New release: His Blushing Rose, an extremely wicked Victorian

When she comes of age, it is made clear to beautiful, innocent orphan Rose Hale that she will soon be required to surrender her innocence to the esteemed gentleman Julius Summersby, a suitor personally selected by her guardian. Though she is initially delighted to be courted by such a powerful, handsome man, it isn’t long before Rose is shocked to find herself stripped bare and put on shameful display during an outing with her future husband.

Rose’s reluctance to submit to Julius’ demands earns her a painful, humiliating strapping on her bare bottom, but his mastery of her body arouses her intensely and she is left longing for more as he claims her in every way.

Despite his strict discipline, Rose looks forward to the day Julius will make her his bride, and she jumps at the opportunity to take up residence nearer to him. But when she arrives in London, Rose discovers that his plans for her have changed dramatically and she will be no more than a mistress. With her reputation already all but ruined, can she dare to hope that a better man will rescue her?

Publisher’s Note: His Blushing Rose includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Click here to buy it on Amazon!

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Bulfinch's mythology, as edited by the Duke of Panton

In The Duke's School for Young Ladies, I have a little more of my usual fun with Greek mythology.

“Please take out your edited Bulfinch, girls. Anne, you will find the book in your desk.” She watched the thirteen girls open the desks and take out the book, printed at the duke’s own expense for the use of his girls only the previous year. Until then Clarissa had had to teach the ‘ancients’ lesson, as she called it, using a translation of Ovid that the girls found very difficult to follow and even boring—an unpardonable sin, Clarissa thought, in view of the material.

But when a new compilation of mythological tales had appeared in America five years previous and the duke, an avid student of all things fabulous—if inclined to pursue the more voluptuous sort of tale to the exclusion of the more conventionally edifying sort—had given her a copy with the inscription, “To my dearest Clarissa, my prick’s schoolmistress,” Clarissa had seen an opportunity. She encouraged the duke himself to produce an edited version of Bulfinch’s The Age of Fable, to include elaborations of parts of stories that the duke himself would like to think of his girls reading.

Bulfinch’s own work, of course, was on its own even less suitable than Ovid’s, for the duke’s favorite stories—the ones he also hoped might become his girls’ favorites as well—received no mention at all. In The Age of Fable, one found for example not even a mild version of the story of Pasiphae and her beloved bull, the duke’s very favorite tale of Greek antiquity.

But the duke had taken instantly to the idea of producing an edition embellished by means of his own fertile imagination, as Clarissa had expected he might. They had spent many a pleasant evening working on it together. Clarissa, who had done a great deal of editing in her life, had never edited under the constraint that she not wear a stitch of clothing as she wielded her pencil. Nor had she ever had to answer for any passages she had stricken from a manuscript with the strap applied to her bare bottom and the prick applied to her fundament: the whole process had been diverting in the extreme.

“Miss Solmes, as our newest girl,” Clarissa said, after she had sat at her desk and observed that every one of her pupils had her book before her, “you have the honor to read to us first. Please, girls, turn to page thirty-seven. Miss Solmes, you will stand and read out the story of Cassandra, if you please.”

Bulfinch’s version of the story of Cassandra read as follows, in its entirety:

Queen Hecuba and her daughter Cassandra were carried captives to Greece. Cassandra had been loved by Apollo, and he gave her the gift of prophecy; but afterwards offended with her, he rendered the gift unavailing by ordaining that her predictions should never be believed.

Anne Solmes, newest pupil of Miss Halton’s Preparatory Academy for Girls, read in a fine, clear voice, having stood up with only a moment’s hesitation from her desk, “Queen Hecuba and her daughter Cassandra were carried captives to Greece, after the Achaeans had sacked their city, Troy.” (One of the duke’s more pedestrian tasks had been to ensure that each of the stories into which he divided his version of The Age of Fable could stand on its own for a morning’s lesson.)

Anne looked up with a shy but eager expression, surely to see if Clarissa approved. Clarissa gave her a smile and a nod, and she continued, with an adorable little blush, “Cassandra had attracted the favorable attention of the god Apollo, when she had come of age. He would sit atop a mountain near Troy and watch her with his keen eye, and every time he saw her going about her maidenly business, whether carrying water or working at the loom, he would consider the many things he would like to do with her, could he only carry her away to a secluded spot among his craggy peaks.”

Anne’s voice faltered a little as she began to understand that her textbook, despite having the appearance of a very upright and moral sort of a tome, nevertheless contained immodesties much grosser than even the tawdriest of the latest novels. Clarissa thought she could see Anne’s awareness of how she looked in her lovely uniform—sheer drawers that showed the beauty of her thighs and sheer chemise that displayed her adorable nipples—creep across her face, then.

Clarissa remembered Mrs. Fayerweather’s reaction to the duke’s edition of Bulfinch. “You are a clever girl, aren’t you?” the older woman had hissed, holding the printed volume up before her. Then she threw the book down upon Clarissa’s desk so hard that the thump must have been audible to the girls who had just departed the schoolroom for luncheon. “I cannot even whip you for this, can I? For you have made the duke think the idea was his own. But I promise I shall find reason to punish you, you shameless hussy, before long, and I wish you to understand that when I do, I will truly be whipping you for this wicked book.”

Click here to buy it on Amazon! If you're interested in more of my naughty takes on Greek myth, check out Bred by the Spartans! 

A severe strapping for indecent behavior

Here's the curtain-raiser in The Duke's School for Young Ladies.

