Monday, June 22, 2015

"That's your problem, not mine"—Lori-Anne for Taboo2sday

The whole story so far can be found here.

When Reverend White finally came down Lori-Anne's throat he made her swallow every drop, holding her head so tightly that Lori-Anne felt sure that he must have mussed her hair. She couldn't deny, though, that her wanton nature responded to the preacher's dominance: the idea that Reverend White didn't care whether he got Lori-Anne in trouble with Joe for not looking her best made her clit swell and get so embarrassingly big that she felt terribly ashamed when he finally released her head from his grip with a last grunt of pleasure and told her she could go.

"Just pick up your clothes and get on out of here, girl," he said. "Look at that thing between your legs!"

Her throat burning with his semen, Lori-Anne pleaded, "Can't I get dressed here first, Reverend?"

"No you can't get dressed here, girl. What if one of the church ladies came in. You go on and just get yourself to the bathroom. If someone sees you like that, well now that's your problem, isn't it?"

Read more taboo! 

Gratis: Summer Fling and Subjugated: double the hot excerpts!

I had two projects of which I'm really proud come out over the weekend, so I'm going to double your arousal today!

Here's a part of Isabelle's Submissive July that I love. It's my story in the Gratis: Summer Fling anthology, which you can get for free at the links that follow!

Isabelle called him back an hour later. She would have called him back five minutes later, if she hadn't thought she would seem like a stalker.

When she'd seen the notice on the club board, by the pool, she had actually felt the blood drain from her face, and then return in a rush. Her hand shook as she tore off one of the little slips Mr. Larchner must have cut between, so prospective babysitters could take his number with them. She even had to repress the urge to tear off all the other slips.

Then her fingers had trembled on the screen of her phone, as she dialed the number.

Then, when he had said the thing about going to Vermont, and hanging out and sightseeing, she had no idea what to say, so faint did it make her feel to picture herself in Vermont with Mr. Larchner. What was wrong with her?

She put the phone down with trembling fingers and wandered into the bathroom, really just trying to figure out something she might do to take her mind off wanting to call right back and tell Mr. Larchner that she would definitely babysit for the whole month, and could he please deflower her, too.

She looked at her reflection, and felt torn between liking what she saw and the certainty that Dan Larchner, unbelievably hot older guy, would never actually seduce a fairly skinny, brainy looking girl with breasts that hardly filled a B cup and mousy shoulder-length brown hair that she always pulled back into a ponytail. Plus, her nose: her long nose. Her sea-blue eyes were her best feature by far, but surely Mr. Larchner would prefer hazel or something exotic, like green.

What was wrong with her? Isabelle found herself pulling down her jeans. Just to see what I look like down here. Cotton panties with a floral pattern, and a tiny bit of lace around the legs and the waist. What kind of lingerie did Mr. Larchner like? Surely the really lacy kind. Isabelle sighed: she had always wanted to buy herself something like that, but her mother still did her laundry.

Self-consciously, she touched the fabric of her panties, watching in the mirror as the hand, like the hand of another person, performed the sexy gesture. Isabelle heard a little sound come from her throat at the pleasant, frustrating sensation. She didn't do this very often, but now she couldn't stop, as she thought of Mr. Larchner, touching her floral panties, telling her that she would have to wear something lacy next time, but that for now cotton with little blue flowers was fine with him.

Isabelle pressed harder, right where her clit lay hidden by the panties. God, she had never felt the need to play with herself this much, had she? She ran her hand down, between her thighs, spreading them as much as she could, bound by the jeans as they were. Something about that, about the way her jeans held her knees close together, felt so very right. What if Mr. Larchner had taken them down, and left them there, and said, "This is how I like you, Isabelle"?

To her thrilled shame, she found that she had already soaked through the cotton between her legs, over her pussy, where someday a cock… oh, God—had she just thought that terrible word, that naughty word? What did Mr. Larchner's cock look like? Was it big, like the one in the video Michelle had shown her on the 'net that one time?

What if he told her to kneel down and suck it? When the kids had gone to bed, in Vermont, would he tell her it was time to learn to suck a cock? And… and to… to bend… over… with her panties down, on top of her jeans…

Still watching like a hawk in the mirror, even as her knees trembled inside the denim that bound them together, she worked her fingers inside the right leg of the panties, and then she couldn't stifle the little cry of pleasure when her middle finger, twined in her sparse thatch of wiry fleece there, pushed against her aching clit.

"Isabelle?" her mother called from just outside the bathroom door. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, mom," she called back, and bit her lip hard. She took her hand away, clenched it into a little fist, feeling the shameful, slippery wetness on her fingers. What was wrong with her?

She left the bathroom, went back to her own room, and forced herself to do some of the last remaining homework of her high school career. Precisely one hour and two minutes after she had hung up, before the incident in the bathroom, she called Mr. Larchner and told him that she'd love to go to Vermont to babysit Daniel and Sarah.

Just get Gratis Summer Fling. I mean, it’s FREE, after all!

Now Subjugated is a very different kind of book, as this excerpt will demonstrate, I'm fairly sure!

As she read the letter, Jenna felt her whole body flush, and then go ice cold in horror, alternately, over and over. She had known that the subjugation would be shameful, and even painful. She had known that it would involve paddling, she supposed, because that was a punishment she had grown accustomed to seeing in school assemblies.

But she had never even guessed that the subjugation might involve the kind of humiliating display described in the letter. She remembered her mother telling her in those same brief, whispered conversations in January about the idea of Plan Beta and how if it should come to pass, she must not submit entirely, so that she might provoke the interest of those who watched the subjugation. Jenna thought her mother had wanted to tell her what subjugation entailed, but there had never been time, perhaps because whenever her mother began to talk about it, her face turned very red and she couldn’t continue.

