The sweeter side of Tilton: Her Doctor's Orders

One of the directions in which I've developed over the past year, as I started to write books outside my original comfort zone of, well, all anal all the time, is towards romance. Every one of my Emilies is a romantic, from Victorian to fantasy- to "real" to actual (if you're keeping score, "actual Emily" is the one who isn't actually a human rights lawyer and may not even really be named Emily). As girls (maybe even under-18 girls! Shhh!), when we weren't reading salacious things we found secreted in other people's drawers (the kind that slide open and closed, though often we wished we could search the other kind, too), we were reading Fitzgerald and Austen and, okay, a lot of sappy fantasy-novels with heroines who could wield a sword (or a dragon) but also knew the value of a sexy young wizard/knight/dragon-rider to guide them.

Anyway, the reason I didn't start out writing erotic romance and/or romantic erotica wasn't that I don't love it--it was that I was nearly positive I could write erotica, having done it in private for so long, but I didn't think I could compete with big girls like Renee Rose and Stevie MacFarlane. Also, frankly, erotica is easier for me because it feels like my libido acts as an unerring compass through the wilderness of a story, whereas my sense of romantic psychology is less secure.

So I'm incredibly proud of Her Doctor's Orders. I had a great deal of help from my editor, but I hope I can say that that help wasn't wasted either in the short-run or in the long-: I learned a lot, and I hope to show my sweeter side more and more as time goes on. Here's a sample:

Kendra mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like “fucking doctors…” but that wasn’t quite intelligible as he began to tilt the water so that a bit of it entered her mouth. 

She held the water in her mouth as though it was a foreign substance and stared up at him, her eyes mutinous, as he continued to hold her in a sitting position. 

“Swallow,” he instructed, a little surprised when she immediately did so. “Good girl.” 

He held the glass as he coaxed her to drink nearly all the water, but just as soon as he put the glass down onto the bedside table, she gave him the smile of someone who is about to be sick, and he grabbed the wastebasket just in time. 

As he held her hair back for her, he realized that although he was thirty, he had never actually rendered this iconic service for a vomiting girl before. Levi drank from time to time—wine, mostly, though he did enjoy Scotch and the occasional beer—but even in college he had never liked feeling out of control, and so hadn’t wound up in the kind of situation that led to such hair-holding. 

Kendra seemed to be sobering up a bit in the midst of being sick, because she began to say, in an oddly appealing way, “I’m so sorry,” between heaves. 

After a while, it seemed Kendra had pumped her stomach fairly effectively, and he wiped her mouth and lay her back down on her side while he fetched another glass of water. He made her drink that one too, and it seemed like she would hold it down. 

Her crying had stopped when she came through the door, but her eyes were red and her cheeks streaked with mascara. Still, when she gave him a shy smile and said, a little more clearly, “Thanks,” Levi thought, “Dangerous.” 

“Time to get some sleep,” he said. 

“Okay,” Kendra said, and lay down with her back to him. Then she turned back toward Levi and said, “I’m so sorry, Doctor. I really… I mean, you didn’t have to.” 

“I kind of did,” Levi said softly, “but you’re welcome, and it’s okay.” 

“Okay,” Kendra said, and turned back again toward the far wall. But a moment later she rolled back onto her other side and said, “I really am sorry.” The apologetic gratitude in her eyes, now less clouded by drunkenness, seemed even more charming now. 

“It’s okay,” Levi said, laughing softly. “Get some sleep.” 

“Okay,” said Kendra, and she turned obediently back to the wall. Her tanned shoulders began to rise and fall in a more gentle rhythm. 

Levi sat in a chair by the bed and watched Kendra until she was sleeping soundly enough that the danger of turning on her back had passed. As he watched, he made a mental plan for dealing with her truck and starting to get her pointed in the right direction, emotionally. When he finally fell into his own bed, he drifted off hoping that he could find a way to keep his promise about everything turning out okay.

 Here's the blurb--buy it here!

