"That's your problem, not mine"—Lori-Anne for Taboo2sday

The whole story so far can be found here.

When Reverend White finally came down Lori-Anne's throat he made her swallow every drop, holding her head so tightly that Lori-Anne felt sure that he must have mussed her hair. She couldn't deny, though, that her wanton nature responded to the preacher's dominance: the idea that Reverend White didn't care whether he got Lori-Anne in trouble with Joe for not looking her best made her clit swell and get so embarrassingly big that she felt terribly ashamed when he finally released her head from his grip with a last grunt of pleasure and told her she could go.

"Just pick up your clothes and get on out of here, girl," he said. "Look at that thing between your legs!"

Her throat burning with his semen, Lori-Anne pleaded, "Can't I get dressed here first, Reverend?"

"No you can't get dressed here, girl. What if one of the church ladies came in. You go on and just get yourself to the bathroom. If someone sees you like that, well now that's your problem, isn't it?"

Read more taboo! 

Gratis: Summer Fling and Subjugated: double the hot excerpts!

I had two projects of which I'm really proud come out over the weekend, so I'm going to double your arousal today!

Here's a part of Isabelle's Submissive July that I love. It's my story in the Gratis: Summer Fling anthology, which you can get for free at the links that follow!

Isabelle called him back an hour later. She would have called him back five minutes later, if she hadn't thought she would seem like a stalker.

When she'd seen the notice on the club board, by the pool, she had actually felt the blood drain from her face, and then return in a rush. Her hand shook as she tore off one of the little slips Mr. Larchner must have cut between, so prospective babysitters could take his number with them. She even had to repress the urge to tear off all the other slips.

Then her fingers had trembled on the screen of her phone, as she dialed the number.

Then, when he had said the thing about going to Vermont, and hanging out and sightseeing, she had no idea what to say, so faint did it make her feel to picture herself in Vermont with Mr. Larchner. What was wrong with her?

She put the phone down with trembling fingers and wandered into the bathroom, really just trying to figure out something she might do to take her mind off wanting to call right back and tell Mr. Larchner that she would definitely babysit for the whole month, and could he please deflower her, too.

She looked at her reflection, and felt torn between liking what she saw and the certainty that Dan Larchner, unbelievably hot older guy, would never actually seduce a fairly skinny, brainy looking girl with breasts that hardly filled a B cup and mousy shoulder-length brown hair that she always pulled back into a ponytail. Plus, her nose: her long nose. Her sea-blue eyes were her best feature by far, but surely Mr. Larchner would prefer hazel or something exotic, like green.

What was wrong with her? Isabelle found herself pulling down her jeans. Just to see what I look like down here. Cotton panties with a floral pattern, and a tiny bit of lace around the legs and the waist. What kind of lingerie did Mr. Larchner like? Surely the really lacy kind. Isabelle sighed: she had always wanted to buy herself something like that, but her mother still did her laundry.

Self-consciously, she touched the fabric of her panties, watching in the mirror as the hand, like the hand of another person, performed the sexy gesture. Isabelle heard a little sound come from her throat at the pleasant, frustrating sensation. She didn't do this very often, but now she couldn't stop, as she thought of Mr. Larchner, touching her floral panties, telling her that she would have to wear something lacy next time, but that for now cotton with little blue flowers was fine with him.

Isabelle pressed harder, right where her clit lay hidden by the panties. God, she had never felt the need to play with herself this much, had she? She ran her hand down, between her thighs, spreading them as much as she could, bound by the jeans as they were. Something about that, about the way her jeans held her knees close together, felt so very right. What if Mr. Larchner had taken them down, and left them there, and said, "This is how I like you, Isabelle"?

To her thrilled shame, she found that she had already soaked through the cotton between her legs, over her pussy, where someday a cock… oh, God—had she just thought that terrible word, that naughty word? What did Mr. Larchner's cock look like? Was it big, like the one in the video Michelle had shown her on the 'net that one time?

