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 10 (Part 1)

Gentle Reader: One of the [many] disadvantages of being a woman is the monthly. If you wish to showcase your education, using ‘menstruation’ in polite mixed company will invoke instant silence. Romances never mention feminine bleeding cycles—unless the fair heroine is breathlessly counting days to verify she’s increasing—one reason being that no sane female authoress would drag down suspenseful prose with cramps, bloating and general moodiness. Cinderella never broke out in facial blemishes. Which is why a man could never write from a womanly perspective about reproduction. They are too squeamish despite projecting an aura of virile bravado.

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: Complete Chapter 9

Once upon a time, in the Big City, a young woman, fresh from college, moved into an apartment and lost her way. It took a series of interesting events to get her back on the right track. Now available at online booksellers worldwide for your ereader device.

Purchase The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie on Kindle. Click picture to go to Amazon.

You may have noticed the picture above. If you were a reader last year from July 2016 onward, you also may have been a weekly follower of Stephanie’s misadventures every Wicked Wednesday. About a third of the way posting the 21 episodes, I announced my intentions to turn the flash fiction into a novella for publication. After editing, several rejections, more and more editing, Clarian Press agreed to publish the novella. Here are some links with more information:
1. At my other blog, I posted Stephanie’s Big Cover Reveal, written under my pen name, Byron Cane.
2. At Clarian Press, Stephanie’s permanent page with more information.
3. Also at Clarian Press, a blog post with more cover pictures about Stephanie.
4. The CEO and owner of Clarian Press, Ina Morata also blogged about Stephanie.
5. Some information about me from Ina’s perspective. My favourite spanking authors part 2
6. An interview about my writing style and motivation also with Ina. Author Interview: Byron Cane aka Lurv Spanking

As is normal, what follows is the complete 3,000-word Chapter 9 of The Bumhampton Chronicles. In this chapter, Ruby continues to find her true nature and discovers something that upsets her. The complete Chapter 10 is already written and will commence tomorrow as 100-word drabbles for the next 30 parts. I hope you continue to read the adventures at Peacock House, and thank you for all your likes and comments.

Gentle Readers: You would be forgiven in the belief that my ramblings seem to be exaggerated. This memoir represents an accurate accounting of my adventures, but there is much sadness as I pen these words. Nearly all the protagonists portrayed have passed on; and now, rediscovering the eager innocent glee with which I gloried in sensual revels, leaves me in melancholy nostalgia for the youthful naiveté I once enjoyed. Maturity comes to us all—eventually—usually upon the heels of tragedy. I’d landed on my feet in a situation I’d dared not dreamed after my mother died. Payment was due.

“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?”

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.

“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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.”

With downcast heads and wretched expressions, we humbly apologized. I knew he was correct. No other master I had ever heard of before made a point of educating staff, never mind useless females—in society’s eyes. I swore to him I would redouble my efforts and never pass notes in class again. When I at last dared look at him, his eyes appeared to twinkle even though his mouth was a thin line. “Louisa, come here and kneel. You know what to do.” She glanced at me, before going to her knees, opening his trouser front then removing his cock.

When she opened her mouth, and he pressed the large head between her lips, I moaned softly. When, after several minutes of audible wet sucking, he withdrew a hard shaft the diameter of my wrist and longer than my hand, I took an eager step forward. When he looked at me and said, ‘Kneel’, I fairly dove to my knees next to Louisa. Stretching my mouth until my jaw popped, I stuck out my tongue and waggled the tip. Mr. Steedstiff obliged. I had wanted a rematch from my embarrassing performance in the Gun Room several days prior. Eyes watered.

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 as he thrust. “I lied.” I couldn’t help hugging her one-armed as he switched back to me. I stole a kiss.

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.

“Stand up, Ruby, we’re going to try something different.” Clearing a chaise arm, my head dangled. The back of my neck cupped, 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.

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.”

