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!

Buy Links (which should read free links)

Amazon: http://myBook.to/gratis4

All Romance EBooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-gratissummerfling-1839462-354.html

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/547973

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/gratis-summer-fling/id1003547432?mt=11

GooglePlay:https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Chlo%C3%AB_Thurlow_Gratis_Summer_Fling?id=Iz7ECQAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/gratis-summer-fling

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gratis-chloe-thurlow/1122089212?ean=2940151957519

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25704749-gratis

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.

Click here to buy it on Amazon!

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.

Click here to buy it on Amazon!

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.”

Click here to buy it on Amazon!

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.”

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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."

Click here to buy the book on Amazon!

Another very naughty nobleman: what Emily is up to

My highlander-book in progress has given me another chance at a character-type I love to write: the completely debauched nobleman.

Lord Roderick, when he discovered that no one could tell him whether Lady Alice Lourcy were alive or dead, decided that the only way to compose himself was to punish all the maids. Accordingly, he sent for Mrs. Grant.

"I am dissatisfied with the general cleanliness of the castle, Mrs. Grant," he said. "If you please, I should like to have a general correctional session here in my library on the morrow."

Mrs. Grant blanched. It had been several years since the last general correction session, and Roderick could tell that his housekeeper had hoped there would not be another one.

"Yes, My Lord," she said hesitantly. "And… the… details?"

"The same as last time. The girls to be paraded without their clothing through the castle, before dinner, then brought to the library and made to form a queue for their whippings, which I shall give here over my desk."

Mrs. Grant seemed even more reluctant to speak, now. "And… afterward, My Lord?"

"Yes, Mrs. Grant. The same. The rest of the maids turned with their bottoms to me, while Alana and another girl shall attend my pleasure." It had been Catriona at the last of these sessions.

"My Lord, I beg you…"

Roderick sighed. "Mrs. Grant, is not the general correction a tradition of this house?"

"Yes, My Lord, but…"

"But what, Mrs. Grant?"

"The times have changed, My Lord!" Mrs. Grant burst out.

Roderick felt hot anger fill his chest. He rose from behind his desk. "Indeed they have, my good woman, and much for the worse. The Lord of Lormoran did not have to answer to his servants for his pleasures, in the old days."

Mrs. Grant quailed back. "I only mean… My Lord, I wish to protect you and your name! The people in the village are talking."

"Have they not always talked, Mrs. Grant? Have they not then always learned to be silent, when the Lord of Lormoran wished to enjoy himself?"

"Yes, My Lord, but that was because they knew your father, and your grandfather, would take their own daughters to the castle."

Those were the grand days, Roderick thought, then, and though his anger burned hotter to have Mrs. Grant allude to his present weakness in comparison to the powers of his forebears, he felt rather wistful, too. When he had been eighteen years of age, and his father had been in the prime of life, the general correction had always been followed by a grand debauch after dinner. Roderick himself had fucked his first maid at just such a debauch, as his father looked on in approval.

For another fun example of this character-type, try Her True Lord's Claim!

Is An Indecent Awakening the dirtiest book I've ever written? Answer to win five Emily Tilton books!

An awesome contest, to get you to think about buying this filthy book! Here's the blurb:

When tall, handsome Ben Weathers catches eighteen-year-old Stacy Miller watching porn and touching herself, the shy girl is utterly mortified. But Ben feels no hesitation in informing her that he thinks he's the right man to punish her thoroughly for her disgraceful behavior, and Stacy soon finds herself over his knee for a painful and humiliating bare-bottom spanking.

Ben doesn't stop there, though. Seeing the way Stacy responds to his dominance, he decides to enlist the help of her naughty viewing habits in training her to please a man. From that point, he oversees her erotic education: she will visit his home twice a week, where she will submit to him completely. Though each meeting with Ben is more shameful and indecent than the last, Stacy soon realizes that Ben has begun to teach her to embrace her true erotic self and to find pleasures she never imagined. Week after week she returns to Ben's house for more.

When Ben decides that it's time for him and his friends to give Stacy her final lesson, though, will she turn her back on her indecent awakening?

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

If you're intrigued and perhaps even, um, excited, click here to buy the book on Amazon!

The contest part is short and sweet. I thought it might be fun to get people talking about dirty books in general and my dirty books in particular, so…

To get a chance to win five free Emily Tilton books, all you have to do is fill out this form (click here)  and then comment on this post with your answer to one of these two questions: 1) "How dirty is An Indecent Awakening?" or 2) "What's the dirtiest book you've ever read, and why?"