What if he told her to kneel down and suck it? When the kids had gone to bed, in Vermont, would he tell her it was time to learn to suck a cock? And… and to… to bend… over… with her panties down, on top of her jeans…

Still watching like a hawk in the mirror, even as her knees trembled inside the denim that bound them together, she worked her fingers inside the right leg of the panties, and then she couldn't stifle the little cry of pleasure when her middle finger, twined in her sparse thatch of wiry fleece there, pushed against her aching clit.

"Isabelle?" her mother called from just outside the bathroom door. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, mom," she called back, and bit her lip hard. She took her hand away, clenched it into a little fist, feeling the shameful, slippery wetness on her fingers. What was wrong with her?

She left the bathroom, went back to her own room, and forced herself to do some of the last remaining homework of her high school career. Precisely one hour and two minutes after she had hung up, before the incident in the bathroom, she called Mr. Larchner and told him that she'd love to go to Vermont to babysit Daniel and Sarah.

Just get Gratis Summer Fling. I mean, it’s FREE, after all!

Buy Links (which should read free links)

Amazon: http://myBook.to/gratis4

All Romance EBooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-gratissummerfling-1839462-354.html

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/547973

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/gratis-summer-fling/id1003547432?mt=11

GooglePlay:https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Chlo%C3%AB_Thurlow_Gratis_Summer_Fling?id=Iz7ECQAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/gratis-summer-fling

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gratis-chloe-thurlow/1122089212?ean=2940151957519

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25704749-gratis

Now Subjugated is a very different kind of book, as this excerpt will demonstrate, I'm fairly sure!

As she read the letter, Jenna felt her whole body flush, and then go ice cold in horror, alternately, over and over. She had known that the subjugation would be shameful, and even painful. She had known that it would involve paddling, she supposed, because that was a punishment she had grown accustomed to seeing in school assemblies.

But she had never even guessed that the subjugation might involve the kind of humiliating display described in the letter. She remembered her mother telling her in those same brief, whispered conversations in January about the idea of Plan Beta and how if it should come to pass, she must not submit entirely, so that she might provoke the interest of those who watched the subjugation. Jenna thought her mother had wanted to tell her what subjugation entailed, but there had never been time, perhaps because whenever her mother began to talk about it, her face turned very red and she couldn’t continue.

And Mrs. Trest would be coming to inspect her, the same way she had that horrible day at the beginning of the Human Development unit. Inspect her, to make sure she had bared herself properly. Jenna looked at the red panties lying on her bed, and pictured what she would look like in them once she had carried out the instruction about shaving herself between her legs. Mrs. Trest had in fact given the class instructions about how a girl should shave there, and Jenna blushed as she remembered the severe-looking, brown-haired woman in her mid-forties, telling Jenna and her classmates to use scissors to trim the hair down, then to soak in a warm tub, and to shave there.

Should she just go get it over with now? She turned involuntarily and glanced again at where she knew the surveillance camera lay in the crown molding of her room. As she grew up in that house, her father had often warned her about the cameras, and how if she overheard anything about town affairs, she must never mention it, even at home. Some of Jenna’s friends had admitted to being a little embarrassed to know that anyone at headquarters would watch them in their bedrooms or even their bathrooms, but because Jenna wasn’t conscious of doing anything improper, she regarded the surveillance cameras as a security measure that liberated them from fear, as General Dumfries declared in his weekly message.

At least, that was how she had felt until her father had taken her on a long walk, and told her how the Western Republic really worked, and about the possibility of escaping to the Eastern Commonwealth.

Deciding that she must begin by following the instructions from the captain—what did he look like? how cruel would he be?—to the letter, Jenna started to unbutton her white school-uniform blouse. She had a sudden, defiant urge to turn to the surveillance camera and remove all her clothing brazenly, to say, So you want to see my naked breasts and my naked pussy? Well, here they are.

