Her first porn homework assignment

The mainspring of the plot of An Indecent Awakening is the idea of using a naughty porn-watching habit in the service of erotic self-knowledge. Here's a sample:

“Now we’re almost done for today, porn-girl,” Ben said in his didactic tone. “I’m going to give you your homework assignment.”

“P-please…” Stacy stammered, as the finger began to invade her most private place, but Ben simply pushed steadily against the little hole’s resistance.

“Your assignment has three parts, Stacy. The first is to think about what I’m doing right now.” He pushed even more firmly with the fingertip, and overcame the tightness of Stacy’s anus.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

“At least three times a day,” Ben continued, “maybe when you pee, you’ll put your own hand here, touch your little asshole, and say, ‘This belongs to Ben, because I am his porn-girl.’” He pushed his finger into her bottom to the second knuckle as he gave the assignment, making Stacy whimper.

“N-no… please, sir…” she sobbed.

“Say, it Stacy. Repeat after me: ‘This belongs to Ben, because I am his porn-girl.’” He moved the finger gently in and out. “You don’t even have to put your own finger inside yet. That will happen next week. All you have to do is touch your little anus and say the words.”

“This belongs…” Stacy whispered.

“This belongs to Ben,” he supplied. He pushed the finger into her further than it had yet gone. Stacy cried out.

“This belongs to Ben, because…” she said in a desperate voice. “Because I’m his porn-girl.”

“There we go,” Ben said encouragingly. “Three times a day. Do you understand?”

Stacy nodded into the couch.

“The second part of your assignment is to watch the video that’s on your laptop called Polly Gets Caught. Do you remember that one?”

“Yes,” she admitted, though he could hear the reluctance in her voice—and he could certainly understand the reluctance given what Polly suffered in the video: things that Stacy undoubtedly, and accurately, imagined would now befall her.


“You may not touch yourself while you watch the video. You’re going to make a video of yourself watching it, for me, so I can be sure you stayed on the path of virtue. That’s the third part of your assignment. In the video, you’re going to be naked.”

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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.

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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.

First anal for two college freshwomen: Old-Fashioned Values

Well, I said last Monday that I thought that I brought the hot with the sweet in this book…

On the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard, John told him about the idea he’d had for that night. Mark couldn’t believe the effect that Rachel had had on John. He remembered what the older man had been like when Carol Baxter had been around, and it was kind of like that, but there was something even more buoyant and joyous in John’s air now, as if Rachel were making him young again. Also making him mischievous, apparently, or even wicked. “You haven’t had Sally’s ass yet, I imagine?” John said as they gazed over the rail at the receding shoreline of Cape Cod. The girls were inside having hot cocoa.

“John! Seriously?”

“Fine if you don’t want to answer the question, but I have a feeling you’ll like my idea.”

Mark turned to look at him. John was grinning back. “Dude,” Mark said—which was something he called his male peers, but was pretty sure he had never called John before. “I guess I thought that you were, I don’t know, more of a gentleman.”

John laughed. “Well, yes. But now that we both have lovely submissive girls to fuck, it’s time for us to be old-school gentleman together. We would never say such things in front of a woman—at least if others were liable to overhear. But between men, such things have always been savored.”

Mark felt himself frowning as he thought about this. Savored. He certainly couldn’t deny that there was something incredibly exciting about talking with John about Sally.

“Alright, no. No, I haven’t… had her… there.”

“And I haven’t had Rachel’s backside either. So I propose that we do that tonight. I’ve brought two bottles of lube.”

Mark shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m serious,” John said. “I think we should announce it to them over dinner. Don’t tell me you’re not hard.”

“Jesus, John.” Mark laughed, because he couldn’t help it. “Won’t the girls get mad?”


“They might,” John said, not as if he were admitting a problem with his plan, but as if he were explaining his vision. “We might have to spank them.”

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How you get to be classified 1A, on the planet Draco

By medical examination, of course!

“I’m afraid this is part of my job,” the doctor said. He turned to Lydia. “Solid ten on contraction,” he said. She made a little note on her tablet.

“What does that mean?” Kayla asked desperately.

“It means your vagina is healthy,” the doctor said reassuringly. “When it’s time for you to have sex, you and your partner are going to enjoy yourselves greatly. To put it another way, from the administration’s perspective, you’re a catch. Now do please answer Lydia’s question.”

He reached for something in a drawer behind him, and Kayla saw the shape of it. “What’s that?” she asked in a panic.

“I’m afraid it’s just what you think it is, honey,” Lydia said. The doctor pressed a button, and the air was filled with a faint hum.

“You’re going to have an orgasm for me now, Kayla,” he said. “We need to make sure your arousal cycle completes properly, and we need to determine how far along you are toward multi-orgasm.”

“Have you had multiple orgasms, ever?” Lydia asked sympathetically.

Kayla shook her head.

Lydia smiled. “Best part of the Basic Law,” she said.

Kayla had focused on the vibrator, with its long part and its short part. She had only ever tried a vibrator once, and had found herself too embarrassed to do it again, even in private, but she still remembered the strength of the orgasm she had had.

The doctor laughed and gently rubbed the long part of the buzzing vibrator up and down Kayla’s pussy-lips, so that she cried out. “What? What’s… the best part?”

“The administration promotes multi-orgasm as a social policy,” Lydia said. “Why don’t you tell me about your first intercourse, now?”

