The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 9)

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

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 10 (Part 8)

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

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.

For WIP it Wednesday, I posted an update on Stephanie. She’ll be being spanked everywhere on November 27th, 2017. Hop on over to my other blog, to read the beginning of this novella. I’ll be posting more excerpts, information on ordering and links to ARC to those who are interested in reviewing.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 5)

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

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 10 (Part 4)

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

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.

Future novels… in the future

As I’ve mentioned before, Kismet of Submission, is soon to pulled from my blog. Much like I did with Stephanie — by the end of next month to be a published novella — what started as a Wicked Wednesday prompt and blossomed into a multi-month weekly serial thanks to reader’s comments, will be reworked into a full length novel. Almost all my longer fiction starts out on my blogs and depending how it is received, will determine if I want to explore further. Even then, most of what I write in flash fiction format, I have no desire to expand into longer stories.

The reason I bring this up, is because I am curious to what you — my readers — would like to see replace Kismet as a regularly scheduled Tuesday serial. I have several possibilities in mind, all of which can be found on my ‘Best of’ Page.

1. Spanking by Mail Order, is something I wrote back in 2009 and had several different plots.
2. Outlaw in Leather, a short piece about a foul-mouthed woman who takes what she wants.
3. Inexhaustible Smorgasbord, a paranormal noir fiction dealing with those that traffic across the veil.

These are the three that appeal to me the most, but maybe you have something else you like better. Feel free to leave a comment as I greatly appreciate your readership.

With that, back to work! These novels won’t write themselves!

Have I ever mentioned my Muse is a slave driver? WHIP! Well… OUCH… She is.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 3)

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

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 10 (Part 2)

I woke with a throbbing headache. I’d neglected to bring spare padding to my—our—room, but Louisa had thoughtfully provided extras. The soiled rag went to the laundry: I dropped them on my way to emptying the chamber pot. Let the self-satisfied curates preach of rewards everlasting for those that stray into sinful ways. For those of us fortunate to serve in a good home, the daily realities of piss, shit, vomit and blood, was reminder enough of the frailty of human bodies. There is no point fearing Death when it walks at your side and shares your meals.

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 9 (Part 28)

“By the time I could walk, I’d been passed around like a rotten turnip to so many relatives, I didn’t want to be with any of them. Our home burned to the ground, my father with it, when I was fifteen. He was an angry drunkard who beat me whenever he could. So I got good at running and hiding.” I lay back down and threw my arm across her breasts. “How did you end up here?” Louisa sighed. “My mother’s second cousin knew His lordship, whether he knew the extent of the depravity that occurs here I don’t know.”

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 9 (Part 26)

Our last act, before collapsing in a sweaty heap of tangled limbs, was to attempt insertion of as many fingers in pussies as possible. She managed four with thumb thrumming my clit as I screamed. Her more experienced entrance swallowed my hand to the wrist. Fucking her with flexed fingers, her hips thrashed in frantic frenzy. I could feel her supple inner walls rippling with each climax, until copious fluids coated my probing digits and splashed my throat and chest. I know not how many orgasms we stole from each other, but the bedding was soaked and our voices hoarse.

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 9 (Part 25)

I was a puddle by the time she finished. Urging me on my back, she maneuvered her waist until her furry nest loomed in my blurry vision. Simultaneously, we feasted. My nostrils inhaled her rosebud. My thumb, slick with saliva, wiggled inside her bum. My lips suckled her fleshly folds, teeth gently gnawed and limber tongue stretched deep inside her pussy then mercilessly lashed her clit. She returned the favor as we snuffled like pigs rooting for truffles. My face was soaked with her essence. Her shuddery cries of passion vibrated in my secret garden. We reaped what we sowed.

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 9 (Part 23)

Our lumpy pillows shoved under my hips, I wriggled impatiently as she fetched the ointment tin. Rather than her palm though, I felt the rasp of her tongue tracing the numerous lines and mottled markings all over my backside. Her wet pelvis slapped my shoulders as she straddled my torso. Her deft tongue danced down my crack as she bent over and, with calloused fingers, wrenched my sore cheeks apart. What can say about the act of feuille de rose? The earthy, slick, sometimes bittersweet and tangy oil that can found nestled betwixt the plump hemispheres of the female form.

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 9 (Part 22)

Louisa sounded bitter. “I doubt I’ll ever marry. Who would want such a wretch as I?” I seized her hands in mine. “Then you will come with me. We will all live together and you, my beloved, will be my dearest friend, confidante and wanton lover.” She pulled back and vigorously shook her head. “That will never work, Ruby.” I sniffed and said, “Yes, it will. On our Sunday afternoon outing, I will simply tell Chester that you are to be my bosom companion.” Her face remained skeptical: I resumed our interrupted coitus with a reminder my bum needed attention.

