The Bumhampton Chronicles: Complete Chapter 10

Hello everyone. If you are reading this now [as opposed to some years in the future which would be a weird paradox] then you are undoubtably knees-deep in holiday preparations; thus, I will not trouble you with an extensive monologue, other than to state I hope to post more stories in January, 2018. What follows here is the Complete Chapter 10 of The Bumhampton Chronicles. I have already written the 3,000 word Chapter 11 and will commence posting drabbles on a Thurs-Sun schedule next week. Stay safe and enjoy the festivities.

Gentle Reader: One of the [many] disadvantages of being a woman is the monthly. If you wish to showcase your education, using ‘menstruation’ in polite mixed company will invoke instant silence. Romances never mention feminine bleeding cycles — unless the fair heroine is breathlessly counting days to verify she’s increasing — one reason being that no sane female authoress would drag down suspenseful prose with cramps, bloating and general moodiness. Cinderella never broke out in facial blemishes. Which is why a man could never write from a womanly perspective about reproduction. They are too squeamish despite projecting an aura of virile bravado.

I woke with a throbbing headache. I’d neglected to bring spare padding to my — our — room, but Louisa had thoughtfully provided extras. The soiled rag went to the laundry: I dropped them on my way to emptying the chamber pot. Let the self-satisfied curates preach of rewards everlasting for those not straying into sinful ways. For those of us fortunate to serve in a good home, the daily realities of piss, shit, vomit and blood, was reminder enough of the frailty of human bodies. There is no point fearing Death when it walks at your side and shares your meals.

If anything, I pity Death, for it can only stare like the beggar at the feast never partaking of the living. Why I was here, on the earth, alive and thinking, I could not say. My soul was my own concern —then and now — and despite having no philosophical bent, I feel confident stating in this memoir, that the only times life made any sense at all, was when I touched someone I loved. All else was dross. Morbid? Perhaps. But to those reading this in some utopian future, you need to understand that survival was not an abstract concept.

My fifth day in service was markedly different. It was exceedingly bizarre to not only be wearing a uniform at all times, but an undergarment girdling my loins. The fabric chaffed my tender nipples. The loss of freedom through lack of nudity felt like a day in gaol. Thus does one quickly become accustomed to circumstances even when some would label them beyond the pale. The roster was shuffled. Louisa and I swapped duties for the next three days. I much preferred scrubbing floors and being spanked, to her tasks of cleaning grates and oil lamps. I was very dirty.

I did not like deferred punishments. During a maid’s cycle, canings and whippings accrued to be given all at once when sexual servitude recommenced: An incentive to behave with extra circumspection and diligence. I of course, being an incorrigible termagant, piled up demerits like windblown orange leaves against a fence. That was later though. Firstly came Saturday afternoon and an assignment to Miss Frothinglips. Was ever a surname more appropriate, I never encountered. “Enter.” I brushed my damp palms down my brushed out skirt. There were still smudges on my apron. Nervous, I pushed open the door to her suite.

This was my first time in her domain, and although we’d interacted — to salacious results at times — there was an unbreachable bastion between us. I would never be more than servant class, no matter how wealthy and influential my husband night be. She was aristocracy, and her blood was deemed better than mine. I did not mind. Ambition was tolerated — if not encouraged — but I had no desire for a glass slipper or a prince’s kiss. The gilded life seemed glamorous from the outside, but it was a cage nevertheless. “Good afternoon, Miss Frothinglips. I was told to report here.”

At her dressing table, in careless déshabillé, she beckoned me forward. I did not meet her gaze in the mirror, but could sense her intense regard despite her seemingly casual posture and partial nudity. “Do you know why you are here?” I shook my head. “We had a meeting last night — your principle trainers. You puzzle us, Ruby. Did you know that?” Miss Frothinglips’ tone made it clear she expected a thoughtful response. “No, miss. I am but a humble maid and have sought only to do what I was told.” Her smile was predatory. “Lies will not avail you.”

