Flashback Friday: “Sometimes I doubt my sanity”

This week’s Flashback Friday was originally posted, March 23rd, 2010.

Listening to Pink is a mistake: when you’re in a bar at closing time. What she can sing about is not what I should say when I’ve been drinking since ten the previous night. Why drink? Hell, it’s not like I like the taste. But the freedom it offers. Haven’t you always wanted to say whatever the fuck you wanted to whomever you wanted whenever you wanted? Like it’s the buzz, the release of that nattering nanny – aka Mommy Dearest – who is always telling you to keep your knees together and your underwear clean. Hey bitch! I don’t wear underwear anymore! So there! I drink because I’m a powerful modern woman who takes no prisoners. Gurls rock! I LOVE YOU PINK! OK. Hangovers suck. Especially since all my BFFs have betrayed the code and gotten married to “He’s so sweet and nice and so romantic.” Fuck you! I don’t need you to hold my hair back. Rubber bands work just fine. I don’t need romance and flowers and hearts carved in trees. If I want sex, I take it. No man has ever turned me down I’ll have you know. I use them and toss them back into that cesspool known as dating. I don’t date. I fuck. I fuck in the day, at night; whenever and wherever I want. I can’t believe they busted me for public indecency! Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve blown over half the cops in this crappy town and now they suddenly get all righteous on my ass? WTF? Hey! I got a great ass if I do say so myself and I do say so myself even if it’s currently parked in the slammer between a hooker and a druggie. Excuse me? Alcohol is legal and so is sex: the last time I checked it was still a free country. Everyone has sex but everyone acts like the biggest frigging prudish hypocrite when they actually see something sexual going down. Did I mention I like going down? Please. Like any guy would turn down a blow job from a smoking hot chick like moi. That’s french for ‘me’ in case you were wondering. I am an international woman of mystery. But I wouldn’t blow Austin Powers on a dare. Five hundred? Maybe. Fine. I’m picky, so sue me. It’s not like I’m desperate or anything. We are way off the beaten path in this podunk excuse for a community, but there are still enough guys, married or otherwise to go around. Believe you me, they get around, I have the pictures to prove it. Did someone say pictures? I meant memories. I would never stoop to shooting a porno flick. I mean I could, I am a dynamic sex goddess even if my name isn’t Crystal Kneepads, but you know, making money off my body doesn’t seem right. Food and drinks are good, jewelry and gift cards are better, but straight cash seems tawdry and cheap. Sorry if that pisses you off honey but I like to choose my partners. Really? Judge Myers? He does what? That pervert! I can’t believe it! What? It beats a couple of years upstate? How many times have you… that many? Why do you keep coming back? You like it? WTF? Why would anyone like to be spanked? Cause it feels good? OK. If you say so. Damn. I have got to get outta here. Stuck in jail with bimbos who like to get spanked by a judge in lieu of prison time. That’s french for ‘you’re fucked so bend over and take what’s coming to you’. Oh well. I guess it’s better than being some dykes bitch. Maybe Judge Myers would accept a blow job instead. Haven’t done him yet. Always thought he was kinda creepy. Who knew?

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 6 Complete

After the cliffhanger at the end of this 3,000 word post, the next thrilling chapter seven will commence shortly. In the meantime, click the link for the Bumhampton Chronicles, to be transported back in time and the beginning of Ruby’s erotic adventures: All 18,854 words. Just a reminder that my next spanking newsletter will be posted June 1st at Byron Cane Spanking and Erotic Fiction.

Gentle Reader: There is nothing I have discovered in my long existence; that equals the thrill of waking entwined with a cherished lover. From the remove of the Great War’s aftermath, the seismic destruction of aristocratic privilege, had been underway for decades, that morning of my third day, when slender tendrils of light coaxed Louisa and I from Morpheus’ embrace. Later generations scoffed at sentimental trysts; denigrated the great poets, and mocked the sonnets proclaiming undying devotion to the battlefields of love. Though in truth, contrary to the sisters Brontë, real sex involved fluidic leakage in copious amounts. We stank.

After ablutions, breakfast, and a short lecture on piety and decorum—for my benefit I am sure—the staff scattered like flushed quail. Unescorted, I reported to Lord Caneshard’s study for what I assumed would be a blistering set-down. No matter, I was still buzzing from my debauched evening and feared no punishment. “So, Ruby, two days and you have set my household on its ear. Have you decided to replace Emily then?” More cautious, I replied, “No, milord.” A heavy pause, I felt the weight of his distrust. “Then do you plan a revolt from within?” Glittering motes swirled.

