A whipping upon the Lord's Horse #SatSpanks

My new one, Trained at the Castle, is rather different from anything I've written, or read. In it, I imagine a world where the power of submission is material, and even dangerous.

Kesin gestured to the knights, and they sheathed their swords. Bomen opened the chest and took out the leather strap, two feet long and two inches wide, with which he would test the girls as they rode. Prentos went to stand by the pedestal next to the horse, upon which a basin full of soapy water, and several towels, had been placed.

“You will ride until I declare that your trial has ended,” Kesin said. “That may be only a minute or two, or it may be longer, depending on what I observe. I may command Sir Bomen to whip you with the strap.”

The smith’s daughter gave a little cry of fright at that, and Kesin looked at her with as gentle a smile as he could muster. “He will not strike very hard, child. If you need the strap, you will understand why, when I command him to use it. But probably I will not command the strap at all.”

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New release! Trained at the Castle

On an appointed day each year, the young women of Hala’s village who have recently come of age are stripped naked and put on display so that those maidens who cannot control their wanton lusts may be identified and dealt with firmly. Hala has dreaded this day since she turned eighteen a few months past, fearing that her body will betray her when she can least afford it. 

When at last her time comes to be bared and displayed, her worst fears are realized, and after the shameful spectacle of her arousal is witnessed by all about her, Hala is bound and dragged off to the castle for punishment and training. Upon reaching her destination, she is soon left at the mercy of Sir Wake, the most handsome knight in the castle. To her shock, she finds herself yearning to obey the rough, dominant warrior’s every command, even when he chastises her thoroughly for her wicked desires. 

Sir Wake cannot help but be smitten by Hala’s beauty and the way her training leaves her both blushing and throbbing with need for him. But when he helps his captive to escape the castle, will his actions bring ruin upon her village, or can the primal power which surges within her instead bring healing to the realm? 

Publisher’s Note: Trained at the Castle is an erotic novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, anal play, exhibitionism, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

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D/s play-time: EXPLORATIONS files

I'm re-running the stories that serve as deep background forEXPLORATIONS. The story continues from this post.

-----
So Friday afternoon to Sunday morning was our play-time. 

When I got home from class at around 3pm Friday, I went to my room (though we were an engaged couple sharing an apartment, it was important to our domestic-disciplinary regime, as well as useful for some of our ageplay scenarios, that I should have my own room) and ceremonially removed whatever I was wearing. I say "ceremonially" because I delighted in treating it as a ceremony, playing at reluctance, playing at shame, taking off each article and laying it in its place and thinking about what taking it off meant, about the way I was making myself ready for Charles to use me.
I would take off my bra, and think about what it meant to be a young woman with breasts uncovered, about the salacious thoughts men have about topless young women. I considered what Elizabeth Bennet might have felt, had Mr. Darcy required that her own little breasts (of course they were little, since mine are) be left bare, so that he might fondle them to his heart's content. Purely for learning's sake (I told myself, pretending to be the said Miss Elizabeth Bennet), I touched mine, and allowed my thumbs to explore my little pink nipples, just to prepare myself for Mr. Darcy's arrival. If I spent longer doing this than Mr. Darcy would truly have approved of, I blamed my inexperience and want of knowledge of a husband's desires.

I would take off my jeans, and my everyday cotton panties, and think about what it meant that I was shaved for Charles, that now it was time for my pussy and my ass to belong to him, that I was going to put on underwear that was meant not for my comfort, but for his enjoyment in seeing my cunt and bottom dressed in it, and above all in taking it off. Thinking about Jane Austen at this point (that is, when completely naked and deliciously conscious of my freshly shaved pussy [I shave every Friday morning without fail]) tended just to make me laugh, so instead I thought about O. And I (as a salutary training-exercise, you understand) would generally practice assuming Charles' favorite submissive positions, on my bed and over various articles of furniture. To make the training authentic, of course, I would have to work one or two fingers into my asshole, so that I could practice my submissive moans and whimpers at the sensation of being mastered there.

I then donned (usually) a lace thong, and went to wait for Charles to return from teaching at 4. I knelt next to his throne, in the living-room (not unlike the way my character Chuck Auberge , dominant polygamous Prophettown husband, commands that his youngest junior-wife position herself every day, in Emily and the Training-Shed of Prophettown) and tried, very often unsuccessfully, not to play with myself more than I inevitably had already. Charles always took care of dinner on Fridays, and asked nothing of me but my erotic submission, leaving me this time for meditation (as I soon began to think of it). He had proposed this part of the system based on the long periods O spends tied up, or just waiting to be enjoyed, especially at Anne-Marie's; he'd proposed it really just to see what I'd say, and I'd jumped at the idea, having always been fascinated with that part of Story of O.

I'm not going to claim that what seemed to me the spiritual insights I gained, kneeling in my thong next to my beloved's chair, waiting to pleasure him, were on the level of those to be gained in Ignatius of Loyola's Spiritual Exercises, but I will always maintain that for me it was a lovely way to end the week, and a lovely way to take stock of my good fortune, BDSM-related or not. Knowing that that was where I was supposed to be, that if the phone rang I didn't have to answer it, that the man I loved would be happy to see me there, even if his class had gone terribly, that this was a full and perfect offering of my erotic self to him, which was my reasonable erotic worship of him, all of that seemed to take the tension from me so thoroughly that I often actually drifted off to sleep, my head pillowed on Charles' throne's seat, to be awakened by his tender kiss.

Visually inspired: the initiand

(See here for an explanation of this series and here for an index to it.)

She had arrived at last just where she needed to be.

Jeanne kept repeating it to herself, trying desperately to quieten the frantic beating of her heat: I have arrived at last just where I have always needed to be. I have arrived at last. . .

Was it, in the end, really so strange that that place, and that position, were kneeling, clad only in a long, gauzy initiate's robe of white, in front of the order's Master of the Lash?

