After the cliffhanger at the end of this 3,000 word post, the next thrilling chapter seven will commence shortly. In the meantime, click the link for the Bumhampton Chronicles, to be transported back in time and the beginning of Ruby’s erotic adventures: All 18,854 words. Just a reminder that my next spanking newsletter will be posted June 1st at Byron Cane Spanking and Erotic Fiction.
Gentle Reader: There is nothing I have discovered in my long existence; that equals the thrill of waking entwined with a cherished lover. From the remove of the Great War’s aftermath, the seismic destruction of aristocratic privilege, had been underway for decades, that morning of my third day, when slender tendrils of light coaxed Louisa and I from Morpheus’ embrace. Later generations scoffed at sentimental trysts; denigrated the great poets, and mocked the sonnets proclaiming undying devotion to the battlefields of love. Though in truth, contrary to the sisters Brontë, real sex involved fluidic leakage in copious amounts. We stank.
After ablutions, breakfast, and a short lecture on piety and decorum—for my benefit I am sure—the staff scattered like flushed quail. Unescorted, I reported to Lord Caneshard’s study for what I assumed would be a blistering set-down. No matter, I was still buzzing from my debauched evening and feared no punishment. “So, Ruby, two days and you have set my household on its ear. Have you decided to replace Emily then?” More cautious, I replied, “No, milord.” A heavy pause, I felt the weight of his distrust. “Then do you plan a revolt from within?” Glittering motes swirled.
Fingers gripped my shoulders. “A fair question, Ruby,” Mrs. Cleanknockers echoed. “Are you an anarchist in disguise?” Despite the tension of feeling, as a mouse trapped between two cruel felines must wont, I had yet but a taste of carnal delights; the sweet confections of pleasure drew my nose to shop pane, my wet purse throbbed. “Milord, Ma’am, I have but one question for you, before I tell of the turmoil in my breast.” At his nod, I asked, “Will Mr. Jones-Smyth be calling upon Peacock House of this afternoon?” His lordship replied, “I’ve had no indication in the negative.”
I slumped with relief. “Then, as to your questions, no, I am not plotting with gunpowder to overthrow the established order. On the contrary, I feel my exuberant nature needs must be curbed severely, lest I too, fall victim to hubris.” Mrs. Cleanknockers moved at right angles to us both and studied my flushed countenance. But it was his lordship that probed my motivations. “Are you implying, Ruby, that we have been too lenient thus far?” I boldly met his skeptical gaze. “Milord, I wish to learn everything about sex and discipline. I need Mr. Steedstiff forcing my studious compliance.”
“I want, Mrs. Cleanknockers, to show me no favors, and train me most rigorously.” She gave the slightest of smiles. “And Mr. Jones-Smyth?” she enquired. I shivered. “Milord, Ma’am, when my suitor arrives, would it not be enlightening for Mr. Jones-Smyth to witness the intake process from the beginning?” His Lordship chuckled deeply. “Are you volunteering, Ruby, to be stripped, washed, cleansed and examined under his supervision?” The most delicious tingling washed over my skin. I felt a stab of desire low in my abdomen; my hips swiveled, eyes half-closed, and my mouth opened, tongue running over my moist lips.
“Oh yes, Sir, more than anything, I want Mr. Jones-Smyth to witness my humiliation.” In a trance, hands removed my uniform; unresisting, I bent forward over two laps so my stomach was wedged between them. They sat on facing chairs, knees touching, while my bared bottom rudely thrust up like a scone to four hands roaming. I rested my cheek on my forearms as they commenced my richly deserved spanking. Oh, I mewled most prettily for my chastisers, writhing my hips, fluttering my dainty ankles in faux distress. Have you ever wanted to be spanked all-day? I melted from within.
The village of Lower Bumhampton had a band of sorts. Misses of gentry breeding played instruments, while farm boys rapped tattoos with more verve than skill. Wizened veterans fired antique muskets and his lordship let off volleys from his gilded Hamilton & Askew shotgun. The impact of their hands striking my needy arse: the sound and fury reminded me of a parade around the greensward. I climaxed to the fantasy of being driven naked before the mob, carriage whip licking my back and thighs: Lord Caneshard at the reins, Mrs. Cleanknockers tormenting my bosom. The stocks awaited my nude body.