Fingers gripped my shoulders. “A fair question, Ruby,” Mrs. Cleanknockers echoed. “Are you an anarchist in disguise?” Despite the tension of feeling, as a mouse trapped between two cruel felines must wont, I had yet but a taste of carnal delights; the sweet confections of pleasure drew my nose to shop pane, my wet purse throbbed. “Milord, Ma’am, I have but one question for you, before I tell of the turmoil in my breast.” At his nod, I asked, “Will Mr. Jones-Smyth be calling upon Peacock House of this afternoon?” His lordship replied, “I’ve had no indication in the negative.”

I slumped with relief. “Then, as to your questions, no, I am not plotting with gunpowder to overthrow the established order. On the contrary, I feel my exuberant nature needs must be curbed severely, lest I too, fall victim to hubris.” Mrs. Cleanknockers moved at right angles to us both and studied my flushed countenance. But it was his lordship that probed my motivations. “Are you implying, Ruby, that we have been too lenient thus far?” I boldly met his skeptical gaze. “Milord, I wish to learn everything about sex and discipline. I need Mr. Steedstiff forcing my studious compliance.”

“I want, Mrs. Cleanknockers, to show me no favors, and train me most rigorously.” She gave the slightest of smiles. “And Mr. Jones-Smyth?” she enquired. I shivered. “Milord, Ma’am, when my suitor arrives, would it not be enlightening for Mr. Jones-Smyth to witness the intake process from the beginning?” His Lordship chuckled deeply. “Are you volunteering, Ruby, to be stripped, washed, cleansed and examined under his supervision?” The most delicious tingling washed over my skin. I felt a stab of desire low in my abdomen; my hips swiveled, eyes half-closed, and my mouth opened, tongue running over my moist lips.

“Oh yes, Sir, more than anything, I want Mr. Jones-Smyth to witness my humiliation.” In a trance, hands removed my uniform; unresisting, I bent forward over two laps so my stomach was wedged between them. They sat on facing chairs, knees touching, while my bared bottom rudely thrust up like a scone to four hands roaming. I rested my cheek on my forearms as they commenced my richly deserved spanking. Oh, I mewled most prettily for my chastisers, writhing my hips, fluttering my dainty ankles in faux distress. Have you ever wanted to be spanked all-day? I melted from within.

The village of Lower Bumhampton had a band of sorts. Misses of gentry breeding played instruments, while farm boys rapped tattoos with more verve than skill. Wizened veterans fired antique muskets and his lordship let off volleys from his gilded Hamilton & Askew shotgun. The impact of their hands striking my needy arse: the sound and fury reminded me of a parade around the greensward. I climaxed to the fantasy of being driven naked before the mob, carriage whip licking my back and thighs: Lord Caneshard at the reins, Mrs. Cleanknockers tormenting my bosom. The stocks awaited my nude body.

“My word!” his lordship exclaimed. “Did this randy piece just spend?” For a moment there was silence. I broke with a weepy, “Pleeeeease! Don’t stop!” Fully shifted over Mrs. Cleanknockers’ lap, I arched, I begged with spread legs for her touch. Do not tell me, that man is the cruel sex; nay, the female—as I admit to be—is the evil tormentor of flesh. She teased me, a whisper of touch on flaming skin, a finger pad run down humid crack, pressed against desperate flower, then lower still, roaming dewed petals seeking stamen to plunder deep. “Yes, I submit!”

“No!” I shrieked as, jostled like a sack of turnips, once more my hips squashed between tom and queen. In unison, came a loud crack of metal on epidermis. “OUCH!” I screamed as they spanked each buttock with hairbrushes. Solid silver, as it turned out: They turned my bottom to mush. In no hurry were they, two beats a second, a steady cadence marching down and then back up the naughty landscape of my fulsome flesh. They spanked my flanks, I yowled in heat; they whipped my thighs, I cried, the flailing legs not longer feigned, reacting to glorious pain.

Unceremoniously dumped to the floor, my hands clenched scorched bottom. “Ruby!” Mrs. Cleanknockers admonished. “Remove your fingers at once! We are not done punishing you.” I am not ashamed to admit wailing for mercy. I received none: I wanted none. She ordered me to crawl, like a beast of the fields; I did so, naked as Eve, dragged by my hair to the snake. A low footstool—mounted—legs akimbo, scalded hemispheres jutting like sunrise kissed peaks, a red cave yawning open at its base, dripping with moisture. Tap-tap, went the cane, as did my sanity. Roaring filled my ears.