The strange future of Anne Solmes was decided in an instant, on the night of October 21, 1864, when her governess Miss Plympton discovered her in the throes of passionate self-pleasure, with her shift raised to her hips and her naughty fingers at play in the little grotto between her thighs that Miss Plympton had often instructed her she must not touch. Anne stood before her mirror, by candlelight, up far past her bedtime. A little cry she could not suppress, as she pushed her fingers in where they must not go, alerted Miss Plympton, reading edifying religious pamphlets in her own room just next to Anne’s, to the necessity of intervention.

If Miss Plympton had been a different sort of person, the discovery of Anne’s lewd practices might not have resulted in such drastic action. But Miss Plympton’s character had a very religious bent. Moreover, Miss Plympton’s parents had beaten into her at an early age the firm precept that the parts of generation constituted a source of unremitting evil. The governess therefore immediately awoke Anne’s parents in their bed, all the while scolding her pupil in a voice loud enough that all the servants could hear, and in such explicit terms that no doubt could exist as to the crime in which their young lady had just been discovered.

“In front of your mirror, no less!” Miss Plympton shouted. “With your wicked hands in the devil’s playground! Looking at what you were doing! I have never even heard of something so lascivious, and I have been a governess these twenty years!”

When Standish and Prudence Solmes awoke, Miss Plympton stood Anne at the end of their bed and commanded, “You just tell your poor parents what I found you doing.” But Anne found herself unable to say a word. She could only shake her head and weep.

At that, Miss Plympton pushed firmly upon the fair-haired Anne’s shoulders, bending her over the foot of the bed until her elbows rested upon it. Her hairbrush was in her hand, and she raised Anne’s shift and began to spank her forcefully and quickly. “That doesn’t feel as nice, does it?” Miss Plympton said, over Anne’s cries and sobs. “There you go, you little hussy! There you go! How do you like the consequences of your voluptuous little performance, miss? Are you going to tell your poor parents what you did?”

“Please!” Anne screamed. “Please don’t make me!”

“What is the meaning of this?” asked the mystified Standish Solmes. He believed very strongly in the maintenance of discipline in his home, and in general he approved heartily of the way Miss Plympton chastised Anne for the slightest infraction with the greatest severity—often including the strap and the cane in addition to her trusty hairbrush. But to be awakened in the middle of the night, and made to watch Miss Plympton punish Anne thus, seemed a little excessive.

“You won’t even give your parents that little bit of respect, girl?” Miss Plympton said sternly. “Mr. Solmes,” she said, ceasing the spanking for the moment. “I am a decent woman, and I am afraid I must submit my resignation.”

She brought the hairbrush down again, to punctuate her words. “Your. Daughter’s. Lewd. Conduct does not befit a woman of. The. Town! Let alone a girl of her station.”

“Please, Miss Plympton!” Anne screamed. “I’m sorry!”

Miss Plympton stopped spanking again, but only, apparently, so that she could concentrate on delivering her wrathful message to Standish. “When it gets about what I found her doing, my reputation will be ruined as well, but so great is my love of virtue that I will not hesitate! Any suitor for Miss Solmes’ hand, I can assure you, will have the knowledge that your daughter cannot restrain herself from lewd practices that should send her to a reformatory school, if you will take my advice. A regular, healthy dose of the cane is the only thing for her, but with such a girl one doubts that even daily thrashing will help. Whether they can cure her or not, though, at least she will receive the punishment she deserves for shaming you so!”

Miss Plympton took eighteen-year-old Anne by the ear, then, and began to lead her out of her parents’ bedchamber. “I shall strap her well, now, Mr. Solmes, but that will be the last thing I do as your employee. If you take my advice, you will send for the doctor in the morning, and pack her off to a place where they can whip some modesty into her!”

Standish Solmes looked down at his wife. Prudence’s face wore an expression of terrible apprehension. He could not think of anything to say: there seemed no way to avert the disaster that had fallen upon their family.

From down the hall came the sound of Miss Plympton scolding Anne, and then the crack of the strap upon Anne’s undoubtedly bare backside: the governess always positioned Anne on her belly, atop her bed, for the punishment of greater offenses, so that she could swing the strap downward with the utmost force. Anne began to scream in her pain, and Standish could see in his wife’s eyes that she felt, as he did, that sometimes discipline could go too far.

“Perhaps we should not have engaged Miss Plympton,” Prudence said with a quaver in her voice.

“Do not blame yourself, my dear,” Standish replied. “She came highly recommended.”

“But it was I who pressed you to engage her.”

“True, my dear. But I was the one to encourage her to flog Anne frequently.”

Down the hall, Anne shrieked, “Please! I’ll never do it again!” and Miss Plympton shouted, “I wish I could believe that, you wicked girl,” and the strap’s sharp visit made itself heard again.

“Is she ruined?” Prudence whispered. “Surely other girls… that is to say, I am told…”

“Whether the conduct in which Miss Plympton discovered her is as wicked as Miss Plympton thinks is unfortunately not of any moment, now, Prudence,” Standish said sadly. “Miss Plympton is a respected governess, with the ear of a great many matrons. We must wait and see; perhaps it will blow over.”

Then they lay there, unable to sleep and unable to speak with one another, listening to their daughter receive her terrible reward for her illicit pleasure.

Click here to buy the book on Amazon!

The Duke's School: with chastisement and training, fallen girls may recover their prospects

Just out!

When her governess catches eighteen-year-old Anne Solmes in the act of pleasuring herself, Mr. and Mrs. Solmes conclude that drastic action is required. Anne soon finds herself on her way to Miss Halton’s Preparatory Academy for Girls, a school founded by the famously strict Duke of Panton for the correction of young women of marriageable age. The girls of Miss Halton’s have disgraced themselves, but their future prospects may still be salvaged by means of proper discipline and training. Anne quickly discovers that her new schoolmistress will not tolerate disobedience, and that punishments for misbehavior are both harsh and humiliating. 

