The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (21)

“If you’re willing to shift allegiance, Louisa, I’d like to be your friend.” Tears pricked her eyes. I gathered her in my arms, our breasts squashed together. She sobbed. Whether in relief, or delayed reaction to her punishment, I did not know. Without conscious volition, my hands slipped down her back and rested lightly on her hot buttocks. She hiccuped several times, but did not resist or pull away. I gently kneaded. She hissed softly. “Would you like me to apply some cream?” That clearly startled her. My fingers crept lower and teased open her hemispheres. Her eyes grew wider.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (20)

I busied myself wiping down the saddle then applying a fresh coat of oil. “Do you regret your decision, Louisa?” She stopped scrubbing. “I’ve been here ten months. The only thing I regret, Ruby, is being unable to stand up to Emily.” I draped the towel over the pommel and moved behind her. Tentatively, I rested my hand on her shoulder: she stiffened briefly. Her hands ceased washing. I tugged gently, asking without words for her to turn around. She did so, slowly, and kept her head lowered. I emulated Mrs. Cleanknockers and raised her chin. “I forgive you, Louisa.”

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (19)

“I take it you’ve pulled this sort of stunt before?” Before she explained, she took the bucket over to the sink. Hot running water was still a novelty to me. She used a bar of soap and scrubbed each item as she talked. Her background was not much different than mine. An pretty orphan, left to fend for herself, except with the de rigueur villainous cousin who sought to profit from her virginity. “How did you escape?” I wanted to know. “Lord Caneshard and Peacock House are well known in certain quarters. After overhearing, I packed a satchel and left.”

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (18)

Louisa faced me with a blank face. “Thank you, Ruby, for trying to suck his cock. You didn’t have to.” I was stunned at her words and a bit wary. “Do you really mean that?” She smiled crookedly and instead of pulling on her dress, hung it off the highest drawer knob. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry for what I did and for the punishment you received.” She bit her lip and continued. “I was jealous of the attention you were getting and Emily egged me into being stupid again.” I had to admit to being curious at this point.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumphampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (17)

Our ivory ball gags were removed and joined the other soiled objects in the bucket. I noticed Louisa’s breathing was loud and harsh, her eyes unfocused. The leather saddle was damp to the touch with her sweat. A knock on the door, it opened, and Miss Frothinglips sailed in as a clipper under full canvas. She ignored us both and whispered to Mrs. Cleanknockers. A sharp swivel of the head and her shoulders stiffened. With nary a backwards glance, Mrs. Cleanknockers strode out the door: Miss Frothinglips, after handing Louisa a clean uniform, followed swiftly. Left alone with my nemesis.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

Flashback Friday: “Too soon, it’s over”

This week for Flashback Friday, a poem originally posted Sept, 26th 2009.

The sound of a spanking
is so delightful
crisp smacks
yelps and welts
harder, faster
slower, longer
the pain hurts
no matter the manner
it hurts
cries and sighs
yet after
when the spanking finally stops
the ache
the need for more
the need for more pain
is it all about the pain
what would be better
a hard, fast beating of five minutes
or a long, gentle spanking
for an hour
over a knee
begging for more
slowly building
the burn
while the timer
clicks away
in front of your pleading eyes
minute by minute
too fast
even for an hour
two would be better
three would be perfect
better yet
spank me forever
so I can feel
the ache

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (16)

Mrs. Cleanknockers tossed the ivory plugs into a bucket along with the rubber phallus I’d been sucking. “Ruby, take a clean towel and wipe down Louisa’s hindquarters, front to back.” I mumbled around my gag and plucked a cloth off the shelf. While Mrs. Cleanknockers removed the many bindings, I rubbed and dried everywhere I could reach. Up close, the feminine scent was intoxicating. I wanted my tongue around the pink folds and drilled into the slack rear portal. I made a frustrated groan when Louisa slid sideways off the pommel. Her legs shook: her nails bit the soft surface.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

Summer at the lake

Do places retain a physic imprint? If you returned to a spot where your life had changed, was the memory still tangible?

For Jesimine Powell, the summer of ’85, at Lake Archibald, in Cabin Twelve was one such place. A place of firsts: first love, first kiss, first orgasm from another, first acceptance of self-identity. Twenty years later, she was returning to fulfill a promise.

There were families swimming off the artificial beach. Red canoes and white sailboats projected excited shrieks over the forty-acre lake. The resort still exuded rustic charm, but the owners had bowed to the times and added phones and televisions in every cabin. The trees were taller, the rocks seemed smaller, but the private dock in front of their cabin was still as weather-beaten and warped as she remembered.

“I remember the first time I saw you. I was sitting right here, at the end of the dock. You swam over from number 11 and said ‘Hi, my name’s Emily’. You popped out of the water like a sprite, your turquoise bikini set off your white skin and freckles. I remember when you wrung out your hair, the beads of water made little rainbows in the air. You wanted to know if I could get a tan. Do you remember, Em, how I looked at you, my mouth wide open and pressed my forearm to yours? I said, ‘Girl, does this look like a tan to you? Cause to me, it appears to be dark chocolate’. That’s when you gave me a shit-eating grin and said, ‘Gotcha!’ I was too shy to tell you then, but when my skin touched yours, the spark caused my heart to be lost in a moment.”

Jesimine drew her knees to her chest. The curled pine boards of the dock pinched her bottom through her shorts. She looked to her left and smiled softly.

“Remember that, Em? How our parents were all stiff and formal at first until our dads found out they were both firefighters? They’d be swapping stories and our moms would escape to the kitchen to swap recipes, while we slipped out the back to have one last swim before dinner. You remember when you dared me to go skinny-dipping? I swallowed water I was laughing so hard when you complained my skin gave me an unfair advantage in the dark. ‘I ain’t never had no white girl ever be envious over my black color before’. You got annoyed and rather than splash water like you usually did, you shut me up by kissing me and then swam away as if mutant alligators had migrated to the Adirondacks.”

The calls of ‘suppertime’ echoed around the lake. Boys and girls hauled out, smoke rose from fireplaces and outdoor pits. The smell of roasted meat wafted lazily over the water.

“That night, Em. You remember. Our folks wanted something fancier than burgers and dogs. We stayed in my cabin, number 12, and you got angry with me for overcooking the trout fillets. You called me ‘stupid’, I yelled back I was ‘gonna whup your skinny white girl ass if you didn’t shut your mouth’. You were shaking like a leaf, I thought it was cause you were scared. I remember us both apologizing and you begging not to be spanked in that breathy voice that always pushed my buttons. I did the bravest thing I’d ever done in my life up till then. You said ‘Yes, ma’am’, after I scolded ‘Are you gonna behave, little girl?’ I sat down on the couch and told you, ‘Get over my lap, Emily’. You remember what you said, Em? ‘I’ll let you spank me bare bottomed, Jesimine, if you tell me the truth’.”

“I told you the truth that night, Em, and every night since. I love you. I love your cries as I slowly turn your bottom bright red. I love that cute squeak you make when I fuck you. I love the cotton candy taste deep inside your pink. I love your talented tongue. But most of all, I’ll always love you, Emily.”

Large tears splashed on the gray wood, the saline fluid staining random dark circles.

“Remember, Em, how you always joked you could see our cabin twelve from your office window on the 109th floor of the North Tower? I’m sorry I missed your call. I’m sorry they never found you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I hope you can see our cabin from heaven.”