A masterstroke of the cane makes a whistle before impact; forgotten in the searing brand lanced across flesh already basted. Worn nails scrabbled for purchase as they belabored my bottom. Compared to my first day caning, the thrice thrashed times two I received from them both, was bearable on already spanked surface. Quite the lewd display I offered, hips pumping, buttocks clenching, wet cunny squelching; lost in my agony, could not overhear the murmured consultation far above my prone body. When I felt the tip of cane poke at my wanton portal of Venus, I shimmied, and lifted my arse.

“No, I do not agree, your lordship,” Mrs. Cleanknockers pronounced stiffly. “Ruby has not earned the delights of constant climaxes. After luncheon, you will send Mr. Jones-Smyth to the infirmary—without explanation—and should he accede to your protocol, then, and only then, shall we retire to the Gun Room, where Ruby will be put to the pestle.” Her entire lecture was accompanied by the soft moist sound of cane gently swatting my creamy pussy. I was going out of my mind needing to come. “Hold still, Ruby!” His lordship warned. SNAP! SNAP! I screamed. Fire bit both nether lips.

My hands dove into my whipped cunt; heedless of audience, I frantically rubbed the stinging lines. My cruel punishers grabbed my arms, yanking me upright, spun me dizzily, bent me over. Mrs. Cleanknockers stuffed me betwixt her thighs; fingers gouged my breasts, pinched nipples trapped. My defenseless bottom now targeted for Lord Caneshard’s wrath. The harsh leather strap reignited the scalding burn. I yowled, muffled in her skirts, and danced on tiptop like a puppet. Quick, steady, decisive, he punished my insolence and drove the cocky attitude before him to market. Silence then, only my sobbing heard. What heavenly heat.

Shortly thereafter, I was cleaning the books once more. Thankfully, there was no need of the ladder; I could not have mounted in any case. Heavy throbbing in my hot arse, each pulse reminding me, each twist of my torso fresh incentive to behave. Hotter still was my twat (thanks Louisa for that word); liquid sluggishly flowed, yet quicker than my mind. Eyes would not focus, constant twitching of shoulders; I watched my hands clean and rinse as if under malevolent influence. I was: but it was my own treacherous nature. I wondered if harsh discipline would ever be enough.

I picked at my food; it was the carnal I was starving for, so when Mrs. Cleanknockers swept in with even more severity than usual, I jumped to my feet. The staff still eating fell silent as they watched my finely calculated humbling. “Louisa.” she snapped. “Assist Ruby with her toilette.” Confused, I looked to see Louisa, her eyes sparkling with mischief, reach for my hem and begin to lift my uniform up. “Hush, Ruby,” she whispered. “Obey, and all will be well.” I meekly raised my arms and bowed my head as again stripped naked for all to ogle.

Evidently my buttocks were still red, for there were soft gasps and giggles, swiftly doused by Mrs. Cleanknocker’s glare. Proudly I met their stares: My body was as good as anyone’s, experienced or not, I would yield to no one, but my betters. One by one, I was dressed in the finest clothing I’d ever worn. Stockings, drawers, chemise and corset; all topped by a fine muslin frock and kid slippers. Louisa served as my looking glass, the adoration and lust in her gaze caused my loins to clench in anticipation of the overnight delights. Pride goeth before the fall.

Déjà vu. Two days prior, I’d trembled in shame and confusion as Mrs. Cleanknockers stripped me of both pride and pretense, scouring my soul clean of expectations. The Infirmary: A subtle name to the bright and cheerful room I now eagerly entered for my salvation. Surrendering my privacy for good, I stood tall, patiently awaiting the arrival of my presumed husband-to-be. Mrs. Cleanknockers bustled preparing the stage for my performance. Their voices arrived first. A jealous foreboding flashed. The light laughing and the deeper rumbling caused fists to clench and my thighs to throb. Evidently I’d not yet sufficiently atoned.

Miss Frothinglips preceded Mr. Jones-Smyth; her head dipped like a sunflower, turned towards the heated and attentive regard of an interested male. Her hand trailed behind, leaving little ripples on his sleeve. I felt shabby. My borrowed finery hung like a sack in comparison to one who’d grown up in luxury wearing clothing that skimmed like a second skin over rich curves. Combined with her effortless posture and spotless diction, Miss Frothinglips epitomized the virginal English rose of polite high society. No wonder he seemed transfixed. Before he noticed me, she blocked his view and gave me a sly smile.

My blood boiled, but Miss Frothinglips coyly winked at me and stood aside. “Ruby!” Mr. Jones-Smyth crossed the floor with a bound and took my gloved hands. “You look splendid!” Startled by her wink and his enthusiasm, my emotions underwent a rapid metamorphosis. I could not help but relax and smile in return when he kissed my fingers. “Are you going out?” His face was open and honest. I would have spoken had not Mrs. Cleanknockers raised the curtain and lit the footlights. “Good afternoon, sir, may I presume you’ve concluded your negotiations with his lordship?” A fraught silence ensued.

