Friday, May 29, 2015

It's not wise to try to outsmart the Institute #SatSpanks

In the short story I'm teasing this week, which will be free for the next few days and only $0.99 after that, you can get a very good idea of what the Institute Series is all about.

I definitely don't want to spoil the story, but Jane here has tried to put one over on the Institute. It didn't work.

"One chance, Jane," Mary said. "Stand up and go quietly, or earn your first punishment right away."

But Jane's muscles wouldn't seem to obey her at all. She thought she was trying to get up, but whether through fear or through something else she refused even to think about, she stayed frozen in the chair.

"Over the chair, please, Ramon," Mary said quietly to one of the orderlies.

"What?" Jane asked, but Ramon had already hauled her out of the chair, to a standing position, though her knees would not hold her and the big man had to support her. He moved her around to the back of the chair, and, though at that point Jane started to try to get up, and away, he draped her over it and held her there as she struggled.

Click here to buy it on Amazon! Maybe the series is worth a try at these low, low prices?

Read all the Saturday Spankings!

A "real" wedding-night — a triumphant ride: EXPLORATIONS files

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


The sushi was over (Well, I think we'd finished about two-thirds of it; we polished it off around 2am, when Charles released me from bondage "for good behavior," along with a bottle of Moët et Chandon White Star, which is my favorite champagne, although I know it's despised by the champagne snobs.), and it was time for the sacrament of my ass.

I'm sorely tempted to do a Princess Bride thing here: "In the history of the world, there have been many great butt-fuckings, but this butt-fucking surpassed them all."

It was indeed unique in our experience because of the leisurely way he went about it. Having me tied to the bed seemed to give Charles a certain freedom to take his time. To my surprise, this freedom resulted in a great deal of attention being paid to arousing me--not, it turned out, for my benefit, but for his own; even better, according to the paradox of submission.

He nuzzled my pussy where it lay, tied over the pillows, his to enjoy. He tormented me with pleasure. He knew my body's language so well now that I had no chance of sneaking an orgasm by him: when he felt my thighs start to clench the way they always do, he suddenly stopped, and drew back his head.

He said, to my cunt, so that I could feel the breath of the words taunting me with the denial of my release, "When I enter your ass, wife, you are going to beg for an orgasm. Indeed, you are going to demonstrate the fullness of your submission in the way you beg for an orgasm. But there will be no orgasm for you until I decide it is time for you to come."

He kissed my clit, so that I gasped, and nearly screamed in frustration.

I felt his fingers, covered with the coolness of the lube, on my anus, then inside my anus. It was not by any means an unfamiliar feeling by this point in our relationship, but the context--being tied to a hotel bed on my actual honeymoon--was utterly new, and perhaps for that reason or perhaps because he was feeling particularly dominant that night (as well he should have been) he seemed to me more peremptory than he ever had before, in the way he readied my bottomhole to receive him.

Also, in the middle of the process of readying my anus for what has over the past ten years or so amounted to our favorite thing, the simple drama of his cock in my ass, he stopped, unexpectedly, and said, "Emily?"

The ground was so new that I didn't even experience the little flash of anger I usually get when Charles breaks the immersion of a scene. I mean, in a real sense, he wasn't breaking the immersion, was he? This scene, this wedding-night, belonged to him, absolutely: in the role of bridegroom, if he decided that the bride he had tied to his bed for pleasurable use should be addressed by her Christian name rather than as "wife" or, better, "whore" or "slut," or, perhaps best, "piece of ass" or "ass-wife," I should, as that piece of ass, feel that his judgment in the matter was absolute, and submit gladly and hornily to being called "Emily" instead.

"Yes, Sir?" I replied.

"Your ass is the most beautiful thing in the whole world." He kissed the right cheek of it, and then the left cheek, and then he kissed in between, and licked. I screamed, and writhed atop the pillows. I was going to. . . but his tongue left me, and I felt his weight shift on the bed. He was adjusting my thighs, moving them closer together, and now he was bestriding me in the position I call by the private name "Cavalier" (I've never known why I made the association of that particular word with what is for me probably the single most erotic human act, from the standpoint of my anal-submissive orientation, but I do imagine that the supporters of Charles I probably did a lot of bottom-ravishing).

"Get that ass up, girl," my husband said, in his most dominant tone, the voice that seems to work a wire running straight from my ears to my pussy. Of course, tied as I was, I couldn't obey him the way I usually did in bed at home, but that was the point--my master was giving me a command he knew I couldn't obey. He yanked my hips up, roughly, and rearranged the pillows under me, to get my bottom to the angle at which he liked to fuck it. "Don't you dare rub that slutty cunt against these pillows, wife," he growled. "Don't think that there won't be time between your butt-fuckings for some good old-fashioned domestic discipline, if you need it."

When he takes my ass at home Charles usually tells me to reach back and hold my bottom-cheeks apart for him, one of those delicious degradations he loves to force on me and I love to undergo, but this time my hands were tied, and thus the hands that opened me so that he might lodge the head of his cock in my most private place were his own. When he did, my head reared back, as if I were a filly being saddled for the first time.

I felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing. "Get that face down in the sheets, you ass-wife. I'm going to teach you to respect my authority if it's the last thing I do." It was the perfect thing to say, and it made me buck backwards against him, taking him in further, even as I obeyed and bowed my face to the bed.

He came in my ass three times that night, between the hours of nine and two. I'm not sure why I'm so proud of that, but I am; I suppose it's really just because of what he had said about my ass being beautiful: being unwilling to untie me before he had yielded every last bit of his most precious bodily fluid into my rectum seemed to confirm the truth of the aesthetic judgment.

The way he had constructed the scene, though, was the real story. It was perfect, as a sacrament. It had drama; it had play; it had build, and suspense--especially the third time, for it didn't feel at all clear--to either one of us, I believe--that he was going to come before his leg-strength gave out and he simply collapsed on top of me. Since my first days of reading Story of O I had wanted to feel what it was like when Sir Stephen used O's anus without regard to her pleasure or even her safety. This was the closest we've ever come, though thank God without the blood-stained towels, which are such a terribly powerful turn-on, but would necessitate a trip to the doctor in real life.

What I really want to memorialize here, though, isn't the three butt-fuckings themselves but the intervals between them: the two periods when I, still unsatisfied in the orgasm department, still tied to the hotel bed, lay waiting to have my ass used again, and he, for once really owning the dominant's role, actually turned on the TV and watched (interval one) Sports Center and (interval two) an old Western. Looking back, it seems completely absurd that I could have found the thought that my new husband was watching TV while waiting for his cock to be ready to fuck my ass again arousing, but I did--so much that during the first interval (I actually fell asleep during the second, which left me refreshed for the high drama of the third butt-fucking) I decided to stage a little scene of my own, by trying to steal an orgasm, rubbing against the pillows and squeezing my thighs. The intention was of course to get caught, so I didn't make much effort to stifle the little "hmm" sounds that always come from my throat when I get close to coming, even when I'm trying to be quiet. I had my eyes closed and my face buried between my upper arms.