And Mrs. Trest would be coming to inspect her, the same way she had that horrible day at the beginning of the Human Development unit. Inspect her, to make sure she had bared herself properly. Jenna looked at the red panties lying on her bed, and pictured what she would look like in them once she had carried out the instruction about shaving herself between her legs. Mrs. Trest had in fact given the class instructions about how a girl should shave there, and Jenna blushed as she remembered the severe-looking, brown-haired woman in her mid-forties, telling Jenna and her classmates to use scissors to trim the hair down, then to soak in a warm tub, and to shave there.

Should she just go get it over with now? She turned involuntarily and glanced again at where she knew the surveillance camera lay in the crown molding of her room. As she grew up in that house, her father had often warned her about the cameras, and how if she overheard anything about town affairs, she must never mention it, even at home. Some of Jenna’s friends had admitted to being a little embarrassed to know that anyone at headquarters would watch them in their bedrooms or even their bathrooms, but because Jenna wasn’t conscious of doing anything improper, she regarded the surveillance cameras as a security measure that liberated them from fear, as General Dumfries declared in his weekly message.

At least, that was how she had felt until her father had taken her on a long walk, and told her how the Western Republic really worked, and about the possibility of escaping to the Eastern Commonwealth.

Deciding that she must begin by following the instructions from the captain—what did he look like? how cruel would he be?—to the letter, Jenna started to unbutton her white school-uniform blouse. She had a sudden, defiant urge to turn to the surveillance camera and remove all her clothing brazenly, to say, So you want to see my naked breasts and my naked pussy? Well, here they are.

But instead shame won out, and she turned her back to the camera as she shrugged her blouse from her shoulders, and then unhooked her plain white bra. Absurd, she realized, because of course they would see everything very soon. But something in Jenna could not overcome the modesty her education had instilled. And hadn’t Mrs. Trest said that men much prefer to marry modest girls?

As she unbuttoned the waistband of the little kilt, she wondered, when army officers watched girls who were going to be subjugated, whether they liked modesty or brazenness. The thought seemed so strange to her that she tried to push it away, and she focused on the feeling of the wool against her fingers, and then against her legs, as she stepped out of the uniform skirt.

Underneath, she had the regulation black thigh-high stockings that eighteen-year-olds wore, and the regulation white cotton panties. Blushing furiously, she rolled down the stockings and laid them together with her kilt on top of the blouse and the bra on her bed. The time had come, and Jenna felt her blush deepen as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and began to pull them down, sure that the exposure of her little bottom would be closely observed by the officer who would arrive in a week to give her his further instructions.

She put the school panties on the bed and picked up the lacy ones that had come from the envelope. Trembling, she sat on the bed and began to pull on the red panties. As soon as she felt the lace up against her pussy and her bottom and felt the way it both covered and exposed her, she understood the terrible logic of the instruction to remove all her hair there and bare herself for her subjugating officer: Jenna must have no covering between her waist and knees that had not been specified by the man who would possess her there.

Friday, June 19, 2015

Dystopian traditional values #SatSpanks

In my new book Subjugated, the post-apocalyptic nation where the hero and heroine live is ruled by a general whose ideas of traditional values are rather warped.

When a husband wished to be with his wife — and Mrs. Trest, the army-appointed counselor who traveled through the towns with her husband Major Trest, teaching this lesson, placed a very strong emphasis on be, as if it meant something more, though what more it could possibly mean neither Jenna nor her friends had any idea — the wife must prepare herself properly. She must dress nicely, and shave her legs and her armpits — and, Mrs. Trest said, her own face coloring a little, in sympathy with the girls', if told to do so by her husband, she must shave between her legs as well.

"Then, probably after dinner," said Mrs. Trest, brightly, "your husband will be with you, in the bedroom — though remember, girls, that if he wishes to be with you anywhere else — even outside, girls — you must obey him, and be grateful for his firm, guiding hand, and for the gift of your charms that make him want to put babies in your womb. Though, remember, if he wishes to be with you in another way, that won't make a baby — you'll understand when you're married, girls — you must obey him in that."

Or, of course, the paddle, or the strap. Girls over eighteen received the paddle in school, for misbehavior or bad marks. Jenna had never had it.

Click here to buy it on Amazon! Read all the Saturday Spankings!

New release! Subjugated: dystopian BDSM

As a result of her town displeasing the sadistic general who rules what remains of America five centuries in the future, eighteen-year-old Jenna Caprio has been chosen to be “subjugated” by Captain Bradley Clark, one of the general’s best officers. Upon being chosen, Jenna receives a pair of red lace panties and a letter outlining in explicit detail all of the intimate and embarrassing ways she is to prepare herself for the captain’s arrival.

When he is assigned the task of subjugating an innocent, beautiful young woman as a lesson to her neighbors, Bradley is horrified. Yet if he fails to punish and shame the girl in a believable fashion, he risks arousing suspicion and exposing his membership in an underground resistance organization dedicated to the tyrannical general’s downfall. So Bradley will do what he must. He will dominate Jenna utterly, spanking her long and hard for any defiance, and then he will publicly claim her in every way possible.

The situation quickly becomes more complicated after Jenna inadvertently discovers Bradley’s secret, however. Knowing his true convictions, she can’t help trusting him, nor can she fully hide the shameful pleasure his mastery of her body brings her. Soon enough she is falling in love with the very man whose duty is to subjugate and humiliate her, but when the need arises, will she risk everything that she has—and even her very life—to aid his cause?

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

"Real" erotica—EXPLORATIONS files

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


How it "really" happened was like this.

EMILY: Ugh. These whitepapers are just killing me. I may be losing my love of writing.

CHARLES: Hmm. Sounds like you need to do some fun writing, for variety.