Now the doctor had the toy—instrument, whatever—inside her, and the little part came up against her clit, and the words came out in a rush. “College… got fancy… fancy hotel room for—oh, God—me and boyfriend…”

“And how old were you?”

“Ah! Nineteen! Oh, please…”
“Did it hurt?”

“N-not very much. Oh, God, doctor, please, please…”

“What position?”

“Just, um, regular… missionary… but then… ah… he had me get on top…” At the memory, the lovely memory of Michael Fulton in the room at the Ritz, of riding his cock to the first sex-induced orgasm of her life, Kayla came.

And the way the doctor knew how to use that infernal vibrator, or maybe some effect of the weakness in her muscles from the cryo, made the orgasm so incredibly powerful that Kayla screamed in pleasure as she had never screamed before—though Michael had fondly designated her a screamer after they had made love at the Ritz.

And then he didn’t take the vibrator away, though she begged, “Oh, it… it happened… please…”

Lydia said, “We want to see if it will happen again, Kayla. Have you had anal sex?”

Just the question, the silly, shameful question, made Kayla come again. “No!” she shouted, gasping, in the midst of her climax.

“But you fantasize about it?”

The shudders began to leave her. “Yes,” she moaned.

The doctor shut off the vibrator. “Solid ten there, too,” he said. Lydia made a note. Kayla felt like she could barely even see them, her body was still shaking so violently from the two orgasms.

“I never…”

“I know,” the doctor said. “That’s why we do this exam. You can expect to have a lot of suitors, Kayla.”

“Wh-what does that mean?”

The doctor replied matter-of-factly, “You’re in the top tenth when it comes to sexual responsiveness. A lot of men with high testosterone levels are looking for that.”

Kayla’s jaw dropped. “But how will they know?”

“Your scores will be posted, completely anonymously, along with an outline of your interests, and you’ll screen the suitors with the help of your guardian. You’ll only meet the ones you think you might like.”

Kayla felt her cognitive function returning, under the stimulus of this horrifying, fascinating information. “So… it’s like a marriage market?” Her eyes felt as wide as saucers.

“I suppose you could call it that,” Lydia conceded. “But even the administration won’t be able to link these results with your name—only the suitors you select will ever know who you are.”


The doctor took out a plastic speculum. “I’m going to finish up your exam now, while Lydia takes the rest of your sexual history.”

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Geoffrey's Rules, my most personal book, discounted this month!

Geoffrey's Rules is very near to my heart. The narrator, Chloe Revkin, has a great many similarities to me, and her story is a story I have dreamed of living many, many times. In fact, the book ended up being a more mature version of the very first really extended erotic story I ever wrote, in which a professor sells a young woman--with the young woman's consent--to a wealthy man. That story was called "Variations on a theme of Réage" (Pauline Réage, author of Story of O). Geoffrey's Rules could definitely have that as a subtitle.

Here's a taste, from a scene of which I'm very proud.

I felt sexy; I felt sexy in a way that graduate students aren’t supposed to feel, I thought, and that very thought began to cause another dampness problem in the lace thong beneath the dress. Try as I might, I just couldn’t make myself forget that underneath the dress I was wearing the lacy things that Geoffrey had put me in and which he would presumably remove from me later, whenever he wanted. 

I walked out of the dressing room, wearing also the red pumps we had shopped for before we’d had the champagne. The dress only barely came down far enough to cover my stocking-tops, and I had a sudden fantasy that when I reached Geoffrey at the sales counter he would simply flip up the front of it to reveal my lacy panties to the saleswoman. The mental image made me feel faint, but when I reached him, he turned and looked me up and down and smiled tenderly, as if to ask if I liked the dress. I returned the smile, and he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close in to him and kissed me. 

The saleswoman said, “Aw. Special occasion?” 

It only took a split-second for me to imagine Geoffrey saying, “Yes. This young woman got her face fucked today, and later she’ll have my cock in her ass,” and to blush. 

But Geoffrey said, “Yes—our first real date.” 

“Sounds like there’s a story there!” said the saleswoman and promptly minded her own business while Geoffrey kissed me again, dominantly, and made me feel weak in the knees yet another time. 

“You are the most intelligent woman I have ever had the privilege to dominate,” he whispered in my ear, “and the sexiest.” 

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered back, feeling like the defiant independent woman thing was perhaps not as important as Professor Whitlock might think.

And it's only $2.99 this month! 

The advent of O

Story of O was my downfall. Or my uplift, if you prefer.

Thus I write at the start of Emily's Submissive Wedding Night. It was the same for the realer me: reading it for the first time among the shelves of a perfectly proper academic bookstore in New Haven, though it corresponded in its outlines with the terrible, slender books with the awful covers and the young schoolgirls (aged younger than I could age them) having their bottoms fucked--indeed though it was itself a slender book (with, thank God, a plain white cover)--I knew there was hope.

That hope didn't materialize into flesh (rigid flesh [heh]) for three years, however, and in that time I began really to explore. That was the time of the first butt-plug, and the first sexy lingerie, bought just for me to, er, explore in. It was also the only time in my life that I was promiscuous, as will come to light as this "real" story continues: in addition to my solo explorations, I also lost my virginity and slept with a total of five guys (including that first one), really I think in an effort to feel like I was living the way I thought I should be living and not because I was looking for anyone to play BDSM with, since I still thought of that as something completely private, even if with the help of Réage I now thought there was hope for me in that area.