I'll randomly choose one commenter to win five free books, two to win three free books, and three to win one free book! Tons of blazing hot books and tons of lucky winners!

The contest will close for entries at 11:59pm Eastern US time on Friday, 3 April. I'll announce the winners on Saturday, 4 April, and notify them via email.

What happens when a girl gets caught watching porn? An Indecent Awakening

Just out!

When tall, handsome Ben Weathers catches eighteen-year-old Stacy Miller watching porn and touching herself, the shy girl is utterly mortified. But Ben feels no hesitation in informing Stacy that he thinks he’s the right man to punish her thoroughly for her disgraceful behavior, and she soon finds herself over his knee for a painful and humiliating bare-bottom spanking. 

Ben doesn’t stop there, though. Seeing the way Stacy responds to his dominance, he decides to enlist the help of her naughty viewing habits in training her to please a man. From that point, he oversees her erotic education: she will visit his home twice a week, where she will submit to him completely. Though each meeting with Ben is more shameful and indecent than the last, Stacy soon realizes that Ben has begun to teach her to embrace her true erotic self and to find pleasures she never imagined. Week after week she returns to Ben’s house for more. 

When Ben decides that it’s time for him and his friends to give Stacy her final lesson, though, will she turn her back on her indecent awakening? 


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

Click here to buy the book on Amazon!

Any similarity to persons living is, well, definitely present: Her Shameful Audition

I ripped this one from the headlines, Law and Order style. A part of me feels guilty about that, just like my character Michael Rollins does here. Another part of me knows that we have to express ourselves creatively, whether on the page or in the bedroom.

“Ooo,” Kirsten said, flashing the smile again. Michael had to tell himself to keep talking, so distracting was the sheer wattage of a Kirsten August smile. “I’m nothing but open-minded. I think that’s what the guy on the internet called me. I mean, the one guy who said I…”

For a moment Michael thought she might start to cry again, but she shook her head, and rolled her eyes.

“It wasn’t only one guy,” Michael said gently. “There were a lot of us.” A lot of us who jerked off in defense of your right to take masturbating selfies. Jesus, how was he going to avoid lying about this?

Kirsten’s eyes seemed to flash at that. “Us,” she said. “I’m going to take that as a compliment. I mean, I should, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes,” Michael said, because there was nothing else for him to say.

“But we’re not talking about any photo or photos that Michael Rollins, a 57th AD of whom I’ve never heard, may or may not have seen, are we?” Something in her tone seemed to indicate that she had chosen grim amusement over righteous fury, and Michael wondered, with a thrill of strange radiant hope, whether she had made that decision specifically in relation to him.

“No,” he said.

“We’re talking about your screenplay. Which is about love.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “So. I’m open-minded. What’s it about.”

Michael had no chance at all of softening the blow any further now, he realized. She had said she would be open-minded, and though he had planned to hem and haw a little bit more, preparing the ground about kinkiness and even BDSM specifically, he knew he couldn’t do that now. He had to answer her question—a question so pointed she had phrased it as a declaration.

He nodded sharply and said softly, so as not to be heard at other tables, but also without hesitation, “Kinky sex.”

Kirsten’s eyes widened, and she blushed again, much, much more deeply. Michael’s traitorous cock, God help him, stirred in his jeans, at the thought that Kirsten August was thinking about kink because he had put the idea in her head. What was she thinking? Why had she blushed?

“Um,” Kirsten said. “Um, well. It, um, can’t really just be about that, can it? I mean, yes, that would make it… unusual, but…”

She hadn’t called him a creep. She hadn’t stood up and walked away, or (probably more appropriate because it was her table, after all) told him to fuck off.

On the other hand, she did seem not to be particularly happy about the way she had reacted when he had, without meaning to, caught her completely off guard with his unexpected two-word response. To try to interpret this blush would possibly get him in much worse trouble even than he might have gotten into if he had tried to figure out the last one.

Just tell her the plot. You can be general about the plot, right?

“Well,” he said, looking away, toward the gleaming copper of the espresso machine, trying to pretend he hadn’t seen her turn crimson, “Girl meets boy. Girl is a rising politician. Girl does something embarrassing, and feels so guilty about it…”

“What?” Kirsten interrupted. “What does she do?”

Michael thought his heart would pound through his ribcage. “She’s trying to send a naughty picture to her husband, but she sends it to her opponent in her congressional race by mistake.”

