Whipped at the railway hotel in Abilene #SatSpanks

I'm really excited to announce that my historical western The Outlaw's Daughter came out yesterday!

"Maybe it's a little peculiar to try to teach you this way, but we're in a peculiar situation, here as man and wife in this hotel room, and one of the things I feel like you need to know is the meaning of modesty. So when you disobey me the way you did last night when you shot Jenkins, from now on you're gonna lose your right to cover yourself down there, when I'm around, until I feel like you've learned your lesson." 

Maggie's little mouth twisted in an expression of woe, and her face went very red. Slowly, she loosed the towel, and let it drop. Travis wondered, at the cock-stiffening sight of her just in the shirt, whether he could go through with his plan for this lesson without losing control, but he steeled himself, and said, "Now lift the front of the shirt and show me your pussy, Maggie. You lost the right to hide it." 

Would this really help her learn about modesty? Well, to judge from her furious blush, it might.

Click here to buy it on Amazon! And read all the Saturday Spanking! 

Happy birthday, Adaline Rain!

Most of those engaged in the enormous group spanking of the wonderful Addy have known her much longer than I. But even as a relative newcomer, I'm overjoyed to have the privilege to be part of that crew.

Happy birthday, Addy! Here's a smack from me! (You know, of course, that I could provide something much more severe, but I think I'd better not, seeing as you have so very many smacks coming!)

Love,
Em

Two college freshwomen, two bottoms to deflower: what Emily is up to

Her Boyfriend's Firm Hand continues to develop. Sometimes I think I'm running out of shameful ideas. Then I come up with something like this, and I think, "Nah."

"Girls," John said, after he had served out the apple cobbler Sally and Rachel had made in the sumptuous kitchen of the house in Chilmark, "listen closely, please." A fire roared on the big hearth. The house, Mark thought, was something that could have descended from heaven on the backs of cherubim. John had already said that of course they would have to spend a week or two here during the summer, so that they could enjoy the pool and the beach. As it was, it wasn't even safe to walk on the beach because of the unpredictability of the winter sea, but they could stand above it and look out far, far to the East, and, just as wonderful, listen to the booming of the waves. 

Mark watched Sally and Rachel turn attentively towards John. Could the older man really be about to say what he had told Mark he would say? 

"Tonight, right after you finish with the dishes, we, your masters, are going to take you to bed and have your bottoms with our cocks."  

Sally's eyes, wide as saucers, flew to Mark's face, as if to ask if Mark knew about John's strange, shameful plan. Her face was red as crimson. To Mark's astonishment, though his own face felt a little flushed, he found himself nodding, as gravely as he could muster. John had been completely right: Mark didn't think he had ever been so aroused in his life and it was all he could do to keep from shifting in his seat to ease the ache of his erection. 

Rachel, blushing herself, looked down at her dessert. "Yes, sir," she said, to Mark's astonishment. 

"Will you like having my cock there, young lady?" John asked. 

"Yes, sir," Rachel replied softly. 

"Have you wanted to have your bottom taken by your master for a long time?" 

"Yes, sir." 

John turned to Sally. "What about you, young lady? Do you think you're ready to make this most important submission to the man who has taken you in hand?" 

Sally didn't take her eyes off Mark. "Yes, Mr. Gammon," she said, very clearly.

Lori-Anne thinks about her baptism #Taboo2sday

The story continues from last week's Taboo Tuesday post.


After Joe had come down Lori-Anne's throat, he sat her on his lap and played with her big, awkward clit until Lori-Anne sighed, and the clit got embarrassingly hard.

"That's okay, honeypie," Joe said as he wanked her. "I like you just the way you are, right now. Go ahead and let your wetness come."

It did come, when Joe rubbed Lori-Anne's enormous clit, just a little bit, and then of course it spurted out onto Joe's hands, which made Lori-Anne blush furiously, but Joe said again, "Don't worry, darlin'. If I didn't like the way you were made down here I wouldn't be marrying you, and having you get baptized."

That was when Lori-Anne looked up at Joe and said, "Do I really have to be baptized, Joe?"

Joe said, "Of course you do, honeypie."

Go ahead! Get even more taboo!

The Rancher's Little Girl: her first belt-whipping

I'm so excited about how well this book has done, and so grateful to my editors and my readers! Here's a snippet that might persuade you to pull that one-click trigger, if you haven't already…

Ross’ smile turned stern suddenly, but it didn’t waver. “I’m going to warn you, Miss Mason, that you’re on a much shorter trail to your first spanking than I thought you’d take.” 

