Friday, July 24, 2015

I think you know what I mean #SatSpanks

Hopefully this passage from the middle of an early spanking in the doctor's house will intrigue rather than confuse!

She struggled further, but Sam simply remained silent. At a particularly strenuous escape attempt, he gave her three more hard spanks. Eliana gave a wail unlike the defiant grunts of a moment before. “Oh, please! No more!”

Sam didn’t spank her again, and now she did quiet her body.

Finally, “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Speak respectfully, Eliana,” Sam replied softly. “I think you know what I mean.”


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Why we submit—EXPLORATIONS files

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

_____

I've always intended that this blog should be a place not just to talk about the "realities" behind the stories of EXPLORATIONS, but also about the--let's call them--"actualities" behind those "realities." There are questions that press themselves upon me every time I sit down to write, and every time I give in to temptation, in the face of a picture, or a story, and let my fingers find their way down past the waistband of my panties to the place that always seems to be waiting for them.

Why am I--the actual I--aroused by nothing as much as I'm aroused by the drama of Dominance and submission? Why do I want to be spanked, caned, whipped, anally-ravished?

Or, if the "Why?" has no answer other than "because I was born this way," then the "How?" of "How can I best live a good life given that I'm born this way?"

Given that I'm born this way.

Add to that given some other givens, and things begin to take their complicated shape:

Given that sex feels good.

Given that real life isn't like Story of O. Or a porn video.

Given that hurting other people, in real life, is bad.

Given that getting off while thinking about someone being hurt, including yourself, seems to contradict the principle that hurting people is bad, since (doesn't it seem?) what is a fantasy except a wish for something to happen in the real world?

It's likely that there's another, actual, "I" behind this italicized "real" I. It's likely that that I is much less free than "I" am to express herself erotically. If so, the question presses itself upon that "Emily" even more urgently than it does upon me; after all, I have Charles to play with--this other, hypothetically-actual "Emily" has only her fingers and whatever toys and erotic materials she can hide from her vanilla spouse to supplement her imagination and her keyboard.

EXPLORATIONS is her answer, at least for now, and this is perhaps a good moment to talk about why, and in particular to talk about why inscribing an eighteen-year-old version of herself seems to hold out some hope of making progress towards a good life.

Fantasies do seem like wishes. If the scene in our head is so hot that we can't resist abusing ourselves, in the delicious old phrase, aren't we saying that we want to play that scene in reality? Certainly I would never deny that if there were a way to play out the things in my head in a safe, sane, and consensual fashion I would jump at the chance to do so.

But here's the thing: it would still be fantasy, because it would be a scene, played safely, sanely, and consensually. If, for example, I imagine that the cop who pulled me over for speeding yesterday, on hearing that my husband would be very angry at me, had given me the option of a "State Police Session," in a secret room at headquarters; if I imagine that I had followed him to headquarters, dutifully, and in that secret room received a caning; if I imagine that I had then sucked the cocks of the on-duty officers, and had afterward been secured over the special "State Police Horse" (why else would they wear those damn riding-breech-type pants?) to have my ass ravished by any officer who cared to use me, I might want to play it as a scene with Charles (okay, maybe even with Charles and say one or two of his friends whom I trust), but I'm most assuredly not interested in being fucked by the State Police in real life.

Fantasies are not wishes, and, much as I love Disney culture (talk about crypto-BDSM!), a dream is not a wish your heart makes when it's fast asleep.

My best guess at this point is that the way to get better at answering that "How?" question is to keep exploring my fantasies, learning more and more about how they might relate to reality, without being reality. Why do I get so nervous when I'm pulled over? Because I have a thing about state authority that comes from fantasy. If I realize that, maybe I can act more naturally--that's the plan, anyway.

So why the 18-year-old fantasy-Emily avatar? Really, it's just as much about actual me, with the dilemmas of a vanilla life to worry about, as it is about "real" italic me, because it was the creation of fantasy-Emily that allowed me to create real-Emily. Real-Emily came about as a result of trying to think through the stuff that was pouring through my keyboard onto my screen about fantasy-Emily. You can kind of tell that from the way EXPLORATIONS develops, where real-Emily's voice gets progressively stronger.