Michael looked at her. She had set her mouth into a thin line. She seemed to be considering very minutely whether to say something. For a long, long moment, their eyes seemed locked in a single gaze, until Michael began to feel strangely light-headed, as if the two of them existed somewhere outside the real world and he was rising into the air with her, still looking straight into her ice-blue eyes.

Finally, she said, to his astonishment, “Fuck it. I’m just going to ask. Is this screenplay by any chance inspired in some way by recent events that ruined an actress’s life—never mind who the actress is?”

Michael realized he’d been holding his breath. He let it out in a sustained exhalation as he felt his face get hot. Part of him wanted to look away, but he knew he owed it to Kirsten to own up to what he had done in using her life, in a way, without her permission. More, he owed it to himself to be honest, he realized, though he knew it would end this magical moment in which he had actually become intimate with the girl he had idolized and lusted after from an impossible distance for so very long.

“Yes,” he said.

“Thank you for being honest, at least,” she said. “You’ll forgive me for saying that although part of me is…”

Michael knew exactly what she had been about to say. She was going to say “You’ll forgive me for saying that although part of me is flattered, the rest of me would like you to fuck off and die, dude who thinks it’s okay to be inspired by horrific events that I’ve had to live for the past three months.”

But then something seemed to change in her face: to grow softer. “No, fuck it,” she continued, cutting herself off. “No. No. I want to hear more about the screenplay. I want you to tell me the whole plot right now.”

“What?” Michael asked, feeling his eyebrows rise practically into his scalp.

“You heard me, Michael Rollins, who I’ve never heard of. I’m thinking your congress-girl gets punished, and I want to hear about it.”

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New release! Her Shameful Audition: a hacked selfie leads to movie star D/s

I'm very proud of this book, because I think I managed to capture something important about how we kinksters/spankos sometimes relate to the movie stars we adore from afar.

After a particularly shameful photo of twenty-three-year-old movie star Kirsten August is leaked online, her fall from grace is swift and she is soon without a job and feeling hopeless. When handsome, confident screenwriter Michael Rollins finds her crying in a local coffee shop and offers to cheer her up, Kirsten agrees to give him a chance. 

Upon learning that Michael is working on a screenplay about romance and kinky sex, Kirsten presses him for details. It turns out that the screenplay mirrors her own situation in many ways, which upsets Kirsten at first, until she considers that this may be the only role she is offered for a while and if she plays the part well she might earn back some respect in the industry. 

But when she asks to try out for the role, she is shocked to discover what Michael has planned for the audition: he will have her recreate the moment she took the fateful selfie, and then he will give her the bare bottom spanking she deserves. Kirsten quickly realizes that if she accepts this part, she won’t just be submitting to her director’s instructions while the cameras are rolling. Though she blushes to admit it, the thought of being stripped bare, punished thoroughly, and dominated completely excites her deeply, but is she truly ready to put herself in Michael’s hands so that he can train her to be his? 


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

Click here to buy the book on Amazon!

These maidens' legs will part this night…: Trained at the Castle

This excerpt will probably seem very mysterious--but I'm guessing you'll find the mystery rather hot, as well as intriguing.

After breakfast, as Aler had promised, the other castle girls took charge of Hala and Jas. They all wore blue cloaks over their castle-shifts, as Hala now learned the strange, pretty garment was called.

“You shall have one tomorrow evening,” said Yura, kindly, “to cover your belt.”

“Must we wear our belts for the rest of our lives?” Jas asked.

Yura laughed. She had come to fetch Hala and Jas from the table where they had just finished their cold mutton, bread and cheese. It was a simple repast, Hala realized, but she had never had so much upon her plate, nor so much time to enjoy it.

“No, sister,” Yura replied. “Only your first year or so, until you learn to control your pull and it lessens.”

“Lessens?” Hala asked.

Yura nodded. “Once you have been mastered the first time, it grows very much weaker, though the knights say that your fire does not become lower. No one knows exactly why that is.”

“But…” said Jenin, who had been introduced to Hala as “First Sister,” and who Yura had said was chambered with Sir Gol, knight of the first bench—though of course Hala had no idea what that meant. All eyes—and now all the castle girls had gathered round, apparently knowing that when Jenin and Yura came for the new girls, it was time to assemble—seemed fixed on Jenin.

Jenin looked about as if to assure herself that her sisters all attended her words. “But most of us think it is because once a knight has possessed you, your fire is bound to him in some way.”