The last rays of the setting sun sparkled off the bright floral wreath as it spun out over the calm surface of Lake Archibald in front of Cabin Twelve.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (15)

It was not to be – not yet – and I reluctantly returned to my duties, difficult as that was. Somewhere around one hundred blows, the sudden absence of noise made my ears ring. I studiously scrubbed the baseboards: mere coincidence offered a clear view of Louisa’s red, plugged, mottled backside. Mrs. Cleanknockers yanked out the bottom stuffing horn with a swift tug and a toot. My eyes popped to mirror the gape revealed. The cunt horn was unlatched from the rod; though hard to tell from my perspective, she appeared to be wet from more than the oil. My pelvis clenched.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (14)

The sting, the heat, the searing pain when being spanked, tended to draw attention away from the actual sound of punishment. Seeing the results up close, hearing each stroke, set off fireworks in my cunt. My hand slowly rubbed. Without turning her head, Mrs. Cleanknockers told me, “Ruby, if you don’t stop frigging your quim and get back to work, you’ll replace Louisa when I’m done with her.” That of course, only made things worse. I couldn’t come right out and state, ‘yes, please, yes, please’ although I am sure she knew what I desired. I wanted to be displayed.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (13)

“Ruby, remove your uniform and commence your cleaning duties.” This was my first time witnessing a punishment: both appalled and entranced, I tried to polish the knobs. Eventually though, I abandoned all pretense and sat on the floor behind Mrs. Cleanknockers. I had never realized how resilient the bottom was. Each time the oiled leather slammed onto Louisa’s buttocks; the impact compressed the flesh and sent ripples in every direction. Because she was gagged, only faint mews escaped her lips. I mewed in sympathy at a particular loud slap. That was the other thing: the noise was much louder watching.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 (Part 12)

Before Mr. Steedstiff departed, I was reminded of my place. He commanded Louisa to dribble his seed onto an ivory ball and then placed it in my mouth. A leather thong threaded through the bit was tied behind my head. He bridled Louisa next, she swallowed first, and I awaited for instructions while his cloying scent coated my tongue. Mrs. Cleanknockers took a deep, shuddering breath when the door softly closed in his wake. I was convinced they disliked each other intensely. I could only hope to stay out of the crossfire. “Louisa, an appointment with the strap is next.”

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

Flashback Friday: “All-American Football Star”

Something a bit different today. Originally published Sept. 23rd, 2009.

JayCee couldn’t wait to surprise her husband Terrence. He didn’t expect her until this evening, but she’d caught an earlier flight. Letting herself in the gate and the front door, the mansion was silent. She set her bags down and went searching for him. He wasn’t in the game room or the media center and since she wanted to sneak up on him quietly, she didn’t yell out or call his cell. She finally heard faint moaning from behind the master bedroom and her blood ran cold when she heard him groan. “Yeah, just that like, baby. Take it deeper, that feels soooo good.”

JayCee slowly opened the doors in a trance expecting the worst. What she saw was so incomprehensible she shrieked. Her 6’5″, 265 ripped pounds of stud wide receiver, All-American, Pro-Bowler and Super Bowl star was face down on their king size bed, naked and writhing with – as far as she could tell – her pink vibrator shoved up his ass!

“JayCee! You’re home!”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I can explain, baby, I can explain!”
“No! Leave it in and tell me what the hell you are doing with my Rabbit plunged up your chocolate starfish!”
“Baby, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I… I don’t know, baby. I missed you and I saw your toy… I was…”
“Gay? Are you queer? Is this some fucking locker room thing?”
“No, baby. I ain’t no fag.”
“What would your mama say if she saw you like this? I know she didn’t raise her man to be no sissy boy. I’ll bet she’d whip your ass from one side of the house to the other.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Why didn’t you just jerk off? I don’t get it! What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing, baby, nothing’s wrong with you. Please believe me. I love you and you’re so hot.”
“Humph. I’ll bet you say that to all the groupies. Hoes and sluts probably line up and bend over in formation for you.”
“I’ve never cheated on you, baby. Never!”
“You don’t call this cheating?”
“No, of course not.”
“You did start without me.”
“Stay there, don’t move and don’t you dare take that vibrator outta your fine ass.”

JayCee raced down to the trophy room and lifted Terrence’s fraternity paddle off the wall. “This is going to be so much fun,” she chortled as she hurried back to his side.

“Listen to me, sissy boy, and listen good. You wanna get back into my good graces, I’m going blister your ass until I feel you’ve learned your lesson! Now put your tight end nice and high in the air and let me knock some sense into you.”

JayCee drooled seeing the sight of those chiseled thighs, the meaty calves and the tight buttocks, parted in the middle with a shocking pink vibrator sticking out. Even better was his flaccid cock and loose balls dangling straight down. Ten inches of man-meat awaited her attention after she spanked the hell outta his naughty ass. She swung the paddle hard and popped his flesh repeatedly, his squeals and groans sending a flood of heat to her twat. She didn’t want to stop, but feeling the raging heat on his skin turned her into an animal. She shoved him sideways and then on his back. She dove on his cock, semi-hard now and sucked and sucked until it was at full length. She grabbed the end of the vibrator and begin moving it in and out.

“Does this feel like I’m fucking your ass? Don’t you wish I had a real cock right now to sodomize you hard and deep like you do to me? Make you scream like I do when you plunge fast to the hilt?”

She resumed her blowjob determined to milk his sperm. When he finally blew his load, she took it all over her face and rubbed her fingers in the sticky mess, licking and preening like a panther. He winced when she yanked the vibrator out. “I’m gonna take this ass just as soon as I can order me a strap-on. You wanna be my sissy boy and get fucked by your wife?”
“Yeah, baby, I do. Go deep, go long and hit me when I’m open.”
“She scores!!!!!!!!!!”

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

A friendly reminder, the Lust in Lace anthology, is still 99 cents on Kindle ereader until the end of January. If you like werewolves and frost giants, ghosts and goddesses, or steampunk vampires, then for Valentine’s Day treat yourself or your loved one(s) to a sexy collection of erotic novellas. As Byron Cane, my submission is called Sir MacRath Thrashes his Valentine.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (11)

Gentle Reader: do not be alarmed by salacious sexual scenarios; be aroused, for surely I was every time in the Gun Room. There was pain of course, but that is part of life for everyone. To have the opportunity for pleasure, to revel in hedonistic congress – as my mentor Mrs. Cleanknockers would say – with hard cocks and wet cunts: those were truly marvelous days of innocent exploration. I do not want you to feel sorrow for the young girl I was, there was little else a poor orphan could expect, and his lordship truly had my best interests in mind.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

twisted path through sexual maze

admonished to follow your heart, young girl grew up with silver screen
princesses, dainty fair-skinned beauties, only purpose in life to ensnare
a handsome prince, a rich toad would do in a pinch, the bad guys always
redeemed, meanwhile in real life, leather jacket and cigarettes replaced
ball gown and tiara, what’s a girl to do, woman grown realizing vanilla is
not her flavor, blowjobs no fun unless coerced, pussy gets wet when called
out as slut, and forget about anal to savor, most men are wimpy poseurs,
all concerned and tender, of course it’s supposed to hurt you stupid wanker
you call that a spanking, my palsied aunt hits harder than that, just get
out, don’t come back, find yourself someone who thinks footsie is daring,
I’ll follow my heart, find the man of my dreams, he’s willing to drink down
my darkness, and after he licks my foam off his lips, takes my throat in his
hand, says that he loves me just as I am, then collars and fucks his toy, as
twisted as he can, so when I scream for mercy saying it’s enough for now,
he laughs at my lies, takes me harder and higher beyond the sexual maze.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (10)

Louisa’s lips pouted red around his cock. I noticed his breath labored in pants and huffs until his thighs suddenly went rigid. Mr. Steedstiff’s mouth hung open and his face twisted in a rictus akin to pain. Only the head of his cock remained inside her mouth. His shaft made pulsing motions along the length. He breathed out a long exhale of relief. “Do not swallow yet, Louisa,” Mrs. Cleanknockers ordered. “Ruby, as he withdraws, open your mouth and clean the seed off his cock, gently, men are so sensitive right after they spend.” I detected a whiff of sarcasm.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (9)

I dutifully retrieved the shortest and slenderest of the rubber dildos and resumed my kneeling position at Louisa’s head. “Observe the way it should be done, Ruby,” Mrs. Cleanknockers advised. We gagged in unison. I could only manage one failed attempt for every three deep thrusts she endured. My respect for her grew. I no longer cared about the piss-pot. I wanted to belong. I wanted to be admired. I wanted a husband who would enjoy having his cock sucked the correct way. As I coughed and spat on the floor, Mr. Steedstiff was now rapidly jabbing with short strokes.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (8)

Try as I could, his cock would not enter my unwilling throat. He settled for a lengthy dissertation on the proper style of sucking complete with admonishments and exhortations. “Hollow your cheeks. Pucker up and blow. Suck and swallow. Waggle your tongue.” My jaw ached. I was very disappointed with my failure, doubly so when Mr. Steedstiff praised my efforts as being adequate for a first-timer. Mrs. Cleanknockers was not so forthcoming. “Ruby,” she snapped. “In the drawer with yellow tassel is a selection of India rubber dildos. While he finishes off inside Louisa’s throat you will practice with one.”