Two little mice scampered down the dark hallway and up the steep stairs to our attic cubbies. Mrs. Cleanknockers had given us tacit support—provided we were discreet—to sleep together in two cots lashed together. Uniforms were tossed and laughing, we fell onto the hard surface. The single lamp cast a halo around her soft features and my heart clenched with the love I felt for this girl. “I never thought I could feel this way about a woman.” She smiled and lifted her fingers to release my bound hair. “I feel the same way, Ruby. You’ve saved me.”

“Saved you?” I said. Curious as to why Louisa felt that way, I asked, “How can I have saved you? I’ve only been here four days!” Her lips covered mine. Hands slipped to naked shoulders and with steady pressure, drew me down into bliss. Side-by-side, we stroked and fondled; our nipples tight beneath pinching fingers and pussies made wet by probing thumbs. “Until you, my dearest Ruby, I’ve hated the sexual slavery here at Peacock House. I’ve fought back and been punished. My orgasms have been ripped unwillingly from me, and my body a toy for others to play with.”

“Oh, Louisa! I had no idea! I’m so sorry and angry that you’ve been so abused! His lordship will hear about this in the morn!” She bolted upright in alarm at my bold declaration. “NO! Ruby, you cannot… you will not challenge his lordship over this! It is the way of the world and I forbid you to reveal what I’ve told you in private.” I too sat up and soothed her agitation with caresses and solemn promises. I confessed my own sins by stating I loved—I craved sex and wanted it all the time with anyway who asked.

“Truly, Ruby? You enjoy the sex and beatings?” In the dimness her eyes sparkled and her round mouth reflected her astonishment. “Yes, Louisa, I wish Mrs. Cleanknockers would whip and spank me all day long, as I was tied to the horse and used in all my orifices by the entire staff. I have become a wicked slattern doomed to Hell… but I don’t care.” My tone was defiant. “If my fiancé desires my training to be as asset to his business, and my body the currency with which it prospers, then I will be a dutiful and obedient wife.”

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.

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.

Persistently pressing pliable petals with furled tongue, repeated efforts will cause the rubbery exit to yield slightly. Combined with the heady aroma wafting from the adjacent pussy, the scents and tastes drive one mad with lust. Louisa lapped and drilled my virgin anus, while her nose rubbed my clit, and delved inside my wet cunt. By the time she ceased her licking, I’d spent twice and lay there facedown wondering if I’d ever be able move again. Greased palms swirled the paste across my globes from meridian to poles. “Harder,” I whispered, the pressure on my bruises causing deep moans.

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.

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.

My legs trembled as if I’d run miles to escape my past. Damp cloths wiped sensitive skin and finally, when we lay on our backs, lamp extinguished and skittering pulses normal, we held hands and dreamed about the life we wanted to have. “Do you want children, Ruby?” My reply, ‘Doesn’t every woman?’ elicited a sardonic sounding snort. “Not this woman. Being rutted upon, swelling up like a melon, then likely dying nine months later is not something I crave.” I turned on my elbow to face her. “Not every mother dies in childbirth.” Her voice was flat. “Mine did.”

“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.”

“I’m sorry, Louisa. I promise I will take you away with me when I wed.” She tilted her head and gently kissed me. “I’m sorry too, Ruby, that I was such a heinous bitch to you.” I kissed her back and laughed. “I think you’ve more than made up for that lapse of character. If nothing else, your wicked tongue has been put to better use.” She giggled and swatted my arm. “It’s all your fault, Ruby. If you didn’t taste so good, I wouldn’t keep making sniping snide comments.” My teasing reply. “My little love slave needs a reminder.”

Louisa rolled on her stomach without protest. Only the faintest of light showed in our room, but my hand unerringly located her plump bottom. I was very tired, but managed a brisk spanking to usher in our sleep. Drawing the itchy blanket and rough sheet to our chins, we murmured our love to each other, drifting off to dream. I was smiling, the vision was clear; a white-stucco house, with roses climbing trellises in riotous abandon. Sitting on a stone garden bench, my children gamboling like kittens with their dear Aunt Louisa: Chester giving them rides on his broad shoulders.

