The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 7 (Part 19)

My first time plugged. Oh the joy! The brief sting barely felt, overwhelmed by both the heat pouring off my bruised bottom, and the waves of pulsing untried muscles yielding to the inexorable power of masculine determination. Deeper he plunged; my body opening to his hot cock, my wetness allowing the tight glide home. The nose bumped against my womb. I exulted, ‘Virgin no more!’ How I wished I could see myself mounted; but tied in place over the leather pommel—now slick with my essence—all I could do was clench internally and allow him to fuck me hard.

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

Too late when night falls

Another wonderful spanking drawing from Kalidwen over at Kalidwen’s little spankings: Musings & fessées. This week I requested/suggested a specific concept based on the Wicked Wednesday prompt. As you read this very dark and somber tale of horror, the ending will match the drawing. You’ve been warned.

When she said ‘spank the muffin’, it wasn’t baking she had in mind. © Kalidwen

I’m having a nightmare. I know this because I’m screaming. The smoke, or mist—I can’t tell without a scent—is billowing around the bedroom. Through the open window, where normally the drone of night insects puts me to sleep, I hear guttural voices chanting in what sounds like Latin.

I’m running now: the endless hallway, alternating between locked doors and mirrors. It’s dark. My voice is swallowed, limbs sluggish, I can’t turn my head around to see what is following me. Abruptly I fall, the corridor vanishes and I land on the cool grass of our front lawn. The blades cut my hands. I hold them up. The moon turns bright red.

Empty robes walk counterclockwise around a pyre. Faggots stacked high, all our implements and toys serving as kindling. Their leader, his robe is scarlet while his minions wear black, seizes a torch, thrusts it to the blank sky, then slowly lowers it until the flame shoots directly at me. Open mouthed I fall backwards but hover in midair. My naked flesh scoured by tiny whips.

He speaks: Thou art a deviant wench. Your unnatural perversions must be purged in the purity of holy heat.

I am grabbed by scores of skeletal hands, the sleeves rolled back on nothingness. I fight to no avail. Bent over the slab, the stake looming in my narrowed vision, the paddle at my fingertips is picked up and removed from my sight then run down my spine with chilling ruthlessness.

I see the scene from above, the full-bodied swings impacting on the tender skin of my bottom. Pinned down, the black robes pile on one after another, each garment collapsing in a flutter of velvet as it makes contact with me, until only the deep rose of spanked globes are visible. I can’t breathe.

My head yanked up by my ponytail; the scarlet leader grips the front of his cowl with silver fingers and slowly reveals his face. I scream silently. It’s my husband. His sneering voice booms inside my mind.

Wicked creature! That was your final spanking before I cast you to the flame. No longer shall you work your spell on me. Suffer not the submissive to live!

My arms and legs are thrashing, but the robes are all twisted into knots. My skin is wet with fear. My entire body is shaking. The pyre flashes to life with a gout of light.

“Wake up! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”

I bolt upright, gasping for air, my heart is pounding, the sheets all tangled around my slick torso. My husband holds me, pats my back and softly croons in my ear. When I recover my wits, I leap out of bed and drop to my knees in front of the chest. My fingers shake as I turn the key. The lid opens with the normal groan, in my heightened anxiety it sounds like thunder. I pick up the first item I see: a wood paddle he gave me the night I was first collared.

I’m still shaky, so I crawl across the carpet and onto the bed: face down, I thrust my bottom up high and spread my legs. I push the paddle with my nose towards his side of the bed. I wait and don’t say anything.

The table lamp is extinguished.
The mattress shifts.
The window is pushed open.
The cool breeze rushes in.

Orange glows behind my closed eyelids.
I hear chanting.
Then…
Dark laughter.

I look back over my shoulder… my husband is a disembodied skull with a crown of torches.

“Wake up! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”

I pour out the nightmare in a vomit of tumbling words. He listens and cocks his head as if deeply confused.

“Why would I spank you?”
“What?”
“I mean. Paddles and whips? A collar? What do mean ‘submissive’?”
“But… you’re my Dom! We’ve been D/s for a year now! The chest!”
“What chest?”

I point to the far corner: the empty corner. It’s then I wake and remember the truth. We never had that discussion about muffins before he died in a car accident.

Some nightmares happen when you are wide-awake.

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

Summer of Love

It seems that ’69 never really left the Bay Area. Besides snatching up all available housing and snarling local traffic, the explosion of high-tech industry is apparently sucking up all the available sexual partners as well. According to this article called, Silicon Valley’s Sexual Revolution, in the April 4th, 2017 edition of Wired magazine; what was once called ‘free love’ or ‘swinging’ is now officially morphed into Polyamory 2.0.

