Caroline's Little Friends by Emily TiltonA professional couple continues to explore age-play and spanking fantasies.
Using experiences gained from new friendships with couples in age-play relationships, Caroline and George will travel deeper into their taboo fantasies in an attempt to help Caroline's students and to deepen their own connection to each other and to their new friends.
From a "little party" where Caroline and her new "little" friend Caitlin play Colonial Girl dolls, to a steamy weekend with Caitlin and her husband Joe in New York City, Caroline and George find new ways to satisfy each other's longings. At the same time, Caroline finds herself drawn to Caitlin in a way she never imagined. In the end, will Caroline decide that, even though she is first and foremost her husband's little girl, she can take on the responsibility of helping Mary and Angela realize their own fantasies? Will her new friendship with Caitlin help her discover what it means to take the upper hand with someone, while still remaining obedient?
Publisher's note: "Caroline's Little Friends" is an erotic novel intended for adults only. It contains explicit sexual activity and domestic discipline themes in an age-play setting. All characters in "Caroline's Little Friends" are adults and are explicitly portrayed as such."
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Caroline's Little Friends (Sample Chapter)
©2013 by Blushing Books® and Emily Tilton
"You're making that up."
"No, I swear. I was standing ten feet away. I couldn't move because once they'd started it would have been sooo embarrassing if they knew I was there—for them and for me!"
"He seriously called her 'young lady'?"
"I haven't even gotten to the good part."
"He spanked her."
"He said 'I can't let this go'—I guess she hadn't called him and he was worried, or something—and she said—get this—"Yes, Daddy." And then he bent her over the hood of the car, and pulled up her skirt..."
The silence from the other girl (Angela Heathers, I was almost positive: black hair in a ballerina's bun, tall and willowy, dark eyes) spoke volumes. I pictured her mouth hanging open. My face felt as hot as the sun, as I sat, trapped in the toilet stall while they, just a few feet away, discussed my intimate life of ageplay with my husband.
"And she was wearing these pink little-girl panties that—I'm just saying—were really hot in that wrong sort of way."
It so happened that I was also wearing those same panties—George's favorites—right then. Indeed, they were currently around my knees.
"Did he pull them down?" Another pause. "I mean …" (was that embarrassment in Angela's voice?) "because... um..."
The other voice (Mary McCall, I knew: blonde and petite) decided to help, "Because that would be hot. No—but it was still really incredible and..." Her voice dropped to a whisper that I couldn't hear... what was she saying?
Angela giggled. "No, no," she said, "I would have, too." Had Mary just confessed that seeing me spanked had gotten her wet?
"So he said, 'Are you going to do that again, young lady?' and started to spank her..."
"With his hand?"
"Yes—but he said..."
"He said he was going to cane her later, because she had worried him so much."
And he had. I had completely forgotten that we were supposed to have dinner with another lawyer from George's firm, along with his wife, and I had turned off my phone while I was reading in my office. George was forced to show up at my door. The moment he saw I was OK, he gave me the look that signified my backside was not going to be in pristine condition by the end of the night.
"So what was she doing?"
"She just kept saying she was sorry, and, you know, kind of acting like a little girl, and calling him Daddy."
"And then he said..." (the whisper again, as they left the bathroom, and I could finally pee). I remembered what he had said, vividly and with a blush: "I'm going to cane you, and then I'm going to fuck you in your little asshole to remind you whose little girl you are."
I remembered the rest of that night: the utter abandon with which George had caned me and the incredible anal orgasm that went on and on as he pounded my little bottom-hole. He had been angry, but our new dynamic really did seem to let him take out his aggression on me in a way that healed us—erotically.
As I washed my hands and stepped out of the bathroom, myself, I wondered what would come of the conversation, if anything. Mary and Angela had been two of my favorite students the previous semester; they weren't in any courses with me now, in the spring. I had been positive I could hear in their voices that they were both turned on; to my distress I realized I was now turned on myself.
Surely, I thought to myself, I can't let them misunderstand. Surely they need to be told what ageplay really is?
I closed the door of my office behind me and leaned up against it. I closed my eyes.
Surely they deserved a spanking, over my knee, didn't they?
So very dangerous, but the free play of my fantasies had been a cost of my new erotic life with George. Whereas before the previous winter I had never had trouble in professional situations damming up the raging outflow of my libido into fantasy, now when something caught my eye as a possible source of a play element I might try with George (a particular pair of panties in a catalogue or a naughty scene in a TV show, for example), my imagination tended to run wild.
Undoubtedly that was because my husband was now making my dreams come true, and I was frantic to make sure that I had a huge stockpile of them for us to play out. If there were panties that struck me in that funny way, as being particularly "little," I would leave the catalogue out, with a circle around the picture and little hearts, and a few days later my Daddy would tell me that I had better go change into the new panties I would find on the dresser. Then, of course, my Daddy would have to inspect me in them, to make sure the workmanship was as fine as it should be on such an important garment. The inspection could quite possibly cause me to fidget a bit, whereupon the panties would have to be pulled down to my knees. I would have to kneel on the floor and go over the little spanking stool that now waited innocently in our living-room; then my Daddy would get my special paddle and give me a sound spanking while I whimpered and said, "Daddy, please, no, it hurts."
