Showing posts with label diapers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label diapers. Show all posts

Monday, February 23, 2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really?" asked Susan.

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Assigned a Guardian: new insterstellar ageplay, now available

It's here!
When twenty-five-year-old Kayla Lourcy boards a spaceship with her late father’s colleague, Patrick McDowell, she is glad to leave Earth and its political squabbles far behind. But when she awakens from cryo-sleep on the planet Draco, she is shocked to learn that the planet has undergone major changes. The government in power on Draco has adopted laws that require women to live under the care of either a husband or a guardian, and since she is not married, she will be assigned a guardian. 
Kayla is not the type of woman to be easily controlled, and she jumps at the chance to organize a rebellion, but she is immediately thwarted and then firmly chastised. Afterwards, Patrick informs her that he will be stepping in to act as her guardian, and he will be employing a unique form of discipline Draco reserves for the most stubborn of women. Kayla will be treated like a naughty little girl, and any further unruly behavior will result in punishments far more humiliating than just a spanking. 
Not truly believing that Patrick will implement his plan, Kayla defies him, and to her horror he bares her bottom, spanks her soundly, and then puts her in a diaper. But soon enough, when she’s seated at Patrick’s feet, coloring, with her new stuffed bear nearby, her thoughts about her place on Draco begin to change. As she grows closer to Patrick, will she be able to make the best of her situation and accept her guardian’s love and care? 
Publisher’s Note: Assigned a Guardian is an erotic novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, age play, diaper play, medical play, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
Click here to buy it on Amazon! 

Monday, September 15, 2014

Diapered polygamy, in tribute to Raya #Taboo2sday

Last week, Raya made my heart very glad with a lovely snippet from her story Diaper It, from the ultra-delicious Finishing School series. I need to share in kind.
After "Water Time," once the junior-wife was in her clean diaper, the continence-session could begin, and the shape of it was simple and elegant. She must wet that clean diaper in the presence of her husband and her senior-wife. Barbara also recommended that she be gagged with her own panties, so that when the time came for her to wet her diaper she would have to attract her husband's and senior's attention by childish tugs at the arm and gestures pointing at her diapered bottom; Barbara instructed the husband and senior to pretend not to understand, to increase the effectiveness of the lesson, and above all not to allow the junior to wet her diaper just when she wanted, but to make her wait, as a help to her in realizing the pleasure she could have in her submissive need to display her body as the property of her husband. Too, she advised that the girl be led back to the bathroom, and made to look at the toilet while she wet herself, while husband or senior caressed her through the diaper as she peed. 
Then, the girl with the wet diaper was made to do one or more household chores, still wearing the wet diaper. Vacuuming was a favorite choice, since it made the girl move around publicly clad only in the diaper. Finally, after an hour or so, usually, she was allowed to go back to the bathroom and clean herself up, though it was rare that her husband did not claim the privilege of watching her at this task, and then of putting her over the trestle for another stern lesson with cock or paddle or both. For purposes of especially severe discipline, Barbara recommended a caning or a whipping at this point, as the girl was generally well disposed to receive chastisement submissively and attractively then. On less severe occasions, she was of the opinion that a night in the senior-wife's bed could be salutary after a continence lesson, as juniors tended to be very eager to please their seniors and could often be taught new ways of pleasuring them, or at least seduced into kissing puss for hours on end.
Hmm. I guess I didn't reveal what "Water Time" is. You'll just have to read the Omnibus! 
More wonderful, taboo delights below!









Monday, March 10, 2014

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

Monday, February 17, 2014

Diapered at my in-laws: #Taboo2sday

As promised, the taboo moment (if you think diapers are taboo) from Emily's Victorian Wedding Trip. It's my contribution to this week's Taboo Tuesday.
That was when I wet my diaper, looking down at my plate and feeling the blood fill my face so entirely, and so warmly, that I lost almost lost touch with where I was. Perhaps the start of realizing that I was supposed to be something other than a diaper girl at my husband's parents' table (at least according to them; from Charles' perspective, I'm reasonably sure, being a diaper girl was exactly what was desired), distracted my mind enough from the long-accustomed task of keeping my pee inside my bladder that I was able to let go. I thought of my great-great-grandmother being forced to the same thing on her Mrs. Smith's Persian rug (see Book 25, Emily's Morning). Here was I doing it at my own Mrs. Smith's dining-room table. The forbiddenness of the thing was so arousing I was in serious danger of moaning right there. 
"Emily?" said Mrs. Smith. "Are you all right?" 
Jesus, I suddenly thought to myself, they're going to think I'm pregnant. That thought gave me a fit of the giggles, which made Mr. and Mrs. Smith look at each other in consternation again. At that point, I excused myself from the table. I crept upstairs, as quietly as I could; Charles joined me a minute later. There, in the guest-bedroom that had been his nursery, my daddy changed me, not neglecting beforehand to gag me with the dry diaper and to force me to a shuddering, submissive climax there on the opened wet one.
Here's the blurb! Buy the book here!
But Charles had something else in mind, it turned out. After waiting all day for him to say something about a discipline-session, that night he called me into his study and, instead of telling me prepare for a caning, told me that in preparation for our trip to Europe, I was going to learn to be a little girl when he wanted me to be. "I must say, Emily," he said, "that your love of your diapers has intrigued me. We're going to be doing more ageplay from now on--and we know it's something they do in Prophettown, as well, so it may be useful on our trip."  
I knew instantly what this was about. It was about the way I had responded to Sam's daddy-domming me.  
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 book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, anal, spanking, intense 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.