But I'm getting ahead of myself: there's still several years' ground to cover between The Pearl on the ferry to Nova Scotia and Histoire d'O in New Haven.

The next thing that happened was that I found a copy of the first terrible, slender book I ever saw, Aphrodizzia, in my best friend's father's desk (this is the friend called "Sarah Cleveland" in EXPLORATIONS). Discovering The Pearl had led to series of deductions about the way the erotic world worked, including the insight that has never since played me false, that there are more people who are into BDSM than you'd ever think. Until I finally developed the courage to acquire erotica for myself (senior year in college--though even that development was still marred by the periodic purifications I would carry out, putting all my porn into an opaque bag, putting that bag in another opaque bag, and finding a dumpster to throw the package into) this insight made me a really awful snoop, for which I'm thoroughly ashamed. That copy of Aphrodizzia was my greatest find, but there were many, many others.

I did not steal it. I did take every possible opportunity to read it, over the course of a few weeks, to the point that I committed much of it to memory. Standing there in Sarah's Dad's office, with my back turned to the door so that no one could see that my hand was inside my jeans, I would read furiously, melting. The first time I came in Sarah's Dad's office I was so ashamed that it was months before I dared open the desk-drawer again. The book was gone.

Schoolgirl bottoms, and the things a schoolmaster and schoolmistress might do to them: I suppose you might say they have been from that time my submissive Alpha and my anal Omega.

I think the thing I'm most curious about with regard to the development of my orientation is how I could both have felt such terrible shame and guilt about masturbating, and yet still have done it so much. I dramatize the dynamic in EXPLORATIONS by having my 18 year-old avatar fantasy-Emily abstain for much longer than I ever could have, though the stuff about occasionally not masturbating for an entire Lent is true. But the images of schoolgirl bottoms, spanked and ravished--their power has nearly always been too much for me, and the number of nights of my self-aware, pre-Charles life on which I didn't abuse myself (funny how I delight in using that phrase that once made me fear for my eternal soul) was vanishingly small.

The "real" story: a refresher course

I started this blog to do in a more thorough way what I also do in the books of EXPLORATIONS: that is, to provide the "real" version of the events allegorized, avatarized, and elaborated as hotly as I could elaborate them in EXPLORATIONS. The "truth" of these matters has a hotness all its own, I find, when I return there, to my first years with Charles, in my mind these ten or so years later. 

I think I can probably also convey the hotness of my early struggles with my anal-submissive orientation: the repression, the sleepless nights, the sweet agony of the shower, the wild release when at last I gave in and masturbated, whether it was for just a few seconds that brought me to a frustratingly shallow orgasm or for hours on my stomach with my bottom raised and my hand on it, in it, in the quiet of my dark, chaste room, biting the inside of my cheek so that I wouldn't cry out and thinking about my Latin teacher taking my ass, just taking it, just taking it.

Or maybe that's not hot after all. We'll see.

In Emily's Submissive Wedding Night I told fantasy-Emily's version of the story of her awakening by porn to the importance of her anal-submissive orientation. I give a few hints there as to the reality behind it, but I want to tell that story at a bit more length, here, for myself and for anyone else who wants to read it. 

My first memory of erotica was on board a ferry from Maine to Nova Scotia with my family, when I was thirteen. The tiny gift-shop on the ferry had a rack of books, and on the rack was a copy of one of the few editions of The Pearl that have come out over the years (unlike the one I later, finally, bought, only in a fit of guilt to throw away and instantly to regret having thrown away, this edition edited all the stories together into continuous narratives, rather than preserving the original shape of the journal numbers). 

It may be because of the many, many times I subsequently read those same stories, "Lady Pokingham," "Sub-Umbra," "My Grandmother's Tale," and "Miss Coote's Confession," that the memory of the first punishment from "Lady Pokingham" has remained so vivid in my mind. At least in my reconstruction of my erotic life, the moment Beatrice (later to become the eponymous Lady Pokingham, whose new husband Lord Pokingham ravishes her bottom on their wedding night, also a signal moment for me) has her skirts pinned up so that she may be birched upon her bare bottom, was the moment that I knew that the shameful, secret fantasies of my bed, the ones of spanking and, then, ever so slightly more and more until it became dominant, of anal eroticism, were not peculiar to me.

Were I, Emily Tilton, really real, I'm sure I wouldn't disclose it, but the rest of that very long ferry ride was occupied by alternately retreating to our day-cabin to masturbate and returning to the gift-shop to read another story from The Pearl. The memory becomes the signal moment it is when, the ferry about to come into port, the gift-shop lady who had I'm sure been observing me all the while in disgust (these many years later I do wonder whether it was actually disgust or perhaps even sympathy) told me that if I wanted to read the book any more, I'd have to buy it.

I fled, and my flight then emblematizes my life with my anal-submissive orientation until Charles.

Bawdy jests at the wedding feast: Her True Lord's Claim

As you know, I'm very wicked. The thought of having rude, drunk men at my wedding feast, shouting lewd things about how my bridegroom will soon deflower me. . . well, it's a fantasy of long standing, for me.

“And what then?” called a man-at-arms, one of her own party, of Nele’s party. Had he told them that they must pretend to join in the fun, or was he drunkenly enjoying the jesting? “What will the earl of Mercester do to the countess of Mercester once he gives that naughty bottom what it deserves?” 

“Aye, that and more!” called one of Guy’s own men-at-arms. “Though the bishop bless the bed, it is my lord who decides how he shall ride tonight!” 