Though he samples the pleasures his position offers, the duke does not keep the girls of the academy for himself. It is not long before one of the duke’s associates, a handsome, dominant gentleman in his own right, seems ready to ask for Anne’s hand. But is Anne prepared to spend a lifetime with a man who expects her obedience to his every demand and who will not hesitate to punish and pleasure her as he sees fit, no matter how deeply she might blush at his mastery of her body? 


Publisher’s Note: The Duke’s School for Young Ladies 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 the book on Amazon!

One of the naughty Victorian bits

I thought I'd celebrate the arrival of the Omnibus and Part 2 with a caning by the Prince of Wales, Bertie aka Edward VII.

"Now Mrs. Wilkes," said his Highness, "you must understand, of course, that I need not find a specific pretext upon which to cane you, since as a Knight of the Garter it is my prerogative to exercise rights of discipline upon any lady in the realm; this particular right may be one of which you have not been made aware?" 

"I can hardly say it surprises me, your Highness," I replied calmly. 

"As I say, then, I need not find a pretext. But it is also important that you gain the improvement from this chastisement that such chastisement must always be directed towards procuring. I do not cane young ladies unless it be for their own good." 

I was successful, at this, in suppressing a smile. I could not imagine Edmund making any similar declaration. Indeed, one of his favorite things was to punish me for no reason whatsoever except the general naughtiness of my air. Nor, on such occasions, did he say anything about the possibility of my being improved--that is, I suppose, being relieved of some of my naughtiness--by the process. It would be especially interesting to learn how the prince would move from improving me by the application of the cane to enjoying me--always assuming of course that such enjoyment made a part of his plans. It is very wanton of me I suppose, but although I blush to confess it I must say that the charm of his royal authority was working its aphrodisiac magic upon me. His Highness was a relatively handsome man, but much more importantly he demonstrated, in every insouciant gesture and naughty word, the extremity of his temporal power. I found that my loins were responding to this power in ways I had not imagined they might. 

"We must, then," he continued, "discover why it is you shall now be caned. Have you perhaps anything to confess?" 

I could of course think of many things, but his Highness did not leave me space to confess them, but continued, growing almost comically stern in his manner, "For instance, I very much suspect that you are the kind of girl who is unable to resist the temptation to touch her private part from time to time." 

My body knew its role. I blushed deeply. Something in his manner made me suspect that the scene would go better if I remained mute.

Buy Part 2 here! Buy the Omnibus here! 

What Emily is up to, for 9 July 2014

I'm thinking I need to rein in the full Lady Godiva for the cover of Emily's Journey Home, the way I did for Emily's Return to Smith's. I tried to boost Monday's post on Facebook, and got it rejected for nudity. I don't think I really need to worry about adult-tagging on Amazon, since no one is going to search specifically for the 37th volume of a series, but having the book rejected completely would be a bummer. 

So I think it's back to the small, inoffensive, detail shots. In the works, though, I have real covers from a real artist for the second edition, including the massive EXPLORATIONS Omnibus that I think will appear in late Fall, clocking in at about 150,000 words. Once the three volumes of the second edition and the omnibus are out there, I'll unpublish the rest of the series, except for the free Books 1-5, and my Amazon author page will look tidy at last.

In the meanwhile, here's a tease from Emily's Journey Home's climactic description of the unique festival games of Prophettown:

The husbands took off their robes, as close-ups at waist-level gave us an intimate look at their cocks, which, almost as one, they began to rouse, for the contest ahead. Two of the wives got to their knees to help in the process, while another was made by her husband to stand in front of him while he enjoyed himself in the soft friction to be had in the valley of her bottom.  

"This is just the warm-up, folks," said Joe, "in case you're wondering. We wouldn't want a couple to have any difficulties getting started, so the wives need to get those cocks good and hard." 

Remember that you can get all of EXPLORATIONS so far FREE, by jumping through a few fun hoops. Go this post to find out how!

If you're still reading, here's your reward--or at least it seems to me, being just as narcissistic as your average writer, that it must be a reward: a run-down on all the Tilton that's in the pipeline, in probable order of appearance!

• Breaking Abigail: The origin-story of the Institute. If I said anything more it would be goofily self-congratulatory. I love the Institute, I love Abigail, and I love the man whose enduring affection for her brought the whole thing into being.
• The Sunset Harbor School for Naughty Girls: Notionally, for fun, I'm going to claim that this one is by my cousin Emily Redbottom. It's a schoolhouse romp on a Caribbean island, in tribute to some wicked books that I have finally realized will never leave my imagination.
• Father Charles Takes a Wife: If you enjoyed the controversial Sarah's Tutorial, here's its spiritual successor. The characters of this book have different names, but from the standpoint of my imagination, they are the same characters as John and Sarah, Joe, and Maeve, and above all Father Henry. Even better (that is, if you liked Sarah's Tutorial), I don't let up on the church-spanking thing. At all.

That's definitely enough for now--next week I'll talk about my work-in-progress, an Institute book featuring Master Leo!

Emily's Journey Home is coming! With books for you, gratis!

UPDATE: Buy Emily's Journey Home here!