EMILY: (gets a notion and arches her eyebrow) Like what?

CHARLES: (catching on, up for it) Like the salacious story you should have written for me a long time ago.

EMILY: I'm sorry, Sir, I don't know what story you mean.

CHARLES: My goodness, Emily. Surely it should go without saying that you are to devote your skills to my needs. You write very well, and I like to read salacious stories. So write one for me, right now, or prepare yourself for a spanking.

EMILY: What sort of salacious story did you have in mind, Sir?

CHARLES: Didn't Réage claim she knew what kind that dude liked?

EMILY: Hmm. That's right. He was into Sade, though, and you. . .

CHARLES: . . . are into Réage. Do you really think you could go wrong, as long as somebody's getting fucked in the ass? You've met me, right? I suggest you just get started, and make sure there's a feminine bottom involved.

And so I did: the very first version of Emily's Submissive Wedding Night.

"That's ah, very interesting," said Charles, reading it for the first time. "How you've, um, made yourself an 18-year-old virgin, I mean."

"I need to be of legal age, don't I?"

"That's not what I meant. . . I mean, I wouldn't think you'd be younger. . ."

"Well, when we ageplay, you know how you sometimes like me to be very young. . ."

"Let's keep this legal, shall we?"

"But if the reader knows I'm really 25, and I imagine myself as, you know, very young. . . is someone very young being depicted, or not?"

"These days, even the words 'very young' could get us into trouble. Let's make it clear that we mean 'early in the morning on her 18th birthday'."

"OK," I agreed. "So I'm a virgin, and I just turned 18 that morning. . ."

"Yes," he replied. "That's good. And this fantasy version of me. . ."

"He's very dominant," I murmured. "Very. And he's going to deflower me, because it's my wedding-night, and brides get deflowered on their wedding-nights, whether they like it or not."

He was standing next to my desk-chair, with his right hand on my right shoulder, playing gently with my hair, which was loose, down my shoulders (auburn, remember?). I put my left arm around his waist (well, his backside, actually), and turned my face to the left, into his crotch, and nuzzled a bit, making him say "Hey!" (in a good way).

"You wish you'd deflowered me up front," I murmured, nuzzling more.

"Um, hmm," he replied, growing in his boxers under my nuzzling mouth. I turned my chair and turned him, and stripped his boxers down.

"I wish it too," I said, and nuzzled even more, breathing in the oh-so-naughty scent of his crotch, kissing his scrotum very, very gently.

"So. . . so this is. . ."


"A way to. . . oh, God, Emily, you're so good at that. . ."

"Does Master like the story?"

"I think. . . the, uh, punctuations may. . . uh. . ."

"Really. The 'punctuations'."

"They. . . uh. . . please do that again. . ."

"No. Tell me about the punctuations."

"I'm not kidding, Emily--do that again or get a spanking."

"Not until you tell me about punctuations."

"That's it, you impertinent girl--go get your paddle."

"Yes, Sir."

It was pretty standard fare from there, if I recall correctly: me over my sweetie's lap, paddle-spanks ("How's THIS for punctuation, Miss Pert? You! Are! Very! Naughty!") and teasing caresses. Then, the sex, in the only position in which I really feel submissive, my face to the mattress, my red, paddled ass to my master, used for his pleasure.

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Visually inspired: smile

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

Conchita smiled, because her master had spanked her.

She smiled, because after he had spanked her over the spanking stool, he had lowered her to her knees before him.

She smiled, because she could, leashed and collared and cuffed though she was, still put her arm around his leg, and feel his right hand upon the back of her neck.

She smiled because under her right hand she could feel his arousal, and because she knew that his arousal came from spanking her, and from knowing that she wanted nothing more than to submit to him.

Conchita smiled because she knew the next thing her master would say was "Mouth, Conchita. Open my fly, and let me take my pleasure."

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

The dominance protocol—what Emily is up to

I can't imagine you'll be surprised to hear I'm working on something new. This one's tentatively titled Bought by the Doctor. Here's a teaser:

"I don't think that's a real answer," Sam said. Abruptly, he rose from his stool, and went to the end of the examination table. He pulled open a drawer, and took out the stirrups.

"Wh–what are you… doing?" Susan's voice betrayed all the nervousness of any patient confronted by the signs of a procedure she hasn't asked for and doesn't understand. Perfect.

"We're going to begin your physical examination, and your coitus, now."

"But… I'm… I mean, the history…"

"Oh, we're going to continue the history while I start the exam and begin the coitus." He fitted the metal rods, with their plastic attachments for Susan's feet into the fixtures at the end of the table. "We'll keep talking about the sex you had with your boyfriend in other people's beds. I want to demonstrate something to you. Lie back and put your feet in the stirrups, Susan."

"But…" Genuine alarm rose in her eyes.

"Do you need that whipping I mentioned a moment ago, young lady?"

"No!" The word burst from her in a sudden way that made Sam think it must be involuntary. Progress.

"Then do as I've said, please." Sam stood calmly at the end of the table, looking down at her.

Then the change back to dullness came over her face, but Sam could tell that it cost her even more will than the last time — perhaps it cost her more than it ever had before. It wouldn't be long, he hoped, before it cost her more to push her emotions away than it did to deal with them.

"Fine, doctor," she said, clearly feigning the respect implied by the title, but not coming close to sarcasm. She lay back.

Sam didn't give her the chance to raise and spread her own legs, but instead reached out and took her knees firmly, pulling her down towards him until he could seat her feet in the stirrups. As he did so, he looked into her eyes, seeing fear flash there and then disappear into something else. Arousal.

Sam kept the smile off his face. He would rather Susan didn't even know, quite yet, that he had noticed her flared nostrils and distressed brow.

