Caught self-pleasuring and taken in hand: Geoffrey's Rules

The idea for Geoffrey's Rules came from reflecting, as I was brainstorming possible plots, on the way I used to feel when I was in graduate school, when I had entirely too much unstructured time on my hands in the library. I might as well confess that I was guilty several times of the "offense" that gets my narrator-heroine into trouble.

I gritted my mental teeth and read a sentence about the significance of Proust to the birth of the modern. Goddammit, why had I read Maud's Master for an hour with my hand up my nightgown that morning instead of getting up and starting to read what I should have been reading? 

And why, thinking about it here in the café, did I want nothing more than to get up, go to the bathroom, lower my jeans. . .  

Ah, Hell. I only had ten minutes, so I grabbed my bag before I went in there. As soon as the door was closed I dropped my bag and turned to the mirror. Chestnut hair to my shoulders, angular face, no make-up around my hazel eyes. Currently wearing a jeans jacket over a long-sleeve blue T-shirt on top. Down below, I was lowering my jeans quickly, to rest around my thighs, the white cotton panties atop them. With my left hand I raised the front of the T-shirt. 

Why did I always whimper when I saw myself--my self, I always thought, the me between my legs--in the mirror? What the Hell was wrong with me? Why did I always pretend that the hand (my own hand) that began to stir the soft hair between my thighs was a guy's hand--no, really, not just a guy's hand but the hand of a guy like Jeff the spanking security guard? And now, now he wanted more. He wanted more, and he wanted it immediately: the fingers pushed, invaded, I gasped, said "No! Please!" I closed my eyes. 

The door, which I had apparently in my haste neglected to lock, opened. My life changed, for as it turned out I had found a very serviceable way to be naughty. 

My life didn't change immediately, though, for all I heard from the other side of the door was a man's voice saying "Whoops! Sorry!" 

I waited, my heart beating wildly, for a full minute, hoping desperately that I wouldn't be seen exiting, and above all that there would be no men outside the door. With a flushed face and an inability to raise my eyes from the floor, I emerged, having judged the angles in the bathroom and realized that if he had been looking straight ahead as he entered, he would absolutely have seen me in the mirror, with my fingers buried deep between my thighs and a look of wild erotic abandon on my face--he might even have heard me say "No! Please!" 

I tried to shuffle out, but a female barista called "Hey! The guy who was here wanted me to give you this." I turned, to see that she was holding out a business card. 

Geoffrey King

Digital Media Consultant 

It said, on the front, with phone number, email, and URL. I turned it over, and my blush returned instantly. In block letters written in ink, it said, "You were naughty. It appears to me that you need discipline. If you are interested, let me know."

Here's the blurb (buy the book here!): 

For as long as she can remember, Chloe has imagined what it would be like to be utterly and completely dominated by a man. When she meets Geoffrey—a man who can make her blush red with shame and quiver with lust at the same time with nothing more than a word or a glance—Chloe begins to wonder if her fantasy could become reality.  

As hot as her desire burns, though, Chloe struggles with herself. How can a modern woman feel this way? Should she not berate herself for longing to be taken over her man’s knee for a bare bottom spanking? No matter how she yearns for it, does she really belong on her knees at Geoffrey’s feet, naked and waiting for him to take her any way he pleases?  

When Geoffrey offers her what she knows deep down she has always wanted, will she turn him away, or will she submit to his rules and allow her new master to take her fully in hand? 

Knowing you've found your fantasy-partner: Caroline's Rocking Horse

One of my favorite moments from my new ageplay release, Caroline's Rocking Horse, is when Caroline, who's convinced herself that her husband George was only pretending to be into ageplay the first time they did it, realizes that he actually is the fantasy-partner of whom she's always dreamed. Would that we all could be so lucky!

"You can forget about that act, George. I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work." 

That made him furious, I could see, in turn. Really furious? Or acting furious? Shit, I realized, he was never that good an actor, was he? My reason was beginning to wonder if maybe it shouldn't have been so hasty. 

"Call. Me. Daddy," he said, quietly, precisely, and with the air of one who is about to put his hand around your throat. 

I felt my eyes go wide and my heart start to pound wildly. 

"Daddy," I whispered. 

He began to come towards me. As he did so, he actually began to slap the belt in his right hand across the palm of his left to emphasize his words. The gesture did nothing for my sangfroid.

The blurb (buy the book here!):

Caroline Dawkins is a professor of English who has never confessed her age-play and spanking fantasies to her husband, George Lane, a corporate attorney. After George comes home one night and finds Caroline pleasuring herself, over the course of an extraordinary month Caroline and George utterly transform their erotic life together in the pattern of those taboo fantasies.  

From the lovely, degrading preparation and inspection of Caroline's charms, to the dark erotic practices she never thought she would get to try, George and Caroline taste the forbidden delights of age-play and connect emotionally as they never imagined they could.

A new direction to explore: Caroline's Rocking Horse cover reveal

This post records a landmark in my career, such as it is, as Emily Tilton, BDSM erotica and spanking romance author. I want to get it right, so I need to start with a little bit of explanation.