“I refuse—” 

“Well,” he interrupted. “I refuse to spank you in front of Jack here. So I’m going to send you on up to your bedroom. Wait for me there.” 

“What?” Victoria looked at Jack. 

He turned his palms up as if to say, “I did warn you.” 

“You heard me, Miss Mason. We need to get this thing off on the right foot, so I have to make sure you know that my standards aren’t to be trifled with. When you get to your room, take down your jeans and panties to the middle of your thighs and lie over the bed on your tummy. I’ll be up to give you a belt whipping in a few minutes.” 

“You’re insane, Mr. MacGregor, if you think I’m going to do that.” Her heart beat a mile a minute, and she heard herself panting. At least he would read it as fear of him—of the pain—wouldn’t he? 

“I’m not crazy, Miss Mason. I don’t see as you have a choice, really, here. You need my protection. This is the price.” 

Again Victoria looked to Jack. “Jack, what the fuck?” 

“Miss Mason,” Ross said, his voice much sterner even than it had been, “if there’s one standard I maintain under my roof for ladies, it’s that foul language is something that should never pass their lips. You just earned yourself ten more from my belt.”

Click here to buy the book on Amazon! 

A diaper spanking #SatSpanks

This snippet comes after the excerpt I shared on Monday, in case you're avidly collecting narrative breadcrumbs from this book. :D

Ross could tell immediately that the lesson would work naturally and perfectly on Victoria Mason. Ross was pretty sure that there was a part of every woman—at least every woman raised in his culture—that remained a diaper girl, trying to please her momma and her daddy, trying to earn the right to get out of diapers and wear the pretty big-girl panties they promised her if she could keep her diaper dry. Victoria’s diaper girl side, Ross could see just from the look on her face, lay much closer to the surface than she had probably ever suspected. 

“You’re goin’ back into diapers today, darlin’. That’s just the way it is. You were naughty and disobedient, and you need to learn a lesson. So fetch a diaper from the drawer, or you’re goin’ to stay in your diaper for a lot longer. Because you didn’t obey me, you’re going to hold the diaper while I spank you, instead of your dolly.”

Click here to buy the book at Amazon! And read all the Saturday Spankings!

Charles captures my hand

So, yes, at a bar in New Haven, in Fall 2000. I was with law school friends--at that point I was about as big a BWOC as I'd ever been or would ever be, and the fall of 2L is a time when the few Friday nights you can go out drinking with your 2L friends are like hours snatched from the jaws of death. I'm not a woman who has ever acted particularly wild at bars, but that fall was an exception because of the tension that gripped all of us as we headed towards the crucial 2L make or break summer-associateship. I may have had too much to drink that night.

Charles was with classics friends. Now classicists have been known to drink a lot, and you will often hear them say that classicists can drink with the best of them. Indeed it's clear that when they're drunk they lose the slightest suspicion (which, sober, they have) that no one other than a classicist could ever be interested in what they have to say about Vergil. When drunk, therefore, they are positive that shouting offensive things about Camilla in the eleventh book of the Aeneid makes them some sort of Dionysiac demi-gods. Charles had had too much to drink, as well, and was shouting said things.

Here was I, barely aware (if that) that he had decided to return to school for an MA; even less aware that he had decided to do that in New Haven (he confesses, the darling, that knowing I would be there provided a strong nudge for his choice of grad school, as he thought about me, and Pisistratus butt-fucking the daughter of Megacles).

As mentioned in that last post, I had been a classics major myself, and had even considered applying to grad school in classical philology. Obnoxious classics grad students shouting drunkenly about the Aeneid was for that reason something that caught my ear. I had eavesdropped, though, for some considerable period--at least five minutes; maybe as many as fifteen--before I realized that the loudest of them was Charles Smith, schoolmate of my Greenwich girlhood, interlocutor of that memorable conversation about sexy passages in classical literature.

My God, people are strange. And I am the strangest. If I had to choose a single moment when I fell in love with him, it would be that one. Obviously, it had nothing to do with him; it was completely a fleeting fantasy-impression (which turned out not to be entirely a mis-impression) that he had come to New Haven to take me--to own me. In the course of a few seconds an elaborate fantasy took shape in my imagination, and the reason that I have always remembered that moment as the beginning of my love for him is really just that what he did then, for reasons that were entirely his own, corresponded so fucking beautifully with my fantasy.

For at the same moment that I had realized it was him, he had realized it was me, and the next time I looked up from my drink, he was standing next to me, looking at me. "Emily," he said. It was a bar, and thus it was way too loud to carry on a conversation. I couldn't even really hear that he'd said my name, but I knew he couldn't have said anything else, from the way his lips moved, and the brevity of the utterance.

