The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 19)

He fumbled with my voluminous skirts then, with an exasperated command, ordered Louisa to assist in baring my bottom. “But I can’t be spanked!” The carriage swayed as it rounded a corner, and his hands reached out to steady us both. “Why ever not, Ruby?” I craned my neck around trying to express my earnestness. “Mrs. Cleanknockers said that no maid is to be disciplined during her time of the month.” I pleaded with Louisa. “Tell him it’s the truth.” Rather petulantly, I thought, she reluctantly corroborated my explanation. “So you see, Chester, you shan’t spank me today.” He pinched.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 18)

I was yanked from my poignant memory by his serious and thoughtful response. “Rest assured, Ruby, I will not banish you to a red tent every four weeks out of some belief you are unclean. Your cycle is part of the natural order of life.” My heart flipped cartwheels at his declaration. He reached over and clasped my hand. “As my wife, you will be accorded all due respect and courtesy inherent to your position.” The imp perverse couldn’t resist tweaking. “Even when that position is over your knee?” I squawked when he swiftly slung me across his broad lap.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 17)

I smacked her arm as I continued. “—al fresco, but this blasted corset has squashed my liver to paste.” Louisa honked in mirth. “And besides…” I hesitated until he encouraged me to continue. I gazed out the window as I spoke. “I’m… I’m having my monthly.” His inscrutable expression reminded me of when my late mother would play cards, late at night, with some friends of hers. I’d watch from my bed, blanket pulled tightly around my head, as they gossiped and bluffed the hours away, pretending for a short time that the wolf was at someone else’s door.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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.

Now a Major Motion Picture: The Wedding Games

From Vladivostok they came
to play a wedding game
a case of vodka the prize
with competitive eyes
they rushed
and they popped
when to everyone’s surprise
up flipped their skirts
the groomsmen smirked
so the bride declared a tie
and ordered them birched
so all they got
for bursting their balloons
was to forfeit the knickers
and abstain from the liquor
but the boyfriends did rise
[to the occasion]
and after the toasts
made the most of the roast
that their girlfriend’s behinds had become

so let that be a lesson
when playing silly games
if the camera is rolling
keep your underwear from showing
and never
ever
piss off the bride

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 16)

“So, where are we taking us, Chester? Are the roads passable?” I sat across from him, facing forward, Louisa at my side. He smiled and nodded. “Yes, to your latter question and, I thought I would show you one of our, my, factories that is fairly close by.” He nudged the hamper on the floor with his foot. “I’ve taken the liberty of procuring some provisions for a light repast, should you be so inclined.” I smiled too, a little ruefully. “Normally, I’d never turn down tea—” Louisa interrupted, “Or a man offering to take liberties with your person.”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 15)

He laughed at my faux pas, giving us a hand up, each in turn. “No, dearest one, I shall seize the moment to relinquish the reins… and whip, to instead sacrifice the fresh air and drama of driving for the opportunity to ride inside two beautiful ladies of my recent acquaintance.” His double entendre made us titter like choirgirls. I didn’t know much about carriages or horses, but it had four wheels, an enclosure and a driver who was seemingly impatient to get rolling. Thus began my first liaison; complete with a duenna of dubious worth, as events soon proved.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 14)

The bouquet was lovely. I searched out a vase, my automatic response as servant eliciting a giggle from Louisa and an arched brow from Chester. He deftly inserted conversational remarks about the weather [the geese were happy this morning] my outfit [the colors brought out the highlights in my eyes] Louisa’s ruddy health [such a delightful contrast to fragile porcelain] and with steady social banter, managed to guide both of us to the waiting coach. It was a struggle, but I managed to both keep my feet and wits from stumbling. “Will you be our whip this afternoon?” I blushed.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 13)

I staggered; her words — and my vivid imagination — sent another climax ripping through my pussy. “You won’t be able to walk straight for a week.” Louisa’s laugh was low and evil sounding. “Maybe after he’s done fucking you senseless, I’ll be able to push my entire hand up your creamy cunt and show him how rough you like to be treated.” My groan was pitiful. “Please, Louisa. No more. I’m about to combust.” Saved from likely self-immolation by the dashing bloke himself, who popped to his feet as we entered the front parlor, I managed a wobbly, but credible, curtsy.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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.

Coffee Klatch was never like this

This is part 2 of The Dastardly Dom’s story for Wicked Wednesday. Last week’s post is called: The care and feeding of submissiveness. It will make more sense to read part 1 first, since it is a direct continuation, but this flash fiction also works alone.

Vittoria’s screamed plea still rang in Dominic’s ears. Tolling like an iron bell, her emotional outburst combined with her tears broke open a part of his psyche that always made him uncomfortable. The part that liked to hurt her. Even now, even with the anger still bubbling and sensing the compassion with which he held his sobbing wife; even now, he wanted to bend her over and whip her ass. To see and hear the tears flow faster. “I’ll do something,” he murmured. “I promise.” He rocked her gently back-and-forth, crooning a wordless lullaby as she very gradually relaxed with shuddering gasps.

“I’m sorry, Dominic. I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.” Vittoria smiled tremulously, wiping her wet lashes. “Forgive me?”
“Of course I forgive you, honey.” Dominic leaned in, giving her a deep kiss. “That is, if you make me some fresh coffee.”
She reared back, suddenly confused. “Coffee? At this time of night?”
A slow smile creased his cheeks. A cruel grin in fact. “Are you hard of hearing, Miss Caparelli? I do believe I gave you an order.”

She shuddered, conflicted. The raw memories merged with Dominic’s sneering words. What stayed her biting response though, was a spurt of dampness in her knickers. Closing her eyes, she fought for control.

“Don’t fight me, Miss Caparelli, you’ll regret it.”
“I wasn—” her startled gaze meeting his narrowed stare.
“And don’t lie, or you’ll discover why the secretarial pool calls me The Dastardly Dom.”
Awkwardly, she clambered to her feet, straightening her crumpled jogging pants and brushing out the creases. “Yes, sir. I’ll bring your coffee as quick as I can.” As she left the room, he called out, “And change your clothing, Miss Caparelli, into something more appropriate — and revealing. I like my women sexy and easy.” Her pussy clenched. His misogynistic and leering tone was turning her on. Her shame grew even deeper.

She discarded the pod, watching sightlessly as the brown fluid streamed into the ceramic mug. Like an escalator, her thoughts ran ceaselessly; going up, then down. A cycle of self-recrimination and hatred. The soft beep startled her. The acid churned. She swallowed hard and walked, shuffled back to her husband. Tears sprang anew. How he must loath me now.

Dominic heard her coming, reluctance in every step. How I love her. He put his hands behind his head, the chair reclining as she approached his desk, carefully setting the steaming brew on the blotter.
“Your coffee, sir. Will there be…” He waited as she blinked furiously. “Be anything else?”
He took a sip, watching as she rubbed her hands in apparent nervousness. “Yes, there is.” He kept drinking, expression impassive as he drew out the moment until the tension in her frame seemed ready to snap. “You know I’ve always admired your work, Miss Caparelli.”
“You have?” Vittoria blurted out, then covered her open mouth with both hands.
“Oh yes. I admire a great number of things about your work. You’re punctual, always willing to be a team player and, most importantly…” He set the mug down with a gentle thump.
She bit her lip, eyes peering sideways. “Importantly? Sir?”
He rose to his feet, moving around the desk, perching on the corner. “Most importantly, Miss Caparelli, is your grooming. Impeccable.” Dominic lifted a strand of her long, brunette hair, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. “You always look good enough to eat.”
“Coffee, tea or me?” Vittoria couldn’t help but giggle.
“Precisely.” He motioned for her to spin.
She felt her heart thump as she obeyed, the pleated hem swishing around her lower thighs, nipples tightening as his eyes caressed her chest.
“So glad to ‘see’ the new dress code leads to perky attitudes.” Dominic stood, going behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I believe this is where we left off, Miss Caparelli.” He squeezed tighter, slipping his fingers onto her upper arms. “I’m sure we can find some mutually satisfying means in which you can compensate for your careless actions… that cost this company money. Do you remember that part?”
She tried not lean back into his embrace, but to play the role of frightened employee desperate to keep her job. “I sorry, sir. I was going it pay it back! I am going to pay it back. I only needed medicine for my sick little brother.”
Fighting back a laugh at her dramatic improv, Dominic reached lower and cupped her breasts over her shirt. “You will pay, Miss Caparelli, believe me.” He gave a throaty chuckle. “Over and over again, you will pay.”