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (7)

In my peripheral vision I could see Louisa’s disbelief: behind me a loud ‘harrumph’ from Mrs. Cleanknockers. I bravely opened my mouth and braced my palms on the floor for the coming assault. Soaked with Louisa’s saliva, his cock loomed large as his hands firmly gripped my nape. It seemed to have grown and I was hard-pressed to relax my jaw enough to allow entry. Mr. Steedstiff kept up a steady patter as he stroked in and out. “Mind the teeth. Stick out your tongue. Swallow. Fight your gag reflux.” That last was when I nearly cast up my accounts.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

Flashback Friday: “You may now spank the bride”

Originally published Sept, 19th 2009. This post, “You may now spank the bride”, has the dubious distinction of being my most ‘popular’ post. It’s been viewed 2,600 times. Not dare I say it for artistic merit, but because more people search for variations of ‘bride spanking’, than anything else. Kinda explains the divorce rate.

In the year of our Lord 1273, marriage was for the nobility. The serfs, peasants and general workers who comprised the majority of the population were left to their own devices even if a priest was available. Various rituals existed in many cultures to bond two young people together for the sake of the children usually already on the way. In the tiny hamlet of Whipping-Hollow-On-Butterbum-Reach however, there was a very different ritual performed on the rare occasion of Holy Matrimony betwixt and blushing maiden and an untried boy. Here in this place the bride was given away by the groom’s parents; the groom by the bride’s parents. [*If unavailable due to plague, war, malnutrition or general misfortune then appropriate substitutes would be arranged.]

Perhaps thrashed away would be a better term. The morning of the wedding, the respective parents* would arrive at the hovels of the soon-to-be-in-laws and request permission to enter. This was done simultaneously and the bride/groom would politely bade their new parents* to enter the dwelling. Once inside, what the parents* found would be a nude groom/bride standing next to wedding finery. This was done, the nudity, to ensure there were no malformations in the bodies of the engaged. For the bride, she was also subjected to a physical exam to insure an intact hymen [unless a certificate of prior breakage was notarized and signed by thirteen male witnesses] and proper function of mouth, nipples and anus. If satisfied, the bride’s new in-laws would then bathe her thoroughly but lovingly as a new daughter and dress her in preparation to join their household.

The groom was also inspected and his new mother-in-law would ensure he possessed a proper and suitable cock stand for their daughter being given away in the hovel down the lane. The foreskin was carefully washed and then the groom’s father-in-law would direct the groom in the proper manner to use a woman’s mouth and throat. After spending his large load in his mother-in-law’s mouth [he had abstained from solitary vice for a month] she would then solemnly reveal her vagina and anus to her son-in-law and give general instructions on the proper usage of both holes. He would be ordered to rigorously use all three orifices of their daughter that afternoon and into the early morning hours. Both were told to be ready to offer proofs the following day. The groom was then also bathed and clothed and the respective parties then left the hovels and made their way through the hamlet to the center green for the ceremony.

The procession wended its way past each dwelling and stopped in turn. For in the tiny hamlet of Whipping-Hollow-On-Butterbum-Reach, the bride and groom were fully clothed, except for the opening in the back that framed the entire surface of the bare bottom. This bare bottom was given a single stroke with a willow cane at every hovel by the respective parents*. Thus by the time the moist-eyed bride and groom reached the green, they each sported thirty red stripes on formally pristine bottom cheeks. Once at the green, the bride and groom knelt side-by-side and leaned forward, thus prettily presenting themselves for further spanking.

The priest would begin the ceremony and when he asked who it was who gave away the bride, this was the cue for her new in-laws to strike her bottom hard with a thick leather strap created for this day. She received as many strokes as her age – thus providing a reason for parents to delay a daughter’s marriage – and after each one, she thanked God for her humbling chastisement. The groom received exactly the same, except his blows were delivered with a paddle also made special for the day. When the vows were exchanged, the parents* switched sides and implements and delivered ten spanks to their own children for the last time as single individuals. After the ring and the pronouncement by the priest of, “You may now spank the bride”, there was one last test for the painfully suffering and newly minted crying wife. Over her new husband’s knee she willingly went, he sitting on his sore bottom and with loving scrupulousness he used both the strap and paddle – gifts to the newlyweds – until he was completely satisfied the meaning of ‘Honor and Obey!’ had been imprinted on her swollen buttocks.

There of course was still the deflowering to occur and most couples at this point decided it was too far and too painful to walk to their new home and thus consummated their marriage right then on the green in front of the rapt inhabitants of the tiny hamlet of Whipping-Hollow-On-Butterbum-Reach. She would bend over her scarlet ass reaching for the clouds and he with his rampant prick plunging hard into virgin womb, that pain unnoticed in the scorching flames as her husband’s torso spanked her over and over again until he flooded her no longer virgin vagina with his impregnating sperm for the first of many times in succession.

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.

“Lust in Lace” PNR Anthology now available on Amazon

I am very pleased and excited to announce that Lust in Lace, a Paranormal Romantic Lust anthology is now available on Amazon Kindle eReader, and with the free Kindle app, on any device. You can click any Lust in Lace link on this page, or the picture, to go to Amazon. Talk about time travel!

I have the great honor of being invited to join the PNR co-op by, Ina Morata, who writes wonderfully inventive erotica. Along with, Devi Ansevi, the editor and publisher of four previous PNR anthologies, the three of us have joined together to offer a lustful Valentine’s Day treat called Lust in Lace.

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

Publisher’s Note: Lust in Lace is a paranormal erotic anthology that includes adult language and situations and some darker content. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

In Devi Ansevi’s Fur and Fury, Liz is the Pack’s Enforcer, and Benton is a professional bounty hunter. They’ve been ordered to retrieve a couple of runaways by Valentine’s Day. Trouble is, Liz’s wolf may think he’s delicious, but her human side is still pissed that Benton ran out on her a year ago. Hell hath no fury like a female shifter near the Full Moon. A couple of days together will either give them time to overcome their differences…or kill each other.

In Ina Morata’s The Chocolatier: Daemon of Hearts and Souls, it’s 1920s post-war London, and Edward is a chocolatier tormented by dreams of possessing Ixcacao, the chocolate goddess. When a delicious new patron offers his darkest wish, he is delighted to allow Lilith to teach him all the sexy ways to get it. But fulfilling his desires come at a price. What, and who, does he have to sacrifice to get the love—and lust—of his life? And what will happen if he does?

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.

I mentioned in this previous post, that this novella is a prequel to the novel The Case of the Scarlet Paddle, which in turn, is a direct follow-up to The Bloody Merry Book Club which was posted for Halloween, 2016.