She gave a ‘significant’ stare towards me when he balked. “May I see the contract, sir?” Noticing his hesitation, I smiled with an encouraging nod. A very thoughtful mien appeared after he finally noticed all the various apparatuses visible, then, at the three women who surrounded him like hounds baying at a fox. Focusing his honey-gold orbs upon my flushed cheeks, he asked in a stern voice, “Ruby? What mischief have you been up to?” I lowered my head in demure fashion. “I’d rather not say, sir.” He harrumphed at my reticence. “That, Ruby, I do not believe.” Paper rustled.

“Our contract, ma’am.” A brief hiatus while they conferred. Miss Frothinglips took advantage by whispering in my ear. “He is quite handsome, despite being in trade. I’ll bet he’s a great fuck.” We clashed. Unspoken words sliced as sharpest steel. Gauntlets and hilts locked in upright stances; she leaned in and kissed me firmly, whispering once more. “Louisa is not the only trained girl here, Ruby.” My world spun. I no longer could pretend I understood the many interlocking relationships at Peacock House. Everything existed on another plane. “Very well, sir, all is in order,” Mrs. Cleanknockers broke our combat.

“This room, Mr. Jones-Smyth, serves as our infirmary and intake for new hires.” Mrs. Cleanknockers gestured at each area. “Ruby has already been processed, two days ago, but insisted she needed to capture your attention—” He interrupted, “—She already has.” I fell instantly in love. “Be that as it may: Ruby is in need of severe training. She thought it instructive, for you, to witness her chastisement. Miss Frothinglips will assist me. Please, make yourself comfortable, sir.” So, my denouement began once more. I was already wet and swollen. No resistance from me, as they removed my garments.

I could not match the heat in his gaze as my raiment fell like amber leaves in a storm. He’d seen me nude in his lordship’s library, but being stripped for his pleasure felt decadent and wicked beyond belief. I desperately yearned for his approval and, unbidden, locked hands behind my head when silky drawers pooled around my feet like fresh fallen snow. From a distance, I heard Mrs. Cleanknockers invite him forward. His large calloused hands lifted my chin: thumbs stroked my dry lips and tugged my mouth open. He peered at my teeth; I stuck out my tongue.

“As you see, Mr. Jones-Smyth,” Mrs. Cleanknocker’s stated as he ran his fingers down my flanks, “Ruby is healthy and sound of both limb and mind.” I breathed out heavily when he lifted my bosom and plucked the taut nipples with a thoughtful expression. “Has she had any breast training yet? No? I wish to elongate her teats so that she is able to wear pierced ornaments.” I shivered—not from cold. After I finished displaying my dexterity, I sat on the examination table and eagerly lay back spreading my knees wide. “As you can plainly see, lubrication is copious.”

My lips were pulled apart by two sets of feminine fingers. “As certified in your contract, sir, you have purchased a virgin for your exclusive use. You may share her at your discretion: please be advised, Ruby has a taste for quims.” My hips squirmed as I felt his thick finger slide inside, his thumb rubbing my hard clit. “I plan to cultivate Ruby’s wanton nature—both in Sapphic terms and in cock stands—so that she will be an asset to my business.” I lifted my head and stared open-mouthed at him. “Yes, Ruby, I have need of you.”

Now on my stomach, my buttocks were massaged and teased until I could not help but lift up and present in mounting position. An oiled digit penetrated my rosette. “This entrance shall be reserved for me, Mrs. Cleanknockers,” Mr. Jones-Smyth ordered. “After she is broken to saddle, I may allow artificial female stimulation, but the only cock to bugger her, will be mine.” I clenched his finger. In response, he probed deeper and twirled as if seeking an oracle reading. “Make a note: Daily enemas.” While Mrs. Cleanknockers prepared the first sudsy solution, she conferred with him in low tones.

I was startled, when after filled with warm water in my rectum, a greased plug was inserted and he lifted my left leg. I was shocked, when Miss Frothinglips knelt beside the table and pressed her lips to my soaked pussy. I came in an instant. She licked and sucked, tongue delving and teeth nibbling as orgasm after orgasm washed as my tummy gurgled and cramped. Gritting my teeth, I stumbled to the loo: Poised over the bowl, Mrs. Cleanknockers tugged the plug. I gushed. Upon my return, Miss Frothinglips was still kneeling—Mr. Jones-Smyth’s cock was down her throat.