Anne felt her eyes grow wide. Surely the man must not have meant what it sounded like? She looked at Bishop Hamo, sitting to her left. To her distress, he wore a kind of leering smile. He himself called out, to her dismay, “So long as the sin be confessed, my lords, a man should have his wife to use as he pleases, is my doctrine!” Then he turned to Anne, and said directly to her, “Wife, submit to your husband, as the apostle hath said and as I am sure the sisters of Stanmer taught you.” 

A cheer went up at this, as Anne sat frozen in place, unable even to nod. Yes, of course the sisters had said that, but… She knew she had gone white when the bishop began to make his jest, but now she felt the color flooding back at the memory that came to her unbidden, of Nele claiming her with his cock in the place where it seemed these men were saying her husband would also take his pleasure. The arousal she felt at the thought seemed even worse, and more traitorous, than the desire that had come upon her for the spanking at her husband’s hand, for she had thought, in her foolishness, that only Nele would ever have here there: that it would be his special place, and a great secret between them. 

But these men… how could it be that they said what they said?

So many mysteries. . . learn their answers by buying the book! 

OMNIBUS!!! 600pp of the finest BDSM smut anywhwere!

I finally did it. EXPLORATIONS is complete, and now available in one 227,000-word package, for the low, low price of $9.99.

Here's the blurb:

Here it is. The whole darned thing. Look on other, individual pages for the descriptions. Probably, if you're an Emily Tilton fan, by this time you know what you're getting, and in this package you're getting a LOT of it. 227,000 words, and I promise you'll be astonished how very many of them are pure erotica. Move over, Sade. 

These books of Explorations contain fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MMff, MMMf, MMMMf (no sex among M's, at any time--sorry), FFFf, ffff, Mff, Mfff, Mffff, Mffffff, anal, spanking, King James language pseudo-religious erotica, sister-wives doing the kind of thing naughty minds really want sister-wives to do, exhibitionist sex athletics, diaperplay, ageplay. Stuff that doesn't even have an abbreviation or a name, because it's too hot and shameful. Spanking, whipping, caning, flogging. 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 EXPLORATIONS Omnibus on Amazon by clicking here! 

I also released Part 2, in case you were nice enough to buy Part 1--at $5.99 still a major savings! Click here!

In case you always wondered, omnibus, from which get our word for a big vehicle that carries lots of people--that is, originally, an (omni)bus--means "for everyone" or "with everything." This omnibus is both!

Natalie's three Daddies plan her punishment: Her Daddy, Her Dom, and Her Doctor

I suppose, if I really want you to pre-order this book, I have to give you a good reason. Well, I think I can: read the blurb, then read the excerpt. I don't mean to boast, but I'm pretty sure this is the hottest prologue I've ever written, despite it only being a promise of hotness to come. I'm hoping you'll want to be sure you have the book as soon as it releases Friday!

Twenty-two-year-old Natalie has three dominant men in her life. Tom, her daddy, spoils her even while making sure her bratty behavior is dealt with firmly over his knee. Dan is a doctor whose intimate examinations always leave Natalie blushing… and begging for more. And last there is Adam, the dom who gave Natalie her very first spanking and who still holds a special place in her heart. The only problem is that none of the men know about one another, and Natalie is afraid they will all leave her if they find out the truth. 

When they discover that Natalie has been dishonest with them, there is only one solution: she must be taught a lesson. The men bring Natalie to a beautiful island resort, planning to give her a memorable stay. She’ll have three days of fun in the sun, but also three days of harsh punishment with each man taking his turn, and then on the final day Natalie will learn what it is like for a naughty girl to be thoroughly punished by her daddy, her dom, and her doctor all at once. 

Publisher’s Note: Her Daddy, Her Dom, and Her Doctor is an erotic novel that includes spankings, age play, medical play, anal play, BDSM, sexual scenes including a foursome, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

And here's the prologue (if you're already convinced, pre-order it by clicking here!):

Really, none of it was Natalie's fault, Adam knew. Any reasonable person--and Natalie's three daddies were all reasonable men--could see that. Although she would end up thoroughly punished if they had anything to say about it, they all knew that she had never set out to submit to three men at the same time. Hopefully, being thoroughly punished would prove the best part for her in the end, and it was obvious to Adam, and to Dan, and to Tom, that really having three daddies had simply happened to her for reasons she didn't quite understand, and certainly couldn't have controlled.

Adam's theory on the matter, at least for now, as the three of them settled down around the coffee-table in Dan's sumptuous living-room to plan Natalie's punishment, was that when he had brought out her submissive side three months earlier she had begun to radiate submissive signals. Adam believed that all dominant men had a sort of attunement to those signals, whether or not they--or the submissives sending them--knew it.

Because Natalie had just started to live that part of her identity in her play-sessions with Adam, she most certainly didn't know that when a lovely young woman--twenty-two, petite, with long auburn hair and blue eyes--cast her eyes to the floor with a blush upon meeting them, and giggled when they said something like "naughty girl," would attract the kind of dominant man she had always longed for but had never before known how to get.

"I think," he said to Tom, 5'10 or so, with sandy hair and handsome in a sort of teddy-bearish way that suited his daddy-babygirl ageplay tendencies perfectly, "when she met Dan, after she'd only been playing with me for a couple of weeks, and then met you a week after that, she probably thought heaven had decided to pay her back for having to wait so long to find even one dominant guy."