When her mother injures several people while driving drunk, eighteen-year-old Kendra Jackson rushes to the hospital. In the emergency room, Dr. Levi Hunter promises her that everything is going to be okay, but she cannot imagine how the handsome medic’s words could possibly be true, especially once her mother is sent to prison. 

Something about Kendra touches Levi, and try as he might, he cannot get her out of his head. Three years later, after another alcohol-induced crash—this time with Kendra behind the wheel—Levi pays her bail and brings her to his house to sober up. After examining her thoroughly—despite her protests and blushes—to make sure she’s not seriously injured, he offers to let her stay with him while she gets her life back on track. He warns her, though, that living under his roof means living with his rules… and breaking those rules will have consequences. 

Despite her shock at his promise to discipline her when her behavior warrants it, Kendra agrees to his conditions. She soon discovers that Levi is a man of his word, and when bad habits start to creep back into her new life, he takes her over his knee, bares her bottom, and spanks her soundly. When she continues to test his resolve, Levi shows Kendra that a punishment from a firm-handed doctor can leave a naughty girl’s face even redder than her well-spanked bottom. 

As their relationship blossoms into a passionate romance, Kendra is comforted by the fact that Levi’s discipline and love is something she can count on, and she begins to realize that no matter how many bad decisions she makes, he has no intention of ever giving up on her. But Kendra’s painful past still haunts her, and she cannot help but fear that what she has with Levi cannot last. Can she bring herself to obey her doctor’s orders and embrace her new life at his side?

And a little bonus, for those die-hard fans who have read to the end of this post and might even be concerned that I'm losing my edge: over the weekend I decided that fantasy-Emily is going to get an email from a cousin she didn't know she had, named Emily Redbottom. Emily R isn't as cerebral as f-Emily, but the erotica she writes is just as hot--if not hotter. F-Emily is going to help her edit it, and guide her through the self-publication process. Look for The Sunset Harbor School for Naughty Girls by Emily Redbottom some time this summer! 

"Not answering would be a mistake, where your bottom is concerned"--Geoffrey's Rules

One of the things I'm very proud of, where my new BDSM romance Geoffrey's Rules is concerned, is how well I feel I managed to walk the line between the BDSM and the romance, as I develop the characters along both those axes, showing how BDSM and romance interact with each other in their hearts. You'll be the judge of that, of course, though. I hope you like it.

I turned to look out the window, trying to make sure I couldn't see anyone I knew, and when I turned back, he was there, wearing a blue blazer over a white button down and tight (not indecently, but pretty close) jeans. His dark brown, slightly wavy hair was shorter than in the picture on the web, but it was the same man, and he looked even more intelligent in person. 

Also, in person, he looked just a tiny bit older, as well. Thirty? Thirty-five? For the first time in my entire life, I felt myself grow warm between my thighs at the mere sight of a man. It must have had a great deal to do with the strange prelude to this moment that I had already played with him--the moment at the café, the business-card, the email, (the self-pleasure). Honestly, though, it felt as if my arousal was simply in response to the thought that this gorgeous man had brought me here, with perhaps the tiniest hint of a notion that the reason he had brought me here was that he was going to spank me. 

"Chloe," he said, holding out his hand, "it's very nice to meet you." 

His voice was a rich baritone, almost in the bass-range. There was not the slightest indication that he had ever seen me doing anything disreputable. 

I reached my hand out, in response, and he took it inside his own very firmly but not painfully, gave it a very small, gentle shake, and released it. 

That was when I looked into his eyes for the first time, just as he was sitting down opposite me. They were gazing at me as if their owner had just seen a valuable object--a painting, or a sculpture--that he had heard a great deal about, and was now trying to decide for himself whether it really was as worth seeing he had heard it was. 

"It's nice--" 

"Did you follow Rule #1?" 

Had he really just interrupted me? I felt the blood rush to my face. I couldn't think at all for several moments. I found that I was looking down at my fork. With what felt like an enormous expenditure of will, I raised my eyes to his, and saw a look of amusement on his face, which made my blush grow hotter. 

"Are you going to answer, Chloe? Not answering would be a mistake, where your bottom is concerned."