By Julian Sancton: In Silicon Valley, love’s many splendors often take the form of, well, many lovers. For certain millennials in tech—as well as, rumor has it, a few middle-aged CEOs—polyamory holds especial appeal. Perhaps that’s because making it work is as much an engineering challenge as an emotional one, requiring partners to navigate a complex web of negotiated arrangements. (There’s an app to keep track of that, obvs: The Poly Life.) Some enthusiasts even claim it’s the way of the future. “If life extension is possible, we might have to think about relationships differently,” says one Valley-based polyamorist. “It’s pretty hard to have an exclusive relationship with someone for 300 years.” True that—but balancing multiple LTRs takes just as much dedication and discipline (if not more).

The article goes on to list six bullet points including this little nugget: 4. Don’t be a letch: You shouldn’t go to a get-together hoping to hook up. These are not orgies. (Though tech-nerd orgies do get pret-ty wild, what with the color-coded bracelets signaling what you’re cool with doing/having done unto you.) And stick to your age bracket—restrictions are enforced to keep things comfortable.

I have nothing against polyamory, I was involved with my wife and another woman who lived with us for two years and we parted amicably, but I have some serious questions with the way the article *nudge-nudge, wink-wink* casts shade on the entire scene with more than a hint of California crunchy granola vibe. I mean, hasn’t Silicon Valley been rocked with sexual harassment claims from female engineers? And don’t all the major tech companies have a distinct lack of gender balance, in fact, steeply tilted towards males in both status, numbers and pay? Not to mention, a whitewash of upper management with the occasional token person of color or Asian.

One of the arguments against gay marriage is that once it was legally established, and same-sex marriage turned out not to be the end of the world, polyamorists would be pushing for legal bigamy next. We all know how that has worked out for the Mormons, although there are plenty of current cultures who practice bigamy for the elites. On the other hand, it was fifty years ago that the United States Supreme Court ruled 9-0 that biracial marriage was in fact legal. Society changes all the time, for better or for worse. Not too long ago, BDSM was firmly in the closet.

If the show Mad Men, unveiled the sordid ’60s chain-smoking sexual predators that stalked the secretarial pool in pressed white cotton button-downs, then today’s online hostility towards women in tech has been enabled and abetted by the same companies that seek to control every single aspect of our lives. I for one, don’t want apps watching in my bedroom or stalking me through targeted ads. The Internet of Things markets bold promises of inter-connectivity yet lags far behind in sensible security. Our entire online existence is at the mercy of hostile hackers who are constantly stealing identities and money from companies too cheap to protect their customers.

There is a serious and pervasive lack of respect for women in all areas and strata of society. The tech industry, along with the online juggernaut players are just that: players who give lip service to the rights of their employees and consumers while generating nothing physical that betters society. The profits are stashed away for a rainy day all the while politicians of all stripes scream at each other and let the country fall apart by doing nothing constructive. All the cute articles about polyamory aren’t going to change that equation into a positive app.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 7 (Part 18)

I hissed on an inhalation when Mr. Jones-Smyth ran his stubby thumbnail the length of my cane welts one at a time. I swelled with pride at his appreciative remarks. “You look magnificent, Ruby, with purple grid imprinted on scarlet arse. A man would have to be carved from marble not to be inflamed by your succulent thatch.” I beamed. “And are you such a man, Sir?” In response, I felt his satin charger nuzzle my quivering garden of delight. Like fresh dew on rose petals, my cherry unfurled to greet the rampant desire of stiffened rod. The barrier sundered.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 7 (Part 17)

I was not, could not count the strokes, only ride my leather pommel, lashed fore and aft by harsh taskmasters. Soaring on the slick surface, I slobbered his sausage and shook my hips like a can-can dancer. Truly I was wanton: I loved every bit of it. I protested when he withdrew from my mouth. “No! I want it all!” Like a petulant child denied her dolly, I flapped my tongue and panted for his cock to return. “There is someplace else I wish to enter, Ruby, and your present inflamed state will ease my passage.” We were now alone.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 7 (Part 16)

“Again,” came his voice, and again I wanted to cry out. The strokes were merciless: Swift, with a twist at impact, so that the tip stabbed. The supple flesh rippled in my mouth, my plaintive mews swallowed by aggressive thrusts. No sooner did the pain ebb and turn to soreness, did she whip in the next blow slightly lower, not quite overlapping. My mind’s eye conjured the lines, red, puffy, bisected the entire length by a corrugated weal slowly turning the color of an aubergine. I huffed like a steam locomotive through my nose, his seeping salty shaft sunk deeper.

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

Go read this poem by Kay at Diary of a Married Woman called, My Surrender. If that poem doesn’t make you understand why someone would be a submissive, then nothing ever will. A truly brilliant work from the mind and soul of a woman in love with D/s and peace it brings to the willing places deep inside.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 7 (Part 15)

Another kiss. Mr. Jones-Smyth kissed me as well; then slid the cane handle first, down my naked back. Miss Frothinglips—forgotten ‘til now—deftly retrieved my betrothed’s semi-hard cock from his trousers. Under her clever fingers, it rose in salute. A stool under his feet, and the rampant snake was brushed over my cheek. The sharp CRACK of rattan was paired with instant pain drawn in a line across the most bulbous part of my rearward anatomy. My opened mouth exclamation; swiftly silenced with the hot head of a swollen prick. I did not hesitate, but suckled as if teething.