Vittoria whimpered.
Dominic swelled.

With a flourish, he swept the desktop clear — not the half-filled coffee cup, rest assured. “Your recompense, Miss Caparelli, will begin — note; only begin — with a sound spanking. Where we go from there will depend on your compliance to my demands.” He barked, “Is that clear?”
“A spanking?” She smacked her cheeks in wide-eyed horror. “I’ve never been spanked before, sir! I couldn’t possibly bend over your desk!” She belied her protestations by doing just that. “Like this, sir?” looking over her shoulder with brimming eyes.
He hissed softly, adjusted his tight pants, wanting nothing more than to whip up her skirt, yank down her knickers and ram his aching cock deep into her wet depths. The more his wife submitted, the more his beast growled with delight. “Reach back and raise your skirt, Miss Caparelli.”
The tight lace was slowly revealed, molding the toned flesh that called to his hand. “You are such a tease.”
“No I’m not!” she protested. “I’m a good girl! You’re forcing me to do this.”
SMACK! His palm made contact with her bottom. SMACK! “Yes you are.” SMACK! “You’re a tease. Always flaunting your body around me, fucking me with your eyes. I know what bad girls like you need.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
She cried out as the slaps grew harder and quicker. “Stop! Why are you doing this to me? I don’t want this.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Really? All you have to do is say, red, and I’ll stop.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “But I bet you don’t want me to stop, because deep down, you’re actually a slut.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Am I right?”
“Noooooo,” she wailed as he kept whaling. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “I don’t like this.”
Dominic grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her head back as he rubbed her red bottom with the other. “Shall we find out then? Pull your knickers down, Miss Caparelli.” He nipped the base of her neck. “If they’re dry, I’ll let you go, unmolested.”
She moaned as his teeth clamped, sending quivers down her spine. “And if not?”
“If they’re not…” He ran his tongue in a long swipe up to the corner of her mouth. “If — as I suspect — they are sopping wet — you’ll let me whip you with my belt, followed by sucking my cock and then begging for me to take your innocence.” He released her head, pushing it down until her cheek rested on the desk. “Do we have a deal?”

As The Dastardly Dom’s belt belt lashed her jutting buttocks, Vittoria’s hand was a blur as she frigged her swollen clit and wet folds. This was one memory of her boss she’d relive over and over again, this time without shame.

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

Writing for fun and [hopeful] profit

As you know, as Byron Cane, I am participating in Smut Marathon 2018. Until March 10th — next Saturday — you can vote at this link here for the top three stories you like best. What I did was copied and pasted the 62 stories into a Word docx. and by condensing, printed out 15 pages to read later. The results of Round 2 will be announced on Sunday, March 11th along with the names of the 40 writers to advance to Rounds 3 and 4. Please vote, we had a very light turnout last time.

Smut Marathon 2018 Participant

This coming Thursday, March 8th, is International Women’s Day. In honor of that, Sexy Little Pages is publishing their latest anthology, Corrupted. I have the honor of having a short story accepted called, Ghosting Past Emily. You can read more about the story at my other blog with this link. The anthology is currently available for pre-orders through a number of online retail stores via this link here.

If you haven’t explored my blog, there is a page titled: Published fiction available for purchase as Byron Cane. You can follow the links to Amazon and purchase ebook copies of my works.

The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

The Case of the Disciplined Valentine

Coming soon will be another novella, The Witch of Olympus Hollow. I’ll provide links when it is published.

The Witch of Olympus Hollow

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 12)

The thought of Chester nuzzling me down there caused a fresh spurt of moisture. I moaned. “What is he going to think of me?” She patted my bustled behind whispering, after she nipping my earlobe, “He’ll think he’s a dashed lucky cove for having such a randy piece for a fiancée.” She gave me a sharp jab, like an angry goose; my bottom awoke and peered round seeking more pinches. What I got was more teasing. “I can’t wait to see you… flat on your back. Knees pinned to your shoulders and Mr. Jones-Smyth pounding your messy quim into meringue.”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 11)

It broke on the shore of hedonism. I gave a strangled scream, choked off with held breath as my climax rolled on and on; the white frothy comber sweeping all thought before its relentless power. It wasn’t until we were walking down the last flight of stairs — me on shaky legs and Louisa still licking her chops — that I realized my borrowed silk drawers were missing. Louisa gave me a wink and a nudge. “He’s only got two hours with you, Ruby, I think he should have easier access, don’t you think?” Despite the padding, my thighs were very damp.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 10)

I was proud of my tight purse, the friction growing hotter as she increased her tempo, slamming her palm against my swollen lips with each inward thrust. The slurpy sounds made me aware of how soaked Louisa’s hand must be. For some reason, I felt a brief twinge of embarrassment. That was subsumed with rapture when the straining tips of her nimble fingers rubbed a place deep inside. I instinctively tilted my pelvis, begging as I did so. “Again. Right there. Oh. Oh. Yes. Harder.” Waves of contractions crashed over my nerves, muscles tightened, clamping down as my orgasm crested.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 9)

Lowering my voice, I hissed with mixed emotions. “I’m bleeding!” A matter-of-fact, “So?” was all she said as Louisa’s nimble tongue followed the path blazed by her sturdy hands. Soon they were working me over in tandem. Muffled snuffles made me giggle, but two slender digits slipping into my slippery pussy made me gasp with surprise. Whatever shame I still felt was soon swept aside by rising lust. This was not a leisurely poke on a lazy afternoon; Louisa was determined to frig me off in a hurry. My clit hardened. My nipples engorged. Tangy musk permeated the room.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 care and feeding of submissiveness

“I’m in here, honey!” Dominic called out to his wife as the front door closed with rather emphatic force. He resumed stirring the mixed vegetables, tossing in a pinch of sea salt as he deftly tossed the skillet’s contents.
“You do that so well.”
“All in wrist, Vittoria, all in the wrist.”
She kissed him carefully as he kept one eye on the gas burner. “Sounds like something, The Dastardly Dom, would utter.”
“Portentously, of course.”
Vittoria took a deep ragged breath. “Smells good. What else?”
“I have some grilled small potatoes, mashed with a garlic cream sauce, and wild salmon seared with grape seed oil and citrus peel.”
He flicked off the burner and set the pan to one side. “Go ahead and get changed, Vittoria. I’ll have dinner ready in thirty minutes.”
“I can wait.”
He put his hands on his hips and glared. “That wasn’t a request.” With a stern expression he pointed towards the stairs. “Change.” He smacked a wooden spoon in his palm. “Now, young lady, or there will be further consequences beyond those already earned.”
With a cocky grin, she flounced upstairs, turning at the last to stuck out her tongue. She giggled loudly when he growled.