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.

A shock to the system

Daniel was a quarter of the way to work, when he realized he’d forgotten his lunch on the kitchen counter. Rather than call his wife and ask for a ‘nooner’ delivery [a tempting thought] after scanning the roads for cops, he pulled an illegal U-turn and raced back home.

Dodging the toys in the front hallway, he scooped up his lunch and was almost back out the front door when he heard a strange noise from the rec room in the basement. Frowning — his wife had told him she was having her hair done this morning — he walked softly to the stairs and cautiously cracked open the door.
“Ouch! Come on! Keep up for crying out loud! What do you mean no score? You stupid fucking machine!”
Tip-toeing down the carpeted treads, Daniel peered around the corner to see a shocking sight. His wife, his naked wife, in front of the big screen TV swinging a kitchen spatula against her backside in time to action on the screen. “What do you think you are doing?”
She screamed and spun around with her hands to her face. “Daniel! What are doing here?”
He wordlessly held up his lunch bag.
“Oh… I…”
“Is that a Wii program? A spanking program?”
Her shoulders slumped and she pressed the off button. “Yes, it is. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t even know they made such a thing.”
“I saw it online and I had to order it.”
“Because…?”
“Because it looked like fun. You’re supposed to mirror the spanking in the video. It’s set for solo action or multiple partners up to eight in total.”
“I see. I guess I don’t spank you enough, is that it? Am I inadequate?”
“No! No, Daniel, you’re a wonderful spanker.”
“But…”
“I like to self-spank, okay? I’ve been doing it since I was a little girl. It feels good and gets me off. I’m sorry.”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me. It’s the least you can do.”
“I ca—”
“What’s your favorite position? Your favorite fantasy? Favorite tool?”
“You’re going to be late for work!”
“Hi, Sherry. I’m running a bit late. What? No, I’ll be in soon. Just a domestic crisis that requires my expertise. Wouldn’t you like to know! Bye.”
“How is, Sherrrrry. Still a bimbo?”
“More or less… but still unspanked.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Hardly. This is a threat. Turn the program back on, pick up your paddle off the floor, and spank yourself until you’re bright red.”
“Or else?”
“Or else I’ll invite your book club over for a demonstration on how a real romantic hero controls his wayward wife.”
“Daniel!”
“I don’t see any spanking in the mirror.”

Twenty minutes later, when he was back driving into work, he couldn’t stop smiling in the rear view mirror at the vision of his red-bottomed wife coming as she paddled her butt harder and harder. He shifted in his seat — speaking of hard — and wondered what to do next. “I think we need to have a long talk about some things. Siri? Find spanking blogs.”

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 9 (Part 30)

Louisa rolled on her stomach without protest. Only the faintest of light showed in our room, but my hand unerringly located her plump bottom. I was very tired, but managed a brisk spanking to usher in our sleep. Drawing the itchy blanket and rough sheet to our chins, we murmured our love to each other, drifting off to dream. I was smiling, the vision was clear; a white-stucco house, with roses climbing trellises in riotous abandon. Sitting on a stone garden bench, my children gamboling like kittens with their dear Aunt Louisa: Chester giving them rides on his broad shoulders.

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 29)

“I’m sorry, Louisa. I promise I will take you away with me when I wed.” She tilted her head and gently kissed me. “I’m sorry too, Ruby, that I was such a heinous bitch to you.” I kissed her back and laughed. “I think you’ve more than made up for that lapse of character. If nothing else, your wicked tongue has been put to better use.” She giggled and swatted my arm. “It’s all your fault, Ruby. If you didn’t taste so good, I wouldn’t keep making sniping snide comments.” My teasing reply. “My little love slave needs a reminder.”

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 27)

My legs trembled as if I’d run miles to escape my past. Damp cloths wiped sensitive skin and finally, when we lay on our backs, lamp extinguished and skittering pulses normal, we held hands and dreamed about the life we wanted to have. “Do you want children, Ruby?” My reply, ‘Doesn’t every woman?’ elicited a sardonic sounding snort. “Not this woman. Being rutted upon, swelling up like a melon, then likely dying nine months later is not something I crave.” I turned on my elbow to face her. “Not every mother dies in childbirth.” Her voice was flat. “Mine did.”