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


 Taboo Tuesday!






Diapers are back for fantasy-Emily! Emily's Victorian Wedding Trip

I really love this scene, from the recently released 32nd book of EXPLORATIONS, Emily's Victorian Wedding Trip. But. . . you know about me and diapers by now, right? Tomorrow I'll give you the taboo eight sentences that follow, for Taboo Tuesday!
Wearing a diaper under one's dress at one's in-laws isn't really like anything else. Sometimes I wonder what percentage of the general population (female or male or whatever, I suppose) would find it, as I did, so arousing that it was nearly impossible to carry on a rational conversation. 
Charles' mother: "So have you ever been to Europe before, Emily?" 
Emily: "Yes--that is to say, no, or, really. No." Giggle. My bladder was full, and I couldn't figure out how I was possibly supposed to get over my hangups and release the necessary muscles. 
Mother-in-law and father-in-law exchange puzzled glances. True, I had elected to delay undergrad to marry Charles, but I'd never had a reputation as an airhead. I was dying to say, "I really am smart: you know me! It's just that I'm wearing a fucking diaper, and your son wants me to wet it so he can take me upstairs and change it. OK?" 
"Well," said Charles' father, "I'm sure you'll adore it--you took all those language courses at Hotchkiss, right?" 
"Mm-hmm," I said, after remembering that before becoming a little girl in a diaper I had actually been a straight-A Latin and French student.
Here's the blurb. Buy the book here! 
But Charles had something else in mind, it turned out. After waiting all day for him to say something about a discipline-session, that night he called me into his study and, instead of telling me prepare for a caning, told me that in preparation for our trip to Europe, I was going to learn to be a little girl when he wanted me to be. "I must say, Emily," he said, "that your love of your diapers has intrigued me. We're going to be doing more ageplay from now on--and we know it's something they do in Prophettown, as well, so it may be useful on our trip."  
I knew instantly what this was about. It was about the way I had responded to Sam's daddy-domming me.  
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 book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, anal, spanking, intense 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.

Friday, January 24, 2014

Spanking among The Sister-Wives of Prophettown #SatSpanks

I'm dialing the squick potential up to eleven to celebrate the release of The Sister-Wives of Prophettown, the second volume of the second edition of EXPLORATIONS. Here's a slice of life from that strange pseudoreligious community where all men are dominants, all women are submissive, and everyone is over 18. NOTE: This is a FANTASY. I beg of you--don't read it if you're easily offended by, well, anything.
"Now, dear," replied the Matron, putting her hand gently on Syla's left breast and softly stroking the nipple, "This is the garment of a maiden who has pleased the Prophet greatly. You must not fuss." There was the barest hint of firmness in these last words. 
But Syla hesitated. 
The Matron sighed. "Dear, I don't want to have to use my paddle, but I will if I must." 
Syla's face showed ambivalence--she was clearly excited by the thought of wearing the thong--but not yet compliance, perhaps not sure that the Prophet wasn't trying to entrap her into immodesty. 
In a trice, the matron had the girl over her knee, and the paddle came down smartly six times, as Syla cried "Please, no! I. . . I'll put them on!"
Here's the blurb (buy the book here!):
After watching the first part of The Prophet's Way I couldn't bear it; I needed to see the rest, but it wasn't in my special drawer (which I wasn't even supposed to be looking in without permission, anyway; my heart quailed when I peeked in and caught sight of my paddle, with my name on it--involuntarily I moved my right hand to my bottom, and swallowed hard). 
The second volume of the second edition of Explorations tells the strange story of "my" discovering the existence of a pseudo-religious, polygmaous BDSM community, where all men are dominants and all women are submissives. Mf, MFf, anal, spanking, polygamy, ageplay, watersports, diaperplay. 
This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasies that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MFf, anal, spanking, polygamy, ageplay, watersports, diaperplay. All characters depicted are consenting adults. 
This book is the second volume of the second edition of EXPLORATIONS. It contains a revision of material previously released as all or part of the following books: Emily, Ravished by Porn; Emily's Sacred Porn; Emily and the Shameful Customs of Prophettown; Emily and the Sacred Submission of Prophettown; Emily and the Paradise-Step of Prophettown; Emily and the Lusts of Prophettown; Emily and the Training-Shed of Prophettown; Emily and the Forbidden Loves of Prophettown; Emily and the Sister-Wives of Prophettown; EXPLORATIONS: Books 6-10; EXPLORATIONS: Books 11-16; EXPLORATIONS: Part 1 (Books 1-16).
Read all the Saturday Spankings!






Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Diapers and Oil-Changes

(We're continuing from here. Charles and I had just come up with a unique take on domestic discipline.)