After dinner, it was Dominic’s turn to change; not clothing, but demeanor. His wife’s attitude was verging on bratty, and he knew from experience — albeit very little — that she’d had a bad day at the office. Until they had started dabbling in role play, the most likely consequence of questioning her mood, would have led to raised voices and pouty silences. Not at all conducive to romance.

“So, Miss Caparelli,” he began in a sneering tone. “You have finally deigned to answer my summons. Please, come in.” He waved impatiently at her reluctance to enter the office. “I insist. You do wish to remain employed, do you not?”
Vittoria made her way to the chair in front of the desk. Ordinarily, she enjoyed their scenes, but tonight, the naughty secretary and lecherous boss they’d discussed was not having the desired effect. In fact, the wonderful food he’d cooked was churning in her stomach. She kept her head down, trying to hide her reactions to his words. When he caressed her shoulders, speaking, “I’m sure we can find some mutually satisfying means in which you can compensate for your careless actions… that cost this company money,” she flinched, blurting out, “Three hundred!”
Dominic rocked back. “Three hundred?”
“Yes. That’s how many men have now been accused of sexual harassment.” She still couldn’t meet his gaze.
“I’m confused. I thought you wanted to try this.”
“Me too.”
“Okay. That’s good, right?”
“No, Dominic.” She finally looked up. She heard his breath catch when he noticed the shimmer in her damp eyes. “Me too. As in, hashtag-Me-Too.”
He sank to his haunches and hugged his wife. “Oh, Vittoria. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I-I couldn’t… Before. You know. This.”
This was silly then, there’s no need to go any further, honey.”
“NO!” Vittoria panted and held up her hands, fingers stretched. “No. I need this. I’ve been carrying around this shame and guilt for so long now. I can’t let him,” she spat the word, “control me anymore.”
He stroked her flushed cheek. “How long?”
She shuddered, her voice barely a whisper. “Since I was sixteen.”
Dominic fought the rage coursing through his veins. How he kept from snapping the arm off the chair, he didn’t know, but he managed to speak calmly and rationally. “You want me to rub him out?” he snarled.
“No,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “It wouldn’t take away what happened.”
“Then what can I do?”
She replied with a firm declaration. “You can be yourself — or rather — The Dastardly Dom. It was all my fault.”
“Is that what the fucker said? That you were a tease? You had it coming?”
“He was my boss.”
Dominic leapt to his feet, storming around the room, hurling expletives like lightning bolts. Gradually, through the red haze of his fury, he heard her calling out: “Dominic! DOMINIC!” His anger was doused by the fear he saw. “I’m sorry, Vittoria.” He raised his shoulders on an inhale, then relaxed. “I’m good. I’m good.”

There was a long period of silence while they tried to assimilate what this revelation meant for them, and their budding interest in TTWD. For Vittoria, it felt like an anvil had been lifted off her soul. Even without the details, Dominic was concerned exploring spanking and kinky sex had triggered something awful.

“What?” They both spoke simultaneously. She gestured for him to go first. “What do you want me to do? Tonight, here and now. Specifically.”
She didn’t hesitate. “He told me I was pretty.” She held up her palm to stop his retort.”Let me finish.” She clenched her fingers together, the engagement ring sparkling in the light. “He said he needed to speak to me, after work, about something very important. I was excited. He’d always treated me with respect, praising my efforts and showering me with flattering compliments.” Vittoria paused for a minute, visibly trembling. “After it was over…” She stumbled to halt. “I never went back there. I never told anyone.” She looked at Dominic, anguish written on her body. “Make it go away. Please. You’re The Dastardly Dom, do something!”

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

Per repeated requests in the comments on last week’s post, The Dastardly Dom has returned. I wasn’t planning to make this a long episode, but the characters decided they wanted a bigger stage. Part 2 is posted, Coffee Klatch was never like this, at this link here.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 8)

Internally though, I was wracked with nervous doubt. Louisa — bless her deviant heart — had the perfect cure for my jitters. Ordering me to place my unshod foot upon the ticking, Ellie then supported my lower torso. My hems were lifted. Sinking to her knees, Louisa burrowed under my borrowed finery. The first touch of her calloused fingers on the backs of my thighs made me start. Ellie tightened her grip as my head lolled onto her shoulder. I felt a brief twinge of embarrassment when Louisa lowered first my drawers, then my girdled padding. “What are you doing? I’m ble—”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 7)

Nearly lost beneath a puffy mound of silk and lace, was Miss Frothinglips’ personal maid, Ellie. “My mistress sent me with this loan of a gown.” Any trepidation over her possible motive instantly turned to greed. In a trice, Louisa and Ellie had me trussed into stays — Miss Frothinglips’ sylphlike figure was several magnitudes thinner than mine — multiple petticoats and even silk stockings with frilly garters. With my hair piled high into an elaborate twist, the girl now staring wide-eyed in the mirror, bore only a passing resemblance to the orphaned waif of the prior week. “That’s me?” I marveled.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 6)

I paused to glare at her. There was no heat in my expression. Pouting in the small mirror, my voice was sulky. “I want him proud to be seen with me.” I spun back to face Louisa, pleading for her understanding. “A man of his social stature needs a helpmeet of impeccable grooming and manners.” Her response was a derisive snort of mocking laughter. “Will the introductions take place before or after he’s whipped and fucked you into submission?” I raised my hand. She was spared a good bare-bottomed beating over my knee by a timid knock on the door.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 5)

I was loath to ask for an advance, and the few shillings I brought with me to Peacock House wouldn’t even purchase a yard of ribbon, never mind fabric for a new frock. Louisa attempted to soothe my fret as I paced our room, oft-darned shift twitching with every impatient spin. “I don’t have anything to wear!” My plaintive wail was so unlike my normal disposition a part of me mockingly chided my immaturity. “Ruby, Mr. Jones-Smyth won’t give a fig about your attire. Look at me! Compared to you, I’m a drab hen in the shadow of your plumage.”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 Dastardly Dom sails the High Seas

This week for Wicked Wednesday, the prompt is ‘Pirates’. The title character comes from a conversation I had recently, in which the term, ‘Dastardly Dom’ came up in a cheeky way. 🙂

“Dominic?” Vittoria called out. “Are you almost ready?” She fussed in the mirror, adjusting her mask and tugging at her short — very short — hem. The length of leg exposed was disconcerting, but the party was not only for adults, but between a small group of friends exploring the ‘lifestyle’. She reached round and tugged the wedgie out of her crack. “I hate thongs,” she muttered, then carefully applied lip liner. “Dominic! We’re going to be late!”

Heavy tread clumped down the stairs. “What are doing weari…” Vittoria sucked in her breath as all the air seemingly vanished from the foyer. “Dominic?” she said with a soft squeak.

“You there, wench, fetch my cloak from yonder chest. The Dastardly Dom wishes to hoist the anchor.” As she gaped at her husband, he scowled and slapped his thick leather gauntlets across his palms. “Are thoust deaf, wench. Move your arse lest you feel the wrath of my scurvy temper on your backside!”

Vittoria quashed an incipient giggle at his attempted archaic pirate dialog, for she was feeling very light-headed and awed at his costume. She scurried to do his bidding, opening the closet door and blinking at the black wool cape that hadn’t been there in the morning. She felt the overwhelming urge to curtsy as she presented the garment to her pirate lord and master. They may have barely dipped their toes into role playing, but Vittoria felt extremely submissive already. She tipped over the edge when he barked his next command.