“My word!” his lordship exclaimed. “Did this randy piece just spend?” For a moment there was silence. I broke with a weepy, “Pleeeeease! Don’t stop!” Fully shifted over Mrs. Cleanknockers’ lap, I arched, I begged with spread legs for her touch. Do not tell me, that man is the cruel sex; nay, the female—as I admit to be—is the evil tormentor of flesh. She teased me, a whisper of touch on flaming skin, a finger pad run down humid crack, pressed against desperate flower, then lower still, roaming dewed petals seeking stamen to plunder deep. “Yes, I submit!”
“No!” I shrieked as, jostled like a sack of turnips, once more my hips squashed between tom and queen. In unison, came a loud crack of metal on epidermis. “OUCH!” I screamed as they spanked each buttock with hairbrushes. Solid silver, as it turned out: They turned my bottom to mush. In no hurry were they, two beats a second, a steady cadence marching down and then back up the naughty landscape of my fulsome flesh. They spanked my flanks, I yowled in heat; they whipped my thighs, I cried, the flailing legs not longer feigned, reacting to glorious pain.
Unceremoniously dumped to the floor, my hands clenched scorched bottom. “Ruby!” Mrs. Cleanknockers admonished. “Remove your fingers at once! We are not done punishing you.” I am not ashamed to admit wailing for mercy. I received none: I wanted none. She ordered me to crawl, like a beast of the fields; I did so, naked as Eve, dragged by my hair to the snake. A low footstool—mounted—legs akimbo, scalded hemispheres jutting like sunrise kissed peaks, a red cave yawning open at its base, dripping with moisture. Tap-tap, went the cane, as did my sanity. Roaring filled my ears.
A masterstroke of the cane makes a whistle before impact; forgotten in the searing brand lanced across flesh already basted. Worn nails scrabbled for purchase as they belabored my bottom. Compared to my first day caning, the thrice thrashed times two I received from them both, was bearable on already spanked surface. Quite the lewd display I offered, hips pumping, buttocks clenching, wet cunny squelching; lost in my agony, could not overhear the murmured consultation far above my prone body. When I felt the tip of cane poke at my wanton portal of Venus, I shimmied, and lifted my arse.
“No, I do not agree, your lordship,” Mrs. Cleanknockers pronounced stiffly. “Ruby has not earned the delights of constant climaxes. After luncheon, you will send Mr. Jones-Smyth to the infirmary—without explanation—and should he accede to your protocol, then, and only then, shall we retire to the Gun Room, where Ruby will be put to the pestle.” Her entire lecture was accompanied by the soft moist sound of cane gently swatting my creamy pussy. I was going out of my mind needing to come. “Hold still, Ruby!” His lordship warned. SNAP! SNAP! I screamed. Fire bit both nether lips.
My hands dove into my whipped cunt; heedless of audience, I frantically rubbed the stinging lines. My cruel punishers grabbed my arms, yanking me upright, spun me dizzily, bent me over. Mrs. Cleanknockers stuffed me betwixt her thighs; fingers gouged my breasts, pinched nipples trapped. My defenseless bottom now targeted for Lord Caneshard’s wrath. The harsh leather strap reignited the scalding burn. I yowled, muffled in her skirts, and danced on tiptop like a puppet. Quick, steady, decisive, he punished my insolence and drove the cocky attitude before him to market. Silence then, only my sobbing heard. What heavenly heat.
Shortly thereafter, I was cleaning the books once more. Thankfully, there was no need of the ladder; I could not have mounted in any case. Heavy throbbing in my hot arse, each pulse reminding me, each twist of my torso fresh incentive to behave. Hotter still was my twat (thanks Louisa for that word); liquid sluggishly flowed, yet quicker than my mind. Eyes would not focus, constant twitching of shoulders; I watched my hands clean and rinse as if under malevolent influence. I was: but it was my own treacherous nature. I wondered if harsh discipline would ever be enough.
I picked at my food; it was the carnal I was starving for, so when Mrs. Cleanknockers swept in with even more severity than usual, I jumped to my feet. The staff still eating fell silent as they watched my finely calculated humbling. “Louisa.” she snapped. “Assist Ruby with her toilette.” Confused, I looked to see Louisa, her eyes sparkling with mischief, reach for my hem and begin to lift my uniform up. “Hush, Ruby,” she whispered. “Obey, and all will be well.” I meekly raised my arms and bowed my head as again stripped naked for all to ogle.
