Explorations: Omnibus (Books 1-37)

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Sample Chapter

Here it is. The whole darned thing. Probably, if you’re an Emily Tilton fan, by this time you know what you’re getting, and in this package you’re getting a LOT of it. 227,000 words, and I promise you’ll be astonished how very many of them are pure erotica. Move over, Sade.

These books of Explorations contain fiction elaborating the following sorts of fantasy that you may wish to avoid: Mf, MMff, MMMf, MMMMf (no sex among M’s, at any time–sorry), FFFf, ffff, Mff, Mfff, Mffff, Mffffff, anal, spanking, King James language pseudo-religious erotica, sister-wives doing the kind of thing naughty minds really want sister-wives to do, exhibitionist sex athletics, diaperplay, ageplay. Stuff that doesn’t even have an abbreviation or a name, because it’s too hot and shameful. Spanking, whipping, caning, flogging. 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.

Sample Chapter

Emily’s First Submission

15 April 2002, 10:44pm; Living-Room of the Honeymoon Suite, Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York, NY

I, Emily, here insert (yes, insert) the following 3rd person narration of my imagination of what my lord and husband Charles experienced that night. Let the reader understand that the real Charles Smith was, and is, an ethical man, who would never attempt to put into practice the fantasies I here attribute to him. You must understand, reader, that I am interested in these Explorations in working out the darkness you will find in them. I have always, since my first moments of self-awareness, had the fantasy of being ravished; only with Charles did I feel safe expressing that fantasy.

As he waited for Emily to emerge from the bathroom, Charles Smith contemplated the night, and the week, ahead. He had waited for 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.

He thought first of his bride’s mouth. He had imagined, in his uncontrollable desire, that Emily would, before the week was out, give him a certain kind of head: she would be trying to please him by giving little kisses, and rubbing with her hands, but Charles imagined himself gently saying, "No hands, Emily" (the way they did in the videos) and then he would make Emily take the cock all the way in, and hold it there, with the head at the back of her throat. Then, in the world of his uncontrollable fantasies, he would use the back of her throat to his content while she made the submissive gurgling sounds and whimpers of a well-trained girl who knows her necessity to please her bridegroom.

Then he thought of her bottom. In his fantasies, Emily would soon have to let him touch her wonderful little bottom, with those tight cheeks he loved to steal covert glances at when when she sun-bathed at the country club and the beach. He would call her over to his chair, and tell her to strip down to her panties for his inspection. At his command, she would bend over in front of him, and he would pull her panties down to her knees. Then he would part the cheeks and touch her between them while she blushed crimson with the shame of being made to surrender herself for her husband’s pleasure.

Then he would tell her to go to the bedroom and kneel on the bed with her knees well spaced, and then to put her cheek on the pillow.

He had after all overheard her and her best friend Sarah talking about matters that a blushing bride should not know anything about. . .

"Emily, do you think the tennis pro has a big cock?"

"Sarah!"

"Ren?e said that Julie gave him a blow job behind the snack shack on Tuesday. . ."

"Come on! She did not!"

Sarah laughed. "She did too. And she said Julie told her that her jaw still hurt because his cock was so big."

Emily had been silent at that.

"And she said he asked her to let him fuck her in the ass."

"What?!"

"And she wanted to, because he’s such a stud. But she said no, because she was scared of how much it would hurt."

Another giggle. Charles had been completely unable to tell whether Sarah was telling the truth, but there was no denying the rigidity of his erection at the overheard conversation. Even now it was hard to get the image of Julie Hanson taking it in the ass from a well-hung tennis pro behind the snack shack out of his head. Her tennis skirt would be over her waist, her white briefs around her knees, as she knelt on the lounge chair. . .

He remembered the extraordinarily vivid fantasy he had had about Emily when she was just eighteen, and beginning to fill a bikini at the pool.

He would be behind her on a double lounge chair in a cabana, both of them on their right sides, and she would have the little white bikini on–the one with the string-ties that just barely covered her bottom cheeks. He would first have his right hand inside the bikini, from behind and underneath, rousing the sophomore to an erotic excitement she had never dreamt of. She would be moaning and crying out for something she did not know about. . . then he would slowly, slowly untie the little knot at her waist, and uncover a quim just barely thatched by downy hair.

"Play with yourself," he would whisper to Emily Tilton; and she would, frantically, as he pulled her left knee toward her chest so he could watch the fingers of both her hands rubbing slickly in the demure young quim.

"Oh god. . . oh god. . ." Emily would say.

Then he would whisper, "I’m going to make love in your butt, now, Emily, so we don’t spoil your wedding-night."