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 9 (Part 17)

I tried to relax. We repeated the sequence until my entire face was soaked with saliva. By the end of the training session, I was proud that I could take his entire length with only minor choking. He finished by spraying his spunk all over Louisa’s face: I lapped her clean with eager puppy-like licks. In a haze of Sapphic lust, we tumbled to the floor, tongues entangled and fingers probing wet orifices under ruched skirts. Pinning her down, I freed her swollen nipples and suckled like a babe. “Girls? As much as I enjoy the Lesbos trade, it’s bedtime.”

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.

If it’s the first day of the month, then there is a new post at my other blog, Byron Cane Spanking and Erotic Fiction.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 9 (Part 16)

“Stand up, Ruby, we’re going to try something different.” Clearing a chaise arm, my head dangled freely. Cupping the back of my neck, upside down, I watched his cock approach. My throat felt more open and with his cock poised halfway in, he said, “Deep breath, on the count of three. One… tw—” He quickly shoved right through my gag reflex. My hands flailed at his thighs as his pubic hairs tickled my nostrils. Panic flared. He held for only seconds—it felt interminable—and when he pulled out, I twisted my head, coughing and spitting phlegm. His prick returned.

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 9 (Part 15)

He was much gentler, but I couldn’t stop gagging every time he stoked deep. Switching back yet again, Mr. Steedstiff reached down and, with gestures, had me lick his wet base as he moved in and out of Louisa with long sweeps. When it was my turn again, I tried forcing my throat to open. I growled as I failed. “Why can’t I do this?” He held me back and asked, “Do you truly want my cock deeper?” I sucked him back in and jabbed forward: I felt his large hands pull my skull closer. I heaved, but quickly swallowed.

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 9 (Part 14)

When it was Louisa’s turn again, she smoothly took nearly the entire length of Mr. Steedstiff’s cock into her throat. I could clearly see the bulge it made, and he fucked her mouth as if it was her pussy. “Have you been practicing how not to gag, Louisa?” I asked, remembering how she’d struggled as well. She shrugged. “I’ve never had that problem. Just lucky I guess.” Her tone was slightly bitter. “Oh, but I thought—.” She grimaced just before he thrust. “I lied.” I couldn’t help hugging her one-armed as he switched back to me. I stole a kiss.

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 Eagle and the Rose

 

This week for Wicked Wednesday, the prompt is a word I have no experience with personally. I do not have a tattoo, have no wish to get a tattoo, and have never had a lover with a tattoo. There are of course, several meanings for the word.
ORIGIN mid 17th cent. (originally as tap-too): from Dutch taptoe!, literally ‘close the tap (of the cask)!’ Meaning a rhythmic tapping or drumming. Can also mean military recall or performance.
ORIGIN mid 18th cent.: from Tahitian, Tongan, and Samoan ta-tau or Marquesan ta-tu. Both a verb [to tattoo] or noun [a tattoo]. The word was brought to Europe in 1769 after Captain Cook’s first voyage to Tahiti. Tattoos have likely been part of human society from the very first shaman.

Tamara trades places and sets her palms flat against the slick plastic surface opposite the showerhead. In the cramped tub, there is insufficient room to ‘assume the position’, but she juts her bottom up to meet Sir’s questing hands.
‘That’s an interesting tattoo.’
‘You mean my tramp stamp?’
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Sir beats out a rapid tattoo on Tamara’s glistening bottom. ‘You’re not a tramp.’
‘But that’s what everyone calls it!’
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Tamara lifts on tiptoes as his fingers trace the outline of her colorful tattoo sliding down into her soapy crack, pressing lightly against her tight anus. ‘I assume there is a backstory ‘behind’ the eagle and rose?’
She squirms when the end of his thumb rubs harder against her virgin puckered rose. ‘Yes, Sir! I was young and dumb and hopelessly in love.’
Sir feels the rubbery orifice clamp hard around his thumb’s knuckle as it slides inward. ‘And the rest of your artistic decorations?’



This snippet today will be part of next Tuesday’s Kismet of Submission: Episode 18. If you want to read more of the before and after, or to read all the Kismet of Submission episodes in order from the beginning, please go to this page for individual links.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 9 (Part 11)

Every fifteen minutes, for the remainder of the session, he caned us twice where we stood, for a total of eight strokes. I at least had been tenderized throughout the day, but poor Louisa had to take Mr. Steedstiff’s whippy blows on cold skin. After he dismissed the rest of the class for bedtime, he ordered us into his adjacent study. My pulse pounded, remembering what other girls apparently were ‘forced’ to do. “Girls. I am very disappointed you both decided gossiping is more important than expanding your knowledge. His lordship goes to great time and expense on your behalf.”