Fantasy-Emily was, you see, undergoing shocking things on her wedding-night. Even after I'd given her an extremely wanton nature, what was getting me off in writing the story of her submissive wedding-night was fantasy-Charles bending her to his will, dominating her, using her. How could that possibly be reconciled with my egalitarian ethics? What if it were a human rights lawyer who were writing it?

The creation of this voice--the italicized human-rights lawyer voice of real-Emily, and along with it the creation of real-Emily's marriage to real-Charles, is what made me feel I had, let's say, a ship to go exploring in. I'd hesitate to call this voice redemptive, but certainly my mission for real-Emily is a sort of redemption, to proceed, I hope, from my longed-for actual reconciliation of my erotic nature and my ethical one.
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Thursday, July 23, 2015

Visually inspired: conductor

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

The secret to Neumeister's musical genius, many said, lay in his dominant erotic tendencies. He manifested these, they said, in front of his orchestras--but he could do so only because in his home he had constant practice in dominating the girls he called his Muses, whom he had bound to contracts of servitude.

Every day, one of his Muses, dressed appropriately, would be appointed to play through the score Neumeister was preparing to conduct. As he listened, shouting comments to another Muse, who sat naked at a nearby desk, he would savagely punish the girl who had played the day before, for the faults in her performance. Neumeister would alternately thrash the Muse he punished and make her stand with her face to the wall so that he had a beautiful work of his own to look upon.

Neumeister's admirers claim that in the spankings, whippings, and canings he gave to his Muses he learned to channel his dominant eroticism into his conducting. When he stood before his orchestra, they said, he dominated his musicians in the same way: his baton seemed to them to become a new sort of cane, with which he put his imprint upon musical history just as he daily put his imprint upon his girls' lovely bottoms.
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Wednesday, July 22, 2015

A secret ancient erotic cult, bent on world domination!—what Emily is up to

This one is giving me serious headaches because it wants to be so long. I really don't think it pays to write old-fashioned series these days, but this one may become a trilogy anyway. Working title: Bound and Initiated.

When Sarah had fallen asleep, Robert folded the table quietly, and left the room, swinging the great stone door silently closed behind him. Claudia and her staff of Amazons (the third degree of the Order of Ostia) would monitor her on the surveillance cameras. One of them would wake Sarah in two hours to show her the bathroom that lay through a hidden door in her chamber. Robert would watch that himself, he decided, on his own monitor in his apartment in the penthouse. It was always charming to see the look on a girl's face when she realized that from now on others would accompany her to the bathroom and watch her upon the toilet. Nor did he want to miss the little pout on Sarah's lips and the furrow on her brow as she peed. He would have her pee in front of him before too long, he decided.

As he rode the elevator up to his apartment, he contemplated the business of the following day, wondering if he could concentrate on it at all, with the vision of what would happen at sunset, upon the bed of the pleasure chamber, before his eyes.

He fell asleep in his enormous bed, between sheets of Egyptian cotton, wondering how quickly Sarah would take to her duties as a nupta. Something about her seemed so very analytical that he thought he wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be a natural at it. Nor was he sure he had spoken the truth when he told her that she wouldn't understand why she monitored the subjects they gave her to monitor.

Robert's own job, he felt, held a great deal less intellectual stimulation than Sarah's would. He spent his days, when not in marathon meetings here in New York, or in Rome, or in another city where the Guard maintained a center, writing reports about those meetings. Theoretically those reports distilled the essence of the resolutions arrived at through painstaking consultation among the most brilliant minds in the world, putting forth various abstract bases and justifications for the frequently purely ad hoc decisions they made because someone must and presenting the possible ramifications of the Guard's actions. In practice, Robert's job amounted to glorified secretary duty: The cardinal said X, and the director said Y, and then the president said, "No, Z," and the meeting was adjourned.

Sometimes Robert was of the cynical opinion that for all the grandiose metaphysical scaffolding put in place by Cardinal Otranto, the banqueting and the fucking were only there as the most massive carrot the cardinal could find. Otherwise, Robert put it to himself as he fell asleep, nothing could get intelligent men and women to do a duty as depressing and boring as saving some shred of civilization from its doom. Without the prospect of spanking, whipping, and fucking one another's brains out to await them at the end of the day, they would merely pray that the charts were wrong, and retreat into their enclaves and wait for the end.