I am also participating in the Lust in Spring anthology with a novella called, The Witch of Olympus Hollow, that will be published March, 20th 2017, on the Spring Solstice. This novella for spring is set in western North Carolina in May, 1952, with the beginning and ending set in 2015.

For the purposes of publishing on Amazon, for these two anthologies, I have decided to use the pen name, Byron Cane, rather than just Lurv Spanking.

If you do not have an Kindle ereader – full disclosure, I do not have an ereader because I prefer the printed word – then you may contact me via email and request a Word docx copy. I would request in return for the free novella, that you consider writing a review at least for the Amazon Lust in Lace page, and post a link on your blog to the anthology.

If you wish to write a review for the entire Lust in Lace anthology, there are a limited number of free copies available in an, epub, mobi, or pdf file. Contact me via email and I will send you the link for a free review copy while supplies last, then share your thoughts about this volume with other readers with a review on Amazon or Goodreads!

Reviews matter. They create visibility on Amazon, and help readers discover new authors to love. When you post a review, tweet the link to @PNRLust, or email the link to, to receive a complimentary Lust volume of your choice, with our sincere appreciation for your honest review.

The following is an excerpt from Sir MacRath Thrashes his Valentine, available on Amazon Kindle. It is the prologue of the Lust in Lace novella. The setting is in an alternate steampunk Victorian-era England. The historical characters, other than the main protagonists, were real people and hew to the actual history and tenor of the times.

Being fiction however, there are two rather large deviations from the timeline we knew. Steam and spanking. I also moved the timeline forward for other things, such as the international telegraph.
I hope you enjoy the entire Lust in Lace anthology. I welcome all reviews and reblogging posts. Thank you for your loyal readership.

Sir MacRath Thrashes his Valentine


For the first time in ten days, the steady thump-thump of the engines and the boiling splash of the magnificent side-mounted paddle wheels fell silent. The harbor pilot called down to the tug. Thus began the ancient and primal ballet of man versus water as seasoned hands strove to bring the steamer from America into safe mooring.

As it docked, heavy hemp hawsers and thick bollards were tossed over the side to waiting stevedores. The shrill triumphant shriek of the steam whistle echoed among the emigration sheds where the starving poor sought passage to a new life in the former colonies.

Vast clouds of slate gray and white gulls took flight as the noise reduced the raucous calls of workers to pantomime. The blast faded and the flocks swooped to await handouts from the new arrivals. A crowd had gathered to meet the arriving ship. Touts held up placards bearing names of lodging and dining establishments. Open steam carriages emblazoned with coats-of-arms and commercial enterprises chuffed impatiently quayside, chauffeurs chatting amiably with gloved hands held over barrels of flame.

A late arrival coasted silently to a stop along the quay. The pennants on the front bumper proudly waved the Three Lions of the House of Hanover. Eyebrows rose: no Royal had been listed on the telegraphed manifest.

Sir Nachton MacRath waited at the gangplank to debark, nose wrinkled in protest. The tide had reached slack, raw sewage and industrial offal collecting in rotted mats along the banks of the River Mersey.

After eighteen years away, on this fifteenth day of January, in the Year of Our Lord 1854, he prepared to once again set foot on his native soil. Well, to be precise, tarred oak planks covered with bird droppings and rubbish. Six months removed from San Francisco, he was glad to be finally back, although unsure of his welcome. He had run afoul of the Regent in late 1835, and despite repeated assurances from the Queen in the following decades, he had decided instead to tour the Near East and China.

By fortuitous timing, MacRath had sailed from the Sandwich Islands to the sparsely populated lands of Northern California in 1848. The subsequent fortune he’d created during the Gold Rush was not from digging in the hillsides, but from parlaying his Scottish title into land and mercantile trade for the arriving miners.

His idle titled peers despised trade; all the while pretending their agrarian paradise was not being steadily washed away by the rising tides of industrial steam technology.

Certainly the Bank of England had no qualms with his large deposits of specie, notes and bullion.

No longer caring for the fading Empire and the cut direct he would receive for being a man of business, he had finally returned to claim his birthright.

He doffed his top hat to his fellow female passengers as they disembarked first. The ladies acknowledged his courtesy with nods and wistful smiles. From the vantage point of the rail he sought his confidential agent amidst the throngs on the wharf. A quick wave and he hefted his travel valise striding down the gangplank resplendent in the latest New York style: a tailored suit coat in black with slate vest, shirt and matched trousers with paisley print and yellow braid stripes down the sides. He was intercepted before he got too far by several beefy individuals in plainclothes.

“Sir MacRath?” That one spoke with a distinct upper class accent.
“I am he. May I assist you in some manner?”
“My name is Trent. If you would please accompany us, sir, there is someone who wishes to speak with you.”
“My luggage?” MacRath noticed his agent was detained next to the Royal vehicle. His primitive instincts, never far below the posh surface, flared to life. His voice, now deliberately American in tone, calmly drawled, “My man there needs my instructions. I am unaware of a prior engagement with anyone unless notification crossed paths somewhere in the wilderness.”

He did not resist their request. In any case, his escort was exactingly polite rather than threatening, allowing MacRath to hand over his list to the agent.

He and the two men entered the enclosed steam carriage, the rear bench seat barely wide enough to fit his lean frame between the rather bulkier individuals to either side. As the driver wended his way through the thick port traffic, MacRath spoke. “May I ask where you are taking me?”
“Liverpool Lime Street Station,” Trent replied shortly. No further information was forthcoming during the five-minute drive.

Once in front of the ornate stone building, MacRath was escorted to the far platform where a string of railway carriages stood ready to depart.
“May I at least inquire as to why I am to meet Her Majesty?”
“You may indeed enquire, sir.”

That terse reply was all the response he received. He was barely on board when the Royal Train lurched and slowly headed up Edge Hill. Shown to his quarters as the train gathered momentum, he was informed the Queen would send for him shortly. He managed to glean from the steward this was a scheduled trip and just happened to coincide with the steamer’s arrival.

Sir Nachton MacRath, a minor Scottish Baron of dubious lineage, stewed for nearly an hour before his audience commenced. While he waited, he thought of many possible explanations. None matched the reality of what shortly transpired.

Her Majesty informed him he was soon to be the Earl of Flintdowns, Chastiser for the Queen. In this role, he would be granted full authority to investigate and punish those members of the ton deemed to have demonstrated unseemly behavior.

“We have decided the Empire suffers from a lack of morals,” Her Majesty explained. “Men shall pay for transgressions through fines, and women by the time honored tradition of private corporal punishment. We will speak later at length.”

He had yet to recover from the shock of his elevation in status when the Queen dismissed her councilors. Once alone, she handed him a sealed package.
“You will return this file to Us upon arrival in London,” she said.

MacRath bowed and returned to his carriage in a daze, whereupon he opened the envelope and discovered the worst possible news for a creature of his ilk determined to hide in plain sight.

Stamped across the top of the file in large red capital letters was the word VAMPIRE.

There is comfort in anticipation

A little over six months ago, I started writing again after a 5 and 1/2 year break. Since that time I have written around 200,000 words. That includes all the new posts here, plus the second half of a novel, the first quarter of another novel, and three novellas.

Almost two months ago, I was invited to join the Paranormal Erotic Romance writers co-op, by my good friend, Ina Morata, who writes wonderfully inventive erotica on her website and in published works. The editor and publisher of the anthologies, Devi Ansevi, who also writes erotica, has taught me much about editing. I am in a state of nervous anticipation for my first published spanking erotica this January, 11th 2017.

If you are a constant reader here, then you know that my style of writing is very eclectic. I write in all points-of-view and tenses, and even dialogue without quotation marks. My fiction for publication – hopeful publication – is more literary and intense than my flash fiction I post here. In anticipation of the Lust in Lace anthology, I would like to offer you something in the style of my long fiction. This story is new, not an excerpt, and serves as an illustration of my focus when writing a novella or novel.