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 9 (Part 10)

By dinner bell, I was starved, and I attacked my meal with carnivorous ferocity: Daintily, of course. Up to the schoolroom I flew on wings of romantic fancy. To my delight, Louisa was already present, and we squealed as if parted for months rather than minutes. We tried, honest, to behave with decorum and concentrate on our studies, but—we were very, very naughty I’m afraid. Unbeknownst to us, Mr. Steedstiff had received specific instructions in case of misbehavior. Caught passing notes, the other maids giggled as we were made to stand, uniforms drawn up in back, in opposing corners.

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 9 (Part 9)

I beamed with delight. “Chester! I would adore a ramble through the countryside with you at my side.” Mrs. Cleanknockers cleared her throat softly. “With proper escort, of course.” Her tone brooked no nonsense. “Louisa shall accompany you and the three of you will return within two hours.” Mr. Jones-Smyth readily agreed and he departed much less apprehensive that he’d arrived. “I should return to waxing the floor, Ma’am.” She gave me a tight smile and left as well. I stood there for a brief spell of time until, sinking to my knees, attempted to scrub Chester from my thoughts.

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 9 (Part 8)

Her expression was inscrutable and, without guidance, I spoke from my heart. “Mr. Jones-Smyth, I have no intention of crying off, and accept your apology. I would wish we move on from the incident in question and resolve to press forward together with a clearer intent.” He was clearly both surprised and relieved with my forthright statement. He gave me a slight bow, and reached out to kiss the back of my hand. “In that case, dear Ruby, it would give me the greatest pleasure if you would honor me with a carriage drive in the country this Sunday afternoon.”

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 9 (Part 7)

Mr. Jones-Smyth was shortly ushered in by my apparent chaperone. (That horse had already bolted) Mrs. Cleanknockers was composed and dignified as only a plenipotentiary chatelaine could present. “Good afternoon, Mister. May I enquire as to your mission?” He was anything but in control as he shifted from side-to-side and spun the brim of his hat through crushing fingertips. Not quite meeting my startled eyes, he begged my pardon for his unconscionable actions of yesterday. “I have no excuse for my unbecoming behavior, and will completely understand if you wish to cry off our engagement” I glanced at Mrs. Cleanknockers.

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 9 (Part 6)

I, being still rather ignorant, asked Mrs. Cleanknockers if aversion to monthly bleeding was a normal male reaction. As she returned the paddle to its velvet cradle, she replied, “In my experience, it has been the norm that men find women’s courses, and the attendant heightened emotions, to be at best, an inconvenience, and at worst, something to be feared and loathed.” Having grown up poor, surrounded by females working before dawn till after dark trying to survive, I was woefully unprepared for the nuances of male companionship. The rap on the door startled me: Mrs. Cleanknockers loitered on purpose.

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 9 (Part 5)

CRACK! The impact rocked my torso forward, and I grabbed my ankles to prevent falling on my face. CRACK! “There is a ledger I maintain in which each female staff member is monitored.” CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! I didn’t know why I was being spanked, and quite frankly, could care less. The painful stinging over my welts and bruises was driving me mad with desire. CRACK! “Stand up and face me, Ruby!” I spun round so fast I felt dizzy. She gave me a wry smile. “His lordship… is not fond of menstrual blood, and checks the updated status each afternoon.”

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 9 (Part 4)

“What have we here?” I peered back at Mrs. Cleanknockers. “His lordship thrashed me for insubordination this morning.” I thrust my bottom up when she traced the lines of the caning. “I can see that, Ruby, but what I was referring to, was your sanitary belt.” I made to straighten up, but desisted when she pressed my shoulders down. “I am due my cycle soon. Louisa showed me the supplies. Besides wearing my uniform at all times, is there anything else required?” I watched her open a drawer and withdraw a paddle. Tapping my bottom, she raised her arm high.

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 9 (Part 3)

Mrs. Cleanknockers gracefully rose to her feet, and with both hands, lifted me—rather less elegantly—until we stood with arms wrapped in close embrace. She licked my lips and danced her tongue inside my mouth. In between kisses, she murmured, “Very naughty… wanting pain… red whipped bottom… wet pussy… naughty rosebud hole… glistening salve… cheeks spread open… hard cock… harder dildo… taking you… in your hot arse… over and over… your tears… spur our cruelty…” I wanted—needed to be brought to culmination frequently: I didn’t care who supplied the fuel to my flames. I tossed up my skirts.

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 9 (Part 2)

“So, Ruby, you are eager to be sodomized?” I ferociously hugged Mrs. Cleanknockers to my breast in my enthusiasm to sway her thoughts. “Yes, Ma’am! Will it hurt?” She tucked stray wisps of hair back into my bun. “That depends on the skill of the sodomizer and the desires of the recipient. Do your enemas hurt with the large nozzle?” I shook my head. “No.” I felt the familiar—if new—tingle in my loins. Arousal. Once ignited, it burned like wildfire, scorching everything in its path. “But I want it, I want it to hurt. Is that being naughty?”