Tom laughed. Dan, the oldest of the three of them, and the most prosperous from his private practice as an orthopedic surgeon, called from the bar, where he was making martinis, "And she probably thought that fate might make sure she went for another twenty years before she met another one." At 6'3",  Dan was also the tallest of them, lean as a rail, with the hair going grey at blonde temples the only sign that he had passed 40. His aristocratic bearing, together with his medical training, never let you forget that he could take charge of any situation if necessary.

Adam succeeded--he thought--in concealing his completely-uncalled-for irritation. Clearly Tom and Dan had taken the idea of sharing Natalie much more in stride than he had. I brought out her submission: she's mine, a voice kept whispering. Adam knew he had to quell that voice.

"I'm sure," Tom continued, still laughing, "that the way Natalie sees it she almost has an obligation to herself, and to us."

"To do what?" Adam asked, curious.

"To submit to us, I guess. If karma is going to send her three daddies, how can she refuse? And she never made any pledges of exclusivity, right? To any of us?" Tom could sometimes slip into accountant-speak--"pledges of exclusivity" had the ring of the ledger, Adam thought.

But Tom was right, of course. "Nope, not at all," Adam said. "And she warned me once that she's not ready to make more of a commitment than to see me again." Yes, she warned me, he thought with a hint of bitterness. But I didn't see it coming.

"Why should she have told us about each other, and hurt us needlessly?" Dan said, bringing Adam and Tom's martinis over to the coffee-table.

"Is what she must have thought, yeah," Adam said. "But."

Dan nodded. "But."

Tom chuckled. "Her butt has to pay."

Dan snorted. Adam groaned.

"Just to be clear," Dan said, sitting down with his own martini, "none of us is angry with Natalie, right?"

Adam took a deep breath. Angry, no. Hurt, yes. He shook his head. Tom said, "Nope. I can't imagine being angry with her, frankly."

Dan chuckled. "Me either. Our Natalie is such a sweetheart."

Tom grinned. "Actually, that's how Adam and I figured out what was going on. He was telling me about this scene he played with her, and how she got really turned on when he started to move things into ageplay a little."

"It was the candy thing that tipped us off," Adam said. "She's got a sweet-tooth the size of Manhattan, and, well, she said this really dirty thing that turned me on incredibly--and it turned out she says it to Tom, too."

"What was it?" Dan asked, with a mischievous smile.

Tom laughed, "She kneels down in front of you, and says 'May Natalie please have her special candy now?'"

Dan gave a little snort of laughter.

"And then if you tell her she can, she unbuckles your belt and takes down your pants and underwear with this angelic smile on her face, and. . ." He coughed, looking embarrassed.

Adam laughed. "If we're going to do this thing, we probably need to get comfortable talking about this stuff. It's probably easier for me as a professional dom, but we all should try to be forthright. What Tom means to say, Dan, is that Natalie sucks his cock like its the sweetest peppermint stick on earth, and, while she does, she keeps talking about how sweet it is, and how she wants her daddy to put it everywhere, and if you do a 69 while she's having her special peppermint stick she'll come over and over--especially if you tell her what a good girl she is."

Tom nodded, a little sheepishly. "Like you said. Our Natalie is a sweetheart."

"And yet," Dan said, "it was something almost the opposite of that that tipped Adam off in my case, right?"

"Right," Adam said, turning to Tom, to explain. "She likes the sterner stuff, too."

"And medical play," Dan said. "I caned her for playing with herself, like some old Victorian family physician, and she loved it, even though I took it pretty far with the examination and then with the punishment. She must have come five or six times while I was, well, let's call it examining her for signs of immodesty."

"And she said something else that seemed like it had to be the same girl," Adam continued, "when she was talking about playing with herself. She called it 'playing in my secret garden'."

"Really turned me on," Dan confessed. "So it seems like part of what's going on here is that Natalie has a range of cravings, when it comes to her submission. I'd like to think, of course, that I could meet all those needs, but I have to admit to the possibility that I couldn't. I'm not an ageplay guy, for example."

"And I'm not a medical guy," Tom said with a little fake shudder that made the other two laugh.

"It's true, as far as it goes," Adam said, thinking about how much it cost him to admit it, "that if Natalie wants to submit to three men, she should give it a try."

"But not without telling them," said Dan with finality.

"It ends up in dishonesty," said Tom, nodding. "She definitely needs a lesson in being completely honest. And unfortunately for her adorable little backside, I think we're the daddies to give it to her."

 

What Emily's up to, for 6 August 2014

Breaking Abigail is out, and The Sunset Harbor School for Naughty Girls is coming!

Here's a bonus snippet from the latter. If you're keeping track, it comes right after the one in yesterday's Taboo Tuesday post.

He was the kind of monster who understood what some girls really wanted and needed, and could give it to them better than almost anyone else in the world. What Lara Jenkins needed was an enormous black janitor with an enormous black cock, to teach her about her essential erotic nature, and ensure that she understood that there was no going back. 

He opened the door. "Yes, Miss?" he said, in his simple Mr. George-the-janitor voice. 

Lara stood on the other side of the screen door, chewing adorably on her lower lip. "They say. . . Dr. Scott told me. . ." She was so full of conflicting fear and arousal that her whole body quivered as she stood there in her pinafore. 

George stood patiently waiting, with a sympathetic look on his face. 

"I'm to be caned tonight. . . formally. . . by you. . ." Lara managed to say. 

"Oh, Miss. I'm very sorry about that." 