Surely it would not seem strange to anyone who could have read through the record of her dreams and fantasies over what seemed to her the whole of her life: the longing to kneel, to be marked, to be owned, to be hurt by those who claimed the right to hurt her even as they declared their intention to prize her and care for her. Surely the braided lash in the Master's hand was only the symbol of the deepest reality of her life: that she should be given the great gift that he was now about to bestow upon her.

The lash, in the Master's hand, approached her. She closed her eyes, and prepared to kiss the back of that hand that would at last make her feel the things for which she had yearned for so long: the bite of the leather upon her bare bottom, her thighs--even within her open thighs, upon her sex, where they had also assured her they would whip her tonight.

And then. . . beyond the Master of the Lash, in the darkness, she knew he waited: Blaise, the man who had brought her here, the one who would rip the robe from her, and tie her to the block, and watch her whipped; Blaise, in whose power she would be left when the Master of the Lash departed, to be done to according to his will; Blaise, who would take her back to their life of suburban joys and sorrows when this initiation was over, marked forever, nevertheless, as an initiate into his ways.

And they would return, Jeanne and Blaise, a wedded pair, to the order's house, to re-enact these rites. For she had arrived at last just where she needed to be.

The porn-girl: what Emily is up to

The official working title for this one is still The Discovery, but it's looking more and more like it should be called The Porn-Girl--that is, if my editors will allow it.

In the shower, Stacy couldn't stop thinking about what Ben had said while he had shaved her. Did it really mean that she was in training, and on that strange path of virtue he talked about? Well, wasn't she in training? Hadn't she done the homework, and watched the video, and then come back here? Hadn't she just let him bare her between her legs?

But what he had said had seemed so… well, existential. And he had told her before that she had lost her panties until her next lesson, so as she walked around in her sundress, feeling wicked without her underwear, she would be constantly conscious of her bareness, of the way her pubic hair had been taken away, just like her underwear. She shivered despite the warmth of the water raining down on her.

Would she really not wear her panties? He wouldn't know, of course. Unless he came over unexpectedly and ordered her to raise her dress for him… Stacy felt her pussy growing warm again at that thought. What the fuck was wrong with her?

But she knew what was wrong with her: she didn't want to be porn-girl, but the more time she spent under Ben's tutelage, the clearer it became that Stacy Miller was porn-girl.

She dried herself in one of the fluffy white towels that lay on the white shelf in a corner of the bathroom. The only thing there that wasn't gleaming white were a few of her hairs, which she self-consciously cleaned up with the towel she had sat on to have her pussy shaved. She put the towel in the hamper.

She almost walked back into the main part of the basement with the fluffy towel wrapped around her, but then she got scared that Ben would whip her for covering herself up that way, and she dried her hair as much as she could, and dropped that towel, too, into the hamper. At least it was nice and warm in Ben's basement.

Stacy's heart started to flutter when she remembered what she must do when she re-entered the big room, with the entertainment center, and in front of it the strange bench that she had recognized immediately from those videos--the ones with the punishments that went on and on and on.

Lori-Anne's not her son anymore #Taboo2sday

The whole story so far can be found here.

At least Kay relented a little after she had tanned Lori-Anne's hide good and properly. Lori-Anne was allowed to try on the veils, though the experience felt bittersweet. Kay had called Joe to tell him about Lori-Anne's spanking as soon as it was over, and Joe had told Kay to put him on the phone with Lori-Anne.

"Darlin'," Joe had said, "you know what you got comin' from my belt, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Lori-Anne had whispered.

So as she tried on the beautiful lacy veils, and even as Kay praised her for looking so very Christian, and so very pure, Lori-Anne couldn't help feeling her already tingly bottom tingle even more as she thought about how Joe would whip her that night.

On the way home, Kay was very talkative, the way she often seemed to be when she knew that Lori-Anne had a punishment coming.

"Now your mama will be at the wedding, won't she, sweetie?" Kay asked. "She knows about how you're Joe's little Lori-Anne now, and not her son anymore, doesn't she?"

Read all the taboo you can! 

Prophettown: the most taboo place on earth (sister-wives, watersports and diapers)

My next book--the fantasy-novel about submissives making powerful magic in their passion--should be out on Friday. In the meantime, here's something from the EXPLORATIONS Omnibus that should get your taboo juices flowing, so that you're ready for Taboo Tuesday tomorrow.

In what came to be called the Jurushine Reform--that is, the customs Barbara introduced of bathroom discipline--there was the possibility of exciting power-shifts in Prophettown family-dynamics, Barbara had realized after seeing the excitement it had brought to more than one family: junior-wives who really could learn to enjoy bathroom-sessions, or who could play enjoyment convincingly, could turn the tables and become the mistress of the bathroom by rousing their husbands to the possibility of forcing the senior into her own bathroom-training. For that reason, Barbara counseled senior-wives whose households were undertaking the Jurushine discipline either to use it sparingly or to accustom themselves to it, as Barbara herself had. The one time Martha had petulantly demanded that Chuck piss on Barbara, too, when on one occasion Barbara had come home late, Barbara had gone straight to the bathroom and donned a diaper, then knelt and waited for Chuck. When he had arrived, she had said, "Is this what Martha wants? To see her senior-wife disgraced? Is this what you want, Chuck?" Martha had received a family whipping for her trouble, and Barbara had escaped even a spanking for her lateness.

After "Water Time," once the junior-wife was in her clean diaper, the continence-session could begin, and the shape of it was simple and elegant. She must wet that clean diaper in the presence of her husband and her senior-wife. Barbara also recommended that she be gagged with her own panties, so that when the time came for her to wet her diaper she would have to attract her husband's and senior's attention by childish tugs at the arm and gestures pointing at her diapered bottom; Barbara instructed the husband and senior to pretend not to understand, to increase the effectiveness of the lesson, and above all not to allow the junior to wet her diaper just when she wanted, but to make her wait, as a help to her in realizing the pleasure she could have in her submissive need to display her body as the property of her husband. Too, she advised that the girl be led back to the bathroom, and made to look at the toilet while she wet herself, while husband or senior caressed her through the diaper as she peed.