Many of the crowd of girls nodded respectfully, but Yura said to Hala and Jas, pretending to be confidential though of course all the girls were listening, “Jenin knows, for we have discussed many a time, that this notion doesn’t explain why we give as much fire to any knight who masters us.”

Jenin smiled indulgently, and seemed about to make a well-worn reply. But Hala couldn’t contain her apprehension. “Any?” she squeaked.

“Yes,” Jenin said, “you will understand soon. But our bodies are for all the knights of the castle. When our chambered knight lends us to another for mastering, or a lord wishes to master us, we must obey, and go where we are told so that we may be properly punished and enjoyed. It is the will of the spirits, so that we can be made pure.”

Hala looked around at the gathered group of girls. Many of them had bowed their heads, and Hala remembered what Mistress Qual had said the day before about the proper place for a castle girl’s eyes being the floor. You will understand soon. Oh, how Hala wished that were true.

“At any rate,” Jenin continued, “I believe, as Yura knows, that when a knight first masters us, he does it in the name of the king, and so truly our fire is bound to the king, and through him to the realm.”

Now Hala could not help reciting, from the Book of Hazeran, “One king, one man, one realm, but many wicked girls for whipping.”

Jenin nodded approvingly. Jas said, aghast, “But that saying isn’t about real girls… sister said it is about binding the sheaves of grain, to ensure a fair harvest!” Jenin and Yura looked at her sympathetically. Jas turned red. “Are they all like that?” she asked.

Hala thought of the many, many passages of the Book of the Sages that referred to men and women: comparing, contrasting, describing the way men should exercise their authority, in order to please the spirits. She shared Jas’s horrified curiosity—surely all the sayings couldn’t be about… that thing in the mastering chamber.

But Yura nodded. “Yes,” she said simply. “All of them. That is why it is so good that we are here in the castle, where our naughtiness can be turned to good, through the great deeds of the knights—in the mastering chambers and out in the world, when they send their power—the power they draw from our wanton fires—into the realm.”

“Come,” Jenin said. “It is time.”

She and Yura formed up a long procession of all the girls, with Hala and Jas at the very end, and Yura and Jenin at the front. A blonde girl with her hair in braids, who stood just in front of the new girls in the double file, turned and said quickly to Hala and Jas, “Don’t worry, when we start singing. You will learn the song very quickly.”

And then Jenin did begin to sing. The song was a responsorial, like the ones that Hala knew from the house of the spirits back home in Thornwall: Jenin and Yura alternated chanting the verses, and the rest of the girls joined in at the refrain, as they processed out of the refectory to—according to what Aler had said—the Hall of the Spirits.

Sages three and spirits all, went the refrain, bless the chambering in your hall. As the blonde girl had said, it was very easy to pick up, and also, Hala thought, very lovely—especially sung in the two-part harmony that sent delicious, innocent chills down her spine. It made her shiver more, to think that everyone was singing about her and about Jas. It also made her feel terribly guilty about kissing Jas in the night, and the way they had rubbed their bound cunnies against one another’s thighs, and touched each other’s breasts, desperate to come despite the leather belts that should have reminded them to be good, for their lord and for their king.

The verses concerned the symbols of maidenly purity that Hala knew so well from the Book of the Spirits. Jenin sang, “These girls’ roses come to bloom. Grant them knights to pierce the gloom.” That must be a reference to Sage Gader’s saying, “A girl’s pure rose shines like a lamp in the darkness, to light the way for her lord’s footsteps.”

Yura sang, “These maidens’ legs will part this night, and each girl know a man’s true might.” Was that an allusion to Sage Fedan’s saying, “The power of a man must command his wife?” Hala felt a deep blush overspread her face as she sang the refrain,

Sages three and spirits all, bless the chambering in your hall.

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New release! Trained at the Castle

On an appointed day each year, the young women of Hala’s village who have recently come of age are stripped naked and put on display so that those maidens who cannot control their wanton lusts may be identified and dealt with firmly. Hala has dreaded this day since she turned eighteen a few months past, fearing that her body will betray her when she can least afford it. 

When at last her time comes to be bared and displayed, her worst fears are realized, and after the shameful spectacle of her arousal is witnessed by all about her, Hala is bound and dragged off to the castle for punishment and training. Upon reaching her destination, she is soon left at the mercy of Sir Wake, the most handsome knight in the castle. To her shock, she finds herself yearning to obey the rough, dominant warrior’s every command, even when he chastises her thoroughly for her wicked desires. 