O true man, the lost books of Mithras ended, I give you much, when I give you this duty, to master beautiful young women, to bind them, to whip them, and to fuck them as you please. But I demand much in return.

I'm guessing it will be out in early August!
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Monday, July 20, 2015

I'd bend you over right here: Lori-Anne for #Taboo2sday

The whole story so far can be found here.

Joe waited just outside Reverend White's door as Lori-Anne came out, clutching her dress and her lingerie to her chest.

"Lori-Anne," he said, looking her up and down, "did you please the preacher like a good girl?"

"Yes, sir," Lori-Anne replied meekly.

"Well go on and get dressed, then, and I'm'a overlook your disgraceful display of your nakedness here. And don't you say that you were just doing what the preacher told you to do, because good girls don't have the unnatural desires you do. We both know that it's your unnatural desires that make real men like Reverend White and me get so hard we need to take our pleasure with you."

"Yes, sir," Lori-Anne said, starting to put on her dress.

Big Joe's sternness seemed to lighten a little then. "Lord, Lori-Anne, if I hadn't made my resolution to save that pretty Lori-cunt between those hindcheeks of yours for our wedding night, I think I'd bend you over right here."

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The doctor's belt, in public

For this week's Monday excerpt I thought I'd finish the scene that Amazon so cruelly cuts off in the middle, in the Look Inside preview of the book.

 The ‘doctor’ tapped her bottom again with his belt. His hand, with the hem of the green jersey in it, rested now atop the small of her back.

Just another little taste of society’s ‘justice.’ Deporting her brothers, sending her sister into custody service. Relman, above the law, sending Prender to some colony in the Alpha Andromeda system. And now a doctor with a belt.

“Why am I punishing you, Eliana?” His voice seemed to come from far above her. Of course: the man who gave the ‘justice’ always wanted to make you think he towered over you.

“Seriously?” she said. She couldn’t help it. Despite realizing she had to give in, if she were to start the plan of fooling this strange doctor into thinking he had reformed her, the idea of following obediently the way he wanted events to unfold—above all the notion that she would have to say things, and for example, right now, tell him why he should whip her—was going to be very difficult to accept, El could already tell.

“Seriously, Eliana.” There was that damned patient tone. The thought that he might be able to outwait her gave El pause. And then there was that fucking gentleness, and along with it a veneer of reason: just bend over, Eliana, and learn your lesson. Eyes respectfully down, Eliana. When you learn to follow the rules, everyone will be happy. Raise your bottom for the belt, and when your punishment is over you’ll be a better person. “We can’t get started here until you show me you understand why I have to discipline you.”

Dammit. “I tried to hurt you,” she said, trying desperately to make it sound like she was sorry.

“That’s right. I need you to understand, Eliana, that I will punish you for bad behavior. That’s the first step toward setting new boundaries for your future life. Now thank me for punishing you.”

“What?” Again it had just burst from her. Of course Doctor Fitzgerald would spring some shit like this. Of course she had to ‘thank’ him.

“You heard me, Eliana,” he said calmly. “I know you won’t mean it now, but you’re going to start using the forms of civilized interaction, and soon enough you will see how important they are.”

“You’ll brainwash me, you mean.” Why did this man make her talk when she wanted just to stay silent? Well, maybe it’s better if I show him a little resistance now, so that I’m more convincing later.

“If you want to call it that, you can go ahead. That’s an old, old term, and it didn’t have a real meaning even when it was young. I’ll definitely be changing your attitudes and modifying your behavior. If you want to call it brainwashing, go ahead.”

What? El felt her brow furrow. Weren’t they supposed to say, “No, we would never do anything coercive like brainwashing”?

Once again, he tapped her bottom with the belt, and now the voice from above had a note of severity in it. “Thank me, Eliana.”

“Fine. Thank you, Doctor Fitzgerald.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Wildwood.” El had a momentary mental image of the two corrections officers nodding approvingly and, to her horror, she felt herself blush. Just a stupid bodily response. Exactly what he wants, and exactly what I won’t give into.

The belt left her bottom, she heard the whistling sound she had imagined, and the leather cracked against her right cheek. Then, before she felt she could even sense the pain, he had struck again, harder, on her left one. She hadn’t wanted to make a noise, but the suddenness and speed of the lashes raining down, quickly and mercilessly, took her by surprise, and she made a little yelping sound.

