light bar and monster tires. Now that honey, is a real man and when he fingers his belt, and growls at my back talking, I don’t want a lecture, I don’t want reason, I don’t want some pansy assed college boy telling me how a lady should behave: I want a good whipping that makes my cheeks flaming red and my feminist snatch drippin’ wet and horny! There ain’t no real men left in this world. Too interested in spa treatments for crying out loud. The only crying in my house is when the leather meets the sassy, big-bottomed, feminist who needs a good spanking to put a smile on her face. So cowboy up and get busy with your little woman: she’ll be ever so grateful.

There was a brief silence and then gasps from her audience. “Oh! That is so nasty and dirty, Florence Lee! Bravo! That is your best story yet!”
“Why thank you kindly, Clara Sue. Do have some of my watercress and cheese canapé. Emma made them this morning.”
“Emma is a treasure, Florence Lee. Are you sure you can’t see your way clear to part with her?”
“Not on your life, Betty Jo. You keep away from my domestics if you know what’s good for you.”
“Ooh, that sounds like a threat.”
“I’ll mention to Jensen what you were up to last Saturday night, Betty Jo.”
“You wouldn’t you dare.”
“Watch me.”
“Now ladies. Simmer down. We’re all friends here and no need to be dragging our husbands into our… business. I for one don’t need a red bottom again.”
“Who are you kidding, Clara Sue! Bo Billing has spanking elbow from the amount of punishment you make him dish out. Tart!”
“Is that so, Florence Lee? This story of yours you read to us, it wouldn’t have anything to do with the new mechanic down at Pee-Wees? I did see you there yesterday on the way to Susan’s to have my hair done.”
“Well…”
“I thought so. What happened?”
“I forget my purse and since I couldn’t pay… I asked for credit.”
“And Mr. Blue Collar said?”
You’re lucky you’re not my woman, Mrs. Thompson. Trying to slide out from paying for a lube job deserves a dress up, bent over, stick your naughty bottom up high, panties down good old-fashioned switching with willow branches.
“I must take my car in tomorrow!”
“Me too! You can’t have all the fun, Florence Lee.”

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 3 Part (29)

Mr. Steedstiff waited in front of Louisa. “Make him hard first, Ruby.” Mrs. Cleanknockers’ eyes gleamed in the gaslight. “How?” I asked. “Use your hand or your mouth. Whichever you prefer.” He thickened to my tentative touch. I wrapped around, his hand clasped mine and stroked back and forth. “Thank you, sir. Would you prefer my mouth?” He pressed down on the top of my scalp in an unmistakable request. I knelt once more and brought the cock to my lips. “Pretend it is a candy stick,” he said. “Do not use your teeth.” I drew the musky tip inside.