Sir Wake cannot help but be smitten by Hala’s beauty and the way her training leaves her both blushing and throbbing with need for him. But when he helps his captive to escape the castle, will his actions bring ruin upon her village, or can the primal power which surges within her instead bring healing to the realm? 

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

Click here to buy it at Amazon!

Prophettown: the most taboo place on earth (sister-wives, watersports and diapers)

My next book--the fantasy-novel about submissives making powerful magic in their passion--should be out on Friday. In the meantime, here's something from the EXPLORATIONS Omnibus that should get your taboo juices flowing, so that you're ready for Taboo Tuesday tomorrow.

In what came to be called the Jurushine Reform--that is, the customs Barbara introduced of bathroom discipline--there was the possibility of exciting power-shifts in Prophettown family-dynamics, Barbara had realized after seeing the excitement it had brought to more than one family: junior-wives who really could learn to enjoy bathroom-sessions, or who could play enjoyment convincingly, could turn the tables and become the mistress of the bathroom by rousing their husbands to the possibility of forcing the senior into her own bathroom-training. For that reason, Barbara counseled senior-wives whose households were undertaking the Jurushine discipline either to use it sparingly or to accustom themselves to it, as Barbara herself had. The one time Martha had petulantly demanded that Chuck piss on Barbara, too, when on one occasion Barbara had come home late, Barbara had gone straight to the bathroom and donned a diaper, then knelt and waited for Chuck. When he had arrived, she had said, "Is this what Martha wants? To see her senior-wife disgraced? Is this what you want, Chuck?" Martha had received a family whipping for her trouble, and Barbara had escaped even a spanking for her lateness.

After "Water Time," once the junior-wife was in her clean diaper, the continence-session could begin, and the shape of it was simple and elegant. She must wet that clean diaper in the presence of her husband and her senior-wife. Barbara also recommended that she be gagged with her own panties, so that when the time came for her to wet her diaper she would have to attract her husband's and senior's attention by childish tugs at the arm and gestures pointing at her diapered bottom; Barbara instructed the husband and senior to pretend not to understand, to increase the effectiveness of the lesson, and above all not to allow the junior to wet her diaper just when she wanted, but to make her wait, as a help to her in realizing the pleasure she could have in her submissive need to display her body as the property of her husband. Too, she advised that the girl be led back to the bathroom, and made to look at the toilet while she wet herself, while husband or senior caressed her through the diaper as she peed.

Then, the girl with the wet diaper was made to do one or more household chores, still wearing the wet diaper. Vacuuming was a favorite choice, since it made the girl move around publicly clad only in the diaper. Finally, after an hour or so, usually, she was allowed to go back to the bathroom and clean herself up, though it was rare that her husband did not claim the privilege of watching her at this task, and then of putting her over the trestle for another stern lesson with cock or paddle or both. For purposes of especially severe discipline, Barbara recommended a caning or a whipping at this point, as the girl was generally well disposed to receive chastisement submissively and attractively then. On less severe occasions, she was of the opinion that a night in the senior-wife's bed could be salutary after a continence lesson, as juniors tended to be very eager to please their seniors and could often be taught new ways of pleasuring them, or at least seduced into kissing puss for hours on end.

Thus it was that after Susan's first water time and continence lesson, she was brought into Barbara's bed, alongside Martha, for the first time. "Susan," said Barbara, as she wiped away the eighteen-year-old's tears of shame, and discomfort at the six cane-welts across her bottom, "tonight you're going to learn how to please me, and after that we're going to be good friends and sister-wives, I promise."

"Really?" asked Susan.

"Mmm-hmm," said Barbara, nodding. She cuddled Susan, careful not to try to force her along too quickly, but also letting her big nipples rub up against Susan's little ones. Those little breasts were irresistible. Susan had been allowed to change into a simple, girlish white cotton nightgown, and Barbara and Martha were in their silk teddies.

"It's going to seem strange, at first," said Martha. "No one but a senior-wife is allowed to tell you about what a junior does to please her seniors, so I know you've never dreamed of this." She looked at Barbara. "Barbara, do you remember how you taught me?"

"Of course," said Barbara. "Would you like to do that for Susan, now?"

In response, Martha, to Susan's astonishment, began to move down the bed. At the same time, Barbara reached down and drew up the hem of Susan's nightgown. Susan tried to struggle, but Barbara held her firmly in place with one hand around her shoulders, and the other, with surprising strength, imprisoning both wrists.