Pregnancy: lucky me, with my love for anal! Really, though, it was reasonably fulfilling, but not adventurous, so we'll skip over the pregnancies. There was a LOT of corner-time, and a lot of online searching for interesting maternity lingerie (of which there's not a whole heck of a lot around, unfortunately).

I did promise to talk about diapering while diapered, but as I think about it I'm not sure how much it will interest you, really. A promise is a promise, though.

I think it probably happened four or five times from 2004 (when Chloe was born) to 2012 (when Ethan was finally out of diapers) that for one of two reasons I was diapered for a day or more: either I'd more or less requested it, just because, you know, me and diapers; or Charles had decided there was something I needed a more or less constant reminder about--like bringing my car in for an oil-change. I think that latter situation happened twice, and it was really pretty hot (especially the first time), so I'll narrate it for you.

"Em, did you get your oil changed?"

"Oh goddammit."

The last time this had happened it had turned out that a $200 brake problem had turned into a $1000 brake problem because I hadn't gotten the brakes checked, which they would of course have been if I'd remembered to get the oil changed; I'd been paddled for that--automotive affairs are one of our DD areas. As if to emphasize the source of the problem, Chloe (2) ran through the scene, bound for something dangerous, as far as could be told from the enormous grin on her face.

"Chloe's in daycare now," Charles said.

"I know, I know. There's just so much. . ."

"But."

I hung my head, and clasped my hands in front of me. "But this is important. Yes."

"That's the car that carries the most precious things in the world to me."

"Yes."

"In my office, after bedtime."

"Yes, Sir."

I was spanked with his belt over my spanking-stool. Belt-spankings, delivered on my bare bottom, have a special role as a domestic-discipline trope, and I'd like to think I would have remembered the oil-change when I felt the warm sting that tends to linger in the morning, but Charles was a bit frustrated with me, and he said, when the spanking was over, "Sweetheart, please get a diaper and meet me in the bedroom" (my lovely little room was now of course Chloe's lovely little room; in the old days, that was where I was diapered--now it was where I diapered my daughter).

I spread the diaper on the bed, thinking that it had been so long since the last time, and that I had changed so many of Chloe's diapers now, that I might not even be into it any more. Charles came into the room behind me.

"Clothes off," he growled in my ear. "Your butt on the diaper."

I was definitely still into it, I realized. I stripped off my jeans and panties, then my t-shirt and my bra, feeling like a little girl who needs a particularly nasty diaper-change (one thing Chloe did for my diaper-fantasies, both welcome and un-, was to add a lot of texture), with all the shame that accompanies it for a big girl who has done something so shameful that she must be treated like a little one.

I was just moving towards the bed when I felt Charles put his left arm around my waist from behind, and take my bottom in his right hand. He said, "I would spank you again if it wouldn't wake up Chloe, but you definitely need another reminder before we put on your diaper."

I felt his fingers working up inside the valley between my cheeks, then the middle on touching me, pushing into me.

"Oh, please," I said, "Charles, please don't."

"You're a very naughty girl," he said. "Open up now."

I whimpered and opened to his finger.

"Look at your diaper," he murmured.

I looked. Diapers were for little girls, and for big girls who had been bad. Charles' finger moved in and out. The indignity was terrible.

"Sweetheart, why am I going to diaper you?"

"Because I didn't get the oil changed," I whispered.

"Do you think that the diaper will remind you to do that tomorrow?"

"Yes sir," I said.

"How long do I need to diaper you for, do you think?" he asked.

"Just a day, sir?"

"We can start there. Now bend all the way over and put your hands on the bed. Look at your diaper while I enjoy you. You're not going to come tonight. But if you get the oil changed tomorrow, I'll reward you tomorrow night."

Thus it was that the next morning, I diapered my daughter while wearing a diaper myself. It was lovely, and the oil got changed that day too.

(If you like these stories, try the Companion to EXPLORATIONS!)


(Caroline's Rocking Horse [Mf, ageplay, anal] and The Count's Discipline [medieval, spanking, anal] are available at Amazon!)

Monday, January 13, 2014

Multiple-man night continues: Emily's Return to Smith's

New in the EXPLORATIONS series this week is Book 30, with naughty action on two fronts!

But don't take my word for it--read a wicked, wicked excerpt:
I closed my eyes for a moment, and found when I opened them that Joe had come to stand over me. "My turn," he said, and got to his knees on the carpet, then lined up his cock so he'd be able to thrust into the ring-gag. Then he got onto all fours and began to fuck in earnest. Really, this was the easiest thing so far for me: Joe just wanted to make sure he'd sampled my mouth in this humiliating posture, in which he utterly dominated me with his hairy, musky crotch. 
Nor did he finish, but instead he withdrew, and took the ring-gag off me at last, and said, "Bathroom time, sweetheart. We hear you like to play with diapers. That's good, because I like to spank girls who wet their panties, and put them in diapers to teach them a lesson."
See? Here's the blurb. Buy the book here
That was when I heard Susan laugh for the first time. The sound was like quicksilver, and I did not want it to end. "You are sweet, aren't you? Yes, I definitely have the advantage of you, don't I--and that's without you even knowing what our custom is when we greet girls in your position!"  
"Susan!" said Mrs. Smith. "That's simply cruel of you! Think of Emily's feelings." Now she was our governess, it seemed, helping us learn the most basic social graces. There was something delicious in being returned that way to my girlhood. "Mrs. Wilkes," Mrs. Smith continued, "Lady F--- (to whom you have not yet to be sure truly been introduced, which is the pert thing's own fault!) is referring to a naughty custom that the girls of the great drama have in greeting one another when one of them happens to be placed as you are placed. I don't think you would mind it so much, and it is not explicitly in contravention of any rule currently in effect over the two of you, so I am willing to permit it, but it would rather spoil Lady F----'s intentions if I were to tell you more, so I will ask you whether you are willing that Lady F---- should greet you as a sister of the drama."  
I was of course afire now to know what this greeting was, and no less eager to be considered a sister of this noble personage. "I am willing, Mrs. Smith."  
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.
This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MMMf (no sex among the men), Ff, watersports, anal, spanking. 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. 