Then, the girl with the wet diaper was made to do one or more household chores, still wearing the wet diaper. Vacuuming was a favorite choice, since it made the girl move around publicly clad only in the diaper. Finally, after an hour or so, usually, she was allowed to go back to the bathroom and clean herself up, though it was rare that her husband did not claim the privilege of watching her at this task, and then of putting her over the trestle for another stern lesson with cock or paddle or both. For purposes of especially severe discipline, Barbara recommended a caning or a whipping at this point, as the girl was generally well disposed to receive chastisement submissively and attractively then. On less severe occasions, she was of the opinion that a night in the senior-wife's bed could be salutary after a continence lesson, as juniors tended to be very eager to please their seniors and could often be taught new ways of pleasuring them, or at least seduced into kissing puss for hours on end.

Thus it was that after Susan's first water time and continence lesson, she was brought into Barbara's bed, alongside Martha, for the first time. "Susan," said Barbara, as she wiped away the eighteen-year-old's tears of shame, and discomfort at the six cane-welts across her bottom, "tonight you're going to learn how to please me, and after that we're going to be good friends and sister-wives, I promise."

"Really?" asked Susan.

"Mmm-hmm," said Barbara, nodding. She cuddled Susan, careful not to try to force her along too quickly, but also letting her big nipples rub up against Susan's little ones. Those little breasts were irresistible. Susan had been allowed to change into a simple, girlish white cotton nightgown, and Barbara and Martha were in their silk teddies.

"It's going to seem strange, at first," said Martha. "No one but a senior-wife is allowed to tell you about what a junior does to please her seniors, so I know you've never dreamed of this." She looked at Barbara. "Barbara, do you remember how you taught me?"

"Of course," said Barbara. "Would you like to do that for Susan, now?"

In response, Martha, to Susan's astonishment, began to move down the bed. At the same time, Barbara reached down and drew up the hem of Susan's nightgown. Susan tried to struggle, but Barbara held her firmly in place with one hand around her shoulders, and the other, with surprising strength, imprisoning both wrists.

Her greatest fear #SatSpanks

I'm dipping into my back-catalogue a bit for this snippet from Stolen by Her Master.

Hend was pushing his virility inside her mouth now, still holding it in his right hand while he stroked her cheek with the backs of his left hand’s knuckles. Leka’s mind tried to tell her to bite it, but her body refused, feeling the smart of the harsh flogging Dera had given her in the girls’ hall, after the mistress of girls had said, “You may stop the punishment at any time by saying that you will accept your bestowal.” Those lashes had been more and more painful as the flogging went on, and Leka had wept and whimpered and finally screamed. Dera began with her bottom-cheeks, then moved to her thighs, and then she had said, sounding exasperated, “I shall now hold your thighs apart and whip you between your legs, Leka, you willful girl.”

Leka had cried out in alarm; the trainers on Yeg never used a whip, let alone using it on her private part. To have her thighs parted so that Dera might whip her there, to be stretched open like that—suddenly the fear of it overwhelmed her.

“Yes?” Dera said. “Do you have something to say, Leka?”

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A turn to the dark and the dub-con: what Emily is up to

Encouraged by the success of Innocence Examined, with Directing Kirsten in the pipeline, I'm taking a step into even naughtier territory with a new book I'm tentatively calling The Discovery. Here's how it starts.

Ben Weathers thought he knew what was making the noises from the moment he heard them coming from Stacy Miller's bedroom. The sound emerged through her door as he walked by it on his way to check out the ice dams on the Millers' roof. He had come as a favor to Stacy's dad Jeff, and let himself into the house with the key they kept under the watering can. Inside Stacy's room, a girl was crying out, "Oh God," in a strangled voice, and a man was grunting. 

Eighteen-year-old Stacy Miller was watching porn.

But Ben's brain, focused on the roof, filed the knowledge that Stacy was a very naughty girl away in the back of his mind. It was only when, an hour later, he had cleared the ice dam and was walking back down the upstairs hall, and he heard a man's voice say "You like it in your butt, don't you?" that the urge to do something--though at that moment Ben wasn't sure what--came to him.

Part of him suspected he should just keep walking. The Millers were friends of Ben's parents from way back, and to use what he had just learned about their daughter to have the kind of fun Ben liked best might make for some uncomfortable times, down the road.

Part of him thought he should knock on Stacy's door and make up some excuse just to put the fear of God in her about watching porn at so high a volume. She was a good kid, and he didn't want to see her get into any trouble--or at least not trouble that he himself didn't cause.

But the largest part of Ben wanted to press the advantage, and barge in, and see if, as he suspected, Stacy were playing with herself. Ben saw no use in denying the desire, nor the hardness of his cock at the thought of how he could use the situation to make Stacy provide the sort of pleasure he liked best.

That part wanted to discover her with her hand between her legs, and to inform her that Ben Weathers knew what to do with naughty girls: to say sternly that he didn't believe in girls touching their private parts, let alone doing so while watching wicked videos. Then she would go over his knee, like it or not, for a long hard spanking: he owed that to Jeff Miller, didn't he? No father deserved a daughter who touched herself, and it would be better for Ben to take care of it himself, to spare Jeff the embarrassment and trouble.

And afterwards, of course, though perhaps Jeff wouldn't approve quite as much as he would approve of Ben spanking his lustful daughter, Ben would require of Stacy certain things with which she would clearly be familiar, from her porn-watching. Stacy would provide those things because she wouldn't want either to be spanked again or to have her viewing habits shared with her parents.