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 8 Complete

Before I start posting Chapter 9 [Which I have already written all 30 parts] I am reposting the entire 3,000 word Chapter 8 for both your pleasure and ease of reading. If you are reading The Bumhampton Chronicles for the first time, you can always click here for the page with links to each prior chapter. It is a lot easier to read 3,000 words at a time, then scrolling through 30 individual 100-word drabbles. Thanks to all my readers and their enthusiastic comments to Ruby Slapumcheeks’ adventures at Peacock House.

Also wanted to thank the 32 people who signed up to follow this blog during the month of August, 2017. I wanted to remind everyone who reads this blog through a feed, that on the actual home screen of my blog, there are a number of pages at the top with links to all sorts of story categories from past years. Seeing as Spank Me Hard… Please? now has over 400 active posts and almost 1,900 comments, there is plenty of reading material going back to 2009.

Gentle Reader: I am certain you commiserate with me, when upon waking, Louisa curled into my side as kittens in a sunbeam, all that had passed yesterday rushed over my body like a mill pond race. The froth of my thoughts churned away, the excitement I felt knowing I was his, must have been heard throughout the house. Giddily I twirled the ring around my finger. Out of bed I sprang like a phaeton bowling along the Post Road behind matching blacks. The faint tendrils of dawn’s earliest caresses peeked through the pane. I shook Louisa. “It’s a glorious day!”

I was whacked with her pillow for my pains. Speaking of pains, aside from an internal twinge, little trace remained of my defloration. I hummed as completed my toilette: such a dainty word to dance politely around the evacuation of bowel and emptying of bladder. Such was the life of a housemaid in 1865 before indoor plumbing took cholera and dysentery away. Not that the medical field gave credence to scientific evidence; miasma and sullen lower orders were to blame. Mrs. Cleanknockers believed that filth was a mortal enemy. Saturday evenings were communal bath times. Females and males separated, naturally.

Humming happily, I skipped to breakfast, my toes tapping a brisk jig across the runner in servant’s hall leading to the dining area off the kitchen. Curbing my enthusiasm, I genially greeted my fellow maids. Tony—of anal fame—shot me a quick wink when the under-butler turned his back. Other than Louisa, who sat next to me, I had no other friends among the staff. It was not a complaint, simply an observation that my training allowed little time to socialize. The oatmeal was filling the bacon crisp and all present bowed their heads for grace. I was content.

There may have been envious glances cast my way, but hunger was the great leveler. His lordship did not stint, even if the true delicacies were reserved for dining in Hall. None of us belonged in that exalted company, the rigid castes of British society may have been bent at Peacock House, but the liberal application of the rod kept everyone in their place. Truly, it was a pity. Every soul dwelling in that place was a prisoner of convention, from the youngest boot boy, all the way to the Master himself. Sex and discipline burst forth, blatantly, yet elegantly.

Such was my tumbled thoughts when I reported to his study. I was still on probation, subject to regular whippings, but after my virginity vanished, I was only planning my wedding, not trying to upset the social order. “Ruby! What the devil are you about?” I blinked in confusion. “Sir?” His lordship slapped a paper on his desk, apparently annoyed with something I’d done. “This states you allowed Mr. Jones-Smyth to pluck your bud yesterday! I did not give you permission to seduce him!” I was dumbfounded. “Sir. Mrs. Cleanknockers will vouchsafe I was tied to the horse and caned.”

“I could not, and did not have means to resist my fiancé in exercising his soon-to-be conjugal rights. I thought that was the entire point of the exercise, that men require a female to be subjugated and spanked before sexual congress takes place. Am I incorrect, Sir? I have done everything asked of me, and do not understand your upset.” His fulsome mustache quivered and his eyes bulged. With visible effort, he controlled his flexing hands and leaned forward on bunched fists. “Rest assured, Ruby, I shall get to the bottom of the situation. In the meantime, you may clean.”

I curtsied, and reflexively removed my uniform. My courses were due any day now; I made a mental note to ask for linens. “Sir? If I may, do you wish to give my daily spanking now?” Pen flying over ledger, he did not look up when he spoke. “I am rather in a lather at the moment, I do not wish you to suffer you the consequences.” I patted my full tummy and discretely burped. “If I may be so bold, Sir, if there is the slightest chance I have caused your temperament to be disagreeable, then punishment is due.”

His stern countenance made me tremble. “Very well, Ruby. Over the desk.” The smooth oak felt so sensuous under my aroused bosom. Tight nipples aching to be squeezed pressed into the grain, thighs flexing as I felt the instant moisture pool on my quim. Fingertips gripped the walnut trim on the far side, toes rose en pointe, bottom presented to his will. Yesterday’s soreness roared to life with the hard blows of leather wrapped maple striking my proffered flesh. I yelped once, settling into a pattern of rapid puffs, breathing through the delicious pain. Take me! I’m a wanton slut!