I just looked at him, thinking about Pisistratus and asses--my own ass in particular. He gave me a look that made me blush just as I had blushed more than a year before, when we were talking at the country club. And then he took my hand.

Really, it's the only thing you can do, in a bar, if you actually want to have a conversation with someone--take their hand and lead them somewhere where it's possible to talk. But my heart fluttered at his touch, and I thought "Oh, no." In his seizure, his capture (so it felt, but of course I was drunk), of my hand, was the realization of the hope that had begun to blossom in my chest when I had first read Story of O. He, Charles Smith, was my top, my master, my lord. How could anyone but some God of submissives be responsible for that dream coming true, I sometimes wonder.

I barely had time to shout "Everyone, this is Charles Smith," before he had led me outside into the already chilly fall night.

"It's really good to see you," he said. "Really."

I laughed, and hugged him. "It's really good to see you, too."

"I'm drunk," he said.

"Me too," I replied.

"So. . . will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

"Um." I couldn't seem to make anything make sense. I saw a disappointed look flash across his face, but I was just trying desperately to remember if I'd stupidly told anyone else I would study or something. Fuck it, I thought. "Yes," I said, and tried to give him my most winsome smile.

Visually inspired: bow in back

(See here for an index to this series.)


Something was happening back there, at the small of her back, where the waistband of the lace panties held Cindy in its elastic grip: the attendant Jim had sent was fixing something, or arranging something. . .

"What are you doing?" Cindy asked.

The attendant didn't answer, at first.

"What are you doing?!"

The attendant stopped tying the bow, to give Cindy a hard spank across both cheeks, just where the little thong disappeared into the bridal bottom. Cindy cried out at the sting, and at the terrible indignity of the whole affair. 

She couldn't believe that Jim had actually decided that she should have to wear these shameful things to be married in, that he had sent these attendants to get her ready. When they had arrived, she had called him to protest, but he had said, "Yes, Cindy--you agreed to wear whatever I want you to wear, remember? Just like you agreed that you would learn to please me with your body. Those attendants are there to get you ready to be my wife, and to serve me in my bed."

The attendant spanked her three more times, then said, "I'm tying a little bow here, to make your bottom a gift for the man who will enjoy it tonight." 

"Oh, no," whispered Cindy, imagining what it looked like. In front of her, the older woman, the seamstress who had seemed so proper, who had come to lay out the sheer gown Jim had chosen, looked her in the eye, and said, "Such a pretty little bottom, dear. I'm sure he'll ride you hard there tonight."

D/s in college: Her Boyfriend's Firm Hand: What Emily is up to

With the sci-fi ageplay book in the can, as they say in glamorous Hollywood, I've turned back to something I've been working on for almost six months now, ever since I had a vivid, super-hot-for-me fantasy of a college senior telling his freshman girlfriend that he was going to spank her for saying a naughty word. It's a book that probably won't tear up the charts, but I feel very sentimental about it, trying to give these characters an impossibly wonderful D/s erotic life in college that I of course never had, but longed for even then.

I'm through to a part of the story where my hero and heroine, Mark and Sally, have got a room at a nice inn, on the understanding that Mark will deflower Sally in the dominant style she's begun to realize she can't live without.

Mark propped himself up on his elbow to face her. "You okay?" he asked softly. "Should we go more slowly?" 

Somehow, though it diminished the arousal a bit to know that Mark wasn't actually disregarding her anxiety, it also brought the fear way, way down--to manageable proportions. Sally knew she wanted to go forward, full speed. She wanted to get back as soon as she could to feeling like Mark didn't care what she thought about her lingerie or lack of it, about being spanked, about being fucked: her boyfriend would have his way with her, because that was what Sally was for. Sally Lanchester was Mark Weaver's fucktoy, and she must not forget it. 

So many times over the last two months, she had wondered, when she thought something like I am a fucktoy and felt her pussy grow warm and wet, whether she were losing her mind. Not tonight: tonight Sally welcomed the knowledge of her submissive nature, because it meant she was what Mark wanted and needed, just as he was what she wanted and needed.  

Sally said, "As you wish, sir. But I want to be a good girl, so I'd like to obey you now, and go take off my lingerie for you, if you would still like that. I know that it's time for me to have my fucking."

I'd love to know what you think! 

Lori-Anne begins to plan her transformation #Taboo2sday

The story continues from this post.

Lori-Anne hated the cuff that went around her naughty bits, but she knew that Joe only put it on her for her own good, to teach her to give him his way. Sometimes, falling asleep in bed at night, thinking about what her life would be like with Joe, after they were married, and thinking about what the wedding would be like, Lori-Anne wondered if Joe would make her wear the cuff often--maybe even every day. Would she have to wear it under her beautiful white gown? 