"CRACK," I heard and felt at the same time, and gave a full-throated scream (thank God our suite was a bungalow sort of a thing) at the burning pain in my bottom-cheeks.

"Mrs. Smith," said Charles, "I doubt you have forgotten that self-abuse is absolutely forbidden in my house; tonight above all." CRACK! "To be sure, you are a wanton slut," CRACK! (I was wailing, now), "but even so I believe I have the right to expect more modesty from you." CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!The paddle was laid aside, and my cavalier was astride me again. "Oh, God, Emily," he said, as he began to ride my punished bottom to his second triumph over it, "I love you so much."

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Visually inspired: what will happen next

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

"What will happen next," said Master Frederic, raising Maria's chin upon the fingers of his left hand as he spoke, "is that you will be beaten."

There was silence in the cavernous room, of which Maria and Master Frederic were the only occupants.

"You will be taken from this room into a theatre, of sorts, where you will kneel upon a block. Should you try to run away, or should you move too violently under the lash, you will be held down by our strong servants. You will be beaten, Maria, because in this house we consider the beating of girls to be indispensable to their becoming better at pleasing us, and because we like to watch girls being beaten. I am not saying that you will not be punished, from time to time, but it is important that you know that this first time you are not being punished, but simply beaten, to remind you of what you are, and where you are."

Maria felt Master Frederic's fingers upon her chin as a restraint beyond any of the leather straps with which he and his associates had bound her hitherto, since they had brought her to their atelier. She had known--of course she had known--that they would beat her soon. But as they had bound her to benches, and pillars, and tables, and had her in every way a master can have a girl, they had never yet beaten her.

Truly, had there been any need? For when they wished to enjoy her, they simply positioned her as they liked, and did so.

Then, this evening at sunset, they had taken the leather away, and given her the thin white shirt, and brought her to this cold, echoing hall. Maria had stood there, waiting, for a time she could not measure, until at last, in the gloom, she had heard the echoing footfalls of Master Frederic's shoes.

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

The naughty panties become the red panties: what Emily is up to

Last week I teased the dystopian I'm working on. Though, as I said in that little post, the whole idea came from the phrase, "the naughty panties," and my daydreaming about what it might mean to be sent the naughty panties by a handsome officer, I realized that the story I came up with is much better served by the rather more clearly symbolic title, The Red Panties.

Here's where I am with it:

From behind her came Captain Clark's voice, not angry and not even disappointed — matter-of-fact, really. "You just earned yourself a paddling, Jenna. Six swats, after I spank you over my knee and before we get all your clothes off."

She turned around, sat with her back to the locked door that now seemed to symbolize to her everything about this terrible fate: the trustworthy house in which she had grown up, so secure despite the door never being locked, had been taken by this officer and his men, and locked up tight. So, too, her body: taken, clothed in underwear that meant her most private places belonged to Captain Clark and not to Jenna Caprio. For him, to lock her back door… and then she felt the heat spread through her face: for him, to… to put something inside another back door… to make his manhood go there.

"Now you get to choose whether you want to add to that paddling by further disrespect and disobedience, Jenna. Are you going to get up and come back to the livingroom like a good girl, and get over my knee the way you should?"

Jenna looked up at him, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, still eight or nine feet away and apparently feeling no need to enforce his will on her bodily.

No, he has no need to seize me, does he? All the logic, all the reason is on his side.
Her knees shook under her as she moved to hands and knees, so that she could begin to rise. She felt her breath shudder out of her chest. She tried to get her feet under her, but her legs still trembled in fear, and she sank to the ground again.

But Captain Clark did come towards her then, and stooped down to put an arm around her shoulders. "I can be kind, when you're a good girl," he said softly, as both AV crews captured different angles on the moment. He pulled her to her feet, but not at all roughly. Again their bodies were touching, this time much more intimately though without any erotic dimension at all. Again, though, Jenna found that her erotic self responded to the strength in his muscles and the way he simply guided her, with that strength back into the livingroom

When they reached the loveseat, he sat in a deliberate way, as if so as not to take Jenna by surprise, and then she felt herself being guided between his thighs, and then over the left one. She felt, too, that he was bending her over, pushing her down so that her face would be on the cushion of the seat and her still kilted bottom raised, over his thigh. His right leg, then came around, and she heard a whimper come from her throat as she realized that he had trapped her almost completely between his legs. Jenna Caprio would have this humiliating old-fashioned family punishment, here in her livingroom, whether she liked it or not.

She felt Captain Clark lifting the hem of her kilt, to bare her bottom for his firm hand. She felt him gather the fabric atop her back, in his left hand, so that it wouldn't fall down and get in the way of Jenna's spanking.

Nearly lost in a strange reverie of sensation, trying to puzzle out why something about this humiliation felt right, she heard a whisper to her right, and it took a long moment before she realized it was the cameraman of one of the AV crews. "Turn your face to look at us, Jenna," the whisper said. "We want to see you cry, when the captain spanks you."

Jenna bit her lip, suppressing the wail that wanted to burst from her mouth. She turned her face, which had been buried in the soft old velvet, to look to the right, and she saw the lens of the little video-camera pointed straight at her. Then she gasped, because Captain Clark had begun to spank her, hard and quick.

Jenna yelped: the spanking hurt terribly, and right away, because of the paddling Mrs. Trest had given her. The tears formed in her eyes instantly.

"Very nice," murmured the cameraman.

Sunday, May 24, 2015

The super-naughty Kallista Dane answers Emily's questions

My friend Kallista Dane was one of the very first people to say she loved a book of mine. Ever since then, of course, I've thought she had marvelous taste. ;) She also happens to be a superb writer, with a cool new book out!

Why do you write?

Great question, Emily.  I started writing erotic stories as a way to introduce my husband to some of my naughtier secret desires, but he’s just not a reader.  So I ended up sending one off to a spanking book publisher.  To my shock, they bought it and asked for more.  Now he’s my biggest fan - but only if get dressed up and then act out the stories.  He still doesn’t read them! 

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

I’d say the main characters in whatever book I’m working on at the time are my favorites.  I get caught up in their lives.  Sometimes they wake me up at 4 AM with some new plot twist and then I can’t sleep until I get up and write it all down.

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

My all time favorite is a real person.  Years ago I found a book of incredible photos of people from the Masai tribe.  The photographer was a 78 year old woman who dyed her hair blonde, traveled to Africa all by herself and hired a gorgeous young Masai warrior to drive her around and be her translator.  That’s the kind of feisty old lady I want to be - talk about a cougar!