When, last March, I decided I wanted to see if anyone else out there were interested in the written elaborations of my spanking and BDSM fantasies I had been drafting off and on for many years, I decided on self-publishing the EXPLORATIONS series because I didn't think I had any stories that might interest a publisher. But as I became part of the endlessly wonderful community of erotica authors, and of the very special sub-community of spanking fiction authors, I began to see that some of my fellow authors were doing great work within the genre lines of spanking romance and BDSM romance. I also started to realize that my own EXPLORATIONS, while containing things that lie well outside those lines, were nevertheless in their own way not really very distant from the genres practiced by the writers I was coming to admire.

Then three wonderful colleagues, each in her own way, made it clear to me that I could write things that the presses wanted, and that to do so would not only widen my visibility, but also let me communicate to engaged readers some of the more abstract things (what I think BDSM means, for example) I've been trying to work out in EXPLORATIONS. Those colleagues are (in order of my conversations about this topic with them) Anastasia Vitsky, Thianna D, and Renee Rose, and I am endlessly grateful to them for their advice over the last few months as I tested the waters of what I can't help but think of as "real books."

The first book I wrote won't appear for a few months yet. It's part of the hush-hush Corbin's Bend project, and I love it, and will keep teasing it until it appears. It's called Sarah's Tutorial.

The second book I wrote is coming out Wednesday, and you see its amazing cover here courtesy of the marvelous folks at Blushing Books. I'm incredibly proud to be publishing my first "real book" with them, because way back ten years ago, when the first thought of trying to publish my erotica crossed my mind, I remember looking at the BB site and thinking "Maybe someday."

It's called Caroline's Rocking Horse, and it's about an English Professor who finally gets to live out her ageplay fantasies. There's probably no better snippet to start with than the very beginning:

My new rocking-horse was very beautiful. It was stained a lovely chestnut brown, and its mane seemed perhaps to be made from real horse-hair. Looking at it, gratitude to George for indulging me so very thoroughly swelled inside my chest. 

My new rocking-horse looked very sturdy, and it had adjustable stirrups that a grown wife like me could use to find the best possible position in which to ride. 

Finding the best possible position was going to be essential, because of the part of the new rocking-horse that made the little girl inside me blush crimson as I looked at it: the leather phallus that stuck up from its back like a naughty sentinel, slightly bent as if to beckon me towards it. 

"Daddy?" I said. 

"Yes, sweetheart?" my husband asked. 

"Do I have to ride my rocking-horse right now?" 

"Yes, sweetheart, you do. Daddy wants to see you on it."

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

Caroline Dawkins is a professor of English who has never confessed her age-play and spanking fantasies to her husband, George Lane, a corporate attorney. After George comes home one night and finds Caroline pleasuring herself, over the course of an extraordinary month Caroline and George utterly transform their erotic life together in the pattern of those taboo fantasies. 

From the lovely, degrading preparation and inspection of Caroline's charms, to the dark erotic practices she never thought she would get to try, George and Caroline taste the forbidden delights of age-play and connect emotionally as they never imagined they could.

I suppose the final thing to say, beyond reiterating my gratitude to my new friends who already seem like such old ones, and to Bethany and Jim Burke of BB, is that I consider these "real books" still to be explorations, and so also, I guess, EXPLORATIONS. Although the characters in them have no explicit relationship to Emily Tilton Smith, I'll tell you a secret: They're all me.

(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!)

I, Andromeda: The Bride's Ordeal #SatSpanks

(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!)

This snippet continues from the excerpt I posted yesterday, but also does fine on its own. Fantasy-Charles and fantasy-I are playing Greek myths: as Perseus, Charles has just commanded "my" mother Cassiopeia to tell me what my naughty part is called, and Cassiopeia has called him cruel.

"I say that I probably am cruel, but that I have a gorgon's head in my wallet, so she had better do as I ask." 

"Unh mmmmm hmm, so. . . s--so what does she d. . . do?" 

"She says that that place is your cunt, Andromeda. Where do you feel strange?" 

"In. . .in mm--mmmmy c--cunt. . . oh, gods. . . oh!" 

Perseus gave me a hard spank on both cheeks of my naked bottom. "You are very wicked, princess! If I asked your parents whether you have been caught polluting yourself and abridging a bridegroom's rights, what would they say?"

Blurb 'n' buy! 

As he waited for Emily to emerge from the bathroom, Charles Smith contemplated the night, and the week, ahead. He had anticipated this moment for so many weeks, in mingled expectation of her resisting his dark desires and perhaps-not-unfounded hope that she might welcome them, that he now felt the need for some reflection as to just how to bring her around to do the things he had so long fantasized requiring of her.  

The first volume of the second edition of Explorations tells the story of the BDSM wedding-night and honeymoon I always wanted, from shamefully pleasuring myself in the bathroom of the honeymoon-suite to paying a terrible price for that pleasure at the hands of my husband Charles. Mf, ff, anal, spanking.  

This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, ff, anal, caning, 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.  

This book is the first volume of the second edition of EXPLORATIONS. It contains a revision of material previously released as all or part of the following books: Emily's Submissive Wedding-Night; Emily's First Submission; Emily's First Spanking; Emily's Second Submission; Emily's Dark Gift; Emily's First Caning; Emily's Little Trainer; Emily, Ravished by Porn; EXPLORATIONS: Books 1-5; and EXPLORATIONS: Part 1 (Books 1-16). 

Read all the Saturday Spankings!

Mythic BDSM: The Bride's Ordeal

It's very hard for an author to choose a favorite section of one of her books, especially when the book is as personal as The Bride's Ordeal, so I'll just say that the Perseus and Andromeda fantasy I'm sharing today and tomorrow is definitely one of them.