“Remember your place, slattern, is to please me…” he leaned closer and hissed, “or else.”

She bit her lip, not in fear or mirth, but because she was on the verge of throwing herself at his feet and begging to be ravished. “Yes, Sir. I understand.” She dared to glance at his stern face, gasping at the unbridled lust she saw in his eyes. Gabbling for something coherent to say, she stammered, “Doe-does m-my attire please The Dastardly Dom?”

He stroked his goatee, brows furrowed and impatiently motioned her to twirl. “Faster, and keep your arms outstretched.”

She shivered, feeling the cool air flowing over her bare cheeks and wet knickers as she spun.

“I am satisfied, very satisfied,” he purred, clear evidence tenting his tight trousers. “Except…” From beneath his scarlet cummerbund, he retrieved a short leather strap. “Thou art too pale in the posterior for my tastes. I prefer a red-bottomed lass in me bunk. Assume the position, the crew deserves a good showing of pirate law.”

As the strap rose and fell on her smarting buttocks, Vittoria thought, “I could get used to rum, sodomy and the lash.”

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 12 (Part 4)

After luncheon I changed my padding. Thankfully I was only lightly flowing and had only minor symptoms from the assortment of ailments the woman’s curse brought each double fortnight. I resolved not to mention my courses to Chester, unless his hands strayed toward my southern hemispheres. I fretted over what to wear — or not to wear. We only had two hours together. I didn’t want to be seen as a frivolous, vacuous female; but I cared about my appearance. My wages had yet to be paid for the first week: at month’s end thirty pieces of silver creased my palm.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 3)

It is said the sensual and spiritual cannot co-exist, yet, unrepentant sinner that I am, I do not feel my prayers vanish unheard into the void. Unheeded perhaps: but not unremarked. By the time I trudged back, in silent company with those who had joined in raising voice in hymn, my entreaties seemed to have had an effect. Coyly peering around sullen ranks of stern, grey clouds, frowning in displeasure at Sabbath activities, was the welcome disk of golden sun bathing me in warm benediction. One must seize signs when they occur. To do otherwise mires the soul in hopelessness.

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 2)

Church services were not mandatory, but I’ve always found the liturgy soothing and the sermons to be comforting. Peacock House had a family chapel, but the village of Lower Bumhampton was within easy walking distance. My boots were soiled, my soul in mortal peril, but my heart danced on rainbows. I was going riding with my lovers; my mind turned wicked envisioning the possibilities of three enclosed in private carriage. I searched my conscience, but found no jealousy at the thought of Chester fucking Louisa. I am sure having wet drawers in church is a sin, but how can love?

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 12 (Part 1)

Gentle Reader: Sunday erupted with a flourish of cornets and thunder of timpani. The birds were chirping sweet melodies as I shook a grumbling Louisa awake. “It’s time to get up! Our chariot awaits.” Alas for poor Ruby. In truth it was pouring. Typical dank English weather and the roads would be a quagmire for coaches. No matter: if we stiff upper-lipped Britains cowered at the sight of mere liquid from the skies, we’d never have ruled such a vast Empire. “Forward Louisa! Once more unto the breach.” She whacked me with her pillow. I yanked her off the cot.

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 cruelty of nostalgia’s whip

This week for Wicked Wednesday, the prompt is Time Travel and, despite the plethora of fictional treatments, is something that is impossible. Without getting into the mathematical formulae that deal with the one-way arrow of time — nor the multiverse concept spawned by quantum mechanics — the oft-used example goes thusly: “If time travel were possible, then why are we not overrun by future iterations of advanced lifeforms either enslaving or lecturing us about what pathetic beings we are?”

But missy wrote about a type of time travel we all practice in her recent post, “Blame it on the Boots”, where she explains about her passionate {if not kinky} love affair with boots. In her post she travels back in time as she writes this passage: “The first time we visited Italy together, we drank too much wine and found ourselves in a lovely leather shop in Montepulciano. Here we bought my first pair of summer boots, beautifully soft, handmade, with leather soles.”

In our minds, the arrow of time does not exist. Memory serves as an instant reminder and flagellator of all the mistakes we’ve ever made. It takes an effort to realize there were many more good times than bad. Which brings me to the photograph below that was taken in the summer of 1981, in Como, Italy, through the narrow wooden doors opening upon the public street.

Como, Italy 1981

It was a long time ago and, someone else, another personality who took the picture. I see my past through their eyes and it makes me wonder about the impermanence of nostalgia. Memory is fickle and not to be trusted; the only path forward is to exist one moment at a time and revel in the sharp sting of leather upon flesh.

boots drum under whip
the cobbler would know the sound
cypress sway gossip
pink cheeks suffused by lover
Tyrrhenian Sea glistens

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

Voting for Smut Marathon 2018 #1 is now open

From Sunday, Feb 11th until Saturday, Feb 17th, voting is now open at this link for Round 1 of Smut Marathon 2018. There are 75 entries to read, all a maximum of 30 words. Each reader gets to vote once for the top three that best meets the assignment criteria. Please also consider leaving feedback for the authors, your comments will be posted after the polls close as to not influence other voters.

Writer’s Assignment Round 1: Write an Erotic Metaphor
Specific requirements:
– only one sentence
– give your text a one-word title
– your text with the metaphor is a maximum of 30 words (excluding title)

Writers are not allowed to tell anyone which entry they have written!
You can only vote once.
The voting round closes on 17 February 2018 at 23.00 CET
Results of the voting round will be published on this site on 18 February 2018 and then I [The Smut Master, Marie Rebelle] will announce the author of each metaphor.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Complete Chapter 11

If you like The Bumhampton Chronicles, and its Victorian-era atmosphere, then you may be interested my novella, The Case of the Disciplined Valentine.

To purchase, The Case of the Disciplined Valentine, click the picture.

Gentle Reader: I would surmise by this portion of my smutty tale, you believe nothing at Peacock House would shake me. That would be an incorrect assumption. In my era, even the most cloistered girl living under the strictest spiritual discipline, did not have to be taught a female’s place was under the male. That the roles could be reversed — that was beyond my comprehension. Yet here I was, once more on my knees, preparing for debauchery unlike anything I’d previously witnessed. Of course, with my wanton nature, simply watching was never going to work. I was ready and willing.

After I pulled the straps tight between Miss Frothinglips’ thighs, up through her crack and snuggly around her waspish waist, I felt certain I was to be dismissed and, even rose unbidden to my feet to depart rather than be privy to my betters’ sinful intercourse. I should have known better: I did know better. Miss Frothinglips’ donned a figurative top hat, and commenced snapping out orders with all the crispness of a whip-wielding circus ringmaster. Albeit, one with an artificial phallus jutting aggressively above a soaking quim and bare bosom exposing hard nipples. “Ruby! Quit dawdling and prepare Sebastian.”

At my blank look, she rolled her eyes and repeated with exaggerated pronunciation and gestures as if I was the town’s witless fool, “Strip. Him. Naked. Now!” I could hear the lash in her voice, but having never before in my entire life encountered male garments still on the male, I made a right hash of things. Mr. Steedstiff resorted, through self-preservation I assume, to removing articles himself. No matter, in short order he was as naked as Adam — sans fig leaf — trumpeting a tremendous erection. A prodigious expanse of greenery would have been required for cover. I covetously stroked.

“Finally,” Miss Frothinglips huffed. “Suckle and make it wet.” I sank to my knees and used both hands to grasp his bobbing prick. Opening my mouth to engulf the wet, shiny tip peeping from its sheath, she stepped closer and yanked my head away. “Not his cock, you dolt. Mine!” She slapped my face with her leather appliance for good measure. “Spit shine my knob, Ruby, before I plunder his arse.” She poked my lips and jabbed inside with remorseless pressure. I fear to say, she used me ill then. I choked and slobbered as she thrust into my throat.