Kallista continues…

Thanks so much for having me as your guest, Emily.  I’ve brought along a treat just for you and your readers - an especially naughty excerpt from my new book His To Command.

In this scene, Amanda Jane has arrived on Neodyma, sent there on a secret mission from InterStellar Command. But she’s been discovered masquerading as a man - a crime in this society - and sentenced to be medically examined before being publicly spanked in the square that night. They’ve just tied her to the exam table...


His eyes locked onto hers once more and he reached down, fingers stroking the area around the puckered bud of her anal opening.  The slick substance he’d coated his hands with felt cool at first, but as he continued, the sensation turned to warmth.  He watched her face as he slid the tip of one finger into her tight bottom hole.  

AJ could feel her cheeks turning a bright crimson.  The thought popped unbidden into her mind that her lower cheeks probably held the same crimson blush after the spanking she’d gotten.

His finger moved deeper and suddenly the warmth she felt turned into a burst of heat.  AJ tensed, automatically tightening her muscles.  The heat intensified.  She wanted to squirm away but that would only earn her another spanking.  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to hold back tears.  Fire tore through her and he kept delving deeper, taking the burn further into her back passage.

This time she couldn’t control herself.  She began whipping her head from side to side, crying out.  “Please, stop!  No more.  I can’t take it!”

Thelo let out a wicked laugh and began moving his finger in and out.  AJ thought she would die of shame.  This barbarian was…he was…fucking her rear passage.  She closed her eyes and tried to will away the powerful sensations but it was impossible.  

She heard the soldier at the head of the table utter a low animal grunt.  Her bottom was stinging, her vagina aching for release, and the heat of whatever spices he’d infused the oil with had her bucking wildly on the table.  Instead of stopping him, every gyration of her hips drew Thelo’s finger deeper.


When Amanda Jane Norris sets out on an undercover mission to infiltrate the ranks of a rogue general on the planet of Neodyma, a world which has turned its back on modern technology, she has complete confidence in her ability to complete her task. But then things go terribly wrong…

Captured by the power-mad general, Amanda’s ordeal begins with a thorough, intimate physical examination which leaves her both utterly humiliated and helplessly aroused. Her body’s intense response to the embarrassing procedure ensures that she will be sent to join the harem the general provides for his men, but only after she is punished for her failed attempt at espionage. After a long, hard spanking in the public square, Amanda is fitted with the red tail of a harlot and prepared for her training.
She is given first to Kaden, a warrior on a secret errand of his own. He quickly proves more than willing to compel her submission with a firm hand applied to her bare bottom, but his plans for her are very different from the general’s. When Amanda first experiences the intense pleasure that a man’s mastery of her body can bring, it is unlike anything she has felt before, and though it fills her with shame she is left begging for more. But can she afford to risk asking for Kaden’s help bringing down the general?
Publisher’s Note: His to Command is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, extensive anal play, elements of medical play, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Buy links

Amazon Barnes and Noble AllRomance eBooks

Friday, May 22, 2015

Aunt Mary's special way of putting things #SatSpanks

Controlling Caitlin is the new book in the Institute Series, but it may be even more notable for the uniqueness (though I do say so myself) of its supporting actress, "Aunt" Mary.

“Like… what would I do?” Neil asked in confusion. “I mean, give me an example of how I could… the thing you said—take her in hand.”

“I think you should start with a spanking. And then I think you should tell her to take all her clothes off and to get ready for fucking.”

“Jesus, Mary! Come on!” But Mary looked back at him intently, as if to say You know that you want to fuck your girlfriend, Neil. Don’t deny it.

Click here to buy the book on Amazon! And remember that the first book in this series of stand-alone novels, Bought and Trained, is only $0.99 this month!

Read all the Saturday Spankings!

A "real" wedding-night — the hotel room: EXPLORATIONS files

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


We managed to get our bathing-suits back on without event, though of course also without dignity. Then, because it was susceptible of multiple innocent interpretations, he actually did throw me over his left shoulder and carry me back to our room. I felt his unshaved left upper cheek against my bare left lower cheek, which he turned to kiss from time to time, with seriously warm results in the pussy which was solidly against his shoulder. I watched the ground go by, against the motion of his long legs, and thought about him, about his cheekbones, about what his cock looked like when it was hard, and about the look in his eyes when he told me he was going to fuck my ass.

He managed to get me through the door without slamming my head into anything, and then turned around so that I, still over his shoulder, could see what he had done to prepare. In the room, on the low table in front of the couch in the little sitting area, there was an enormous spread of sushi.

"Oh, Charles," I said, thinking of our first date, and desperate for some hamachi.

But he threw me on the bed, over pre-laid pillows, where I could see there was some honest-to-god nylon cord awaiting me. I had a sudden urge to use the safeword, so badly did I want that hamachi. He's not an expert with ropes, but before too long my wrists were bound out before me and my ankles to the corners of the foot of the bed.

"Alright," he said. "Now that I know you can't run away on me, wife, I think we can enjoy a meal together."

And so he fed me sushi, like I was his lap-dog, or his baby. Eating in that position wasn't something I'd ever imagined, but once Charles put a towel on the bed, so I wouldn't be worried about stains (with really good sushi, you never have soy or wasabi anyway), it was a wonderfully sensual experience--especially since sushi is for me the most sensual possible food anyway. He put some pieces on a plate for me to nibble like a quadruped; others he fed me from his hand, as he sat by and stroked my hair, saying "Good girl" as I ate, in a tone that drove me crazy with age-play/animal-play/plain-old-submissive desire.

He's never answered me about whether what happened next was completely spontaneous, or whether he'd planned it. We don't play with food very much, so I suspect it was a complete jeu d' ésprit. Either way, after he had fed me some hamachi, and some toro (my favorites), he decided it was time for me to lose my bikini bottom for good. He had specified that this item had to be of the kind that tied at the waist, meaning of course that he could divest me of it in very short order.

Once it was gone, he said, wickedly from a position between my legs where I couldn't see him, "I wonder what toro and Emily-cunt taste like together."

I felt him put something cool and sticky between my bottom-cheeks, at the same time beginning to rouse me with his fingers. The humiliation was arousing in and of itself: I knew he would have as much of me to taste as he wanted. I felt his mouth, delving into my rear-cleavage, taking in the piece of sushi he had put there, and moaned to think how I was being used like a plate, then I felt his lips and tongue searching out my wetness, inside my cunt, as one chases the last bit of demiglace with a piece of bread, to enjoy as much of the heavenly taste as one ever can.

"Excellent," he pronounced." I think you'll have to sample this delicacy yourself, Emily."