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.

Why do I need my Dom to spank me?

because…
it makes me feel safe, loved, wanted
cherished
it lets me escape the kids, the boss, the overdue bills, but
being honest
[he requires that of me… the beast]
because…
I surrendered that choice to you willingly
my pain is now yours to bestow
whenever you feel the need
to own me
and make the during
as deliciously humiliating as possible
until I beg for it to be over
and you stop
every time
right before my safe word tumbles to the floor
and shatters our understanding
that it’s the before
before the act of spanking
when
I tingle
I shiver
I gush
because…
I’m happiest when you growl
threaten
order me to submit… there is no ‘or else’
only promises kept
and my bottom thrust nice and high
I’m seldom dry
when you lecture
and scold
I’ll pay any price to lift
the disappointed shadow
in your eye
so
over I go
heeding your mastery
your skill at spanking
your naughty submissive
until she cries
with relief
words of forgiveness
wordless echoes of respect and love
ring louder than
the spanks now stopped
and after
after the canes and paddles and brushes
are put away… temporarily
your humbled sub needs
the very best part of spanking
as the heat transmogrifies
to aching soreness
your punishing hand
soothes reddened flesh
and reinforces why
I ignore those
who send me links
and toll-free numbers
and question my femininity
with ever more strident
disbelief
but
because… I trust you
and know I’m a better woman
when you dominate me
that is why
I need to be spanked

[Preferably every morning, lunchtime when possible, and every single night so that all my tension and doubts and fears are washed away by your determination to keep me safe from myself]

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 9 (Part 24)

Persistently pressing pliable petals with furled tongue, repeated efforts will cause the rubbery exit to yield slightly. Combined with the heady aroma wafting from the adjacent pussy, the scents and tastes drive one mad with lust. Louisa lapped and drilled my virgin anus, while her nose rubbed my clit, and delved inside my wet cunt. By the time she ceased her licking, I’d spent twice and lay there facedown wondering if I’d ever be able move again. Greased palms swirled the paste across my globes from meridian to poles. “Harder,” I whispered, the pressure on my bruises causing deep moans.

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 21)

“Truly, Ruby? You enjoy the sex and beatings?” In the dimness her eyes sparkled and her round mouth reflected her astonishment. “Yes, Louisa, I wish Mrs. Cleanknockers would whip and spank me all day long, as I was tied to the horse and used in all my orifices by the entire staff. I have become a wicked slattern doomed to Hell… but I don’t care.” My tone was defiant. “If my fiancé desires my training to be as asset to his business, and my body the currency with which it prospers, then I will be a dutiful and obedient wife.”

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 20)

“Oh, Louisa! I had no idea! I’m so sorry and angry that you’ve been so abused! His lordship will hear about this in the morn!” She bolted upright in alarm at my bold declaration. “NO! Ruby, you cannot… you will not challenge his lordship over this! It is the way of the world and I forbid you to reveal what I’ve told you in private.” I too sat up and soothed her agitation with caresses and solemn promises. I confessed my own sins by stating I loved—I craved–sex and wanted it all the time with anyway who asked.

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 19)

“Saved you?” I said. Curious as to why Louisa felt that way, I asked, “How can I have saved you? I’ve only been here four days!” Her lips covered mine. Hands slipped to naked shoulders and with steady pressure, drew me down into bliss. Side-by-side, we stroked and fondled; our nipples tight beneath pinching fingers and pussies made wet by probing thumbs. “Until you, my dearest Ruby, I’ve hated the sexual slavery here at Peacock House. I’ve fought back and been punished. My orgasms have been ripped unwillingly from me, and my body a toy for others to play with.”