Here's the blurb--buy the book at Amazon by clicking 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? 

Ready for the cane: Geoffrey's Rules #SatSpanks

I think I'll go with the maximum D/s level here, to introduce Saturday Spankings friends to the kind of dynamic that lies at the core of my new book Geoffrey's Rules.

"Over my lap now, girl," he said, and he pulled me about, into position. I bent over his legs. It felt much more intimate on the sofa, where I could lie across him, and not feel that I was upended quite so much. 

"You have a very long punishment coming, Chloe," he said. "You broke Rule Four, and you were late, a violation of Rule One. You used the word I told you not to use four times, and you have said all sorts of naughty words, besides. After I warm your bottom with my hand, we are going to go upstairs to my bedroom, and you are going to be caned upon my bed."  

"Oh, Geoffrey, please, I don't think I'm ready for that." 

"You're ready for what I say you're ready for, sweetheart." 

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?  

Read all the Saturday Spankings!

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? 

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!)

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. 

Delayed laundry and its consequences for one's bottom

I'm on Adaline Rain's comfortable couch today, talking about The Count's Discipline!

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

And the controversial "maintenance" spankings? Yes, please. While Chloe (fictional birthdate, um, 12/13/04) was very small, we could get away with spankings, and the inevitable "comfort" sex (really, brutal, dominant, do-you-feel-womanly-yet? sex) that followed, Saturday afternoons, our old training time, but as she grew, and as she was followed by John (3/10/07) and then by Ethan (1/12/09), maintenance happened in the wee hours of Sunday morning, and we both tried to bank sleep ahead of time, no easy feat during those years, as every parent (every modern parent, at least--I often found myself envying my Victorian forebears with their nannies and governesses!) can attest.

But I should return to the time before Chloe was born, because such matters as the unique pleasure of changing diapers while being punished by wearing a diaper of one's own will find their place in due course.

From the beginning of our unusual DD regime the most difficult--but also the most diverting--part was negotiating the boundary between when I was asking for a spanking and when Charles decided that I "needed" one. I put "needed" in inverted commas because the whole strange thing rested upon the underlying idea that of course I was an autonomous individual woman--indeed more of an autonomous individual than a great many other people, but that to make me feel completely fulfilled--or at least, shall we say?, asymptotically fulfilled, I needed (or, rather, wanted) to be guided towards the light of my best self.

You can call it voluntary infantilization, if you like; I'm not sure that's particularly far off. The real point is that it had a dimension that went just far enough outside the erotic that it made the erotic feel like it had more traction--like it had the traction it really deserved given how Charles and I felt about our particular way of sex. Always waiting in the corner of our days, whether while I was making dinner, wondering whether I could earn a spanking for putting in too much salt, or not enough, or while we were jogging, knowing that Charles liked me to finish hard, and liked to spank me if I didn't.

It was play, and it was serious, and it made things more fun, and more erotic. Eventually, we found a sort of equilibrium, according to which there were certain well-defined areas where DD applied. Exercise was one area where I was very grateful for the help of Charles' firm hand, and the physicality of the exercise activities themselves went very well with the erotic parts of the discipline. Then there was the range of traditionally feminine activities, like cooking. Cleaning was the big exception. To be spanked because Charles had found dust on the bookshelf would have felt to me too much like a vacuum-cleaner commercial from the 1950's. Laundry, on the other hand which I had elected to do, but which I often forgot to get going, was fertile ground, and I actually welcomed the reminder. Also, there was our social life--for example messing up our schedule, which I'm unfortunately prone to do, earned me a trip over the spanking stool.

Through it all, the womanliness dynamic was our guide. Did it make me feel womanly to have Charles in control of that part of my life, or did it make me feel icky and subjugated? I realize of course that many feminist thinkers wouldn't distinguish the two: that lovely, problematic feeling of erotic femininity clearly has something submissive in it; is it wrong to distinguish submission from subjugation this way? I don't think so, because submission is voluntary, and subjective, while subjugation need not be voluntary, and is objective.