Ben felt real moral outrage as he thought of what Stacy must be doing in her room. He wasn't a prude--very, very far from it--but he believed very strongly in making sure that girls like Stacy learned to walk the straight and narrow path of society's standards. He thought himself very well-equipped to give young women the lessons they needed, and he didn't mind taking a great deal of erotic enjoyment for himself in the process. The lessons Ben gave involved teaching a wayward girl as much as possible about what an unscrupulous man might do, if he had her in his power, and he thus considered it his duty to portray that unscrupulous man as accurately as possible. He considered the pleasure he got from teaching this sort of lesson not only a fringe-benefit of the avocation to try to set girls on the path of virtue but also a sort of natural seal of approval on his activities: how could the severe punishments and thorough sexual use he gave them be wrong, if it felt so good for both Ben and the young woman he taught with his belt and his cock?

A spanking for Lori-Anne, interrupted #Taboo2sday

The whole story so far can be found here.

Kay's hairbrush rose and fell on Lori-Anne's bare bottom.

"Ow! Kay! I'm sorry," Lori-Anne wailed.

"Not as sorry as you're going to be when I tell Joe what you said."

"Kay! Please don't tell Joe! He'll whip me--you know he will!"

Then the worst possible thing happened: Lori-Anne, whose face was of course turned to the carpet of the dressing room, the skirts of the gown she was trying on raised to expose her bottom, her panties down to show her unfortunate testicles which Kay of course didn't hesitate to spank in addition to Lori-Anne's bottom, heard Kay say, "Oh, hi--don't worry--come on in. Lori-Anne here is just getting a little lesson."

"No," the shocked, confused voice of the sales-lady said, "that's… alright. I'll come back."

Keep up the taboo!

Learning to welcome his firm hand: Under His Watch

My heroine in Under His Watch comes to see how much she yearns for her bodyguard's guidance.

“You went too far,” Ryan finally said when the door of Charity’s apartment had closed behind them, after refusing to talk to her at all on the cab ride to the station and the train ride home. He had simply put his arm around her and held her close. When she said, “I can still go, right?” Ryan just said, “Shh.” When she said, “They deserved it, right?” Ryan just said, “We’ll talk when we get home.”

He had taken her in his arms and hugged her fiercely, before he issued his judgment, but nevertheless she heard in his voice the note she had been dreading all the way home, even as she realized that a part of her longed for it and knew it was coming: Ryan was going to spank her.

“You’re going to spank me, aren’t you?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said simply. “You need to get a grip on your relationship with your parents. You love them, and they love you: that’s perfectly clear to me. You have the greater responsibility here—in exchange for everything they’ve given you, you have to accept them for who they are, not who you wish they were.”

“Dammit,” she said, “why do they have to be that way, though? And why do you have to be so fucking right about everything?”

“I can’t answer either of those questions, honey, but I do know that it’s time for you to take off all your clothes and wait in your bedroom with your nose against the wall.”

“Not the belt, please?”

“No,” Ryan said, “not the belt. I think this punishment should be much more intimate than that. I want you to try to think about what it means to depend on someone, the way you have always been able to depend on your parents, even if their help didn’t always come in the form you wanted it.”

“But now I can depend on you?” Charity felt tears well up in her eyes as she snuggled her cheek into his chest, feeling his strong heart beating under his dress shirt.

“Yes. But my help might not always come in the form you want either.”

“Like now. But…”

“What, honey?”

“Thank you, sir. That’s all.” She tried to pull herself out of his embrace, but he didn’t let her go.

“You’re welcome, honey,” he said, and squeezed her a final time.


Then he kissed her, turned her around like a little girl, and swatted her bottom in her nice green dress to get her going toward the bedroom, the wall, and the spanking chair.

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Jaye Peaches comes to visit for Emily's Questions!

I'm so happy to have my friend Jaye over--especially since she just published a historical about an absolutely fascinating time in English history!

Why do you write?

It’s always been there, my love of writing, probably since a small kid when I wrote badly spelt poetry. My first book was scrawled in an exercise book when I was eleven (all gone unfortunately), others I plotted out, but remained trapped in my head throughout my adolescence. My kids love to write and I come from a book loving family, so I guess it’s in the genes.

What's your desert-island fantasy? (If you were marooned on a desert-island with only a single fantasy to get off to for the rest of your life, what would you choose?)

This is a favourite scenario of mine - the desert island, so I’d probably fantasise about it while I’m surrounded by palm trees and crashing waves. I’m there, unable to escape and in the company of some strapping Dom with a strap and a mischievous grin. Lots of hot sex too, warm sun and no clothes. Not especially original, but what the heck, I live in a cold country.

Do you think of BDSM and/or spankophilia as a practice or as an orientation, or as something else, and what does your answer mean to you?

Personally, I think we’re born with a blueprint of who we are and what we have the potential to be and that blueprint can be alter a little or a lot according to the environment we grow up in. I’m a spanko from birth type, but it is only in recent years, since I met other spankos, that I’ve had the opportunity to see that side of me fully. Writing about spankings helps me come to terms with that ‘orientation’. As for BDSM, it is a broad collection of practices and incorporates many things that can be innate or gained through experience. I can imagine fantasies wrapped around those practices, but kink is way too complex to sum up as one or the other. My answer gives me some peace of mind that I’m not a freak of nature, but on the other hand, many in mainstream society will see me that way regardless.

Who's a favorite character from your own work, and why?

I’m not one for favourites, I drift in my preferences according to my moods. However, I loved creating Gemma and Jason (you can’t have one without the other). They’re pure fantasy in terms of kink (domination and submission primarily) and the setting of the book, which is the wealthy ‘they can do anything they like’ scenario, but I know from readers their relationship has a real-life edge to it, which is identifiable and endearing.

Who's a favorite character from someone else's work (erotic or non-erotic) and why?