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 18)

Two little mice scampered down the dark hallway and up the steep stairs to our attic cubbies. Mrs. Cleanknockers had given us tacit support—provided we were discreet—to sleep together in two cots lashed together. Uniforms were tossed and laughing, we fell onto the hard surface. The single lamp cast a halo around her soft features and my heart clenched with the love I felt for this girl. “I never thought I could feel this way about a woman.” She smiled and lifted her fingers to release my bound hair. “I feel the same way, Ruby. You’ve saved me.”

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.

Sugar is sweet, but your ass is mine

When I read this week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt, sugar, the first thing that popped into my mind was this 1969 song, “Sugar, Sugar” by The Archies.

A $1.00 kiss at the video cartoon Kissing Booth back then would cost $6.71 today. [A bargain if there’s tongue involved] Which got me searching for Archie spankings, and the comic strip below that was published in November 1973. For those of you unfamiliar with Archie Comics, the first issue was published in Dec. 1941 and is still being published today, 76 years later. Now, I don’t write fan fiction, but the premise of Archie having two “potential” girlfriends—Betty and Veronica—and never being able to decide between them, has a certain traction within the spanking genre in terms of a spank-off contest of jealous girls.

If it were me, I’d Dom them both, but that’s because I have delusions of polyamory grandeur. 🙄

Archie spanking Veronica. Source: Chicago Spanking Review

“Girls! Enough! What did I say would happen to both of you, if you fought again over access to my studly and magnificent body?”
“You said you’d spank us. Boo-hoo. We’re so scared.”
“Don’t try to sugarcoat your actions. I’m not a one-girlfriend man, so it’s my way or the highway.”
“You just want to have your cake and eat it too.”
“Oh, and he eats me so well… too bad your pussy smells like a swamp!”
“Does not!”
“Does to!”
“He likes my ass better!”
“Does not!”
“Does to! He fucked it so good last night even your inflated ego would’ve fit!”
SMACK!
SMACK!
“GIRLS! STOP SLAPPING EACH OTHER!”
“She started it!”
“Did not!”
“Did to! It’s not fair! She’s your favorite just ‘cuse she’s an anal whore!”
“No way! You’re his favorite ‘cuse you like your throat fucked like a frat slut!”
“GIRLS! ENOUGH!”
“Sorry/Not sorry.”
“I’m the Dom in this household and both of you are my subs. Agreed?”
“Yes.”
“And do both of you get equal time with me?”
“Yes/No.”
“Well?”
“She got ten extra minutes last Wednesday.”
“You got twenty extra minutes last Sunday when you ‘claimed’ you had a cramp.”
“I did! The spreader bar caused a charlie horse in my thigh.”
“Was that before or after he whipped your butt for lying.”
“I never lie! I’m sugar and you’re spice. Remember?”
“What are you doing, Sir?”
You… lay over the table here… and you, lay over there. Hold hands… no, like this. After I tie your ankles to the table legs, and cuff your wrists together, I’m going to belt both of you until you make sweet with each other.”
“Never!”
“Never!”
“Then your butts are going to be battered and welted if you don’t kiss and make up.”
“And if we do so?”
“I’ll churn your pussies into butter and spray my sweet white cream frosting all over your faces.”
“What do you think? Should we cave to his perverted fantasy?”
“I bet you cave first.”
“Never! I can take twice as many strokes as you. I bet you cry first!”
“Never! The loser has to be a slave for a week and do anything asked. Get ready to suck some ass, bitch.”
“Fuck you! And that’s exactly where my strap-on is going to be buried all next week. Up your skinny ass, skank.”
“Bring it on!”
“It’s a deal.”
CRACK! CRACK!
“Harder, Sir! Make her scream!”
CRACK! CRACK!
“What’s the matter, Sir? Too much sugar rotting your muscles? WHIP HER!”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“I still think he likes you better.”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“That’s okay. He still thinks we hate each other.”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“DAMN! He’s pissed off.”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“Better than pissed on.”
“Says you.”
“WHAT?”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

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

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

Does pain have a color?