"I came to ask. . . I mean, is it possible. . ."

And here's what's in the pipeline:

• At Leo's Command, the fourth Institute stand-alone.
• Father Charles Takes a Wife, the spiritual stand-alone complement to Sarah's Tutorial. 
• A hush-hush three-daddy ménage book.
• A hush-hush collaboration with another ageplay author.
• A not so hush-hush box set of The Adventures of Little Caroline.
• (Maybe) a college-spanking story tentatively titled Her Boyfriend's Firm Hand. If you want to see that one go to the top of the queue, let me know!

Can fantasy ever be unhygienic? A2M for #Taboo2sday

My answer is, No, fantasy exists in a realm where hygiene isn't much of a consideration. This snippet comes from the soon-to-be-released The Sunset Harbor School for Naughty Girls. I have a feeling I'll be running a bunch of snippets from that book on Tuesdays.

"Mr. George?" Lara called, outside, not even daring to knock. "Mr. George?" Her voice sounded so endearingly anxious that George had one of those lovely moments of what he called erotic-cognitive dissonance: how could he do the terrible things to this sweet young lady that he planned to do in the next hour, in exchange for the empty promise not to strike hard when she was strapped down over the block on the dais tonight? How could he stretch her sweet con with his massive cock, force that massive cock into her tight little bottom, make her take the cock straight from that bottom into her mouth, until she had to swallow her second helping of George's copious seed? What kind of monster was he?

Coming this weekend, probably! Here's a preliminary version of the blurb:

Dr. Martin Scott, a dominant with the dream of teaching young women to explore their submissive natures, has decided to use his considerable fortune to found a unique school at Sunset Harbor on the remote Caribbean island of Saint-Stephane. With the help of his duenna Cassandra Lomond, he trains three eighteen-year-olds every Fall term. Along the way Dr. Scott, Mrs. Lomond, and their island janitor Mr. George enjoy the girls' developing submissive charms to the fullest, while in the classroom the girls study classics like Fanny Hill and Story of O. 

Now Rachel, Frederica, and Lara, have arrived at Sunset Harbor, sent by their parents with the notion that Dr. Scott can cure girls' wantonness with regular applications of old-fashioned bare-bottom discipline. What trials and delights await the girls? For what does Dr. Scott ultimately train his girls'? What, really, is the purpose of the Sunset Harbor School for Naughty Girls?

More wonderful, taboo delights below!

Meeting the man who will deflower her: Breaking Abigail

The real reason for the Institute's existence in my imagination comes from the license it gives me (and, I hope, my reader) to enjoy capture fantasies. As you read this snippet, remember that Abigail has consented, and had her memory of that consent suppressed!

Abigail rose from the bed, went to the closet, and opened it. On hooks at the side hung the cane, a short strap, and a wooden paddle. All alone, on a hanger, though, hung a lovely white cotton nightgown with a nearly translucent weave and lace at the collar, the cuffs, and the hem. 

Trembling, Abigail put out her hands and slipped it off the hanger. She rolled it so that she could put it over her head, and then at last, she donned the garment her owner had appointed for her.
It felt odd to be clothed after having had her clothes so emphatically taken from her, and odder to be clothed in something so diaphanous and… well, grown up. Was this how a bride of the Middle Ages felt? 

Should she go to the bed? Should she stand on the carpet? Kneel on the carpet? 

The question, however, quickly decided itself, for again the bolt turned, and the door opened, and a large man stood there. He entered and, still facing her and looking at her, he put his hand behind him to close the door. 

The man who entered her room, clad in a deep red silk dressing gown belted at the waist, was perhaps thirty-five years old. His blond hair, fairer even than Master Ian’s, fell loose to his shoulders, with the hint of a wave at the end of it. His face was square, and a little ruddy. Not conventionally handsome, perhaps, but nevertheless somehow recalling the Vikings, and full of the kind of absolute authority that Abigail could imagine Erik the Red wielding aboard his longship. His piercing, ice-blue eyes took her in as if she were a maiden seized from a medieval coastal village, to be brought back aboard that longship for the pleasure of the men upon the rowing benches. Nor did Abigail’s owner stand as tall as Master Ian, but, as dominantly as Master Ian carried himself, this man carried himself with even more authority—and alongside that authority, with a grace that seemed to tell of such exquisite breeding that Abigail, to her shock, felt herself go weak in the knees. 

“Come here, Abigail,” he said in a rich baritone, accented, just as Abigail had somehow known it would be, with a Scandinavian lilt. “Kneel in front of me, please.”

Buy the book at Amazon by clicking here! Here's the blurb:

As eighteen-year-old Abigail Podret pleasures herself in her family’s summer-house, she cries out the name of Mark LeMarchand, the man she secretly loves. She has no idea that he stands steps away, ready to do what she most desires: strip her naked, spank her hard, and take her even harder. But as a result of her stern upbringing, Abigail finds herself unable to give herself to Mark no matter how badly she longs for it.  

Mark is determined to help Abigail, and with the assistance of wealthy friends he creates the Institute, a place where women agree to have their memory of consent suppressed by hypnosis in order to free them to enjoy their submission fully. When Mark tells Abigail about the Institute, she realizes it may be her only chance at real happiness.  

After agreeing to the program, Abigail wakes up at the Institute and meets Master Ian, under whose firm hand she will be taught to please a man in any way he requires. Absolute obedience is expected of her and anything less will result in punishments as shameful as they are effective. But when Abigail inadvertently discovers the truth about The Institute, will she decide to finish her training or will she leave and rush into Mark’s waiting arms?  