She didn't think so, because the cuff made her naughty bits bulge out, so that Lori-Anne didn't look right in her panties--and there was nothing Joe liked to see more than he liked to see Lori-Anne looking nice and smooth up front in a lovely pair of lacy panties. As she took Joe's cock deep down her throat that night, the night he had asked her to marry him, she had tried to think about how much fun it would be to plan her transformation into the perfect Christian bride--the kind of girl who should wear the special panties Joe gave her, keeping her naughty bits out of sight the way a good bride does. 

Joe growled to let Lori-Anne know it was time to swallow his spunk. "Get ready, honeypie," he said, and seized her around the back of her head, to hold her still so he could fuck as hard as he wanted. Lori-Anne wasn't allowed to look Joe in the eyes when she was having her face fucked, but she knew that he was looking down and taking delight in the sight of poor Lori-Anne, the special girl he had chosen as his own, to wed, and to spank, and to fuck, struggling to please him as he deserved.

Read more taboo!!!

Diapers. Sigh.

This kink of mine seems to me both the furthest out there and somehow also the most homey. Nothing else--not even anal--gives me that pure jolt of shame like a diaper does.

“Darlin’,” Ross said to Victoria, “you’re in big trouble.” 

Victoria took her upper lip into her teeth with a panicked expression. “Please, Ross. I… I know I shouldn’t have.” 

Ross turned to Kelly, who wore a puzzled look, and said, “Kelly, we’re gonna skedaddle, but I think I’m going to have a favor to ask, later today. Can I call you?” 

“Sure, Ross.” She walked away. 

“Daddy,” Victoria whispered. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t spank me.” 

Ross fixed her with an angry-daddy look. “Spankin’s not the worst you’re gonna get, young lady. Now get that disobedient rear end of yours outa that chair and into the car.” 

He marched her in front of him to the car. Before they reached it, Victoria turned around, a pleading, frightened look in her eyes. “What are you going to do, Ross?” 

“You had better call me ‘daddy’ right now, young lady.” 

“Okay…” She gave a fearful little sob. “Daddy… what are you going to do?” 

“I’m gonna spank you, and then I’m gonna put you in diapers.” 

“Oh, God… no… please…” 

“And then Kelly’s gonna come over and take care of you, and give you a momma-spankin’.” 

“What?! No! Why?” 

“Because I think you need one of those, too. Kelly’s an obedient little lady, and she knows how to train up little ladies like her.” 

“But you can’t! You can’t… not… any of it.” 

“Watch me, darlin’. Now get in the car.” 

Victoria got in the car, still crying softly. Ross knew he had to make her sorry she ever thought about doing anything but what she’d been told, for her own safety. Victoria had a brilliant mind, he already knew—but she also had a way of using that mind to get herself into a lot of trouble. Ross put his arm around her as they drove back out of town. “It’s for your own good,” he said. “Your daddy’s got to take care of you.” 

She nodded, still crying. “Why diapers, daddy? Does it… does it have to be diapers?” 

“Yup,” Ross said. “I’ve never found anythin’ that can teach a girl a lesson better ‘n’ diapers can.”

Buy it on Amazon here! 

The rancher's standards, and what happens when a girl doesn't live up to them

My new book, The Rancher's Little Girl, is now available!

[Ross, the rancher, said,] "Well, I don't know how  much [your friend] Jack has told you about how he and I met, but I suspect it's a fair bit. If you've heard about that, you can probably imagine that as far as I'm concerned there's only one kind of consequence that's appropriate for a woman's poor behavior." 

Now the effort to control her breathing seemed to Victoria almost super-human. "What?" she asked, trying to at least regain a tiny bit of her careless demeanor, and taking a sip of coffee to try to wet a mouth that had gone completely dry even as another part of her had shamefully soaked itself. 

"Now I can see you're pretending you don't know," Ross said, his smile returning, even wider. "So let me tell you, and let me tell you the part that I have a feeling Jack didn't really emphasize about the way I and the women I play with do such things. If I find your behavior inappropriate, or if you disobey me, you'll have a spanking--" Victoria choked on her coffee a little, to hear it right out, like that, but Ross, after glancing at her to make sure she was alright, just continued, "--on your bare backside, but you'll also find that you're treated as a woman asks to be treated when she acts like a naughty little girl."

Click here to buy it at Amazon!