I bit my lip, hard. Protesting my innocence would only serve to deepen the apparent rift that had opened overnight. “Nothing else to say, Ruby?” My eyes finally clashed with her reflection. She was angry. Why, I could not fathom. “I apologize if I’ve given you offense, miss, for I know of no action of mine that would have caused your apparent disfavor of my presence here.” She spun, slowly, the top of the stool silently rotating until she was square to me as I stood at a respectable distance. Her forefinger curled, beckoning me closer. “I require your expertise.”

At this I panicked. I was no ladies maid and knew nothing of the upper-class toilette. With short, even shy shuffling steps I was drawn by her coiling finger: closer and closer until her upraised palm halted me only inches away from her body. Her head, level with my bosom, cocked sideways peering up as I looked down. “Kneel.” There was no ‘please’ in her command. I knelt anyway. It was only as her thighs leisurely parted and her elbows went back to rest upon the table that I realized her intent. As punishments went, licking her cunt seemed benign.

Lifting her pink peignoir, she revealed the dimpled valley and rumpled hillocks of her womanhood. Her rich scent complimented the floral perfume that she habitually daubed from a crystal jar. She did not speak. I did not hesitate. A fleeting thought as my tongue lapped her essence. Perhaps their confusion is due to my eagerness. Her filmy silk garment enclosed my head like dove’s wings as any mental whimsy flitted away under the influence of her dewy flux. As I licked and swallowed her rich crème, I noted she tasted much different then Louisa. Likely a better diet, not breeding.

My jaw began to ache. Other than heightened puffs of breathy inhalations, she made no vocalizations. Determined to provoke a reaction — I was used to Louisa’s earthy vocabulary and uninhibited passion — I slipped a finger into Miss Frothinglips narrow tight frontal passage. Wet heat clamped. I circled her swelled clit with my other thumb. Her thighs quivered. Still she was silent. The thumb moved lower. Her back portal was not virgin, even if her cunt had not been plundered by a prick. I rubbed my probing digits together, only a thin membrane between my tips. She slumped even further down.

I felt the ripples of her climax. She sprayed my face. A trembling hand clamped my skull. My open mouth forced to drink. My tongue delved deeper. Her pert bottom rose. I jabbed two fingers to replace my thumb lifting in unison with her gyrations. If she was still quiet, at least her body was not quiescent. Her writhing limbs, her rapid breath, the clenching of internal muscles all betrayed her lustful nature. How many consecutive orgasms I wrung from her oh-so-sophisticated aristocratic cunt, I do not now remember, but it was Miss Frothinglips who conceded the amatory field first.

Forcing her surrender had consequences, but even though in her frenzy she shoved me backwards arse-over-teakettle, inside I was smirking at her loss of control. Perhaps you believe I was naively being exploited, but I assure you, even then I knew my sensual prowess and submissiveness were the keys to a secure future. It was only fickle fortune that I loved every sexual aspect of unbridled lust. While awareness seeped back into her eyes, I remained seated on the floor awaiting her next desire. I pretended to notice neither her unsteady gait nor her destination of the enclosed water closet.

While she presumably cleaned, I did the same, wiping dry the floor and the stool. When I finished, I brushed off my uniform, stood at attention and waited. Wearing a long dressing gown trimmed with satin ribbons and floral embroidery, she strode, not towards her vanity to finish her daily ritual, but instead, without any warning, reached out and slapped me across my unsuspecting cheek. “Do not presume, Ruby, to seek liberties where none are offered.” Shocked at the vehemence more than the blow across my face, I must have expressed my inner smugness. SLAP! My head rocked once more.

My pride stinging more than my cheeks, I gazed at her silk slippers and braced myself for more abuse. She growled; like a spoiled lap dog to a suitor. Surprised, I raised my chin daring her to hit me again. Fingers reached out, stroked my jaw and then her mouth crushed my lips, tongue slithering past my teeth and subduing my anger. I thought I understood her confusion, so meekly submitted as she sought to reestablish her dominance. When she released me — with reluctance it seemed — she was once more the distant and haughty Miss Frothinglips. The afternoon became stranger.