Argh, just one? It would have to Francis Crawford of Lymond. A historical character from Dorothy Dunnett’s six book series set in Tudor Europe. He’s the epitome of the enigmatic hero - sexy, but flawed genius who nobody truly understands. Rather Dom-like in nature, sometimes cold and stern, but always underneath it, very passionate. Yummy.

An excerpt from In Enemy Hands

Daniel has revealed his true feelings towards Hester, his enemy and the woman he has kept captive in her own home. She has tried to escape and before he can honour his love, he must punish her and start afresh.

What should he do? The question spun out of control in his head. The answer—have her locked up out of sight while he returned to the business of warfare—failed to take hold. The sight of her rounded breasts, the rise and fall of her erect nipples, did nothing to help curtail his inappropriate cravings. Hester was his enemy and the daughter of a renowned Royalist. Ever since his arrival, she’d played him at a game. Smiling, chatting away at the dining table, then, behind his back, plotting and defying his orders. How could he trust her to do as he commanded?

The answer lay in her eyes. They sparkled under the canopy of the bed. The trembling fingers unfastening her corset worked frantically to undress. Whatever she might say aloud to him, her true emotions appeared to have betrayed her. It was as if she wanted him to spank her, make her vulnerable and open to him. How would he hold back and resist taking her? His manhood stiffened, expecting relief. It had been months since his last acquaintance had offered him respite. The meagre homestead of a young woman he’d frequented and the thought of those tumbles between the sheets made him ashamed. Now, faced with a beautiful woman of worthy status, he rapidly succumbed to baser instincts.

Daniel rose from the bed and stepped away, giving Hester room to disrobe. She stumbled as she stepped out of her chemise and removed her undergarments. She locked her hands around the bedpost, gripping it as if her life depended on the support and turned away from him. Her naked sex tucked out of sight, she squashed her thighs together and bowed her head.

He grasped her hips and pulled her bottom back, forcing her to bend at the waist. As she did, her buttocks parted. He sucked in a deep breath and removed his gaze from her gleaming cleft. “You must remain still.”

“I do not know if I can,” she whispered, continuing to cling to the bedpost.

Daniel loosened the sash about his waist and bound it about her wrists. She gaped at him as he drew her hands together, but she said nothing. He tied the other end of the sash to the bedpost. He stood back, admiring her pose; he noted her small stature, the rounded lobes of her fine rear, how her calves twitched and her nimble feet fidgeted on the rug.

She glanced over her shoulder, and a pair of wary eyes stared at him. “I might scream.”

“The servants will know you are being punished. It will do them no harm to think so.” He fretted that they would think him too harsh, but there again it was necessary to keep the appearance of a tyrant to help maintain order. His soldiers would expect it and war meant oppression; whether he liked the notion or not, it had to be demonstrated.

“Am I being punished?” she asked.

Daniel didn’t answer. To say yes would mean he had to crush her, make her bawl and cry at him, beg him to stop, and ensure the occupants of the house knew exactly what was taking place in her chamber. If he said no, what was the purpose of his spanking? He flexed his right hand, preparing himself for the first slap of his rigid palm and contemplated the trembling Hester.

He had to make her demure and contrite, pleasing to his eyes. A well-delivered spanking would exonerate her behaviour, enable him to approach her and give her solace. It came to him there, as he raised his hand ready to strike her pale skin, how much he desired her and the impression she’d made on him in such a short space of time. His puritanical upbringing could no longer hold him back.

He smacked her upraised bottom and she jolted forward, her shoulder knocking into the post. No sound came from her mouth, only a sharp gasp of breath. He swept back his arm, aimed at the other cheek, and swung his hand upwards, colliding with quivering flesh. The sound echoed around the wooden panels and she emitted another audible exhale. He spied the whites of her knuckles tightening their grip on the wooden support.

Daniel focused his attention on her rump, the curves and contours, the splendid cleft and what lay within it. Her legs parted, as she shuffled, dancing about in reply to his smacks. To keep her still, he rested a hand on the small of her back and pressed her down, preventing her from jumping up. He continued to spank her.

As he spanked Hester, her bottom turned from alabaster to the colour of ripe tomatoes. Her attempts at remaining quiet failed and she began to cry out. Muted at first, then louder as she fought to remain in position. Her knees started to buckle and he looped his arm under her waist, drawing her back up and leaning her against his own hip. With her held in place, he picked up his pace but reduced the power behind his slaps. She stamped her feet on the floor and shrieked with each smack.

Her crimson behind emitted heat and he ceased spanking. Holding her steady, he rubbed her cheeks in circles. His own hand smarted with the blows and he took pleasure in caressing his palm on each buttock. Without thinking, he trailed a finger down between her bottom cheeks and between her folds. She moaned and he considered it a resplendent sound to accompany his findings. Her slit was slippery and her sex lips swollen.

Keeping a firm grip on her waist, he fumbled with his breeches and released his stiff cock. It sprang upright and he pressed it into her crevice, while kicking her legs farther apart with his foot.

“Daniel!” She spun her head round and her eyes widened.

Blurb

When the rest of her household flees the family estate during the English Civil War, Hester Cavell, a proud Royalist supporter, stays behind hoping to protect her home. Unfortunately for Hester, she quickly finds that she is no match for a troop of Parliamentarian dragoons, led by Captain Daniel Hasard. Once the dragoons take control of her house, Daniel lets Hester stay with her servants, but he warns her that he will punish her severely if she causes any trouble.

Despite Daniel’s warning, it isn’t long before Hester risks her safety and attempts to sabotage his troops, earning her a long, hard switching on her bare bottom. But as the weeks pass, she begins to realize that the man behind the enemy uniform is loving, intelligent, and kind, and she can’t help but grow more and more attracted to him. Daniel returns Hester’s affection, and while they remain enemies by day to protect her reputation, they soon become passionate lovers by night.