The question then becomes whether erotic femininity is something that can be experienced involuntarily--which is ridiculous. It makes you feel silly when you look too closely at it, I suppose, but non-consensuality is only hot when it's consensual. We authors elide this bit most of the time, of course, even when we're writing DD scenes, which is why DD fiction will garner reviews that call DD abuse.

Beyond that point lies the thorny question of whether when I ask to be beaten I'm really not exercising free will at all, but am instead so overdetermined by patriarchal culture that I need to be taken care of by a feminist and perhaps reconditioned to be a better custodian of my soul. This is all old ground in the feminism wars, to be sure, but it was ground that I needed to cover in new detail, now that I had requested that I be disciplined for, say, double-booking dinner on a Saturday night.

But once I put those ethical dilemmas behind me, it was a pure pleasure to re-engage with my erotic life this way. There had always to that point been a sort of layer of irony between me and my submission. For as many times as I had said "This is who I am: a girl who wants to get fucked in the ass by a man she can call 'Master'," there had nevertheless been a feeling that it was not natural that I should be so. But now I gave into the idea of complementarity, without letting it change me ethically: as a woman, as a member of the sex whose most important genital organ receives, rather than gives, whose body curves, softly, and yields enticingly, I should (I let the thought creep in, so as to make me warm and wet in my receptive chora, my feminine charms) be spanked, thrust into, made submissive.

Let me give an example. It was 5pm on Wednesday, one of my usual laundry days, and a day on which I work from home. Charles arrived home from school to find to his understandable annoyance that I hadn't started the laundry. He came to my office (which is really just an alcove off the kitchen--that's how I like it) where I was finishing up a call. He was carrying our laundry hamper. He put it on the floor and waited for me to turn around, which I did at the sound of the soft thud. Needless to say, I recognized the look in his eyes. He made his "wind it up" gesture.

I did wind it up--but here's where it gets interesting: I didn't wind it up because he told me to. I wound it up because I knew the laundry needed to be done, and because if I didn't get it going then, it would have made a million things more difficult than they had to be. I wound up my call at his command, but not because of it. Rather, I wound it up because of the need for good order in our house.

I frankly don't know whether this way of thinking applies to anyone else's DD relationship, but if that call had been of truly great importance, I would have held up my hand at the wind-up gesture, not in anger or, still less, in defiance, but with the understanding that Charles would gather that the call was very important, and we would talk about the laundry later ("talking" would also of course, we both knew, include me being spanked for having waited to start it).

In the event, though, the call was not important, and I would it up quickly with an "I have to go; I'll call you tomorrow," and stood up to meet my fate.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I said.

"Over the hamper," Charles said. "Jeans down."

I grimaced, and complied (it's one of those tall wicker hampers). Charles put his left hand on my waist, and with his right gave me twelve hard spanks, over my cotton panties, four on each cheek and four in the middle.

"I think it will have to be my belt next time. This is getting out of hand," he said. (I had forgotten the previous week, too.) "Now get going."

I had not intentionally delayed doing the laundry in order to earn a spanking; I have much more reliable (and hot) ways to do that. My fate, such as it was, was purely a matter of domestic discipline, but the way DD works, for us, is to take something (like laundry) that would be at best a minor annoyance in a couple's life, and at worst a serious point of friction between them, and make it an occasion for play--more, for our very favorite kind of play.

If we both didn't have spanking things, it would be a complete non-starter, of course. But because we both do, and we're both generally kinky, it works both to take tension out of things like delayed laundry and to make our daily lives a lot more erotic than they might be otherwise.

Need I add that Charles telling me "Now get going" got me even wetter than the spanking had?

That's where the infantilization part comes in, and I'm not going to apologize for it, because to apologize for it would be to apologize for my entire sex-drive, which has produced, among other things (such as wonderful times with my husband and hilariously embarrassing moments with my butt-plug), three awesome kids. I like to feel like a little girl. There, I said it. I like to be told to get going, to do the laundry, or to cook dinner.

