The Bumhampton Chronicles: Complete Chapter 9

Once upon a time, in the Big City, a young woman, fresh from college, moved into an apartment and lost her way. It took a series of interesting events to get her back on the right track.

The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

You may have noticed the picture above. If you were a reader last year from July 2016 onward, you also may have been a weekly follower of Stephanie’s misadventures every Wicked Wednesday. About a third of the way posting the 21 episodes, I announced my intentions to turn the flash fiction into a novella for publication. After editing, several rejections, more and more editing, Clarian Press agreed to publish the novella. Here are some links with more information:
1. At my other blog, I posted Stephanie’s Big Cover Reveal, written under my pen name, Byron Cane.
2. At Clarian Press, Stephanie’s permanent page with more information.
3. Also at Clarian Press, a blog post with more cover pictures about Stephanie.
4. The CEO and owner of Clarian Press, Ina Morata also blogged about Stephanie.
5. Some information about me from Ina’s perspective. My favourite spanking authors part 2
6. An interview about my writing style and motivation also with Ina. Author Interview: Byron Cane aka Lurv Spanking

As is normal, what follows is the complete 3,000-word Chapter 9 of The Bumhampton Chronicles. In this chapter, Ruby continues to find her true nature and discovers something that upsets her. The complete Chapter 10 is already written and will commence tomorrow as 100-word drabbles for the next 30 parts. I hope you continue to read the adventures at Peacock House, and thank you for all your likes and comments.

Gentle Readers: You would be forgiven in the belief that my ramblings seem to be exaggerated. This memoir represents an accurate accounting of my adventures, but there is much sadness as I pen these words. Nearly all the protagonists portrayed have passed on; and now, rediscovering the eager innocent glee with which I gloried in sensual revels, leaves me in melancholy nostalgia for the youthful naiveté I once enjoyed. Maturity comes to us all—eventually—usually upon the heels of tragedy. I’d landed on my feet in a situation I’d dared not dreamed after my mother died. Payment was due.

“So, Ruby, you are eager to be sodomized?” I ferociously hugged Mrs. Cleanknockers to my breast in my enthusiasm to sway her thoughts. “Yes, Ma’am! Will it hurt?” She tucked stray wisps of hair back into my bun. “That depends on the skill of the sodomizer and the desires of the recipient. Do your enemas hurt with the large nozzle?” I shook my head. “No.” I felt the familiar—if new—tingle in my loins. Arousal. Once ignited, it burned like wildfire, scorching everything in its path. “But I want it, I want it to hurt. Is that being naughty?”

Mrs. Cleanknockers gracefully rose to her feet, and with both hands, lifted me—rather less elegantly—until we stood with arms wrapped in close embrace. She licked my lips and danced her tongue inside my mouth. In between kisses, she murmured, “Very naughty… wanting pain… red whipped bottom… wet pussy… naughty rosebud hole… glistening salve… cheeks spread open… hard cock… harder dildo… taking you… in your hot arse… over and over… your tears… spur our cruelty…” I wanted—needed to be brought to culmination frequently: I didn’t care who supplied the fuel to my flames. I tossed up my skirts.

“What have we here?” I peered back at Mrs. Cleanknockers. “His lordship thrashed me for insubordination this morning.” I thrust my bottom up when she traced the lines of the caning. “I can see that, Ruby, but what I was referring to, was your sanitary belt.” I made to straighten up, but desisted when she pressed my shoulders down. “I am due my cycle soon. Louisa showed me the supplies. Besides wearing my uniform at all times, is there anything else required?” I watched her open a drawer and withdraw a paddle. Tapping my bottom, she raised her arm high.

CRACK! The impact rocked my torso forward, and I grabbed my ankles to prevent falling on my face. CRACK! “There is a ledger I maintain in which each female staff member is monitored.” CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! I didn’t know why I was being spanked, and quite frankly, could care less. The painful stinging over my welts and bruises was driving me mad with desire. CRACK! “Stand up and face me, Ruby!” I spun round so fast I felt dizzy. She gave me a wry smile. “His lordship… is not fond of menstrual blood, and checks the updated status each afternoon.”

I, being still rather ignorant, asked Mrs. Cleanknockers if aversion to monthly bleeding was a normal male reaction. As she returned the paddle to its velvet cradle, she replied, “In my experience, it has been the norm that men find women’s courses, and the attendant heightened emotions, to be at best, an inconvenience, and at worst, something to be feared and loathed.” Having grown up poor, surrounded by females working before dawn till after dark trying to survive, I was woefully unprepared for the nuances of male companionship. The rap on the door startled me: Mrs. Cleanknockers loitered on purpose.