Not wanting the servants to guess at their games, Hester continues to make a pretence at mischief, and Daniel continues to punish her sternly. But when a servant at last finds out the truth of their relationship, will it bring an end to their newfound romance, or will Daniel cast aside politics and allegiances and ask for her hand in marriage?

Publisher’s Note: In Enemy Hands is an erotic novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, anal play, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Click these links to buy the book!

Amazon (US)

Amazon (UK)

Kobo

Barnes and Noble

AllRomance

More on Jaye Peaches!

http://www.amazon.com/Jaye-Peaches/e/B00CRXWHI6

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7142793.Jaye_Peaches

http://jayepeaches.wordpress.com/

When a real lesson becomes necessary #SatSpanks

Those Navy SEALs believe in discipline.

Ryan couldn’t help noticing that Charity seemed to be breathing rather heavily, and that the musky scent of her excitement had begun to waft to his nose. The right hand he had used to spank her he now put boldly on her pussy, so that she cried out in surprised pleasure.

“Now there is no use pretending,” he said, continuing to rub so that Charity had the terrible torment of wanting desperately to spread her legs and being held firmly between Ryan’s thighs, “that the thought of this discipline doesn’t get you hot and bothered, my little slut.”

“Yes, sir,” Charity whispered, closing her eyes.

“Open your eyes, Charity,” he said sternly, and she obeyed.

“I can promise you, though, that I can spank away that pleasure at least for a while. If I’m not mistaken, that’s sufficient to send the message I want to send.”

“Yes, sir… oh, please let me open my legs…”

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

Premarital domestic discipline: EXPLORATIONS files

I'm re-running the stories that serve as deep background for EXPLORATIONS. The story continues from this post, last week.
-----

As summer turned to fall, and we both got ready to return to a more realistic academic existence, we agreed on a sort of baseline version of domestic discipline for a top and a bottom who can't get enough of BDSM but who need to finish post-graduate degrees at the same time they're living out their thrilling BDSM fantasies.

I was allowed to wear panties to class, and to the library. Despite the violation of strict Réageanism, within whose confines the sub's cunt and bottomhole must be available for use at all times without exception, I reluctantly realized that the distraction involved in constantly being reminded (which is of course what it's all about, for O) of that availability, and the potential for even more distracting embarrassment as a consequence of that being reminded (friends noticing that the seat I've just gotten up from is wet, for example, because, having been reminded of my availability, I've been unable to keep myself from thinking about what use Charles might want to make of me later), and the worry about that potential embarrassment, all just made the pure Réagean practice impracticable for someone who needed to concentrate on finishing law school.

If I thought those panties were going to stay dry, however, simply because I had them on, I was wrong: the mere sound of Charles' voice on my cell-phone, asking me when I would be home, was enough to make them damp, and keeping my hand out of them seemed to be an even greater challenge now at 25 than it had been at 13, to my occasional disgust at myself. Dark library stacks with isolated carrels are perfect for study; they're also perfect for self-abuse by frustrated subs whose shaved pussies aren't receiving what they deserve from their betrothed lords' cocks as often as would be optimal. I would sometimes have to force myself to remain absolutely motionless on the hard library chair in order to be spared the delicious burning torment inside those modest panties for some short while.
At least we had no problems with sores or infections during this period! (Charles does say that he was constantly worried about a recurrence of his sore, though, because walking around campus with a constant erection apparently creates serious chafing issues.)

As a price for the weekday panties, I was not allowed to wear anything but sexy lingerie (and sometimes that was replaced either with nothing or with my butt-plug) when at home from Friday night through Sunday morning; if we went out during that period, even if we were having dinner with one or more of our parents, I wore no panties, and Charles would usually give me an agreed signal (tapping three times on the table), halfway through dinner, that meant "Miss Emily Tilton, 3L, must now go to the ladies' room and insert her butt-plug." I was required to carry said butt-plug in my purse at all times, even during the week, when it was laid down that if Charles decided thus he might walk over to the law library and whisper in my ear "Put it in, now." (He never did, but it was a fun fantasy.) 

Charles recounts that on one such occasion, at dinner with his parents, his Dad noticed the signal, and my submissive response (for it was simply impossible not to lower my eyes to the table and blush crimson, and worry that the scent of my arousal might be so strong as to fill the air of the restaurant, as I rose to attend to my shameful, wanton duty). After I'd left, Charles' Dad asked "What was that about?" Charles replied, "Um, I was reminding her to take some medicine." "Don't you think," his father responded, "Emily is a big enough girl that she can remember to take her medicine after dinner?" Charles, trying to keep a straight face: "Yes, but she needs to take some of it now, and some of it later." I generally did take a great deal of it later, to my submissive delight.

Visually inspired: one extra

(See here for an explanation of this series and here for an index to it.)

Mr. Wetherall's strap was very old. It had been passed down from Latin master to Latin master for at least a hundred years, along with the injunction that it was to be used upon the bare bottoms of the most recalcitrant girls.

Sarah Jane Truitt had confused the ablative with the dative daily for the past month, and Mr. Wetherall was at his wits' end. "Miss Truitt," he said at last one morning, "you will see me in my study after the lesson."

Her tears were of no avail. Only one pupil in her memory had been punished with Mr. Wetherall's strap, and that girl had slept on her stomach for a week, and eaten standing up. "I'm so sorry, sir. I. . . please. . . agricolae from the farmer, agricolā to the farmer. . . I can do it, I promise!"

"You have just repeated your mistake, Miss Truitt. Ab agricolā, from the farmer. dō librum agricolae, I give the book to the farmer." He looked into her terror-filled eyes. "Lay yourself over my desk, now. You won't forget after the beating you're going to get, I'm confident."

Sarah Jane laid herself down. Mr. Wetherall raised her skirt, and then, as she blushed in shame and fear, lowered her knickers to leave her lovely young bottom bare.

"You will count each stroke, Miss Truitt," he said. Even before her beating began, she tried to cover her bottom with her hands. "Get those hands away, girl," Mr. Wetherall said. "If I see them there again, it'll be an extra stroke."