I, Andromeda, buried my face in my outstretched left shoulder, and pretended to try to break free of my bonds. "Oh, please. . ." 

Perseus began to soothe his slave-princess' fears, with slippery fingers from behind, along her shaven cunt. I, Andromeda, moaned with a prolonged, wanton fervor. 

"Oh, gods, what is this feeling in my. . . in my. . ." 

"In your what, your highness?" Perseus asked, slyly. 

"In my sh--shameful place. . ." 

"Queen Cassiopeia," said Perseus loudly, "your daughter says she has a warm feeling in her shameful place. Would you please tell her what a wife learns to call that place? She'll need to know, if she is to escape whipping in my house, for I will require her to say it often, while I am enjoying her."

The blurb! Click to buy! 

As he waited for Emily to emerge from the bathroom, Charles Smith contemplated the night, and the week, ahead. He had anticipated this moment for so many weeks, in mingled expectation of her resisting his dark desires and perhaps-not-unfounded hope that she might welcome them, that he now felt the need for some reflection as to just how to bring her around to do the things he had so long fantasized requiring of her.  

The first volume of the second edition of Explorations tells the story of the BDSM wedding-night and honeymoon I always wanted, from shamefully pleasuring myself in the bathroom of the honeymoon-suite to paying a terrible price for that pleasure at the hands of my husband Charles. Mf, ff, anal, spanking.  

This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, ff, anal, caning, 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.  

This book is the first volume of the second edition of EXPLORATIONS. It contains a revision of material previously released as all or part of the following books: Emily's Submissive Wedding-Night; Emily's First Submission; Emily's First Spanking; Emily's Second Submission; Emily's Dark Gift; Emily's First Caning; Emily's Little Trainer; Emily, Ravished by Porn; EXPLORATIONS: Books 1-5; and EXPLORATIONS: Part 1 (Books 1-16). 

Defloration, the BDSM way: The Bride's Ordeal

The sad reality is that one only gets to be deflowered once, and most of the time (certainly this was true for me) it's not especially memorable. That's where the power of fiction comes in, as in The Bride's Ordeal, just released!

So with a firm uxorial hand, he gave her nine more spanks in quick succession as she screamed and sobbed in shame and frustration. 

As he did so, he said, in a tone of outrage, "What did you see, you bad girl? What smut did you read? How could you, a virgin bride in a white wedding gown, be so wicked?" 

The ten spanks were over. There was a moment of quiet; then Emily gave a little whimper.

"Oh, please. . . Charles. . . oh please. . . now. . " 

He ripped off his dressing gown 

"Wh. . .what are you doing?" 

"Did you see people fucking, on your pornos?" 

She gasped. "Y--yes, sir." 

"Well, that's what we're going to do now. Get ready, Emily Tilton, because your husband is about to take your maidenhead."

And the blurb. . . buy the book here! 

As he waited for Emily to emerge from the bathroom, Charles Smith contemplated the night, and the week, ahead. He had anticipated this moment for so many weeks, in mingled expectation of her resisting his dark desires and perhaps-not-unfounded hope that she might welcome them, that he now felt the need for some reflection as to just how to bring her around to do the things he had so long fantasized requiring of her. 

The first volume of the second edition of Explorations tells the story of the BDSM wedding-night and honeymoon I always wanted, from shamefully pleasuring myself in the bathroom of the honeymoon-suite to paying a terrible price for that pleasure at the hands of my husband Charles. Mf, ff, anal, spanking. 

This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, ff, anal, caning, 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. 

This book is the first volume of the second edition of EXPLORATIONS. It contains a revision of material previously released as all or part of the following books: Emily's Submissive Wedding-Night; Emily's First Submission; Emily's First Spanking; Emily's Second Submission; Emily's Dark Gift; Emily's First Caning; Emily's Little Trainer; Emily, Ravished by Porn; EXPLORATIONS: Books 1-5; and EXPLORATIONS: Part 1 (Books 1-16). 

That very special first: cover-reveal plus #CorbinsBend

The cover of the first book of the second edition is a detail from Frederic Leighton's "Godspeed!"

A first spanking is a very special moment for any spanko, I think, both at the time and then later, in ever-living remembrance. I know my actual first spanking certainly was, and I tried to dramatize it for my fantasy-avatar to make it special for her, and for the reader, too.

Charles studied her downcast face where she knelt at the side of his legs, her pink-white shoulders, and saw where they were going. 

"Emily, is this your obedience?" 

She shook her head, still looking at her hands and his, in his lap. 

"Emily, if you will not tell me what I asked, there is nothing else for it. You must be punished. You must lie over the arm of the sofa, Emily, and learn a lesson." 

"Oh, Charles! Oh, sir! Oh. . . p--please. . . P--please don't. . . d--don't spank me. . ." 

"If you will not obey me, my dear, I have no choice. Now lay yourself down, and don't make a fuss. A grown-up girl like you needs to learn what happens when she disobeys her husband." 

Emily was shaking all over, but with only a slight hesitation she arose, in her pink nakedness and her lacy panties, and lay herself over the sofa-arm.

And what would a book post be without a blurb?