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Diapered in the land of urolagnia, part 2

(Please vote for the best spanking books of the year, over at the wonderful Spanking Romance Reviews! Note that I wouldn't object if you voted for The First Notebook in the historical category!)

(We're continuing from here with more of this specialized kind of ageplay. For more general ageplay purposes, it might be worth checking out Caroline's Rocking Horse, which comes out tomorrow!).

I can't honestly say that I didn't smile in triumph as I went upstairs, without pulling my jeans up, just because it felt so marvelous to have them around my thighs because my daddy had put them there, to get a lovely cloth diaper from my secret stash.

OK, I know that it's perverted by any standard, old-fashioned measurement. Wearing a diaper and nothing else, though. . . I'm not sure I wouldn't choose it as my desert-island kink. I mean, as long as you assured me I'd get spanked, little-girl style, for any infractions I committed while wearing it.

I'm sure Charles was expecting I would be right back to tell him I'd wet the diaper, but he didn't yet quite understand, as far as I could tell. I wanted to fight it, to think about how I was just big enough to know that I should try to hold my pee in. I didn't want to be toilet-trained--not yet--but I did want to be a big girl, and so the conflict within me was very real.

In the end, I went to him, wearing only the diaper. He looked expectantly at me. I said, "Daddy, I think I'm going to. . ." and I did, right in front of him. The eroticism of the feeling of release was so great that I had to put a hand out to steady myself against his bookshelf, and I poised myself there for a moment, with my eyes closed, just feeling myself pee into my diaper.

I heard him approaching with rapid steps, and he had me around the waist, and he was pulling me towards him, against his chest, and I felt his hand on my bottom, and I cried out as if he had caned me. "Shh," he said, "such a bad girl." But I knew he meant good girl.

He spanked me, as we stood there--being spanked in a wet cloth diaper is an absolutely unique feeling: it doesn't hurt; it doesn't even really sting, but it feels so very, very naughty that you want it to stop and want it go on forever. He spanked me five times, and then he turned me around, like a little girl, and gave me one more spank on my bottom, the way Captain von Trapp does to Marta in The Sound of Music, and said "Get upstairs to your room, and lie on your bed. I'll be there to change you in a moment."

The changing is, I think, the whole point. To have one's diaper changed goes beyond the wonderful unveiling moment of, for instance, having one's panties pulled down, whether for a spanking or for anything else your daddy wants to do with you. Not only does the person changing your diaper assert his right to uncover your nakedness for your own good (and also for his convenience--and pleasure, should he choose to use you that way), but he also returns you to a state of ultimate vulnerability, in which state his assertion of his right to keep you dry, and warm, and safe, feels like a kind of transformation--if only for a little while--of your entire life into something that glows with love, that has meaning: an existence unfortunately utterly dissimilar to what real life feels like for grown-ups.

When your daddy decides that he wants to fuck your little-girl pussy, after taking off your wet diaper, and wiping your private parts clean, or even your little-girl bottom, the fact that he was the one to take off the diaper, for the purpose of changing you to make you more comfortable, makes that very grown-up activity into a sort of initiation into the ways of daddies that feels both terribly, thrillingly naughty and warmly, lovingly affectionate. Even when, as Charles did that afternoon, your daddy becomes a little severe with you, and seems to care more about his own rough pleasure than about yours--or even about your comfort--, your daddy's assertion of his authority feels lovely because you can tell that your body is making him feel so good he can't help himself, but must use you roughly.

All the above under the lovely triskelion of paradox, for me at least. Above all, that relationship can only exist when you trust your daddy completely. I absolutely have to feel, when my husband is, say, riding my backside like a farmer, hobbledy-hoy hobbledy-hoy, that he is going to cuddle me afterward, and tell me that I'm a good girl. Otherwise, everything that's such an unbelievable turn-on when I trust him would instantly become an atrocity.


(If you like this kind of story, try the Companion to EXPLORATIONS!)

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Diapered in the land of urolagnia

(The story's continuing from here.)

The next time, with the diapers, was when the ageplay moved into the bathroom. Inspired by Charles' willingness to give these things a more thorough try than he had before, I'd written the diaper scene in Emily's Wedding-Trip (forthcoming) and showed it to him. I was very glad to see that it seemed to have given him some ideas.

