Explorations: Books 6-10

By Emily Tilton

In the second collection of EXPLORATIONS, the story starts on Emily's and Charles' D/s honeymoon and moves to the beginning of their D/s marriage back home in Connecticut. Emily is punished at last for her self-abuse, and receives a taste of the training she has craved for so long--right where she has craved it. Back home, Emily and Charles play a XXX Greek myth, and watch a strange "training" video from Prophettown, a BDSM religious community. "The Prophet's Way: The Marriage Bed" begins a journey into the erotic customs of Prophettown that will take Emily's fantasies to the darkest edges of her imagination.

These books of Explorations contain fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasies that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MFf, Ff, anal, spanking, dominance and submission, religious pornography, toys. All characters depicted are consenting adults.

The Explorations series is a unique take on BDSM above all because of the strong individual voice of Emily Tilton herself, manifestly shaping the fantasy-elaborations of the series. Because Emily is interested in helping herself and others understand how BDSM can be lived within a mostly vanilla existence, the way most of us have to live it, Explorations has a unique element that Emily hopes will set it apart and make it useful: Emily has created a fantasy-version of herself (keeping to the tropes of the genre she knows so well, fantasy-Emily is an eighteen-year-old virginal bride with a self-abuse "problem"), whose fantasies and "realities" are the central subject of the stories of Explorations--but the real Emily also keeps her authorial, real voice in the margins, explaining and analyzing, and revealing from time to time the much more mundane, real version of the things Emily has transformed in the story of her fantasy-self. This doubling of the "I" in the first-person narrative of Explorations makes the series worth exploring all on its own. Come for the hot, dark, edgy, D/s, spanking, anal action. Stay for the exploration.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emily Tilton
• Release date: Apr 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301120291

Emily Tilton

Emily Tilton wishes she were as free as her characters (one of whom shares Emily's name) to live out her fantasies of submission.Emily's erotica is a narrative version of her nearly lifelong quest to reconcile her submissive erotic orientation with her ethics. She writes erotica, not erotic romance: her books are about sex, because writing about sex helps her understand that fundamental part of her life better. She hopes maybe it does the same for her readers.Over the many years since Emily became aware of her sometimes unbearable craving for ravishment, spanking, and above all anal domination, she has tried to come to terms with that craving in more ways than she can count. The first of the ways was by reading, voraciously, every piece of good BDSM erotica (and of course also a ton of bad BDSM erotica) she could find.Eventually, she read Story of O. As is reflected throughout her work, it changed her life, though the change has been gradual, and continues to this day. The idea that other women might share the lusts she has by turns been ashamed of and defiantly proud of, that a woman like the real Pauline Réage might write so beautifully of those lusts, and work them out so thoroughly and even pitilessly on a character, put Réage's famous pencil in her right hand. Or, to put it in the terms of EXPLORATIONS, which she considers her magnum opus, it put her left hand on the keyboard of her laptop and her right hand in her lap, if you know what she means. Emily started to write spanking stories.

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EXPLORATIONS: Books 6-10

By Emily Tilton

Copyright 2013 Emily Tilton

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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These books of Explorations contain fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasies that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MFf, Ff, anal, spanking, dominance and submission, religious pornography, toys. All characters depicted are consenting adults.

Emily's First Caning

17 April 2002, 2:35pm; Lobby, Ritz-Carlton, Kapalua Bay, Maui

So nobody's wedding-night really goes like that. Or I've never met anyone whose did, nor would I ever want to meet such a person, in fear that a wave of smugness emanating from him or her would strike me dead on the spot. My own was nice, but the night I already told you about, in late winter 2001, was better: during it I did finally manage to make the confession to which I alluded earlier, that I have been incurably kinky since the first moments of my memory of any sexual feeling whatever, and that I had been for the last several months obsessed with pornography to such an extent that I knew that any sexual-, and possibly life-, partner probably should be acquainted with it. On the real night ('01), Story of O was too sacred to share, and so it would be several days before Charles and I really understood each other.

In the window of one of the boutiques in the hotel was a set of pajamas that consisted of a little shirt and panty-short bottoms, of blue stretch cotton with lace trim. For some reason, every time I walked by the window I pictured myself being initiated in those modest little pajamas.

They were the kind of thing a man would look at and think that a young fucking-piece who hadn't yet lost all her modesty should wear them when coming to his bed to learn to please him in some way: perhaps the first time she would be made to give him a rim-job. They were so innocent, and yet, I suppose because of the lace at the thigh and especially in front, matching a small lace ornament at the collar of the tee, so provoking. They weren't really skimpy at all: the panty-bottoms were much closer to tap-pants than to a bikini. But it was somehow the suggestion of the appropriateness of violating that innocence, conveyed by the lace, that affected me: those first two days, I must have walked by that window ten times, just to feel my nipples tumesce in my bikini top or my much racier honeymoon bra, and my panties get that delicious, naughty, warm feeling.

I bought them, and wore them, on the second night in Maui.

It was an interesting logistical problem, really: how does one force a man to demand under penalty of the rod that one put one's tongue in his anus? In fact, more generally, I was beginning to look for ways to have my innocence violated more often than could be accomplished with the small (and despite my kinkiness I hoped in my case actually singular) number of wedding nights one is allowed over a lifetime. Events overtook me in the end: Charles might have been behind me in his reading and viewing, but his desire to keep violating my innocence was as great as my desire to have it violated.

Thus, when I emerged from the bathroom in these pajamas, it was another innocence that was going to be violated than the one whose violation I was planning. I had merrily been running, in my head, through various scenarios that all ended with my husband supine on the bed and my face buried in his ass. He, in my mind, was groaning in ecstasy as I gave him (at his command) the greatest pleasure he had ever felt, like the dirty girl I was, doing things to my man that would give my parents heart-attacks.

In the bedroom, Charles, in an open bathrobe and boxers, was holding a bamboo cane.

Honestly, the cane is so out there (or, I can remember when I thought it was so out there) that I had understood the whole dialogue about it on our wedding-night as hypothetical. My first reaction to seeing one in Charles' hand was that he must be joking.

He had prepared, however, and there was no uncertainty in his tone.

Those are very pretty pajamas, Emily. I'm going to enjoy taking them off you and fucking you later, but right now, I'm sorry to have to tell you, it's time for your punishment for your shameless self-pollution Saturday night.

No! I put my left hand to my mouth, involuntarily. This was not a scene; this was not play; I was going to be caned for being caught masturbating. Please! No! I'll. . . I'll do anything! I pleaded, really beginning to cry. A bride caned on her honeymoon. . . so terribly shameful. . . . Pushing back the urge to flee the room I moved swiftly towards him instead, and knelt at his feet, put my arms around his thighs, kissed his hard, hard cock through his boxers. I tried to use my nose and tongue to free it, so that I could please him in some other way, but he pushed me back, firmly, unwinding my arms and making me sit back on my heels.

I was a schoolgirl in innocent blue pajamas; I was going to be caned.

Get over the bolster, Emily, said Charles, and now I turned my head and noticed that the bolster had been laid across the bed already, in preparation for a bride's caning.

Please, sir. . . no. . . I said, looking up into his stern face.

What would you learn if I didn't cane you now? he asked, angrily.

I. . .