As he waited for Emily to emerge from the bathroom, Charles Smith contemplated the night, and the week, ahead. He had anticipated this moment for so many weeks, in mingled expectation of her resisting his dark desires and perhaps-not-unfounded hope that she might welcome them, that he now felt the need for some reflection as to just how to bring her around to do the things he had so long fantasized requiring of her. 

The first volume of the second edition of Explorations tells the story of the BDSM wedding-night and honeymoon I always wanted, from shamefully pleasuring myself in the bathroom of the honeymoon-suite to paying a terrible price for that pleasure at the hands of my husband Charles. Mf, ff, anal, spanking. 

This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, ff, anal, caning, 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. 

This book is the first volume of the second edition of EXPLORATIONS. It contains a revision of material previously released as all or part of the following books: Emily's Submissive Wedding-Night; Emily's First Submission; Emily's First Spanking; Emily's Second Submission; Emily's Dark Gift; Emily's First Caning; Emily's Little Trainer; Emily, Ravished by Porn; EXPLORATIONS: Books 1-5; and EXPLORATIONS: Part 1 (Books 1-16). 

And the Corbin's Bend tease. . . let's pull this from Professor John Dunn's perspective, as a co-ed tempts him beyond all reason. . .

Sitting there in his office, with Sarah, her hand still on his lap because she apparently hadn't thought to remove it, waiting for the correct moment to answer her question ("Sir. . . what do you mean?") in the wake of the incredible surge of arousal he had felt when she had actually called him "Sir," he thought back to how excited he had been when the Rector of the little parish had said "And, since you're a Head of Household, I'll need to familiarize you with our practice of penitential spanking; it usually makes sense for a new HoH to witness one of the single girls' sessions. Are you free after coffee-hour this Sunday?"

And a bonus Corbin's Bend hint. . . Happy birthday, Lazy Day!

Rebooting EXPLORATIONS. . . The Bride's Ordeal, forthcoming

I'll admit to not knowing whether this makes the slightest bit of sense, but, as promised, I'm going to do a second edition of EXPLORATIONS, divided up differently and without the confusing numbers and multiply multiple titles. Also, there will be some editorial refinements to make the whole thing a little easier to understand and digest.

Also, my eyes will definitely be green.

The first release of the second edition, in a week or so, will be The Bride's Ordeal, which corresponds to Books 1-8 of the first edition, and takes fantasy-me through my wedding-night and honeymoon, ending with the fun little Perseus and Andromeda role-play that shows that we're back home in Greenwich, being kinky. My biggest worry is that someone will buy something s/he already has, and get mad, so I'll try to label very carefully, but if you should happen to have any questions about what bits of the story can be found where, please let me know!

Here's one of my favorite excerpts from The Bride's Ordeal to whet your appetite:

The thong had a silk strap that went between my bottom-cheeks and came up against my bottom's little flower. It had a front made completely of ivory lace, and a pink bow over the place where my bare lips began. My pussy was for my husband, now. It was the kind of thought I'd had before Story of O, so I have to say in retrospect that I was by my own standards pretty obtuse not to recognize that my need for, frankly, anal domination was an existential thing. 

So the porn was porn, and although it led to me kneeling naked in front of my best friend, while she held up her tennis skirt and dared me to pull down her panties and kiss her pussy, if I was serious about us being special friends (Sarah was clearly curious but in need of reassurance that I wasn't mocking or entrapping her), and although that little scene in the shower led to a wild afternoon locked in her bedroom, the two of us naked in front of her computer as we shared our favorites and imitated the girls on the screen; although all of that occurred and I went home from Sarah's with my newly-shaved pussy feeling strange and sore in my blue cotton panties--nevertheless I wasn't going to tell Charles.

And, without further ado, the stunning revelation of. . . the BLURB!

As he waited for Emily to emerge from the bathroom, Charles Smith contemplated the night, and the week, ahead. He had anticipated this moment for so many weeks, in mingled expectation of her resisting his dark desires and perhaps-not-unfounded hope that she might welcome them, that he now felt the need for some reflection as to just how to bring her around to do the things he had so long fantasized requiring of her. 

The first volume of the second edition of Explorations tells the story of the BDSM wedding-night and honeymoon I always wanted, from shamefully pleasuring myself in the bathroom of the honeymoon-suite to paying a terrible price for that pleasure at the hands of my husband Charles. Mf, ff, anal, spanking. 

This book of Explorations contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, ff, anal, caning, 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. 

This book is the first volume of the second edition of Explorations. It contains a revision of material previously released as all or part of the following books: Emily's Submissive Wedding-Night; Emily's First Submission; Emily's First Spanking; Emily's Second Submission; Emily's Dark Gift; Emily's First Caning; Emily's Little Trainer; Emily, Ravished by Porn; Explorations: Books 1-5; and Explorations: Part 1 (Books 1-16). 

In the land of urolagnia

OK, so we're headed into an area here that I know is an, um, 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.)

The bathroom was Charles' next focus.

I've written myself into a bit of a corner with regard to my urolagnic interests, because I confess in the Prophettown books that real-Charles isn't into watersports. I do say there, though, that he'll do it on special occasions; there's also a scene in Emily and the Shameful Customs of Prophettown  where it seems like he really does come around, at least for the moment.

So, perhaps it's not entirely implausible that thinking later about that very satisfactory experience, real-Charles decided he wanted to experiment more with that sort of thing, and added it to my training regime as much to train himself to bend me to his will in this erotic area that's so important to me as to train me to be bent that way.