"Oh, no. . ." the still masturbating eighteen-year-old would reply.

"Shh. . . shh. . . you just keep having fun up front while I have my fun back here.

Then the vaselined finger in young Emily Tilton’s ass; the shameful pleasure on her face as she took the cock for the very first time in a way she never imagined; the way his hands would weigh the little bottom as he fucked it. . .

He imagined himself as a different kind of man, one who would simply wonder how to go about initiating his blushing, virgin bride into the mysteries of his bedchamber. A man, who, having been unwilling to spoil his bridal night’s pleasure by attempting Emily’s virtue, might sit where Charles was now sitting in satisfied contemplation of approaching pleasures.

He knew–that man–that his young bride would enter the room wearing something absurd and old-fashioned, and he knew his first pleasurable task would be to require her to return to her closet and put on the underwear he had bought for her to wear on her wedding-night–the lacy white thong he had bought at Victoria’s Secret, brazenly, enjoying the blush of the young lady who had found it on a rack at the back of the store when he (that man who was definitely not Charles Smith) had told her, "I’m looking for the kind of thong a virgin bride should wear on her wedding night." She had returned, carrying the perfect article, unable to meet his eyes. He (that fantasy-man) had added, conversationally, "You see, my Emily is going to wear it whether she wants to or not." The shopgirl had looked up, startled, and blushed furiously, and then had completed the transaction as quickly as she could. Fantasy-Smith wondered idly if the shopgirl’s cunt had been moist in her own panties at the thought of what this commanding older husband planned to do to his young bride on her wedding night. Perhaps the shopgirl was wearing that very same thong, longing for a man who would order her to her knees, then instruct her to open his dressing gown and learn to receive in her mouth what she found there.

He–that dominant man–had decided against the matching garter-belt and stockings. He relished the thought of telling her that the thong must be put on over the suspenders of the garter-belt, and the imagination of the look on her face as she realized what that meant about how he wanted to fuck her, but the purity of the one garment, the lace thong, was simply too compelling.

And if she refused to don the thong, what then? Ah, what then. Then, the spanking–the very first spanking. Those delectable eighteen-year-old bottom cheeks, that he had seen only in the skimpy blue bikini (not racy, of course–country club skimpy), under his fantasy-hand at last. How would that fantasized, reluctant Emily take it? Would she lay herself down over his lap, or would she refuse? Would he have to chase her a bit, and hold her–the fantasy-Emily–down over the arm of the sofa, spanking her again and again until she realized she would fare worse the more she struggled? Would she shriek? sob?

And then the agonized return to the bathroom, with the command to leave the door open so that Charles could watch her don her wedding-night panties.

Charles was roused from his tumescent reverie by his bride’s emergence from the bathroom. In a moment, his fantasies underwent an astonishing turn.

Emily was wearing the thong, and only the thong. Her auburn hair was caught in a ribbon and fell as a pony-tail down her back. Her lovely, girlish face, blushing but resolutely raised to meet his gaze with its blue eyes, regarded him with uncertain almost-pride in the naughtiness of this attire.

For she was clad only in that little strip of lace. More, he could tell, whatever her girlish, never-seen cunt would finally look like under the tiny panties, he would have the lovely, clear view of it that he had always dreamt of, for he could see that her little pudenda had been shaved.

Her perfect little breasts heaved and bounced very slightly, their quarter-sized pink nipples, it seemed, jutting in arousal.

He was at a loss to understand. His senses were in a whirl.

Then, deliciously naked and jiggling, she crossed the few steps to the chair where he sat in his dressing-gown. Fluidly, she knelt next to his knees and took his hands in hers.

"Charles, I’ve been very naughty." She looked into his eyes, then down at his hands.

Charles’s erection seemed ready to burst. His head seemed to be spinning in a transport of arousal.

"I found this thong at Victoria’s Secret, and I. . . I decided to. . . to buy it."

Charles was about to speak, but Emily began again, "I didn’t understand, for I hadn’t ever seen panties like it, so I looked on the internet, and. . . and I saw pictures. . ."

She hid her face in her hands, suddenly.

Charles spoke, finally. "What was in the pictures, Emily?" he asked gently, hardly able to believe what was happening.

"There were. . . girls. . . and when I saw them. . . I don’t know why. . . I felt so strange. . ."

"What sort of strange feeling was it, my dear?"

"I–I felt. . . I felt like I wanted to. . . to put on the panties, with nothing else on–like the girls in the pictures."

Charles decided (how could he not?) to pretend innocence. "And why was that strange, Emily?"