Talking anal at the country club

I ran into Charles Smith, recently moved to New Haven, at a bar. The last time we had seen each other was at the country club at home two summers before, when he had just graduated from college and I was about to head to law school after a year off from formal education, having finished college myself the previous spring. Neither of us can remember exactly when this encounter was, but we both remember it vividly, because of the subject matter and a single look that passed between us.

For reasons that are now impossible fully to reconstruct, we started talking about the sexiest passages of classical literature we had read, and began trying to top one another, as it were.

(If I had to try to reconstruct it might go like this:

EMILY: I heard you were teaching Latin. I don't think you know that I majored in classics myself.

CHARLES: No, I didn't know that! Awesome--best major there is--but you knew that already.

EMILY: (suddenly distracted by the kindness she sees in his eyes, the interest in what she's about, which she's never noticed before) Yeah--and everybody thinks there's nothing exciting or sexy about it!

CHARLES: (taking the dare) Pedicabo et irrumabo. . .

EMILY: Yeah! And Archilochus, and Sappho. . . OK, let's do this: what's the sexiest passage of Greek or Latin you ever read?)

It was I who brought up the part of Book 1 of Herodotus where Pisistratus fucks the daughter of Megacles in the ass because he's worried about his kids inheriting the curse on her family. Charles topped me with an epode of Horace, I think, but the look he gave me when I said "fucks her in the ass". . . Charles says I turned bright red, and he could tell that it was at his look, and definitely not at the words.

It wouldn't have been at the words, because Réage was now part of my erotic DNA, and anal had become a kind of sacrament that I was as willing to discuss intellectually as I was to discuss civil procedure or the Real Presence in the eucharist. But he was right: his look had caused a very strong reaction in me. It was only much later, after Charles had, um, celebrated and consecrated the aforesaid sacrament with me, that I confessed that I had, at that look, seriously dampened my panties and felt weak in the knees.

It was a look of appraisal; I don't think there's another way to put it. Charles Smith appraised me as a possible anal-submissive, and I felt searched out and known as I never, ever had before.

But it was only a fifteen-minute conversation, and although we said, with feeling, that we had to get together again before I went back to New Haven for law school and he went to take up his first teaching job in Massachusetts, we didn't. We both aver that that was because we were scared about what might happen.

As well we should have been.

Visual inspirations for spanking stories: another hotel

See here for an index to these stories.

Serena, 18, watched from the shadows of the closet as the beautiful woman entered the hotel room where she (Serena) had concealed herself earlier, hardly daring to hope she might see something just like this. The girl gasped despite herself when the beautiful woman removed her blue dress. She wore no underwear but a lovely black bra and thigh-high stockings, and there was something in the way she moved to the closet to hang up the dress that seemed to the girl to declare that she was dressed that way in obedience to a command from. . . someone.

Serena's hand found its way inside her jeans.

The beautiful woman went to stand in a place in the room where she must have been instructed to stand. She clasped her hands in front of her, and closed her eyes, and bowed her head. Then the door opened behind her, and the man in the suit entered, and stood, surveying the woman in the bra and the stockings. Serena put her forearm to her mouth to stifle her whimpers as her fingers rubbed faster and faster.

The man reached out with his right hand, and, from behind, cupped the woman's chin, lifting it slightly. "What shall I do with you?" he asked.

"Whatever you like, Sir," she replied, with a quaver in her voice. Serena, her chest filling with terrible arousal, saw that the woman's thighs were glistening in the lamplight, now. Suddenly the man, without violence, but with the necessary force, tipped the woman backwards to his chest, at the same time bringing his hand around her waist, and taking hold of her loins in a manner so possessive that it made Serena shudder.

"First," said the man, "I shall take you. Then, I shall spank you for presenting such a shameful display. Will you like that, Serena?"

The shocking coincidence--the woman's name being the same as Serena's own, made it seem of course like the man was talking to her. As Serena came, she thought "Yes, yes, yes."

In the future, sex at the workplace: What Emily is up to

The sci-fi continues. Social engineering to give everyone the BDSM lifestyle they deserve!

As Fergus had promised, he took her to the office with him. She did her academic work in a little library, where three or four other wives usually sat, reading or sewing (for there were sewing machines there as well), or in one case painting beautiful Draconian landscapes. 

The first time, Fergus could tell that Kayla felt terribly self-conscious when he came to get her in the library, since of course all the other wives knew why Fergus was leading her away to one of the private rooms. Fergus came to the door, and crooked his finger, and Kayla rose, blushing furiously and apparently not daring to look at the other women's faces.  

"Fergus," she hissed, as she joined him at the door. "Do you have to look like that?" 