I will be posting another post with all the links, information and an excerpt after the Lust in Lace anthology goes live for purchase. There will be more details and information then about the next novella to be published for Lust in Spring, on March 20th, 2017.

Active Submission

A cool downdraft catches the burgundy-wine curtains. The sudden snap of cotton makes me jump. Through the open window of our bedroom, I can see lightning arcing in the dark sky. Too far still for thunder, the sound I hear is my heart pounding in anticipation.

Crack-snap, the fabric billows as the humid air rushes westwards: sucked into the storm’s base and thrust upwards with ferocious velocity, only to succumb to gravity’s embrace and return as gentle rain or harsh hail. Crack-snap. The steady whipping reminds me of why I am here, in the corner, like a naughty girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Soon, I will hear his heavy tread on the staircase, the scent of his cologne will send tingles to my pussy and his hot breath on the back of my neck will weaken my knees. Crack-snap. Crack-snap. The pace intensifies, my bottom clenches and relaxes in harmony with the noise. It soothes me. It awakes my passion.

Several generations ago, the scene would have been cornstalks to beyond the vanishing point, our 1850’s farmhouse surrounded by arable land instead of by cookie cutter subdivisions filled with unhappy wives and distant husbands. My husband, Bradley, had recognized in me, what the farmer knew instinctively to expect from his little woman. Obedience and respect in return for protection and support.

Crack-snap. Our bedroom is a masculine statement of dominance, creamy oak four-post king size bed, original pine floors, the walls, maple wainscoting with forest green and silver paper above. The covers are a cool cotton to match the drapes. Pillows and bolsters in rich jewel tones will be tossed aside to sleep. When I am bent over the bed with a sham under my hips, my toes barely graze the throw rug.

Each time, every time I am spanked, it only reinforces our bond, and reassures me I’ve made the correct decision. I shiver, the cooling breeze caresses me, strokes my heated pussy, teases my puckered nipples; I wiggle, trying to catch the proper angle.

Crack-snap. Crack-snap. Crack-snap.

How I wish the noise was the result of the flogger instead of the drapes. He is diabolical in the way he pushes my buttons through words and deeds. I have done nothing to deserve this, and yet, have done everything.

A typical evening, home from work, catching up with social media, when he speaks. A low, husky drawl, filled with meaning and purpose: his voice slips through my barriers as if they were gossamer. I have no defense against his wiles: my feminine wariness of the male predator purrs instead of snarls. He is mine, she says every time, and rolls over in submission.

When he says, go upstairs and prepare, my mouth foolishly asks why. A raised eyebrow speaks volumes. I stand on shaky legs. He reminds me once more of my choice, discipline is his alone to decide time and place.

In my corner, arms behind my back, nude but for my collar, I am the freest I have ever been. My submission is a gift, not to him, but to me. I crave the anticipation of knowing that the pain he will give me, helps to shatter the paralysis in my soul. Each paddle blow heals, each swipe of the cane removes another layer of deadened emotions, each leather strand that scourers my back, tears away the sticks and stones of childhood misery.

When he whips me: crack-snap, I find my happy place is that much closer to becoming permanent.

The thunder is nearly constant now. The searing strobes of atmospheric electrical discharges flashes in the darkened room. In between beats, his steps come closer, I hear the knob turn, the door thumps against the stopper. My breath seizes with love and longing.

He runs his forefinger down my spine. I shudder out an exhale.

He kisses my nape. Tears spring to my eyes.

And when he firmly grips my buttocks and asks who owns you, I sigh, and reply, you do, sir.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (6)

Mrs. Cleanknockers released my hair with a contemptuous flick. “Mr. Steedstiff. You heard the young lady. I trust you capable of breaking this spirited filly to bridle?” His cock fell out of Louisa’s mouth with a loud ‘plop’ accompanied by much hacking and wheezing. I felt a bit stung by Mrs. Cleanknockers disdain and my pride rose to the occasion. Heedless of the treacherous currents that swirled between our two tormentors, I asked, “Mr. Steedstiff. I wish to learn the proper technique of throating. If you would be so kind as to instruct me, I would be ever so grateful.”

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (5)

“I’d like to try throating, ma’am. It looks like fun to me.” As an attempt to draw fire, my ill-advised witticism was wildly successful. Not so much my first attempt, although with practice, I did become good enough to earn grudging praise. That was months in the future, for now, I paid the price for my stupidity. Mrs. Cleanknockers grabbed my knotted hair and pulled back until I had an upside-down view of her stern face. “Dear, Ruby. Let me congratulate you on being the first girl I’ve ever trained to volunteer for cock sucking. I will grant your wish.”

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (4)

“I certainly enjoy it, Mrs. Cleanknockers, as you well know,” Mr Steedstiff replied with an energetic thrust of his hips. Louise sputtered and tensed in her bondage. A particularly loud retch drew Mrs. Cleanknockers ire. “I see you have been neglecting your exercises, Louisa,” she barked at the hapless girl. “I will so inform his lordship of your inept performance.” Being as she couldn’t speak with a mouthful of cock, only I, in close proximity to the action, could see the distress on her visage. A pang of sympathy smote my conscience. Once more I rashly spoke out of turn.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

Flashback Friday: “The Blind Date”

This week for Flashback Friday, I offer a tail about a blind date that leads to a discovery. Originally published, Sept. 17th, 2009.

Mary woke the morning after the night she never wanted to end. Robert – the blind date – had arrived precisely at 7:30 pm and she, being a woman, was not ready. It was her prerogative she told him politely. All I need is a little freshening up and we can leave. Robert put his foot down. It is my prerogative to deal with your lateness so it does not become habitual. Mary suddenly found herself spun round, bent over and a hard hand swiftly spanking her bottom through her pleated wool skirt. Ten smacks later, upright and in shock, Robert told her he was leaving in five minutes, with or without her.

Three minutes and twenty-five seconds later, Mary was on Robert’s arm. The only freshening up she managed to do was a change of knickers. Plain, wet white ones for a black, lace thong… plus several spares in case he spanked her again… or not. Robert opened the passenger door to his gleaming Lexus and told her to wait. Squeezing her chin in his hand he dictated the evening’s schedule. Rather than bridling at his dominance, Mary returned his gaze boldly and said yes, sir. Robert smirked, good girl. That remains to be seen thought Mary. As if hearing her willful thoughts, Robert watched her carefully as she slid into the car, legs together as a lady ought. Nodding with approval, he drove off into the sunset towards their destiny.

It was a restaurant called Sunset Destiny.

The valet opened the doors and waited for Robert to escort his lady inside. Mary bit her lip and ever so daringly flashed just the hint of black lace as her long legs swung to the pavement. The valet jumped in the driver’s seat and Robert told him to wait. Mary, he ordered, turn around and place your hands on the boot and thrust your bottom out. Mary obeyed, blushing to her roots and locked eyes with the stunned valet. Fifteen harder smacks later, the car was gone and so was Mary’s heart.

The food was excellent, the service was impeccable and one glass of wine turned into two and then three. Robert made no demands, no observations and no threats: only witty and broad conversation, lots of smoldering glances and some daring footsie under the table. Mary was determined to push all Robert’s buttons: baiting a bear be damned, Robert was hers no matter the price. For someone who’d never been spanked prior to this evening, his mastery was flaming a conflagration that threatened to consume her soul. It was all she could do not to climb on the table and beg for his cock. She fanned her face and excused herself. The spare knickers were calling urgently.

