My breakthrough was the idea that she had entrapped me because she suspected she might get to see me spanked; with that came the image, incredibly exciting in and of itself, of why she suspected it--because she had heard what was happening on our wedding-night, through the walls. Now Sarah was fully implicated: there was no way she was going to escape discipline herself, having been so naughty.
The following step, of imagining fantasy-Charles' reaction, was the truly scary part. It was way, way too easy to write him, à la René and Sir Stephen, as deciding that fantasy-me should procure Sarah for his use, and commanding accordingly. Real-Charles, as he read this stuff, said "I'm not touching that with a ten-foot pole." "How about with a seven-inch cock?" I asked. "No comment," he said.
Polyamory is a strange area for us. We've been completely faithful to one another, since that night in New York in 2001, but both of us have poly fantasies. That we've never really even seriously discussed trying to plan something around them is probably due to our over-developed super-egoical idea that we don't want to face the embarrassment that would result if we were to make an overture to the wrong person.
In Emily's Best Friend, the fantasy is polygynous and only polygynous: Charles has asserted his right as husband to command me to bring Sarah to him, in the style of the patriarchs. (Whose patriarchs? It doesn't really matter, and I'm not going to insult anybody by naming a specific one in a specific old book, but you can find them if you look.) Polygynous fantasies came first for me, because they were such standard fare in the erotica I was reading (remember The Pearl!--May and her bed-mate Susey in "My Grandmother's Tale" were mainstays of my virgin-bed.)
But just as the fantasy of being made to watch my Master use another girl (as May watches Mr. T---- enjoy Susey's maiden charms) is potent, so is the one of being given by him to other men, to perfect my submission: to feel in the cock of another man--perhaps a cock much bigger than Charles' own--my Master's authority; to feel defiled by his (or their) seed, but to be grateful to be defiled, for Charles has willed that I be defiled. That's a frontier I haven't yet crossed in EXPLORATIONS, but will have to, someday soon, I think: fantasy-Charles will have a friend over; I think that's how it will start. He'll tell fantasy-me that I'm trained enough to be given to other men, and that I'll be pleasuring his friend that evening. I'll do a passable job, but Charles will still beat me because I. . . (making this up on the fly, now) I'll protest when Charles gives my ass to his friend (Look, I know it's all second-hand Réage. Sometimes I think my entire imagination is secondhand Réage.).
Charles said to Joe, "Her ass is my favorite--tonight it's all yours."
"What?" I shrieked, from my position on my knees in front of them, dressed only in the red thong Charles had specified that morning.
"Joe, I'm sorry you had to hear that," Charles said. "Emily Smith, you are going to get a whipping for that, and Joe may stay to watch if he wants."
"Please. . . no," I said, my breath coming in short gasps, thinking about pineapples but also thinking about a terrible kind of arousal that was spreading from the fear in the pit of my stomach downward.
"Joe," he continued, "of course if you would like to beat her, too. . ."
"I think that might be nice," said Joe in a voice much deeper than Charles'.
Yes, I think it might go that way--and then, the next weekend, perhaps a house-party where fantasy-Emily's hostess duties are quite extensive. . .
Anyway, that was a bit of a digression, but I suppose it shows that letting go of the fantasies of the real, individual, specific Sarah, as I mostly now have, has left me free to pursue polyamory in new directions.
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