Kyoko Church is here today as part of the blog tour for her new book, For Her Pleasure. Kyoko writes page-turning erotica. Enjoy!
Hi Gale! Thanks
for having me on your blog! Today I thought I’d talk about one of my
protagonist’s flaws. Or rather, something he thinks of as a flaw until his Mistress
allows him to see it in a different light. SubPaul struggles with premature
ejaculation.
When you hear of
premature ejaculation being discussed in the mainstream, it is always in a
negative light. If you are a man without such a problem, then it is something
to pity or make fun of. If you are a man who does suffer with this, it is
something to be ashamed of. It is generally thought of as weak. A man who
cannot control his orgasms is thought of as less of a man. From a woman’s
perspective, such a man is thought of as not desirable as he will most likely
leave you … unfulfilled, shall we say. But is this the only way to look at
this? The answer, I realized after some thought and research, is most assuredly
no.
I first realized
I was interested in this topic when I was watching Sex and the City (so that
gives you some idea how long this has been brewing in my mind!). The episode
was titled “Shortcomings.” I’ll give you a brief synopsis of the main story, in
case you aren’t familiar. Carrie starts dating a short-story writer named
Vaughn. She loves his family, particularly his mother, but she starts to
question if there is a future for their relationship when she realizes after
the first time they try having sex that his stories aren’t the only thing that
come out short. (*baddam ch* Thank you. I’m here all night. Try the fish.)
When I watched this
episode I distinctly remember thinking that what bothered me about this guy is
not his performance issues. It is his attitude about it. He refuses to talk
about or even acknowledge what is happening. Vaughn is so humiliated and the
way he reacts to the humiliation is first with denial and then anger. When
Carrie tries to broach the topic he turns into an enormous asshole, eventually
pushing her away. I wondered, what if he reacted differently. What if he met
his feelings of humiliation with something other than anger? What if – when
Carrie gently suggests “You tell me if you’re getting too excited, and we’ll
take a little break” – he agreed? I thought it had the potential to turn into
something fun.
My characters,
Mistress and subPaul, are in part born of my desire to have fun with the issue
of premature ejaculation. If the idea that PE could be a fun thing is new or
foreign to you, I invite you to read my book and consider: Is subPaul really
weak? Does his Mistress seem unfulfilled? Is it really a bad thing if a guy
just gets really, really turned on by the woman he’s involved with?
Does premature
ejaculation have to be a problem?
Blurb:
Imagine an average guy with a wife, a job, average house, average car, average sex life… Well, not exactly. He has a secret he finds so embarrassing that he never talks to anyone about it. And then one day he meets her…
An architect chairs the newly formed Sexual Harassment in the Workplace Committee. When the consultant he hires to help him organize the new committee turns out to be a red haired bombshell, he tries to rein in his untoward thoughts.
But when she uncovers his embarrassing little secrets, this married man ends up in a relationship that’s so wrong on every level of his carefully put together life.
How long will he let his burning carnal desires threaten everything he’s worked so hard for?
As instructed, he knelt on
the floor of her office in front of her. At her feet.
He’d barely caught a
glimpse of her before he prostrated himself. His position did, though, afford
him the ability to look closely at her choice of foot wear. Heels again.
Perhaps she always wore heels to work. Today they were a hounds tooth pattern
with black spiked heels, again open toed, with a little black bow going across
the top, underlining the very small opening. God, the way he could see just the
tiniest bit of two toes drove him crazy! He imagined himself on his hands and
knees, cramming his tongue into that tiny space. His cock shifted in his pants.
She pulled out a box from
her desk drawer. It was about the size of his fist and it was gift wrapped.
Automatically he reached up to take it but she pulled it back a bit.
‘Ah, ah, ahh,’ she said.
‘Not quite so fast. If you read my email thoroughly, I believe you have
something to say first?’
Suddenly it was hard to
breathe. It was hot. He knew what he had to say, what she wanted him to say.
And yet it seemed impossible to say it. He could barely form the words in his
mind, much less have them pass over his lips.
‘Aw, are you having a hard
time, love?’ she said. ‘How about I help you along. Why are you here?’
He swallowed. ‘You, um,
said you would help me.’
‘I did say that, yes. And
now, what is it again you need help with?’