El didn’t know why she had stupidly assumed that Dr. Fitzgerald wouldn’t really punish her. Even if he used the belt, she had thought deep in her mind that this little farce would be some sort of symbolic thing. Maybe something about the softness of his manner made her think, unconsciously, perhaps, that he wouldn’t spank her hard.

But although at the start the pain was definitely manageable, as the lashes fell in spots that he had already thoroughly punished, the belt quickly made her grit her teeth, and then her eyes had begun to water and she was sobbing with pain. Dr. Fitzgerald, despite appearances, didn’t mess around. To her distress, she started to squirm, clenching her cheeks and even trying to get away. Again she pictured Jones and Eagleson, and her face grew hot while her sobs became real sobs of shame.

“Stop! Please! I’m sorry!” burst from her throat, to her disgust, but the doctor just kept whipping her, for what seemed like forever.

“Um, doctor?” came a voice from in front of her—Jones?

“I’m nearly through,” said Dr. Fitzgerald calmly. “This first corporal punishment has to be decisive, officer.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” El shrieked.

The whipping stopped. “I’m glad to hear it,” the doctor said. “You may stand up, and pull up your pants and underwear. Then please turn to face me.”

Why was it nearly as humiliating to be told to pull up your pants as to be told to take them down? The reason came to El in a flash as she obeyed, because at this point why shouldn’t she, so she could get the hell out of this office and to whatever ‘home’ the doctor had: because the shame lay in the control the doctor had just exercised and demonstrated over that part of her body—the part from which shame and humiliation seemed to spring. Even Relman had known that, and shown it in keeping his custody girls naked and waxed between their legs. Because of her criminal expertise, El had been spared that; now she suddenly wondered whether she would be spared it in the doctor’s house.

Her eyes downcast as much in shame as because she consciously tried now to obey his wishes in order to fool him into thinking his ‘protocol’ was working, she turned to him, and to her shock found that he had opened his arms.

“Look at me, Eliana,” he said. She didn’t want to, but the act demanded it, so she looked up into his blue eyes, sure that her own face must look frightful, with her eyes swollen and her nose running. “I’m going to hug you now. I know you probably don’t want it, but you have to have it. No society should discipline its miscreants without love, even if the miscreant refuses to accept that love, or even to believe it genuine.”

El felt her jaw drop. He couldn’t be serious. She glanced at Jones, across the desk. His white-mustached face wore a bemused look, as if he recognized that the doctor had spoken the truth, but a truth that existed in some parallel universe.

Then the doctor had stepped forward and gathered El into his arms, and though she made herself go stiff and stay stiff against his strong chest, he held her that way for a long moment, rubbing her back at the same time.

“You were a good girl for your punishment,” he said. “Thank you.”


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Saturday, July 11, 2015

Just out! Bought by the Doctor: yummy, slightly dark, medical, sci-fi BDSM

When she grows tired of the hypocrisy of her society, twenty-year-old Eliana Wildwood decides to flaunt the law and do as she pleases. Unfortunately for her, the government of Earth in 3072 doesn’t take kindly to such rebelliousness, and soon enough Eliana finds herself sent off to a prison colony. 

 Doctor Sam Fitzgerald has been looking for just the right subject for his study of rehabilitation techniques for female offenders, and Eliana fits the bill perfectly. Her suitability is confirmed when, only moments after buying custody of her, he is forced to bare her bottom for a harsh, public punishment to begin the long process of teaching her obedience. 

 To her shock, upon being brought to his home Eliana quickly discovers that the handsome doctor’s plans for her include a regimen of intimate, humiliating medical examinations along with intense, prolonged sexual stimulation. Any attempt to resist her treatment will result in swift chastisement in the form of a hard, bare-bottom spanking. 

 Yet despite her shame at his complete mastery of her body, before long Eliana finds herself craving both Sam’s gentle touch and his dominant lovemaking. As her hardened criminal façade gives way to reveal the vulnerable young woman beneath, he cannot help falling for her as well. But when a man from Eliana’s past puts their lives in danger, can Sam keep them both safe? 

 Publisher’s Note: Bought by the Doctor is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, medical 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!
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