"Miss Tilton," he said one Saturday morning. "You will report to the bathroom at 3pm today for training. You will drink five glasses of water at 2:45pm. You will wear only white panties."

I could hardly believe that I had heard him correctly. I broke character to run over and hug him. "Oh, Sweetie," I said. "You're the best. Thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet, Miss Tilton," he said sternly, though not without the upward twitch of his lips that always indicates that he's suppressing laughter. "You may feel differently when you're covered in piss."

"Yes, sir," I said, submissively. "Diapers, too?"

"No, Miss Tilton. No diapers today." I pouted. "You must earn your diapers."

I melted. My hand seemed to find its way somehow into my jeans. Charles ripped it out again and held it in his vise-like grip, in front of me. "And you're not going to do it that way."

Uh-oh. I watched him get an idea. "In fact, you are going to earn your diapers by not playing with yourself." Cruel, cruel man. 

As the day wore on (would 3 never arrive?), I noticed that Charles himself was drinking a great deal of water throughout the day. I'll admit that I probably masturbate more than the average person, but I don't usually have a problem keeping myself from doing it from minute to minute, in situations, like daily life, where I have other things to do and there's no immediate stimulus. But every time I saw Charles take a sip of water that day, I had to grip the nearest surface hard to stop myself from putting my hands where they weren't allowed to go, and more often than not I couldn't keep from making one of those "little girl has to go to the bathroom" movements with my legs just to try to get the slightest bit of friction that might ease the ache down there.

Charles caught me at it more than once; the second time he told me to pull down my jeans and panties and get over the kitchen-table, and I got twelve with a wooden spoon for immodesty. After that I literally begged him (actually said "Sir, I'm begging you!") just to edge me, but he refused. It was only 1pm, at that point.

Finally it was 2:45, and I was standing at the sink, drinking my water. By 3, I was doing the "little girl has to go to the bathroom" dance for real, waiting for him in the bathroom in nothing but my white cotton panties. "Sir?" I called. "Are you coming?"

He entered the bathroom wearing his bathing suit. "Ow!" I said as I started to laugh. "Ow! Don't make me laugh! I need to pee!"

Charles grinned and stripped his bathing suit off, revealing his wonderful, pleasingly rigid cock. I had to resist an urge to drop to my knees and blow him right there despite the fullness of my bladder (oh, lord, the thought of peeing my panties while blowing my husband was nearly too hot for me. . .), so grateful was I that he was trying urolagnia with me with such sincerity and good humor.

But I wanted to follow his script, and it wasn't long in getting started.

"Face the mirror," he said softly, but with authority. I did, and saw the auburn-haired girl with green eyes in only her panties, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

"I'm starting to see what you mean about this stuff," Charles said. "I have this urge not to give you permission at all, and just watch you have to hold it in."

I looked into his gaze in the mirror, with a pleading expression. It wasn't ageplay yet, I thought, but it was definitely headed in that direction.

He came to stand behind me as we both faced the mirror, and put his right hand on my right hip and his left hand between my thighs, atop my panties. I yelped.

"You're going to pee in your pants, now, Miss Tilton."

"But your hand, Charles. . ."

"I thought you liked this kind of thing."

"I do; it's just. . . I never thought of that. I don't pee on you, because you're my Master."

He rubbed, firmly, with his fingers, and I had no choice: I let go, groaning with the unbearable pleasure of releasing my bladder. The warm liquid went everywhere, soaking my panties, running down my thighs, streaming into Charles' hand and rushing from there onto the floor.

I saw what he meant--it was like Victorian Emily having to pee on the Persian rug in Mrs. Smith's punishment room. Girls don't pee on their Masters, but mine was making me pee on him. The force of the pleasure from the release, and the arousal from his hand being there was so great I had to reach out and steady myself on the counter, but then the hand deserted me.

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

Caned upon the bride-saddle: Emily's Shameful Ride #SatSpanks

I know there are other readers and writers who, like me, are deeply interested in world-building. This book of EXPLORATIONS, in addition to the shameful ride (which is very, very shameful), has a whole bunch of world-building for the great drama into which Victorian Emily is to be initiated, all centered on the history of a sacred device called the "bride-saddle." I sincerely hope the phrase does to you what it does to me. . .

"Edmund?" I asked, for I was longing as never to that moment I had longed. "Edmund, Sir, I. . ." I looked down at the Persian rug below the bride-saddle, and gripped the handles very hard, and, unable to stop myself, tried to work the muscles in my thighs and bottom, under my husband's loins, in search of something to soothe myself. "I. . . I'm sorry, Sir--I can't. . . help. . ." 

He seemed to come to himself. "Don't you dare do that to yourself," he said softly and menacingly. He slowly climbed off me, making me groan, and with the utmost difficulty I stilled my legs. 

Then, an instant later, I heard a sound I had heard only once before, in the solarium at Elmhurst, and then the succeeding "thwack" and then the burning line, different to anything else in the world, across my bottom.

And the blurb!

Edmund’s bride-saddle, which had never been used before, had no built-in fascinus, and so I was spared at least the menacing sight of the upthrust deity, though I was to learn not many days later that the cover of the saddle could easily be changed to reveal the ring into which would be set any of a number of fittings, and I was to learn also that a recent revolution in the manufacture of bride-saddles had brought it about that these rings were now standardized in such way that girls could be required to bring their own fascini to any occasion, and then forced to fit them to the house’s saddle themselves, and mount.  