Rough palms caressed my hot cheeks. I pressed back into his touch, waggling my naughty hips; spreading my thighs with silent entreaty. His boots kicked my ankles even wider. I dipped my hips and groaned as his thick fingers probed my now open channel. I adjusted my grip on the far edge of the desk. His heavy cock pressed past my puckered portal into my pulsating pouch: thumbs resting either side of my ridged spine, his fingers wrapped under my somersaulting stomach. He began to move out then back in with majestic sweeps like an Oxford crew on the Thames.

He muttered, evidentially after checking the time, “Good, twenty minutes until he arrives.” I strained my head around. “Twenty minutes, Sir?” Asked with quite the astonished tone. “Is that even possible?” For the first time ever I witnessed a genuine smile of amusement overtake his normally taciturn features. He even chuckled quietly as he gently plumbed the depths of my silken purse. “I take it young Chester was rather quick off the mark?” I snorted and replied tartly, “It must have been less than a minute before he filled me to the brim.” His mirth vanished like an English summer.

His scowl returned. Smack, smack, smack, smack: His pelvis impacted my rear with ever increasing velocity and power—evidence of his dissatisfaction. “He took no precautions against planting a babe in your belly?” I gasped as the force of his thrusts began rocking my body to and fro across the varnished desktop. “I don’t know! I had no choice!” His snarl lit the fuse of my lust. “Oh, Sir! Fuck me harder!” Wet slaps. Pulse racing. This was no amateur traveling host playing for provincials for pennies. This was a master at work. I melted beneath his prowess and virility.

I put my head down, no longer able—nay, not capable of maintaining my posture. “Was not there someone watching?” I pushed back when he bottomed out and held still fully rooted. “No, we were alone. He proposed to me and I accepted. He took me from behind, as you are doing.” He growled lowly and withdrew with a soft slurp. Thinking it was done, I willed my shaky arms to press up. Instead, I was effortlessly lifted, turned and plopped back down. I hissed when my spanked bottom hit the edge of the desk. “Lean back, on your elbows.”

I obeyed. He splayed my legs wide. I watched as his stiff, shiny prick was sucked back into my greedy pink maw. His left hand clasped my upper buttock, right arm snaked around my lower back and, once more, like a watermill hammering grain, he… well, hammered my hot cunt. My eyes slipped to half-mast, my mouth, slack and dried by panting breath, could not contain the upwelling of nervous energy springing from my very center. I exploded like a Covent Garden firework. Internal muscles—untried as they were—clenched and rippled around the marvelous satin poker, poking me deep.

Sweat fell from his lordship’s brow, sizzling as it struck my taut tummy. Another wave rose from the cool depths. A leviathan: I stopped breathing as it hit. My hips lifted instinctively, anything to get the phallus tighter to my womb. I shook, hands drummed the blotter, feet flailed; I screamed—and still he fucked on, fast, slow, short, long: his cock was the center of my universe. Nothing else was real. The tiny portion that was left of my sanity marveled at his stamina and skill, pondering if he needed a wife. It—my sanity—fled for higher ground.

The tidal bore smashed through the dike when his left thumb stroked my precious pearl. The undertow of my third consecutive orgasm swept my consciousness away. I vaguely remember swooning, and shoulders pinning my knees to my chest. Then, hot fluid splattering my skin. The room spun as we waltzed. Velvet tickled my thighs. There was a damp cloth draped across my breasts. The ticking clock sounded overly loud. At one of the floor to ceiling windows, the warm morning light was partially eclipsed by a short man, hands behind his back, staring out at the brick enclosed herb garden.

I lifted the cloth to my nose and sniffed. A sharp tang of the sea melded with my heavy musk. Woozily blinking my sluggish eyelids, I recalled what Louisa had said about no bastards from his lordship. I gazed down at the light glaze roped around my still erect nipples. My thighs clenched: I’d missed him marking me. Wiping myself with trembling fingers, I lurched upright; grabbing a chair, it made a slight screech as it slid backwards. On still wobbly legs, I crossed the study and stood near him. Naked, I peered out at the trim geometric botanical beds.

I was no Eve, but I knew now why so many people pursued sex with such reckless abandon. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll begin my tasks now.” There was only silence. Daringly, I placed my palm on his sharp elbow; I felt the slightest of tremors. “Sir, I am yours, whenever and wherever you choose. You were magnificent. I have never felt better. Please do not cast me out for being forward.” At last a stern response, “Ruby, you are contracted to me for a year, regardless of your betrothal. Only a fool would cast you aside. I am no fool.”