Mr. Jones-Smyth was shortly ushered in by my apparent chaperone. (That horse had already bolted) Mrs. Cleanknockers was composed and dignified as only a plenipotentiary chatelaine could present. “Good afternoon, Mister. May I enquire as to your mission?” He was anything but in control as he shifted from side-to-side and spun the brim of his hat through crushing fingertips. Not quite meeting my startled eyes, he begged my pardon for his unconscionable actions of yesterday. “I have no excuse for my unbecoming behavior, and will completely understand if you wish to cry off our engagement” I glanced at Mrs. Cleanknockers.

Her expression was inscrutable and, without guidance, I spoke from my heart. “Mr. Jones-Smyth, I have no intention of crying off, and accept your apology. I would wish we move on from the incident in question and resolve to press forward together with a clearer intent.” He was clearly both surprised and relieved with my forthright statement. He gave me a slight bow, and reached out to kiss the back of my hand. “In that case, dear Ruby, it would give me the greatest pleasure if you would honor me with a carriage drive in the country this Sunday afternoon.”

I beamed with delight. “Chester! I would adore a ramble through the countryside with you at my side.” Mrs. Cleanknockers cleared her throat softly. “With proper escort, of course.” Her tone brooked no nonsense. “Louisa shall accompany you and the three of you will return within two hours.” Mr. Jones-Smyth readily agreed and he departed much less apprehensive that he’d arrived. “I should return to waxing the floor, Ma’am.” She gave me a tight smile and left as well. I stood there for a brief spell of time until, sinking to my knees, attempted to scrub Chester from my thoughts.

By dinner bell, I was starved, and I attacked my meal with carnivorous ferocity: Daintily, of course. Up to the schoolroom I flew on wings of romantic fancy. To my delight, Louisa was already present, and we squealed as if parted for months rather than minutes. We tried, honest, to behave with decorum and concentrate on our studies, but—we were very, very naughty I’m afraid. Unbeknownst to us, Mr. Steedstiff had received specific instructions in case of misbehavior. Caught passing notes, the other maids giggled as we were made to stand, uniforms drawn up in back, in opposing corners.

Every fifteen minutes, for the remainder of the session, he caned us twice where we stood, for a total of eight strokes. I at least had been tenderized throughout the day, but poor Louisa had to take Mr. Steedstiff’s whippy blows on cold skin. After he dismissed the rest of the class for bedtime, he ordered us into his adjacent study. My pulse pounded, remembering what other girls apparently were ‘forced’ to do. “Girls. I am very disappointed you both decided gossiping is more important than expanding your knowledge. His lordship goes to great time and expense on your behalf.”

With downcast heads and wretched expressions, we humbly apologized. I knew he was correct. No other master I had ever heard of before made a point of educating staff, never mind useless females—in society’s eyes. I swore to him I would redouble my efforts and never pass notes in class again. When I at last dared look at him, his eyes appeared to twinkle even though his mouth was a thin line. “Louisa, come here and kneel. You know what to do.” She glanced at me, before going to her knees, opening his trouser front then removing his cock.

When she opened her mouth, and he pressed the large head between her lips, I moaned softly. When, after several minutes of audible wet sucking, he withdrew a hard shaft the diameter of my wrist and longer than my hand, I took an eager step forward. When he looked at me and said, ‘Kneel’, I fairly dove to my knees next to Louisa. Stretching my mouth until my jaw popped, I stuck out my tongue and waggled the tip. Mr. Steedstiff obliged. I had wanted a rematch from my embarrassing performance in the Gun Room several days prior. Eyes watered.

When it was Louisa’s turn again, she smoothly took nearly the entire length of Mr. Steedstiff’s cock into her throat. I could clearly see the bulge it made, and he fucked her mouth as if it was her pussy. “Have you been practicing how not to gag, Louisa?” I asked, remembering how she’d struggled as well. She shrugged. “I’ve never had that problem. Just lucky I guess.” Her tone was slightly bitter. “Oh, but I thought—.” She grimaced as he thrust. “I lied.” I couldn’t help hugging her one-armed as he switched back to me. I stole a kiss.

He was much gentler, but I couldn’t stop gagging every time he stoked deep. Switching back yet again, Mr. Steedstiff reached down and, with gestures, had me lick his wet base as he moved in and out of Louisa with long sweeps. When it was my turn again, I tried forcing my throat to open. I growled as I failed. “Why can’t I do this?” He held me back and asked, “Do you truly want my cock deeper?” I sucked him back in and jabbed forward: I felt his large hands pull my skull closer. I heaved, but quickly swallowed.