As I intimated last week, the next thing I'm going to release will be the LAST book of EXPLORATIONS, Emily's Journey Home. In honor of the end, I'm going to use the whole of Lady Godiva from Collier's painting, shown here. I also think I'll do a conventional blurb, like so:

The time has come at last for everyone to show his or her cards in the BDSM pseudo-religious community of Prophettown. The lascivious festival-play gets underway, with fantasy-Emily playing the Whore of the Nations, and being chastised and enjoyed accordingly. In the Victorian notebooks of her great-great-grandmother, Victorian Emily has an erotic encounter with the future Edward VII that will ennoble her even as it utterly degrades her in the dungeons of Windsor Castle. 

What will fantasy-Emily do about the vast wealth offered her by the Prophet? Will she help the women of Prophettown gain more control over their play life? Will her journey home be a happy one?

This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MMMMf (no sex among M's), FFFf, ffff, anal, spanking, exhibitionist sex athletics. It's intended for over-18 audiences who, like me, are interested in exploring the lines between pleasure and pain, dominance and submission, and fantasy and reality. All characters depicted are consenting adults.

As if there were any doubt about the happiness of the journey home.

Much more importantly, though, I recognize how very hard a time a new reader of EXPLORATIONS might have getting up to speed. Therefore, for the next month, I'm going to be helping with that, by giving away PDFs of the previous books and collections according to several fun protocols. Do one, do a few, or, if you want to be completely ready for the release of Emily's Journey Home, do them all and earn the big bonus at the end!

1. To receive a PDF of the first sixteen books of EXPLORATIONS (a $5.99 value!), sign up for my no-more-than-once-a-week mailing list by mailing me at etilton7981 AT the mail service provided by Google dot you-know-what.
2. To receive a PDF of Books 17-20, +1 this post on Google Plus, and share it with something nice about my work.
3. To receive a PDF of Books 21-24, like my page on Facebook, and let me know you did (or that you previously have!)
4. To receive a PDF of Books 25-28, like my author page on Amazon.com, and let me know you did, and what number you were to like it.
5. To receive a PDF of Books 29-32, tweet something nice about EXLORATIONS, with an @ to me.
6. To receive PDFs of books 33-36 (the big bonus!) do all the above, plus write at least one review for a previous book or collection from EXPLORATIONS, anywhere you like.

I can't imagine that I'm going to be inundated with people who are so into this strange book/series/thing that they'll do the things above. I suppose that, just in case, though, I should ask you to be patient, should you decide to undertake this mission.

As always, whether you decide to play or not, thanks for your interest in my work!

Edward VII, spanker royal #SatSpanks

Partly in honor of the Second Notebook having been fortunate enough to be on Spanking Stories Book Club yesterday, and partly just to shift gears and get ready for the release of the penultimate book of EXPLORATIONS, here's something from the forthcoming Emily's Discovery (update: it's here! Click!):

The Prince of Wales and I stood in the drawing room of the lovely house outside Boulogne, alone. 

"Mrs. Wilkes," said the future king of England, "I believe you are a very naughty girl." 

I blushed deeply, and said, "I am, your Highness." 

"I hope you will not think it untoward of me," he continued, "but I should confess to you right away that I have a great fondness for correcting the naughty conduct of young ladies. Do you find that untoward of me?" 

"No, your Highness," I replied. 

"I am very much afraid that I feel the need to chastise you immediately, Mrs. Wilkes. There is something about you that makes a man think that your naughtiness is always in need of discipline."

No blurb yet, even, so you can be about your SatSpanks business. Remember that Tara's Corbin's Bend book Exile to Unity is coming this week!


Read all the Saturday Spankings!

A BDSM festival play #RTKDungeonCrawl

A taste from the just-released 35th book of EXPLORATIONS, Emily's Festival!

This is how the third notebook continued. Remember that EOW was in the middle of describing the festival play at the midsummer festival of the great drama, in Rouen in 1872. 

The woman who was clearly meant to be the lady of the crusader knight who had brought the Whore of the East back to his castle rose as the whore was brought into the scene. 

"My Lord," she said, "what meaneth this strange sort of arrival? Who is this harlot, and how darest thou bring her into our home?" 

"This whore is for mine own pleasure, wife. Hussies, remove her garments, and get her over her bench of discipline, that she learn how ill it will go with her if she should question her lord's pleasures!" 

The other ladies, who seemed to be playing maids, helped their lady out of her gown, then escorted her to a bench, over which she lay, while at the same time the knight helped the Whore of the Nations up from the bench upon which she had been carried in. 

"Whore, remove my garments, and pleasure me while I beat my wife," said the knight. 

In the scene that followed, all four women felt both the rod and the staff of the knight. The placard "TERTIUM FUTUENDUM" was put up, and the audience indulged themselves: Edmund told me to get upon my knees in the grass and take his yard into my mouth, which obscured my view, of course, but the nature of the scene was clear enough. Edmund, as he always liked to do, held my head tightly and moved me up and down, enjoying, I thought, the retching sounds I made as much as the softness of my tongue and palate.

At the end of it, the whore was left alone with the lady and her maids. All were now naked; all bore the marks of the rod upon their shapely bottoms. 

"Ah, me," said the lady. "My lord hath decreed that we must do our duties naked for today. And I confess that my tender parts burn with desire for I know not what." 

"The like do mine," said the first maid. 

"And mine," said the second. 

All of them cast furtive glances at the whore, who was kneeling stage left, sitting back on her heels with her hands in her lap, looking down to where her folded hands covered her own virtue, then over to where the lady and her maids were feigning to work at the spinning wheel and the loom, stage right. 

"If only," said the lady, "there were some way that we might find release. I feel sure that I could be very kind indeed to anyone who might teach me how to soothe my aching!" 

Silently, the whore began to crawl toward them. My heart was in my throat, suddenly. Edmund's left hand had found my own virtue, and he began to work it. "Watch, whore," he whispered.