For all the often brutality of males, when given the chance, it was females who serviced me the harsher every time. No matter, I thrived on such treatment and, in any case, she was too eager to wait much longer. After a few more pokes, while I held my breath, she withdrew from my drenched mouth. Her voice dropped an octave, the cool soprano thrill deepening into a rough gutter patois. “Suck his arsehole, Ruby. Use that talented tongue to pry open his bum for my weapon of ass destruction.” I helped him bend over, fist tight round his cock.

By now, I was the billiard ball to their cues; caroming from cushions to pockets with each strike. My tongue furry with his funk, she bade me grasp her dildo and guide the way into his tight fundament. His rod softened under her assault: I became superfluous to their lust. Each spoke as if on stage, actors reciting memorized lines flung out to mesmerized audiences night after night. I did not care to record the banter. Indeed, I felt a tad sorry for Mr. Steedstiff — who winced every time Miss Frothinglips drove her thick prick home with a loud slap.

Crawling beneath him, I nursed his weeping cock to life. With his slimy and tasty organ firmly ensconced in my mouth, I practiced my throating technique. For once unencumbered by supervision, my free hand succored my pussy. The scents, the sounds, the pure uninhibited lust brought me to a rolling boil, my essence squirting copiously and continuously. Mr. Steedstiff’s cloying spend I savored before swallowing with eagerness for more. I will say this in closing: From that moment forward, I ceased to play the role of hapless victim and was drawn into the many plots being woven all around me.

After I drained Mr. Steedstiff’s family jewels and Miss Frothinglips fully satiated her carnal appetites, I was finally released from service. My reward: to take the soiled dildo away to be cleaned — by me. I left the two furtive lovers to their devices; they commenced a game of ring-around-the-rosie, each lashing whips as they frolicked starkers. There were always rumors floating around amongst the hoi polloi about the ‘Great Houses’, but to witness firsthand the ways and means of aristocratic stress relief was rather disconcerting. As I scrubbed the used dildo in hot, soapy water I pondered why that was.

It’s a myth that only the upper classes strove to maintain the separation and status quo. Each rung of the servant ladder was fiercely contested as a matter of pride and place. The ruthless rulers of the “downstairs” — such as Mrs. Cleanknockers and Alastair the Butler — were as rigid about propriety as the stuffiest dowager or crusty titled lord. I know, I know, considering the sexual hijinks at Peacock House, it’s rather ironic. Speaking of the butler, I’d yet to make his acquaintance — in a naked way — a fact soon to change, for Saturday night was bathing time for staff.

In atypical fashion, procedures were inverted. Mrs. Cleanknockers bathed first, assisted by the head footman all the way down to the scullery boy. Alastair went next, the harem of giggling maids washing him with exuberance. Once the principals were nattily attired in dressing gowns and slippers, Mrs. Cleanknockers supervised the male servants in rank order. [Not rank odor] After they were clean — a hands-on inspection by her — fresh hot water filled the copper tubs and Alastair did similar close checking of all the nude female servants to the last in line. That was I, the newest and only bleeding member.

By then, everyone had left to enjoy an early evening without chores — other than the basic needs of any large establishment. The water was cool and dirty, but Alastair didn’t shirk, scrubbing and soaping my body from head to toes. I must admit to enjoying the process, his hands rubbed all the right spots. I wasn’t at Peacock House long enough to move more than a few rungs higher in priority, so I greatly enjoyed getting the chance to suck his cock once a week while it lasted. I hadn’t planned to do so, but I wanted to thank him.

After all, fondling and probing several dozen wet, naked females would make even the most uptight vicar stand up and point. He definitely seemed surprised when, after wrapping me in a fresh dry towel, I knelt on the damp rug and smoothly parted his gown at the waist. Having slightly more experience now in the ‘sizing up’ department, his cock was a nice squat five-incher. Perfect for swallowing whole. Alastair was stiff — in stance, not only genitalia — as I swirled my tongue and bobbed to and fro; my nose buried in his clean curlies while I savored with hollowed cheeks.

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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.”

“I admit I was, still am, upset that he savagely ravaged you—.” Under my breath I interrupted, “I’m not.” as she continued, “without our consent.” [Meaning his Lordship, the aristocratic ‘We’ implied] “However, from the very first time, months before you arrived, something about Mr. Jones-Smyth has rubbed me raw.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, intrigued despite my infatuation with and instinctive determination to defend my future spouse. “You have aroused my curiosity, Ma’am, for I admit to primarily having a physical reaction to him, not an intellectual response. I hope to have that opportunity tomorrow; weather permitting.”

“I will not rescind my permission, Ruby, I assure you. Please be… both you and Louisa… careful and vigilant.” Mrs. Cleanknockers seemed genuinely distressed on our behalves and I was moved to grasp her hands with a comforting gesture. “I will. We will. I promise.” Our tableau held for a long moment as she searched my expression for sincerity. “Thank you, Ruby. I must admit to being relieved by your comprehension of my anxiety.” She withdrew her fingers and straightened up, instantly regaining the superior position in our relationship. “Now that we’ve settled the outing, there is another important topic.”

Mentally rubbing my palms, I kept my face still but curious. “We have concluded, that your training has been much too strenuous and therefore are letting you go—” I did not hear the rest of her sentence, lost in the overwhelming terror of being turned out. My loud howl was a desperate ‘NO!’ and I flung myself at her feet, weeping hysterically and begging for another chance. The fear I felt was real. The worst possible outcome for someone in service was to be dismissed without reference. Nothing penetrated my anguish until Mrs. Cleanknockers shook me hard by the shoulders.

“RUBY!” She yelled. “Cease your caterwauling at once!” It took several minutes, but eventually I stopped wailing and was able to gulp back my tears. My wet face was efficiently blotted and I blew my nose into her sturdy linen handkerchief. I don’t believe she quite understood my distress until she looked me in the eye. “Did you think I meant you were being turned out?” Her voice was one of astonishment. Mutely I nodded. “Oh, Ruby.” Her arms opened wide with compassion. “Come here, you poor thing.” I crawled upon her ample lap, burying my face at her breast.

As she patted and stroked my back, her explanation picked up where I had lost the thread. “What you apparently did not hear was that we are letting you go slower in your training. Ordinarily, most new servants take at least a month to reach your level of engagement, but from the first, your enthusiasm and cheekiness have spurred us to be too harsh in our discipline.” I did not agree, but how was I to make my desires clear? Certainly Miss Frothinglips and Mr. Steedstiff had no qualms about venting their lust upon my tongue. That was a pun.

“Mrs. Cleanknockers? May I speak truly?” I sat up, slid to the floor and gazed imploringly at my mistress. “Do not think I am seeking to rise above my station, but I cannot but let you understand, that I do not believe the discipline I’ve so deservedly earned, has been too harsh. On the contrary, I’ve come to realize it’s what’s been missing in my life. I have gratefully shed my past like an over-patched coat and wish — no, need — to be taken deeper in submission to you, his Lordship and whomever else is directed to further my libidinous education.”

Her reaction to my impassioned speech was thoughtful regard. “You are unique, Ruby. Never have I met such a forthright creature as you. It is refreshing and yet, at the same time, quite vexing.” I grinned. “Then spank me.” Her returning smile was regretful. “Sadly, I must wait.” I pouted. “It’s not fair. A hand spanking shouldn’t be against the rules just because it’s that time of the month.” Her smile turned harder. “You do make an excellent argument. The Empire could use you in Parliament.” I giggled at the thought of me asking ‘The Question’ of the Prime Minister.

