The First Victorian Emily Collection! #SatSpanks

It's collection time! I'm sure everyone has been waiting to grab every last digital copy of the Victorian books because they all knew the collection would be coming. . . so here you go! And, to accompany it, a snippet from Emily Undressed. 

You may remember that I cheated Victoriana fans a few weeks ago with regard to this book, and gave a snippet from the modern section of the book. I now redress that wrong (as it were).

The snippet is from a letter that Mrs. Smith reads to Emily, concerning a Countess who got caught smoking. The letter is from the butler, who caught her. (Yes, I love Downton Abbey.)

"I am very sorry, then, my lady, but I shall have to call on the assistance of Mr. Congreve," [I said]. (I do not know, madam, if you recall Mr. Congreve, our vicar, whom his lordship appointed as his witness-to-chastisement before his lordship's departure. I believe he was quite active in the drama in his youth; I doubt you will be surprised to hear that he still greatly enjoys assisting in the chastisements of the maids at H----, when the occasion arises.) 

At the thought of the vicar being summoned (though of course he would have to be summoned soon at any rate, to witness her ladyship's and Anna's punishment), perhaps to declare a punishment even more severe than I would declare—as indeed was quite likely, for Mr. Congreve, as her ladyship well knows, has a penchant for the truly severe discipline of young women—her ladyship moved her right foot, revealing the discarded cigarette. At the same time, Anna also moved her own foot, to reveal another. 

"Please don't punish Anna," said her ladyship quietly. "I made her do it." 

"Anna is a sworn servant of the Great Drama, my lady. I am afraid that her punishment will be more severe than your own, for her dereliction of duty."

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

This compilation of Books 21-24 of the Explorations series contains the first four books of the tale of Victorian Emily, fantasy-Emily's great-great-grandmother, as revealed in the mysterious notebooks passed down to her by her mother. As they read those notebooks, Emily and Charles realize that they may have a much closer relationship than they ever imagined to Prophettown, the polygamous pseudoreligious BDSM community of Books 8-16, to which Emily's best friend Sarah has been recruited as a submissive bride. 

Emily, Victorian Bride: The 21st book of Explorations takes the series in a startling new direction. Real Emily, to escape from the fantasies about Sarah that have been tormenting her, has her avatar fantasy-Emily receive a manuscript written by her great-great-grandmother and namesake, Emily Orn. That manuscript tells an astonishing story: Emily Orn and her husband Edmund Wilkes were part of a "Great Drama" of Dominance and submission in Victorian England, and the first part of Emily Orn's "Bride's Tale" narrates the beginning of her initiation into that drama at the hands of Mrs. Smith, whose establishment has the mission of preparing submissive brides for their wedding-nights. 

Emily in the School for Wives: The 22nd book of Explorations continues the story of fantasy-Emily reading her great-great-grandmother's introduction to a world of Victorian BDSM, at the hands of the able Mrs. Smith, trainer of young brides. Victorian Emily finds herself caught in a web of consent and compulsion, forced to undress in an elegant parlor and to hear hints of things to come that seem to her so shameful and degrading that she can hardly believe them. 

Emily Undressed: In the 23rd book of Explorations, Victorian Emily's instruction as a submissive bride continues, as modern-day fantasy-Emily can't stop reading, one-handed, the old notebooks she's been hiding from her husband Charles. Unfortunately for fantasy-Emily's backside, though, Charles is about to come home. . . 

Emily's Bath: In the 24th book of Explorations, fantasy-Emily's punishment at the hands of her husband Charles continues in the modern story, while in the Victorian notebook of Emily's great-great-grandmother, Victorian Emily is prepared by Mrs. Smith to wear the very special undergarment her bridegroom has chosen for her. 

These books of Explorations contain fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MMf, Ff, FFFf, ff, anal, spanking, watersports, ageplay. 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! 

Pars tertia obturamenti magni natis meae (the third part of the big plug of my bottom)

(We're continuing from here.)

The next week saw me in the same position, praying fervently that my big trainer, the holy obturamentum whose length I was forbidden to know, only had three segments. I thought I could probably take another one, though the struggle (the wonderful, awful struggle) would be mighty. Longer than that, and I would begin to fear for my intestines, not to mention my rectum.

Who was I kidding? I longed to take another segment.

"Nates parvae meae uxori meo sunt. . . my little ass-cheeks are for my husband," I said dutifully, if in a somewhat strained voice, as Charles pushed, and turned, and pushed again, and I tried, even more dutifully, to open to his infernal, sacred toy.