"No," he said, replying to words Susan hadn't spoken that he knew were in her mind, "it's not like any exam you've had before, Susan. I want you to masturbate for me, now, while we talk about the kind of sex you had in those nice beds. Show me the kind of thrill you got from breaking the law. Show me what it does to your vagina, when you think about it."

Pointedly, he glanced down between her legs to look at her pussy, lightly covered in curly black hair. The opening of her legs had made all its pink secrets visible in the little cleft. His cock swelled, and really he wanted to keep looking just for the dominant thrill of it, but it was essential that he turn his attention to her face, and see how it affected her to know that he had just looked between her thighs that way.

Susan's eyes went wide as she looked up at him. She hadn't expected anything like this to occur in a doctor's office, he knew: that of course represented a good deal of the point. A medical examination had an ever-present dominant quality, as the physician took charge of the patient's body, but that dominant quality never, ever came to the fore: indeed, doctors received extensive training in softening that quality as much as possible, transforming it into a caring relationship. Sam's care of Susan would come to the fore soon enough, but his research suggested that when a girl like Susan, who had decided that the traditional authorities of her community didn't deserve her respect, received the sort of exam Sam now gave her, good might come of it.

"Wh–what?" she asked, as if utterly taken aback. Then he saw in her intelligent eyes that she had understood: he knew she had become aroused by the thought of what she had done with her boyfriend — no one could have told the story, led into it the way Sam had led Susan into it, without feeling echoes of the excitement she had felt then, with Prender. And she understood, to her dismay, he could see, that he knew how his spreading her knees and opening her up had aroused her in its own right.

"I think you heard me, Susan," Sam said as he moved deliberately to recover the wheeled stool and move it into a position where he could watch her play with herself. "I'm going to teach you something important about yourself, now."

Beginning of July, I'm guessing!

Monday, June 15, 2015

A special girl for the preacher—Lori-Anne for #Taboo2sday

The whole story so far can be found here.

Reverend White used Lori-Anne's mouth for a good long time, holding her head still and thrusting in so that he could reach the back of her throat. All the while he murmured things that despite the terrible degradation they conveyed made Lori-Anne's clit swell and grow hard down between her thighs.

"You're gonna be a special kind of Christian girl, sweetheart. Such a special girl for your preacher. You'll come here once a week for spiritual education, and you'll learn special lessons in how to please your Christian husband."

These humiliating words got Lori-Anne's clit so hard and long that she found herself fantasizing, as she sometimes did, that Big Joe would take it upon himself, perhaps as a special baptismal present, to kiss her clit instead of only rewarding her by letting her touch herself until the shameful white stuff came: not manly seed, like the preacher would soon bestow in Lori-Anne's mouth, but naughty squirting by a bad girl. Not that she would ever think her private parts worthy of Joe caressing them in such a servile way, but it would feel so good that she couldn't help thinking about it, especially while she pleased the cock of a real man like Joe or Reverend White. But she knew that the most Joe would do for her, even on their wedding-night, would be to have her lie in the tub while he caressed her with a soapy, bubbly hand, invisible in the suds, and made her do her little spurting.

Read more taboo! 

The birth of the Maenad Club in the myth of Pandora

For my Monday excerpt, I thought I would share something from Buying His Mate that shows both the book's philosophical side and its hot side.

No one else had a question, Heather saw. She smiled; time for the real examination. Heather didn’t think she wanted this girl, but there was some satisfaction in making Martin Lourcy anxious that he might not get her.

Fred said, “Go ahead and take off your dress, Gretchen, while we bring the examination table over.”

“I’ll do it,” Diana volunteered.

Heather watched little Gretchen look uncertainly at Diana as Heather’s best friend moved to fetch the table and wheel it into the middle of the room. She’s a sensitive little thing, Heather thought. Has she understood that Diana and I are interested in her for different reasons than the rest of the elites here? The question about self-pleasure had clearly taken her aback, of course, the way it did all the girls, but something in Gretchen’s pretty eyes seemed to betray less confusion than an understanding of how great a gulf stood between the life of a relict girl and that of an elite woman.

“Get that dress off,” Heather said, injecting a chill into her tone, experimentally, to see how the girl would react. “Didn’t you understand what Mr. Gramling said? We want to see what we’re thinking of buying.”

Gretchen’s head snapped around to look at Heather with a wide, startled gaze. She reached to her neck to untie the string there, still searching Heather’s eyes for some sign of compassion and, Heather felt sure, finding only amusement and the acquisitive spirit of a collector. Gretchen dropped her eyes as she loosened the string, and Heather felt a little thrill of arousal travel through her loins at having dominated the girl that way. Perhaps she would bid, after all.

The collectors of the Maenad Club. Heather liked to think of herself and Diana thus. Erika Wendt had come to them, on the eve of the passage of the Act for the Support of Secure Enclosures on Earth and the Taking of Young Women Therefrom and told them that she could not imagine better stewards of her vision for the clear-eyed, ethical use of relict girls for sexual pleasure than the two twenty-two-year-olds who had campaigned for her re-election the previous year.

That election had represented the only time in Erika’s career when her position on the council had suffered any threat, a consequence of a conservative backlash against the Wendt Amendment’s forcing erotic matters into public view—a thing that even after almost five thousand years of recorded human civilization still made privileged old men pretend that the female pussy, and its effect on the male cock, gave birth to all evil, along with that highest good of children. “Just like Pandora,” Erika had said that night, when telling them about her vision for the club they would found.

Heather had looked at Diana, and found her friend and habitual lover as puzzled as she. “Pandora?” Diana asked.

Erika laughed. “Greek myth.”

“Oh,” Heather said, trying to look wise. She hadn’t liked culture class very much; her field was sociological analysis and policy.

Diana seemed to remember something, though; she had nearly become a teacher before deciding on video production. “The box?” she asked tentatively.