Premarital domestic discipline: EXPLORATIONS files

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

As summer turned to fall, and we both got ready to return to a more realistic academic existence, we agreed on a sort of baseline version of domestic discipline for a top and a bottom who can't get enough of BDSM but who need to finish post-graduate degrees at the same time they're living out their thrilling BDSM fantasies.

I was allowed to wear panties to class, and to the library. Despite the violation of strict Réageanism, within whose confines the sub's cunt and bottomhole must be available for use at all times without exception, I reluctantly realized that the distraction involved in constantly being reminded (which is of course what it's all about, for O) of that availability, and the potential for even more distracting embarrassment as a consequence of that being reminded (friends noticing that the seat I've just gotten up from is wet, for example, because, having been reminded of my availability, I've been unable to keep myself from thinking about what use Charles might want to make of me later), and the worry about that potential embarrassment, all just made the pure Réagean practice impracticable for someone who needed to concentrate on finishing law school.

If I thought those panties were going to stay dry, however, simply because I had them on, I was wrong: the mere sound of Charles' voice on my cell-phone, asking me when I would be home, was enough to make them damp, and keeping my hand out of them seemed to be an even greater challenge now at 25 than it had been at 13, to my occasional disgust at myself. Dark library stacks with isolated carrels are perfect for study; they're also perfect for self-abuse by frustrated subs whose shaved pussies aren't receiving what they deserve from their betrothed lords' cocks as often as would be optimal. I would sometimes have to force myself to remain absolutely motionless on the hard library chair in order to be spared the delicious burning torment inside those modest panties for some short while.
At least we had no problems with sores or infections during this period! (Charles does say that he was constantly worried about a recurrence of his sore, though, because walking around campus with a constant erection apparently creates serious chafing issues.)

As a price for the weekday panties, I was not allowed to wear anything but sexy lingerie (and sometimes that was replaced either with nothing or with my butt-plug) when at home from Friday night through Sunday morning; if we went out during that period, even if we were having dinner with one or more of our parents, I wore no panties, and Charles would usually give me an agreed signal (tapping three times on the table), halfway through dinner, that meant "Miss Emily Tilton, 3L, must now go to the ladies' room and insert her butt-plug." I was required to carry said butt-plug in my purse at all times, even during the week, when it was laid down that if Charles decided thus he might walk over to the law library and whisper in my ear "Put it in, now." (He never did, but it was a fun fantasy.) 

Charles recounts that on one such occasion, at dinner with his parents, his Dad noticed the signal, and my submissive response (for it was simply impossible not to lower my eyes to the table and blush crimson, and worry that the scent of my arousal might be so strong as to fill the air of the restaurant, as I rose to attend to my shameful, wanton duty). After I'd left, Charles' Dad asked "What was that about?" Charles replied, "Um, I was reminding her to take some medicine." "Don't you think," his father responded, "Emily is a big enough girl that she can remember to take her medicine after dinner?" Charles, trying to keep a straight face: "Yes, but she needs to take some of it now, and some of it later." I generally did take a great deal of it later, to my submissive delight.

Navy SEALs don't make conventional boyfriends

Ryan Bedford, spanking bodyguard, is also--surprise, surprise--a dominant.

He bent down and, at the same time, took her hair in his hand and pulled her head back, so he could kiss her like a barbarian warrior who has just won the civilized princess as his tent-girl. He brought his right hand down and took hold of her bottom, still left naked by the apron’s scanty cover. He thrust his fingers between her thighs from behind and commanded her wetness, as Charity moaned up into his mouth.

“I don’t care what you’re sure about, slut,” Ryan said. “Joe tells me I need to keep your hands off your PC for the next twenty-four hours. The only question is whether I’m going to tie those hands down or not.” The light came into her eyes again at the sound of the word ‘slut,’ the way it always seemed to do. “If I tie them down, that will make it harder for you to learn to touch my cock reverently. But of course I have many other paths to pleasure, where your lovely body is concerned.”

Charity gasped, and a look of incipient panic came into her eyes.

Ryan took the dominant talk down a notch. “What were you going to say you weren’t sure you could do, honey?”

“Oh… I-I mean…” The panic had reached her voice.

“Shh,” Ryan said, pulling her into a more conventional hug and letting her rest her cheek on his chest. “Color?”

“Yellow?” Charity replied instantly.

“Why, honey?”

“Because I’m just getting used to it, maybe?” She pulled her head back and looked up at him. “Are you just never going to be a conventional boyfriend at all?”