But instead shame won out, and she turned her back to the camera as she shrugged her blouse from her shoulders, and then unhooked her plain white bra. Absurd, she realized, because of course they would see everything very soon. But something in Jenna could not overcome the modesty her education had instilled. And hadn’t Mrs. Trest said that men much prefer to marry modest girls?

As she unbuttoned the waistband of the little kilt, she wondered, when army officers watched girls who were going to be subjugated, whether they liked modesty or brazenness. The thought seemed so strange to her that she tried to push it away, and she focused on the feeling of the wool against her fingers, and then against her legs, as she stepped out of the uniform skirt.

Underneath, she had the regulation black thigh-high stockings that eighteen-year-olds wore, and the regulation white cotton panties. Blushing furiously, she rolled down the stockings and laid them together with her kilt on top of the blouse and the bra on her bed. The time had come, and Jenna felt her blush deepen as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and began to pull them down, sure that the exposure of her little bottom would be closely observed by the officer who would arrive in a week to give her his further instructions.

She put the school panties on the bed and picked up the lacy ones that had come from the envelope. Trembling, she sat on the bed and began to pull on the red panties. As soon as she felt the lace up against her pussy and her bottom and felt the way it both covered and exposed her, she understood the terrible logic of the instruction to remove all her hair there and bare herself for her subjugating officer: Jenna must have no covering between her waist and knees that had not been specified by the man who would possess her there.

Click here to buy it on Amazon!

Dystopian traditional values #SatSpanks

In my new book Subjugated, the post-apocalyptic nation where the hero and heroine live is ruled by a general whose ideas of traditional values are rather warped.

When a husband wished to be with his wife — and Mrs. Trest, the army-appointed counselor who traveled through the towns with her husband Major Trest, teaching this lesson, placed a very strong emphasis on be, as if it meant something more, though what more it could possibly mean neither Jenna nor her friends had any idea — the wife must prepare herself properly. She must dress nicely, and shave her legs and her armpits — and, Mrs. Trest said, her own face coloring a little, in sympathy with the girls', if told to do so by her husband, she must shave between her legs as well.

"Then, probably after dinner," said Mrs. Trest, brightly, "your husband will be with you, in the bedroom — though remember, girls, that if he wishes to be with you anywhere else — even outside, girls — you must obey him, and be grateful for his firm, guiding hand, and for the gift of your charms that make him want to put babies in your womb. Though, remember, if he wishes to be with you in another way, that won't make a baby — you'll understand when you're married, girls — you must obey him in that."

Or, of course, the paddle, or the strap. Girls over eighteen received the paddle in school, for misbehavior or bad marks. Jenna had never had it.

Click here to buy it on Amazon! Read all the Saturday Spankings!

New release! Subjugated: dystopian BDSM

As a result of her town displeasing the sadistic general who rules what remains of America five centuries in the future, eighteen-year-old Jenna Caprio has been chosen to be “subjugated” by Captain Bradley Clark, one of the general’s best officers. Upon being chosen, Jenna receives a pair of red lace panties and a letter outlining in explicit detail all of the intimate and embarrassing ways she is to prepare herself for the captain’s arrival.

When he is assigned the task of subjugating an innocent, beautiful young woman as a lesson to her neighbors, Bradley is horrified. Yet if he fails to punish and shame the girl in a believable fashion, he risks arousing suspicion and exposing his membership in an underground resistance organization dedicated to the tyrannical general’s downfall. So Bradley will do what he must. He will dominate Jenna utterly, spanking her long and hard for any defiance, and then he will publicly claim her in every way possible.

The situation quickly becomes more complicated after Jenna inadvertently discovers Bradley’s secret, however. Knowing his true convictions, she can’t help trusting him, nor can she fully hide the shameful pleasure his mastery of her body brings her. Soon enough she is falling in love with the very man whose duty is to subjugate and humiliate her, but when the need arises, will she risk everything that she has—and even her very life—to aid his cause?

Publisher’s Note: Subjugated is an erotic novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, anal play, exhibitionism, elements of medical play, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Click here to buy it on Amazon!

