Evelyn Prince

I finally wrote a pinned post!

This is a blog for my erotica. I write a variety of kinks and I'm always exploring new things, but the kinks I frequently play with include:

humiliation and cruelty

BDSM

age play/ABDL

pet play

CNC

misogyny

gender fuckery

My kinks often press into places that scare me. My kinks are not my politics, and my fantasies are often in direct opposition to my actual real-life values. These include misogyny play, homophobia, and transphobia. I'm a queer, non-cis, sometimes-woman and I'm very at peace with poking at the vulnerable aspects of my identity. This exists within and alongside my beliefs in women's rights, queer rights, trans rights, and anti-racism.

I don't post my age publicly because I remember a time when internet safety relied on not giving personal information to strangers. In other words -- I'm old enough. I'm an adult and this blog is intended for an adult audience.

All my characters are adults. I really enjoy writing characters getting lost in a helpless, babyish headspace (as sometimes happens to me when I do age play!), but they are very much not children. I just like writing adults playing fucked-up games of pretend.

My inbox is always open and I'm always happy to answer questions or talk about writing or the ins-and-outs of kink!

My books

You can find my books on Amazon and on Smashwords.

This question made me realise that I should start having a little celebration routine!

I was reflecting recently on how I often feel anxious once I've published something -- I'm always wondering if it will sell, if it will be worth the time and effort, and what I need to start working on next. I think I need to get better at publishing and then giving myself at least a week of not thinking about The Next Thing.

I don't set goals right away. I often meander around trying to find the next story. (I think I've found my next one!) Once I have a story idea, I usually aim for a daily word count. It's pretty low these days, as I get my motivation back, but I find consistency is a really big deal for my writing practice -- if I take more than one day off from writing, it feels like I forget how to do it. (Despite having been writing consistently for almost 20 years at this point -- art is very strange.)

You mean other than my personal dislike of the word 'goon'? 😅

I mean, that's what my stories are there for. Imagine being an erotica author and someone tells you, "Hey, I never come to your stories and they never make me want to touch myself and I actually find them entirely unarousing." That's not a compliment!

When you're writing something arousing, it's a compliment for people to tell you they were aroused! (And as someone with weird kinks around horror and discomfort, it is also a compliment for someone to say, "Uh... that thing you wrote that doesn't seem to be arousing? Super sexy." Because people and brains and stories and sex are fascinating.)

Sometimes, I see authors who write smut get uncomfortable when people express any sort of sexual feelings about their stories and it's baffling to me. Like... isn't the story written to elicit arousal?

Of course, there's a difference between a message like "That story was so hot, I've come while reading it so many times" and paragraphs of lurid prose describing exactly how you touched yourself. The former will be met with enthusiastic and genuine gratitude; the latter will probably be mocked, because if I want to read stories about masturbation, I'm perfectly capable of seeking them out on my own.

I have a lot of thoughts about the helplessness of childhood and the way we so often treat children like things, like property, and I don't think it's at all surprising that a lot of us eroticize that.

All characters in this piece of fiction are role-playing adults.

*

The first thing he hears is the door opening.

The second thing he hears is the shushing. Shh, shh, you'll wake him up!

The third thing he hears is the giggling.

He smiles to himself, sitting in the living room with all the lights off. He hears the door shut, the tripping of clumsy feet in heels on hardwood floors. More giggling, more shushing. Silence for a moment, then the wet noises of kissing. A deep groan.

He waits, patient in the dark. There's no point staying up until 2a.m. for them to come home only to ruin it by announcing himself too early. He waits while they make out in the hall. He waits when Melissa breathes, "You were dancing like a slut tonight." He waits when June laughs and says, "Are you going to tattle on me?"

(He wonders what dancing like a slut looks like. He wonders if they flirted with other people. He wonders if they let men buy them drinks.)

He waits until they come into the living room, hand-in-hand and giggling, listing against each other.

He snaps the light on.

He says, "Where the hell have you been?"

He takes far too much delight in watching them jump and cling to each other.

"Daddy," June says, a hand at her chest. "You scared us."