"What?" I asked, bewildered, but he had another piece of toro in his hand, and I saw where he was going to put it. . . thus did my cunt anoint a piece of fine sushi on my wedding-night, as I emitted short cries of frustrated desire, for Charles was rubbing just enough to keep me wet, but not enough to get me any closer to orgasm.

I'm not sure I've ever felt as slutty as I felt when Charles anointed the toro with my cunt-juice, rubbing the raw fish up and down my inner labia, and then presented it, glistening, to my lips. Goofy as it was, it's probably the thing I look back on with the most fondness from that night, because it did indeed take me close to the safeword, but in a way I'd never expected: I had never imagined he could find such a novel way to humiliate me.

That's not the craziest thing, though. The craziest thing is that it tasted really fucking good. Like, "They must serve cunt-toro in those insanely expensive sushi bars in Tokyo" good. Or maybe, as Charles joked, it's just Emily-cunt-toro that tastes so good, and he could rent me out to those insanely expensive sushi bars in Tokyo for millions of yen.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Visually inspired: present

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

Philip opened the door to the bedroom, not knowing what he would find, or what exactly it might have to do with the leather paddle that had arrived at his office, via courier, in the company of the key to the hotel suite. The note with them, in Claire's handwriting, said only "2pm. Curry."

The night before, he had been racing to finish up a big report--the report he had just submitted when the strange package reached him. Before she had gone to bed, Claire had come into his study. She kissed him on the cheek, and said, "I think you deserve a special present for all the time you've put into this report."

Philip replied, distractedly, "Thanks, sweetheart," and Claire gave him a strange, penitent look in return that suddenly reminded him that earlier that evening he had come home to find that she had gotten him a meatball sub for dinner instead of the Thai curry he had texted her to ask her to get. He hadn't been angry--frankly, he was just too busy to be angry--but he really had wanted that curry.

On the table in the living room of the suite was a take-out package that, from the smell, could only be his favorite Thai curry. Next to it was a note that said, "Congratulations, my love. Take your pick of what you want first. Your other present is in the bedroom, waiting for a spanking."

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Dystopian Nevada, with D/s — what Emily is up to

I love my new work-in-progress. I hope to goodness my editors let me keep the working title, which is the source from which the whole story flowed: The Naughty Panties. Here's how it will begin:

The notice posted in regimental headquarters outside the officers' mess, as always with such declarations from the general's special office of subjugation, conveyed its message with great clarity and economy.

The following officer is hereby awarded subjugatory duties in the listed town.

Capt B Clark, 35th Rgt, 4th Cpy: Springfield, SE

General Dumfries offers his congratulations to Captain Clark.

In appearance, the notice conferred an honor. Indeed, subjugatory duties also carried a medal to add to the five Captain Bradley Clark already wore across his chest. What the notice actually meant, however, was much more complex, and troubling.

Captain Bradley Clark, commander of the 4th Company of the 35th Regiment of General Frederick Dumfries' Army of Western Liberation, must send the naughty panties to an eighteen year old girl of the town of Springfield.

Of all the strange, oppressive things General Dumfries had done since the rebellion of 2542, the institution of the "subjugatory duty" — the sending of the naughty panties, and the things that must follow — seemed to Bradley at once the most monstrous and the cleverest. At war with himself, just as he knew the general intended officers given this duty to be, he went to the quartermaster for the census list, and the photographs of young women, of Southeast region, where Springfield lay.

The edict instituting the subjugatory duty did not specify how the officer assigned was to choose the girl who would receive his notice, in the form of the naughty panties. Thankfully, to make the thing a little more bearable, a convention had evolved which did not, it appeared, displease the general: the families of the town chosen for subjugation were ranked according to the head-of-household's occupation, beginning with the mayor (if any) and followed by the town council, then proceeding down through the professional classes, until at least one eighteen year old daughter was found.

Here the process of choosing to girl to be subjugated as a symbol of her town's abject abasement before the Army of Western Liberation became a little murkier. Most officers whom Bradley knew who had received the "honor" of subjugating a girl would request photographs of the first five girls, and then choose the prettiest.

Bradley resolved not to do that. He would subjugate the highest ranking eighteen-year-old girl in Springfield, no matter her physical charms. Indeed, he held out a vague hope that the girl might have some physical infirmity that would give him the opportunity somehow to evade the duty.

But Springfield had a mayor, and the mayor had a daughter who had turned eighteen in December, four months before. Jenna Caprio. And she was beautiful: stunningly beautiful, with long blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes, smiling shyly at the camera for her high school graduation picture.

Then he looked at the inspection pictures taken by the army counselor, Mrs. Trest, who had given the "Human Development" classes at Hilldale High in January: Jenna spreading her pussy open for the camera, mossed with a little yellow hair; Jenna bending over a desk and spreading her prim little backside to show her anus. His cock grew stiff as a soldier on parade — how could he help it? The general's Traditional Values in Human Development program couldn't but accomplish its aim, when it filled the census files with these "inspection" pictures.

Bradley sat back in his desk chair, in the big main room of regimental headquarters, stunned. He had known in theory why the subjugatory duty was both monstrous and clever, but he had not expected to be confronted so starkly with its twin nature. How could he do the right thing? What was the right thing? How could he subjugate this lovely girl? But how could he avoid it?

I'm guessing mid-June.

Monday, May 18, 2015

"Joe's done the right thing, not having you here," the preacher said #Taboo2sday

The whole story so far can be found here.

While Lori-Anne had to hold her bottom open to show the preacher where her fiancé would take his pleasure on her wedding-night, the man of the cloth instructed her on her duties as a Christian wife. He put his finger right on her little Lori-Anne pussy, much too small and round, and said, "Some call what men like your Joe and I do back here, to girls like you, irregular, but it's the only way to make sure you understand what it means to a good girl, now isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Lori-Anne whispered.

"Joe's done the right thing in not having you here, yet. Have you done the right thing by giving him your mouth regularly? Does he pour his seed down your throat when the need comes upon him, as it does upon all Christian men?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go ahead and show me now, girl."

Keep the taboo going!

Friday, May 15, 2015

Little Mary must please the villain #SatSpanks

More from the wicked Lord Roderick, out of Saved by the Highlander!

“There,” he said with satisfaction. “I can tell we will have a great deal of pleasure together, Mary.”

“Mary?” Alice said in a quavering voice, looking up at him in astonishment.