Buy the book at Amazon! Here's the blurb:

The woman who was clearly meant to be the lady of the crusader knight who had brought the Whore of the East back to his castle rose as the whore was brought into the scene.  

"My Lord," she said, "what meaneth this strange sort of arrival? Who is this harlot, and how darest thou bring her into our home?" 

"This whore is for mine own pleasure, wife. Hussies, remove her garments, and get her over her bench of discipline, that she learn how ill it will go with her if she should question her lord's pleasures!"  

In the 35th book of Explorations, Victorian Emily watches the end of the great BDSM festival-play, while in the Prophettown guesthouse fantasy-Charles enjoys the charms of five girls of refreshment. Mf, Mfffff, anal, spanking, watersports.  

This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, Mfffff, anal, spanking, watersports. It's intended for over-18 audiences who, like me, are interested in exploring the lines between pleasure and pain, dominance and submission, and fantasy and reality. All characters depicted are consenting adults.

Keep crawling!

An InLinkz Link-up

Just in: Emily's (BDSM) Festival

This week I'm going to feature tastes from the next book of EXPLORATIONS, in which fantasy-Emily finally begins to get to the bottom (heh) of what's going on in Prophettown, and Victorian Emily begins her extraordinary encounter with the Prince of Wales.

The next morning we departed for Boulogne, with the intention of taking ship for Folkestone, and returning thence to town. While we were in Boulogne, breakfasting at our comfortable hotel while waiting to go aboard our ship, our table was approached by two Englishmen. I did not recognize them, but Edmund evidently did, though, for reasons I did not immediately understand, he forebore to introduce them to me. 

"Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes," said one of them, "please pardon the interruption, but we would like to ask you to accompany us to a meeting with a personage with whom we feel sure you would be grateful to speak." 

"We are at your service," said Edmund. We rose from luncheon. Outside the inn stood an ornate coach and four, though without any livery. 

"We shall miss the tide," I whispered to Edmund. 

The second gentleman said, "Among other things, Mrs. Wilkes, this personage is prepared to offer a much more comfortable means of crossing the channel than any ferry here--or in Calais." 

"Hush, Emily," said Edmund. "Don't fret." 

We climbed into the coach, and were driven away to the outskirts of Boulogne. There, in a small but very well appointed house, we met the Prince of Wales. 

* * * 

At that moment the phone rang in the living room of our suite. Charles picked up the receiver, and said, "Hello. . . yes, alright. We'll be down in a few minutes." 

He looked at me. "Show time," he said. "We'll listen to what they have to say, and then we can talk it over together. Sound good?" 

I nodded. I picked up the notebooks.

Aren't you proud of me? Nothing erotic in there at all! Oh, okay:

Syla kissed me tenderly on each of my inner thighs, and then gave me one last lick up and down, which made me shudder again, rocking the chair back and forth. "May I kiss your whore sir?" she asked Charles. 

"By all means." 

Syla stood up between my thighs, and put her hands on my shoulders. She bent down, and tilted her head, and kissed me tenderly on my mouth, making me taste myself upon her lips--that special tang that I knew well from licking my arousal off Charles' fingers, and, further back, off my own. "You are beautifully submissive, whore," she said, softly.

Buy the book at Amazon! Here's the blurb:

The woman who was clearly meant to be the lady of the crusader knight who had brought the Whore of the East back to his castle rose as the whore was brought into the scene.  

"My Lord," she said, "what meaneth this strange sort of arrival? Who is this harlot, and how darest thou bring her into our home?" 

"This whore is for mine own pleasure, wife. Hussies, remove her garments, and get her over her bench of discipline, that she learn how ill it will go with her if she should question her lord's pleasures!"  

In the 35th book of Explorations, Victorian Emily watches the end of the great BDSM festival-play, while in the Prophettown guesthouse fantasy-Charles enjoys the charms of five girls of refreshment. Mf, Mfffff, anal, spanking, watersports. 
This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, Mfffff, anal, spanking, watersports. It's intended for over-18 audiences who, like me, are interested in exploring the lines between pleasure and pain, dominance and submission, and fantasy and reality. All characters depicted are consenting adults.

An ancient Russian spanking-bench #SatSpanks

In honor of the release of my latest collection of EXPLORATIONS, Books 29-32, I'm going to share a snippet that lets my style really hang out, as it were. I assure you that despite appearances, this excerpt actually does comprise eight sentences. The device under discussion may probably best be imagined as a spanking bench. WARNING: dubious consent.

For this reason, the fundum-prestant is clearly a very different device, though given the way the Russian drama works I cannot but believe it an evolution of that original Roman model. (I am sure I shall have occasion to write of this matter when I come to the time of the unpleasantness with the Ottoman Empire and the fun we had at the Russian Embassy, but I suppose I may anticipate here by saying that any person of a scholarly inclination can see that the Russian drama is derived from the Roman source so tantalizingly but exiguously described in pseudo-Martial, through the Byzantine drama that we should have to construct—were anyone ever to undertake such a thing, which is unlikely in the extreme given that Lady F--- and I seem to have been the only members of our world ever to inquire deeply into these matters, Mrs. Smith’s talents lying in a very different direction—by a comparative study of pseudo-Martial, the fragmentary remains of the five lost Arabian nights, and the living practice of the Russian drama itself, the actual Byzantine sources having been obliterated with that drama’s living tradition beginning in 1453, and thus represents a fascinating alternate evolution of the drama—the Latin to our drama’s Greek, to reverse the analogy deliciously.) In all honesty, however, the possibility cannot be excluded that the fundum-prestant has a completely different origin, in a disciplinary ceremony on country estates that at the start employed no apparatus at all (any knee level support would do, though the girl could obviously simply be made to put her hands on the ground) and evolved from a very primitive device (one imagines a very simple structure, originally designed only to elevate the bottom a foot or so and thus solve the perpetual problem that has dogged this pleasure since the beginning of our race), perhaps with some influence from France, England, or both, into its current form, in which truth to tell it merely resembles the Western European devices. 