The same valet rushed Robert’s car to the entrance, received his fifty-dollar tip and waited eagerly for a repeat performance. He was not disappointed. Mary, slightly tipsy, carelessly flopped into the passenger seat revealing to Robert’s disapproving eyes, a flash of pink. Wet, glistening pink. Mary smiled guilelessly. Robert hauled her out and flung her over the warm bonnet. Her bottom was suddenly exposed to the cool evening air and any who chanced to look. Twenty very hard spanks rang out in the silent courtyard. The sound of flesh on flesh ringing off the stone walls drew the intense interest of every patron.

Where are your knickers? In my purse… several dry pairs. Robert reached in and grabbed a pair. Mary remained bent over and nude from the waist down. She felt him squat down, she shivered, the impulse to submit was now overwhelming. She didn’t care about the audience, she didn’t care about the juices running down her thighs, she wanted to be taken, branded by her newfound master. Robert touched an ankle, she raised a foot and he slid the knickers over one and then the other. Raising them to calf level, he ordered her to pull them up. No, stay bent over and don’t you dare drop your skirt while you apologize to all who witnessed your disgrace.

At her apartment, she asked him in: for a ‘nightcap’. She offered herself. Begged and pleaded. Robert informed her he did not have sex on a first date. However, he was very displeased with her behavior. I know, said Mary. What must I do to atone? Strip naked and bend over the arm of your leather couch. Mary shed her clothes like rain in a desert and presented her faintly marked hindquarters in a classic pose. Forty extremely hard spanks rocked her naughty backside and when it was over, to Mary’s sorrow, Robert bade her stand, hands behind her head. He looked her up and down, noting her arousal in her face, neck, breasts and genitals.

I will pick you up at 7:00 pm tomorrow. You will be dressed and waiting for me: on your knees, in the foyer. While you service me and swallow my seed, I expect you to be remembering this evening. Is that all, sir? No dear, Mary. I wish a full report, in writing, of your masturbatory exploits whence I depart soon. I demand at least six orgasms from you this evening or you will face the wrath of my cane. Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!

Of course, you’ll be caned either way.

Robert kissed Mary firmly on her quivering lips, his hands finally roaming freely over her back and tender bottom. He slipped a finger over her anus and into her sopping slit. She came in a shattering wave of pleasure. That doesn’t count, darling. Good night and sleep well.

Submission without consent or choice is abuse

Three of my friend missy’s recent posts caught my eye.
“A Need for Domination”
“A Need for submission”

“People always are fixated on the body and forget that the mind is the ultimate sexual organ.”

That above was my comment on the humiliation post. She points out that for her, being Dominated helps her get into a submissive state, more than simply being submissive and waiting for Dominance.

She also writes about the roles of women in society, and how, in her words, her submissiveness is “letting the side down to others” who feel that being a feminist means never submitting to the patriarchal power of tradition.

My contention has always been that a submissive woman is a feminist because she is able and willing to choose submission on her own terms. It takes a strong and confident woman to ask to be spanked by her partner, male or female, even it she’s shaking and trembling inside with fear of rejection.

The flip side of course, and what gets the spanko community in trouble with the vanilla world, is because in real life, men dominate females everyday in horrific ways. From a wolf whistle on the street, to innuendos and touching in the workplace, to outright rape, violence in the home and murder. Many people cannot separate consensual spanking and domestic discipline with abuse and neglect by predatory males.

There is no simple answer unfortunately, when entire countries and religions are built around the systematic and systemic degradation of human beings who happen to have a vagina instead of a penis. Whether it is female genital mutilation, child marriage, honor killings, lack of education, healthcare, economic and political opportunities; there is a real and global-wide problem with the way women are treated by men.

The fact that I can write this and read missy’s posts about His Lordship dominating and humiliating her with and by her consent, should draw praise, not condemnation from people who should be focused on the real abusive situations, not peeping into the lives of those feminists who choose to submit.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 (Part 3)

Before it vanished like morning dew in the hot sun, for a brief moment, her face held a mixture of loathing, bitterness and anger directed at Mr. Steedstiff. From where I knelt I felt caught between two adversaries intent on besting one another in feats-of-arms. The moment passed and Mrs. Cleanknockers regained her typical hauteur. “To answer your impertinent question, Ruby, all girls must learn to throat their partners. I’m told men find cock swallowing to be amongst the Seven Wonders of the World.” Her bright voice held a brittle edge. “Isn’t that correct, Mr. Steedstiff.” He smirked and winked.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

Wanted to let you know, that this sudden plot twist of antagonistic feelings between Mrs. Cleanknockers and Mr. Steedstiff was completely unexpected. If I don’t explore this further, it is because I am writing this strictly from Ruby’s POV.

Never too late to take the plunge

Resolutions never seemed to work. An arbitrary date in any event, the ritual of adding another year was often depressing. When was the last time they stayed up until midnight? There was a good reason no rock band was called ‘The Ravages of Time’.
Deborah Cantel – Deb to her friends – and sweetie to her husband, avoided mirrors on general principles.
“No today, Deb, today is a new start.”
In the full-length closet mirror she tried her best to see what her husband adored.
“Face? Meh. Tits – saggy, tummmy – wobbly, bum – plump; all-in-all, Deb, you need help, girl.”
She picked up the sheet of paper and went over her list one last time. “I sure hope Josh understands this.” She grimaced at her reflection and tossed off a mock salute.

Josh Cantel was concerned. The holidays were always stressful for them both, but his wife Deb normally carried the bulk of the responsibilities in terms of family logistics. The year however, between the crazy work schedules and school breaks, he’d decided that the usual trip to his parents for Christmas, would instead be a kid’s only extended New Year’s visit. If it went well, and so far all reports were good, then Deb’s parents would host next year.
The house was amazingly quiet the past few days, the normal exhaustion after serving in retail hell from 8 to 6, was tempered by the knowledge they didn’t have to sneak in a quickie and keep a lid on the noise.
But Deb had been subdued. She claimed she missed the kids. To Josh, she was unusually preoccupied and spent excessive time online. Not that she turned down his overtures, but… her responses seemed feigned at times.

If there was one constant emotion Deb had felt – did feel – throughout all their dating and marriage, it was guilt. Josh deserved a better woman, a better wife and a better lover unburdened by self-doubt and loathing. His compliments bounced right off her thick internal walls.
“How’s the game?”
“It’s alright.”
Deb watched silently until the next commercial break.
“Honey? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. What’s up, sweetie?”
“Without the sound please.”
Josh pressed the mute button.
“I made some resolutions this year, again, and based on past efforts, I doubt I’ll reach February without giving up.”
They watched an annoying dancing elf pitch the latest sale.
“I hate that guy,” Josh muttered.
“I don’t know, honey, I thought you looked kinda cute dressed up as the company spokes-elf.”
“Watch it, Deb,” he growled.
Deb shivered, “I like it when you’re all stern and gruff with me.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “It makes me believe you find me attractive.”
“I do find you attractive, sweetie. You know that.”
She shrugged. “It’s me, not you. I hate my body.”
“Come on, not that again. We’ve talked about this how many times? You’re a beautiful, sexy, smart woman and I love you even more today than ever.”
She sniffled. “Thanks, honey. I just wish I could believe it.”
Josh shook his head. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. It’s not what you say, it’s what you don’t do.”
He stared blankly at the television screen.
“Honey?” She got off the couch and knelt at his knees. “I need your help to meet my goals, not by cheerleading and hugs, but by leading and holding me accountable. Josh, what I’m trying to say is that I want, I need you to spank me when I, when you, think I’m slacking off and need discipline.”
Josh pressed the off button.
“What?” His astonished voice filled the den.
“I can’t do this on my own and words, whether written or spoken, just don’t motivate me. I’m hoping actions will jolt me out of my funk.”
“You want me to spank you? For real? As in punishment?”
“Sometimes, yes. Discipline too and maybe a reward for a job well done.”
“And if you don’t like it? What happens then? Do I get blamed and the cold shoulder?”
“All I know, Josh, is that I want to try spanking when I don’t do what I have promised to myself. I made a list. Are you willing to help me make a new start?”
“You really want me to spank you, Deb?”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
He nodded and thoughtfully stroked his chin. “OK, I’m in. Take your pants down and lay over my lap. I’ll give it my best shot.”
“Are you back-talking me already, girl?”
“No, sir!”
“I changed my mind. Strip naked first, then I’ll warm your ass.”
“Thank you, sir.”