“Yes, Mary,” Roderick said. “I know that you have been under the strange impression that you are an earl’s daughter named Alice Lourcy, but it is time for you to learn that your real name is Mary Herter, and that you are a new chambermaid, out of the goodness of my heart and despite your very bad behavior to your family, here in Lormoran Castle. As long as you obey me, your uncle the butler, and Mrs. Grant the housekeeper, we will be patient and kind, and teach you your station and your duties until you are ready to be my special maid. But if you show us disrespect, or persist in the foolish notion that you are anyone but Mary Herter, we will punish you with a severity you can, I think, hardly imagine.”

Alice’s mouth hung open in shock, as if she felt she must say something, but had no idea at all what words to speak.

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

Controlling Caitlin is here, and Bought and Trained is still only $0.99!

Here's the fantastic cover for the new Institute book, along with the blurb. I'm incredibly excited to be revisiting this world, and I'm hoping the many people who have enjoyed the Institute books so far will make it clear to me that I need to write even more of them!

When nineteen-year-old Caitlin’s rude behavior gets out of hand, her boyfriend, Neil, decides that it is time for some drastic action to get her under control. In order to take Caitlin in hand properly, Neil enlists the help of his close friend Mary, a woman who learned the art of correcting naughty young women during her time at a special facility known only as the Institute.

Caitlin is shocked to learn of Neil and Mary’s plans for her, but despite her blushing protests she soon finds herself pulled over her stern boyfriend’s knee for a long, hard, bare-bottom spanking. Though the punishment leaves her humiliated and sore, her desire for Neil is set ablaze by his dominance. But Neil and Mary have much more than just a single spanking planned for Caitlin, and over the coming weeks she’ll learn what it really means to be thoroughly disciplined.

Publisher’s Note: Controlling Caitlin is the fifth book of The Institute Series. The books of the series may be read in any order, and each stands entirely on its own. It is an erotic novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, anal play, elements of medical play, extensive BDSM content, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Click here to buy it on Amazon! And don't forget that Bought and Trained, the first book of the series, is only $0.99 this month! Click here to (practically) steal it!

A "real" wedding-night—the bride learns her fate: EXPLORATIONS files

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


I giggled for a moment at the thought of going for long without an orgasm, given how horny I was--it seemed like such a tall order. In fact I had almost come right that moment, at the sound of "Mrs. Smith," combined with the aftershocks from our brief ocean-fuck, and I was feeling giddy at the thought of what he had planned for me.

He became serious, even ritual. "I have claimed your womb, now, Mrs. Charles Smith" (again I nearly swooned at the erotic negation in the old-fashioned phraseology) "but before this night is over I am going to claim you completely. I was fortunate to find you here in the water before some other man saw your wantonness and realized that it meant you were for anyone who wanted a slut to use; now you shall come with me, and I will be the one to use you. I shall bring you to my bed and you shall serve me there."

He paused, gravely, and I saw a special light come into his eyes. "I do not wish you to be in any confusion about how you will serve me tonight, wife, so I will explain to you now. When I bring you back to our room, I will tie you to the bed, face-down, over pillows that raise your hips, so that you cannot interfere with my pleasure."

My knees started to buckle at these words. Charles had gotten very good at this (see Explorations: Books 6-10 for the fantasy-version of this process), at somehow expressing both love and degradation--even cruelty--that was for me so hot as to make me really feel faint with arousal.

He continued, in the same tone of authority. Each sentence increased the raging heat in my loins. "My cock," he said slowly, "is going to be in your bottom all night long. It will be uncomfortable for you, I'm sure, wife, to have to take it in the ass as many times as I'm going to give it to you, but I am the bridegroom, and you are the bride, and on her wedding-night a bride must learn to submit to her bridegroom."

I struggled against his hands, heedlessly desperate to touch my cunt, my anus, to demonstrate my submission, to show how well I knew my own wantonness. I felt my whole body growing hot with shame and desire, despite the chill of the water. I could tell from the slight curl of a smile on Charles' lips that I had turned beet red.

"And as unnatural as some may find it, your ass is the submission I demand of you, Mrs. Smith." He grasped both my wrists in his big left hand, and brought his right hand around, and arrogantly took my bottom, and split it open on his fingers, and found my rectum with the tip of his middle finger.

"Oh, God. Oh, God," I whimpered. The finger urged inward. "Ah. . . why, Sir. . . why my. . . oh, no. . . I'm going to. . . " The finger left me, and he gathered me into his chest, still imprisoning my wrists but holding me gently with his other arm. "Why my ass?" (Not that I didn't know, but an anal-submissive loves to hear her condition described.)

"Perhaps because it is unnatural and shameful, and a girl who has had a cock in her ass all night long has learned that a man's pleasure is insistent and commanding, and that she must submit to it."

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Visually inspired: chair

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

Chester was at his wits' end. No matter what he said, he couldn't seem to get through to his wife Maude that having tea ready when Chester got home from work was Maude's responsibility, and that Chester, coming as he did from a traditional household, was unable to tolerate such a failure in his wife.

He hesitated a very long time before he finally decided he would have to use his cane upon her bottom, but when he had at last made up his mind that he must, his voice made his resolve plain. "Maude," he said, "it is time you understood that I will not tolerate this failure to fulfill your duty to me. I am going to cane you, now."

"What?!" Maude cried.

"Go into my study. I have put the desk chair in the corner, and you are to spread your legs, and get over it, and lay yourself over the back. I will come and raise your dress and give you your caning in a little while."

Chester raised her dress, as he had promised, but then he went to return a phone call, while Maude looked desperately behind her, blushing furiously at the way Chester was looking at her bottom, clad in her satin knickers, and even at the private place between her spread thighs, barely covered by the sheer fabric.

"Alright," Chester said when he had returned, with his cane in hand, "perhaps twelve strokes will help you remember to have my tea on the table in good time tomorrow."

He laid his hand on Maude's shoulder, and gave her the first stroke; she cried out, and, with her eyes closed in pain and humiliation, turned her face back over her shoulder, perhaps hoping for clemency.

Sadly, though, the sight only inflamed Chester more, and made him think that Maude should perhaps feel a great deal of his cane in future.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Space breeding!—what Emily is up to

This space station breeder just gets more intriguing!

Heather released Beth's hair, and pushed the chair back. She stood up, smiling down at Beth's renewed puzzlement. Keeping a new maenad guessing, and reinforcing her natural—and correct—impression that she dealt with a kind of woman very, very different from herself and in many ways vastly superior to her, represented one of the most important goals of Heather's initiation ritual.

Arousal, too, had a vital role to play, and now Heather moved around the spanking bench to Beth's rear. Beth turned her head to try to see what her mistress would do, but Heather said, "Eyes forward, girl," and gave a sharp spank to the middle Beth's cute little backside, presented so charmingly and so nicely opened by the construction of the bench—Erika's design, of course.