Conventional propriety would have me flying and rending her coiffure in jealous rage. In truth, I felt pride at his mastery of such a well-bred female brought down to my level. Lying on my side, as the second enema was administered I watched with avid admiration as his cock was daintily swallowed by the prim Miss Frothinglips. “Promise me you will teach me how,” I asked all present. She paused for breath. “I am but priming your man’s charger, Ruby.” I touched her arm. “I am not upset, Miss Frothinglips, but in fact, in awe of your decorum and skill.”

We decamped from the Infirmary, and traipsed naked—me only—through the bustling halls to the Gun Room. Unsure of what to do, I was surprised by Mr. Jones-Smyth’s embrace and passionate kisses. I returned his ardor in equal measure, rising on tiptoe when his hands gripped my ample buttocks. “Your steed awaits,” Mrs. Cleanknockers said with a sweeping gesture, when we at last unlocked our lips. He gallantly escorted me to the pommel, and tenderly helped me as I clumsily mounted for the first time. Each restraint was carefully explained, and both of them helped him bind me securely.

“Before you—we—commence flogging Ruby,” he said with grave intent, “I wish a moment of privacy.” Both Mrs. Cleanknockers and Miss Frothinglips acquiesced and departed. The soft thud of the tufted leather paneled door seemed portentous. I craned my head. “Do not strain, dear one.” Mr. Jones-Smyth knelt on a knee so that our eyes were level. “I would understand your confusion, Ruby, and we have much to discuss, but I crave you listen.” I widened my eyes and nodded. “We have only short acquaintance, yet I feel such comfort and respect for you. Ruby, will you marry me?”

Black Holes Tango

out past the halo
where the comets
do roam
out past the halo
where the cold
froze your bones
radiation will fry you
when the light
fades away
so come through the door
take your helmet
off here

so raise your glass high boys
for black holes
and beer
raise your glass high
for a ship
called desire
drink down that liquor
before you return
to that ship
called desire
and the black holes
of home

out past the belt
where the rocks
do tumble
out past the belt
where the ice
breaks in shards
gravity will grab you
when the asteroids
spin by
so come through the door
take your helmet
off here

so raise your glass high boys
for black holes
and beer
raise your glass high
for a ship
called desire
drink down that liquor
before you return
to that ship
called desire
and the black holes
of home

Lolo Black raised her tankard high, enthusiastically belting out the lyrics to Black Holes and a Ship called Desire—the unofficial anthem of the space station Delphi Blue. The stark filtered light from the gas giant Atlas cut a wide beam through O’Mara’s Pub. She took a long pull of the spicy ale. Alcohol was the third most important thing she missed while on a run to the asteroid belt.

Her cargo of ores sold and off-loaded, she’d docked several hours ago after six months mining in the absolute desolation of space. A room, a shower, clean jumpersuit; the first need taken care of, she was hunting for the second of her priorities. After wearing her fingers out watching porn holos, her body craved real skin wrapped around deep inside. Lolo had five weeks to kill: mandatory rest for licensed pilots, enforced through regular medical exams and strict exercise programs.

“How’s my favorite intersex employee doing?”
“I’m not your employee,” she replied with rote indifference to the ritual pitch.
Sven, all seven feet of ebony muscle, straddled the other chair at her small table. “Just say the word, babe, and I’ll sign you up with a brand new Mark Twelve freighter and even take your tub in trade.”
The Satin Rose is not for sale, Sven. All I want from you is a good hard fucking.”
“You know I never mix business with pleasure,” he regretfully said.
“I don’t regret turning you down… again. I’ll never work for that asshole Atlas. It’s bad enough he named the planet after himself, but his wife Delphi swans around as if she’s Queen and we’re peasants.”

Whatever Sven would have said in response was lost in the low rumble of hackles raised by the rough spacers guarding their turf.
Lolo didn’t snarl, only because she was too shocked by the temerity of the intruder. “What the fuck is a Sector 8 cop doing in O’Mara’s?”
Sven swiveled giving an amused snort. “That’s Crandall Memphis, Atlas’ nephew and troubleshooter: Emphasis on shooter. He’s here with a squad of Greenies hunting pirates jacking comets.”
She finished off her ale with a gulp, the dregs burning her tongue. “I was going to hook up with Crazy Pete, but I do like the cut of Crandall’s… epaulets.”
“Lolo…” Sven growled. “Don’t fuck with Atlas. I like you. You’re the best miner in this parsec, but there are limits to even my protection.”
She leaned across and kissed his forehead. “Thanks for the warning, grandpa, but I can handle my liquor and my sex partners.”