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

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

Read all the Saturday Spankings!

A paddle-interlude in a long night of submission--A Companion to EXPLORATIONS #SatSpanks

I think I probably don't actually need to apologize for how very, very naughty this snippet is, except perhaps to my friend Ana, who I hope will spank me for shamelessly posting it. It's from my "real" wedding-night, on Maui in 2002.

What I really want to memorialize here, though, isn't the three butt-fuckings themselves but the intervals between them: the two periods when I, still unsatisfied in the orgasm department, still tied to the hotel bed, lay waiting to have my ass used again, and he, for once really owning the dominant's role, actually turned on the TV and watched (interval one) Sports Center and (interval two) an old Western. Looking back, it seems completely absurd that I could have found the thought that my new husband was watching TV while waiting for his cock to be ready to fuck my ass again arousing, but I did--so much that during the first interval (I actually fell asleep during the second, which left me refreshed for the high drama of the third butt-fucking) I decided to stage a little scene of my own, by trying to steal an orgasm, rubbing against the pillows and squeezing my thighs. The intention was of course to get caught, so I didn't make much effort to stifle the little "hmm" sounds that always come from my throat when I get close to coming, even when I'm trying to be quiet. I had my eyes closed and my face buried between my upper arms. 

"CRACK," I heard and felt at the same time, and gave a full-throated scream (thank God our suite was a bungalow sort of a thing) at the burning pain in my bottom-cheeks.

"Mrs. Smith," said Charles, "I doubt you have forgotten that self-abuse is absolutely forbidden in my house; tonight above all." CRACK! "To be sure, you are a wanton slut," CRACK! (I was wailing, now), "but even so I believe I have the right to expect more modesty from you." CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! 

The paddle was laid aside, and my cavalier was astride me again. "Oh, God, Emily," he said, as he began to ride my punished bottom to his second triumph over it, "I love you so much."

Here's the blurb. Buy the book here!

It was a look of appraisal; I don't think there's another way to put it. Charles Smith appraised me as a possible anal-submissive, and I felt searched out and known as I never, ever had before.

This companion, drawn from Emily's blog, tells the story of her early relationship with her husband Charles, and of the way she came to write the first version of the Explorations series. Please note that most of the content of this book has appeared on the blog, though it is no longer available there.

This companion to EXPLORATIONS contains fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, spanking, anal. 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!

Schoolgirl training, part 2

(We're continuing from here.)

"But it was only a little thing about verb aspect, Sir!" I said, giving him the green light for the cane.

"You mistake my meaning, Miss Tilton. Your punishment has nothing to do with the verb and everything to do with your attitude. You are now to receive six of the best for talking back to a master."

"Glug." Six of the best. Such a stupid little phrase, and yet so powerful, through constant, eternal repetition.

"And. . ." he paused, dramatically, and I thought again of the other possibilities. "You will of course have to be examined beforehand to ensure that your chastisement will have its intended effect."

Yes. Yes. He was thinking of Aphrodizzia, and the whole scene flooded back into my memory. Her name was Claudia; she was German; that silly headmaster character who worked despite his basic silliness arraigned her on charges of wearing a racy bathing suit (so stupid, but whatever), after he had taken pictures of her on the beach; he made her confess to masturbating (oh my gosh that's just like me); then he gagged her with that other girl's panties while he caned her; but that was after he had fucked her little pussy and then her little bottom, telling her that it was the speculum, and the thermometer, that he was using to test her readiness for punishment. 

(Having actually experienced anal, now, I knew that the terrible schoolmaster just sticking the "thermometer" in there was unrealistic, to say the least, but my fourteen-year-old self was sure that if a master [of any kind] wanted to put his penis in your bottom, it would go into your bottom just as easily as the real thermometers that made me feel funny in a lovely way I knew I wasn't supposed to feel funny, and then you would, at last, feel the way you were supposed to feel: mastered, taken, possessed, submissive, etc., and your bottom would finally know what it was for.)

"Did I not specify that your underwear was to be down, Miss Tilton?"

"You did, Sir."

"Well, that's another stroke, then, as apparently I have to do it for you." He flipped up the back of my kilt, with his left hand, and grasped the waistband of my panties with his right. He gave them an angry tug downward, then with both hands pulled them down to mid-thigh.

"I see you are experienced enough with schoolroom discipline to have spread your legs properly, Miss Tilton. That's helpful, at least, because it will facilitate my examination of the area to be chastised." At those words, my Latin-master placed his hand on the area to which he had made reference, making me gasp.

"I find, Miss Tilton, even at the most cursory inspection, that all is not as it should be here."

"Sir?"

"There seems to be a good deal of moisture in this area, in particular."

"Ah! Um, I am. . . sorry, Sir. Oh, no, Sir, please!" My Latin-master had begun shamelessly to finger me.

"No, Miss Tilton. I'm afraid this is absolutely necessary. We simply cannot permit you to be caned in this state. What I am doing, now, unorthodox as it is, is our only recourse." What he was doing now was fucking me. My Latin-master was fucking me over his desk. Emily Tilton was getting a fucking in school, the way I had used to imagine it, with the other girls outside wondering what was going on, and Emily Tilton trying so hard to be silent, but forced by the sheer power of her teacher's cock to make little stifled sounds that the girls outside could almost certainly hear. Emily was a very, very bad girl, because her teacher's cock was fucking her, right there in the schoolroom, over the desk.