Ryan laughed, suddenly feeling carefree as he realized just how easy it would be to allay her fears. “I made you dinner, didn’t I?” he asked teasingly.

“But you put me in an apron and nothing else, and you spanked me, too.”

“Fair enough,” Ryan said. “Do you want me to be a conventional boyfriend for a little while, so you can see that I know how?”

Charity nodded solemnly, her eyes wide. Then she giggled. “Maybe only for fifteen minutes.”

Ryan kissed her very conventionally. “And then?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Sex-toy,” she whispered.

“Fuck-toy,” he corrected.

“Oh, God,” Charity said, moving, apparently by instinct alone, against him like an animal seeking release.

“If you want me to be conventional, though,” Ryan said, “you’ll have to behave yourself. I guess a conventional boyfriend doesn’t spank his girl for humping his leg, but you’ll have to follow my bodyguard rules anyway and clean up after yourself. Deal?”

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The one with the Navy SEAL: Under His Watch

Just out!

Charity Phillips is not one to shy away from trouble, and the twenty-two-year-old activist makes powerful enemies when she shoots a film exposing the effects of a mining operation on priceless archaeological sites. After she receives a death threat, her anxious father informs Charity that if she wants his continued financial support she will have to get used to living under the protection of a full-time bodyguard, former Navy SEAL Ryan Bedford. 

She grudgingly agrees to Ryan’s presence in her home, but matters quickly come to a head when Charity goes out for drinks without notifying Ryan of her whereabouts. To her shock, upon returning home Charity soon finds herself bent her over her own couch for a long, hard, bare-bottom spanking. Enraged and also horrified that a part of her was excited by his punishment, Charity tells Ryan she never wants to see him again. 

The danger suddenly feels much more real when her computer is hacked and she receives another death threat, however. She begs Ryan to return, though she knows it will mean submitting to both his rules and his discipline, and when Ryan takes Charity into his arms after a sound spanking she cannot help craving not only his protection but his dominance as well. But can Ryan truly keep Charity safe from those who would do anything to silence her? 


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

Click here to buy it on Amazon!

A submissive imprinting ceremony: Stolen by Her Master

The idea for this book came from a fun "what-if": What if it were possible to breed submissives to love their masters, and only their masters? In this scene, my hero watches a video of an imprinting ceremony.

The screen showed a small but elegant room, where an older woman sat in an armchair, in front of an artificial but very realistic-looking fire that blazed on an antique stone hearth.

“Imprinting is a beautiful, erotic experience for a Yeg girl and for her new master,” the woman said. “While the exact course of the ceremony can be easily adapted to your wishes as your girl’s owner, there are certain elements that must make up part of any imprinting ceremony, and we have recommendations as to the rest of the events. In this video, we’ll be following the story of a real imprinting: you will see what happened when a girl named Heidi imprinted on her new owner right here in this room, which we call the imprinting chamber.”

The camera panned around the room, showing that it contained an enormous, elegant modern bed and what could only be some kind of spanking bench, suited to restraining a girl for punishment. The shot dissolved to the same room, lit slightly differently, and now apparently empty. On the bed now was something that could only be the masturbation saddle Harris had mentioned.

The door opened, and a dark-haired, fair-skinned young woman entered in her blue-striped briefs and halter. She looked very nervous, but also wore a hopeful expression, as if she didn’t know what would happen now, but she thought it would be good.

“This is Heidi,” said the same woman’s voice. “She’s been brought to the imprinting chamber because her new owner has decided to purchase her contract.”

Heidi went to the bed, a little uncertainly, and sat upon it.

“Heidi has been told to prepare herself by pleasuring herself nearly to a climax. She has been told that her master is watching, and that she will be punished for any faults she shows in demonstrating how much she wishes to please him. This is of course a difficult assignment for Heidi, because she has never seen a man’s cock, and does not understand about how sex really works; she must use the submissive instincts bred into her.”

On the screen, Heidi took off her halter and briefs and climbed onto the bed, crouching atop the little saddle, which seemed to be a very firm cushion with a plush surface except where it touched Heidi’s pussy; there the saddle seemed to have a bumpy, shiny ridge, made perhaps of plastic, for a girl to rub her clit and pussy-lips on.