“There you are, Crandall,” Lolo cut through the tension like an arclaze, deftly slipping her arm around the cop’s waist and squeezing with warning. The other miners reluctantly eased back a fraction. She bent her head down and playfully nipped his left ear while hissing softly beneath the implied threats. “I’m sure your body armor can repel a needler, but a shiv to the throat will kill you just the same.
“I’m missed you so much! I can’t believe you came all this way for me!” Lolo kissed him with apparent enthusiasm, swiftly extracting him from danger.

Once safely into the crowd on Concourse J, she blasted him for his stupidity. “What the fuck were you doing, going solo into that place? Didn’t they teach you anything in cop school?”
“I had the situation under control, miss…”
“Name’s Lolo. Lolo Black. And pardon my attitude, but you’re full of shit. Those boys and girls back there would have had you out an airlock before your uncle could sneeze a credit. There are places on this station police don’t go, unless it’s been exposed to hard vacuum for a cycle first; and even then, they go in powered.”

Crandall stumbled as the directional station jets made a minute adjustment.
“Great,” Lolo snarled. “Dirtside cop no less. Let me guess. First time away from mommy’s tit.”
He snarled back. “Watch your mouth, Lolo, or I’ll toss you in the brig with the rest of the users.”
She grabbed his utility belt and mashed up against his stocky frame. “I doubt you have the balls to even frisk me. Too scared you might get bit.” She kissed him again, this time forcing her tongue between his angry lips and sliding one hand around to fondle his broad butt.
Crandall gave it right back, dueling for supremacy like two characters in a low budget space opera. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he said, “I don’t know what your game is, Lolo, but I’m on duty.”
“My game? It’s simple. You’re seeking information on pirate activity, and I’m horny. You figure out how to scratch my itch and I’ll give it up. You do know how to conduct an interrogation, don’t you?”
She saw a smug grin as he crossed his arms. “In your case, I’m going to start with a body search. A very thorough and deep search.”
Lolo instantly shivered, placing her hands behind her back. “My room is 3854-V Deck 12, officer. I’m sorry I sassed you. Please don’t cuff me and take me in, I’ll do anything you say, just don’t hurt me.”
The buzz of the active manacles around her crossed wrists caused her cock to stiffen and pussy to flood. When he threatened to punish her disobedient ass with a hard spanking, her nipples almost punched through her skintight clothing.

He maneuvered her into the closest alcove activating the opaque security field. “You must really think I’m stupid, if you expect me to traipse off to your room without checking you for weapons first.”
“No, sir, you’re not stupid. You’re a hard, mean bastard who likes to abuse his prisoners.”
“You got a really smart mouth, don’t you?” He punctuated the sneering remark with two hard smacks to her bottom. When she yelped in surprise, he gripped her nape and firmly pressed her forehead to the wall. “I can think of a better use for your tongue, but for now, spread ‘em nice and wide, Lolo. I’ll show you how a real cop frisks his prisoner.”
She moaned as she thrust her hips out and widened her stance into a Y-shape. Her fantasy was about to come true. He started with her boots, pulling them off and tossing aside with a double thud. He used his right hand to slid up each leg to the upper thigh while the left was anchored in the small of her back. Skipping her waist—for now—he ran his fingers through her buzz cut, then around the collar, shoulders and each cuffed arm down to the fingernails.
Lolo wiggled when she felt his engorged groin against her ass. “Please, sir, I’m not hiding anything. Don’t use your probe on me, I’ll be good.”
“The thing is,” he said, placing both hands on her stomach and slowly moving them upwards, “I was in the bar because I heard scuttlebutt that a certain miner was involved in illegal activities.” He cupped her loose breasts and squeezed gently, then pinched both nipples. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“What? I’m clean! That filthy Atlas is behind it I guarantee! You outta bust him!”
“Settle down, Lolo, I didn’t say I believed them—or my uncle.” He increased the pressure with his thumbs and forefingers until she gasped and struggled to stand upright.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
“Not so fast!” Crandall warned, releasing her tight nipples and swiftly spanking her again.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
“I need to finish frisking you.” He slipped his hands between her thighs and prodded everywhere. “Wet and hard. I must have won the lottery.” He laughed as she arched her back and lifted her rump to his teasing fingers. “No weapons that I can feel, Lolo, but I’m taking you to your room anyway for a cavity search. Pirates can’t be trusted.”
She nearly came at his words. Completely humiliated, she did come as he escorted her, still cuffed and barefooted, through the public halls to her lodging.