(If you like this ongoing narrative, I hope you'll start at the beginning, with the Companion, Volume 1! Buy it here!)

Rocking-horse training, concluded

(We're continuing from here.)

(WARNING: this episode has VERY intense ageplay.)

(I mean, seriously, if you thought it was intense before. . .)

(Just don't hate me for the third paragraph, OK? The purpose of EXPLORATIONS is to explore the dark regions, right?)

It was a bit-gag, with reins. Like all the best training devices, my first reaction was "Never!" and my second reaction was "Ohmygod always." Charles pulled out of my ass, leaving me with that lovely forlorn feeling that I always get when I know there's more to come, and came around to the side of the bed, and patted my head (stroked my mane), as he put it in. "Good little pony," he said. I thought the heat in my pussy was going to incinerate me.

Maybe there needs to be a new word to describe this kind of thing, some sort of portmanteau of "wrong" and "hot": aeschroerotic (that's Greek) or stupramorous (Latin), or shamesexy. Let me see if I can capture how it felt in a single thought: at one and the same time, I wanted to make sure that no one ever know that my husband, pretending to be my Daddy, had bridled me and then ridden my ass like an, I don't know, ass-jockey--wanted it even to be erased from our own memories, and sent wherever terrible experiences go to be forever lost--and I was trying as hard as a girl with a bit in her mouth can try to communicate that Charles had to take a picture, and that that picture had to be framed and then hung in some secret room where we could go and look at it while we were having sex, and that that picture had to be kept so that I could look at it and play with myself whenever I wanted between now and the end of space-time itself.

For the moment, I had to settle for risking Daddy's displeasure by jumping off the horse and getting down from the bed, and pointing violently at the mirror, and mewing pleadingly around my bit, then pointing at the horse, and twirling my finger, then clasping my hands in front of me, to say "Please, Daddy, would you turn the horse around so I can see you riding my little bottom like a Daddy should ride a little girl's bottom because even though it's wrong her little bottom is so pretty that her Daddy can't resist, and Daddies' pleasure comes first, and so if a Daddy wants to put a bit and bridle on his little girl, she has to let him, because if she didn't he would spank her very hard, until she was a good little girl, and let him take his pleasure in her bottom, the way a Daddy is always entitled to take his pleasure, because a little girl's bottom-flower is for her Daddy to put his big thing inside."

And, miraculously, my Daddy understood my Proustian silent plea, and turned the horse around, but then he put me back on it, and said, "Emily, I'm afraid I have to spank you now, because you got off your horse without permission." I hung my head, but Daddy took my reins and pulled my head up, and then he started to beat me. Eventually, he had a riding crop that he used on these occasions, so I'll just conflate that in here, too.

"Little ponies sometimes need very severe lessons, don't they?" he asked, as he covered my bottom-cheeks with precise, stinging slaps of the keeper at the end of the crop. My head was reined in by his left hand, so I could only jerk my chin a bit in respectful assent. My eyes were watering, and the saliva was dripping down my chin onto the bed, and I could see it all in the mirror. I was in sub-heaven.

And then, at last, he rode me in earnest, his little ass-pony, holding my reins so tight that the tension in my neck travelled down my torso and into my flanks, and produced a sensation so painful and pleasurable that my face in the mirror, distended by my bit, looked like I were undergoing some horrendous torture at the hands of a sadist from Nazi Germany, or Mars, or something. And yet it was just my Daddy, who was riding his little girl because that makes Daddies' things feel so good, and they can't help what they do to their little girls, and their little girls love them for letting their little girls give them so much Daddy-pleasure.

"Oh, Emily. . ." Daddy grunted, "You. . . you don't know. . ."

There is nothing in the world to compare to the sight of the man you love taking pleasure beyond speech, beyond comprehension, in you. I don't care if you're staring up adoringly at him while he makes love to you tenderly in missionary position, a look of sweet vanilla pleasure on both your faces, or you've got a bit in your mouth and you're calling him Daddy and your Daddy is pounding your ass like a pseudoincestuous, pseudopederastic jackhammer: the look that comes just before an orgasm is incommensurable with any other phenomenon I can think of.

". . . what you do. . . to--oh, God--to your Daddy."

I throw my literary hands up. The word "thermonuclear" occurs to me as a way to describe his orgasm in my little bottom, but you'd never catch me using that kind of metaphor.

He came. He liked it. I liked it.

Rocking-horse training, part 2

(We're continuing from here.)

(WARNING: this episode has VERY intense ageplay.)

I began to ride, putting my hands on either side of the end of the horse that faced my headboard. I rubbed, and the heat grew there, so that I had to rub again, and again, travelling back in my mind to the time when I had ridden sofa-arms and pillows, in my panties and then, later, out of them, unable to stop but knowing how shameful it was: knowing I should stop.

I went back further in my imagination and I was the little girl on the big horse, learning how to post up in the saddle, not thinking about why it made me feel so wonderful, and I posted on my husband's horse, and made little sobbing sounds because the wonderful feeling in my private part was somehow wrong, and I shouldn't play with myself, and I shouldn't want a spanking, even though being spanked was just about the only thing in the whole world that I really, really wanted.