I was reading the New York Times (in 2002, that didn't seem as quaint as it does now) and eating the bagel Charles had brought me, at the kitchen table, on a Saturday morning, when he entered the kitchen and said, "Sweetheart?" I looked up, inquiringly. "I have some commands to give--would you please meet me in my study in five minutes?"

I remembered that I had, as a sort of minor brushstroke, written in Emily's Wedding-Trip that fantasy-Charles likes to give fantasy-Emily his commands in his study. It sounds absurd, I know, but at the very thought that I would be receiving commands that way, I started to feel warm between my thighs.

"Yes, Sir," I said. He vanished into the room in question. I looked at the clock, and knew I wouldn't be able to go back to reading the paper. What if I arrived in his study wearing only a diaper? He hadn't specified my clothing, so I probably shouldn't change, but I was so turned on at the thought that it was hard to resist the impulse to surprise him that way. My hand was drifting dangerously close to the front of my jeans.

"And, No, you may not put on your diaper yet!" I heard him call from his study.

I felt myself turn crimson. "I. . . wasn't. . ." I spluttered.

"That's a laugh," he called back.

"Oh, all right," I said, huffily, to the table.

The five minutes were up by then, thank goodness. I stood on legs that were rather shaky for 10am, and went to his study.

"As far as I can tell," Charles said, "your diaper thing is about humiliation."

"Well," I demurred, "it's a very special kind of humiliation. . ." I was standing before him, as my fantasy-avatar does, while he was seated in his desk chair, which he had swivelled around to face me, as if I were a trivial erotic distraction from his man-business. Goofy, but wonderful.

"Yes?"

"I mean, it's humiliating to be told that you aren't mature enough to wear big-girl underpants, but it's humiliating in the very specific way that kind of throws you back to childhood. It's different from. . . say. . . being told that you have to go to the restroom in a mall and take off your panties and bring them back to your husband."

"Just as an example."

I nodded. "Just as an example."

"So what does the difference. . . do?" He had taken my hand, and pulled me closer, enclosing my thighs inside his, the way he knows I like. Now, with his right hand, he idly cupped my backside, making me emit one of those shameful whimpers that seem to be my specialty.

"It. . . glug. . . it means. . . I'm you're little girl and you're my daddy. . . and. . . oh my God, Charles, fuck you, I can't think when you're doing that. . ."

"Try, little girl. I know little girls sometimes don't know how to say exactly what they mean, because they haven't learned as many words as people who hold doctoral degrees. . ."

"Now is NOT the time to make fun of my Juris Doctor degree, asshole."

He spanked me. "It is if I say it is, little girl."

"Oh please just put me in my fucking diaper, Sir."

He unbuttoned my jeans, and pulled them down, and spanked me three more times. "No, little girl. I want to hear about what diapers mean." It was, in one sense, unbearably wonderful, but, in another, nearly unbearable.

I rested my hands on his shoulders, and looked down into his chocolate eyes. "Diapers mean that you have fucked me so mindblowingly well that you have taken possession not just of my present, and not just of my past, but also of my private, imaginary ideas about my past, which I call my childhood. Your cock makes me want to be a little girl in diapers, so that it can be you who tells me that it's time for me to wear big girl panties, because it's time I learned what my little private part is good for, when a big strong man like you looks at it lustfully, the way you do."

"Um," Charles said.

"And when I pee in my diapers, it means that I am still that innocent little girl, not yet toilet-trained, who needs a daddy like you to train me how to be good, so I can wear big girl panties and get fucked like a big girl."

"Um."

"And. . ."

"OK, Emily, you can stop now, and go put on your diaper. When you have wet your diaper, please come get me, and I will change you, and we will continue this. . . intriguing. . . conversation."


(If you like this kind of story, try the Companion to EXPLORATIONS!)

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

In the land of urolagnia, part 2

In this post I continue the story in this area that I know is a specialized interest. I'll understand if you stop reading. Feel free, though, to say to some friend you're sure shares your horror, "Did you see what that hussy Emily Tilton wrote? About the watersports?" Your friend will definitely say "Oh. My. God. She is SUCH a hussy." But, then, you never know: perhaps in the safety of her own home she may Google "emily tilton watersports." Just to see how much of a hussy I really am.

(We're continuing from here.)

I had to clean up the floor, still wearing my soaking panties, feeling that terrible, lovely sense of degradation. Charles washed his hands, then watched me, slowly stroking his hard cock. I did my best to scrub the floor with a maximum of bottom-movement, and it paid off.

"Emily," he said, in the ultra-dominant voice I very rarely hear, "take off those panties, then get in the shower and face the wall, with your hands against it."

I did as I was commanded.

"I'm about to do something I promised I'd never do, sweetheart." Then he pissed on me, from where he stood outside the shower stall, starting with my legs, and moving up, over my bottom, to the small of my back, and then down again.

There's a part of watersports that still defies the kind of analysis I've managed to do on the vast majority of my kinks. The humiliation factor is obvious on both sides of the coin--which I usually think of as the "pee-side" (submissive's bladder-control taken away) and the "piss-side" (dominant uses urine to mark submissive as degraded), but there's also the matter of the proximity of our urethras to our erogenous zones.