"Good girl. . . mea puella bona. . . tace. . . recipe. . ." (my good girl. . . be silent. . . receive) (for I was making quite a bit of noise). Something about "tace. . . recipe" was harsher, more dominant than his usual "Shh. . . open up"; it was on the road to "Shut up and take it," and goodness help my submissive heart, it made me flow down there as I bit my lower lip to try to obey.

A sob escaped me as the first segment--pars prima--entered me.

"Bene. . . bene. . ." (Good. . . good. . .) My trainer-husband stroked my hair; then, with the back of his hand, rubbed my cheek to comfort me. He was on form tonight: treating me like a combination of a child and a pet, with that condescending pity I can never resist whimpering at, as if to say "I'm so sorry I have to ruin your anus this way, but my pleasure demands it, and my pleasure reigns over you tonight, as it always must."

I sobbed again at the thought and at the stretching of my poor bottom, and was gratified to hear him swallow hard--he was rock hard, I could tell just from the sound of that gulp.

I went further, just for the sake of the moment, and said, in a choked voice, "Sir, it's too big! Please don't make me!"

"Shh. . . be a good girl for me now, Miss Tilton. I don't want to have to spank you. You know your ass is going to be trained tonight, so you had better make up your mind not to fuss, since all it will get you is a beating."

"Yes, Sir."

"Ask for the next part, now, sweetheart."

"Oh. . . please. Don't make me ask, Sir."

"Repeat after me, Emily: Domine, si placet. . ." (Sir, if you please. . .)

"Domine, si placet. . ."

"Impone partem secundam" (Impose the second part.)

"Impone partem secundam."

"Do you remember what to say now, when you take it?" He was putting on more lube, and turning, a bit, and pushing.

I gasped, "Yes, Sir."

"Say it, then."

"Natis m--mea ap--aperit cui--cumque. . . quod dominus m--meus imponat." I pushed, and pushed, and pushed, making my little submissive noises, and then the second part was in me at last, and Charles was stroking my cheek again.

"Shh. . . such a good girl. . . such a little girl to have such a big plug in her bottom." Now he stroked my bottom, too, and then, ever so lightly, my poor tingling pussy, to make me sigh and plead.

"Oh, Charles, please. . ."

He kissed my bottom, once on each cheek, and I pictured it, creamy and pink and little, with what I thought must be the enormous black plug enclosed between its dainty rounded cheeks.

"Please what?"

"Oh. . ." I gave a little resigned sigh, and continued, "please. . . Domine, si placet. . . impone partem tertiam." And I wriggled my backside in what I hoped was more or less a seductive manner, to show that he was my beloved trainer, and I wanted to please him more than anything, even if it meant the ruination of my girlish bottomhole.

"But you don't know the words, little girl."

"Please, Sir, teach me the words."

More lube, and the pressure, beginning again, so, so gently at first. "Very well. Natis mea. . ."

Well, that part was obvious by now: "Natis mea. . ." (my ass)

". . . pandenda est . . . "

That made me shudder: ought to be spread open. ". . . pandenda est . . ."

". . . tam lata quam dominus cupit."

As wide as my lord desires. Something about the formulation caused a spark of rebellion deep within me; it seemed to want to go beyond our play, beyond the bedroom. Perhaps it was the sheer prevalence of the "Bend over and grasp your ankles" turn-of-phrase in everyday life, for any situation where one was bound to assume the passive (eromenos, if you want to get classical about it) position.

I started to struggle, against the pressure of the third segment, and I felt my sphincter tighten around the narrow part between the second and third. My head bucked back with the discomfort of that tightening, and I felt my mouth open in a rictus of pain, and my whole face screw up with the feeling. In that moment, my ass was being trained against my will; my backside was being ravished by a big black butt-plug.

I felt the pressure stop, and I knew Charles was waiting for the safeword.

But the incredible access of shameful, submissive pleasure at the thought of my anal-ravishment was so overpowering that at that same moment I choked out "tam lata quam dominus cupit," and my bottom, yearning for more ravishment, for utter domination, gave a tremendous push, and Charles, owning his role, pressed hard. . .

And I was trained, and my ass was open to my lord, spread as wide as he wanted it spread, ready for him.

Visual spanking stories analysis: black lace around the ankles

(This analysis concerns yesterday's story.)

For me at least the essential hotness in this one is absolutely clear: the lowering of panties has an almost mystical quality for me, many times. It's very strange to think about how recent a development this close fitting undergarment actually is (less than eighty years old in anything like its present form) and yet how very, very fundamental to so many of my (and, I'm pretty sure others') fantasies.