when memory of words
hurled to wound
burst along the never healed scar
does pain have a color
why then
does some pain
feel good
when face-to-face with fear
past never far
haunting every action
stealing moments
moments that turn into a lifetime
a lifetime passes
with no resolution
when intoxicants
no longer work
the world reduced to gray mist
sleeping
wishing to never wake
some
some few
some few find pain does have a color
red
pink
blue
the color of discipline
and love given
one spank at a time
for those fortunate
the few who experience
the bliss of over-the-knee
they know pain
does have a color
it’s whatever shade
your Dominant chooses
to bestow
a color that wipes away
agony
of words hurled to wound
it may sound strange
the smack of flesh
the cries
and pleas
expressing love through
spanking
but color
can be healing
too

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 9 (Part 13)

When she opened her mouth, and he pressed the large head between her lips, I moaned softly. When, after several minutes of audible wet sucking, he withdrew a hard shaft the diameter of my wrist and longer than my hand, I took an eager step forward. When he looked at me and said, ‘Kneel’, I fairly dove to my knees next to Louisa. Stretching my mouth until my jaw popped, I stuck out my tongue and waggled the tip. Mr. Steedstiff obliged. I had wanted a rematch from my embarrassing performance in the Gun Room several days prior. Eyes watered.

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 12)

With downcast heads and wretched expressions, we humbly apologized. I knew he was correct. No other master I had ever heard of before made a point of educating staff, never mind useless females—in society’s eyes. I swore to him I would redouble my efforts and never pass notes in class again. When I at last dared look at him, his eyes appeared to twinkle even though his mouth was a thin line. “Louisa, come here and kneel. You know what to do.” She glanced at me, before going to her knees, opening his trouser front then removing his cock.

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 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.

Shivering due to an epiphany

I missed last week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt—foreigner—due to having no power after Hurricane Irma. Even if I had written something before the electricity was lost at 11pm Sunday night, I wouldn’t have been able to link to the prompt in time. What I found fascinating about the etymology of ‘foreign’ is that it comes from Latin meaning ‘outside’.

ORIGIN Middle English foren, forein, from Old French forein, forain, based on Latin foras, foris ‘outside,’ from fores ‘door.’ The current spelling arose in the 16th cent., by association with sovereign.

I don’t think when people talk about immigration as being an open-door policy, or closing the door on illegals, they are aware of the literary link to the past.

The current week’s prompt, eavesdropping, has an even more interesting origin. Eavesdrop is an literal word created to represent one specific action.

ORIGIN early 17th cent.: back-formation from eavesdropper (late Middle English)‘a person who listens from under the eaves,’ from the obsolete noun eavesdrop ‘the ground onto which water drips from the eaves,’ probably from Old Norse upsardropi, from ups ‘eaves’ + dropi ‘a drop.’

When you link the two prompts together you get this: Outside the door, the ground onto which water drips from the eaves was churned to muddy paste where the foreigner was eavesdropping.

As an aside, in The Fellowship Of The Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien uses this bit of dialogue quite adroitly.
‘Well, well, bless my beard!’ said Gandalf. ‘Sam Gamgee is it? Now what may you be doing?’
‘Lor bless you, Mr. Gandalf, sir!’ said Sam. ‘Nothing! Leastways I was just trimming the grass-border under the window, if you follow me.’ He picked up his shears and exhibited them as evidence.
‘I don’t,’ said Gandalf grimly. ‘It is some time since I last heard the sound of your shears. How long have you been eavesdropping?’
‘Eavesdropping, sir?’ I don’t follow you, begging your pardon. There ain’t no eaves at Bag End, and that’s a fact.’



He calls me—I am positive he thinks it’s a clever endearment—’a drowned rat’ whenever I return from my run; rain soaked. He’s never understood my passion for exercise (an obsession, is his term when he’s being nice). He’s never tried—never even asked—why it is I seek to flee and only reluctantly return. As I toweled off in the mudroom, for once, my shivers were not from being wet. It was not the runner’s high that caused the silly grin; no, it was my foolish whim to follow the strange rhythmic smacking I heard over the sound of the pelting rain and pounding footsteps of my shoes. I eavesdropped: first with caution, then shame and at the last, unabashed curiosity that led me back here, outside the door, hand raised to knock, hoping they will understand my need that seems so foreign to me.