"Like what?" Fergus asked innocently. 

"Like you're going to… you know." 

"Well, yes, I think I do. I mean I am going to fuck you now. For the good of the planet." 

"Fergus!" 

"All the girls in there know that they're here for fucking, Kayla, and they know that you're here for fucking, too." 

"Oh, God, Fergus. If that didn't get me so hot…" 

"You wouldn't be my little girl," he replied, taking her hand and leading her down the hallway, a huge smile on his face. Really, ever since they had begun having sex, his dominance had come out to an extent he sometimes found almost outrageous. 

So, for example, when he got her into the little room, with its queen-sized bed and its high-backed chair, he said, "Actually, some of the guys bring their wives here to spank them, too." 

"What? Why?" 

"They say it feels more like a punishment if a girl has to come to the office to get it. And then of course they always do their best to keep the birth-rate up, afterwards." 

"Men," Kayla said. 

"You just earned a spanking yourself, I think," Fergus said.

The Rancher's Little Girl: new Ageplay Western!

I'm so, so excited for this one! Here's the blurb:

Some might call Victoria Mason ruthless, but she always gets her story, even if she has to sleep with influential men or put herself in danger to get a lead. But when she sneaks onto Senator Bob Austin’s property and snaps some highly compromising photos of the powerful, corrupt politician, Victoria soon finds herself in way over her head.

She goes to a fellow reporter for help, and he suggests she take refuge with a friend who owns a ranch out west. Upon meeting the handsome, rough-hewn rancher Ross McGregor, she’s none too happy with the way he speaks to her like she’s a naughty little girl in need of a good spanking. But when she gives him a piece of her mind, she quickly discovers that he is not a man to be trifled with and her bare bottom pays the price for her sharp tongue.

Despite Victoria’s shock and humiliation at this childish punishment, when Ross holds her close after her spanking it makes her feel safe and loved in a way she’s never felt before, and she all but melts in his arms. It isn’t long before Victoria knows she’s found something she’s been missing her whole life: a firm daddy who will keep her safe and make her behave like a good little girl. But her new life is going to be a big change, and Victoria will need quite a few more painful, embarrassing lessons along the way, followed each time by care and comfort from her loving daddy.

Publisher’s Note: The Rancher’s Little Girl is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, age play, anal play, exhibitionism, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Click here to buy it on Amazon!

Lori-Anne's wedding night, part 2: Trans BDSM for #Taboo2sday

The story continues from last week.

Big Joe Weston hadn't fucked what he called Lori-Anne's "cute little Lori-pussy" yet. 

"I'ma save that for our wedding-night, darlin'," he said. His voice, with its stern authority, made Lori-Anne swoon, whenever Joe told her how it was going to be. 

Joe fucked Lori-Anne's face, though, with great regularity. Right after he had put the engagement ring on Lori-Anne's finger, for example, he had told her to kneel down in front of him and to get ready to suck his enormous cock. Lori-Anne had been terribly afraid, because she knew how rough Joe liked to get when he made her give head, and she worried--justifiably, as it turned out--that he would be even rougher that night. 

But Joe had growled, "Do I need to put your cuff on, Lori-Anne?" The cuff went around the parts of her that Lori-Anne thought of as her naughty bits: the big clitoris that extended shamefully from her loins and the little sack that should be on the inside but was instead humiliatingly external.

More next week!

Geoffrey's Rules, my most personal book, discounted this month!

Geoffrey's Rules is very near to my heart. The narrator, Chloe Revkin, has a great many similarities to me, and her story is a story I have dreamed of living many, many times. In fact, the book ended up being a more mature version of the very first really extended erotic story I ever wrote, in which a professor sells a young woman--with the young woman's consent--to a wealthy man. That story was called "Variations on a theme of Réage" (Pauline Réage, author of Story of O). Geoffrey's Rules could definitely have that as a subtitle.

Here's a taste, from a scene of which I'm very proud.

I felt sexy; I felt sexy in a way that graduate students aren’t supposed to feel, I thought, and that very thought began to cause another dampness problem in the lace thong beneath the dress. Try as I might, I just couldn’t make myself forget that underneath the dress I was wearing the lacy things that Geoffrey had put me in and which he would presumably remove from me later, whenever he wanted. 

I walked out of the dressing room, wearing also the red pumps we had shopped for before we’d had the champagne. The dress only barely came down far enough to cover my stocking-tops, and I had a sudden fantasy that when I reached Geoffrey at the sales counter he would simply flip up the front of it to reveal my lacy panties to the saleswoman. The mental image made me feel faint, but when I reached him, he turned and looked me up and down and smiled tenderly, as if to ask if I liked the dress. I returned the smile, and he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close in to him and kissed me. 