“I’d cause an apoplexy epidemic were that to happen! Besides, the Queen will never countenance woman’s suffrage.” I continued to press for an answer. “Does that mean you’ll take me over your knee and spank my vexing bottom hard?” She glanced at the clock on her mantle. Her lips pursed. “Perhaps… Come with me, Ruby.” She threw on a heavier wrap and exchanged slippers for shoes. Unlocking the Gun Room, she lit the nearest lamp. I scurried behind her, pulse racing in anticipation. What she took out of a drawer I’d yet to explore, was not a paddle or cane.

“What is that?” Mrs. Cleanknockers held up the object in question. “This is what I like to call, ‘The Bosom Buster’.” Placing it my hands while she turned and rummaged in the drawer once more, I examined the fiendish device. Constructed of two thin planks of wood, both ends of the narrow boards were secured with dual brass grommets and long threaded screws with winged heads. Curious, I turned one of the flanges; the boards squeezed closer at that end. Realization dawned. I flushed. I gushed. “What a wonderful idea. Clamping the titties like a washing wringer! I love it!”

“Then you’ll like these even better.” From Mrs. Cleanknockers’ fingers dangled what looked like thumbscrews from Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress of the Tower of London. “Oooooh,” I cooed. “Are those for my nips?” Her grin this time would have sent strong warriors fleeing for their lives. Silly men. Pain was pleasure. What need of the vote, when we had breasts to punish? “You’ve been a very, very naughty maid, Ruby. I’m afraid your demerits have given me no choice but to discipline you most severely.” I shivered, not in fear — not wholly — but needing to feel her domination.

With those few words, spoken firmly with a touch of regret, she sent my mind spiraling into a place that yearned for chastisement. Others through the years have asked me to quantify why it is I love submission so much. I cannot tell you. I don’t think a submissive really can explain the joy and pleasure found in surrendering to someone who takes what they want of your body, giving you peace in exchange. For me, and others of my ilk, [We have a private club and name] the quiet mind is a result of, not a preface of discipline.

When Mrs. Cleanknockers ordered me onto the padded table, crouching as a bovine, udders swinging freely, teats erect; my anxious lowing was not feigned. The vise slowly closed, one twist of her thumb and forefinger inexorably squeezing my breasts like fresh dough. Her running commentary, scolding and alluring, alternated between scathing putdowns and complementary observations. When she attached the serrated clamps to my engorged nipples, I screamed. It’s that lightning flash of pain — the searing nervous heat that parboils away the scar tissue of life. It wasn’t enough. I wanted to be whipped. I wanted to be fucked. I wanted.

Louisa soothed my bruised bosom as we lay in our cots, quietly talking about the upcoming ramble with Mr. Jones-Smyth. To her — and only her — I freely expressed my fears. “I’m not good enough for him,” I fretted. “What have I to offer someone like that? I’m nobody from nowhere, without an education, a smart mouth and a promiscuous soul. He could do so much better.” She wrestled me over, pinning my hands with little effort. “Ruby, that’s your flow talking. Mr. Jones-Smyth seems like a very pleasant fellow, if a bit awkward. I’m sure he’ll be up to scratch.”

If this is your first exposure to Ruby’s adventures, 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 30)

Louisa soothed my bruised bosom as we lay in our cots, quietly talking about the upcoming ramble with Mr. Jones-Smyth. To her — and only her — I freely expressed my fears. “I’m not good enough for him,” I fretted. “What have I to offer someone like that? I’m nobody from nowhere, without an education, a smart mouth and a promiscuous soul. He could do so much better.” She wrestled me over, pinning my hands with little effort. “Ruby, that’s your flow talking. Mr. Jones-Smyth seems like a very pleasant fellow, if a bit awkward. I’m sure he’ll be up to scratch.”

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 29)

When Mrs. Cleanknockers ordered me onto the padded table, crouching as a bovine, udders swinging freely, teats erect; my anxious lowing was not feigned. The vise slowly closed, one twist of her thumb and forefinger inexorably squeezing my breasts like fresh dough. Her running commentary, scolding and alluring, alternated between scathing putdowns and complementary observations. When she attached the serrated clamps to my engorged nipples, I screamed. It’s that lightning flash of pain — the searing nervous heat that parboils away the scar tissue of life. It wasn’t enough. I wanted to be whipped. I wanted to be fucked. I wanted.

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 colors of submission

As a blogger, I write what I want. Fiction for the most part, some poetry and the odd essay tossed in. I never write about myself or past exploits and relationships. As a writer — for publication — I choose characters that challenge the reader and portray fantasies that seem slightly quirky. One of the unpleasant facts about erotica and BDSM, is that there is a level of censorship not given to “mainstream” fiction. It’s perfectly alright to maim, torture and murder; but, try a caning that bleeds or a flogging that bruises, and the algorithms that rule the world, bury your book at the bottom of a landfill.

One thing I do know though, is that D/s produces a rainbow of colors. Red, blue, yellow; the infinite palette of hue that is a natural, and desired, byproduct of consensual discipline. When was the last time you got spanked? Didn’t you — at the first opportunity — rush to the nearest mirror, twist your head and admire the splotchy pattern your Dom created on your butt? Wishing it was more colorful?

Did you say: “Oh my God! Look what my Dom did to me!” not with horror, but with a contented purr; proud that your Dom is so talented and knows a spanking without a bruise or two is a wasted effort? For many submissives, marks are something you wear with honor. They are visual proofs of your Dom’s devotion to your personal well-being. Why else would they take the time to stamp their dominance upon your body, if not for love?

For those not in D/s, it always comes as a shock to realize that some people crave the outward bonds that physical play often creates. To them, D/s is about degradation, anger, violence and people in need of rescue from an abusive situation. Marking someone is evil: it’s black and white.

For those of us chasing the rainbow though, the waiting — impatiently — for the colors to fade and heal; so that we can do it again, that’s the real challenge. Scars on the soul linger: bruises fade.

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

Sir Fang is now (a)live on Amazon

For a very limited number of days this week, my novella, The Case of the Disciplined Valentine, is available for FREE on Amazon for ereader devices. As you can see from the screen shot below, it’s currently doing quite well.

Screen Shot 2018-02-06 at 7.37.52 AM

Disclaimer: The Case of the Disciplined Valentine, with minor changes, is the same novella as previously published in the Lust in Lace anthology, as Sir MacRath Thrashes his Valentine. If you have already purchased the anthology in ebook or audio book, then there is no need to purchase it again… unless you want to financially support me. 🙂

To purchase, The Case of the Disciplined Valentine, click the picture.

A comedy of Victorian manners mixed with delicious spankings and sexual encounters guaranteed to raise even a vampire’s blood pressure. Byron Cane sets a torrid pace in his historical paranormal erotic novella.

It is 1854 in steampunk London, and Sir Nachton MacRath is warily returning to his home isle after decades abroad. He has good reasons to steer clear of the Royal Family, but is immediately snared by the Queen herself, who anoints him, Her Chastiser of Loose Morals, complete with elevation to the upper reaches of the aristocracy. Rather than a quiet existence as a vampire, he is now a Peer uneasily rubbing shoulders with the most powerful men in the Empire.