He makes a show of raking his eyes over them. There's something delightfully teenaged about it all -- sneaking into the house late at night, trying to be quiet. (Like they didn't want to be caught.) They've dressed for the part, too. June in a short denim skirt and a low-cut top; Melissa in a tight black dress that shows off her curves. Both of them wearing too much make-up, both of them with dishevelled hair from dancing all night. Both of them drunk and trying to pretend that they aren't.

"What time do you call this?" he says. 

They glance at each other. Melissa bites her lip. June begins to giggle again.

(Don't smile, don't smile. Come on, man, keep it together.)

"Late?" June tries.

"Late," he repeats. "Late would have been eleven. Maybe midnight, if you were really pushing your luck."

Melissa plops herself down heavily in his lap and winds her arms around his neck. "Daddy," she says, dragging her lips over his cheek; he feels the waxy smear of lipstick. "We weren't doing anything bad."

He cups her ass, giving it a pinch to make her squeal. He wonders if she's wearing underwear. (Probably. Melissa gets wet easily. It's so easy to make her drip down her thighs. Going out dancing without panties would be asking for a wet spot on her skirt.) "I heard something about someone dancing like a slut."

She keeps trailing kisses over his face. His cheek, his jaw. Down his neck. "Well, it wasn't me," she says. 

"Bitch," June says. There's no heat in her voice. She has her hand over her mouth, like that's doing anything to hide her smile, like he can't see it in the creases in the corners of her eyes.

Melissa tugs at the neck of his T-shirt. "Why aren't you wearing something with buttons?" she says. "I like undoing them, it's sexier that way."

Another pinch to her ass. "Because," he says, "it's two in the goddamn morning."

Maybe it would have been more stern and fatherly if he had been waiting in slacks and a button-up. Maybe he should have been wearing a loosened tie. He should have a glass of whiskey with a single ice cube that clinks against the glass when he swirls it.

But, once again, it's two in the goddamn morning. He's been in his pyjamas for hours now -- flannel pants and an old band T-shirt. He did have the glass of whiskey, but he finished it a while ago. The glass is still on the coffee table.

"Daddy's angry," June says. She comes closer, wobbling a little on her heels when she steps onto the rug. (They're stupidly high. They make her legs look stupidly long. Stupid shoes that he is stupidly attracted to.) "I'm sorry we made you wait up past your bedtime, old man."

Melissa shifts on his lap, moving to sit on his left thigh and making room for June to perch on the other one. She joins Melissa in trailing kisses over his skin. He's going to be covered in lipstick by the time they're done with him.

He's hard in his flannel pants. "Don't think you can sweet talk your way out of a punishment," he says.

"Daddy," Melissa says, sounding utterly dismayed that he would think they would ever stoop to such unbecoming tactics. "We would never."

"It's worth a try, though," June says. Melissa laughs, her breath warm against his spit-wet skin.

"It's true," she says. "You have to let us at least try, Daddy. It's only fair."

*

They both end up bent over the bed with red asses. Still wearing their heels, their skirts pulled up and their panties pulled down. Their mascara smearing on the duvet cover.

But it's only much, much later. He had to let them try talk him out of it first. After all, like Melissa said, it's only fair.

He has their lipstick smeared over his dick from their attempts. June still has come smeared on the corner of her mouth. Melissa's pussy is dripping with slick and June's spit. (He's not sure how the last one was meant to convince him to do anything, but he enjoyed the show.)

He walks back and forth behind them, the palm of his hand stinging. He flexes his fingers. "Maybe you girls will try harder next time," he says. "Or maybe you'll get home on time."

Judging by their giggles and the shiny wet marks on their thighs, it's unlikely.

*

Buy my books on Amazon

Buy my books on Smashwords (my Smashwords store has books that aren't on Amazon!)

A little excerpt from my latest book, The New Boyfriend, an ABDL erotic novella now available on Amazon and on Smashwords.

All characters in this piece of fiction are role-playing adults.

It’s only when all the food is on the table and Daddy is sitting in his chair that Lucas notices the difference in place settings. Daddy and Colton have plates and a full set of cutlery in front of them; Lucas has a pale blue plastic bowl and a matching plastic spoon. He tugs at the straps of his overalls, fidgeting to try cope with the embarrassment. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” Colton says, leaning across the table. “Do you need to go to the toilet?”

