The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 11 (Part 17)

But enough cryptic rambling, Mrs. Cleanknockers had an agenda. “I am concerned about tomorrow’s outing with Mr. Jones-Smyth.” I scowled and crossed my arms. “Do not pout, Ruby, I am responsible for your well-being. I have raised my concerns with his Lordship, but he assures me the man has been fully vetted. However…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze slid past me into some infinite vista. Troubled by her demeanor, I attempted to coax forth the reasons behind her misgivings. “Does your perturbation stem from the other day, when he took my virginity?” She winced but fleetingly. “No, Ruby.”

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.

You hear the one about the caned wife?

“Go on! Count them! See what the brute did to me. Twenty-one times!”

She’d burst into my office like a fuzzy gin; all rounded and bristling like a hedgehog, throwing her elbows on my desk; her puppies gamboling out of cornflower silk lace brassiere begging for a lick and a promise. I leaned back: she climbed on top. Not that I mind a good cowgirl ride, but usually there are adult beverages involved before a broad holds her nose long enough to forget my mug.

She crouched like a cougar, reaching back to ruck up her miniskirt; all the while wailing her distress. ‘Look, look,’ she said, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of her ass. I, being the consummate gentlemen — even when consummating a transaction consummated in a dark and smoky dive — heaved my walrus-like bulk out of my recliner and waddled around to peek at her goodies.

“See?”

I saw. I saw a dame who did Pilates; probably a spinner too and hot yoga. I saw matching panties, the lace snugged up tight over her mons and biting deep into her tangy valley. What I didn’t see was the alleged brutality to her posterior. I said as much, and added, “If this is a case of abuse, call the fuzz.”

The look she gave me would have lowered my I.Q. into the negative realm had she not rolled her eyes and her knickers down her thighs. My eyes rolled too. Luckily I’m a jaded hard-ass who’s seen it all. That didn’t mean my one-eyed salami wasn’t salivating for a side of sauerkraut and white cream dressing. “Now… I see.”

There were multiple lines tracing—

“Count them!”

There were at least—

“I thought you were a dick? Use your fingers, moron!”

I used my thumb. Starting at the crests of her pillowy hillocks, I firmly pressed each welt from end-to-end. As I got lower, she got higher: her plump buttocks reaching for the sky, the tight fabric stretched taut between her tense thighs threatening to tear in twain. Her musk filled my blood, my cock screamed for air. By the time both thumbs were prying her crease open like a can of mustard sardines, my tongue was only inches away from s—

“Aren’t you going to take pictures?”

Mesmerized by her pink lips, I mewled like a brokenhearted calf when she slid off my desk, her rump scent marking my groin as she wiggled her cornflower blue panties up and her red miniskirt down.

“I guess not. So, will you take the case?”

Too stiff to sit just yet, I suavely perched on the corner and offered her a menthol. I flicked my Bic, she blew smoke rings around my libido. “What case?”

“My husband is—”

“I don’t do divorce, sweet cheeks.”

“Listen you imbecile, I don’t want a divorce, I don’t want the flatfeet involved, all I want is you to find out where his chippy lives.”

“Okay.” I must have redeemed myself, because she started spewing like Niagara Falls right before they turn it off at night. It seems they were in a D/s relationship and things were peachy right up until he started a new job with long hours and overnight trips. The spankings were coming less and less frequent, like the number 24 bus on a Friday night when the college kids were on break. The final straw was the twenty-one stroke caning. Which is when she stormed out of their house like a banshee looking for an agave grove to quench her fire and fury.

“So you see, I have a contract! I demand he lives up to his responsibilities!”

“So… it was too much?”

“Are you a fucking idiot? NO! It was supposed to be fifty with the cane and an ass reaming!”

I waited until Vesuvius stopped erupting. “Well… I can give you the rest, if you want.”

The setting sun was obscured by the cloud of tire smoke like from an all-you-can-eat barbecue when she peeled her Ferrari out of the parking lot. I rubbed the mark on my face. For a sweet piece of tail, she sure could swing a racket. I leaned back in my chair, took a swig of Jack and a couple of Tums. It’s tough being a P.I.

I guess dinner wouldn’t be forthcoming tonight. I dialed for takeout and waited for her return.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 11 (Part 16)

At the time, I did not closely examine my desires. All I knew was that being punished and used sexually — the more callously the better — calmed my mind and set my body afire. It took months for the conflagration to reduce to a smolder and, for the rest of my life it took but a look or a threat to spark the beast back to roaring flames. Please understand; the process was not without guilt and tragedy. After the initial euphoria inevitably wore away under the pressure of routine life and events, it was years before I recaptured the thrill.

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.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 11 (Part 15)

Firing off a crisp salute, I reported my status. “Ruby Slapumcheeks, present as requested, Ma’am! Ready and willing to serve your every whim.” Mrs. Cleanknockers made a sound. It was part sigh — akin to exasperation — and part involuntary giggle [like when someone farts in church]. “Sit down, Ruby.” Her attempt at being stern was slightly compromised by her failure to fully corral her smile. I did not press the issue. What! I can be good… when someone has something I want… or need. I desperately needed to be humiliated. Like an opium eater, I craved the feelings of being dominated.

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.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 11 (Part 14)

“Mrs. Cleanknockers would like a word with you, Ruby, posthaste.” His cool restrained tone would have seemed abnormal in most circumstances — never mind just after holding his jetting tumescence firmly in my mouth — but an English butler never loses his composure: even when he just, ‘did it’. It’s an awesome thing to witness and well worth the price of admission. So — like the dutiful demure maid I was — I gave him a saucy wink and trotted off to see my Mistress, wondering what she had in store for me. Hopefully some cruelly inventive punishment: having my period sucked donkey’s balls.

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.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 11 (Part 13)

I couldn’t help but compare cock sucking with cunt lapping. It really drove home — as I stretched my throat — the differences between the sexes. I can honestly state I had no preference. Each time, with each different person was a completely new experience; one that I almost always enjoyed. And I most deliciously enjoyed Alastair’s copious spunk, the thickest volume I’d yet received as tribute. Evidently he seldom cleaned his pipes. I told him I’d gladly service him after the weekly washing. “It will be our little secret.” I wiped him off, tucked it back inside and closed the sash.

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.

It wasn’t always like this

I wonder if you saw me
the ex
in the queue at school
salt-hazed vehicles
lumbering through the drop-off zone
waved forward by paddle wielding tyrants
or did you speed by
oblivious
perhaps texting

are you still married to your job instead of a spouse

clouds of polar bear killing exhaust
coat the sooty snow
except those under-powered electrics
slipping through the slush
tires spinning
spray thwacking brightly colored rubber boots
rendering tropical flashes against the salted ice
the parents — sorry — the mommies pretending not to notice the elementary children carbon-shaming them
my personal failure to be environmentally pious enough
was one — of many — reasons we split possessions
I admit for years I seethed

would you be horrified to learn my butt’s sore this morning

just the memory of the hard spanking I got
before I buckled in the sprogs
and started the meter
makes me grin at the teachers
with a maniacal expression
it wasn’t your fault
until I met someone who wouldn’t put up with my shit
I never knew how unhappy I was
at being in control
so you see
the person who needed forgiveness
was myself
not you
because without you
I wouldn’t be here
in my happy place
wiggling with desire
knowing the kids will be gone for the weekend
and I’ll be royally fucked
and whipped by Monday

don’t you wish you’d tied me up and taken out your frustrations on my body

so thank you
for letting me go
if I say I saw you today
it will be the cane
or the belt
hopefully both
over and over again

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