“Stand up, Ruby, we’re going to try something different.” Clearing a chaise arm, my head dangled. The back of my neck cupped, upside down, I watched his cock approach. My throat felt more open and with his cock poised halfway in, he said, “Deep breath, on the count of three. One… tw—” He quickly shoved right through my gag reflex. My hands flailed at his thighs as his pubic hairs tickled my nostrils. Panic flared. He held for only seconds—it felt interminable—and when he pulled out, I twisted my head, coughing and spitting phlegm. His prick returned.

I tried to relax. We repeated the sequence until my entire face was soaked with saliva. By the end of the training session, I was proud that I could take his entire length with only minor choking. He finished by spraying his spunk all over Louisa’s face: I lapped her clean with eager puppy-like licks. In a haze of Sapphic lust, we tumbled to the floor, tongues entangled and fingers probing wet orifices under ruched skirts. Pinning her down, I freed her swollen nipples and suckled like a babe. “Girls? As much as I enjoy the Lesbos trade, it’s bedtime.”

Two little mice scampered down the dark hallway and up the steep stairs to our attic cubbies. Mrs. Cleanknockers had given us tacit support—provided we were discreet—to sleep together in two cots lashed together. Uniforms were tossed and laughing, we fell onto the hard surface. The single lamp cast a halo around her soft features and my heart clenched with the love I felt for this girl. “I never thought I could feel this way about a woman.” She smiled and lifted her fingers to release my bound hair. “I feel the same way, Ruby. You’ve saved me.”

“Saved you?” I said. Curious as to why Louisa felt that way, I asked, “How can I have saved you? I’ve only been here four days!” Her lips covered mine. Hands slipped to naked shoulders and with steady pressure, drew me down into bliss. Side-by-side, we stroked and fondled; our nipples tight beneath pinching fingers and pussies made wet by probing thumbs. “Until you, my dearest Ruby, I’ve hated the sexual slavery here at Peacock House. I’ve fought back and been punished. My orgasms have been ripped unwillingly from me, and my body a toy for others to play with.”

“Oh, Louisa! I had no idea! I’m so sorry and angry that you’ve been so abused! His lordship will hear about this in the morn!” She bolted upright in alarm at my bold declaration. “NO! Ruby, you cannot… you will not challenge his lordship over this! It is the way of the world and I forbid you to reveal what I’ve told you in private.” I too sat up and soothed her agitation with caresses and solemn promises. I confessed my own sins by stating I loved—I craved sex and wanted it all the time with anyway who asked.

“Truly, Ruby? You enjoy the sex and beatings?” In the dimness her eyes sparkled and her round mouth reflected her astonishment. “Yes, Louisa, I wish Mrs. Cleanknockers would whip and spank me all day long, as I was tied to the horse and used in all my orifices by the entire staff. I have become a wicked slattern doomed to Hell… but I don’t care.” My tone was defiant. “If my fiancé desires my training to be as asset to his business, and my body the currency with which it prospers, then I will be a dutiful and obedient wife.”

Louisa sounded bitter. “I doubt I’ll ever marry. Who would want such a wretch as I?” I seized her hands in mine. “Then you will come with me. We will all live together and you, my beloved, will be my dearest friend, confidante and wanton lover.” She pulled back and vigorously shook her head. “That will never work, Ruby.” I sniffed and said, “Yes it will. On our Sunday afternoon outing, I will simply tell Chester that you are to be my bosom companion.” Her face remained skeptical: I resumed our interrupted coitus with a reminder my bum needed attention.

Our lumpy pillows shoved under my hips, I wriggled impatiently as she fetched the ointment tin. Rather than her palm though, I felt the rasp of her tongue tracing the numerous lines and mottled markings all over my backside. Her wet pelvis slapped my shoulders as she straddled my torso. Her deft tongue danced down my crack as she bent over and, with calloused fingers, wrenched my sore cheeks apart. What can say about the act of feuille de rose? The earthy, slick, sometimes bittersweet and tangy oil that can found nestled betwixt the plump hemispheres of the female form.

Persistently pressing pliable petals with furled tongue, repeated efforts will cause the rubbery exit to yield slightly. Combined with the heady aroma wafting from the adjacent pussy, the scents and tastes drive one mad with lust. Louisa lapped and drilled my virgin anus, while her nose rubbed my clit, and delved inside my wet cunt. By the time she ceased her licking, I’d spent twice and lay there facedown wondering if I’d ever be able move again. Greased palms swirled the paste across my globes from meridian to poles. “Harder,” I whispered, the pressure on my bruises causing deep moans.