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

I did not know Rollin Hand on any level, other than being one of the first authors that I can remember following back in the days of Yahoo spanking forums. His last post was May 29th, 2007 when he announced he was taking a break for reasons of health. According to fellow authors that knew him, he passed away around ten days later. His intricate and clever writing will be missed. He recently started publishing under the pen name Jordan St John. Farewell Rollin. You will long be remembered with fondness in the BDSM community.

  • Corrupted

    Now available, "Corrupted", an anthology from Sexy Little Pages, including my short story, Ghosting Past Emily. Click the picture for ebookstore links.

  • Ghosting Past Emily — part of the Corrupted anthology

    After Amsterdam and Berlin, Tokyo was her favorite place to explore the latest in technological sexuality. Unlike in Europe though, in Japan she would always be gaijin, and the locals off limits to her needs. On the crowded streets of Ginza she felt the stares and heard the unspoken contempt, Go back to where you came from, which was something it had in common with America. She was too tall, too confident, too yellow and most of all, too female. She channeled the perceived insults into taboo actions.
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  • Purchase: The Case of the Disciplined Valentine

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  • The Case of the Disciplined Valentine

    A comedy of Victorian manners mixed with delicious spankings and sexual encounters guaranteed to raise even a vampire’s blood pressure. Byron Cane sets a torrid pace in his historical paranormal erotic novella.

    It is 1854 in steampunk London, and Sir Nachton MacRath is warily returning to his home isle after decades abroad. He has good reasons to steer clear of the Royal Family, but is immediately snared by the Queen herself, who anoints him, Her Chastiser of Loose Morals, complete with elevation to the upper reaches of the aristocracy. Rather than a quiet existence as a vampire, he is now a Peer uneasily rubbing shoulders with the most powerful men in the Empire.

    Phoebe Hayward is a lady of good breeding, but like all her contemporaries, longs for some excitement and romance. Valentine’s Day is only weeks away, when their paths cross with a bump. Despite later discovering the man ordered to discipline her is actually a vampire, she can’t help falling in love. The more encounters with Sir MacRath she has, the more her body yearns to know what it is to submit to his vampiric touch. When he reluctantly agrees to be her Valentine, thus begins a Domination and discipline the likes of which she’s never dreamed.

    MacRath doesn’t feel he deserves Phoebe’s love, and attempts to push her away by taking her deeper into sexual submission. She surprises him — and herself — by eagerly submitting to his every desire. Together, they explore the sensual heights that a woman and a man — a vampire — can reach. But politics and conflict are never far away, and the Valentine’s Day deadline comes all too soon.

    Note: The original version of this book was included in the Lust in Lace paranormal romance anthology.

  • Purchase: The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

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    Pity poor Stephanie: twenty-five years old and still spanked daily. She was intelligent, a college graduate with honors, articulate, a fashionista with a good job and an all-round delightful person with never a cross word and always a genuine smile for everyone. It was to her misfortune that she also exuded an innocent sensual charm, leading both men and women to have one uppermost thought in their minds: spanking Stephanie’s spectacular and epic rounded bottom. It was not her fault; genetics had blessed her with both the ideal rear end and a delightful bewildered submissiveness. It simply never occurred to her to challenge her discipline. If someone needed to spank her, well, obviously she was guilty of some offense and thus deserved to be spanked.
    When Stephanie crashes (quite literally) into the life of Ross, high flying exec in the fashion world and eligible bachelor, she is stupefied he wants her as his. Under Ross’ tutelage, as Brat to his Sir, she learns that she can be spanked for more than just being naughty! And Ross — he discovers there’s much more to Stephanie than just her submissive need to be disciplined, as he falls more and more in love.
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  • Lust in Spring

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  • Lust in Spring anthology

    In Byron Cane's, The Witch of Olympus Hollow, it’s 1952, and Gale Johnson is outraged when her parents send her packing to a tiny town in Appalachia to visit the mysterious great aunt she has never met. In the foothills of North Carolina, Gale will discover a wondrous birthright. A lifetime of discipline and sexual satisfaction awaits, but her destiny comes at a cost.
  • Lust in Lace

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  • Lust in Lace anthology

    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.
  • PNRLUST

  • Paranormal Erotic Romance

    Come visit the Paranormal Erotic Romance website for information about the Lust anthology series. Read Lust by the Sea, Lust on the Wing, Lust in Tooth and Claw, Lust in Winter and Lust in Lace.

  • ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot’ Oops. Does that date me? These are the top posts.

  • Back writing 6/30/16 short stories and a spanking novel