One conjectures that such a ceremony might occur weekly on those vast Russian country estates, peopled by countless pretty young serfs who one can be sure were often in need of exemplary discipline. The lazy girl chosen out by the overseer, the master dismounting from his steed; the girl's clothing stripped from her, and the instruction to mount the device that had been brought out from its place of honor in the hay-barn, to bend, and grasp the handles. A laughing command to arch her back and furnish her rump properly. The overseer's strap, applied vigorously to that rump, and now the master, with a smile on his face, telling the overseer to get the oil. The girl's woeful face as her rear dimple is roughly readied, and the master's satisfaction when he takes hold of her peasant hips and teaches her to respect the absolute authority of the Russian landowner.

Buy it at Amazon! Blurb:

Emily's Shameful Ride: In the 29th book of Explorations, Victorian Emily's ultimate defloration occurs atop her husband's bride-saddle, while fantasy-Emily continues her shameful service to her husband's junior colleagues.  

Emily's Return to Smith's: The 30th book of Explorations tells in parallel the stories of the middle of fantasy-Emily's night as a performance reward for three of her husband's junior colleagues and the much sweeter tale of Victorian Emily's return to the establishment of Mrs. Smith, trainer of submissive brides.  

Emily's Victorian Honeymoon: The 31st book of Explorations finishes the stories of fantasy-Emily's multiple-man night, and of Victorian Emily's return to Smith's. Mf, MMMf (no sex among the M's), Ff, Fff, anal, spanking, watersports.  

Emily's Victorian Wedding Trip: The 32nd book of Explorations tells of fantasy-Charles and fantasy-Emily's ageplay preparations to go to Prophettown, by way of France, while Victorian Emily, herself in France, is inducted into the way of the BDSM great drama.  

This collection brings the story of fantasy-Emily and fantasy-Charles nearly to the point of their journey to Prophettown, and the story of Victorian Emily to the midsummer festival. Mf, MMMf (no sex among Ms), Ff, Fff, anal, spanking, diaperplay, watersports. 

Read all the Saturday Spankings!

A very great debauch #SatSpanks

My Victorian stuff always works well for Saturday Spankings, the sentences being, as befits their period setting, very long.

Time seemed to me, as we feasted there, not to exist except as a way to unite us all in this drama of which I was now a part. Fully initiated, now, having been put to shameful use by the other ladies in the small hours of the morning (the final hour of the Ladies' Hunt was a scene of such debauchery that, jaded and aged as I am, I still quiver to recall it, and I was at the very center of that action, placed upon my back on an ancient oak table, subjected to the erotic whim of one noble lady after another, while the rest stood about and called out things such as "Should not that rump have something in it, Sophie?" and "Does no one have a birch?" [someone fetched a birch]), I felt my exalted position, and I looked at Edmund, and I knew gratitude, and the beginnings of the affection I maintained through all our years together. I suppose one could call it love. 

"How many girls did you fuck tonight?" I had asked him, sleepily, as we settled into our bed together, at five that morning, just as the roosters were crowing. 

"Oh, all of them," he had replied with a wicked smile. 

As I had drifted off to sleep, I supposed that the heroine of a Jane Austen novel would have been horrified, but all I could see in my head was the village girls over the bench, in the park, and Edmund going from one backside to next. I had fallen asleep with my hand, surreptitiously, between my thighs.

Here's the blurb of Emily's Journey to Prophettown. Buy the book at Amazon by clicking here!

Two hours into the flight, in my dream, Charles called the flight attendant over and said, "This is my wife Emily. She's wearing nothing but a diaper, and I think she may have to be changed. Would you please take her into the bathroom and check her diaper? Emily, sweetheart, do whatever Jean" (that was the name on her nametag) "tells you, OK?" He handed Jean a dry diaper.  

My face as hot as a sun-baked desert, I nodded in my dream, and said, "Yes, Daddy."  

The 33rd book of Explorations tells the story of fantasy-Emily's and fantasy-Charles' journey to France, the first step of their ultimate passage to Prophettown. In a medieval dungeon in Rouen, Emily will come face to face with the BDSM world recorded by her Victorian ancestress a hundred years before.  

This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MMMf, anal, spanking, ageplay, watersports, diaperplay. It's intended for over-18 audiences who, like me, are interested in exploring the lines between pleasure and pain, dominance and submission, and fantasy and reality. All characters depicted are consenting adults. 

Read all the Saturday Spankings!

An ancient dungeon for modern training #rtkdungeoncrawl

(Visual inspirations is moving to Thursdays!)

It just so happens that the book I'm flogging (heh) this week, Emily's Journey to Prophettown, has a literal dungeon in it. Crawl on over.

At the bottom of the stairs was what could only be a dungeon. 

Opening off from the landing was a dungeon-door so perfect it might have been made by Hollywood; through the grated window in the heavy wood bound with iron I could see a small vestibule that seemed fitted up as a kind of clerk's station; that vestibule opened out into what looked like a much bigger room. In the center of that room, as I could see with much more clarity once Unger had opened the door and ushered us into the vestibule, was an ancient punishment bench, and upon it, strapped down, the woman, whose bottom, turned towards us, was already completely covered in cane-welts. Her chastiser stood at her left side, naked, his manhood at least as stiff as the cane he held in his right hand. With his left hand, he was stroking his victim's bottom. We all watched, transfixed, as he went to a shelf and fetched a bottle of lube, and returned to begin an assault upon her anus that made her cry out even louder than the cane had. 