“The box,” Erika confirmed, leaning back into the cushions of her recliner in the den of her quarters, to which she’d invited Heather and Diana for a celebratory drink after the final debate in council. “Or the jar, in the original story. It’s her womb, really—or, rather, symbolically, I suppose.”

Heather glanced at Diana again, and to her relief found her friend once again as confused as she.

“All human evil?” Erika asked, looking from one to the other. “Flies out?” Heather shook her head. Erika sighed. “I thought I’d made progress with educational reform at the beginning of my career. You girls are supposed to be more interested in cultural preservation than my cohort was.” She took a sip of her whisky, then looked thoughtfully at the glass. “Booze is definitely better than it was thirty years ago, at least.”

Heather looked at Diana. Erika got like this sometimes, and you never knew whether to ask for a story or to try to get her back on topic. But she found the main thread again, now. “So,” she said, lifting her beautiful face, its wisdom embodied in the few wrinkles and the snow-white hair always worn back in an elegant chignon. “Pandora gets a jar, full of all human evils. It’s the gods’ trick, but when you understand about Greek myth, that doesn’t make it any less a women-are-the-source-of-all-evil thing, because she opens the jar, and then slams the lid back down before hope gets out. Really, in Greek, the word pretty much means the future.”

She might not remember culture class, but Heather knew herself to be smart as a whip, like every other elite woman. “Children,” she breathed. “Children are locked inside women’s bodies.”

“So,” Diana said, with a bemused smile, “hope isn’t good or bad—it’s just what the human race literally can’t live without.”

Erika smiled. “Pussy. And that’s why we’ve got the Taking. And it’s also why you two are going to keep working for the ideals we share.”

Friday, June 12, 2015

Orientation to a well-disciplined lifestyle #SatSpanks

Before they go to the space-station where they will serve the reproductive and sexual needs of the elites who purchase them, relict girls receive an orientation to how they may be treated by their masters. In this passage, Gretchen has gotten a little too excited as she watched.

Gretchen knew what was on the view screen, because she and Beth had watched it before any other girl had come in, both of them staring straight ahead in utter mortification. Now, however, Gretchen only had eyes for the other girl, and Beth only, it appeared, had eyes for the sight of Gretchen touching her own pussy.

The other girls gasped as they watched the vid, and the sound of a stiff leather paddle striking the bare bottom of the girl they had just seen sucking her owner’s cock came to Gretchen’s ears as she opened her thighs to show Beth just how wet her pussy had gotten, watching and hearing about the fate that awaited them both. Gretchen had never thought before that day of the pleasure girls might give one another, but the way Ms. Feld and Ms. Renton had inspected her, together with what they had seen on the vid, seemed to make the idea of kissing Beth almost unbearably alluring.

The girl in the vid was over her owner’s knee, just as Gretchen had been over Martin’s, Gretchen remembered, and the paddle was flashing down with force and regularity. The blond girl on the vid cried out in shame and discomfort.

“Remember that you will be inspected monthly to determine the state of your well-being. If your owner should punish you, the discipline must conform to the provisions of the Enclosure Act for the punishment of relict girls, and, unless you are very naughty, will not make you uncomfortable for more than a few days at most."

Buy the book on Amazon! And read all the Saturday Spankings!

Sentenced to erotica—EXPLORATIONS files

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


I'm just going to let fantasy-Emily pick this right back up.

After Charles had had my bottom in the disciplinary style he always used when he took it after a whipping, bestriding me and from time to time putting his hand on the back of my head to remind me I was being mastered, he took me in his arms at last and stroked my punished cheeks tenderly to let me know my session was over.

"Now, sweetheart, what did you want to tell me?"

I answered, timidly, "Sir, I think if I'm ever going to be a good girl, I need to understand my wantonness."

"That's right, darling. That's why I have you in training."

"Oh, yes--and I'm so grateful, even when it's hard, like tonight, and you have to punish me so severely. But I had an idea about a way to complement that training with another. . . training activity."

"Oh? What would that be? You know I'm always willing to listen to your ideas."

(Oh my God: the sheer delicious condescension in that. This is the kind of moment when I toy with the image of what my life would be like if real-Charles were like fantasy-Charles. And then I realize: unlivable. Fantasy-Charles would beat me for trying to top from the bottom, and not in a good way. I'd divorce him before the week was out.)

(It's also worth mentioning how fantasy-Charles has changed over the course of the writing of EXPLORATIONS. There was a phase when he was much more open to direction from fantasy-Emily than he is now. We'll just say that that's because he's gained confidence that fantasy-Emily really does need to submit, and that he's the man to conquer her, every day and every night.)

"Well, you know I like to write."

"Yes, dear, I do."

"What if part of my training were writing. . . things for you--about me and my. . . needs." I realized I was starting to get warm.

"What kinds of needs, Emily?"

"You know. . . what my. . . body needs, and the way I found the thong, and I watched those terrible videos and read those terrible books." Warm, and wet.

"So that you can play with yourself? I don't think so!"

"But, Sir. . ." I took his hand, and brought it down between my legs, where it was never, generally, loath to go.

"What if I did it to practice being modest, and you punished me if I played with myself while I was doing it?"

"That's very interesting, Emily, but perhaps I should make a little trial right now to see if you're even ready to try such a discipline. Take off your nightgown and your panties, and go sit in the chair, with your hands in your lap. If you can tell me what you would write in the first chapter of this. . . 'Discipline Book', shall we call it?. . . without touching your little cunt, you may begin the project tomorrow. If not, I should warn you, you will receive six with the cane, for immodesty." He nodded meaningfully at where the cane lay on my dresser.

Trembling, I stood.

"You should probably get a towel, too, and put it on the chair before you sit down. We both know your way of ruining upholstery."