Being Friday, his Lordship’s appointment was with the estate manager, whom I had yet to meet. His bulging countenance appeared carp-like as he gawped at my nudity. I flirted—of course—and was scolded. When the poor man was unable to concentrate on the figures, captivated instead by mine flitting through his peripheral vision, I was ordered back to the desk. “Since you seem intent on wreaking havoc with every male who crosses your path, Ruby, you force me to put you in your place.” Roughly, I was bent over the desk, red bottom directly in front of the manager.

As his Lordship strode across the study to the punishment closet, I sneaked a peak and saw his manager tugging at his collar and mopping his perspiring brow. I, being of low morals and wicked disposition, unsubtly gave him a wide-angle view of my soaked snatch. “Ruby!” The whistling hiss was all the warning I needed to brace myself. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Three stingers seared my bare buttocks. I didn’t flinch, only thrust upwards on tiptoes. My challenge was accepted. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! The fatty tissue underneath my bulbs caught the wrath. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! My upper thighs burned next.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Fire lanced in branded lines that danced roughshod over my puckish attitude. His Lordship seized my waist and hoisted me one-handed off the floor. His dominant hand beat me, spanking hard and fast along the welted lanes paved by the rattan cane. My feet paddled in mid-air, unable to duck the blows raining down on my hot flesh. I bit my knuckles and allowed tears to stain the blotter. I wanted to be good, truly I did, but some mischievous imp drove me to frequent feckless folly. Then again, I wanted this thorough thrashing.

“Now, Mr. Edwards, do you think you can concentrate on the estate ledgers, or do you need relief first?” He continued spanking me as he spoke. “I… I am sure, Sir, that… umm… I can, we can, continue… Sir.” His Lordship let me thump to the floor, my legs shook and had his hand not cupped my pubis and steadied me, I surely would have fell. He stroked me, two fingers entered my puss; his thumb forced my arsehole to dilate. “Ruby, you will fellate Mr. Edwards as recompense for your lewd exhibition.” I asked in puzzlement, “Fellate him, Sir?”

“Is there trout for luncheon?” SMACK! “Suck… his… cock!” SMACK! “Now!” I slithered off the desk, and on my knees, waddled the short distance to Mr. Edwards. He made no verbal objection to my burrowing hands as I fished out his tumescence. I couldn’t help crooning, “Come to mama,” as I gulped down his rigid length. Still with little practical experience, I’m afraid I was rather sloppy: nor did it help matters when the groaning man exploded in my mouth within a few minutes. His hands were bare; I felt empathy realizing he had no wife to sexually service him.

My ass was throbbing. The cane welts were raised and so very tender. Discretion was needed. I fetched a bucket of soapy water, and scrubbed the baseboards out of direct sight. The men’s conversations combined with the sloshing suds, lulled me in an altered state. With my bottom high, I slid the coarse brush forward and back, wringing out the dirty water with rags. The luncheon gong caught me by surprise. It took five minutes or so to finish the section I was cleaning, and several more to dump the filthy residue on the kitchen midden. I donned my uniform.

I returned to the study and curtsied to both men, receiving smirking stares at my now clothed person. “Thank you for disciplining me, Sir, Mister. Is there naught else you require of me at this time?” At a brusque nod, Mr. Edwards hastily arose and gathered his precious books. “That will be all, Ruby. Mr. Edwards, you may provide escort and partake of luncheon.” We made our escape in fine order, but at a loud knock, there arrived His Lordship’s meal on covered silver platter accompanied by Miss Frothinglips, Mrs. Cleanknockers and Mr. Jones-Smyth. “So! Perhaps an explanation is due?”

His Lordship’s voice was caustic and uncompromising. It was their turn to be called on the carpet. The firm thud and clunk of the door being locked cut off the lecture in mid-song. I shuddered. Somehow I knew I’d wind up paying for whatever punishment was dished out to the trio of my betters. I can’t say I was all that worried. It took extraordinary willpower on my part to not push Mr. Edwards into the Gun Room and have my way with him. By the time we reached the dining area, the sharp pain from the caning had faded.

Still, I winced when I sat on the rough wooden bench. Louisa asked me in a whisper what was wrong. I replied in the same fashion that cramps from my pending cycle were increasing. Conversation wasn’t forbidden during meals, but most of us concentrated on assuaging our hunger. The entire staff couldn’t fit all at one go, so we were split into two half hour shifts. Unless needed for an urgent task, the upstairs/downstairs served as a natural demarcation. When we’d scraped the bowls and plates clean, Louisa pulled me aside and directed me to the storage cupboard of supplies.