I guess what I've never been able to figure out is whether the actual erotic pleasure--the physical stimulation of our sex organs by the act of withholding and then releasing urine--has an integral relation to the humiliation involved or not. Or, maybe to put it another way, would we still enjoy watersports (those of us who do, I mean) if we pissed out of our elbows?

Perhaps the question makes no sense, though. We probably wouldn't have the same feelings of shame about our urine if it came out of a place other than the place that was always private and secret and had something mysterious about it, until the day we figured out that touching and being touched there could make us feel better than just about anything else in the whole world, which made the whole affair even more mysterious, but also much more important, and much more in need of being kept secret.

And when you throw toilet-training in there, and all the "Are you a big girl or a baby?" stuff that goes along with that, well I don't know why watersports isn't something more people are into, I guess, at least among those who are already BDSM-inclined. As long as you have sex and humiliation together, how can bladder-related activities not be involved? I mean, didn't you ever pee your pants as a kid, and feel that terrible humiliation?

(Actually, I had a horrendous experience with this in second grade, where I was too scared to ask to go to the bathroom. Maybe that's what did it. So everyone just needs to be extra, extra humiliated by a pee-in-your-pants incident, and then it'll be watersports all the time!)

Anyway, I did my level best to make noises that reflected that delicious humiliation that was causing my vulva to run with moisture that flowed down to meet my master's piss. The stream was over, and Charles was in the stall with me, closing the door and turning on the water. Of all the times I've wished that fucking in the shower actually worked, this was one of the most intense. But I did give him a really skillful handjob. Soap is good for that. And there was all sorts of romantic kissing and things, but you don't want to hear about that.

After we were clean, and wearing fluffy towels, we went to lie down in our bed to debrief. (Though of course in another sense, we were already de-briefed. Heh.). "Thanks, sweetie," I said as I snuggled into his chest. "Seemed like you kind of enjoyed it."

"Oh, yes."

"What's up next?" I played with the hem of his towel, trying not to get my hopes up. "Did I. . . you know. . . earn my diapers?"

He kissed the top of my head. "Yes, little girl, I think you did."

"Oh, daddy!" I said. "Thank you!"

(If you like this mode of narrative, buy the Companion to EXPLORATIONS, which is chock-full of it!)

Friday, October 4, 2013

Emily's Victorian Bridal Chamber: A few moments later #SatSpanks

My tease last week succeeded beautifully, as far as I could tell, and so, since so many of you were nice enough to call me naughty, I'll give you the next NINE sentences of Emily's Victorian Bridal Chamber (on the theory that I banked one last Saturday). Unfortunately Headmistress knows I like to be spanked, so I can't hope for punishment in recompense of this infraction, I suppose--sigh.

Suddenly my long battle with Mrs. Smith over undressing in her sitting-room came back into my mind. Was I now to be made to show myself to a servant in my own house? I served my honor, just for a moment. 
“No,” I said quietly. 
Polly moved with a quickness I could scarcely believe. She seemed only to be reaching out for my shoulder, but almost immediately I was kneeling next to the bed with my face held down in the bed-clothes—only for a moment, though, because Polly then forced my mouth open firmly but gently, and put a linen towel inside. 
Only then did she speak again: “I’m very sorry, Miss, to ‘ave to do this on your weddin’-day, but you know my orders. Now don’t move, or it’ll be the cane instead of the paddle.” I did not move.
Here's the blurb, once again (buy the book here!):
"This last condition may seem strange, but it is absolutely essential that we have such evidence before we begin to plan for your visit, as the ostensible reason for your presence in Prophettown will be that you have applied to have Mrs. Smith fulfill the role of the Whore of the Nations in the yearly festival of the Angel of Love. We will explain further if we are able to reach an agreement, and you are on your way to Prophettown, but in brief the role of the whore is forbidden to the women of Prophettown, and so men from the outside world, who own submissives, apply (with a large fee, which we will of course waive in your case) for their submissives to play the part, because the owner of the girl who plays the whore is given his own special, highly-coveted, role in the festival. As you have no doubt already guessed, the role of the whore involves polyandrous service; in order to allow you passage to Prophettown, Mrs. Smith will have to be prepared to play it, and I will have to have the same sort of audition-video for her that I have for the other candidates. 
"Please let me know as soon as possible whether you agree to these conditions. Once you do, we can begin to plan your passage, which will have to take place very soon, since the festival occurs at midsummer, less than three weeks from now. 
"I am yours, sincerely, 
"Marcion, Prophet Richards" 
In the 27th book of Explorations, as the story of fantasy-Emily's connection with Prophettown gathers a frightening sort of momentum, the story of Victorian Emily's wedding-night also comes to its crisis point. 
This book of EXPLORATIONS contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Ff, Mf, ageplay, pseudoincest, diaperplay, spanking. 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!



Monday, September 30, 2013

Tease, and news: Emily's Victorian Bridal Chamber

The tease, which is significantly meatier than the naughty thing I did on Saturday, is below. How else could I get you to read the ultra-significant news about EXPLORATIONS?