Submissively, I melted. I didn't know if I'd be able to pass the trial, and six with the cane would be terrible on top of the tracery of belt-marks I already had from my punishment whipping, but it was going to be wonderful to try.

That was how it should have happened, of course.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Visually inspired: disrespect

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

The last thing Kathy had expected, when she called Tod an idiot, was to have to take her lacy panties down in her own living room, and receive a sound spanking from Tod while her husband Hank watched.

Yes, she was wrong to insult him--especially when all he had done was to ask how to get to the highway from there--but how could she ever have known that Hank would choose today to start putting his foot down with her, the way he had been threatening to for months and months?

"Tod," he had said, "I think Kathy needs a spanking for what she just said, don't you?"

"What?!" Kathy had cried.

Tod's eyebrows had gone up in surprise, but he had said nothing.

"Furthermore," said Hank, "I think that as the aggrieved party, you should give Kathy her spanking."

"No! Hank!" Kathy wailed.

"I certainly wouldn't mind," said Tod, drily.

"Kathy," said Hank, "go over to the end of the sofa. Take off your skirt and drop it to the floor, then take down your panties, and bend over. Tod is going to spank you now."

"Hank! Not on my bare bottom! Please!"

"I've had it with your disrespect, Kathy. It's time for you to learn your lesson, and having your panties down in front of your husband and the man you insulted will help you understand just how ashamed you should be of yourself."

"Those are cute," said Tod when he saw the white lace Kathy had worn to drive Hank wild, later.

"Take them down, Kathy," Hank said. "I'll play with your panties after Tod goes home, but at the moment it's punishment time."

Now, with her bottom blazing, Kathy turned her head, hoping to see that Hank was relenting now that she was crying out at Tod's hard hand-spanks. All she saw, to her dismay, was her husband looking satisfiedly back at her, his arms crossed over his chest.

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

The end of The Red Panties (almost): what Emily is up to

I just finished this one. It should be out in two or three weeks. The ending is kind of exciting, and I don't want to spoil it, but I'll share a little bit of the build-up.

He advanced, and put his hand out. Her brow furrowed and she caught the inside of her cheek in her teeth as he touched her bottom-cheek.

"So pretty," he said softly. "So pretty with these sweet marks, Jenna."

She whimpered, realizing that he meant the welts he had made, with his belt and with the horrid cat. Then she cried out loud as he bent, and kissed her pussy for a long, long moment, the wet sounds rising loud into the half-lit room where the bright sunshine sneaked around the corners of the blinds. He kissed, and licked, and then he rubbed all that moisture, of him and her, firmly into her anus, and then, because she knew how to open, now, he entered her there swiftly and forcefully.

She gasped, and panted, and cried out at the way he took hold of her knees, opening her even further and even more painfully, but now she… she loved the pain, and she didn't know why.

Because… because she loved him. She looked up at Bradley's fierce face, and she knew that the expression he saw in her own eyes aroused him much, much further, because he started to fuck her anus so hard and fast that all the faint pleasure of the act itself, of her bottom being open and full, went away, and yet somehow the pleasure in her pussy remained.

"Play with yourself for me," he said. "Right now. Right now, Jenna. Right…"

She put her hand down, and rubbed frantically at the place that seemed like it couldn't be any warmer, and as Bradley held himself still, his cock buried in her backside's little ring, and the pulsing of his climax began, Jenna fell into a climax of her own, so big that she thought her body couldn't handle it, and she must simply cease to be. She screamed, helplessly, because the pleasure was so great it had become pain just as the pain had somehow become pleasure. The forceful way he held her knees let her push against his hands there just as her bottom seemed to want so desperately to push out his cock, to no avail.

To no avail: she loved Bradley Clark, and he had possession of her. Nothing would be of any avail without that.

Monday, June 8, 2015

An upstanding preacher—Lori-Anne for #Taboo2sday

The whole story so far can be found here.

The preacher said, "Turn around and kneel in front of your friend Reverend White. You're going to have holy seed in your belly this morning when I baptize you."

Trembling, Lori-Anne obeyed. The preacher lowered his black trousers, and there was his upstanding Christian cock. Lori-Anne had never sucked any cock but Joe's, but Joe had told her that she must make Reverend White happy. She knew that sucking her fiancé's cock was her Christian duty, so sucking the preacher's cock must also mean that she would go to heaven, once he had baptized her.

His cock wasn't as long as Joe's, but it was thick, and now Reverend White had reached down impatiently to open up her mouth with his fingers so that he could shove it in, and start to move Lori-Anne's mouth back and forth. She gagged instantly, but she could tell he didn't care, and that made the floaty feeling she sometimes got when Joe was whipping her and taking her mouth come on and lift her out of herself.

Keep the taboo going!

What is the Taking?—excerpt from Buying His Mate

In my new dystopian sci fi book, the Earth girls who are headed into space have a video to watch…

Idly Gretchen opened a chest and found a collection of vids. She got to watch vids on the big white screen in the recreation hall on Friday and Saturday nights, and she loved them—all of them: the romances and the comedies and the adventures, and even the documentaries that ran before the main feature. She saw that in the chest there were some documentaries she hadn’t seen, on the little cards that somehow contained the moving pictures and sounds.

Athena and You: What is the sky-star?

Athena and You: Who are the elites?

Athena and You: What are the enclosures?

Athena and You: What is the Taking?

The documentaries Gretchen had seen now seemed to her like perhaps they had been preludes to these. She remembered how fascinating she had found the Journey to the Sky series, which had mixed dramatic re-enactment with a kindly sounding narrator talking about how much the sky-people regretted having to leave Earth. Though she sometimes heard Jerry and her mother talking about how if the sky-people hadn’t left the collapse might not have happened, the vid seemed to make it clear: her ancestors—the ancestors of everyone in the wild lands—hadn’t wanted the advice of people like the ancestors of the sky-people. The vid showed the first sky-people trying over and over to get the leaders of the nations to do something about the environment, and those leaders saying again and again, “The nation won’t support it.”