After I had made a few shameful posts up and down atop my pony, with his hand rubbing me tenderly so that I wanted to ride faster and faster, Daddy said, "There's another important part of a little girl that her Daddy needs to help her with. Do you know what I mean?"

"My b--bottom, Daddy?"

"Yes, Emily. That's right. Stop riding for a moment. Daddy's going to get on the bed so he can help you with your bottom."

"Are you going to spank my little bottom, Daddy?" I said with a pout.

"Not tonight, sweetheart. Tonight Daddy wants to put something there. It won't feel very good for you this first time, but it will make Daddy feel wonderful, and so you will need to learn to take it."

"Yes, Daddy. Even if it hurts very much, I'll be happy that it makes you feel so wonderful!"

He got up on the bed behind me, and I heard him open the lube. I couldn't believe how aroused I was, by the horse, by Charles playing Daddy, by me playing innocent little girl. When I felt the head of his cock there in my girlish little bottom-flower, I couldn't help myself: I needed to play with the taboo. "Daddy, should a little girl like me have something in my bottom?"

Charles had to think for a moment, but replied, beautifully, "No, Emily, but you're getting bigger, aren't you? It's time for you to start learning how to please your Daddy in new ways. These ways will seem strange at first, but Daddy knows what you need better than you do, and Daddy's pleasure comes first, so you're going to have something there now, so that I can enjoy your bottom as much as I want."

He held my little peaches in his hands as he put his thing inside my flower, and I pushed, to let him in, because perhaps I knew more about such things already than I should, and I groaned as he entered, and began to move in the gentle way in which he always starts, back there.

"Daddy?" I asked.

"Yes, Emily?"

"My front feels funny again, and the horse is very nice, but. . ."

"But you like my hand, don't you, you naughty girl?"

Shamefaced, I turned my chin over my shoulder to see him enraptured by the sight of his thing in my bottom, and nodded.

"Well, if I am very pleased with your bottom, after I take my pleasure perhaps I'll let you ride my hand again, or even something harder and longer. Right now, though, Daddy is going to use your bottom, and go for a little ride of his own. So put your head down and push your backside out for me, Emily."

(It wasn't actually at that first lesson that he brought out his next surprise--it was really a few weeks later, after it was clear that we were both really, really enjoying the riding lessons--but it makes for a better story to put it here.)

After I obeyed, and Daddy had ridden my bottom for a minute or two, very gently but still in a way that made me chew on my lower lip, and whimper in discomfort, he said, "Emily, there's something you're going to wear for Daddy now, because Daddy wants to ride his little girl properly."

"What is it Daddy?"

It was a bit-gag, with reins.

The governess' hairbrush #SatSpanks

If you love the Victorian stuff, you're in luck this week! These eight are from Victorian Emily's governess' letter to her future husband, which he uses as evidence that Mrs. Smith has in her a worthy pupil.

“My hair-brush was in my hand already, and I instructed Miss Orn to assume a position I had heard about from another governess, one she used for the worst offenses, in which the offender is made to bend at the waist until she grasps her own ankles, spreading her feet slightly so as to maintain her balance. In this position, which I chose because of the way it exposed the region of Miss Orn’s naughtiness, that maiden furrow still shining a bit with the moisture she had wantonly called into it, to a very shameful degree, I had her stay as I confessed to her my great disappointment, and told her that the sternest correction would now be necessary. Still hoping to touch the keen sense of shame I knew she possessed, I urged her to picture herself as I saw her, naked before her governess and in the position to which her wantonness had brought her, arranged so that her naughty private part was the first thing to greet the eye. Did she wish to be nothing but that part? For if her conduct continued, it would be so. 

“At this I began to apply the hair-brush, and I must admit to having lost count of the exact number of times I applied it, as I was attempting to reinforce reason with chastisement. As I warned Miss Orn in explicit terms of the dangers of the path upon which she was now embarked, I stayed at her side with my left hand upon her waist and my right emphasizing each word with the hair-brush’s office upon a spot so close to the problematic part that I had hope the Miss Orn might gather the gravity of the situation. I narrated to her the typical tale of such a girl: the easiness of her virtue, the advantage taken by the handsome young man, the broken promises of marriage, the rejection of her family, at last the inevitable coming upon the town."

And the blurb (buy the book here!):

Mrs. Smith was suddenly very matter-of-fact. "Very well, Miss Orn. It is my custom to test a new girl’s obedience immediately. Stand up, if you please, and allow me to assist you in removing your clothing. In order that there be no false pretense here, let me warn you that you will be required to remove every garment, including your chemise."  

My conscious mind now rose in open rebellion against the impulse that had had me give my word. How could I obey her? Why had I given my word to do so? Had I had any inkling she would ask such a thing?  

NOTE: This book comprises material previously published in the following books: Emily, Victorian Bride; Emily in the School for Wives; Emily Undressed; Emily's Bath; Emily's Morning; and EXPLORATIONS: Books 21-24. I here present it as a continuous story and without the intrusion of the modern narrative of my fantasy-tale, for readers who might be more interested in this Victorian material.  

In this notebook, imagined as passed down to me from my great-great-grandmother, Emily Orn tells the story of her first initiation into a great drama of BDSM in Victorian England. Under the tutelage of Mrs. Smith, trainer of submissive brides, she learns to know and to love her craving for shameful degradation and erotic submission.   

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

Read all the Saturday Spankings!