Mrs. Cleanknockers stood over me with mouth agape. I continued my verbal assault. “His Lordship’s study was a mess! All those books covered with dust and I noticed – when bent over for the strap – his desk had no smell of beeswax. Does no one clean Peacock House? Is there no pride in work? Force me to prance naked ma’am and I will, but I refuse to be held responsible for such slovenly rooms.” I folded my arms and waited to be slapped. Instead, her hands clasped my cheeks and her lips hovered close. “Do you truly submit to me Ruby?”

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“I am not afraid ma’am. You’ve stripped me, cleansed me, punished and rewarded me. I care not what you and His Lordship do to me, nor do I care about some moldy pagan sex rituals plastered on these walls. You cannot break me no matter the volume of tears wrung from my eyes or orgasms grabbed from my pussy. I accept my lowly position under your whip: if that is prideful, so be it, I will submit to chastisement. I am however offended by this room. Look ma’am at the tarnish! The dust on the wainscoting, the dull scuffed floors!”

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I peered closer at the walls and gasped in outrage. “Something wrong Ruby?” Mrs. Cleanknockers sounded amused. “Permission to speak freely ma’am.” At her curt nod I launched into a diatribe. “This is offensive! How can this be possible? All this filth!” She laughed and patted my head as if a lapdog. “It’s only a few orgy scenes although I will allow the positions are artistic license. You could drive a wagon up her snatch and no trouser serpent I’ve ever handled has had that girth. Or is it the whips you fear?” I shot her a look of scorn.

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All coherent poise fled on downy wings as his hard finger pads grabbed my quim. Palm and thumb rubbed: I fell into the abyss of sin once more. If not anchored firmly on both ends, the chair and I would have splattered. His Lordship forced two crises. I panted, sloe-eyes lidded, in my mouth his wet hand replaced hers, as a mongrel bitch in heat, I lapped and suckled digits, my carnal appetite apparently insatiable. Two hard feminine slaps. I unsteadily clambered off the chair. My uniform restored, hem to mid-shin, eyes downcast, cheeks marked. Miss Frothinglips led me away.

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Streaks of flame lanced my bulge. Miss Frothinglips stood close before me. She allowed my arms around her corseted waist, wrists locked at small of her back. Her hands combed my hair: lawn handkerchief caught my tears. The pain from the leather strap radiated, one stroke only absorbed before the next burned ever hotter. M’lord did not hold back, twas not his style, but beat me hard all the while I writhed and cried for Miss Frothinglips’ pleasure. Still, shameful treatment as it was, my sex throbbed and oozed with each searing blow. At the last excruciating swipe I screamed.

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“May I m’lord?” Miss Frothinglips’ gentle dulcet vowels contrasted sharply with her strong thumbs as they dug into my rear crease. Her nails bit. My knuckles slowly whitened. The pail rattled against the stile. “Jut your buttocks outward Ruby,” His Lordship commanded. He clasped my hands where they clenched the rungs: the vertical lean barely accommodated his bulk. I dipped my knees and squatted, by sore bottom mooned rudely. Eight dainty digits peeled my peach, I felt warm puffs of air; her thumbs prodded my soaked purse, a forefinger pressed my rosebud. “Mr. Steedstiff will appreciate this naughty one m’lord.”

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The slanted beams of thick rich light struck the brass railing as I cleaned the last of the uppermost books. All afternoon steady commerce flowed through m’lord’s hands: I’d listened with uncomprehending ear to the litany of complaints, compliments and conclusions. On occasion, male hands had grasped the ladder sides and carefully maneuvered me further along the shelves. I’d murmured my thanks. They’d taken recompense by avid examinations of my revealed charms safely out of reach. A mechanical cough heralded the deep bong of half past from the mantel clock. “Ah, Miss Frothinglips, assist Ruby as she dismounts the ladder.”

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I gulped back sobs as His Lordship shut the wardrobe. “I was going to strap you later after you’ve dusted, but based on your hysterical overwrought theatrics you’ve now earned twice daily discipline for the next week.” He touched my tear stained cheeks and smiled affectionately. “You are not going to be ‘sold’ you silly chit: all my girls are offered the opportunity of marriage to established men of the mercantile class. We will train you in the social and amorous arts and provide you with ample funds. Now! Bend over my desk Ruby and prepare to be soundly strapped.”

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Through thick fringe I covertly watched as m’lord rose and walked to a tall wardrobe. The doors were swung open and he pulled a tray outwards. I saw hundreds if not thousands of vertical folders in varying thicknesses. “Ruby, luscious Ruby,” m’lord muttered softly and placed my fate into a vacant slot. “Please m’lord,” I beseeched, “I’ll do whatever you say, but don’t sell me to a brothel!” M’lord spun around. “What on earth?” His mouth gaped. “I heard Mrs. Cleanknockers sir!” I could not prevent the tears. “Ruby! Cease your caterwauling at once! This is not a Penny Dreadful!”

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Mrs. Cleanknockers handed over a thin folder. “Ruby’s intake m’lord.” She paused. “If I may be so bold m’lord, I believe that she would suit Mr. Jones-Smyth admirably.” I felt Lord Caneshard’s intense scrutiny on my bowed skull. “You state she’s untutored.” My mind raced in panic: had I been deceived? Had I fallen into the evil and depraved clutches of White Slavers? “Untutored yes m’lord, but very responsive.” I felt Mrs. Cleanknockers gloved hand raise my frightened chin. “Obey His Lordship Ruby and you will prosper.” She pressed her moist lips firmly to mine and swept out the door.

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The dark oak walls were lined with stuffed animals heads and stuffier ancestral portraits. I giggled nervously as naughty thoughts of mounted Lords filled my mind. My mirth was doused by the stern glare I received from Mrs. Cleanknockers. “This is the Gun Room Ruby,” said icily, “where you will be trained and chastised.” We passed by the locked door. There was no sign that stated ‘Abandon all hope’ but it was implied in her tone. She knocked on m’lord’s office and we entered. “Ruby sir.” I curtsied and when prodded, approached the desk. “You’ve been willful I understand. Excellent!”

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Dressed in my new black and white uniform, Mrs. Cleanknockers led me to the kitchen, introduced Cook, and fed me lunch with the downstairs staff. As the new girl the maids and footmen scrutinized me closely for signs of moral failure. Clearly I was not welcome and the slights were not long in manifesting. I ate my meal in silence while Mrs. Cleanknockers grilled her underlings and assigned the afternoon roster. I was exempt: I had an appointment with Lord Caneshard. The sly grins and elbows did not go unnoticed. “Emily and Louisa. Report to the Gun Room at 2.”

Due to a personal request, I’m looking at you Missy, the Bumhampton Chronicles will continue. However, I will write the story as a drabble – 100 words – at a time and will be posted several times a week.

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