She took the card marked What is the Taking? and looked around for a screen, finally noticing that there seemed to be a slot in the wall right next to the chest in which she had found the vids. As soon as she put the vid card in the slot, the blank wall came to life with a picture of the sky-star—Athena—much closer than you could see it from Earth, though of course Gretchen had seen pictures and vids that showed it from nearby. Suddenly, though, now that she knew she must go there as a relict girl, it seemed both a more complicated and a more menacing place: an enormous ring turning around a central axis on shining spokes—a marvelous, frightening wheel in space.

A pleasant female voice said, “This viewer responds to voice commands. To pause, or unpause, simply say those words. To raise and lower the volume, say up and down.” Then the vid began, and Athena’s wheel began to turn as a male narrator said, “In the Earth year 2988, by plebiscite of the citizens of Space Station Athena and act of the Athenian Council, what we call the Enclosure Act, or the Taking, became law. In this video, we will explain what that law means for you, whom we call relicts, who have become subject to its taking provision.”

The image changed to what looked like an aerial view of the enclosure: a fence, studded with weapons controlled automatically from the info center, with a big square compound in the middle, ringed with the prefabricated dwellings the sky-people had brought for the families in the enclosure to inhabit. Gretchen thought it looked as if the picture had been taken years earlier, before they had widened the enclosure greatly, as more families had come to live there.

“Whether you found this vid while waiting for the completion of the auction, or you are watching it in the orientation center on Athena, we think you will find it answers many of the questions you naturally have about the Taking. The most important thing about the Taking is that it’s part of a bargain we Athenians made with the people left behind on Earth—that’s what relict means. That bargain is about the enclosures, which we hope will become a new foothold for civilization.”

Images of elites helping unload equipment from one of the big space shuttles followed.

“As you have already seen, in the enclosures it is possible to live a productive life of the kind that has not been seen on Earth in more than two hundred years.”

Fields, tilled by agricultural machinery, then children watching a cartoon vid in the recreation hall.

“Hope has returned to Earth, but if that hope is to grow, the Athenians must ask a great favor of the relict people of Earth.”

Girls, standing naked, in a big room like the one Gretchen had just come from. Elites moving among them, talking to them. Gretchen felt the blood drain from her face at the sight, and then rush back again.

“What are you watching?” a timid voice said from her right. Gretchen turned with an open mouth to see a girl with dark hair and dark eyes, naked like herself, standing just inside the doorway.

“Pause,” Gretchen said, and the vid froze where it was. “It’s about the Taking,” she said, trying to decide whether the new girl seemed nice. “I’m Gretchen.”

“I’m Beth,” the girl said. “Did you… I mean, did they… those things…?” Beth had turned bright pink. Gretchen decided yes, she definitely seemed nice.

“Touch me?” she said softly. “And ask terrible questions?”

Beth nodded.

“Yes,” Gretchen said. “Did you, um, get… spanked, or anything?”

Beth’s eyes went wide, and she shook her head. “Did you?”

“Well,” Gretchen said, “I tried to fool them.”

Friday, June 5, 2015

Caught in her subterfuge, and taught a lesson #SatSpanks

Gretchen, a young woman from an Earth where civilization has collapsed, has just tried to avoid being taken to space station Athena as a relict girl — that is, a slave-girl used for pleasure and for breeding by the elites of Athena.

“Oh, hush,” Diana said. “It’s only a spanking, dear. If your little act was anything to go by, your backside is going to receive a great deal worse back home, and very soon. I can tell you’re a mischievous little thing.”

Gretchen turned to the woman, and saw such disdain in her hazel eyes that she suddenly felt like a little insect kept alive on sufferance for being mildly amusing.

“Diana,” the one named Martin said, “you really go too far. This girl may be a relict, but her DNA is the same as yours.”

Heather snorted, “Says the man who just paid fifteen credits to spank the relict girl’s pretty little hiney.”

Get Buying His Mate on Amazon! And Read all the Saturday Spankings!

Buying His Mate: New sci fi BDSM!

In the years since the rich and powerful abandoned their planet, society on Earth has all but disintegrated. But there is one thing that those who left Earth behind still need from their old home, and in return for sustenance and protection the remaining humans of Earth have offered their women as mates to those who wish to claim them. 

Despite her best efforts to avoid her fate—efforts which only earn her a hard, bare-bottom spanking—when the time for her inspection arrives eighteen-year-old Gretchen soon finds herself stripped naked for a humiliating, intimate examination in front of an audience intent on evaluating her as a potential mate. 

Martin Lourcy was attracted to Gretchen from the moment he set eyes on the beautiful young woman, but it is her body’s helpless arousal during her examination which convinces him that he must have her. But Martin wants Gretchen not only as his mate, but as his something more, something his society no longer allows a man to have. He wants her as his wife. 

After buying the right to take Gretchen home with him, Martin marries her in secret, but soon he is faced with an unexpected dilemma. Though he is wildly in love with his new bride, his position affords him the power to use her in any way he desires and his lust for her pushes him to dominate her ever more harshly. Yet when he strives to treat her gently, she rebels, and he is forced to wonder if everything his society taught him was wrong. Could Gretchen truly not only want, but need her husband to master her and take her as hard and as often as he sees fit? 

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

Click here to buy it on Amazon!

Early submissive married life: EXPLORATIONS files

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


So probably the next thing worth mentioning is the shape of our early married lives, after I'd graduated and Charles had started teaching again, and we'd moved, yes, back to Greenwich. These were the days of the drawer, as depicted in Emily, Ravished by Porn. They soon also became the days of my own first erotic writings.