I decided not to take chances and stepped into the sanitary belt. Pulling it up between my thighs, Louisa exclaimed as my bottom hove into view. “Ruby! What did you do to deserve such harsh treatment?” I ruefully rubbed. “The usual sass I’m afraid. Don’t worry, my love, you can apply some salve tonight. Your sticky fingers will feel so nice up my sore bum.” We stole some kisses with sucking tongues before we reluctantly parted with outstretched fingers being the last to slip away. A maid’s work is never done. Polishing and waxing the Gun Room floor awaited me.

It was tedious but the lemony fumes compensated. Engrossed in my chores, I shrieked in surprise when I turned around to see Mrs. Cleanknockers standing with her arms folded, back to the door. “I’m sorry, ma’am! You startled me.” I bobbed and nervously nibbled my lip when I sensed she was angry. “It seems I owe you an apology, Ruby, for what transpired yesterday.” Yes, she was angry. Whether solely at me, it did not matter. “Ma’am. Permission to speak freely?” She nodded minutely. I crossed the floor, kneeling at her feet. “I am your humble slave, ma’am. No apologies.”

Head down, I heard her snort. “Humble? You? Ruby, you are anything but humble. You are vexing and incapable of knowing when not to stir up trouble. What am I to do with you?” I peered up through glistening eyes. “Spank me and fuck me?” For an instant, I thought I’d gone too far. Mrs. Cleanknockers’ shoulders began to quiver and she cupped her mouth with both hands. Bright bubbling laughter slipped through her fingers like a meadow stream in springtime. She gracefully knelt down and, still chuckling, raised my lips to her mouth, kissing me with a fierce intensity.

“Sweet, precious, Ruby, you bring such lightness to Peacock House. Promise me you will never bridle your wit not your lust.” Of such easy promises made in passion, do become heavy chains in the fullness of time. I had every good intention of obeying. The future would come soon enough and smash all our preconceptions. In the interval, there was one specific thing I wanted from Mrs. Cleanknockers. “Ma’am? There is something I want from you, nay, not an apology, for no matter what his Lordship may decree, you did nothing wrong. I am yet a virgin in one place.”

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.



As I wrap up this chapter of The Bumhampton Chronicles, the calendar turns its leaves to September. When I lived up north, or–Up North–this month marked the beginning of fall with the snow and ice not that far behind. This also marks another monthly Spanking Newsletter at my other blog, Byron Cane Spanking and Erotic Fiction, where you will find a rather lengthy story. I hope you enjoy it, and click the follow button to be updated in October.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 8 (Part 28)

It was tedious but the lemony fumes compensated. Engrossed in my chores, I shrieked in surprise when I turned around to see Mrs. Cleanknockers standing with her arms folded, back to the door. “I’m sorry, ma’am! You startled me.” I bobbed and nervously nibbled my lip when I sensed she was angry. “It seems I owe you an apology, Ruby, for what transpired yesterday.” Yes, she was angry. Whether solely at me, it did not matter. “Ma’am. Permission to speak freely?” She nodded minutely. I crossed the floor, kneeling at her feet. “I am your humble slave, ma’am. No apologies.”

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 8 (Part 27)

I decided not to take chances and stepped into the sanitary belt. Pulling it up between my thighs, Louisa exclaimed as my bottom hove into view. “Ruby! What did you do to deserve such harsh treatment?” I ruefully rubbed. “The usual sass I’m afraid. Don’t worry, my love, you can apply some salve tonight. Your sticky fingers will feel so nice up my sore bum.” We stole some kisses with sucking tongues before we reluctantly parted with outstretched fingers being the last to slip away. A maid’s work is never done. Polishing and waxing the Gun Room floor awaited me.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 8 (Part 26)

Still, I winced when I sat on the rough wooden bench. Louisa asked me in a whisper what was wrong. I replied in the same fashion that cramps from my pending cycle were increasing. Conversation wasn’t forbidden during meals, but most of us concentrated on assuaging our hunger. The entire staff couldn’t fit all at one go, so we were split into two half hour shifts. Unless needed for an urgent task, the upstairs/downstairs served as a natural demarcation. When we’d scraped the bowls and plates clean, Louisa pulled me aside and directed me to the storage cupboard of supplies.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 8 (Part 25)

His Lordship’s voice was caustic and uncompromising. It was their turn to be called on the carpet. The firm thud and clunk of the door being locked cut off the lecture in mid-song. I shuddered. Somehow I knew I’d wind up paying for whatever punishment was dished out to the trio of my betters. I can’t say I was all that worried. It took extraordinary willpower on my part to not push Mr. Edwards into the Gun Room and have my way with him. By the time we reached the dining area, the sharp pain from the caning had faded.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 8 (Part 24)

I returned to the study and curtsied to both men, receiving smirking stares at my now clothed person. “Thank you for disciplining me, Sir, Mister. Is there naught else you require of me at this time?” At a brusque nod, Mr. Edwards hastily arose and gathered his precious books. “That will be all, Ruby. Mr. Edwards, you may provide escort and partake of luncheon.” We made our escape in fine order, but at a loud knock, there arrived His Lordship’s meal on covered silver platter accompanied by Miss Frothinglips, Mrs. Cleanknockers and Mr. Jones-Smyth. “So! Perhaps an explanation is due?”