Would I like it if Charles were a different sort of a person? If he were someone who really thought that women should do his laundry and cook for him because he has a penis and they don't? I hope I never have the chance truly to find out, because that version of Charles might well wake up missing that penis, and then I'd probably go to jail.

(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!)

The wet sock: Winter Spanks!

 

This was my contribution to Winter Spanks, a wonderful blog hop brought to you by Spanking Romance Reviews & The Saturday Spankings Blog!

Welcome to my contribution to Winter Spanks! Many thanks to the wonderful organizers of this hop for their incredible hard work on such an enormous undertaking! I'm offering a copy of EXPLORATIONS: A Companion to the Series, Volume 1 to a random commenter who answers the question at the end of the little story.

I want to share a miniature parergon (sidework) to Caroline's Rocking Horse, the ageplay story that just came out from Blushing Books. The book is in part about winter holiday wishes: as an English professor who believes very strongly in the power of the imagination to help us live our dreams and fantasies, Caroline Dawkins has a great many things to say about the meaning of winter. Specifically, she has a lot to say about what it means to her as a grown-up who likes to pretend to be a little girl, and who gets spanked by her Daddy--that is, her husband George Lane.

"Caroline," George said, rubbing my shoulder gently to rouse me from my slumber, "little Caroline. . . wake up, sweetie." I could tell from the warmth of his voice that he had something nice to tell me, and so I smiled, with my eyes still closed. George rewarded me with a soft, chaste kiss that tasted of coffee. 

I opened my eyes, and looked into his handsome face, already shaved and ready for the office. 

"Good morning, Daddy," I said, trying to make my voice as loving as his had been.  

George stroked my cheek. I saw him cast his eyes down to my demure white nightgown with the lace trim, and I smiled even wider when I realized that I could read his mind, and that what he really wanted to do was climb back into bed, turn me on my side, raise the nightgown, and spend a long time doing the Daddy things that he likes to do with his little girl--the ones that I'm not supposed to like, since I'm a very modest girl, but I can't help enjoying anyway. 

His eyes returned to mine, and I watched the corner of his mouth turn up to let me know that he knew that I knew that he would much rather be making me make very grown-up sounds while he had his paternal way with me than heading into the office. 

"It snowed last night," he said. 

"Really?!" I said. "Can't you stay home?" 

"No, sweetheart, but I'll try to get away early. Have fun in the snow--just please make sure you don't get your socks wet when you're playing." 

I looked at him in complete confusion. "I'll try to stay nice and warm, but how could I possibly keep them completely dry?" 

"I don't know, young lady, but I can assure you that if I find a single wet sock, someone's going to get a spanking tonight." His eyes twinkled. 

"Oh, Daddy!" I said. "That's not fair!" I pouted theatrically, thinking about where I would leave the wet sock, after I was done shoveling the walk, throwing snowballs at trees, and making lovely, perfect, grown-up snow-angels.

Question: where do you think Caroline left the wet sock, and what do you think George did when he found it?

Domestic discipline, and an unusual inversion

(We're continuing from here. I had just told Charles that I thought needed his firm hand to guide me, and he had looked me as if I were crazy.)

I took his hand. We were sitting side by side, that French way. "Well, let's say that I'm not talking about household finances." I brought his hand down between my thighs, under my skirt, where it was now very warm.

Charles positively giggled--or at least as close to it as guys can get. "I take it," he said, wiggling his fingers a bit so that I sighed contentedly, "this is something that lies outside the realm of the dungeon and the rocking-horse?"

"Exactly," I said. "I feel like I need to be taken in hand." I couldn't help it; I cracked a smile at that point, then tried to wipe it off my face and look serious and needy and feminine.

But Charles had noticed, and he was laughing.

"Stop it!" I said. "This is serious. I need to feel your firm hand, guiding me and correcting me."

That made him laugh harder. "I can't help it. . ." he gasped. I waited patiently for his mirth to subside a bit. Finally he said, "OK, so I'm guessing you're not taking back EVERYTHING YOU'VE EVER SAID about domestic discipline, right? About how you can't imagine ever living that way?"