“No,” Lucas says. He realises he’s slipping into the wispy, lisping voice he uses when he’s feeling extra little with Daddy. He swallows and straightens his shoulders and forces himself back to his usual voice, maybe making it a little deeper than it actually is, just to make a point. “I’m fine,” he says. “I just have—” He gestures vaguely. Saying anxious hands feels too childish. “Issues with fidgeting,” he settles on, which doesn’t really sound that much better.

Daddy lifts the lids off the dishes and clouds of delicious-smelling steam rise. Lucas is practically drooling. He watches Daddy dish up for Colton, inhaling greedily through his nose. Daddy dishes up for himself next and Lucas waits, so so patiently, for his turn. He can already practically taste the fragrant rice and the chicken thighs, spice dancing on his tongue.

“Oh!” Daddy says. “Sorry, Lucas, I almost forgot yours, sweetie.”

He gets up from the table and walks back into the kitchen. “What?” Lucas says. He looks at Colton, who gives him a lazy smile. Lucas can’t tell if he knows what Daddy’s up to or if he’s just rolling with it.

Daddy comes back with a glass jar in hand. “Can you believe I almost forgot my little boy!” he says. “After I made this specially for you.”

He opens the jar and starts spooning its contents into Lucas’s bowl. It’s mush. There’s no other word for it. Pale green mush. It’s thick and smooth, and just looking at it makes Lucas want to heave.

“Homemade broccoli, apple, and pear puree,” Daddy says. He scoops a final spoonful into the bowl. It lands with a wet splat. “Mmm, yummy,” he says.

“But—” Lucas points at the other dishes, feeling unbearably childish as he does. “What about—”

“That?” Daddy says. He laughs like Lucas has told a joke. “That’s food for grown ups, baby. It’s much too hot and spicy for a little boy’s mouth.” He taps Lucas’s lips with his finger. “No, baby food is much better for you. If you eat it all up like a good boy, you might get dessert.”

Lucas stares at the disgusting slop in his bowl. He presses his lips together to keep them from trembling, feeling stupidly close to tears. It’s just food. It doesn’t matter, it’s just food.

He reaches for his spoon.

“One last thing,” Daddy says. He whips a bib out of his pocket and ties it around Lucas’s neck before he can protest. By tucking his chin to his chest, Lucas can see that it’s the one decorated with dancing blue and green creatures, with Little Mmmmonster! embroidered across it in cursive script. “He’s a messy eater sometimes,” Daddy says to Colton. He doesn’t mention that Lucas is only a messy eater if he’s forced to wear mittens and feed himself while Daddy tortures his cock with a riding crop.

Lucas stares down at his pitiful meal. He hears Colton take his first bite and say, through a mouthful of food, “Fuck, that’s good.”

Lucas scoops up a spoonful of his mush and lets it fall back down into the bowl. “Don’t play with your food,” Daddy says, but he sounds distracted. Lucas would be distracted, too, if he had Colton to flirt with. But he’s not here to flirt. He’s not here to even be a person. He’s here to be a fucking set piece, seen and not heard, something to talk about and mock like he can’t even understand them.

It’s not like anyone would expect a man wearing shortalls and a T-shirt patterned with fucking choo-choo trains to be able to contribute anything interesting to the conversation.

Why the fuck did Lucas allow this to happen to his life?

“Lulu,” Daddy says, cutting through Lucas’s furiously spiralling thoughts. “Eat your dinner.”

Lucas gathers up a spoonful and reluctantly brings it to his mouth. Based on how it looks, he’s prepared for it to taste awful, but the texture is worse than the taste. It mostly just tastes bland. The fruit adds the slightest hint of sweetness, and it’s sort of just nondescript and fine. Even the smells coming from the curry have more flavour.

The problem, the real problem, is the texture. 

Lucas doesn’t need to chew it, which is the only reason he manages to swallow his mouthful without heaving. It’s soft and thick and lumpy. It’s cold from the fridge, but he doesn’t think heating it up would help at all. Hot mush is still mush.

He chokes as it goes down.

“Daddy,” he whispers. “Daddy, I can’t.”

“Hush, Lucas,” Daddy says. “The grown ups are talking.”