Phoebe Hayward is a lady of good breeding, but like all her contemporaries, longs for some excitement and romance. Valentine’s Day is only weeks away, when their paths cross with a bump. Despite later discovering the man ordered to discipline her is actually a vampire, she can’t help falling in love. The more encounters with Sir MacRath she has, the more her body yearns to know what it is to submit to his vampiric touch. When he reluctantly agrees to be her Valentine, thus begins a Domination and discipline the likes of which she’s never dreamed.

MacRath doesn’t feel he deserves Phoebe’s love, and attempts to push her away by taking her deeper into sexual submission. She surprises him — and herself — by eagerly submitting to his every desire. Together, they explore the sensual heights that a woman and a man — a vampire — can reach. But politics and conflict are never far away, and the Valentine’s Day deadline comes all too soon.

xx

Prologue

For the first time in ten days, the steady ‘thump-thump’ of the engines and boiling thrashing of the magnificent side-mounted paddle wheels fell silent. The harbor pilot called down to the tug.Thus began the ancient and primal ballet of man versus water as seasoned hands strove to bring the steamer from America into safe mooring. As it docked, heavy hemp hawsers and thick bollards were tossed over the side to waiting stevedores. The shrill triumphant shriek of the steam whistle echoed among the emigration sheds where the starving poor sought passage to a new life in the former colonies. Vast clouds of slate gray and white gulls took flight as the noise reduced the raucous calls of workers to pantomime.

The blast faded and the flocks swooped to await handouts from the new arrivals. A crowd had gathered to meet the arriving ship. Touts held up placards bearing names of lodging and dining establishments. Open steam carriages emblazoned with coats-of-arms and commercial enterprises chuffed impatiently quayside, uniformed chauffeurs chatting amiably with gloved hands held over barrels of flame. A late arrival coasted silently to a stop along the quay. The pennants on the front bumper proudly waved the Three Lions of the House of Hanover. Eyebrows rose: no Royal had been listed on the telegraphed manifest.

At the gangplank’s head, Sir Nachton MacRath waited to debark, nose wrinkled in protest. The tide had reached slack, raw sewage and industrial offal collecting in rotted mats along the banks of the River Mersey. After eighteen years away, on this fifteenth day of January, in the Year of Our Lord 1854, he prepared to once again set foot on his native soil. Well, to be precise, tarred oak planks covered with guano and rubbish. Six months removed from San Francisco, he was glad to be finally back, although unsure of his welcome. He had run afoul of the Regent in late 1835 and, despite repeated assurances from the Queen in the following decades, he had decided instead to tour the Near East and China.

By fortuitous timing, MacRath had sailed from the Sandwich Islands to the sparsely populated lands of Northern California (still Mexican, for a short while longer) in 1848. The subsequent fortune he’d created during the Gold Rush was not from water blasting the hillsides, but from parlaying the exotic nature of his Scottish title into land and mercantile trade for the arriving miners.

I’m included — well, Stephanie is…


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A. G. Henley | A.M. Myers | Aidy Award | Amanda Heartley | Anne Renwick | Annie Anderson | Ashlee Price | Beth Prentice | Brooke O’Brien | Byron Cane | Carolyn Reilly | Charmaine Ross | Chiquita Dennie | CM Lally | Colleen Charles | D.M. Davis | Dahlia Donovan | Elisa Leigh | Ellis O. Day | Em Petrova | Emily Murdoch | Emma Nichols | Emmanuelle de Maupassant | Haylee Thorne | Helen Scott | Ina Morata | Ja’Nese Dixon | Jennifer Millikin | Juliana Conners | K A Servian | K.B. Andrews | Kari Trumbo | Kelly Collins | Kim Bailey | Kimi Flores | Lacey Weatherford | Leigh Anderson | Lisa Suzanne | LK Shaw | Lyssa Cole | Mary Crawford | McKenna Jeffries | Melanie Summers | Monique McDonell | Nikki Lynn Barrett | Rachael Tonks | S.M. West | Sammi Starlight | Sarah Darlington | Sarah J. Brooks | Sarah Zolton Arthur | Shannyn Leah | Shauna Allen | Sheila Kell | Shelique Lize | Simone Leigh | Skye Jordan | Susan Ward | Taige Crenshaw | Teddy Hester | Tee Smith | Tracey Pedersen | Tracy Lorraine | Ysa Arcangel

Enter here: Love Kissed Book Bargains Giveaway

The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie is one of the books included in the giveaway of a collection of over 60 romance ebooks and a Kindle! The winner also gets a $100 Amazon Gift Card. Three other winners will get a $50 Amazon Gift Card. You have until March 3rd, 2018 to enter.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 11 (Part 28)

With those few words, spoken firmly with a touch of regret, she sent my mind spiraling into a place that yearned for chastisement. Others through the years have asked me to quantify why it is I love submission so much. I cannot tell you. I don’t think a submissive really can explain the joy and pleasure found in surrendering to someone who takes what they want of your body, giving you peace in exchange. For me, and others of my ilk, [We have a private club and name] the quiet mind is a result of, not a preface of discipline.

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 27)

“Then you’ll like these even better.” From Mrs. Cleanknockers’ fingers dangled what looked like thumbscrews from Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress of the Tower of London. “Oooooh,” I cooed. “Are those for my nips?” Her grin this time would have sent strong warriors fleeing for their lives. Silly men. Pain was pleasure. What need of the vote, when we had breasts to punish? “You’ve been a very, very naughty maid, Ruby. I’m afraid your demerits have given me no choice but to discipline you most severely.” I shivered, not in fear — not wholly — but needing to feel her domination.

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 26)

“What is that?” Mrs. Cleanknockers held up the object in question. “This is what I like to call, ‘The Bosom Buster’.” Placing it my hands while she turned and rummaged in the drawer once more, I examined the fiendish device. Constructed of two thin planks of wood, both ends of the narrow boards were secured with dual brass grommets and long threaded screws with winged heads. Curious, I turned one of the flanges; the boards squeezed closer at that end. Realization dawned. I flushed. I gushed. “What a wonderful idea. Clamping the titties like a washing wringer! I love it!”

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 25)

“I’d cause an apoplexy epidemic were that to happen! Besides, the Queen will never countenance women’s suffrage.” I continued to press for an answer. “Does that mean you’ll take me over your knee and spank my vexing bottom hard?” She glanced at the clock on her mantle. Her lips pursed. “Perhaps… Come with me, Ruby.” She threw on a heavier wrap and exchanged slippers for shoes. Unlocking the Gun Room, she lit the nearest lamp. I scurried behind her, pulse racing in anticipation. What she took out of a drawer I’d yet to explore, was not a paddle or cane.

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 why of the reaction eludes us

“So? How did it go?”

Chemistry, don’t pick me
Can’t believe, chemistry
Go away please
This girl is out of your league.”