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 8 (Part 23)

My ass was throbbing. The cane welts were raised and so very tender. Discretion was needed. I fetched a bucket of soapy water, and scrubbed the baseboards out of direct sight. The men’s conversations combined with the sloshing suds, lulled me in an altered state. With my bottom high, I slid the coarse brush forward and back, wringing out the dirty water with rags. The luncheon gong caught me by surprise. It took five minutes or so to finish the section I was cleaning, and several more to dump the filthy residue on the kitchen midden. I donned my uniform.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 8 (Part 22)

“Is there trout for luncheon?” SMACK! “Suck… his… cock!” SMACK! “Now!” I slithered off the desk, and on my knees, waddled the short distance to Mr. Edwards. He made no verbal objection to my burrowing hands as I fished out his tumescence. I couldn’t help crooning, “Come to mama,” as I gulped down his rigid length. Still with little practical experience, I’m afraid I was rather sloppy: nor did it help matters when the groaning man exploded in my mouth within a few minutes. His hands were bare; I felt empathy realizing he had no wife to sexually service him.

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



If you would like more information about me as a writer, Ina Morata has written two posts about my work. This first was posted on Febuary, 5th 2017, and titled My Favourite Spanking Authors (Part 2) and includes an excerpt from a novel in progress. The second post is an interview I did recently with her and includes some upcoming work to be published. It can be found here, August 17th, 2017 and is called Author Interview: Byron Cane (aka Lurv Spanking).

Coincidently, this latest interview is at the one-year anniversary when Ina first popped round to offer a cuppa to the new kid on the block, along with beta reading and editing my meager [at the time] trove of fiction. During the ensuing twelve months, Ina has been a source of inspiration, dedication, publishing and we’ve become partners both professionally and personally. I can’t wait for the next year to see where the spanking journey takes us.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 8 (Part 21)

“Now, Mr. Edwards, do you think you can concentrate on the estate ledgers, or do you need relief first?” He continued spanking me as he spoke. “I… I am sure, Sir, that… umm… I can, we can, continue… Sir.” His Lordship let me thump to the floor, my legs shook and had his hand not cupped my pubis and steadied me, I surely would have fell. He stroked me, two fingers entered my puss; his thumb forced my arsehole to dilate. “Ruby, you will fellate Mr. Edwards as recompense for your lewd exhibition.” I asked in puzzlement, “Fellate him, Sir?”

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 8 (Part 20)

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Fire lanced in branded lines that danced roughshod over my puckish attitude. His Lordship seized my waist and hoisted me one-handed off the floor. His dominant hand beat me, spanking hard and fast along the welted lanes paved by the rattan cane. My feet paddled in mid-air, unable to duck the blows raining down on my hot flesh. I bit my knuckles and allowed tears to stain the blotter. I wanted to be good, truly I did, but some mischievous imp drove me to frequent feckless folly. Then again, I wanted this thorough thrashing.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 8 (Part 19)

As his Lordship strode across the study to the punishment closet, I sneaked a peak and saw his manager tugging at his collar and mopping his perspiring brow. I, being of low morals and wicked disposition, unsubtly gave him a wide-angle view of my soaked snatch. “Ruby!” The whistling hiss was all the warning I needed to brace myself. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Three stingers seared my bare buttocks. I didn’t flinch, only thrust upwards on tiptoes. My challenge was accepted. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! The fatty tissue underneath my bulbs caught the wrath. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! My upper thighs burned next.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 8 (Part 18)

Being Friday, his Lordship’s appointment was with the estate manager, whom I had yet to meet. His bulging countenance appeared carp-like as he gawped at my nudity. I flirted—of course—and was scolded. When the poor man was unable to concentrate on the figures, captivated instead by mine flitting through his peripheral vision, I was ordered back to the desk. “Since you seem intent on wreaking havoc with every male who crosses your path, Ruby, you force me to put you in your place.” Roughly, I was bent over the desk, red bottom directly in front of the manager.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 8 (Part 17)

I was no Eve, but I knew now why so many people pursued sex with such reckless abandon. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll begin my tasks now.” There was only silence. Daringly, I placed my palm on his sharp elbow; I felt the slightest of tremors. “Sir, I am yours, whenever and wherever you choose. You were magnificent. I have never felt better. Please do not cast me out for being forward.” At last a stern response, “Ruby, you are contracted to me for a year, regardless of your betrothal. Only a fool would cast you aside. I am no fool.”

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