Oh god. She knew what. He
knew what. He knew she knew. Why was she making him say it?
‘I uh, I sometimes have a
little trouble … lasting.’ He paused. ‘You know, sexually.’
She stared at him a moment.
Blinked. ‘Sweetie, I hope you’re not intentionally being obtuse. Or maybe you
just didn’t read my email carefully enough. Which is also disappointing because
I put a lot of care into my correspondence and I expect close attention to the
details in return. If you want me to work with you on fixing this then I am
going to need more willing cooperation going forward. Do we understand each
other?’
His pulse was racing. Was
she chastising him? She was. He was at her feet, she was lecturing him, his
heart was slamming in his chest and it was making his cock so hard. His brain
was a jumble. Fuck.
‘Yes. Yes, I think so.’
She sighed. ‘No, I don’t
think so. That answer alone proves otherwise.’ She walked over to her desk, put
the gift wrapped box on top of it and turned to him, crossing her arms
delicately over her ample chest. ‘I am going to help you out and remind you of
a few things this time, because I understand that you are learning. But for
next time just keep in mind that I am not normally so lenient.’ She paused and
walked back over to where he knelt. ‘You are to address me as Mistress or Miss
or Ma’am.’
He did remember that. Her
use of those words combined with how she addressed him – sweetie, love – could
not help but call to mind the portion of her presentation that he knew she
would be doing this very afternoon at X Architects on how the use of diminutive
names in a workplace setting can cause offense or humiliation to an employee.
Did he feel offended? Definitely not. Humiliated? Yes. God, yes. In the best
way, yes.
However, when he first read
what she wanted him to call her he just felt ridiculous actually saying it. But
now there were her eyes. One look into the depths of those fiery, dazzling eyes
and somehow it seemed anything but ridiculous. Somehow it seemed totally and
completely right.
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Better. Now I told you
specifically what words to use to describe your problem.’ A beat. ‘Didn’t I?’
He looked down. ‘Yes,
Mistress.’
‘Look at me.’ He obeyed. ‘I
know this is hard for you. But this is your one chance.’ She bent down and put
her face close to his. ‘You need to say it. And you need to say it now. And if
you can’t,’ she looked at him so hard right then, so hard he felt it all the
way through him, felt her glare zinging all through his body, making it pulse
and almost vibrate. ‘Then you can just get up off my floor, turn around and go
back to your self-imposed prison.’
Oh. Oh! She understood. If
there was any doubt before there was none now. This was it. She was right. He
had to. He had to say it.
‘I –’ he started, and he
didn’t think he could. But her eyes. Again, her eyes. They were not stern now.
They were compelling, willing him to speak.
‘I suffer from … premature
ejaculation.’ The last two words spilled out of him, like a sigh, like a
waterfall, like an exhale. He waited for something horrible to happen now that
it was out there. In the room. In the world.
But, of course, there was
nothing. Nothing like that.
What there was, was her.
‘Well, sweetie,’ she said,
placing a slim finger under his chin and raising his gaze to meet hers. ‘That
was well done.’ She smiled lovingly at him. ‘There’s just one last thing. If
you want my help you need to agree to obey me. To submit to me. Always. Do you
agree?’
He hesitated a moment. Only
a moment while he thought of words like inappropriate, vulgar, reprisal, lawsuit.
But he cast those aside. Cast them all aside because all he could think of now
was what she said about his self-imposed prison. And how he couldn’t go back to
it.
‘I do.’
And he was rewarded with
another one of those heart crushingly sexy smiles.
She walked back to her
desk, picked up the box and handed it to him. ‘Let’s move to the couch while
you open your present, shall we?’
His heart hammered in his
chest as he sat beside her. She was giving him a gift! What could it possibly
be?
He opened it and
immediately was puzzled. What at first glance appeared to be a watch, he could
see after a second, was not.
‘I know it doesn’t seem so,
but it was actually very expensive. It’s vintage, you know. They don’t seem to
make them anymore.’
He continued staring. The
numbers around the edge going up to 60. The two hands, one bigger and red, the
other smaller and black. The two silver buttons on the side.
It was a small stopwatch.
With a wrist strap.
His heart pounded harder,
although he still wasn’t quite sure why. He looked up at her, not knowing what
to say.