Josh ran his hand over his wife’s plump curves. “How hard and for how long?”
“You’re in charge, sir. I know I need a good cry though, so don’t stop just because I say no, only if I say red.”
“Red as in stop?”
“Yes, sir. It’s a safe word in case I can’t take anymore.”
“Then you are actually in charge, not me.”
“No…! I mean… what if?”
“What if? What if I decide to beat you unmercifully?”
“No, you wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Do you trust me, Deb? Do you trust me to spank you as you need?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you may say red, but it will mean pause, not end. The end is when I say so.”
“Yes, sir.”

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (2)

She firmly gripped the crown of my head and twisted it slightly so that my vantage point shifted to Louisa’s throat. “Note the bulge in her throat as his cock goes deep.” Under her hand I nodded. Enthralled as I was, I belatedly realized that this ‘throating’ was likely part of my upcoming training. The way Louisa’s eyes were watering and her mouth drooling, this did not appear to be an activity the female enjoyed. “Ma’am?” I began, forcing her hand off my head by turning my beseeching gaze upon her. “Will I…?” My thoughts were arrested by her expression.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 4 Part (1)

“Where did it go?” I repeated with avid astonishment worthy of a conjuror’s trick at a marketplace performance. I watched with wide eyes and slack jaw as Mr. Steedstiff’s glistening cock slowly reappeared from Louisa’s mouth. He paused with the head pursed by her lips, then slowly pressed forward once again. Mesmerized, I convulsively swallowed as his slender shaft gradually became shorter and shorter until her nose snuffled amongst his chestnut curlies. Mrs. Cleanknockers stepped around the saddle Louisa’s punishment postponed temporarily and stroked my scalp as if I were a favored hound or pantry mouser. “It’s called throating, Ruby.”

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles Chapter Three Complete

Before I start posting Chapter 4 in 100-word drabble format, I am posting the entire 3,000 word Chapter 3 as a recap for easier reading. If you need to catch up from the beginning, then the complete Chapter 1 is here and the complete Chapter 2 is here for easier reading. Happy New Years everyone and may 2017 be filled with wonderful experiences.

By dinnertime my first night at Peacock House, the rumors had swept through the staff as a wildfire that I was Mrs. Cleanknockers newest ‘Pet’. Evidently the near constant discipline and semi-nudity had jaded everyone to the point of indifference. The juicy beef was mush in my mouth, the creamy potatoes dry and crunchy bread stale. The chatter flowed around me as if I were a ghost: I felt bile rise. I was granted my excuse and fled to my attic room. I was weepy and lonely. Self-pity rose in darkling shroud and Morpheus dragged me under. Dreams were sweet.

First light was not near when I awoke. Mouth dry, clothes stiff, neck cramped but oh, the smile on my countenance would have lit the morn’s dew had it been seen. The thin wool blanket was upon the floor as soon too were my feet. Weekly bath night was three days hence, no matter, my cleanse yesterday was still fresh: I filled the chamber pot with my piss. Brief cold water rinse and I trotted downstairs to dump my load. The bird’s arias filled the sweet air – perhaps to leeward reach – the latrines loomed nearer as did a slender shadow.

A sibilant frustrated inarticulate whisper of hate was my only warning before the shadow struck. The chamber pot dashed to ground: contents splashed on my frock and shoes. Steps fled in haste, in the flash of light from opened door, a profile: Louisa. I was not surprised. Hazing was part and parcel of service life. If she, or any others thought to break me with childish pranks, they knew not my strength of character. The sun peeped over the distant elms, a bedraggled urchin caught in the unblinking eye. The nearby pump gushed cold water as I rinsed and squeezed.

I squelched into the kitchen for breakfast, glared at Louisa and her smirking criminal compatriot Emily. I wondered why they were kept on: perhaps their bottoms were used for demonstrations. My backside was dry as I ruminated over breakfast. I was peripherally aware of Mrs. Cleanknockers conversing with Cook but concentrated on my porridge. Therefore, I jumped when her voice boomed loudly. “Ruby! Why is your uniform wet?” I swallowed hard. “I dropped my chamber pot outside ma’am.” The breathless silence was broken by sniggers. “Be quiet!” she bellowed. In the fraught tension I felt her presence hover. “Clumsy today?”

“Yes ma’am,” was the only safe response. She touched my shoulder. “Stand up Ruby.” I stood, my shoes squeaked. “Step over the bench.” I obeyed. The far wall receded. I swayed; she steadied me. “Bend over and place your hands on the table.” As I did, Mrs. Cleanknockers spoke in a voice cold as an icicle, “Let this be a lesson to you all.” I felt the lash on my bottom, the fabric no protection against her fury. She whipped me hard for a minute, it seemed like an hour, then grabbed me by the collar and yanked me upright.

“Remove your uniform!” My fingers shook, buttons seemed to be made of grease and when my dress slid off my shoulders to the floor, there was an audible indrawn hiss from the gathered maids, footmen and cooks. Naked I stooped and collected my garment, shoes for good measure. “March to the laundry young lady! I am not finished with your punishment!” I marched: but as I did, the expected expressions of gloat did not appear on my tormentor’s faces. Stricken they were as Mrs. Cleanknockers swung her strap across the backs of my thighs all the way to the washroom.

Tears pooled in my eyes as I washed and rinsed my soiled smock. I felt her hands on my hot skin, a cool salve rubbed deep. “I’m sorry Ruby for being so harsh,” Mrs. Cleanknockers whispered in my ear. “I know what actually happened and the true culprit. Rest assured I will deal with her in due time.” Her fingers strayed deeper. “Lean forward my sweet and spread your thighs.” Her fingers slipped inside, the scent of heated roses trickled down, my climax slammed up my spine. My head lolled back. My mouth enslaved by her lips. “Spank me more.”

In the throes on my second spend Mrs. Cleanknockers nibbled my ear. “I will precious Ruby. I will spank you until your bottom is the color of ripe plums and then thrash you some more. My darling love slave, I cannot wait to put you to display.” My third crisis engulfed me, her fingers withdrew; I licked them clean. “Enough frivolity Ruby, His Lordship awaits you in his study.” When I blinked in confusion, she waved her hands. “Shoo! I will finish your uniform.” Barefoot I traipsed the halls, my naked form a curiosity. “Good morning Your Lordship.” I curtsied.

He grunted absently absorbed in his ledgers. “Tis Ruby sir. I’m here for my discipline and cleaning duties.” He glanced up, a classic double take and rose to his feet. “I presume there is an explanation for your lack of attire?” I demurely clasped hands at my waist. “Mrs. Cleanknockers directed that I perform my duties here and in the Gun Room sans clothing sir.” Lord Caneshard fairly bounded over his desk to my side. “You are a right handful,” he declared then led me to an armless chair. “Over my knee girl.” I straddled his leg, red bottom uppermost.

Gentle Reader, I can attest that Lord Caneshard could also spank hard. My tender cheeks flared anew as the rapid cadence of palm beat on the surface. The smacking noise filled the study, my pitiful yelps drowned by the hard echoes. A final brutal flurry, his scolding grunts excited me. His hands pried me open, the cool air a balm on my flushed lips. I wiggled. His cock was rigid beneath me. He chuckled. “Not yet sweetness. Not yet.” He walloped me twice more for good measure then put me to work. Another shelf of books: another parade of visitors.