Panties, in my fantasies, never go around the ankles unless a Master has so decreed. A Master so decrees because he know how it makes his sub feel to have a constant reminder, around her ankles, that she has had to pull her panties down (and of course she has had to pull her panties down because her Master told her to pull them down).

Why did he tell her to pull them down? To enjoy the view; to get access to her backside for discipline, should he wish to discipline her; perhaps more than anything else to make sure she knows that her charms, front and back, belong to him, and that they will be exposed in his presence to signify that she has no right to cover them.

Incidentally, I think that's almost certainly why lace panties in general are my go-to garment for my paricular genre of BDSM fantasy-elaboration: they are a veil that never ceases to show. It's a very small step, given how overdetermined by culture our garments are, to imagining that that false veil has been imposed by an authority-structure (or, in more common and specific terms, a Master): and it's of course that placement of the object (the girl--me) within the authority-structure, her modesty always about-to-be violated, that makes everything hot. As always, it's not the garment; it's what the garment means. (So too with the thong--the covering that isn't a covering.)

The thing that turns that essential hotness up a notch for me is the wood floor. Where are they? I thought of several candidates, but I decided to go with the unfinished look of it so that I could add in the carpenters watching. I suppose one could argue that the carpenters aren't implied by the picture (just as the spanking might not have been implied by the lace and chocolate last week), but after some thought it really does seem to me that a key part of the picture's special charm is the way that floor (and the light contributes greatly here as well) seems to speak of a place more rustic and more exposed than where you would expect a girl to be ordered to take her panties down and get to her knees (say, a bedroom or even a living-room). I hope my carpenters bring out that quality.

Visual inspirations for spanking stories: black lace around the ankles

(See here for an explanation of this series)

"Panties down, and on your knees, now, Marta."

It was horribly embarrassing to hear the words right there in the unfinished cottage, with the carpenters watching from only a few yards away. Josef, unhappy with the way Marta had said "Josef, it's time to go," had called to them "Watch this!" before he had replied to her, and they had turned in surprise to see him put his hand in her hair, and to hear him say it. Despite the humiliation Marta quivered with that mix of shame and arousal she knew so well, because she always knew exactly what was going to be required of her when Josef said "Panties down, and on your knees," and she knew she must always obey, or risk Josef's even greater displeasure, and worse and more shameful punishment.

Trembling, she obeyed. She hiked up the short black skirt she had on, and pulled her panties down all the way, revealing the smooth, prim tip of her sex in front, and her firm cheeks behind. Josef made a little twirling gesture with his finger, and, red-faced, she had to turn around slowly while the carpenters hooted and Josef smiled lustfully. Then, with his hand on her head already, she got to her knees in front of him, waiting to be given permission to uncover him so she could provide him with the pleasure that was his right, whenever he wanted to take it.

The floor was wood, and it hurt to kneel on it, and she knew how stiff she was going to be when Josef finally let her go, but the pain in her knees was the last thing on her mind, because Josef had taken off his belt, and was holding it, doubled, ready to make sure he disciplined her properly, and brought her to the limits of her abilities. Through the pain and the degradation she loved knowing that Josef would never let her get away with not trying to be a better slave for him, that he would always train her up, giving her the belt while with his left hand around the back of her head he moved her mouth on him, until he had released himself into her mouth, and had released her head to let her crumple into a submissive ball, in front of the carpenters, at his feet.

(Photo via Vladan Šírek on Google+.)

Pars secunda obturamenti magni natis meae (the second part of the big plug of my bottom; more of the spanking stories)

(We're continuing from here.)

Soon enough, it was time for me to take the next part of my big trainer. "Nates parvae meae uxori meo sunt," I managed to groan out, on my husband-trainer's command, as the first segment went in. I was in my uniform of black garter-belt and stockings, bent over the side of "my" bed, receiving my training like a good girl.

("My" bed is the guest-room bed; it's just very convenient for certain kinds of play to call the guest-room "my" room: "Go to your room and wait for me to come punish you" is just much hotter than "Go to our room" or "Go upstairs." Not to mention all the lovely ravishment scenes we've played there: "For shame, Sir! What are you doing in my chamber? . . . no, you mustn't get into my bed. . . oh, what are you doing? Why are you raising my nightgown? . . . Is it not wicked to touch me there? You shan't do it, sir! . . . Oh, sir--that feels so. . . oh, please--be gentle with me, sir--you are so strong, and big, and my tender cleft is so small.")