“One of the true requirements is that a girl be aroused when she imprints, and so this ride atop the pleasure saddle is an unchangeable feature of the ceremony,” the narrator went on as on the vid Heidi rode the masturbation saddle with her eyes closed, supporting herself on her elbows and biting her lips as she posted lewdly up and down. In close-up, the screen showed her slippery cunt rising and falling, rubbing back and forth over the lewd saddle. Hend wished he had seen the option in the menu; right now he desperately wanted to watch Leka doing exactly that. “We find that the first days of a girl’s service to her new master tend to go more smoothly if she associates his manhood with her own arousal from the very beginning.”

Heidi’s passion for the saddle grew and grew, and she began to cry out, “Oh, sir… oh, sir…”

The door opened again, and a man entered, wearing a red bathrobe. Heidi whirled atop the saddle, eyes and mouth wide in startlement, face blushing furiously.

“Heidi has never seen a man in the flesh before,” the narrator intoned. “But watch how she reacts, aroused as she is and knowing that he is her master.”

Heidi moved like a cat, getting off the bed in an instant and kneeling before her master, with her eyes downcast. Hend found that even watching the scene on video, his own pulse was pounding. Heidi’s owner, a tall, reasonably handsome man with ash blond hair, said nothing, but untied the belt of his robe and shrugged it from his shoulders, to reveal his erect cock, which pointed toward Heidi’s face as he grasped it arrogantly in his right hand.

“Here is what I have for you,” he said in a deep voice then, with a very strong Germanic accent. “Look at it, Heidi.”

Almost against her will, it seemed, because of the shame of being seen riding the masturbation saddle so passionately, Heidi looked up. She gasped at the sight of the erect cock of her new owner.

He said something that was either in a different language, or consisted of nonsense syllables. Hend had no idea what it was, but it sounded like “Yerquo yertin mawet pezben.”

A radiant smile spread across Heidi’s face. “Oh, sir,” she whispered, without taking her eyes off her master’s cock. “Oh, it feels… it feels so wonderful. May I… touch it?”

“Not yet,” Heidi’s owner said. “Get on the spanking bench now. I’m going to punish you for the first time.”

“Yes, sir,” Heidi said. “Thank you, sir.”

As Heidi moved to rise and obey, the narrator said, “Heidi’s master learned the four-word phrase from his girl’s trainer, just before he entered the room. As you just saw, as soon as Heidi heard that phrase, which had been designed into her very DNA to make her imprint, her master’s cock became the most important thing in the universe to her.”

Heidi’s master began by spanking her with his hand. “You belong to me, now,” he said, and gave her five spanks on the milk-white ovals of her shapely bottom-cheeks, alternating sides as he went. “And your little pussy belongs to me.” He gave her five more spanks, and she yelped at each one.

“Again,” said the narrator, “a punishment at this point is not absolutely necessary, but we have found it to be very beneficial for the girl, and pleasurable for the master. As you’ll see, Heidi’s master chooses to awaken her right there on the spanking bench, a course that many men enjoy.”

“Do you know what your pussy is?”

“No, sir!”

“It’s this part,” said Heidi’s master, putting his hand there, where Heidi was easily accessible because of the way her knees were spread to either side of the spanking bench.

“Oh, sir… I’m sorry…” Heidi gasped, as her master fondled her. “But they told me…”

“I know,” he said softly. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

Heidi moaned now, and tried desperately to ride her master’s hand the way she had ridden the saddle on the bed. But her master took his hand away, and went around to Heidi’s face, brandishing his cock. “This is my cock,” he said. “How do you feel about my cock, Heidi?”

“I love your cock, sir,” Heidi said without hesitation.

“I’m going to put it in your little pussy now, Heidi.”

“Oh, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“It’s going to hurt, at first.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But after that, it will feel good.”

“I know it will, sir. Somehow I just know that.”

Heidi’s master went around to her bottom again. With a little grunt of satisfaction, he found the place where Heidi’s cunt opened to the sheath he clearly could not wait to have around his cock. Heidi cried out as he pushed, and he put his hands around her hips and drove in forcefully.

Heidi screamed, and her face became a mask of woe for a moment, but then she whispered, “Sir… I love you,” Heidi said. “Thank you for putting your cock in me… I love it so much.”


As Heidi’s master began to fuck his new girl vigorously, the scene dissolved back to the older woman in the chair. “As you can see,” she said, “the imprinting process makes for remarkable results. When you purchase your girl’s contract, we will take great pleasure, ourselves, in helping you plan your own special version of what you just saw. All you need do is call the concierge when you are ready. As soon as your funds clear, we’ll schedule your imprinting ceremony.”

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