_____
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. . ."
"Mmm-hmm."
"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.
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