The saleswoman said, “Aw. Special occasion?” 

It only took a split-second for me to imagine Geoffrey saying, “Yes. This young woman got her face fucked today, and later she’ll have my cock in her ass,” and to blush. 

But Geoffrey said, “Yes—our first real date.” 

“Sounds like there’s a story there!” said the saleswoman and promptly minded her own business while Geoffrey kissed me again, dominantly, and made me feel weak in the knees yet another time. 

“You are the most intelligent woman I have ever had the privilege to dominate,” he whispered in my ear, “and the sexiest.” 

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered back, feeling like the defiant independent woman thing was perhaps not as important as Professor Whitlock might think.

And it's only $2.99 this month! 

The penalty for lying to her Daddy #SatSpanks

This one stands alone, but it also works well with Monday's post…

"All right," her Daddy said. "From what I could see there doesn't seem to have been any more to it. But if I find out you're lying to me now, this tawse will be the least of your worries." 

Sara began to cry in fear of the terrifying implement. "Couldn't you use something else, Daddy?" 

"No, sweetheart, you lied. In my house, lying gets the tawse. You'd better hold onto your pillow. I am going to give you the thrashing of your life now.

Buy the book here! 

And read all the Saturday Spankings:

Law School, post Story of O

In my senior year of college (Spring 1998), in New Haven, Connecticut, on the recommendation of a grad student in comparative literature who I suspect had a crush on me, I found Story of O on the shelves of a bookstore, and my life changed.

Fantasy-Emily would put it like this:

About a month before I married Charles Smith, I noticed that Amazon.com had recommended a book I'd never heard of, with a strange, bare cover, called Story of O. I ordered it, with a click, and my life changed.

I never slept with the comp lit grad student, but I did, probably as a way of trying to deny my longing for Roissy, lose my virginity to a forgettable law student, in the most vanilla way possible, and then proceed to "date" (really, just sleep with) four more guys (grad students, all of them, in one field or another--English, English, Philosophy, French, I think), all of them nice guys and I think objectively worth sleeping with if you were 21-25 and interested in sleeping with people. 

To none of them did I communicate the vivid fantasy I couldn't escape: that they were turning me over and deflowering my ass. Instead, I went about the business of learning how cocks worked, and how my own body worked in relation to them. I did it in what I hoped came across to the guys as an unbusinesslike way, but which felt to me, frankly, pretty businesslike, at least by the French grad student, who was probably the closest of all of them to being a top. 

(If any of them had in fact tried to turn me over and deflower my ass, I almost certainly would have screamed bloody murder and then, if they had managed to go through with it, have them hauled up on charges of sexual assault. When Charles finally did do it, that memorable night in March 2001, the reason it felt like, I don't know, the anal ravishment I was asking for, was of course not that I was fantasizing about having my ass ravished, but that I desperately wanted to give my ass to him.)

I suppose I was hoping, just under the surface of my awareness, that one of them would do something that reminded me of Story of O--tell me to take off my panties, or suggest, in a slightly degrading manner, that I should suck his cock--, but the problem was that if any of them had, it would have been a turn off, if not grounds for a lawsuit, because I didn't actually know them. It's fine to fantasize about a stranger ravishing your ass; reality can't work that way, for me at least, if only because I don't know where a stranger's cock has been.

In the Fall of 2000, though, Charles, a grad student I did actually know, started his own graduate work in New Haven.

Visual inspirations for spanking stories: more fishnet

(See here for an explanation of this series.)

Carl looked at Greta, where she lay over the lap of the anonymous trainer. The look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know: it was a challenge to him, to try to master her the way this demigod was demonstrating she should be mastered.

At his wits' end with her refusal even to admit that everything was not as it should be in their bedroom, he had answered the cryptic ad: "Wives trained; demonstrations given." According to the arrangement made by email, when he had pulled up at the address, three burly men had been there to pull Greta from the car and bring her inside. Carl had followed, hardly believing what was happening.

Upstairs, through the door marked "Training Room #3," he found that Greta had been given fishnet tights, and told to put them on. Looking defiantly at him, she was complying. One of the three men had introduced himself, after removing all his clothes, as "Trainer 5." He was massive in every way, and Carl watched Greta respond to the appearance of his manhood with visible trepidation.

As he watched Trainer 5 pull Greta over his powerful lap, he knew he would do whatever it took to answer the challenge in his wife's eyes. The trainer gave Greta a forceful, shameful hand-spanking. As he did so, he did not neglect to caress her degradingly from time to time, to provoke wild cries of compulsory pleasure, and to demonstrate to Carl just how to get the submissive response he wanted.