I had decided not to try for a corporate job; my goal was to work for a foundation that gave grants to human rights NGO's, and Greenwich was a practically ideal place to start looking, in addition to being a place where I now had a great many wealthy contacts through my new parents-in-law.

I was at home writing white-paperish sorts of things just to have something to say at any interview I might get. I refused to go shopping (really shopping, I mean: clothes, shoes, furniture) more than once a week, though Charles was always telling me that I was being ridiculous and depriving myself of enjoyment for no reason. Commanding me to go shopping, under penalty of the paddle, was outside his brief, though, as master.

What was within his brief was the drawer and, then, as a natural outgrowth of a scene very much like the one depicted at the start of
Emily and the Lusts of Prophettown, the first experimental command to write something for him. Really it was odd that we hadn't thought of it before, given our mutual fascination with Histoire d'O and its genesis in Réage's "I know how to write the kind of story you like."

To reconstruct, realistically: the first thing I wrote was the first version of the first seven books of EXPLORATIONS; that's the palimpsest upon which I'm now finally inscribing this project, ten years later. Then I wrote
The Prophet's Way: The Marriage Bed, to try to work out some religious themes and their relation to porn. That became books eight and nine. Then I became more fascinated with the culture and "history" of Prophettown and went off on that for a while, which became books ten through sixteen. That was followed by the "Sarah Material" as I think of it (starting with Emily's Best Friend, and continuing on with Emily's Naughty Classmate), about my best friend, and finally (at least in the two years of my erotic writing for Charles, before life got in the way, though perhaps now that, ten years later, life is less in the way, I may find some grounds for continuing on) by the Victorian narrative of my great-great-grandmother.

So, to put this genesis inside fantasy-me's narrative, where the domestic discipline never stops:

I was lying over the bolster, with my white cotton nightgown up and my blue-and-white striped cotton panties down around my knees, waiting to be spanked for having forgotten to deposit a check. Charles usually saves real domestic-discipline spankings for the intimate time right before bed, when he sends me to my room (really, it's the guest-room, but it's much hotter from an ageplay/traditional point of view if it's "my room") to dress in appropriate clothing for family discipline, and to wait for him to come upstairs and punish me. He almost always uses his belt for punishment beatings.

I thought of something. I knew better than to bring it up before my whipping, so I endured my ten blows of the belt with my usual yelps and tears as I listened to Charles' lecture on the evils of overdraft. The tough thing about DD punishments is that Charles considers it necessary to be sure he's really hurting me, so that I learn my lesson. That's also the nice thing, because it means that when he comforts me afterward, I really am in need of comfort.

Looking up through my tears, I said, "Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome, Emily," he replied. "Now go stand in the corner, and hold your nightgown up nice and high so that I can see your pretty bottom."

"Sir?" I asked, from the corner. "I had an idea."

"Are bad girls who are standing in the corner with their panties around their knees and their nightgowns up to show their punished bottoms allowed to speak, sweetheart?"

"No, Sir."

"Are you asking for another whipping, then?"

"No, Sir."

"That's good. You may tell me your idea when your punishment session is over. Whipping you got me hard, so you've got a bottom-fucking coming."

"Oh, Sir. . . please. My bottom hurts."

"It's supposed to; you should have thought of that when you were lounging at the club instead of doing what I'd asked you to do. You'd better prepare yourself right now: you're being impertinent, which tells me you need a butt-fucking. And I'm in the mood for your pretty little ass, I have to say, looking at it now. Lube up and get over the bolster."

Red-faced, I went to get the lube.

Unconscionable, but oh so hot. Don't worry, the real story is coming, but it's more mundane, as usual.

Monday, June 1, 2015

A Punishment Exam for Jane—an Institute medical play story, gratis!

Don't wait! It's only free through Wednesday!

Mary opened a drawer on the right side of the desk and took something out of it that Jane couldn’t see. Then the black-haired woman stood up, and Jane did see and said, “No… please… It was a mistake. It’s all a mistake.”

Mary held a punishment strap: two feet long and black as night, a doubled piece of leather half an inch thick and perhaps two inches wide.

“There’s no mistake, Jane,” Mary said softly. “You’ve been a very naughty girl, and now you’re going to start learning a very important lesson.”

“Oh, God… no, please… I’m not… I lied on the questionnaires. I’m not like that. I don’t want this.”

“Did you sign the contract, or didn’t you?” Mary came around the desk now, slowly, her voice sounding amused but also developing a hard edge.

“Yes, but…”

“You may think you lied on the questionnaires, Jane, but you didn’t do a good enough job to deceive us. Your pen may lie, but your body doesn’t.”

Jane felt her breath coming faster and faster. Her eyes didn’t seem able to perceive anything but the strap in Mary’s right hand, which the woman now began to tap gently against her left palm.

“What does that mean?” she whispered.

“I feel sure you didn’t know that the chairs here have humidistats that tell us what makes you wet, Jane.”

“Oh, God.”

“You may be an investigative journalist who wants to expose the Institute, but I can assure you that by the time you leave the Institute in the company of your new owner, you will also be a submissive concubine.”

“No! I… I can’t! I’m not like that!”

Mary strode swiftly around her, until Jane lost sight of her. Then she felt her short black skirt being raised.

“Oh my God, don’t you dare!”

“The contract you signed says I definitely may dare, girl,” Mary said. Her hand was in the waistband of Jane’s panties. Yes, she had known this kind of thing would be part of what happened, but it would be different if she knew she were on assignment—that it was all acting. Now Mary Lourcy was taking down Jane’s panties for a real punishment: they knew, and they were going to punish her for trying to deceive them.