Heavy knocking broke the fragile silence. Fraught with entangled emotions, until she infinitesimally raised a plucked brow at my hesitation, I did not move to answer the door. When I did so, Mr. Steedstiff was waiting in the passageway. I nodded; waiting for Miss Frothinglips to bade him enter. Evidently he was expected. “Sebastian, please come in.” I stood aside and began to close the door. “Ruby? Where are you going? I did not dismiss you.” Confused, I stepped back inside her room watching as Mr. Steedstiff — Sebastian — hugged and kissed her with evident passion. His hands gripped her bottom.

Over the suckling sound of their reunion of mouths, I could hear him murmur effusive platitudes such as this: “I’ve missed you, sweet Francine, like the blushing rose misses the damp dew of spring’s kisses.” Even as I winced at his overwrought sentiments, I knew there would be trouble if a gentlemen were discovered in a young lady’s chambers without proper chaperonage. I didn’t qualify and fervently wished for invisibility as I pressed my shoulder blades into the flocked wallpaper. No such luck. He released Miss Frothinglips, retaining possession of her posterior and genially asked, “Have you told her yet?”

To my astonishment, I could clearly see a dark blush suffuse her face and upper chest. “I got distracted, Sebastian.” His back to me, his expression was hidden, but not his actions. A hand slipped around to her front and wiggled up between her closed thighs. Her eyes closed — whether in shame or arousal I could not ascertain — but her reaction to his exploration was much louder than any I’d been able to elicit earlier. “Why, you naughty slut, Francine. Taking advantage of a helpless servant girl to satisfy your greedy quim. Shall I whip you for your wanton wallowing?”

She cried out then, with a girlish lisp, proceeded to blame me. “It’ss all her fffault. Ssshe sshould be whiiped toooo.” Mr. Steedstiff moved aside and spoke over his shoulder, his finger clearly embedded in her wet cunt. “Is that true, Ruby? Did you seduce poor innocent Francine with your low and cunning morality? Part her sweet thighs and steal her sweet naivety with your wicked mouth?” Inwardly I sighed with relief. It was all a game: A game I intended to win at all costs. I pushed away from the wall, walking with an insolent sway in my gait.

Daringly, when I joined their company with a contemptuous sneer on my face, I swung my right arm as hard as I could, and spanked Miss Frothinglips across her bared bottom. The smack was echoed in their shocked expressions. “Yes, yes, yes, to all your accusations. I was thinking about sucking your delicious prick, Sebastian, as I fucked Francine’s cunt with my fingers. Had I known you had a prior claim, I would have brought a dildo from the Gun Room and taken her for my own. It’s obvious to my ‘low and cunning morality’ that she needs regular fucking.”

After a shocked silence that lasted for seemingly minutes, Mr. Steedstiff threw back his head and roared with laughter, drowning out Miss Frothinglips’ sputtering outrage. When he’d regained his composure, and muffled her protests with another searing kiss, he pulled me into an embrace. Still chucking, he clucked my chin. “Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Mrs. Cleanknockers was more correct than even she guessed when she told us last night you were a mischievous imp. His lordship is at sixes and sevens not knowing what to do with you.” I frowned mulishly. “It’s hardly my fault. He set me on this path.”

Miss Frothinglips leaped in his lordship’s defense. “It’s only because you are lowborn and naturally wanton, that you tempt him to sample your base pussy.” I shot back. “At least I don’t pretend to be a chaste virgin but allow huge ‘lowborn’ cocks to ream my ass every week.” Fire in her eyes, she made to slap me again, but Mr. Steedstiff intercepted her hand. “None of that, Francine. No matter your anger at Ruby, none of us here are innocent of lust. I do not intend to let jealousy distract me from the ultimate prize.” Prize? I was mystified.