That day Carl learned exactly how such a challenge should be answered.

Analysis

It's the look in her eyes. How could it be anything else? It's a look of defiance that could be directed at the hunk who's about to spank her (hard, if his musculature is anything to go by), or at the viewer who has intruded. The hunk and the fishnets put it over the edge for me, but only after I realized that there was an implied third party: she's not looking at the guy who's spanking her; she's looking at whoever has dared to watch her getting spanked.

Who would the hottest possible viewer be? There might be several answers, but the heat gets turned up for me at least, if the viewer is in some way the same person who decided she should be spanked by the hunk. Marriage is kind of the go to for me, in that regard, but I can imagine an equally hot FMf version of the scene, in which a dominant partner in an Ff relationship has decided to punish her sub with a kind of ultimate humiliation in having a burly guy do it.

Fishnets are just fishnets; cf. lace: anything that covers but doesn't really cover has the double hotness of shaming the sub who's wearing it and providing the Dominant with the voyeuristic pleasure of looking at the sub's shameful bits.

Interstellar spanking: What Emily is up to

I'm having a really fun time with this one. The set-up is so cool (if I do say so myself) that I don't want to spoil it, so you'll just have to figure out what you can from the tease…

Kayla screamed and screamed, and Joe just kept whipping her with the strap: in the middle, on each cheek, on her thighs, methodically and quickly, up and down. 

"All I wish you to remember, girls, is that this is what happens when young women decide they want to try to bring change too quickly. Conduct unbecoming a young woman is what we call it. It's not a crime, but, as you can see, your guardians, who are responsible for you, will not take kindly to it." Marjorie's voice was hardly audible now, to Kayla, over Melanie's cries of agony, and her own. 

All Kayla could see was the door, and Fergus standing next to it, his back against the wall, not taking his eyes from the spectacle, but clearly not enjoying it. Kayla wanted to cry, "Help me, Fergus!" but she knew it would only do harm. 

"I'm done," Joe said. 

"Me, too," said Bill. 

It was over. Or that part was, at least. Kayla had never imagined anything could feel this bad, that was supposed to be for her own good.

A trans-itional marriage: Lori-Anne's Story #Taboo2sday

I have a wonderful friend on Facebook, whose ultimate fantasy this is. As it's also in a certain sense my ultimate fantasy too (you know me and wedding-nights!), I'm happy to write it out fully, in installments for Taboo Tuesday!

Lori-Anne would be a bride at last. Big, burly Joe Weston had told her that her oversize clitoris, with the two useless testicles hanging below it, just made Lori-Anne more attractive to him. 

"You're my kind of girl, sweetheart," he had said, the night he proposed. 

But Joe was very strict with Lori-Anne: he had spanked her that night, when she hesitated to commit to converting to Christianity. As he spanked her bare bottom, over and over, Joe said, "Lori-Anne, you know you need to be saved. You'll have a new life now, and if you're a good girl for me we're going to have a happy marriage. If you're naughty, though, you need to know that you'll suffer the consequences. That's the kind of man I am."

Lying gets the sternest punishment: A Little Twist

One of my favorite parts of writing Sara's story was getting a plot ready made for some serious character-development in the form of discipline.

"What are you doing, Sara?" 

"Oh, I was just looking at the news on the Internet," she said, closing the anonymous browser window. 

"Get up and go stand in the corner, with your nose to the wall, please." Mark pointed to the corner. "I'm going to see if you're telling me the truth. I'm sorry not to trust you, but I know that there are things about you that might make you feel like you have to lie to me." 

Sara thanked goodness that she had had the wisdom to use an anonymous window. She went over to the corner, and took up the position Mark had told her to. "I always use anonymous browsing," she said, "so I don't get anything I don't want on the computer." 

"That's very wise, sweetheart," Mark said. Then he added, "Sara, it looks to me like you lied." 

"No, Daddy," she said, desperately. 

"Yes, Sara," Mark said, with what she could tell was an angry voice, although it was still quiet. "It looks to me like you made an email account, and then sent an email." 

How did he know? 

"Unfortunately for your backside, sweetheart, I have key-logging software on this computer." 

"Oh, Daddy, please..." 

"Go upstairs to your room, Sara, take off your panties, and lie down on the bed on your tummy. I will be there in a few minutes to punish you, after I have figured out what you were doing." 

"Oh, no, Daddy... please, no." 

"Sara, I will not ask you again. Go get ready to be punished."

Buy the book here if you want to read what happens!