“Why do you always sing fake lyrics?”
“They’re not fake… they’re alternative.”
“Fine. I take it your date didn’t go well then.”
“Chem—”
“DON’T SING!”
*Sigh* “Okay. It sucked. There, you happy?”
“You’ll find someone… someday.”
“Over a rainbow, way up h—”
“ARRGH!”
“Come on, I’ll treat you to a latte.”

~~~

“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Do you mind if I sit?”
“Take a load off, Fanny. Take a load for free.”
“Thanks. I thought it was ‘Take a load off Annie?'”
“Nope. And my name’s not Annie.”
“You’re a funny girl. I like that.”
“Just don’t call me Barbara either.”
“I’m Jeb. What should I call you?”
“You can call her weird. You’re in my seat.”
“Sorry. It was nice to meet you — not Annie or Barbara. You’ve got a very nice voice. Take care.”
“Why did you do that? He seemed like a nice guy.”
“You’re so… weird!”
“You already said that. Hey! Mister Jeb!”
“Yes?”
“Wanna dance with somebody?”
“In a coffee shop?”
“Why not?”
“I guess it beats dancing with myself.”
“Or on the ceiling.”
*Laughter* “I’m in.”
“See you later, I’m outta of here.”
“Is your friend always so grouchy, not Annie or Barbara?”
“She hasn’t gotten laid in awhile. Makes her cranky.”
“And you?”
“Me what?”
“Are you looking to get laid?”
“That’s awful forward of you.”
“Well, you feel like a woman. Besides, don’t you feel the spark?”
“The spark?”
“Chemistry, it’s for real
Between us, chemistry
Come dance with me
Never gonna leave my bed.”
“That last line isn’t from Valerie.”
“But it should be.”
“That’s a bold declaration, Jeb.”
“It ain’t bragging, if you can do it… all night long, all night long.”
“Well, Jeb, lucky for you, I got a blank space, baby, and I’ll write your name.”
“Not Annie or Barbara, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”

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

Want a teaser to rev your libido?

As Byron Cane, I run my other blog, Byron Cane Spanking and Erotic Fiction, to highlight my published fiction. This recent post about my latest ebook, The Case of the Disciplined Valentine, also includes an extract and a link to obtaining a free copy of the first several thousand words of the novella, courtesy of Instafreebie. The entire novella will be available for purchase around Feb 5th, 2018. Subscribe and follow Byron Cane for more updates.

The Case of the Disciplined Valentine

A Sir Fang Story

If you would like to see the book cover and a few details about my latest to-be-published-very-soon ebook, click here for a preview at my other blog, Byron Cane Spanking and Erotic Fiction. Subscribe/follow to be informed when and where you can purchase, The Case of the Disciplined Valentine at a special price.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 11 (Part 24)

Her reaction to my impassioned speech was thoughtful regard. “You are unique, Ruby. Never have I met such a forthright creature as you. It is refreshing and yet, at the same time, quite vexing.” I grinned. “Then spank me.” Her returning smile was regretful. “Sadly, I must wait.” I pouted. “It’s not fair. A hand spanking shouldn’t be against the rules just because it’s that time of the month.” Her smile turned harder. “You do make an excellent argument. The Empire could use you in Parliament.” I giggled at the thought of me asking ‘The Question’ of the Prime Minister.

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.

  • Corrupted

    Now available, "Corrupted", an anthology from Sexy Little Pages, including my short story, Ghosting Past Emily. Click the picture for ebookstore links.

  • Ghosting Past Emily — part of the Corrupted anthology

    After Amsterdam and Berlin, Tokyo was her favorite place to explore the latest in technological sexuality. Unlike in Europe though, in Japan she would always be gaijin, and the locals off limits to her needs. On the crowded streets of Ginza she felt the stares and heard the unspoken contempt, Go back to where you came from, which was something it had in common with America. She was too tall, too confident, too yellow and most of all, too female. She channeled the perceived insults into taboo actions.
    It was a tired and bitter Emily that touched down ten hours later in a San Francisco of bone-chilling damp and a watery rising sun. She needed a hard session at the Armory before returning to work on Monday. Her slave had better be ready to grovel and be pussy-whipped.

  • Purchase: The Case of the Disciplined Valentine

    Click the picture to purchase, The Case of the Disciplined Valentine.

  • The Case of the Disciplined Valentine

    A comedy of Victorian manners mixed with delicious spankings and sexual encounters guaranteed to raise even a vampire’s blood pressure. Byron Cane sets a torrid pace in his historical paranormal erotic novella.

    It is 1854 in steampunk London, and Sir Nachton MacRath is warily returning to his home isle after decades abroad. He has good reasons to steer clear of the Royal Family, but is immediately snared by the Queen herself, who anoints him, Her Chastiser of Loose Morals, complete with elevation to the upper reaches of the aristocracy. Rather than a quiet existence as a vampire, he is now a Peer uneasily rubbing shoulders with the most powerful men in the Empire.

    Phoebe Hayward is a lady of good breeding, but like all her contemporaries, longs for some excitement and romance. Valentine’s Day is only weeks away, when their paths cross with a bump. Despite later discovering the man ordered to discipline her is actually a vampire, she can’t help falling in love. The more encounters with Sir MacRath she has, the more her body yearns to know what it is to submit to his vampiric touch. When he reluctantly agrees to be her Valentine, thus begins a Domination and discipline the likes of which she’s never dreamed.

    MacRath doesn’t feel he deserves Phoebe’s love, and attempts to push her away by taking her deeper into sexual submission. She surprises him — and herself — by eagerly submitting to his every desire. Together, they explore the sensual heights that a woman and a man — a vampire — can reach. But politics and conflict are never far away, and the Valentine’s Day deadline comes all too soon.

    Note: The original version of this book was included in the Lust in Lace paranormal romance anthology.

  • Purchase: The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

    Purchase The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie by clicking the picture.

    Pity poor Stephanie: twenty-five years old and still spanked daily. She was intelligent, a college graduate with honors, articulate, a fashionista with a good job and an all-round delightful person with never a cross word and always a genuine smile for everyone. It was to her misfortune that she also exuded an innocent sensual charm, leading both men and women to have one uppermost thought in their minds: spanking Stephanie’s spectacular and epic rounded bottom. It was not her fault; genetics had blessed her with both the ideal rear end and a delightful bewildered submissiveness. It simply never occurred to her to challenge her discipline. If someone needed to spank her, well, obviously she was guilty of some offense and thus deserved to be spanked.
    When Stephanie crashes (quite literally) into the life of Ross, high flying exec in the fashion world and eligible bachelor, she is stupefied he wants her as his. Under Ross’ tutelage, as Brat to his Sir, she learns that she can be spanked for more than just being naughty! And Ross — he discovers there’s much more to Stephanie than just her submissive need to be disciplined, as he falls more and more in love.
    A brilliantly funny, light-hearted, spanking erotic romance novella by Byron Cane, with memorable characters and a beautiful love story interwoven into the sexiness, lending a contemporary twist to the princess fairy tale.

  • Lust in Spring

    Click picture to go to Lust in Spring Amazon page

  • Lust in Spring anthology

    In Byron Cane's, The Witch of Olympus Hollow, it’s 1952, and Gale Johnson is outraged when her parents send her packing to a tiny town in Appalachia to visit the mysterious great aunt she has never met. In the foothills of North Carolina, Gale will discover a wondrous birthright. A lifetime of discipline and sexual satisfaction awaits, but her destiny comes at a cost.
  • Lust in Lace

    Purchase Lust in Lace on Amazon Kindle. Click picture to go to Amazon.

  • Lust in Lace anthology

    In Byron Cane's Sir MacRath Thrashes his Valentine, MacRath is a centuries-old vampire returning home after decades of absence. It is 1854 in steampunk London, and Her Majesty has appointed MacRath Her Chastiser of Loose Morals. Phoebe Hayward is a lady of good breeding, but quite a handful. Despite discovering the man ordered to discipline her is actually a vampire, she can’t help falling in love. MacRath will ensure she is well punished and dominated in all ways as befits his naughty Valentine.
  • PNRLUST

  • Paranormal Erotic Romance

    Come visit the Paranormal Erotic Romance website for information about the Lust anthology series. Read Lust by the Sea, Lust on the Wing, Lust in Tooth and Claw, Lust in Winter and Lust in Lace.

  • ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot’ Oops. Does that date me? These are the top posts.

  • Back writing 6/30/16 short stories and a spanking novel