Lucas struggles through two more tiny spoonfuls. He gulps his juice after each bite, helping to wash it down. He’s worried he might gag.

He wonders if the smile playing on Daddy’s lips is for Colton or the sounds of Lucas struggling. Daddy knows he hates foods with mushy textures. He won’t even eat fruit that’s too ripe. Until now, Daddy has never given Lucas anything that he would outright hate. Meals have always been healthy and delicious, even if some nights, Lucas plays up the bratty little boy persona and refuses to eat his broccoli until he gets a spanking.

(“You know you can just ask me for a spanking,” Daddy said once.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Lucas said.)

Lucas fidgets with his spoon, trying not to make it obvious that he isn’t eating. He stirs the mush, scoops up a spoonful, and lets it fall back into the bowl. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when Daddy starts clearing the dishes and finds Lucas’s bowl still mostly full, but for now, Daddy is completely distracted by Colton. He’s leaning over the table towards him, chin propped in his hand, his dark eyes soft and warm and crinkling at the corners.

But Colton is looking right at Lucas.

He’s telling a story, but he interrupts himself halfway through a sentence to ask, “What’s wrong, baby boy?” Daddy immediately turns to look at Lucas, too, and Lucas drops his gaze, staring into his bowl of flavourless mush.

“Lucas,” Daddy says, when he’s silent for too long. “Colton asked you a question.”

Lucas shrugs, his stomach aching with anxiety. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says. He’s lisping again. “I’m just—”

“Having a bit of a hard time feeding yourself?” Colton says sympathetically. He pushes his chair back, creating some space between his body and the table. “Come sit on my lap, honey, I’ll help you.”

Lucas stares at him, horrified. He doesn’t want to sit on Colton’s lap and he especially doesn’t want to eat more of his meal. He can’t even call it that. Daddy and Colton are eating proper meals. Lucas is eating baby food. 

“Oh,” he says. “Um. No, thank you.”

Colton shakes his head. He’s still smiling, so friendly, so amicable. “It wasn’t a suggestion, honey,” he says.

“It absolutely wasn’t,” Daddy says. Unlike Colton, he doesn’t have so much as the hint of a smile on his face. His expression is one that Lucas is unfortunately familiar with. Eyebrow raised, mouth in a thin line. Stern, unamused. It’s the look he gives Lucas when he tells him that he has one more chance to behave before he gets a spanking.

Lucas realises, with a sinking feeling in his aching stomach, that he’ll be sitting in Colton’s lap no matter what. The only choice he gets to make is whether it’s with a sore bottom or not.

Lucas stands up, legs feeling shaky beneath him. He makes his way slowly around the table, hoping that, maybe, if he takes long enough, they’ll change their minds and tell him to go back to his seat.  

Of course, he has no such luck. They wait patiently and Colton opens his arms to Lucas. “Come on, big guy,” he says.

Lucas’s responding swallow sounds very loud. He lowers himself into Colton’s lap, cringing with embarrassment. He doesn’t even like sitting in Daddy’s lap. He feels too tall, too big and awkward for it to work properly. It’s never nice and cozy, like he hopes it might be; it’s just a reminder that he’s an adult playing awful, shameful, perverted games and that there’s something deeply wrong with him.

Colton’s arms wrap tightly around him. “Honey, you’re trembling,” he says, holding Lucas close. Lucas is sitting sideways, perched on one of Colton’s muscular thighs. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Lucas repeats. His voice sounds tiny. 

Daddy is watching them very closely, probably making sure that Lucas doesn’t even think of misbehaving. “He gets shy,” he says. “He thinks he’s too big to sit on laps.”

Colton laughs, his breath a warm huff on the side of Lucas’s neck. He brushes a kiss over Lucas’s ear. “Silly boy,” he says. “You’re the perfect size to sit on someone’s lap.” He bounces Lucas on his thigh. “I’ve been wanting to give you a cuddle since you opened the door, looking so cute in your overalls.” 

It shouldn’t be a good thing to hear. It should make Lucas angry, honestly. He plays these stupid, humiliating games of pretend with Daddy, but that’s not a dynamic he has with Colton. He’s not Colton’s little boy. They’re just two men. They should be equals. 