Now I pouted. "No, not everything."

At my pout, he stopped laughing. "Alright. I understand that pregnancy does weird things."

"Fuck you."

"Alright, there's my wife, anyway. Explain, please."

So I told him about my fears about our sex life, and about my body, and how I didn't want to mourn, but rather to celebrate a new phase of our lives.

"And you think DD is a way to do that, somehow?"

"Well, not real DD, I guess. But it gives a structure, you know--the way training gave us a structure. Or maybe it does. I guess I think it's worth a try."

"Absolutely," he said. "I'm in. How do we got about it?"

"I think we should start slowly," I said. "I want you to enforce a bedtime. Pregnant women need their sleep."

"Hmm. Yes, they do."

And that was how it started. That night, of course, I refused, theatrically, to be put to bed at 8pm, and got the spanking I was craving above everything else. Charles was a little bit tentative about his formulations of uxorial authority, but he showed tremendous promise, I thought.

From bedtime we proceeded to diet. The part about the regime that I found the most surprising is how much I actually liked being told what to eat and how to take care of myself. Really, it was rather dangerous how womanly--in an erotic sense--it did in fact make me feel.

"Sweetie?" I asked one night, about halfway through my second trimester, when I had resolutely started to show, but wasn't yet uncomfortable. We were long home from France by then, and in that holding pattern you do, where you're circling the hospital like a 747 slowly running out of fuel, waiting for the inevitable emergency-landing. "Do you think if our positions were reversed. . . "

"It's hard to see how that kind of reversal would. . . configure itself--but I think I know what you're talking about. Would I want to have someone telling me what to do? I think about that at lot, actually, and I think that the answer is Yes."

"Really?" I said eagerly.

"Think about guys getting out of the army--or even out of prison. People like to be told what to do, no matter how much they pretend otherwise."

"Now I feel bad that you don't get to feel that way, because you have to figure out what to tell me to do!"

"Not so fast! Two things: one, I also like to tell you what to do, and have you do it; two, I like to spank you. Plus, you told me to tell you what to do, and I liked that."

I giggled, and kissed him. I don't think I'd ever felt so womanly, and I loved it, and hated myself for loving it.

"Do you ever like to feel womanly?" I asked, half-joking. To my surprise, he got the look in his eyes that's a sort of facial equivalent to when he says "Um."

That was the first night we ever switched. Since that time, we've done it perhaps twice a year. As on that first night, we always set it up as Charles giving me the kinkiest possible command, in order to demean me as much as possible--the command to dominate him. It works for me. We didn't have a strap-on harness that first night (we've since gotten one) so I pegged him with one of his own dildos while kneeling next to him on the bed. I'd like to think that our DD arrangement was the only one in history to produce that kind of scene, but who knows?

(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!)

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). 

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!)

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). 

A spanko's dream wedding-night #SatSpanks

. . . or at least that's what I was trying for in the books of EXPLORATIONS that I'm re-releasing in a revised edition this week. The new title for these books is The Bride's Ordeal, and, unsurprisingly I suppose, fantasy-me is getting spanked in this snippet.

Then Charles put his hand on his bride's bottom for the first time--not with a spank (yet) but with a tender, possessive caress that suspended both of the eighteen-year old peaches on the four fingers of his right hand. It was the most heavenly thing he had ever felt. 

He squatted behind her and looked at her bottom, hardly believing that this was real: Emily's bottom, Emily's ass, presented to him. The plump little cheeks, pink with her blush of shame, the beautiful lacy thong running between them, covering her girlish secrets. It was almost too much for him, and he felt a little light-headed looking at her bottom while her face was buried in the couch cushions. 

And not just the sight, for he could tell now that Emily was wet, and he could smell her wetness, and it fired his blood as nothing in his fantasies ever had. 

But Emily cried out as if he had spanked her. 

"Ahhhh! Oh, please! Charles, please! D--don't. . ."

Blurb! Buy it 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). 

Read all the Saturday Spankings!