So: bent over, with a pillow under my hips to furnish me to my trainer's ministrations. Knees spread. Cheek against coverlet. Hands at my side, palms up (as specifically instructed by Charles, for reasons that would soon become evident, but hadn't just yet).

My heart raced as I felt how stretched I was, and remembered how hard I had had to work just to receive that first part, and then considered the diameter--the unknown diameter, since Charles refused to allow me to see the obturamentum, as he now usually called the big trainer--of the next segment.

"Why?" I'd said. "I'd be less scared. . ."

He had looked into my eyes, and replied, as if challenging me to say "Pineapple," "But I want you to be scared."

"Glug," I managed, meltier than I could remember being, recently.

"Alright, Emily," my trainer said now. "You are going to put your hands on your bottom, and feel how full you are. Listen carefully. You may not touch the obturamentum in such a way as to ascertain its size. The size of the holy obturamentum is forbidden knowledge--if a girl were to know how big a butt-plug she had to take, her training would be ruined."

"The holy obturamentum?" I asked, giggling.

He spanked me with my paddle, hard, once on each cheek, making the holy obturamentum move in such a distinctly profane way that I tried vainly to rub my throbbing clit against the pillow, and made one of the little submissive sounds that always put a smile on Charles' face (on the rare occasions I can see his face at the time, at least; mostly I make the sounds when my face is buried in sheets or pillows or something).

"Do as I've said, ass-wife," he commanded, and, now with the added incentive of rubbing away the sting of the spanks, I put my hands on my burning cheeks.

Orthography fails me at moments like these. If I tried to onomatopoeticize the sound that came from me at that moment, it might be something like "Aahoouhr." At any rate, rubbing my bottom-cheeks with the first bit of my big trainer in place, my rectum having closed firmly about the narrowness that divided that bit from the next, bigger one, felt shamefully, terribly wonderful. "Sacred discomfort" is my private phrase for the feeling, and so, although I'd giggled at "holy obturamentum," I knew, and appreciated, precisely what my trainer meant by it.

I moved my fingertips inward, not wanting and wanting at the same time to touch the holy thing. . . and at length I did touch it, and I gasped to feel it, as if it were electric: not because there was anything remarkable about the feel of what I thought must be lube-covered silicone, but because I was touching it. If you retain any traditional Catholic beliefs, please don't read the next clause, but for me it's exactly like Communion: there's nothing actually special about the wafer and the wine, but we've done everything we can to make it feel special and, through our imaginations, it does.

There was no chance I was going to disobey Charles and try to feel how big or how long it was; my big trainer, my holy obturamentum, was simply too sacred. It was a mystery I knew I should not try to fathom. I was full of that mystery, because my trainer-husband wanted me to have it there, and I belonged to him.

That was the moment he chose to apply more lube, and push again.

"Oh! No, Charles--please--not yet!" I was still too small, I thought; my poor bottom wouldn't, couldn't. The emphasis in "sacred discomfort" was decidedly on the "discomfort."

"Yes, Emily. Open up."

"Please. . ."

"Repeat after me: natis mea aperit cuicumque quod dominus meus imponat." (My bottom opens to whatever my Lord imposes.)

"Oh my God, you asshole. . . ow! Oh, please. . ."

"Repeat it." The pressure, the stretching. My husband was insisting: his ass-wife's ass was going to open wider than it ever had, tonight. I groaned, and gushed onto the pillow under my pussy, and sobbed, and said (well, grunted, more like):

"Natis--mea--aperit. . . cui--cumque quod--dominus. . . meus imponat!" I pushed down, trying to open, taking what my lord gave, and at last screamed in triumph as I felt the second segment closed inside my anus.

"Translate," commanded Charles, as he began to stroke my heated inner labia tenderly with one hand while with the other he moved the holy obturamentum ever so gently back and forth.

"MY ASS. . . OPENS TO. . . WHATEVER MY LORD. . . OH, FUCK. . . WHATEVER MY LORD. . . IM--POSES!" More noises not worth onomatopoeticizing followed.

Victorian Emily's first collection is ever so live!

It's waiting for you, in all the fading glory of the twilight of the British Empire!

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

This compilation of Books 21-24 of the Explorations series contains the first four books of the tale of Victorian Emily, fantasy-Emily's great-great-grandmother, as revealed in the mysterious notebooks passed down to her by her mother. As they read those notebooks, Emily and Charles realize that they may have a much closer relationship than they ever imagined to Prophettown, the polygamous pseudoreligious BDSM community of Books 8-16, to which Emily's best friend Sarah has been recruited as a submissive bride. 