I once saw an organ grinder with a monkey a reminder as I scampered up and down the ladder. All I lacked was a prehensile tail: my red bottom certainly matched. To my surprise I was happy to bring cleanliness out of filth, my late mother had often punished me when I neglected my chores. Here at Peacock House, the promised sensual rewards drove me to perfection. “Ah, welcome Mr. Jones-Smyth. I trust your journey to Wales was productive?” My ears perked up. Was this the man Mrs. Cleanknockers had thought I suited admirably? I listened intently to the conversation.

“It was my lord. The mines are flourishing and I was able to acquire the leases to three more.” There was a rustle of papers. Perched on the upper portion of the ladder I stretched out to the last book on the shelf. I felt eyes on me and I peeped under my arm. The stranger was fixated on my bottom. I looked away and smiled naughtily. I placed both hands one rung lower and dipped my back as if to ease a kink. Another casual glance around. His mouth was slightly open but his expression was stern and foreboding.

My cunt tingled and grew hot and tight. I leaned forward so my hard peaked nipples rubbed the wood step. “My lord,” he said as he kept his hawk like gaze locked on my partially turned face, “I do not recall nude maids on any previous visits.” His Lordship twisted and looked up at me. “Ah, Ruby,” he said with obvious affection. “This is only her second day. It seems the harsher the discipline the harder she works.” He stood up, walked over the ladder, reached up and stroked my calf. “Mrs. Cleanknockers thought she fit the profile you submitted.”

“Would be interested in a closer look?” I heard a chair scrape then a shiver pulsed through the ladder. I gasped and grabbed the shelf. “Easy girl,” Mr. Jones-Smyth said sharply. “I only wish to see you on the floor rather than the sky. Although, the view from down here is quite scenic.” My toes tapped the steps carefully as his hands slid up my legs, over my bottom and past my flanks to my shoulders. He spun me round gently; my eyes fell level with his clean-shaven chin. I’d noticed his curly chestnut hair. My breasts were inches away.

Lord Caneshard performed introductions and Mr. Jones-Smyth thoroughly scrutinized me from head to feet as if I was a filly at Tattersalls. I did not flinch and managed a smile. He had questions for me about my family, my circumstances and to my surprise, my goals. “I would seek to be a wife and mother with a husband who loves me. I wish to be better read and to learn accounts. Perhaps even some small business of my own. I am told My Lord will provide me with such funds as to enable an independent life should I so choose.”

I met his hazel eyes firmly. “I do not pretend to understand how a person of your means would seek a maid such as I, nude and punished in public.” He stepped back for another full-length view. “Does it bother you then Ruby?” I spared His Lordship a quick glance. “By the standards of society I am a woman of loose morals fit only for the streets despite having no choice but to submit to my betters.” I crossed my arms defiantly. “I have discovered Mr. Jones-Smyth that my nature is wanton and desires congress with both males and females.”

His Lordship interrupted me. “Ruby! You were warned not to degrade and demean your desires.” I curtsied and bent over his desk. “Mr. Jones-Smyth, would you care to do the honors? Six with the cane shall suffice.” His blows were tentative and though they stung, he was clearly untutored in the esoteric art of discipline. When I rose to face him, to my surprise he seemed more embarrassed than I. I did not mock. “Thank you sir for punishing me. If you wish to practice further upon my person I shall not think less of you.” He smiled with relief.

Evidently my acceptance pleased him for he said, “It would please me would you call me Timothy and allow me to address you as Ruby.” I blushed now at the courtesy and he cupped my check. “I shall strive to please you Timothy.” His Lordship cleared his throat at our affection. “Ruby is as yet untrained and undergo much schooling before she is a suitable companion for you or any man. If you indeed interested Mr. Jones-Smyth in young Ruby then you may commit such funds needed to involve yourself in her curriculum.” He nodded decisively. “I do wish so.”

“You may call tomorrow afternoon if you remain amiable to claiming her training schedule.” The entire time His Lordship spoke I listened as my future was traded as if a marbled slab of beef. The phrase companion was not further defined, I knew not if I was to be a wife or a whore, and in short order Timothy took his leave. I mounted the ladder once more. Despite my troubled thoughts I was able to finish a shelf and a half in the allocated time before lunch. I was quite shocked at what transpired the rest of the day.

“My Lord, Mrs. Cleanknockers sent me.” My head spun like a poltergeist to see Louisa rise from a curtsy, covered tray in her hands. “That was kind of her; I am hungry.” Even from a distance I could see her gulp. “Pardon my lord, but this meal is for Ruby. I am to serve her.” I climbed off the ladder and moved closer. “Mrs. Cleanknockers states I am due punishment after lunch for this morning’s incident.” Lord Caneshard shrewdly glanced back and forth between us. “This incident Ruby, is it related to your nudity?” Louisa stared down at her shoes.

I firmed my chin and spoke forthrightly. “Yes m’lord. I dropped my chamber pot and splashed my uniform.” His Lordship’s head swiveled to Louisa. “Is this true?” Her eyes flicked to mine before she answered. “Yes m’lord, it is true.” She took a deep breath. “Ruby did indeed drop the pot because I pushed it out of her arms. Sir.” He crossed his arms and said with deep disapproval. “I suppose it was Emily that goaded you again.” There was no response other than a gnawed lip. “I will not tolerate pranks in my house as you are fully aware!”

I foolishly opened my mouth. “It was outside m’lord and it was dark.” No sooner had I finished my rash statement than I was upended over his raised knee and my sore bottom received a quick volley of hard spanks. He seized my cheeks – the facial ones – and said with a calm yet determined voice, “Never speak out of turn Ruby or I shall thrash you until you forget your name.” He shoved me away, not roughly, and turned his outrage on Louisa. “After Mrs. Cleanknockers deals with your punishment you will report to me after dinner. Is that clear?”

Tears pricked and she said with a choked voice, “Yes m’lord, ‘tis clear.” He locked his papers in his desk, but before he left, Louisa had one more refinement to her humiliation. “I’m sorry Ruby. I have your clean uniform to wear while you eat.” She set the tray down, pulled her garment over her head and handed it to me. I drew it on, her body heat felt strange on my flesh. She stood at attention while His Lordship glared. SMACK. SMACK. Two handprints bloomed on her bottom. He gripped her neck and hissed, “Tonight you pay in full.”

I was uncharacteristically silent as a naked Louisa served me lunch. I offered her a wedge of cheese; she shook her head in negation. When we’d finished, she led me to the Gun Room. There was a cane on the outer hook. “That means a punishment session is ready,” Louisa said. She tapped on the door. When we entered, Mrs. Cleanknockers was rubbing a damp cloth over the large leather apparatus in the center of the room. Without prompting, Louisa handed over the cane, climbed a short step and straddled the saddle shaped padded horse. Her bottom mooned rudely up.

“As you can see, Ruby,” Mrs. Cleanknockers lectured, “the penitent is completely exposed for correction.” She lifted Louisa’s feet. One at a time she placed them on a thick adjustable peg. “I use canvas straps to secure the legs, then a longer strap goes over the waist and is buckled tightly to prevent a fall.” She moved to the front and continued trussing. “The arms are folded and wrapped down low. As you can see a female’s breasts dangle freely. The chin is propped on this padded support and a final strap goes over just below the shoulders. Safety first.”

“Ruby, open the drawer with the red tassel. Hand me the third dildo to the right.” I picked up the thick ivory horn. “Excellent. Now in the blue tassel drawer, I need the second from the right along with the glass vial.” This second ivory horn was tapered. “Notice the notch and flared base, Ruby.” I nodded and handed over the objects. “I want you to pay close attention, so that when you are in this position, Ruby, as you will be, you will understand what is expected from you.” She oiled the tapered horn. It pressed firmly inside Louisa.

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.

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.”

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.

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?”

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