And that news is big. After high-level talks with trusted advisors, I've decided to try reconfiguring the project along not one, not two, but three different, new tracks. I'll be opening the first of those tracks in my next release, after Emily's Victorian Bridal Chamber (buy it here!), so this is, I suppose, the amazing title-reveal:



THE FIRST NOTEBOOK OF 
EMILY ORN WILKES, 
SECRET COUNTESS OF WESSULK


My spanking romance colleagues have said kind things about the Victorian material, and made me wonder whether a release of the first part of it, on its own, might be a better fit for some readers. Worth trying, at least! Watch this space for further teases and reveals, of course.

And here's the tease for Emily's Victorian Bridal Chamber (buy it here!). This excerpt comes from much later in the book than the bit I dangled Saturday. Emily's new husband has just told her that he wooed her because he had heard the story of her severe chastisement for "debauching" her best friend.
Here at last was an explanation of certain things that had remained until then mysterious in the relationship between Mr. Wilkes and Mrs. Smith. But at that moment the coach stopped; we were arrived at our new home. The servants, who met us of course in the front hall, were all very kind in their congratulations, and I was quite unable to tell which, if any, of them, were party to the great drama. I remembered Polly, and suddenly wondered whether she might be hired away from Smith’s. The thought did nothing to decrease the intensity of sensation I was experiencing from the aide-mari, now that the time of my finally learning what it meant to be deflowered approached. 
“Mrs. Ramsay, we will be retiring, now. Would you please show Mrs. Wilkes her chamber, and in the absence of her maid would you assist her there? The wooden case is to be placed on her coffee-table. Mr. Ramsay, would you see that supper is ready to be served in Mrs. Wilkes’ sitting-room at 10 o’clock?” 
No explanation nor excuse was given for a bride to be put to bed at four in the afternoon. Neither house-keeper nor butler showed any sign of knowledge of what was now to take place—that the new mistress would no longer be a maid when supper was brought to her sitting-room, and that however she might struggle her bridegroom was now to take his pleasure of her maidenhead at his leisure and for as long as he chose.
And, of course, the blurb: 
"This last condition may seem strange, but it is absolutely essential that we have such evidence before we begin to plan for your visit, as the ostensible reason for your presence in Prophettown will be that you have applied to have Mrs. Smith fulfill the role of the Whore of the Nations in the yearly festival of the Angel of Love. We will explain further if we are able to reach an agreement, and you are on your way to Prophettown, but in brief the role of the whore is forbidden to the women of Prophettown, and so men from the outside world, who own submissives, apply (with a large fee, which we will of course waive in your case) for their submissives to play the part, because the owner of the girl who plays the whore is given his own special, highly-coveted, role in the festival. As you have no doubt already guessed, the role of the whore involves polyandrous service; in order to allow you passage to Prophettown, Mrs. Smith will have to be prepared to play it, and I will have to have the same sort of audition-video for her that I have for the other candidates. 
"Please let me know as soon as possible whether you agree to these conditions. Once you do, we can begin to plan your passage, which will have to take place very soon, since the festival occurs at midsummer, less than three weeks from now. 
"I am yours, sincerely, 
"Marcion, Prophet Richards" 
In the 27th book of Explorations, as the story of fantasy-Emily's connection with Prophettown gathers a frightening sort of momentum, the story of Victorian Emily's wedding-night also comes to its crisis point. 
This book of EXPLORATIONS contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Ff, Mf, ageplay, pseudoincest, diaperplay, spanking. 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.

Friday, September 27, 2013

Emily's Victorian Bridal Chamber #SatSpanks

The climax at last. . . or is it? When it's an Emily Tilton wedding-night (how many of these have I written? Four so far--and every one a snowflake!), it enjoys the same favor Athena gives to the reunion-sex of Odysseus and Penelope. Or, you might say, it goes on forever. At any rate, Emily's Victorian Bridal Chamber (buy it here!) definitely presents the beginning, the same way, all those months ago, Emily's Submissive Wedding-Night presented the beginning of my very first one. (If you want to read Emily's Submissive Wedding-Night, download EXPLORATIONS: Books 1-5 for free here!)

Victorian Emily does not play with herself on the morning of her wedding-day, but:


After she had taken the breakfast things, Polly returned. My heart sank (and skipped a beat) when I saw her close the door firmly behind her. 
“It’s time, Miss.” She went to the closet and returned with the little case. I stood and waited. She waited, as well. “Miss,” she finally said, “you must remove your night-dress.”
Shall I give you the eighth sentence? I think not--next week, dear reader!