She looked up from his lap into his eyes for a moment, then lowered her face again. "Oh. . . oh, because. . . no–no. . . I can’t tell you–I thought I could, but. . ."

"You can tell me anything, Emily." Charles stroked her auburn hair. Her face was directly over his raging cock, with only the thin dressing-gown to hide him. His cock leapt with practically every word she said as she told this improbable tale. What did she think was beneath her hands? he wondered. Did she know? Had she ever seen one?

Her voice was muffled as she continued. "I. . . I felt strange. . . in–in my. . . . Oh, I can’t say it, Charles! I just can’t!"

"That’s alright, darling; that’s alright." She lifted her face again and looked him in the eye. Again, he couldn’t believe that demure Emily Tilton was at his knee, naked but for a tiny strip of lace that had a bow in front, over her barely hidden maiden virtue. Almost against his will, his right hand began to try to get free of her grip. . . oh, how Charles longed to weigh her little peach of a breast on his fingers, to touch the nipple and hear his virgin bride whimper.

But he denied himself that pleasure, sure now that there were many deeper ones to come if he could restrain himself now.

Emily still looked at him expectantly.

"I need to know what you mean, though, Emily, so that I can deal with you as you need to be dealt with." He spoke a bit sternly, to see how she would react. To his delight, her breath seemed to become labored a bit as she answered.

"Wh–what. . . what do you mean, Charles?"

"I’m sure you’ll agree that I must help you learn how to be a good and dutiful wife, yes?"

There was no doubt about it: her breath now came in little excited gasps. "Y–y–yes. . . yes, sir."

At that, his cock gave a leap so great that he was amazed he had not climaxed right then. Emily certainly felt it, for she started a little, and lifted her hands up from his lap.

"Well, then. What letter does it begin with, the part of you that felt strange?"

She cast her eyes back down to her hands, and whispered, "With C, sir."

"Emily! Where did you hear that word? That is a word even a married woman should never hear, or say!"

"I know, sir. I. . . I th–think I am a terribly naughty girl. I don’t. . . know. . ." (she was breathing very hard now) ". . . I don’t know what. . . wh–what you should do. . . with me."

Then Emily pulled her right hand out of Charles’s grasp. She closed her eyes and, to Charles’s delight and astonishment, thrust it down between her thighs.

"Oh! Unh!" she said as she found the most sensitive place with her fingers, having insinuated them inside the lace of her panties. Her face, with closed eyes, looked up towards the ceiling, rapt into the world of her wanton erotic urges. Charles’s demure society bride looked like an animal in heat, her cheeks growing redder by the second. Her left hand gripped his right with amazing force.

Charles acted almost without thought. "Emily!" he said sternly, "Stop that this instant!!" He grabbed the hand engaged in the shameless self-pollution and gently but firmly returned it to where it had been on his lap. It was impossible not to notice just how wet the fingers of that hand now were, and how fragrant the air had now become with the delicious, naughty scent of eighteen-year-old arousal.

Emily’s eyes fluttered open, her mouth agape.

Charles spoke severely. "I am astonished at your shameful behavior! To touch your own private part! And on your wedding night! You must learn this instant that such shameful acts have severe consequences in my house!"

Emily moaned in response. With the long, wondrous, wanton sound came a bucking of her hips. She squeezed her thighs tightly together and thrust out her bottom, and finally gave a little whimper of frustration.

"Lay yourself over the arm of the sofa, Emily."

"No! Please!"

Charles stood up. His bride knelt at his feet.

"Lay yourself down, or I’ll get the cane right now."

"The what?"

"The cane, Emily. The cane your bottom will soon get to know very well, I think. It is clear that I have married a little whore, and little whores must be punished to keep them from ruining themselves and depriving their masters of what belongs to them. Every time you touch your little quim, you are depriving me of my right to decide who touches it. You must be punished for that."

2 reviews for Explorations: Omnibus (Books 1-37)

  1. M (verified owner)

    I was very disappointed in this purchase. I thought I was getting numerous stories, but it’s really just a long rambling of one long story. The story is hard to keep up with because of the narrative that is added. The story is based on real life yet it’s not at the same time. I couldn’t get into the story and I stopped ready well before 25% of the book was finished.

  2. M (verified owner)

    I was very disappointed in this purchase. I thought I was getting numerous stories, but it’s really just a long rambling of one long story. The story is hard to keep up with because of the narrative that is added. The story is based on real life yet it’s not at the same time. I couldn’t get into the story and I stopped ready well before 25% of the book was finished.

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