"Real" erotica—EXPLORATIONS files

I'm re-running the stories that serve as deep background for EXPLORATIONS. The story continues from this post.

_____


How it "really" happened was like this.

EMILY: Ugh. These whitepapers are just killing me. I may be losing my love of writing.

CHARLES: Hmm. Sounds like you need to do some fun writing, for variety.

EMILY: (gets a notion and arches her eyebrow) Like what?

CHARLES: (catching on, up for it) Like the salacious story you should have written for me a long time ago.

EMILY: I'm sorry, Sir, I don't know what story you mean.

CHARLES: My goodness, Emily. Surely it should go without saying that you are to devote your skills to my needs. You write very well, and I like to read salacious stories. So write one for me, right now, or prepare yourself for a spanking.

EMILY: What sort of salacious story did you have in mind, Sir?

CHARLES: Didn't Réage claim she knew what kind that dude liked?

EMILY: Hmm. That's right. He was into Sade, though, and you. . .

CHARLES: . . . are into Réage. Do you really think you could go wrong, as long as somebody's getting fucked in the ass? You've met me, right? I suggest you just get started, and make sure there's a feminine bottom involved.

And so I did: the very first version of Emily's Submissive Wedding Night.

"That's ah, very interesting," said Charles, reading it for the first time. "How you've, um, made yourself an 18-year-old virgin, I mean."

"I need to be of legal age, don't I?"

"That's not what I meant. . . I mean, I wouldn't think you'd be younger. . ."

"Well, when we ageplay, you know how you sometimes like me to be very young. . ."

"Let's keep this legal, shall we?"

"But if the reader knows I'm really 25, and I imagine myself as, you know, very young. . . is someone very young being depicted, or not?"

"These days, even the words 'very young' could get us into trouble. Let's make it clear that we mean 'early in the morning on her 18th birthday'."

"OK," I agreed. "So I'm a virgin, and I just turned 18 that morning. . ."

"Yes," he replied. "That's good. And this fantasy version of me. . ."

"He's very dominant," I murmured. "Very. And he's going to deflower me, because it's my wedding-night, and brides get deflowered on their wedding-nights, whether they like it or not."

He was standing next to my desk-chair, with his right hand on my right shoulder, playing gently with my hair, which was loose, down my shoulders (auburn, remember?). I put my left arm around his waist (well, his backside, actually), and turned my face to the left, into his crotch, and nuzzled a bit, making him say "Hey!" (in a good way).

"You wish you'd deflowered me up front," I murmured, nuzzling more.

"Um, hmm," he replied, growing in his boxers under my nuzzling mouth. I turned my chair and turned him, and stripped his boxers down.

"I wish it too," I said, and nuzzled even more, breathing in the oh-so-naughty scent of his crotch, kissing his scrotum very, very gently.

"So. . . so this is. . ."

"Mmm-hmm."

"A way to. . . oh, God, Emily, you're so good at that. . ."

"Does Master like the story?"

"I think. . . the, uh, punctuations may. . . uh. . ."

"Really. The 'punctuations'."

"They. . . uh. . . please do that again. . ."

"No. Tell me about the punctuations."

"I'm not kidding, Emily--do that again or get a spanking."

"Not until you tell me about punctuations."

"That's it, you impertinent girl--go get your paddle."

"Yes, Sir."

It was pretty standard fare from there, if I recall correctly: me over my sweetie's lap, paddle-spanks ("How's THIS for punctuation, Miss Pert? You! Are! Very! Naughty!") and teasing caresses. Then, the sex, in the only position in which I really feel submissive, my face to the mattress, my red, paddled ass to my master, used for his pleasure.

Visually inspired: smile

(See here for an explanation of this series and here for an index to it.)

Conchita smiled, because her master had spanked her.

She smiled, because after he had spanked her over the spanking stool, he had lowered her to her knees before him.

She smiled, because she could, leashed and collared and cuffed though she was, still put her arm around his leg, and feel his right hand upon the back of her neck.

