(We are, in a certain sense, continuing from here.)
From the time we adopted our own special form of domestic discipline until the present, nothing much happened in our erotic lives that wouldn't be a re-tread of material you've already seen, faithful reader of this blog.
On the other hand, my creativity was nevertheless exercised very regularly in the several years between the birth of my first daughter, Chloe, and the day last March I decided to click "publish" on the first story of EXPLORATIONS. Most importantly, there were the myths and fairy-tales I would tell Charles after the children were in bed. From now until I run out of them, I'm going to share those with you.
Charles loves to re-tell stories from Greek myth, in his own words, as bedtime stories for our kids. It's appropriate that I start this new series with the story I told him one night after he had told the kids the story of Hesiod and the Muses, especially because, you know, the Muses. And one naughty Muse in particular.
Erato was wandering through the gardens of Helicon one day, when Apollo came up behind her. "Erato," he said, "Calliope told me that you were very naughty at the fountain this morning."
Erato blushed very prettily. "My lord, that was only because Calliope wouldn't let me drink!"
"She said you pulled her hair, sweet Muse."
Erato stamped her foot. "That was only because she was so mean to me." Now the Muses are of course thousands of years old, but they look almost exactly like schoolgirls, and they wear peploi (a peplos is an ancient Greek dress) that, strangely enough, resemble the sort of skirts worn by British pupils. Erato is golden blonde, and has two of the cutest pigtails you've ever seen, so when she stamped her foot, you can imagine that Lord Apollo was more interested than ever in baring her bottom for a godly spanking.
"Nevertheless, I am afraid I shall have to spank you, Erato."
"But, Lord Apollo! I am nearly grown a woman of 1800 years!"
"Indeed," the god replied, "is not today your 1800th birthday, making it possible to sell the story of your spanking on Eridanus dot com, as you are now a consenting adult?"
"Who says I consent to be spanked, my Lord Apollo?"
"You know well that our safeword is 'Priapus'. Are you going to say it?"
"And you know very well that anyone who says that safeword will be visited by Priapus himself later that evening. No, thank you."
"Then you must be spanked, mustn't you, Erato?"
Thus, though the tears stood in her eyes, Erato had to gather a bundle of laurel branches, as she thought of poor Daphne, who had been so frightened that she prayed to be turned into the laurel tree before she had ever known how pleasant it was to be one of Lord Apollo's girls--even if he spanked you, as he often did. She brought the branches to Apollo where he sat on a mossy bank near Mount Parnassus, and watched while he selected five of the best twigs, and bound them together with a linen band.
"Lay yourself over the punishment stone, now," said Apollo, his salacious intentions clear in his voice. Erato went to the old, old stone, covered in soft moss, where the Muses were always punished, whether by Apollo or by another god who happened to find fault with something they had inspired concerning a favorite hero. She lay herself down over it, and blushed as Lord Apollo raised her peplos to her waist.
"Spread those knees, little Muse," he said, for the ancient divinities knew that it was silly to try to pretend that one could discipline a bare bottom in any way that did not call young Eros to the scene.
And, of course, when Erato did spread her thighs, Eros arrived on his light wings in a trice, and said, "Good day, Lord Apollo! Whose lovely rump is this? Wait, don't tell me! It's Erato again, isn't it?"
"Yes, you terrible boy," said Erato, her voice muffled by the moss.
"Well then," said the winged youth, "I declare that since this is your third spanking this week, you must be from henceforth the Muse of spanking fiction. What say you, Glorious Apollo?"
"I do ratify your decision!" said Lord Apollo, and began to birch the lovely bottom of the little Muse.
"And so do I," called Erato herself, panting with the amorous fire that always filled her when she was chastised.