Tuesday, December 24, 2013

A dungeon door starts to close, while a DD window opens

(We're continuing from here. As I approached this post, I worried that it might be diapers for Christmas Eve, but, just in time, our story entered a sweeter phase. Happy holidays to all my readers!)

There were a few other little things Charles incorporated into my corporal training over the first period of our marriage, but the most important thing that happened next was the sudden development of a new phase in the regime.

I got pregnant.

I don't think I've laid out exactly the chronology of the writing of the first versions of the books I'm now publishing as EXPLORATIONS. It's probably as good a time as any to do so, because what might be called the first stage was about to come to an end. I was 27, and everything in the series through book 30 now had an initial version. I started writing them in June of 2002, when I was 25. There was the wedding-night and honeymoon stuff, that summer and Fall. Winter and Spring (when I turned 26) were for Prophettown. That summer I wrote about "Sarah," but by Fall I had finally moved on to the Victorian stuff, which obsessed me until the following spring--say, April of 2004, our second anniversary. None of the stories were integrated yet; it would be years before I came up with the crazy linking narrative.

It's a little hard to verify, because we were trying hard and frequently, but I think that Chloe (as I'll call her) was conceived the night we played Victorian bridal chamber: I like to think that as our zygotes met, I was saying, "Yes, Sir, that was very nice; you may do that to me whenever you like," after my proper bridegroom had, to my initial (feigned Victorian) shame and horror, arranged me upon my knees, then bent me down until my face was against the counterpane, and entered me forcefully from behind

At any rate, when we realized I was pregnant, we decided to take the trip to Europe we'd been putting off, and had a lovely time especially in Normandy, where I wrote sketches of what would become the Rouen parts of fantasy-Emily's story. More importantly, it was on that trip that we cooked up a sort of substitute for the training regime that we both had enjoyed so much, but which we knew we weren't going to get to enjoy with the same frequency when our post-baby lives began. Not that we didn't have some wonderful times in the dungeon during my first trimester pregnant with Chloe, but I knew the end was coming and I didn't really want to feel like that part of our lives was gone forever. Above all, I didn't want us to feel that BDSM was something we had done when we were young. 

I was reasonably sure that Charles wasn't lying when he said that he felt the same way I did about BDSM--namely, that it was an essential part of our identities--but, of course, never having been through such an enormous transition in my life, and having heard about what had happened to the sex lives of friends under the strain of child-bearing and -rearing (I mean, for one, I'm an intelligent enough girl that I knew that certain parts of my anatomy [certain parts in which Charles took a great deal of delight, and with which I took pride in being able to make him feel such delight] were never going to be the same again), I have to admit to having felt some alarm.

I had been  reading about domestic discipline, and I decided I wanted to try to hammer out a unique BDSM version of it, for us, that would allow us at least to keep in touch with the amazing erotic life we'd known from 2002-2004. At dinner in Paris, one night towards the end of our trip, I said, "Sir, I think I should tell you that I've been feeling very. . . womanly, lately."

Charles gave me an odd look, but he didn't catch on--nor was it at all likely that he would, I knew, for a while, since DD was not something he ever mentioned, or, as far as I could tell, thought about. "That's natural, I suppose, with all the hormones, right?"

"Well, yes. But. . ."

The odd look again--he knew me well enough to gather that there was something BDSM going on in my brain.

"But what, sweetie? You know you can tell me anything."

He had the patronizing tone absolutely down, and it was just what I needed (and, sue me, I was getting moist, which meant of course that I knew I was on the right track, at least as far as my own erotic satisfaction was concerned).

"But this feeling is. . . well, it's more about wanting. . . um, guidance."

I saw my husband's eyes practically bug out of his head.

"You're joking, right?"


(If you like these stories, try the Companion to EXPLORATIONS!)

(Caroline's Rocking Horse [Mf, ageplay, anal] and The Count's Discipline [medieval, spanking, anal] are available at Amazon!)

(Please vote for the best spanking books of the year, over at the wonderful Spanking Romance Reviews! Note that I wouldn't object if you voted for The First Notebook in the historical category!)