When they finally reached her domicile, he asked, “I’m curious. Are you a natural intersex, or a genmod?”
Lolo gave Crandall an incredulous stare. “Are you insane?”
He shrugged. “Hey, I am conducting a serious interrogation here. The question is germane considering it’s thought to be stabilizing in deep space pilots.”
“I thought this was only role play sex?”
“Then let me ask you. If this was a date, finding out in mid-grope wouldn’t be very polite, not to mention dangerous, now wouldn’t it?”
She nodded reluctantly.
“And, not to kill the mood entirely, I’m deadly serious about tracking pirates, so if you have relevant information, I’m willing to deal fairly.”
Leaning against the bulkhead, Lolo pondered his offer then flapped her hands and jerked her head. “I can’t deactivate the palm lock with my hands behind my back.”
“Are you going to behave if I release you?”
“That depends. What will you do if I cause trouble?”
He lightly tapped her chin. “I’ll strip you naked, put you over my knee, spank you hard until you’re bright red, then spread you open on my lap and conduct a deep cavity search for contraband.”
Lolo shuddered and whispered through a suddenly dry throat. “Sounds fair to me.” She spun around and flexed her restrained wrists.
Waiting a heartbeat or two, he buzzed the release. The cuffs unlocked and retracted into the magnetic control wand.
“Thanks.”
Placing her left palm on the pad and staring straight ahead at the optical scanner, it was only a moment before the light durasteel panel slid sideways and she stepped through the opening. She sensed him following, and once the door closed, pivoted as if to say something. She threw a punch instead.
Crandall wasn’t fooled for an instant. He blocked her attempt and hooking her foot, turned and threw her over his shoulder onto the bed. She bounced once, quickly regaining her equilibrium, but before she could resume hand-to-hand combat Crandall asked, “Best two out of three falls?”
Growling, her response was to launch herself like a plasma jet at the smirking cop. He met her head-on and smoothly danced her around and off the sparse furniture until pinning her face down and ass up on the floor.
“Do you yield and accept your punishment?”
She grunted and strained but he only tightened his clasp. “Yes, I yield, you bastard.”
“That’s Sir Bastard, if you please.” He released her and backed away, and in a no-nonsense tone ordered, “Strip.”
A shivery shudder racked her entire body. Slowing standing, she toyed with front fastener at her cleavage. Biting her lip, she had the audacity to say, “Do I at least get music for my striptease?”
Crandall quirked his brow: She took that as a yes and activated the player. The thumping club mix raised her pulse even higher and she started swaying and twirling as her jumpersuit fell open down to her crotch. Shrugging out of the long sleeves, she shimmied her hips and with a deft flick of her foot, kicked the garment straight at Crandall. Catching it cleanly, he smiled and carefully folded it up, setting it aside.
Lolo was naked underneath: she hated wearing undergarments on station. Six months of confining survival gear made her want to go nude constantly. Still dancing, she let her erection lead the way.
Snuggling up to him, she traced his uniform with her fingertips, eventually cupping his tumescence. “I can’t wait to have this bad boy inside me,” she crooned. “I bet mine is bigger though. I got the best when I had it implanted—though, I love my pussy too.”
“Later, Lolo,” he said, rubbing her bottom. “But first, this has a date over my knee.”
“Do I have to?” she pouted, nibbling his neck.
“Yes, I’m not done with your interrogation.”
“Meanie.”
“I’m an amoral abusive dirtside cop remember?”
“Sorry.”
“You will be.”