Evidently my buttocks were still red, for there were soft gasps and giggles, swiftly doused by Mrs. Cleanknocker’s glare. Proudly I met their stares: My body was as good as anyone’s, experienced or not, I would yield to no one, but my betters. One by one, I was dressed in the finest clothing I’d ever worn. Stockings, drawers, chemise and corset; all topped by a fine muslin frock and kid slippers. Louisa served as my looking glass, the adoration and lust in her gaze caused my loins to clench in anticipation of the overnight delights. Pride goeth before the fall.
Déjà vu. Two days prior, I’d trembled in shame and confusion as Mrs. Cleanknockers stripped me of both pride and pretense, scouring my soul clean of expectations. The Infirmary: A subtle name to the bright and cheerful room I now eagerly entered for my salvation. Surrendering my privacy for good, I stood tall, patiently awaiting the arrival of my presumed husband-to-be. Mrs. Cleanknockers bustled preparing the stage for my performance. Their voices arrived first. A jealous foreboding flashed. The light laughing and the deeper rumbling caused fists to clench and my thighs to throb. Evidently I’d not yet sufficiently atoned.
Miss Frothinglips preceded Mr. Jones-Smyth; her head dipped like a sunflower, turned towards the heated and attentive regard of an interested male. Her hand trailed behind, leaving little ripples on his sleeve. I felt shabby. My borrowed finery hung like a sack in comparison to one who’d grown up in luxury wearing clothing that skimmed like a second skin over rich curves. Combined with her effortless posture and spotless diction, Miss Frothinglips epitomized the virginal English rose of polite high society. No wonder he seemed transfixed. Before he noticed me, she blocked his view and gave me a sly smile.
My blood boiled, but Miss Frothinglips coyly winked at me and stood aside. “Ruby!” Mr. Jones-Smyth crossed the floor with a bound and took my gloved hands. “You look splendid!” Startled by her wink and his enthusiasm, my emotions underwent a rapid metamorphosis. I could not help but relax and smile in return when he kissed my fingers. “Are you going out?” His face was open and honest. I would have spoken had not Mrs. Cleanknockers raised the curtain and lit the footlights. “Good afternoon, sir, may I presume you’ve concluded your negotiations with his lordship?” A fraught silence ensued.
She gave a ‘significant’ stare towards me when he balked. “May I see the contract, sir?” Noticing his hesitation, I smiled with an encouraging nod. A very thoughtful mien appeared after he finally noticed all the various apparatuses visible, then, at the three women who surrounded him like hounds baying at a fox. Focusing his honey-gold orbs upon my flushed cheeks, he asked in a stern voice, “Ruby? What mischief have you been up to?” I lowered my head in demure fashion. “I’d rather not say, sir.” He harrumphed at my reticence. “That, Ruby, I do not believe.” Paper rustled.
“Our contract, ma’am.” A brief hiatus while they conferred. Miss Frothinglips took advantage by whispering in my ear. “He is quite handsome, despite being in trade. I’ll bet he’s a great fuck.” We clashed. Unspoken words sliced as sharpest steel. Gauntlets and hilts locked in upright stances; she leaned in and kissed me firmly, whispering once more. “Louisa is not the only trained girl here, Ruby.” My world spun. I no longer could pretend I understood the many interlocking relationships at Peacock House. Everything existed on another plane. “Very well, sir, all is in order,” Mrs. Cleanknockers broke our combat.
“This room, Mr. Jones-Smyth, serves as our infirmary and intake for new hires.” Mrs. Cleanknockers gestured at each area. “Ruby has already been processed, two days ago, but insisted she needed to capture your attention—” He interrupted, “—She already has.” I fell instantly in love. “Be that as it may: Ruby is in need of severe training. She thought it instructive, for you, to witness her chastisement. Miss Frothinglips will assist me. Please, make yourself comfortable, sir.” So, my denouement began once more. I was already wet and swollen. No resistance from me, as they removed my garments.