"They, ah," Jeremy said, "have different recruitment. . . procedures than we do."

Intrigued? Read the blurb:

Two hours into the flight, in my dream, Charles called the flight attendant over and said, "This is my wife Emily. She's wearing nothing but a diaper, and I think she may have to be changed. Would you please take her into the bathroom and check her diaper? Emily, sweetheart, do whatever Jean" (that was the name on her nametag) "tells you, OK?" He handed Jean a dry diaper. 

My face as hot as a sun-baked desert, I nodded in my dream, and said, "Yes, Daddy." 

The 33rd book of Explorations tells the story of fantasy-Emily's and fantasy-Charles' journey to France, the first step of their ultimate passage to Prophettown. In a medieval dungeon in Rouen, Emily will come face to face with the BDSM world recorded by her Victorian ancestress a hundred years before. 

This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MMMf, anal, spanking, ageplay, watersports, diaperplay. It's intended for over-18 audiences who, like me, are interested in exploring the lines between pleasure and pain, dominance and submission, and fantasy and reality. All characters depicted are consenting adults.

Overwhelmed? Buy Emily's Journey to Prophettown at Amazon!

Now keep on crawling!

An InLinkz Link-up

Given to another man #Taboo2sday

Again, it's not the most out there of taboos, but it makes me feel faint. Fantasy-Emily has at last arrived in the dungeon where her great-great-grandmother signed a special book, many years before.

"Oh, I assure you it's true, Mrs. Smith," said Jeremy. He looked at Charles. "It's time," he said. 

"Alright," Charles said. "Emily, look at me." 

"Time for what?" I was asking Jeremy, but I turned my head obediently to look at my husband. 

"Take off your clothes, sweetie," Charles said. 

"What?" I said. 

"You heard me. Take off your clothes or Mr. Unger here will assist me in doing it for you."

Blurbage:

Two hours into the flight, in my dream, Charles called the flight attendant over and said, "This is my wife Emily. She's wearing nothing but a diaper, and I think she may have to be changed. Would you please take her into the bathroom and check her diaper? Emily, sweetheart, do whatever Jean" (that was the name on her nametag) "tells you, OK?" He handed Jean a dry diaper.  

My face as hot as a sun-baked desert, I nodded in my dream, and said, "Yes, Daddy."  

The 33rd book of Explorations tells the story of fantasy-Emily's and fantasy-Charles' journey to France, the first step of their ultimate passage to Prophettown. In a medieval dungeon in Rouen, Emily will come face to face with the BDSM world recorded by her Victorian ancestress a hundred years before.  

This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MMMf, anal, spanking, ageplay, watersports, diaperplay. It's intended for over-18 audiences who, like me, are interested in exploring the lines between pleasure and pain, dominance and submission, and fantasy and reality. All characters depicted are consenting adults.

Buy the 33rd book of EXPLORATIONS, Emily's Journey to Prophettown, here! 

Now go read all the other taboo posts, you wicked thing!

My airplane diaper fantasy--Emily's Journey to Prophettown

The thirty-third volume of EXPLORATIONS is out at last, at Amazon. Emily's Journey to Prophettown ratchets up the tension and the heat, as fantasy-Emily and fantasy-Charles near their goal of reaching the real Prophettown. Their discoveries will shock you! Plus, the officials of Prophettown, thank goodness, have the missing third notebook of Victorian Emily. . . we get a step closer to learning how Victorian Emily became the Secret Countess of Wessulk!

Here's how it starts:

Are you ready for some serious fantasy-gymnastics, reader? You see, I've had this airplane fantasy for a really long time. . . 

On the plane to France, I fell asleep, and dreamt that. . .  

Get it? Even fantasy-Charles wouldn't do this; not that it could even be done outside a dream. 

. . . and dreamt that Charles had commanded me to wear nothing but my diaper under a long coat. Walking through the airport that way was so arousing that I was terribly flushed by the time we boarded, and sat down in first class. The flight attendant, a pleasant looking woman in one of those flight-attendant coat-dresses that you always imagine would open right up to reveal a merry-widow, lace-topped stockings, and lace panties, asked if she could take my coat. Flustered, I opened the top two buttons, revealing my nudity, before I remembered. 

I looked at the flight attendant, who had blushed crimson herself, and I quickly said "No, thank you," and sat down. I saw Charles smiling broadly. 

Two hours into the flight, in my dream, Charles called the flight attendant over and said, "This is my wife Emily. She's wearing nothing but a diaper, and I think she may have to be changed. Would you please take her into the bathroom and check her diaper? Emily, sweetheart, do whatever Jean" (that was the name on her nametag) "tells you, OK?" He handed Jean a dry diaper.

And I love this fantasy so much I even put it in the blurb:

Two hours into the flight, in my dream, Charles called the flight attendant over and said, "This is my wife Emily. She's wearing nothing but a diaper, and I think she may have to be changed. Would you please take her into the bathroom and check her diaper? Emily, sweetheart, do whatever Jean" (that was the name on her nametag) "tells you, OK?" He handed Jean a dry diaper.  

My face as hot as a sun-baked desert, I nodded in my dream, and said, "Yes, Daddy."  