She was. Dangling over his knees, ass on fire as Crandall did a beat down to the rhythm of the staccato syncopation blaring from the speakers, Lolo wanted the spanking to be harder and faster. Pain was a pilot’s constant companion and this was more cleansing than punishing. She did a lap dance, grinding her tummy and twerking her hips as his hard hand rained slaps on her tenderized flesh. When he finally stopped, she finally unclenched her glutes and slumped limply. She felt her nerves pulsing, the surface sting subsiding and the muscle soreness building. A couple of more minutes and she knew she’d climax under his spanking.
Coaxing her into a different posture, she blushed as bright as she presumed her butt must look. “What are you doing now?”
“This, my naughty pirate, is called the wheelbarrow position. Something us grubby dirtsiders use on our farms. It’s time,” the loud snap of gloves being donned. “For your cavity search.”
Lolo moaned as if she was being tortured. “No! I’ll come if you probe me. Please fuck me instead. I’m sorry I sassed you.”
Crandall didn’t respond, instead, running his slick protected fingers around her labia then wedging his thumbs between her stretched thighs and prying open her soaked entrance. “I see you enjoyed being spanked,” as he let go and grabbed Lolo’s hard cock. Giving it a quick wank, he rubbed the tip as clear fluid seeped. “Must be a trip to come both ways.”
Lolo thought he sounded wistful, but all pretense of control fled when he slowly, carefully, slipped two fingers into her pulsating vagina: all the while maintaining a steady pumping of her cock. “You’re going to make me come!”
He withdrew his wet fingers and slapped her twice on her brick red bottom. “Don’t you dare come without permission or I’ll whip you with my belt!”
Wailing in protest, she tried to control her urges, but his thick, nimble fingers pressed wide and twirled inside. She felt a spasm in her testes, and he clamped down hard on her shaft.
“Don’t… come…”
Panting now as he edged her over and over, she lost all track of time; the pending climax stretched out as if nearing light speed. Only dimly did she hear him say, ‘last orifice’ and the snap of a fresh glove. Her pussy felt empty, but not for long, as he let go of her cock and placed his thumb on her clit.
A faint, guttural, inhuman tone she didn’t recognize as emanating from her mouth, occurred as one, and then two fingers slid inexorably through her anus. She clenched her rectum, hard, and let out a strangled scream as they rotated and scraped the flexible inner walls.
Lolo stopped breathing entirely as Crandall jabbed back into her vagina and made a sandwich of his hands, the fingers rubbing against each other through the thin membrane separating her passages.
“I can’t stop….” screaming hoarsely and bucking violently as the long denied orgasm ruptured her senses.
Crandall yanked his fingers out of her ass, shed the glove and while she was still convulsing in the throes of climax, briskly milked her cock. It wasn’t long until Lolo ejaculated and shot all over the floor.

When she came to, Crandall was washing his hands and face and quietly speaking on his com. “I’ll be there in a few. Secure the scene.”
Groggily, Lolo was able to ask, “Where the hell are you going? Aren’t we having sex?”
“I’ll be back in three hours, or so.”
“What?”
“I told you. I’m on duty.”
He tossed her a salute and left.

The sound of her boots hitting the door was probably heard in outer space.

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

In case you were wondering, yes, I did write the song at the beginning. Nine years and a few weeks ago to be precise, but I never had a story to match until this prompt. In addition, the title is not a typo: Holes is correct. You may interpret that in any way you’d like. This story is a lot longer than I planned, and is not flash fiction since I took three days to write and edited quite a bit. It’s closer to what I would write for a submission call or novella concept than a blog post. I’d call it a rough quasi-draft at this point.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 6 (Part 30)

“Before you—we—commence flogging Ruby,” he said with grave intent, “I wish a moment of privacy.” Both Mrs. Cleanknockers and Miss Frothinglips acquiesced and departed. The soft thud of the tufted leather paneled door seemed portentous. I craned my head. “Do not strain, dear one.” Mr. Jones-Smyth knelt on a knee so that our eyes were level. “I would understand your confusion, Ruby, and we have much to discuss, but I crave you listen.” I widened my eyes and nodded. “We have only short acquaintance, yet I feel such comfort and respect for you. Ruby, will you marry me?”

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 6 (Part 29)

We decamped from the Infirmary, and traipsed naked—me only—through the bustling halls to the Gun Room. Unsure of what to do, I was surprised by Mr. Jones-Smyth’s embrace and passionate kisses. I returned his ardor in equal measure, rising on tiptoe when his hands gripped my ample buttocks. “Your steed awaits,” Mrs. Cleanknockers said with a sweeping gesture, when we at last unlocked our lips. He gallantly escorted me to the pommel, and tenderly helped me as I clumsily mounted for the first time. Each restraint was carefully explained, and both of them helped him bind me securely.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 6 (Part 28)

Conventional propriety would have me flying and rending her coiffure in jealous rage. In truth, I felt pride at his mastery of such a well-bred female brought down to my level. Lying on my side, as the second enema was administered I watched with avid admiration as his cock was daintily swallowed by the prim Miss Frothinglips. “Promise me you will teach me how,” I asked all present. She paused for breath. “I am but priming your man’s charger, Ruby.” I touched her arm. “I am not upset, Miss Frothinglips, but in fact, in awe of your decorum and skill.”

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 6 (Part 27)

I was startled, when after filled with warm water in my rectum, a greased plug was inserted and he lifted my left leg. I was shocked, when Miss Frothinglips knelt beside the table and pressed her lips to my soaked pussy. I came in an instant. She licked and sucked, tongue delving and teeth nibbling as orgasm after orgasm washed as my tummy gurgled and cramped. Gritting my teeth, I stumbled to the loo: Poised over the bowl, Mrs. Cleanknockers tugged the plug. I gushed. Upon my return, Miss Frothinglips was still kneeling—Mr. Jones-Smyth’s cock was down her throat.

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