Emily, Victorian Bride: The 21st book of Explorations takes the series in a startling new direction. Real Emily, to escape from the fantasies about Sarah that have been tormenting her, has her avatar fantasy-Emily receive a manuscript written by her great-great-grandmother and namesake, Emily Orn. That manuscript tells an astonishing story: Emily Orn and her husband Edmund Wilkes were part of a "Great Drama" of Dominance and submission in Victorian England, and the first part of Emily Orn's "Bride's Tale" narrates the beginning of her initiation into that drama at the hands of Mrs. Smith, whose establishment has the mission of preparing submissive brides for their wedding-nights. 

Emily in the School for Wives: The 22nd book of Explorations continues the story of fantasy-Emily reading her great-great-grandmother's introduction to a world of Victorian BDSM, at the hands of the able Mrs. Smith, trainer of young brides. Victorian Emily finds herself caught in a web of consent and compulsion, forced to undress in an elegant parlor and to hear hints of things to come that seem to her so shameful and degrading that she can hardly believe them. 

Emily Undressed: In the 23rd book of Explorations, Victorian Emily's instruction as a submissive bride continues, as modern-day fantasy-Emily can't stop reading, one-handed, the old notebooks she's been hiding from her husband Charles. Unfortunately for fantasy-Emily's backside, though, Charles is about to come home. . . 

Emily's Bath: In the 24th book of Explorations, fantasy-Emily's punishment at the hands of her husband Charles continues in the modern story, while in the Victorian notebook of Emily's great-great-grandmother, Victorian Emily is prepared by Mrs. Smith to wear the very special undergarment her bridegroom has chosen for her. 

These books of Explorations contain fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MMf, Ff, FFFf, ff, anal, spanking, watersports, ageplay. 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.

Quite possibly the least revealing COVER REVEAL in history: Books 21-24

You've seen these home-furnishings on their own, on the covers of these books, but now I'm sure your eyes are dazzled at the sight of them all on one cover. That's right: it's the first Victorian Collection of EXPLORATIONS. You've never read so much repressed prose, at so little cost, expressing such. . . er. . . watersports. Anyway, go read The Pearl, if you want to see that I'm at least not giving my old-timey characters kinks their real analogues didn't have. The Victorians were as urolagnic as I am. Some of them were, anyway.

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

This compilation of Books 21-24 of the Explorations series contains the first four books of the tale of Victorian Emily, fantasy-Emily's great-great-grandmother, as revealed in the mysterious notebooks passed down to her by her mother. As they read those notebooks, Emily and Charles realize that they may have a much closer relationship than they ever imagined to Prophettown, the polygamous pseudoreligious BDSM community of Books 8-16, to which Emily's best friend Sarah has been recruited as a submissive bride. 

Emily, Victorian Bride: The 21st book of Explorations takes the series in a startling new direction. Real Emily, to escape from the fantasies about Sarah that have been tormenting her, has her avatar fantasy-Emily receive a manuscript written by her great-great-grandmother and namesake, Emily Orn. That manuscript tells an astonishing story: Emily Orn and her husband Edmund Wilkes were part of a "Great Drama" of Dominance and submission in Victorian England, and the first part of Emily Orn's "Bride's Tale" narrates the beginning of her initiation into that drama at the hands of Mrs. Smith, whose establishment has the mission of preparing submissive brides for their wedding-nights. 

Emily in the School for Wives: The 22nd book of Explorations continues the story of fantasy-Emily reading her great-great-grandmother's introduction to a world of Victorian BDSM, at the hands of the able Mrs. Smith, trainer of young brides. Victorian Emily finds herself caught in a web of consent and compulsion, forced to undress in an elegant parlor and to hear hints of things to come that seem to her so shameful and degrading that she can hardly believe them. 

Emily Undressed: In the 23rd book of Explorations, Victorian Emily's instruction as a submissive bride continues, as modern-day fantasy-Emily can't stop reading, one-handed, the old notebooks she's been hiding from her husband Charles. Unfortunately for fantasy-Emily's backside, though, Charles is about to come home. . . 

Emily's Bath: In the 24th book of Explorations, fantasy-Emily's punishment at the hands of her husband Charles continues in the modern story, while in the Victorian notebook of Emily's great-great-grandmother, Victorian Emily is prepared by Mrs. Smith to wear the very special undergarment her bridegroom has chosen for her. 

These books of Explorations contain fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MMf, Ff, FFFf, ff, anal, spanking, watersports, ageplay. 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.