She smiled because under her right hand she could feel his arousal, and because she knew that his arousal came from spanking her, and from knowing that she wanted nothing more than to submit to him.

Conchita smiled because she knew the next thing her master would say was "Mouth, Conchita. Open my fly, and let me take my pleasure."

The dominance protocol—what Emily is up to

I can't imagine you'll be surprised to hear I'm working on something new. This one's tentatively titled Bought by the Doctor. Here's a teaser:

"I don't think that's a real answer," Sam said. Abruptly, he rose from his stool, and went to the end of the examination table. He pulled open a drawer, and took out the stirrups.

"Wh–what are you… doing?" Susan's voice betrayed all the nervousness of any patient confronted by the signs of a procedure she hasn't asked for and doesn't understand. Perfect.

"We're going to begin your physical examination, and your coitus, now."

"But… I'm… I mean, the history…"

"Oh, we're going to continue the history while I start the exam and begin the coitus." He fitted the metal rods, with their plastic attachments for Susan's feet into the fixtures at the end of the table. "We'll keep talking about the sex you had with your boyfriend in other people's beds. I want to demonstrate something to you. Lie back and put your feet in the stirrups, Susan."

"But…" Genuine alarm rose in her eyes.

"Do you need that whipping I mentioned a moment ago, young lady?"

"No!" The word burst from her in a sudden way that made Sam think it must be involuntary. Progress.

"Then do as I've said, please." Sam stood calmly at the end of the table, looking down at her.

Then the change back to dullness came over her face, but Sam could tell that it cost her even more will than the last time — perhaps it cost her more than it ever had before. It wouldn't be long, he hoped, before it cost her more to push her emotions away than it did to deal with them.

"Fine, doctor," she said, clearly feigning the respect implied by the title, but not coming close to sarcasm. She lay back.

Sam didn't give her the chance to raise and spread her own legs, but instead reached out and took her knees firmly, pulling her down towards him until he could seat her feet in the stirrups. As he did so, he looked into her eyes, seeing fear flash there and then disappear into something else. Arousal.

Sam kept the smile off his face. He would rather Susan didn't even know, quite yet, that he had noticed her flared nostrils and distressed brow.

"No," he said, replying to words Susan hadn't spoken that he knew were in her mind, "it's not like any exam you've had before, Susan. I want you to masturbate for me, now, while we talk about the kind of sex you had in those nice beds. Show me the kind of thrill you got from breaking the law. Show me what it does to your vagina, when you think about it."

Pointedly, he glanced down between her legs to look at her pussy, lightly covered in curly black hair. The opening of her legs had made all its pink secrets visible in the little cleft. His cock swelled, and really he wanted to keep looking just for the dominant thrill of it, but it was essential that he turn his attention to her face, and see how it affected her to know that he had just looked between her thighs that way.

Susan's eyes went wide as she looked up at him. She hadn't expected anything like this to occur in a doctor's office, he knew: that of course represented a good deal of the point. A medical examination had an ever-present dominant quality, as the physician took charge of the patient's body, but that dominant quality never, ever came to the fore: indeed, doctors received extensive training in softening that quality as much as possible, transforming it into a caring relationship. Sam's care of Susan would come to the fore soon enough, but his research suggested that when a girl like Susan, who had decided that the traditional authorities of her community didn't deserve her respect, received the sort of exam Sam now gave her, good might come of it.

"Wh–what?" she asked, as if utterly taken aback. Then he saw in her intelligent eyes that she had understood: he knew she had become aroused by the thought of what she had done with her boyfriend — no one could have told the story, led into it the way Sam had led Susan into it, without feeling echoes of the excitement she had felt then, with Prender. And she understood, to her dismay, he could see, that he knew how his spreading her knees and opening her up had aroused her in its own right.

"I think you heard me, Susan," Sam said as he moved deliberately to recover the wheeled stool and move it into a position where he could watch her play with herself. "I'm going to teach you something important about yourself, now."

Beginning of July, I'm guessing!