Usually, I would then have to spend a long while in the corner, my pretty new panties still down, before I was ordered into the bedroom, and told to get myself ready for my Daddy to take his pleasure. My husband would enter and get into our bed. He would turn on the lamp that I had modestly turned off, and pull the sheets down, even though I said, "Please, Daddy, I'm so ashamed for you to see me with no clothes on."
He would say, "Little girl, when your daddy wants to see your pretty young pussy, that's exactly what he's going to do."
My Daddy would turn me onto my side, facing away from him, perhaps. He would pull the panties all the way off, and then he would lay them in front of me, so that we could both see them while he used my little pussy. (Neither of us could figure out exactly why that was so hot; maybe it said, "Little girls whose panties have been taken off by their daddies deserve to have their daddies use them hard.")
Propping himself up on his elbow behind me, he would lift my knee, and then take his Daddy-thing in his hand and put it where it belonged, just at the entrance to my warm, shaved pussy. He would rub me there until I was crying out to have him inside, and then he would thrust inward and gently use me with his lovely back and forth Daddy-rhythm, using his hand to please his little girl all the while. Sometimes I would come while thinking about how my Daddy was using me, even though as a little girl I shouldn't like it, and I shouldn't be doing such big-girl things.
Sometimes he would say, "Good girl, such a nice little cunt," and just keep repeating those words, as if they were an invocation. All the while, in my head, in counterpoint, my own mind would say, "Such a bad girl, Caroline; such a bad girl to have a cock in your little-girl cunt." I would look down (Sometimes, George whispered in my ear, "Look down, little Caroline.") and see that my little pussy had a Daddy-thing in it, moving in and out, possessing me, and I would blush and usually come again at the thought of how wicked I was.
And then he would come: my Daddy, my husband, my George, would make his helpless little grunt, and his hips would writhe, and he would gather me tightly into him, against his body. It was almost better than my own orgasms to feel him give himself that way, the ultimate proof that I had pleased him.
I realized that while leaning against my office door I had bit by bit raised my blue skirt until it was high enough that I could work my fingers inside those little pink panties. As I let my fingers comfort my pussy, just a bit, my thoughts turned to Angela and Mary.
I remembered how it felt to hear them start into the conversation I had overheard: "Oh my God... I have to tell you what I saw on Monday night. Professor Dawkins and her husband..."
"You mean that incredibly handsome blond guy? The lawyer?"
"Does she have another husband?"
I had realized immediately what they were talking about, of course, and felt the blood rush to my face.
And I had gotten a sudden, unexpected urge—the first urge to switch that I'd ever had. I thought of Angela and Mary, of how cute they were, and of how wicked they were to speak of me that way. And I wanted to spank them.
Now, standing there, I let my imagination go, and I saw Angela standing in the corner of my office, while Mary had to go over my lap.
"Now, Angela," I was saying, "watch carefully, since you are going to have your spanking in just a moment. Mary, once I am done with you, you will watch me spank Angela. Then you will both stand with your noses against the wall and display your punished bottoms."
I looked down at the seat of Mary's jeans, then back up at Angela. "In fact," I said, "Angela, I want you to lower your jeans and panties to your knees right now and put your hands behind your head. Mary, you lower your jeans and panties, too. Now, please."
They were both wearing sexy lingerie under their tight jeans: Angela a simple red thong and Mary a black lace one.
"Girls," I said, "we are going to have to have a talk about your underwear. Those panties are absolutely unacceptable for young women whom I am taking under my wing." I thought for a moment and made a decision.
"Angela, come strip Mary's jeans off—and her panties—that's right, all the way off. Now take off your own jeans and underwear, please. I am confiscating your panties, girls. You will return to your dorm without underwear, to remind you of how naughty you were to talk about a professor that way. Then you will put on modest panties, and from now on, until you have a Daddy or a Mommy who can guide you and may instruct you to wear big girl underpants again, you will wear such modest panties."
The girls, now without any clothes on below their fashion T's, blushed furiously, but I said, "Yes, girls, it's time that you learned some shame. I hope that being returned to the discipline we traditionally bestow on young people will help you learn better manners."
I began to spank Mary. In my mind, it was a delicious feeling—as if I were sharing my own little girlhood with another, and yet exercising over her a kind of dominance loaned to me by my own Daddy, my husband. As I punished her in my fantasy, warming her lovely undergraduate bottom-cheeks with a firm maternal hand, I was imposing George's will.
It was an odd, but marvelous kind of fantasy: Mary's little moans turned into cries of "No, professor, please! I'm sorry!"
I looked over to Angela, who was wincing a little on her friend's—and her own—behalf. "See, Angela?" I said. "Don't you think Mary's learning her lesson?"
"Yes, professor," she replied, with a little sob of fear, which Mary answered with a wail.
"Hush, Mary," I said, the way George always told me to hush. I continued to spank her, alternating between her right and left bottom-cheeks, which began to turn bright red, as I said, "Do you think you'll ever talk about a professor so disrespectfully again?"
"No, professor," said Angela. "Oh, please..."
"Please what, Angela?"
"Please don't spank Mary so hard."
"Mary was a naughty girl, and she is getting what naughty girls need."