Publisher’s Note: Breaking Abigail is a stand-alone story set in the world of Bought and Trained and An Extreme Marriage, but prior to the events of those books. It is an erotic novel that includes extensive BDSM content, spankings, sexual scenes, anal play, elements of exhibitionism and voyeurism, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book. 

The origin of the Institute: Breaking Abigail

I'm incredibly excited about this next release. I'm just going to let the beginning speak for itself. Breaking Abigail is out now.

Eighteen-year-old Abigail Podret knew she was in trouble when her mother walked in on her lying on her bed, in her bedroom, with Jon Southey's hand down her jeans. She just didn't know how bad the trouble was going to be. 

Abigail was eighteen, as was Jon. It was the spring of her senior year in high school--she was back home for the March spring break of the boarding schools, and Jon was too, from his own, different school--, and she felt that even though she didn't really get why sex was supposed to be something you wanted to do, it was time for her at least so see if she could bear to do it. If you wanted to do the things that really interested you--for Abigail, that was computer programming, but not boring computer programming--you did sex, and found a rich husband who wasn't too much of an asshole. Or so it seemed to her, though she knew that her parents disagreed about how she should go about finding the husband. 

The fact that her parents had told her that good girls weren't easy, without telling her what "easy" meant but implying strongly that it meant not letting Jon Southey put his hand in your panties didn't give her very much pause, because Abigail had a rebellious streak. She didn't think she would like sex, as it had been explained to her in health class, but she certainly didn't care that her mother wanted Abigail to keep her modesty until she was safely married. 

Abigail was not averse to sex, she thought, because that would be stupid, and Abigail Podret wasn't stupid. The human race needed to propagate, didn't it? She had to admit she was averse to Jon Southey, after enduring his fumbling caresses for half an hour or so before her mother came home unexpectedly, but she had known more or less, based on health class and on what her friends said, that Jon Southey's hand down her jeans, inside her panties, touching her pussy (Abigail had resolved to use the dirty words, because why shouldn't you?) was what sex had to be like, so why not get it over with? And Jon Southey was cute, according to Abigail's friends. His picture, snatched by her roommate Wendy from the letter Jon had sent in February, more or less proposing that they have sex over March vacation, had pleased the entire floor. 

What Abigail was averse to, more than anything else, was telling anybody, ever, what she thought about when she played with herself before falling asleep every night. Which wasn't sex--but one could easily become very confused about that, Abigail realized, since playing with yourself involved the part of the body you also used for sex, apparently, and the pleasure-centers you used to play with yourself also served to make sex bearable, as far as Abigail could tell. 

The confusion grew much greater, in spite of Abigail's best attempts to use her penetrating intelligence to puzzle it out and tease the strands apart, in the wake of the incident with Jon Southey. "Wait until your father gets home," was all Abigail's mother would say. That meant a spanking, but it had been a very long time since Abigail's last one. Considering the things Abigail thought about when she touched herself, a spanking for having let Jon Southey put his hand down Abigail's pants seemed likely to mix things Abigail definitely didn't want mixed.
But surely her father would simply ground her for the rest of break, right? Abigail tried to convince herself of that as she watched TV, waiting for him to come home. Unfortunately, the attempt yielded very poor results. Dan Podret was a severe man, and forbade all talk of sex, or anything the slightest bit suggestive, in his house. Abigail often wondered how she had even been conceived, given that her parents never touched one another in her presence. 

And, Abigail reflected, even being allowed to wear the jeans she had unzipped for Jon to put his hand down had required a major struggle, with much screaming and crying and finally Abigail's mother consulting the next door neighbors. When Prudence Podret told Abigail's father that the next door neighbors were astonished to hear that Abigail wasn't allowed to wear jeans--or indeed anything but skirts--Dan's social shame seemed to overcome his familial shame, and he said that Abigail could buy one pair of jeans, to be worn only at home, on Saturdays and on weekdays during vacation. 

But Abigail was eighteen, now. Surely her father would recognize the impropriety of spanking her. Or at least of spanking her bare bottom. 

But Dan Podret saw nothing improper in it, it turned out. 

"Abigail," he said, after a very awkward dinner, "come to my study after you do the dishes."
Abigail swallowed, and said, "Yes, sir." 

When Abigail had taken her familiar place on the carpet in the middle of the room, her father turned his desk chair to face her. His face was set in a quiet fury that made Abigail's heart beat fast with fear. 

"Abigail, I have no wish to go into the details of what your mother saw, and I suppose you will not be foolish enough to deny it." 

Abigail found that she had begun to cry in terror. She shook her head, watching the tears fall to the carpet. She definitely felt foolish. She was eighteen. She could leave and never come back. But if she wanted a real life, she would need her parents' support: there was nothing to be done about it. 

"Answer me, Abigail. Are you foolish enough to deny that you were found with a boy's hand in your pants?" 

"No, sir," Abigail choked out. 

"That's something, at least," her father said, though without the slightest softening of his tone. 

"Abigail, I wonder if you know what people call girls who let boys do that kind of thing." 

Oh my God, Abigail thought. It's the 1980's now. Why do my parents have to be stuck in the '50's? 

"No?" Dan Podret said. "They call them 'easy', Abigail. No daughter of mine is going to be called 'easy', if I can possibly help it. Get yourself over the arm of the sofa, and bare your backside." 