Not so much though, when he opened the valise he’d brought, pulling out a short whip constructed with braided leather. Running the throngs through his palm with a sensuous expression he flicked it with a snap of the wrist. The hard ‘CRACK’ made both of us females flinch. My fear and longing spilled over into a confession. “I’ve just started my menses, Mr. Steedstiff.” CRACK! “I am well aware of the rules, Ruby, and will defer your discipline to later.” CRACK! “However, Francine is under no such restrictions, are you, my dear?” A look of pure loathing came my way.

Miss Frothinglips sniffed, haughty nose in the air and gave the barest of headshakes to his question. Mr. Steedstiff’s finger made a twirling motion. She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders before bending over placing her palms down on the stool. He took a long step forward, tucking the whip under his armpit and then raised and folding her dressing gown until it draped over her head. Her sheer peignoir he left alone, in her position, it rode up to mid-thigh. “Feet together, Francine, bottom up and do not rise or the strike will not count. Fifteen in total.”

She adjusted her posture and clearly spoke, “Yes, Sir.” I did not know whether I should look away. My choice was made for me. “Pay attention, Ruby. You will receive twenty for your role in this seduction and, should Francine earn extras, your total extras will be doubled.” If ever there was a time to quit while I was ahead, it was now, as the patent unfairness sunk into my mind. It’s a game. I intend to be a winner no matter what plots they weave. Decision made, easier than I’d ever thought, I knelt again, barely out of range.

I matched Miss Frothinglips’ cool aplomb. “Do your worst, sir. I am well aware of my helplessness in the face of such implacable depravity. I throw myself at your mercy.” I put actions to words and sprawled at his feet with a dramatic ‘thud’. Even she could not prevent a giggle from escaping hearing my histrionics. Mr. Steedstiff made a scolding noise and, not allowing me to move, straddled my prone body and clamped his boot-heels to my ribcage. I’d outsmarted myself: I could no longer see the whipping. I heard it though. The sizzle as the whip flew overhead.

The sharp cracking noise as leather impacted upon flesh shielded only by a thin layer of silk. Miss Frothinglips’ ever increasing distress as I counted silently the number of strikes. Fifteen! I am sure my internal exultation was likely matched in tone by her private relief. “Very well, Francine, you took that whipping quite bravely and only earned one extra.” He moved his boots away from my torso and told me to stand, whereupon he handed me the whip with a short bow. “Ruby, you will administer the final penalty stroke.” Astonished, my jaw fell open. Miss Frothinglips protested vehemently.

He overrode her objections with a sharp rejoinder. “Do you wish more, Francine? Perhaps another two or three or more?” At her whimper he continued, “I thought not. Ruby, please proceed.” As I stepped back, the handle warm from his exertions, I nervously eyed the red stripes decorating her squirming bottom. Mr. Steedstiff placed restraining fingers on my arm. “One last thing, ladies. There will be no retaliation from this and, if you think to pull your blow, Ruby, I will thrash you not twenty-two times next week, but at least twice that. Do not hold back.” Miss Frothinglips moaned.

It was my turn to take deep breaths in order to calm my racing pulse. Wiping my slick palm on my skirt, I panted three times and raised my right arm out wide. Inhaling and holding, I released the air from my lungs with a convulsive exhalation as I swung, eyes fixated on the center of the target bent before me. I didn’t even hear the crack as the leather dug into and rebounded from her mooned posterior. I watched as my blow blossomed into fresh red vines swirling across the previous lines. He did not assist her to rise.

I nodded in sympathy. Miss Frothinglips’ eyes were damp but clear. A feral twitch of her lips made me nervous, but it was not directed at me, rather at Mr. Steedstiff who was rummaging in his valise. Holding up an object, he shook it. “Is that for me?” I blurted out pointing at the straps connected to a long leather dildo. “No,” she fairly snarled. “It’s for me. Isn’t that right, Sebastian?” He bowed deep. “Yes, Mistress. My arse is yours.” Snapping her fingers she said, “Ruby, assist me.” At her behest, I stripped her naked and attached the harness.

Spank you very much

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