But Colton’s words send a warm rush of pleasure through Lucas. He hates himself for it, but he wants to hear more. More about how he’s cute and little, the perfect size to be in someone’s lap. Not too tall or too heavy or too awkward. Just perfect.

He blushes and maybe kinda cuddles closer to Colton. Just a tiny bit. 

Daddy passes Lucas’s bowl across the table. Colton scoops up a heaped spoonful and wrinkles his nose. “I’m glad you didn’t make me eat this,” he says to Daddy.

Daddy is still frowning, just a little. “You don’t have to feed him,” he says. “Enjoy your dinner. He’s just being fussy.”

“I want to,” Colton says. “If I’d wanted a dinner just you and me, we could have gone out or you could have come to my place. But I wanted to meet your little Lucas and spend some time with him.” He laughs loudly. “It’s like dating a single father, huh?”

Daddy laughs, too. Lucas sits stony-faced as Daddy shakes his head, eyes shining with amusement. “Something like that,” he says. 

“It’s not like that,” Lucas says. He knows he’s going to get in trouble for it, but he can’t hold it back. “I’m not his child, I’m his boyfriend.”

“Lucas,” Daddy says sternly, but Colton shakes his head at him.

“It’s all right,” he says. “Like you said, he’s just fussy.” He rubs Lucas’s back, then brings the spoon to Lucas’s mouth. “Open wide,” he says.

Lucas doesn’t want to. He really, really doesn’t want to. Tiny mouthfuls made him want to gag; he doesn’t want to find out how he’ll react to the heaped spoon that Colton is bumping against his lips.

But when he meets Daddy’s eyes, he knows that he’s out of luck. There’s no chance he’ll be allowed to leave the table without finishing every last bite of his dinner. Maybe earlier, before Colton drew attention to it, he could have hidden some in his napkin and made sure to clear his own dish and quickly scrape it down the sink. But now, the choice has been taken out of his hands.

He swallows hard, squeezes his eyes shut, and opens his mouth.

He heaves at the first bite, trying to force himself to swallow as quickly as he can. Colton rubs his back soothingly. “There you go,” he says. He presses something else to Lucas’s lips—the spout of his sippy cup. Daddy must have passed it to him. “Have a sip of juice, that will help.” It does help. Lucas gulps it, opening his watering eyes. Colton shakes his head, grinning at Daddy. “Delicate little thing, isn’t he?”

“He’s a spoiled little thing,” Daddy says. His words are stern, but he doesn’t look angry. He’s lounging back in his chair, glass of wine in hand, considering Colton and Lucas with a fond look on his face. “You’re being very sweet to him. Say thank you, Lucas.”

“Thank—” Lucas’s voice breaks. He swallows again and sniffles, just a little bit. “Thank you, Colton.”

“Aw,” Colton says. “What a sweetie. He’s worth spoiling, Samir.”

Colton eats his own dinner between feeding mouthfuls to Lucas. They fall into an easy rhythm, one Colton recounts in a sing-song voice. “A bite for you, a sip of juice for you, two bites for me.” He doesn’t stop touching Lucas with his free hand the whole time. Rubbing his back, patting his ass, stroking his hair. He occasionally wipes Lucas’s mouth with his bib.

Despite himself, Lucas feels himself relaxing against Colton. Each bite of food is horrible, but Colton always follows it up quickly with some juice and Lucas finds that if he just focuses on swallowing as fast as possible, he can quell his gag reflex. He doesn’t think about the food or its lack of taste or its awful texture. He just opens his mouth for the spoon and swallows without tasting, then smacks his lips for the spout of his sippy and latches on and drinks his juice until Colton takes it away.

His eyes are half closed. His head feels heavy and he lays it on Colton’s shoulder without thinking. The only part of him that feels tense is his tummy. His bladder is tight, distended from all the juice he has gulped down.

He knows what to do, though. Daddy taught him. He just has to relax. He just has to be a good boy and let go in his diaper.

Lucas realises too late that he isn’t wearing a diaper.

It was his choice. He begged Daddy to allow him to wear his big boy underwear.

Lucas clenches, but it’s too late. His piss soaks right through his underwear and overalls, and, worst of all, into Colton’s lap. Colton startles violently, arm tightening around Lucas’s middle and squeezing him, which makes Lucas leak even more piss.