"Sir, no, please. . ." 

"If I have to ask you again, Abigail, you'll be very sorry you didn't obey me. I can whip you until you can't sit down for a week, if you need me to. Do you need me to do that, Abigail?" 

Abigail shook like a leaf. "No, sir," she whispered. 

"Then obey me this instant." 

Here's the blurb! Buy the book here!

As eighteen-year-old Abigail Podret pleasures herself in her family’s summer-house, she cries out the name of Mark LeMarchand, the man she secretly loves. She has no idea that he stands steps away, ready to do what she most desires: strip her naked, spank her hard, and take her even harder. But as a result of her stern upbringing, Abigail finds herself unable to give herself to Mark no matter how badly she longs for it. 

Mark is determined to help Abigail, and with the assistance of wealthy friends he creates the Institute, a place where women agree to have their memory of consent suppressed by hypnosis in order to free them to enjoy their submission fully. When Mark tells Abigail about the Institute, she realizes it may be her only chance at real happiness. 

After agreeing to the program, Abigail wakes up at the Institute and meets Master Ian, under whose firm hand she will be taught to please a man in any way he requires. Absolute obedience is expected of her and anything less will result in punishments as shameful as they are effective. But when Abigail inadvertently discovers the truth about The Institute, will she decide to finish her training or will she leave and rush into Mark’s waiting arms? 

Publisher’s Note: Breaking Abigail is a stand-alone story set in the world of Bought and Trained and An Extreme Marriage, but prior to the events of those books. It is an erotic novel that includes extensive BDSM content, spankings, sexual scenes, anal play, elements of exhibitionism and voyeurism, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

What Emily is up to, for 16 July 2014

Now that the final book of EXPLORATIONS is available, it's going to be all Institute all the time for a bit. Breaking Abigail is about to come out, and I'm working on At Leo's Command. Here's a tease:

The first time Kristin saw the man, she saw him through a window. She hadn't meant to look, but something about the way the shapes of the two people inside the room moved, just as she glimpsed them in the cracks between the blinds, had made her body respond before her mind could register why, and she stepped forward without thinking about it. 

Kristin approached the window knowing from those moving shapes, and from the dark fantasies that never left her, in a way that went deeper than words, that there was a girl getting a spanking over a man's knee. One of the shapes looked tall, and the other looked shorter: the taller one had moved as if he were sitting down, and the shorter one had moved much more rapidly, in an angled, downward direction, as if the man had pulled her over his lap. 

Kristin didn't know whether really she wanted there to be some way to see what was going on in the living-room of the little house in suburban Richmond or not, but there was a tiny opening between the left side of the blind and the frame of the window. Not caring--not even thinking to care--whether there were anyone on the quiet street who might call the police when they saw twenty-three year old Kristin Harper, 5'6", brown hair, brown eyes, playing peeping Tom, she leaned forward. An instant later, her face burning with shame, Kristin walked away and didn't look back. 

Inside, seen through the reflection of her own eye, the man, naked, sat on a wooden chair. He was muscled like an action hero; he had brown hair and a chiselled face. A girl, with blonde hair, who had clearly been crying because of the flaming red bottom the man must have given her just a moment before, knelt in front of him, confronted by his cock. Her hands were bound behind her in leather cuffs. 

The man had clearly commanded the girl to take him in her mouth, because on her face there was the same look Kristin had imagined so many times her own might wear: frightened arousal--the look of a girl whom a man had to tell what to do, when it came to his cock, but who craved his cock, and his force, more than anything else in the world. 

And the man's cock. . . it was bigger than any other cock Kristin had ever seen, even in the porn videos she sometimes couldn't stop herself from surfing to, when the night got long and even her own darkest fantasies began to seem boring.

Bought and Trained and An Extreme Marriage, from this series of stand-alone books, are already available! 

Emily's Journey Home--now available! #Taboo2sday

It's a little surreal to think that EXPLORATIONS is now as complete as it will probably ever be. I may very well write more, but anything I wrote in that storyworld would only make it less complete, rather than more. Emily's Journey Home at least has the only ending I'll ever write for it, and (pssst!) it's a happy one.

At any rate, here's a snippet for what's going to continue to be Taboo Tuesday around here, although it's not a formal hop at the moment:

The couples event of the games of love was coming to a dramatic conclusion. 

"This is going to win it for the Auberges, if it goes smoothly," Joe was saying, "but the look on Susan's face is going to have to be perfect." 

The camera was on Chuck. "Come here and taste your ass, sweetie," he said. "Time to make me come." 

Cut to Susan, looking over her shoulder at her husband. "Reluctant" would only begin to describe the look on her face. "Oh, Chuck, . . . you know I don't like. . ." 

"I don't care what you like or don't like, girl," Chuck said. "Get over here and clean my cock, or do I need to spank you?" He gave her a hard spank on her right bottom-cheek, and then on her left, and Susan's face wore an expression of such thorough abjection that I gasped, and I felt Charles nearly come merely at the sight of it and I had to let go of his cock so he could settle down a little. 

On the broadcast, Frank said, "No doubt, really, is there?" 

"None at all," Joe replied, "especially since they're the only couple doing ass-to-mouth today."

Yeah, it's that kind of book. And you can buy it here! Remember that this month you can also get all 36 previous books--500pp of pure BDSM erotica as only real Emily and fantasy-Emily and Victorian Emily can produce it--**FREE** right here!

Here's the blurb!

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.