The 33rd book of Explorations tells the story of fantasy-Emily's and fantasy-Charles' journey to France, the first step of their ultimate passage to Prophettown. In a medieval dungeon in Rouen, Emily will come face to face with the BDSM world recorded by her Victorian ancestress a hundred years before.  

This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MMMf, anal, spanking, ageplay, watersports, diaperplay. It's intended for over-18 audiences who, like me, are interested in exploring the lines between pleasure and pain, dominance and submission, and fantasy and reality. All characters depicted are consenting adults. 

Buy the book here! 

From a gossip column in 1872 SF #SatSpanks

My new historical Western Their Firm Men has rather a funny title. Let me assure you, though, that the spankings, and the sex, are, shall we say, Tilton-esque.

Wordlessly, her fiancé walked over to her, and took his stand before her in the parlor, rubbing his hands together gently in front of him. Something about the way he carried out the simple gesture, together with the sight of his stern countenance, made Esther wish she had fled. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and she began to feel a little ill with the dread. Esther Addison was about to be spanked by her fiancé.  

She imagined it suddenly as an item in the gossip column of the Examiner:  

Yesterday, we hear, the debutante of the season, EA, ran afoul of her intended's firm right hand. We know that many in this town will be grateful to him, as the whisperers have long maintained that a good sound spanking is exactly what the haughty EA has required for quite some time. We wish the couple joy, and hope that Capt. A will not be loath to repeat the chastisement as necessary.

Here's the blurb! Buy it here!

When she hears about the engagement of her sister, Esther, to one of San Francisco’s wealthiest merchants, twenty-five-year-old Amelia Lander decides it is high time she obeyed her mother’s last wish—that she watch over her younger sister. Amelia leaves her teaching job in New York City and travels by train to San Francisco, where she loses no time in calling on Esther and her new husband, Samuel Allen, and providing them with proof that she is Esther’s sister and that her existence has been intentionally concealed by their father for seventeen years, since Esther was a toddler.  

Samuel suggests that Amelia live with them, but when Esther says something impolite and Samuel tells her—in front of Amelia—that she can expect to be soundly spanked for her rudeness, Amelia is shocked. Samuel informs Amelia that he will run his house as he sees fit, and when she responds with insults and defiance, Amelia soon finds herself over the knee of Samuel’s business partner, Michael Sullivan, for a long, hard spanking on her bare bottom. In spite of her shame and fury, however, Amelia cannot help but be drawn to the man who chastised her so thoroughly.  

When she learns that her father is once again up to no good, Amelia runs straight to Michael with the news, and he and Samuel form a plan to stop him. But can Amelia bring herself to obey Michael and stay out of the way, or will her foolhardy actions cost the life of the man she has reluctantly come to love? 

Read all the Saturday Spankings!

Edmund surveys his bride's charms at last #SatSpanks

I hope it's no secret that I like wedding-nights.

Edmund’s hands moved from the backs of my thighs to their fronts, and then. . . then, for the first time, my lord touched the private lace of my bridal garment; with his right thumb, he traced its outline. I could not help it (and I cannot help how tiresome that phrase becomes!): I groaned with the pleasure. 

“Oh, Sir, I am sorry.” 

“Sorry? Why, my lovely bride?” Now he had the tips of the first two fingers of his left hand at the spot where the lace always slipped into the tender cleft. 

“Ohhh, Sir, please. . . I am sorry; you know my secret now; the cane cannot cure me, I am so wanton. A bridegroom deserves a modest bride.” 

“You are modest, indeed, Emily; else you would not be ashamed of the mischief I work.”

Here's the blurb, and you can click to buy the book. How convenient!

When the door of the coach had been closed by the footman, and I had waved out the window to my receding family, and then sat back, looking down at my hands, folded in my lap, I began to weep, very softly, with the sheer excess of emotion. Edmund reached over and took my hand in his. I turned my head to look into his eyes, and to my great surprise found them kindly.  

“I realize,” my husband said, “dear Emily, that I won your body with my cheque-book. It is now my fondest hope that I might win your heart with my affection. You are the loveliest creature I ever saw.” With his right fore-finger he lifted my chin, gently; he bent his head, and our lips met for the first time. His kiss was tender, but somehow commanding, too, and it made me shiver. “Thank you for making me the happiest man in the world today.”  

Despite myself (for you will not be surprised to hear that I had decided he was a monster, and had not been dissuaded from that view by his pleasing demeanor all that day), I was touched by his words, which seemed sincere. Given the utter invisibility of the great drama from the conventional world to one who is not party to the different reality beneath, it had not seemed strange that Edmund would be perfectly pleasant in his address when my family were present; but now, I had supposed, the next scene of the drama was to begin. I will confess that a part of me was impatient. “Why then have you degraded me in this manner?”  

In this notebook, imagined as passed down to me from my great-great-grandmother, Emily Orn continues her initiation into a great drama of BDSM in Victorian England. Under the stern instruction now of her bridegroom, Emily at last learns what it means to serve his pleasure.  

NOTE: This book comprises material previously published in the following books: Emily's Fitting; Emily's Victorian Bridal Chamber; Emily, Bedded; Emily's Shameful Ride; Emily's Return to Smith's; Emily's Victorian Honeymoon; Emily's Victorian Wedding Trip; and EXPLORATIONS: Books 25-28. I here present them as a continuous story and without the intrusion of the modern narrative of my fantasy-narrative, for readers who might be more interested in this Victorian material.  

This book of EXPLORATIONS contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, ff, Ff, spanking, mild watersports. It's intended for over-18 audiences who, like me, are interested in exploring the lines between pleasure and pain, dominance and submission, and fantasy and reality. All characters depicted are consenting adults.  

Read all the Saturday Spankings!