“Fuck!” Colton says. Lucas whines and tries to get out of his lap, but Colton doesn’t let him go. “Sorry,” Colton says, as though he should be the one apologising, when Lucas just fucking wet himself in his lap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear in front of the little one. Sorry, Lulu, did I give you a fright?”

Lucas doesn’t know why he’s being so nice. It would be easier if he threw him to the floor and slapped him across the face.

His overalls are soaked with hot liquid that’s rapidly cooling. They cling to him and Lucas feels the piss puddled under his ass sinking into Colton’s jeans. He looks at Daddy across the table and can’t bear the look on his face. Angry, disappointed, and resigned. Like he never should have expected anything other than this kind of behaviour.

Lucas whines and hides his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Daddy, Colton, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Daddy is apologising, too. Lucas hears his chair scrape the floor as he pushes it back from the table. “I’m so sorry, Colton,” he says. “I should have known better. He didn’t want to wear a diaper and I thought… Anyway. It’s my fault, I knew he wasn’t responsible enough.”

“Hey,” Colton says. When Daddy keeps apologising, he repeats it, more sternly this time. “Hey. It’s fine.” Daddy tries to talk over him, but Colton just speaks louder. “Samir. Listen to me. It’s fine. You told me he was struggling with potty training.” He laughs suddenly. “It’s just a bit of pee. It could have been much worse.”

Lucas is blushing so hard that he feels like his entire body might combust. “Not—” His voice is a thin, humiliated whine. “Not strugglin’ with potty training.” He’s only in diapers because Daddy wants him to be and most of the time, he doesn’t wet himself like this, only when Daddy won’t let him go to the toilet. He’s a big boy, he’s a grown up, he’s been potty trained for decades.

“No?” Colton bounces Lucas roughly on his knee, unclipping his bib with one hand and tossing it onto the table. “I don’t think a potty-trained boy would have made weewees all over me like this.”

And, well, there’s nothing Lucas can say to that, is there?

*

Buy The New Boyfriend on Amazon

Buy The New Boyfriend on Smashwords

Ohhh my goodness, what a lovely thing to say! Thank you so much!

It's good to be back! I was scrolling through porn gifs (you know, as one does) and it felt good to start feeling inspired again.

I am so excited to share my latest book, The New Boyfriend, available now on Amazon and on Smashwords!

What do you do when your boyfriend brings another man home? Lucas’s boyfriend has been his Daddy for years. Outside of the house, Lucas is an adult, but once he’s home, he acts like Daddy’s boy. He doesn’t do anything without Daddy’s permission. He likes it. If he’s honest, he loves it. The baby talk, the stuffed toys, even the adult diapers. But now, Daddy has a new boyfriend—and tonight, he’s bringing him home to meet Lucas. Colton is tall and handsome and charming. He’s a real man, something Lucas hasn’t been allowed to be for a long time. Being around him makes Lucas feel small and stupid. Seeing how he makes Daddy’s eyes shine makes Lucas feel even worse. Lucas asked for this—but that’s a hard thing to remember as the night goes on and the humiliation gets worse. Warnings/enticements: This 16,900-word erotic novella contains themes of age play between consenting adults, Daddy kink, ABDL, watersports, and humiliation.

The internet is growing more and more hostile to erotica, especially to those of us writing taboo kinks, so your support means the world.

If you like the book, ratings and reviews are so helpful to indie authors. Reblogs of this post are also very appreciated!

Buy The New Boyfriend on Amazon now

What a fucking year it's been so far.

First off: I'm not dead! I've just been quiet. A combination of the worst depression I've experienced in years plus intense anxiety around the growing puritanical/anti-sex landscape of the internet has made it incredibly hard to write, never mind hit 'post' on anything.

I'm back. I'm turning over ideas to survive as a writer in this environment that's increasingly unfriendly to anyone doing anything with sex, never mind taboo kinks. With things how they are, please know that I am so grateful to every single person who buys my books. (And if you're wondering where you can find them, check out my Amazon page and my Smashwords page! My Smashwords page has a few extras that aren't on Amazon, due to their content guidelines.)

I've got a new book about to be released (my first ABDL book in years!) and some new ideas for pen names floating around my head.