A week prior:

“Are we clear on why you’re being spanked?”
“Yes, Sir!”
The smacking noise that had drawn me like a butterfly to pollen had ceased. I eavesdropped instead on the scolding lecture and the teary replies. His voice; stern and uncompromising, yet I heard no anger in his leading questions. Exasperation—that I sensed—but with an underlying respect and determination to teach his woman a lesson. Her voice; wheedling and needy, yet also resigned to taking her punishment like a big girl.
This big girl huddled against the building, collar upturned and hood drawn against the steady gush of water through downspouts. To those passing on the sidewalk—not that anybody else was crazy enough to run in a monsoon—would have assumed the figure in the bright yellow slicker was simply seeking rough shelter from the storm. The window above my head was open, the overhang sufficient protection from the elements; although, at the time I did not think it was odd that the drawn blinds allowed sound to radiate.
The smacking sounds resumed. I sagged against the damp brick and squatted in the puddles amidst the bundled yellow-red leaves of autumn. I folded my arms tight against the sudden twinge deep in my stomach. I felt sick, not with anguish at hearing a fellow female being spanked, but sick with envy. Her yelps and cries, her sobs and pleas; all settled in a soulful place that had never known this craving was possible. Spanking wasn’t possible; not in my current relationship, never, never, ever would I allow ‘him’ to spank me.
When the hard slaps finally ended, and the noises now competing with the splashing raindrops turned to a rhythm of a more primal nature; I crept silently away from temptation: for now. I knew then I would be back.

At present:

Laughter spills from their windows. Music, modern hits, flows out into the twilight bringing visions of a party in motion. I hesitate at the threshold. ‘He’ was gone, sent packing with no regrets, the apartment both emptier and freer without his snarky presence. I wanted answers to questions I couldn’t articulate. I had no expectations. I was naive; but willing, oh so willing to find out for myself how it felt.
So, I knock.
The laughter eases. Muffled conversation ends on a rising note of query. The door opens; warm light rushes out like puppies seeking freedom to gambol amongst the vibrant chrysanthemums; tearing off the multi-petaled heads and spreading fragmented jewels across the green carpet.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
I shiver once more.
A distant cry. “Honey? Who is it?”
A louder roar. “I don’t know! It’s a woman!”
“A woman?”
Rapid tapping of heels arrive in a whoosh of Estée Lauder. “Hi. Whatever it is you’re selling, we’re not interested, dear. Honey, we need to leave soon.”
She spins to leave. I call out with a desperate croak. “I heard you!” She pauses looking back over her shoulder. I clear my throat. My eyes never stray from her knowing expression. “Last week, during the storm, I was jogging, and I heard you. I heard you both.” My gaze slides to his. “You, sir, were… were…”
“Spanking my wife?”
I swallow hard at the flaring heat in his response. I don’t notice her return until her arm slips possessively around his waist.
“You were eavesdropping, dear? How very naughty of you.”
“But your window was open!” I protest in a vain attempt to explain my guilt.
That excuse doesn’t work for me, dear, and I suspect you don’t expect a free pass either.” I catch her smirk as she peers up at her husband. “It seems we may be a wee bit tardy to the concert, honey. I do believe this woman owes us an apology.”
“Well?” he states with a demanding tilt of his head. “We’re waiting.”
“I’m sorry I listened to your private… erm, session. I’ll never do it again.”
She quickly steps forward and seizes my hands. “That’s not how apologies are given around here… as I’m sure you can guess. If you are truly sincere and wish repentance, then you know what is required, else you’d not be here tonight on our doorstep asking for punishment.”
She tugs lightly. I submit, as I knew I would, and allow myself to be drawn past the door, and deep inside their world of discipline and painful pleasure.

I’ve never regretted a single moment of eavesdropping.

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

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.