I was a puddle by the time she finished. Urging me on my back, she maneuvered her waist until her furry nest loomed in my blurry vision. Simultaneously, we feasted. My nostrils inhaled her rosebud. My thumb, slick with saliva, wiggled inside her bum. My lips suckled her fleshly folds, teeth gently gnawed and limber tongue stretched deep inside her pussy then mercilessly lashed her clit. She returned the favor as we snuffled like pigs rooting for truffles. My face was soaked with her essence. Her shuddery cries of passion vibrated in my secret garden. We reaped what we sowed.

Our last act, before collapsing in a sweaty heap of tangled limbs, was to attempt insertion of as many fingers in pussies as possible. She managed four with thumb thrumming my clit as I screamed. Her more experienced entrance swallowed my hand to the wrist. Fucking her with flexed fingers, her hips thrashed in frantic frenzy. I could feel her supple inner walls rippling with each climax, until copious fluids coated my probing digits and splashed my throat and chest. I know not how many orgasms we stole from each other, but the bedding was soaked and our voices hoarse.

My legs trembled as if I’d run miles to escape my past. Damp cloths wiped sensitive skin and finally, when we lay on our backs, lamp extinguished and skittering pulses normal, we held hands and dreamed about the life we wanted to have. “Do you want children, Ruby?” My reply, ‘Doesn’t every woman?’ elicited a sardonic sounding snort. “Not this woman. Being rutted upon, swelling up like a melon, then likely dying nine months later is not something I crave.” I turned on my elbow to face her. “Not every mother dies in childbirth.” Her voice was flat. “Mine did.”

“By the time I could walk, I’d been passed around like a rotten turnip to so many relatives, I didn’t want to be with any of them. Our home burned to the ground, my father with it, when I was fifteen. He was an angry drunkard who beat me whenever he could. So I got good at running and hiding.” I lay back down and threw my arm across her breasts. “How did you end up here?” Louisa sighed. “My mother’s second cousin knew His lordship, whether he knew the extent of the depravity that occurs here I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, Louisa. I promise I will take you away with me when I wed.” She tilted her head and gently kissed me. “I’m sorry too, Ruby, that I was such a heinous bitch to you.” I kissed her back and laughed. “I think you’ve more than made up for that lapse of character. If nothing else, your wicked tongue has been put to better use.” She giggled and swatted my arm. “It’s all your fault, Ruby. If you didn’t taste so good, I wouldn’t keep making sniping snide comments.” My teasing reply. “My little love slave needs a reminder.”

Louisa rolled on her stomach without protest. Only the faintest of light showed in our room, but my hand unerringly located her plump bottom. I was very tired, but managed a brisk spanking to usher in our sleep. Drawing the itchy blanket and rough sheet to our chins, we murmured our love to each other, drifting off to dream. I was smiling, the vision was clear; a white-stucco house, with roses climbing trellises in riotous abandon. Sitting on a stone garden bench, my children gamboling like kittens with their dear Aunt Louisa: Chester giving them rides on his broad shoulders.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

4 Comments

  1. I’m SO glad you posted the whole of this chapter, and I’ve finally had chance to read it in its entirely. Bumhampton is, as ever, a wonderful story, and a beautiful mix of the erotic, historical gems, pure depravity and tenderness. I love it.

    With all my professional hats on, I can honestly say how thoroughly amazed and impressed I am at your willingness to handle my extensively edits, and at the way you approached them with such rigour. Stephanie was a gorgeous story from the beginning; I believe you have made it even better. To work with you on this and any other project is an utter joy.

    I’m very excited that we’ll be releasing the e-book soon, and that we’re taking Stephanie to print in time for Christmas! Just wondering how many people I know might be getting it as stocking fillers…

    And we definitely made the right choice over that cover! 😍

    Liked by 1 person

    • For me, Bumhampton is a blast to write. I love Victorian-era erotica, not only for the sex, but for the gleeful way the authors dismantled the rigid societal barriers through caricatures and archetypes caught with their pants down and skirts up.

      Stephanie deserves all the edits she can get. What started as a 20,000 word multi-post flash fiction, is now a crisp 33,000 word novella, thanks to comments, emails and, most of all, your professional edits and recommendations. My mantra as a writer for publication, is that any edit that makes the story better is a good edit.

      As a blogger? If I’m having fun writing it’s all good. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Excellent work! It’s fun to follow in drabble-form but it really shines as a piece. Were I wearing a hat, I’d doff it.

    Liked by 1 person

    • The funny thing is, when writing Bumhampton, I write by hand the entire 3,000 words [more-or-less] then when transcribing into a Word.docx format, I separate into drabbles. It often requires only minor changes to break into 100 piece segments.

      “You can leave your hat on”

      Liked by 1 person


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