Blurb (the excerpt at the top comes from the fantasy-Emily stuff about Prophettown--see EXPLORATIONS 101 for more on that) (buy it here!):

"This last condition may seem strange, but it is absolutely essential that we have such evidence before we begin to plan for your visit, as the ostensible reason for your presence in Prophettown will be that you have applied to have Mrs. Smith fulfill the role of the Whore of the Nations in the yearly festival of the Angel of Love. We will explain further if we are able to reach an agreement, and you are on your way to Prophettown, but in brief the role of the whore is forbidden to the women of Prophettown, and so men from the outside world, who own submissives, apply (with a large fee, which we will of course waive in your case) for their submissives to play the part, because the owner of the girl who plays the whore is given his own special, highly-coveted, role in the festival. As you have no doubt already guessed, the role of the whore involves polyandrous service; in order to allow you passage to Prophettown, Mrs. Smith will have to be prepared to play it, and I will have to have the same sort of audition-video for her that I have for the other candidates. 
"Please let me know as soon as possible whether you agree to these conditions. Once you do, we can begin to plan your passage, which will have to take place very soon, since the festival occurs at midsummer, less than three weeks from now. 
"I am yours, sincerely, 
"Marcion, Prophet Richards" 
In the 27th book of Explorations, as the story of fantasy-Emily's connection with Prophettown gathers a frightening sort of momentum, the story of Victorian Emily's wedding-night also comes to its crisis point. 
This book of EXPLORATIONS contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Ff, Mf, ageplay, pseudoincest, diaperplay, spanking. 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!


Emily's Victorian Bridal Chamber COVER REVEAL

Evocative, no? It's from Waterhouse's St. Eulalia. I'm a wicked girl, I know, but sex and religion go hand in hand for me, and most sorts of legendary martyrdom are unbearably erotic as far as I'm concerned.

Blurbage:
"This last condition may seem strange, but it is absolutely essential that we have such evidence before we begin to plan for your visit, as the ostensible reason for your presence in Prophettown will be that you have applied to have Mrs. Smith fulfill the role of the Whore of the Nations in the yearly festival of the Angel of Love. We will explain further if we are able to reach an agreement, and you are on your way to Prophettown, but in brief the role of the whore is forbidden to the women of Prophettown, and so men from the outside world, who own submissives, apply (with a large fee, which we will of course waive in your case) for their submissives to play the part, because the owner of the girl who plays the whore is given his own special, highly-coveted, role in the festival. As you have no doubt already guessed, the role of the whore involves polyandrous service; in order to allow you passage to Prophettown, Mrs. Smith will have to be prepared to play it, and I will have to have the same sort of audition-video for her that I have for the other candidates. 
"Please let me know as soon as possible whether you agree to these conditions. Once you do, we can begin to plan your passage, which will have to take place very soon, since the festival occurs at midsummer, less than three weeks from now. 
"I am yours, sincerely, 
"Marcion, Prophet Richards" 
In the 27th book of Explorations, as the story of fantasy-Emily's connection with Prophettown gathers a frightening sort of momentum, the story of Victorian Emily's wedding-night also comes to its crisis point. 
This book of EXPLORATIONS contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Ff, Mf, ageplay, pseudoincest, diaperplay, spanking. 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.

Monday, September 23, 2013

Forthcoming: Emily's Victorian Bridal Chamber

Is this part called the BLURB REVEAL! maybe?

At any rate, everybody's being so nice about the Victorian stuff that I'm starting to feel bad that it's couched in all this (for me totally hot) black-helicopter Dan-Brown-esque bullshit about Prophettown, featuring every taboo thing most people could dream of (see the blurb if you're wondering). 


I guess that means that someday I can release some kind of "remix," the way the real authors do: THE NOTEBOOKS OF EMILY ORN WILKES, SECRET COUNTESS OF WESSULK. Then, you know, I can entice a publisher into putting out a "facsimile" edition, and I can go to the last remaining brick-and-mortar bookstore on earth (I'm wagering it'll be in Portland, or maybe Seattle; wait, will it be the gift-shop of "The Amazon.com Museum of American Reading Culture"?) and walk by it and maybe run a surreptitious hand over its leatherette cover.

Anyway, here's the blurb for the amazing 27th book (buy the book here!):

"This last condition may seem strange, but it is absolutely essential that we have such evidence before we begin to plan for your visit, as the ostensible reason for your presence in Prophettown will be that you have applied to have Mrs. Smith fulfill the role of the Whore of the Nations in the yearly festival of the Angel of Love. We will explain further if we are able to reach an agreement, and you are on your way to Prophettown, but in brief the role of the whore is forbidden to the women of Prophettown, and so men from the outside world, who own submissives, apply (with a large fee, which we will of course waive in your case) for their submissives to play the part, because the owner of the girl who plays the whore is given his own special, highly-coveted, role in the festival. As you have no doubt already guessed, the role of the whore involves polyandrous service; in order to allow you passage to Prophettown, Mrs. Smith will have to be prepared to play it, and I will have to have the same sort of audition-video for her that I have for the other candidates. 
"Please let me know as soon as possible whether you agree to these conditions. Once you do, we can begin to plan your passage, which will have to take place very soon, since the festival occurs at midsummer, less than three weeks from now. 
"I am yours, sincerely, 
"Marcion, Prophet Richards" 
In the 27th book of Explorations, as the story of fantasy-Emily's connection with Prophettown gathers a frightening sort of momentum, the story of Victorian Emily's wedding-night also comes to its crisis point. 
This book of EXPLORATIONS contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Ff, Mf, ageplay, pseudoincest, diaperplay, spanking. 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.
The style of this post is intended as an homage to the fiercely independent Sheri Savill.