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

S.A.N.T.A.S. to the rescue

Alex was miserable. Lonely too. Despite the gut-wrenching turmoil Christmas carols wrought on her psyche, she couldn’t stop listening wallowing to them. An entire year had somehow slipped past since the disastrous dinner with Chad. Expecting a ring in her stocking, instead she’d gotten the old heave-ho and we can still be friends speech.
So here it was, Christmas Eve, and where once there would have been a festive tree, presents and friends toasting, now there were empty vodka bottles, pizza boxes and take-out containers. Alex was no longer a hot mess, just a mess.
The sonorous ding-dong of the doorbell jolted her awake. Hungover, bleary-eyed and feeling greasy from days without bathing, Alex stumbled to the front door, unlatched the chain, bolt and lock and recklessly turned the knob.
“Yeah? What do you want?”
“Are you Alex Powell?”
“Who wants to know?”
The man – although Alex wasn’t too sure that was accurate – held up a laminated badge to her bloodshot eyes.
“My name is Fohsallire Elotriskan – that’s what it sounded like – and I’m with Santas.”
Alex clung to the tilted entryway. “Funny, you don’t look like a Santa. Where’s your costume and hat?”
She muttered, “I told the landlord the apartment isn’t level.”
“Not Santas, S.A.N.T.A.S.: spankings accrued naughty transgression adjustment squad.”
All she could say was, “Huh?” before there was a flurry of sparkling multi-colored flakes around her face.
When she regained her senses, she was in her bed, the sheets were clean, her body didn’t reek and she was no longer wearing ratty sweats, but a lacy red negligee. She bolted upright and yelped when she saw the man with the iPad sitting on the end of the bed.
Amazingly, Alex’s head was clear and she felt great. “Who are you again?”
“I’m Forrester Erikson at your service.” He tapped the tablet and said, “You submitted a questionnaire on Santa’s website in which you described your current situation. The pathos moved the Big Guy – who knows why – so you were selected to receive the deluxe S.A.N.T.A.S. treatment. Is that clear enough for you, Alex?”
“Clear as mud, Gump. What the hell is a Santa treatment?”
“Very simple concept, my dear. If you would be so kind as to join me in your living room, I will show you.” He bowed and left.
Alex threw on a cashmere robe and hastened out of her bedroom. Her mouth dropped open in shock. The room was pristine. A large fir tree sat in one corner decorated with lights and ornaments. Presents spilled forth around the skirt. Candles flickered and the scent of cinnamon filled the apartment.
“You are hosting your annual holiday party in two hours, Alex. If this meets your requirements listed in your missive, then in order to claim it, you need only receive the S.A.N.T.A.S. treatment. If not…” He snapped his fingers and scene instantly reverted to the filthy, stinking room it once was.
Alex clutched her head and stomach as the hangover rushed back in.
The festive view returned as did her equilibrium.
“Do I need to demonstrate again?” Forrester asked with poised fingers.
“No! No, that’s fine, I get the point.” Alex slumped on the couch. “Do you mind explaining what it is you want from me?”
“Ah, we don’t want anything from you, we want to give you the gift of a do-over. All you need to do is sign the form and receive your gift. Then all of this,” he waved at the tree, “is yours.”
“And the gift is…?”
“A spanking of course, Alex, for all the transgressions you’ve accrued since Chad dumped you.”
Alex put her head in her hands. “I thought that’s what you said earlier.”
“It’s only a short spanking, Alex, one-time only.”
She crossed her arms. “And how long is the offer good for?”
Forrester grimaced. “About one more minute I’m afraid. I have several more stops, so a simple yes or no will suffice.”
“I can’t believe it got so bad,” she muttered. “OK, where do I sign?”
“Is that a yes, Alex?”
“Yes, it’s a yes, Forrester, yes to the spanking,” she snapped. “Do you have to be so smug about it?”
“Not smug, Alex, I take no pleasure in spanking I’ll have you know.”
“Riiiiiiiight.”
“Well, maybe a little.”
She signed the tablet on all the appropriate pages and then, with bare bottom uppermost, lay over Forrester’s lap.
His iPad starting playing ‘Jingle Bells’. Over the soft pops of leather meeting flesh he explained, “There are ten carols on Alex’s playlist. I will spank you in time to the music. Feel free to sing along.”
Alex did indeed sing along to ‘Jingle Bells’, ‘We Three Kings’, ‘Little Drummer Boy’ and all the rest. Her constant – ouch, ouch, ouch – added a certain je ne sais quoi to the happy tunes as her bottom received the long overdue attention it deserved. By the time it was over, her bottom was a festive candy cane red from top to tip. Forrester provided her with a box of tissues and a copy of the contract sent to her email.
“Merry Christmas, Alex,” were his final words as he placed the leather paddle among the ornaments.
The party was a roaring success, her friends, if they noticed she couldn’t sit down, didn’t say anything about the short leather paddle hanging on the tree. Best of all, the gift from S.A.N.T.A.S. even included a brand new beau, who as it turned out, thought Alex would enjoy a good spanking on their first date as the clock ticked away into the New Year.
He was right and they lived happily ever after.

So that is the tale, boys and girls, of how Alex found herself over the knee of Forrester with the pointed ears, receiving her present for being naughty all year long.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 3 Part (28)

The door opened. “Ah! Mr. Steedstiff. Right on time.” This was my first encounter with the gentleman who would oversee my training. I curtsied. Louisa was in no position to comply. Mrs. Cleanknockers introduced us. “Ruby, unbutton his falls and lift out his cock.” I blinked in astonishment. I yelped as the cane seared my backside. “Obey,” was all she said. I knelt and fumbled with the buttons. I could feel something alive behind the wool. I reached in and removed a real cock. It flopped heavily and twitched. I was mesmerized. “You will feed his cock to Louisa’s mouth.”

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 3 Part (27)

Louisa hissed as the horn slid up her bottom hole until the flared base snuggled betwixt her cheeks. Mrs. Cleanknockers then oiled the thicker horn. “This little beauty goes up her cunt. Isn’t that right Louisa?” She said, “Yes ma’am.” I saw her thighs flex as the ivory jabbed in tiny thrusts until only the tip penetrated. “For pleasure I like to tease. For punishment…” She rammed it home as Louisa cried out in protest. A hinged arm was locked in place: a wooden screw fit into a hole at the base of the dildo. It would not fall out.

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

Flashback Friday: Looking but not touching

A new feature I am going to highlight is Flashback Friday. This happens to be the very first post on Lurv Spanking from Sept. 6th, 2009. It’s about power exchange and the modern office. It stops before the actual spanking begins.

“An Office Thrashing”