Sarah Jane rested her cheek on the wood of the Latin master's desk, and looked out the window to where the other girls were enjoying their recess. Mr. Wetherall brought the strap down hard upon her bottom, and she cried out and, despite herself, put her hands back to try to ward off her chastisement.

"One extra," said Mr. Wetherall, with grim satisfaction.

The parts we play, when we finally express our deepest needs: what Emily is up to

I'm still hard at work on Directing Kirsten. As you might be able to tell from the Caroline series, I was an avid college thespian. It's fun to be revisiting the amazing feelings acting always brought out in me, and to explore what they might have to do with playing BDSM.

Had she really almost said "for you"? Was she playing a part, or trying to express the terrible truth about her desires?

Was there any difference?

She became hyper-aware of her hands' entrapment by Michael's. Michael: director, prospective boyfriend. Spanker.

One part of her tried desperately to slow down, and to think straight, while another said that the last thing she should do right now was stop and consider. Let it happen, said that part. You are about to get everything you always dreamt of--everything you were thinking about that shameful morning. Don't fuck it up, for God's sake.

Her hands, in his. Michael had seized them. Not roughly: no, he was not rough even when he was… doing that--the thing he had done, with his hand, hard on her bottom over and over.

The spanking: Kirsten August's very first spanking.

"Who is he?" Michael's voice seemed to come from very far away, as Kirsten gazed down only at his hands, holding her hands.

Don't say "you." For God's sake…

"The man who… who… Oh, God, Michael. Please… don't make me say." She felt she could barely get her voice to work. Her cheeks burned like a furnace, and she didn't think she could look him in the eyes now if her life depended upon it.

"You, young lady," he said very softly, "have a great deal to learn."

But he didn't say anything else, and she did look at his eyes, and saw the resolve there. By itself, that steady look made her give a little whimper, and then Michael was pulling her to the side of his legs, and toppling her over his lap.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

And then he spanked her bare bottom. Over and over: not like when he was spanking her through her jeans, all on the same spot, but from right to left and then on her upper thighs where the sting was even worse. It hurt so much more than she had thought it would that she struggled, but Michael held her down with his arm around her waist. When she threw her right hand back, he caught it, just the way he was supposed to do, and bent it behind her back.

"No," he said. "When I spank you, you keep your hands away." His hand fell hard, then, in the same central spot, five times, then ten times.

Kirsten started to cry. The terrible arousal--the wetness she was sure he would see, trickling down her thighs and into her bunched panties--went away, but somehow despite the pain she still wanted it. She wanted the pain itself, because the pain came from him, and he had declared that this punishment would repay Kirsten for the naughtiness that lay at the foundation of her nature.

She hung her head, and cried, not from the pain, but from the way Michael spanking her seemed to clear away the shame.

"Who did you wax your pussy for, Kirsten?" he asked, not stopping the spanking.

"For you!" she sobbed. Did she hope that she might surprise him into halting her punishment? No, she knew in a flash: she wanted to push against the boundary, and find it unyielding. Kirsten wanted to confess, and have Michael give her what she had coming for what she said in the confession.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, for me. And I like your pussy that way, sweetie. I can tell I'm going to like fucking it very much indeed."


Whoa. Yes, she had hoped, and yes, he embodied that man… the director. But…

What happens when Lori-Anne thinks she's a princess #Taboo2sday

The whole story so far can be found here.

"Oh, Kay," Lori-Anne replied, "please… I mean…"

"Are you saying that you don't want to be Joe's little whore? Because I find that rather surprising, Lori-Anne."

"No… I-I just…"

But Kay had walked to a straight-backed chair in the dressing-room, and sat down upon it. She was fishing in her purse, now.

"Please, Kay," Lori-Anne pleaded. "Please, not the hairbrush."


"Come here, Lori-Anne," Kay said, brandishing her walnut hairbrush. "Little whores need to learn their place."

Don't stop your taboo journey there! 

Navy SEALs don't make conventional boyfriends

Ryan Bedford, spanking bodyguard, is also--surprise, surprise--a dominant.

He bent down and, at the same time, took her hair in his hand and pulled her head back, so he could kiss her like a barbarian warrior who has just won the civilized princess as his tent-girl. He brought his right hand down and took hold of her bottom, still left naked by the apron’s scanty cover. He thrust his fingers between her thighs from behind and commanded her wetness, as Charity moaned up into his mouth.

“I don’t care what you’re sure about, slut,” Ryan said. “Joe tells me I need to keep your hands off your PC for the next twenty-four hours. The only question is whether I’m going to tie those hands down or not.” The light came into her eyes again at the sound of the word ‘slut,’ the way it always seemed to do. “If I tie them down, that will make it harder for you to learn to touch my cock reverently. But of course I have many other paths to pleasure, where your lovely body is concerned.”

Charity gasped, and a look of incipient panic came into her eyes.

Ryan took the dominant talk down a notch. “What were you going to say you weren’t sure you could do, honey?”

“Oh… I-I mean…” The panic had reached her voice.

“Shh,” Ryan said, pulling her into a more conventional hug and letting her rest her cheek on his chest. “Color?”

“Yellow?” Charity replied instantly.

“Why, honey?”

“Because I’m just getting used to it, maybe?” She pulled her head back and looked up at him. “Are you just never going to be a conventional boyfriend at all?”

Ryan laughed, suddenly feeling carefree as he realized just how easy it would be to allay her fears. “I made you dinner, didn’t I?” he asked teasingly.

“But you put me in an apron and nothing else, and you spanked me, too.”

“Fair enough,” Ryan said. “Do you want me to be a conventional boyfriend for a little while, so you can see that I know how?”

Charity nodded solemnly, her eyes wide. Then she giggled. “Maybe only for fifteen minutes.”