I could not match the heat in his gaze as my raiment fell like amber leaves in a storm. He’d seen me nude in his lordship’s library, but being stripped for his pleasure felt decadent and wicked beyond belief. I desperately yearned for his approval and, unbidden, locked hands behind my head when silky drawers pooled around my feet like fresh fallen snow. From a distance, I heard Mrs. Cleanknockers invite him forward. His large calloused hands lifted my chin: thumbs stroked my dry lips and tugged my mouth open. He peered at my teeth; I stuck out my tongue.
“As you see, Mr. Jones-Smyth,” Mrs. Cleanknocker’s stated as he ran his fingers down my flanks, “Ruby is healthy and sound of both limb and mind.” I breathed out heavily when he lifted my bosom and plucked the taut nipples with a thoughtful expression. “Has she had any breast training yet? No? I wish to elongate her teats so that she is able to wear pierced ornaments.” I shivered—not from cold. After I finished displaying my dexterity, I sat on the examination table and eagerly lay back spreading my knees wide. “As you can plainly see, lubrication is copious.”
My lips were pulled apart by two sets of feminine fingers. “As certified in your contract, sir, you have purchased a virgin for your exclusive use. You may share her at your discretion: please be advised, Ruby has a taste for quims.” My hips squirmed as I felt his thick finger slide inside, his thumb rubbing my hard clit. “I plan to cultivate Ruby’s wanton nature—both in Sapphic terms and in cock stands—so that she will be an asset to my business.” I lifted my head and stared open-mouthed at him. “Yes, Ruby, I have need of you.”
Now on my stomach, my buttocks were massaged and teased until I could not help but lift up and present in mounting position. An oiled digit penetrated my rosette. “This entrance shall be reserved for me, Mrs. Cleanknockers,” Mr. Jones-Smyth ordered. “After she is broken to saddle, I may allow artificial female stimulation, but the only cock to bugger her, will be mine.” I clenched his finger. In response, he probed deeper and twirled as if seeking an oracle reading. “Make a note: Daily enemas.” While Mrs. Cleanknockers prepared the first sudsy solution, she conferred with him in low tones.
I was startled, when after filled with warm water in my rectum, a greased plug was inserted and he lifted my left leg. I was shocked, when Miss Frothinglips knelt beside the table and pressed her lips to my soaked pussy. I came in an instant. She licked and sucked, tongue delving and teeth nibbling as orgasm after orgasm washed as my tummy gurgled and cramped. Gritting my teeth, I stumbled to the loo: Poised over the bowl, Mrs. Cleanknockers tugged the plug. I gushed. Upon my return, Miss Frothinglips was still kneeling—Mr. Jones-Smyth’s cock was down her throat.
Conventional propriety would have me flying and rending her coiffure in jealous rage. In truth, I felt pride at his mastery of such a well-bred female brought down to my level. Lying on my side, as the second enema was administered I watched with avid admiration as his cock was daintily swallowed by the prim Miss Frothinglips. “Promise me you will teach me how,” I asked all present. She paused for breath. “I am but priming your man’s charger, Ruby.” I touched her arm. “I am not upset, Miss Frothinglips, but in fact, in awe of your decorum and skill.”
We decamped from the Infirmary, and traipsed naked—me only—through the bustling halls to the Gun Room. Unsure of what to do, I was surprised by Mr. Jones-Smyth’s embrace and passionate kisses. I returned his ardor in equal measure, rising on tiptoe when his hands gripped my ample buttocks. “Your steed awaits,” Mrs. Cleanknockers said with a sweeping gesture, when we at last unlocked our lips. He gallantly escorted me to the pommel, and tenderly helped me as I clumsily mounted for the first time. Each restraint was carefully explained, and both of them helped him bind me securely.
“Before you—we—commence flogging Ruby,” he said with grave intent, “I wish a moment of privacy.” Both Mrs. Cleanknockers and Miss Frothinglips acquiesced and departed. The soft thud of the tufted leather paneled door seemed portentous. I craned my head. “Do not strain, dear one.” Mr. Jones-Smyth knelt on a knee so that our eyes were level. “I would understand your confusion, Ruby, and we have much to discuss, but I crave you listen.” I widened my eyes and nodded. “We have only short acquaintance, yet I feel such comfort and respect for you. Ruby, will you marry me?”