One of curious characteristics of a spanko is the slow and somewhat creepy way the desire becomes an obsession. For Miles Franklin that desire used to be the usual blowjob under the desk by a hot secretary giving dictation but lately, that fantasy had added a dark twist. Whenever Sarah or Madison or Tiffenee or any other of the very hot, very under dressed and very married women on the 27th floor strode purposely past his corner office, the urge to leap out and grab her by the hair, drag her kicking and squealing face down on his desk and proceed to spank her until she moaned for more: his cock was rigid thinking about the designer wool skirt hiked up around her waist and the silk thong corded around squirming thighs. Sometimes the blowjob came first; sometimes afterwards, sometimes… it went right to fucking.
He sighed. That’s why the last untold numbers of relationships had foundered. No matter how adventurous the modern girl was in bed – very adventurous in fact – they all freaked out when he’d oh so politely broached the subject of spanking. Disgust, anger and threats of lawyers were the various responses. No girl, excuse me, no woman in her right mind ever wanted to be spanked. ‘Beaten? What are you? Some kind of pervert? What’s next? Schoolgirl outfit and whips? I am out of here… Jerk!’
“Mr. Franklin?”
“Yes, Joan?”
“A Mr. Stanmore to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment but he states it is very urgent.”
“Alright, send him in.”
Miles adjusted himself: one good thing about briefs, a hard cock could be shoved and bent easier than with boxers… or commando. A business smile graced his rather ordinary features and hands rested quietly on the leather blotter.
“Mr. Stanmore, sir.”
“Thank you, Joan. Pleasure to meet you. Please, have a seat, Mr. Stanmore.”
“Please, call me George. I apologize for barging in on you unexpectedly, but I have some rather disturbing news for you.”
Miles raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “In what matter?”
George took a deep breath. “You know my wife… Ellen, she works here in Accounting.”
“Ellen Stanmore? I don’t recollect ever meeting her.”
“I’m sorry. I should have said Ellen McCrannock, she kept her family name when we got married three years ago. She’s rather headstrong that way… and… in other things.” George trailed off uncertainly.
“I’m puzzled now, George. I have no oversight over Accounting and have only seen your wife at company functions. As far as I know, we’ve never spoken beyond casual greetings. How is this my business?”
“Sir, I realize you are very busy but this can’t wait. Would you mind having your receptionist call Ellen and ask her come down to your office?”
Miles sat back in his chair, clearly confused, but George looked desperate and even a little scared, so he did as requested and the two men waited for ten minutes in awkward silence until Ellen knocked quietly on Miles’ door. They both rose and George went to greet his very surprised wife and escort her to his vacated chair. As she sat down and swiveled to look at her husband, he drew the blinds closed on all the windows and discreetly locked the door. Returning to his wife’s side, he said, “You might want to hold your calls.”
“What’s going on, George? Why am I here? I’ve never had anything to do with Mr. Franklin. I have work to do!”
“Ellen. Be quiet!” George pressed both hands firmly on his wife’s shoulders, pinning her in the chair. “I asked Mr. Franklin to meet you because of what we discussed last weekend.”
Ellen gasped in horror. “No! You can’t possibly mean that! I’ll never…”
The sound of a slap echoed in the room as George smacked his angry wife’s face. “I said, be quiet. You know what you did, you know the penalty and you know that I, not you, have the final say in the punishment. Not… one… more… word, or it will be doubled. Is that clear?”
Tears welled up in Ellen’s green eyes and her lips quivered as she gazed helplessly up at her stern husband. He shook her slightly and she broke out into open sobs of despair.
“Pftttt. You’d think she’d never been punished before the way she’s carrying on!” He glanced at Miles, “May I call you Miles? Thank you. Here’s the deal. Ellen broke the rules, her rules, not mine and due to… well, let’s just say ‘past indiscretions’ and leave it at that, she agreed that I would decide how, when and where she would be punished.”
Miles put his hands up and leaned away. “You can’t mean…”
“Yes, right here, right now.”
“Fine George… and Ellen… I’ll just leave and let you, er, get on with the punishment then.”
“No, Miles. I’d like you, no, I demand you punish my naughty wife.”
A simultaneous intake of outrage, fear and a good deal of excitement from Miles and Ellen. She shook her head and avoided any eye contact. Miles shook his head and felt his mouth hanging open in shock. “Bluh… bluh…”
“Let me explain Miles. Ellen and I have a D/D marriage that includes other people and other… things. Strictly consensual on both our parts of course and the reason I chose you is because Ellen wanted to be spanked by you.” She hunched over in mortification and hid behind her trembling hands. George gently stroked her brunette curls and continued. “She asked around the office and all the girls said emphatically that you’d never touched them or treated them with anything less than professional courtesy. Even when they sashayed past your office in tight miniskirts you never said anything, just undressed them with hungry eyes. There are quite a few spankos on this floor, but none of them have understanding husbands. You see Miles, nothing gets me hotter than watching another man – or woman – using and abusing my lovely wife. And she: she sheds her stuffy accountant attitude faster than her clothes when a tough guy yanks her chain.” He grabbed the back of her head and twisted Ellen’s face so she was staring at Miles. “Isn’t that right, slut?”
Miles saw the varied expressions flit across Ellen’s damp cheeks and the handprint George had left. Hunger and desire were the most prominent. He stood up, walked around the corner of his desk, then perched his buttocks on the edge in front of Ellen. George rolled her back slightly, still holding her firmly at the nape. Her eyes went straight to the bulge of Miles’ slacks. George hissed, “You like what you see?”
Ellen moaned deeply.
George opened his mouth to speak again but Miles cut him off sharply. “I’ll take care of this naughty girl George, you go have a seat on the couch. I think it’s time someone taught this tease it’s not nice to arouse a hard man.”

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