Beth gave a little yelp, and turned back to the wall in front of her, where, if Heather guessed correctly, she noticed now for the first time a picture of a satyr and two maenads. One of the maenads wore a strap-on, and it was that one who had penetrated the other's anus, while the satyr had stuffed her mouth full of his enormous cock—a penis, as always with horse-tailed, goat-like satyrs, of ambiguous humanity.

Heather returned her hand to her new maenad's backside, but much more gently now, rubbing lightly with her fingertips until she had spread the girl's wetness all up and down the furrow of her young cunt. Beth gave little questioning cries, and then she moaned long and low as Heather bent down and let her feel for the first time what an experienced tongue could do. She had the urge to get the strap-on that instant, so bewitching did she find the girl's responses, but there still remained a little bit of lesson to get through. She stood and returned her fingers to Beth's clit, just keeping her going as she continued to speak.

"You see," she said, "you relict girls grew up knowing that you would be inseminated, and bear children. Elite women grow up knowing that they will shape the future of their community. They like to fuck, most of them, but they don't really like to fuck in the manner men want to fuck them, for the most part. A few elite women—like me—don't mind being fucked that way so much. Your new friend Gretchen's master fucked me that way, once upon a time, and I enjoyed it."

Little sounds of pleasure came from Beth, as Heather pressed her middle finger, well lubricated with the girl's arousal, against the little anus. "I even like being fucked here, from time to time." She pushed the finger in, and Beth whimpered in response.

"But I don't want to have children, and I don't want to be at a man's beck and call, even as good a man as Martin Lourcy."

Early June, I'm guessing.

Monday, May 11, 2015

"Everything off, now," said Rev White #Taboo2sday

The whole story so far can be found here.

Lori-Anne had no choice. She had to unzip her cute little dress, and let it drop to the floor. Would the preacher let her keep her push-up bra and the special smoothing panties that made her look like a girl should look down there?
He made an impatient sound in his throat. "Everything off, now," he said. Then, apparently impatient, he stepped forward and seized the front of Lori-Anne's panty hose and panties and pulled them down so that her terribly oversized clit sprang free, and even the pouch beneath, with the ovaries that should be inside her but weren't.

Lori-Anne gave a little cry, but of course the humiliation, so like what Big Joe gave her so often, made her clit get long and hard.

"You're a filthy little thing, aren't you, Lori-Anne?" Reverend White murmured. "Look at that. Turn around and bend over, girl, so I don't have to see your shame. And spread those cheeks for me, so I can make sure Mr. Weston has a nice place to enjoy himself on your wedding-night."

Read all Taboo Tuesday's delights! 

The villainous Lord Roderick!—Saved by the Highlander

I know I say this all the time, but villainous noblemen are fun to write. Check out Her True Lord's Claim for another good example, but here's Lord Roderick from Saved by the Highlander.

That same afternoon Lord Roderick Sperry went to the bedchamber of Alana, one of Lormoran’s chambermaids, to fuck her, as he did most days.

Alana was a sweet young highland lass of nineteen, red-haired and blue-eyed as all highland lasses, Roderick thought, ought to be. Six months before, on the pretext of finding fault with her cleaning of a floor, Roderick had gone to her room to whip her with the castle’s ancient punishment strap. He had then deflowered her, telling her forthrightly that although he would retain the right to whip her whenever he pleased, it making a necessary part of his pleasures, Alana would find him much kinder, and might even enjoy the whipping, if she went into the special service Roderick reserved for his very favorite maids.

Like three other chambermaids before her, if she gave herself over to his regular voluptuous use, whether in her sparsely furnished little room in the servants’ hall or on occasion in Lord Roderick’s own bed—or even from time to time in his library—Alana would not be whipped with the severity Roderick reserved, as the reverse of the medal, for those chambermaids who refused him. Roderick, who liked to take care of his bastards—at thirty years of age he already had five of them—also promised Alana that should she get with child, he would see after her lying-in and after the fostering of the child.

Then, without compunction, he fucked her the way he liked to fuck compliant highland lasses: Alana’s palms flat on her narrow bed with its plaid blanket and his hips pounding against her well-punished backside, and the lass crying out her submission to the noble cock of the laird of Lormoran. Truly he loved Alana enough to fuck her face to face from time to time; she wasn’t like Catriona, her predecessor in the laird’s special chamber where he instructed Mrs. Grant, the housekeeper, to house new girls whom he planned to fuck. With Catriona, now raising Roderick’s third son (the second to be named Roderick) in the village of Lormoran, as the wife of a crofter, the fucking of his special maid had been an exciting battle of wills. Roderick had to conquer Catriona over and over, winning her submission with his hands and his strap and his cock, until her cries had rung out so loudly up and down the servants’ hall that Mrs. Grant had even ventured to ask the butler Herter to ask Lord Roderick to be a little more lenient with the maid.

Herter said, sliding into the library one morning just after breakfast, “I wonder if I might have a word, my lord.”

“Certainly, Herter,” Roderick replied, thinking that the butler wished to discuss arrangements for the hunting party that would soon arrive at Lormoran. Among other things, of course, Roderick had ensured that each of his bachelor guests would have a sweet little bedmate to welcome him home from the chilly days of stalking.

“My lord,” said Herter, looking rather uncomfortable. “I thought you should know that Mrs. Grant has overheard the footmen speaking about Catriona.”

Roderick smiled. “Saying what, pray?”

Herter looked grave, which made the sport all the better. “Well, my lord, young George, I gather, was heard to say, though perhaps in rather coarser terms, that you, my lord, must have found some very serious fault with her conduct, to… treat the girl as, it seems from the sounds that emerge from her chamber, severely as you do.”

“I have indeed,” replied Roderick. “Catriona is a little minx who stands in grave need of daily correction.” He tried to bring some solemnity and hauteur into his tone, but really Roderick felt too much delight at the idea that the servants knew all about his amorous and disciplinary pursuits to bring it off. If the marriage with the earl’s daughter came about, how much fun could he have watching the girl’s discomfiture at learning of the nature and frequency of her bridegroom’s visits to his special maid?

But he would probably have to kill the earl’s daughter, more was the pity. The excuse Roderick needed to clear the MacAlpins out of his hills lay ready to hand, in such a marriage; no amorous pleasure could outweigh the pleasure of knowing that his cattle grazed safely and that he had driven the proud highlanders away forever.

Friday, May 8, 2015

When reading a spanking book gets you spanked #SatSpanks

In honor of Bought and Trained being on sale for $0.99 this month, I'm sharing one of my favorite snippets.

Leo looked back at Rose. “I’m just going to have a little look in your bedroom, Rose. Do you think I’ll find anything naughty?”