‘Aw, you’re confused,
aren’t you darling? Well don’t worry. I’ll explain it to you.’ As she spoke she
took the gift out of the box, took off his own regular watch and began
strapping this new one on his left wrist. ‘This is your collar. It has two
purposes. One is as a visual reminder. Your cock belongs to me. When you see
your watch throughout the day, I want you to repeat that in your head. My cock
belongs to Mistress. Say it now.’
‘My, my … cock belongs to
Mistress,’ he stammered as she finished strapping on the watch. She turned his
wrist over and they both stared at it.
‘And since your cock
belongs to me, I get to say when you come.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I have the
feeling you come way too often.’ The last three words came out like daggers,
each one landing – thwack! – right into him, making him burn bright with shame.
‘Am I right? Was I right in my email when I said you like to jerk it in the
shower? Did you do it in the shower this morning, love? Be a good boy. Be
honest.’
‘Yes, Mistress,’ he said.
Then a little shakily, ‘And in bed last night.’
She put her face into a
pantomime of horror. ‘Why you horny little wanking pervert! In my office, in
bed at night, in the shower this morning. God, you really need to learn to
control yourself.’ He winced and squirmed. Her chastising words buried their
way into his humiliated heart. ‘And since it seems perfectly obvious that you
can’t, then I will.’ Oh no. No, no. ‘Your first rule of submission to me is
this: No coming unless I expressly allow it.’ Shit. ‘Do you understand?’
It’s no big deal, he told
himself. Except, oh god, he enjoyed it. He wriggled and squirmed at the
realization of how much. He needed it. Frankly, to not have that release scared
the fuck out of him. And yet.
He nodded. ‘And I don’t see
my allowing it happening any time in the foreseeable future.’ Oh good god, what
had he gotten in to? ‘OK, sweetie?’ Her smile returned.
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Very good,’ she said. ‘The
second purpose of your gift is with regard to time. Time is your issue, isn’t
it? Or rather, timing. So this
stopwatch is perfect. Because your submission will be a lot about timing. As
in, timing you.’ She pressed the top button. Tiny ticking noises burst from his
wrist as the red hand glided smoothly around the dial.
Oh god. GOD! His face
burned bright, the hottest it ever felt. He couldn’t bring himself to look at
her and he couldn’t stop his mind from racing to picture himself doing – god
knows what! – while that ticking measured his performance. Or lack thereof.
She chuckled as she watched
the realization dawning on his face. ‘Oh sweetie, your face is priceless.
Honestly!’ She sat back on the couch and smiled. ‘Well enough about that for
now. I imagine you need to get back to the office.’
He glanced automatically at
his watch, saw the stop watch instead and immediately felt a twinge of heat. My
cock belongs to Mistress. God, already. He looked at her face. Knowing was
plastered all over it.
‘Yes, I, uh,’ he swallowed.
‘Canavan actually texted me on my way here. He wants to discuss something.’
‘Oh yes, I know. We spoke
earlier.’ Oh shit. His head whipped around to stare at her, his eyes bulging.
‘Your first act of
submission to me is this: When Mr Canavan asks you what he’s going to ask you I
want you say, “Yes, Ed. I did say that was a good idea.”’
That’s when he knew he was
fucked.
Buy Links:
http://www.amazon.com/For-Pleasure-Mischief-Books-ebook/dp/B009UL1U5O/ref=sr_1_5?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1361161166&sr=1-5
Kyoko Church
discovered the power of the written erotic word when she was 16 years old and
penned a very explicit missive to her boyfriend detailing all the naughty
things she wanted to do to him. When he received it, boyfriend was impressed.
When he found it, father was not.
For the next 18
years she hid her naughty thoughts in shame. Until she found a community where
they were once again appreciated for the well-imagined smut they are. Her short
stories have been published in anthologies by Black Lace, Rubicund Publishing
and Xcite Books. Book One, Nymphomania,
and Book Two, Sapphic Secrets, in her
Draper Estate Trilogy were published by Xcite in 2012. For Her Pleasure was published by HarperCollins Mischief in
February 2013.
A Canuck by birth, she has recently made
Australia her home. She is currently learning to drive on the left and say
G’day convincingly.
Website: http://kyokochurch.blogspot.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/kyoko.church
Twitter: https://twitter.com/kyokochurch
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/kyokochurch/
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