Ryan kissed her very conventionally. “And then?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Sex-toy,” she whispered.

“Fuck-toy,” he corrected.

“Oh, God,” Charity said, moving, apparently by instinct alone, against him like an animal seeking release.

“If you want me to be conventional, though,” Ryan said, “you’ll have to behave yourself. I guess a conventional boyfriend doesn’t spank his girl for humping his leg, but you’ll have to follow my bodyguard rules anyway and clean up after yourself. Deal?”

Click here to buy it on Amazon!

A visit from Adaline Raine, for Emily's questions!

It's been a long while since I had a friend over! Addy's wonderful book provides the perfect occasion to ask her some more of my questions!

I’m super excited to be here answering Emily’s questions and sharing a snippet from my new release, The Medic of Brighton Creek. 

What's a favorite disciplinary implement? 

Probably a hand. I know, maybe slightly boring, but it can give the message in a lot of ways - quick swat means you are asking for it, quick tap is like a warning, and then it increases from there!

What historical time period (includes far future/sci fi and legendary past/fantasy) appeals to you a lot, where spanking and BDSM fantasies are concerned?

That is a really good question. I like reading contemporary because it opens a lot of possibilities but it is closely followed by the Regency time period. It also was more socially acceptable to discipline back then, so the only taboos are around sexual activities! 

What's one of the first piece of spanking/BDSM fiction you ever read, and how did it affect you? 

To be honest, I had no idea that this genre existed until...well I knew. One of the first stories I read was from Renee Rose and I was literally blown away. I knew within the first few chapters that I found my go-to, hot-button, whatchamacallit, have to get my hands on the next, book.  It also gave me the go-ahead to let my characters act the way they wanted - I used to edit out the spankings and punishments. *smiles*

What's one of the first spanking fantasies you ever had? 

I can’t remember, but I do know it was over the knee!

Be sure to stop by http://brattyadaline.blogspot.com/2015/01/medictour.html to see all the stops along the way. I'm giving away free books as well as sharing snippets and chatting about all sorts of things!

In the snippet below, Sam has gotten Mikayla up on the exam table in the local doctor’s office. He asks her to trust him, and this proves she does!

From The Medic of Brighton Creek

“Right here is your g-spot. If the right angle is achieved, it can cause a very intense orgasm.” He began fingering her hard and fast until she smacked the table with her hand as if tapping out. “An added digit to the other passage can cause that as well.”

 “What?” she started to protest again. She didn’t have much experience back there, but his finger tickled across her hole, then slid in easily from the earlier lubrication. “Ohh!” Her pussy clenched around his fingers and her hands ripped into the thin paper sheet as she scrambled for something to grip. “Please!”

 “Not yet.” Sam worked his fingers expertly in and out of her, over and over, faster and faster, while she bucked and cursed. 

About The Medic of Brighton Creek

Returning to her hometown for her best friend’s wedding, Mikayla Turner doesn’t expect to run into her teenage crush, handsome paramedic Sam Brighton, within a matter of moments. But after her car runs off the road in a snowstorm, she seeks help at the nearest house and is shocked when it is Sam who answers the door—still as sexy as she remembers him.

Sam patches her up and lets her stay at his home until the weather improves, but he makes it clear that there will be consequences should she choose to disobey him during her stay. Mikayla has grown up in the years she’s been away, but she still finds herself craving Sam’s dominance, and she is unable to resist putting his warning to the test. After Sam takes her in hand and bares her bottom for a sound spanking, Mikayla has never felt closer to him, and though it leaves her blushing, his thorough, intimate medical care makes her feel safer and more loved than she’s ever felt before.

When the local doctor takes some time off, Sam steps in to help out and he asks Mikayla to stay and serve as his receptionist. She agrees, but she can’t help worrying that Sam’s attraction to her is short-lived and that one day he will tire of her and push her away. Will self-doubt drive Mikayla to leave Sam and her hometown forever, or can she face her fears and learn to trust the man she loves?

Publisher’s Note: The Medic of Brighton Creek is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, medical play, anal play, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Buy the book by clicking one of the following links!

Amazon 
Barnes and Noble
All Romance

About Adaline Raine

Adaline Raine is an avid reader of spanking romance and is known for reviewing every book she touches! Her latest release is The Medic of Brighton Creek about a young woman who returns home for her best friends wedding and finds herself longing for the dominance her longtime crush, Sam Brighton used to provide while she was there. Soon they are together as she always dreamed of but her doubts leave her unsure. Sam wastes little time in taking her in hand as well as caring for her. Be sure to check out this sweet contemporary romance with medical play and domestic discipline.

Devon's Discipline, her supernatural release, is about a young college junior stuck on a downwards spiral after the tragic loss of both of her parents. She meets Professor Matthews who has little tolerance for disrespect and he helps set her straight again through physical discipline.

Marked by the Alpha, Adaline's premiere story, literally shows us an alpha male werewolf turning his chosen mate over his knee for some well needed attitude adjusting.

Becoming a Lady, her second release, showcases spankings in a historical setting. Our lovely main character is poor and abused so when a tall man drugs her and steals her away from her village she is confused by his actions. He takes his time to teach and guide but his methods include his hand and her hind.

Adaline has also become known for her love of creating graphics for others. She has designed custom banners and buttons for various blog hops throughout the community including "Spank or Treat 2013";"Winter Spanks 2014"; "Summer Spanks 2014", as well as the headers and backgrounds at Bratty Addy. Her exclusive feature, Addy's Couch takes guests books covers and fashions them into a one-of a kind piece for fun or promotional purposes. Contact Adaline at brattyadaline at gmail dot com if you would like her to create something for you!

Adaline runs an active blog on blog spot brattyadaline.blogspot.com as well as a Spanking Romance board on Pintrest http://www.pinterest.com/adalineraine/

You can also find her on Twitter handle Adaline_Raine or on Facebook Raine.Adaline