Her only response was to widen her eyes. She knew what he would find, as did he. He went into the bedroom, and straight to the top dresser drawer. Under her lovely panties and bras, he found a copy of Penthouse Forum dated two years before and a worn copy of a spanking book called Schoolgirl Tales. He also found a cute little pink vibrator. He brought all these out, and laid them on the couch in front of her.

Well, I ran out of sentences, but maybe you'll want to see what happens then? Click here to buy the book!

And read all the Saturday Spankings!

A "real" wedding-night — the ocean: EXPLORATIONS files

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


When his hand came across my mouth, I could not cry out, so firm was his stifling grasp, but I shuddered as deeply as I think it's possible for a person to shudder, and lost my balance, and fell back against him. He was naked himself, I realized, and his cock, enormous and hard, was against my back. His other hand was arrogantly between my thighs, under the water, moving possessively and caressingly, making me whimper into the hand across my mouth.

"Mine," he growled, and his voice was just different enough from its usual tone that I really did have a split-second's shocked doubt as to whether the man claiming me was my newly-wedded husband, or whether he had told someone else to come take me, or whether some man had noticed me taking off my bikini bottom and decided he wanted to come out and fuck the obviously slutty girl in the water.

"Mine," he repeated, in a more familiar tone, and God help me I started to cry, so wonderful was the wave of love that washed over me, as deep as the ocean I was looking out at, for he was my Charles, my top, my master, my bridegroom, and I was his wife.

He turned me around, then, to face him, and he, just as I longed for him to do, took my ass in both his hands. I put my own hands around the back of his neck, the way the girl is supposed to, and looked up into his beautiful brown eyes. "Yours," I sighed. Gently, he lifted me in the water, chest-deep on me, stomach-deep on him, and fitted my pussy on to his cock so that we both groaned, and my legs wrapped around his waist convulsively.

First Charles said, "Now, according to the ancient laws of men and women, you belong to me. In thee I plight my troth." He likes that stuff, and he generally delivers it pretty well.

I pulled myself against him with my legs, and tucked my bottom into him a bit so that it felt like his cock was going to reach my heart and he gave a manly whimper (if such a thing exists). Then, holding onto his shoulders, I climbed his body in the water a bit, and whispered the response into his ear, "To thee I give my troth."

Then he said, "I want to carry you back to our room like this."

I laughed, and rocked against him, sending a spark of pleasure through my body so great that I had to do it again, immediately, and again, and again. I said, "Why not?" (and again) "It's our honeymoon, right?" (and again) "The people in the lobby. . . would probably. . . applaud. . . oh my god. . . Charles. . . Sir, may I. . ."

"No," said Charles, firmly removing me from his cock (this had been one of his commands--that that night I would ask permission to come). He stood me up in the water, still facing him, and held my hands in his. The double-meaning of the gesture was marvelous--both romantic and erotic, affectionately touching and also sternly keeping me from reaching down to my aching cunt. "You're not going to come for quite a while, Mrs. Smith."

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Bought and Trained, Book 1 of the Institute series, only $0.99 this month!

In honor of the release of the next (stand-alone! they're all stand-alones!) book in the Institute series, later this month, Bought and Trained is on sale for only 99 cents!

Desperate to be dominated, twenty-five-year-old Rose signs up for a concubine training program and agrees to have her memory of consenting erased, allowing her to experience being forced to explore her fantasies of complete and utter submission. 

Leo, a skilled case-agent for the program, captures Rose and puts her through a strict training regimen, in which her body is no longer her own but instead is Leo’s to command. He brings her to the Institute where she meets her training partner, Hannah, and also meets other men who she learns to call “Master”. During her time at the Institute, Rose is taught that obedience is not optional and that defiance will result in ever more humiliating punishments. 

Once their training is complete, Rose and Hannah are purchased by a master and mistress and are brought back to the couple’s villa in the Caribbean. The girls thrive in their new roles, but when a traumatic experience causes Rose’s memory of her consent to come flooding back, will her realization that she wanted all of this from the beginning bring everything crashing down? 

Publisher’s Note: Bought and Trained is an erotic novel that includes extensive BDSM content, spankings, anal play, graphic sexual scenes, exhibitionism, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

The books of the series may be read in any order, but this is the one I wrote first. Click here to buy on Amazon and give the series a try!

Monday, May 4, 2015

"Go ahead and take your clothes off," the preacher said #Taboo2sday

The whole story so far can be found here.

Lori-Anne looked at Big Joe in panic. What did the preacher mean? Examining her? But Joe just gave her a peck on the forehead and said, "You be a good girl for the preacher, now, Lori-Anne," and left the little study, closing the door behind him.

Lori-Anne turned to Reverend White, hoping desperately to find that her suspicions about this examination were unfounded. Instead, she found a hungry look in the preacher's eyes, though his broad white smile didn't waver.

"Go ahead and take your clothes off, girl," Reverend White said, with an emphasis on girl so degrading that Lori-Anne thought the Earth would swallow her up. "We don't have much time, and I want to examine you as closely as I can. Don't you worry about me seeing those shameful parts you shouldn't have, between your legs. I understand about all that, just like your fiancé does."

Read more taboo!

Never insult a highlander's honor!

I love writing highlanders!

"Do not lie to me, Mr. MacAlpin. I understand exactly why you wish to keep me. I am a pawn on your little board, just as I was on Lord Roderick Sperry's. I won't have it. Do you hear me? You will send me, with a guide, and I will be rid of this barbarian garb and of you barbarians. Descended from the Lords of Urquhart? I see no nobility in your face, or in your conduct. Feign your lineage all you like…"

Niall felt the wrath rise within him. He had a prideful weakness, he knew, and Alice Lourcy had uncovered it, he could see very clearly.

He rose from the table, to tower over her. To his satisfaction, he saw Alice swallow in alarm, as if realizing that she had gone much, much too far. "My Lady," he said softly, though with a seething edge to his tone, "no one, man nor woman, insults my breeding. Disbelieve me all you wish, but the blood of Angus MacGregor and Elisabeth Grant flows in my veins, and the blood of the Stewart High Kings in Edinburgh. I may not be noble, as you sassenach judge the matter, but I am not a man who tolerates such insults as you have just delivered to me. There will be no mistake about your remaining here until your father can send for you. Go over to the bed, and lie down upon it, and bare your bottom for a strapping."

Sunday, May 3, 2015

The super-hot Livia Grant answers Emily's questions

Since Livia started publishing BDSM fiction only a little more than a year ago, she's built an unassailable reputation as a skilled writer who—a quality dear to my own heart—goes her own way. She fits within the spanking fic community very well, but she also writes books that push the envelope in several different ways. The Passion series stands as Exhibit A of that wonderful tendency, and I'm thrilled to have her visiting with the resolution of that enormous work, Having it All.

What's your desert-island fantasy?

[Emily sent me several awesome questions to choose from to answer and I decided to answer this question because it takes me slightly out of my comfort zone. This question is baring and since I’ve been told my writing pushes readers out of their comfort zone, I decided to push myself too. I mean it’s one thing to write erotic romances and slide your fantasies into the scenes you write. But since the reader never really knows how the scene really pushes your buttons as an author, we get to hide behind the words on the page.]

I think if I only had one fantasy or scene to play over and over in my head to masturbate to for the rest of my life, it would be the scene I wrote in the middle of Having it All. I affectionately call it “The Limo” scene. If you haven’t read the book, you should seriously buy the book just to read this scene. It has everything that pushes my buttons in an extreme way. Steamy sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, taboo (group sex even though they don’t actually have sex with the other partners). I’ve always loved books that had ensemble casts and in this scene the friendship dynamics between the two main couples comes together in an awesome, sexy way I find amazingly hot. I wrote it from Tiffany’s POV because well… I want to be her in the scene.

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

I suspect some of my fans think this is a no-brainer, but it’s not. The obvious answer is Lukus Mitchell because let’s face it, he is the ultimate sexy alpha Dom that many women swoon for. But I would argue we wouldn’t love Lukus nearly as much if we didn’t have Tiffany to balance him so I will vote Tiffany and Lukus as my favorite couple. I love how they both remain true to their core self while working so hard to grow together as a couple. I love how they are both flawed, yet lovable. I am very proud of how they have turned out both as individuals and as a couple.

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

I spent about ten minutes trying to come up with an answer to this and decided it is impossible. There are too many I love to pick. Sorry!

Book information:

Having it All, Book Three in the Passion Series

Buy Links: Amazon | B & N | Blushing Books

Book one is on sale for $.99 - Start from the beginning with Wanting it All


Lukus Mitchell is the owner of The Punishment Pit, Chicago's top BDSM club. As the Master's Master, he has enjoyed his freedom to play with a stable of subs over the years. He's never contemplated settling down before, but is growing increasingly bored of the meek, pliant submissives who fail to challenge him. Then he meets Tiffany O'Sullivan, a beautiful BDSM novice who has always yearned to explore her edgy dreams of submission, but whose sassy mouth always seems to land her in trouble. Their attraction to each other is intense and immediate, but Tiffany challenges her new Dom like never before. They may start out at opposite ends of a BDSM tug-o-war, but can they meet somewhere in the middle-and if they do, can they both find happiness with the compromise?

Meanwhile, their best friends, Brianna and Markus Lambert, are still reconnecting after a recent event which almost ended their marriage. As awful as it was, it made them both realize not only how much they love each other, but also how important it is to share your darkest desires with your spouse. Markus is more than willing to accommodate Brianna's desire to be dominated in the bedroom, yet the couple has more than a few growing pains to work through as the dynamics of their marriage change from vanilla to D/s, with a sprinkle of DD.

Not content with almost having wrecked the Lamberts' marriage and threatened Tiffany, Jake Davenport remains a threat in the two couples' lives and relationships, and Lukus soon discovers that Brianna and Tiffany aren't the only women Jake is targeting.

Can Tiffany find the strength to overcome her fears in order to let Lukus love her not only as a woman, but as his submissive? Can Lukus deal with the way his new love challenges him at every turn, forcing him to confront fears he never even knew he had? Can Markus and Lukus protect the women they love when Jake gets too close for comfort?

Find out in this, the third book in the Passion series. With the characters from previous books which readers have come to know and love, as well as introducing new ones, this is a fast-paced, intensely sexy, edgy and emotional story that combines humor, drama, friendship and romance in the way Livia Grant fans have come to expect, and new readers are sure to enjoy.


Waiting for the show to start, Lukus draws Tiff back so she's resting against his chest. His lips brush her left ear lobe while one hand explores her splayed open pussy and the other cups her right breast.

"So, you didn't want to go through the contract. You'd rather talk about things. We'll consider tonight our first official contract negotiation, baby. I have you as a captive audience, and we're going to talk about all of the things happening on stage. What you like. What you don't. What you'd try. What you won't. Understand?"

"That was tricky."

"Maybe." Lukus sucks her left ear lobe into his mouth while burying what feels like two fingers deep in her wet cunt.

"Oh, God. That feels so good. Don't stop."

"Here's the deal. You keep talking, I keep rewarding you. You clam up, I keep my hands to myself."

"You're devious."

"I prefer resourceful. First question. We'll start easy. On a scale of one to ten with ten being you love it, how do you feel about having your legs tied open and being immobile like this?" he asks her.

"That's not easy!"

"Oh, so you'd rather I start with asking how you feel about needle play?"

"Well sure, since that's a negative ten. See. Easy." Tiff loves his chuckle.

"Fair enough. How about the naked slaves next to their Masters and Mistresses?"

"What am I rating? Watching them, or how I'd feel if I was one of them?"

"Both," he replies.

"Okay, well watching them is fine. Good, even. Being one, I'm not sure yet."

The stage curtains slowly part, revealing a dungeon scene. An announcer sounding a lot like Ethan announces the start of the show. As the stage lights brighten, Tiffany's eyes become riveted to the scene center stage. A scene pried directly out of the deepest recesses of her own mind; visions formulated years ago after reading several very dark erotic romance novels. That this is real should dampen her excitement. She should feel embarrassed, maybe angry. Hell, definitely scared. None of those adjectives capture her true feelings as surprising waves of a desire to surrender and submit wash over her.

Center stage, arms strung high against a thick wooden whipping post, a frightened and vulnerable woman hangs. As if hanging by her arms isn't painful enough, her legs are bent and pulled up and wide, secured by artfully wrapped layers of white rope, leaving her entire body open for inspection and punishment. Even from a distance Tiff can see tears streaming down her face; tracks of black mascara in their wake.

She becomes aware of Lukus leaning in close. "How are you doing, baby? What number are you?"

'I can't tell him the truth. What will he think of me?'

"Tiff, are you okay? Answer me. I need your–"

"Eleven. I'm at an eleven." She hears his sharp intake of breath.

"I think I can work with that."

Author Bio

Livia Grant lives in Chicago with her husband and two sons... one a teenager, the other a furry rescue dog named Max. She is blessed to have traveled extensively and as much as she loves to visit places around the globe, the Midwest and its changing seasons will always be home. Livia started writing when she felt like she finally had the life experience to write a riveting story that she hopes her readers won't be able to put down. Livia's fans appreciate her deep character driven plots, often rooted in an ensemble cast where the friendships are as important as the romance... well, almost.

Where you can find Livia:

Livia’s Website:

Livia’s Blog:

Livia’s Newsletter –


Facebook Author Page to Like:




Corbin’s Bend -