Madeline Sheehan’s Hell’s Horsemen. Joanna Wylde’s Reapers.

Kurt Sutter’s Sons of Anarchy.

Every so often, a genre will send me on a complete and utter bender. I find something that strikes a chord and that’s it; for as long as I can find the reading material (or in this case, the celluloid) to feed the addiction, I’m a total junkie.

A few weeks back, I bought Madeline Sheehan’s Undeniable, the first book in her series about a biker club known as Hell’s Horsemen. It was, loosely speaking, a romance, but a brutal one. There were a lot of things in it that morally and ethically I didn’t agree with (the treatment of the women, the sanctioning of criminal activity) but the bottom line? It was like my eyes were super-glued to the train-wrecking pages.

Murder? Check.
Extreme violence? Check.
Abuse? Check.
Completely dysfunctional relationships between the characters? Check.
A happy ending? Eh. Well, Eva and Deuce are still breathing at the close.

In short, I haven’t buried myself in a book the way I did with Undeniable for quite a long while. I liked that it wasn’t a conventional romance. That it didn’t colour inside the lines. That I was kind of disgusted with myself for cheering the bad guys. I went and downloaded the second instalment in the series, Unbeautifully (which turned out to be just as compelling), the second I’d finished reading. When I hit the end of that one, though, my genre thirst was in full swing, the need for more of the same clawing at me like a hungry crow. Cue online searches for decent comparable material. My next stop? Joanna Wylde’s Reaper’s Property. More tattooed bad guys on bikes doing, once again, not very nice things. While a lot softer and not quite as deep and textured as Madeline Sheehan’s two offerings, it did go some way to quenching the thirst.

Then the discovery to end all discoveries: Sons of Anarchy.

There’s no denying I’m more of a reader than a TV-watcher but, holy shit, I can’t seem to tear myself away from this thing. It’s everything that made the Hell’s Horsemen books so compelling and then some. Sons is far more stylish, the characters infinitely more engaging, the plot lines far wilder. (Given that the series began in 2008 and is five seasons deep already, I’d be very surprised if it didn’t have at least some influence on Madeline Sheehan’s series, which debuted in October last year). Aided and abetted by Netflix, which is loaded seasons-deep with the lure of episode cliff-hangers to battle against on a daily basis, I’ve been roaring through five-years’ worth of biker drama with barely a pause for breath. The last series I had this kind of obsession with? Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I can recall being heavily pregnant during a re-run season and telling my husband I couldn’t go into labour until after Tubula Rasa, the one in which Buffy and Spike finally hook up, aired. (Yeah, yeah. I know.) Let’s just say that if Sons of Anarchy had been on then, I suspect I would have been 10 months along.

I think what’s pulled me so deeply with this show is the strength of the leading characters. Gemma Teller (played brilliantly by Katey Sagal of Married … with Children fame) is one of the best anti-heroines I’ve come across in a long time and Jax, who plays her son, the perfect knife-edge balance of criminal, bad boy, and gentleman. That deliciously unholy mix of dirty hands and good heart. The cast of slightly eccentric supporting characters is no less engaging. Tig (who reminds me in a lot of ways of Mr Blonde from Reservoir Dogs), the corrupt and completely loveable Chief Unser … they all add to the unusual (and sometimes unsavoury) SOA flavour. It’s not as tightly plotted as, say, The Sopranos, but the rawness of the Sons of Anarchy draws like a magnet. Oh, and the music? Well, this girl’s a die-hard rock chick and there are some beautiful, beautiful originals and covers to go with the drama (see my title clip choice), although I wish the sound team would stop plaything thrashy rock whenever the Sons ride down the highway.

I will nearly always push a book over a TV programme. But I’m going to break my rule for Sons of Anarchy.

In the words of Neil Young: Hey hey, my my.

Need an MC fix? Pick your poison …

• Sons of Anarchy – Amazon.co.uk
• Sons of Anarchy – Amazon.com
• Undeniable – Amazon.co.uk
• Undeniable – Amazon.com
• Unbeautifully – Amazon.co.uk
• Unbeautifully – Amazon.com
• Reaper’s Property – Amazon.co.uk
• Reaper’s Property – Amazon.com

The post The Crow Flies Straight – A Sam Crow Love Affair appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

TOYS AND LINGERIE

Agent Provocateur
AP is one of my favourite, favourite under-thing brands but at full-price their stuff, while beautiful, is death on the old wallet. This is definitely the time to buy. These corset-style Ilya Big Briefs? Reduced from £110 to £55.  This Mercy Waspie? £185 to £95. These Syble tie-side knickers (similar to the ones I wore in my Sinful Sunday pic a while back)? Reduced to £35 from £65.

Coco de Mer
Is offering up to 50% off selected items, including lingerie, bondage/fetish wear and sex toys. There are some beautiful, beautiful items in this sale, including FYI’s Binding Briefs (£64.00), the Coco de Mer Jade Petite Rosebud Small Butt Plug (£60.00), the DL & Co Lady Rhubarb Ombre Collection Scented Candle (£32.00) and this beautiful Crystal Flogger from Bo’s Tit Bits (£98.00).

Figleaves
Loads and loads of sizes and styles to choose from in this one. The Midnight Grace underwired smoothing slip is now £32. £6.40 for a pair of Butterfly Blue flirty frill ruffle mesh shorts (very cute cut at the rear!) Elle MacPherson Intimates Desert Heat Torsolette? Reduced from £75 to £45.

EBOOKS

As ever, the following books were listed as free at the time of this post’s publication. Please double-check that that’s still the case before you hit the download button.

Secret Story Time: More Filthy Fantasies – Jason Jaxx

• Amazon.co.uk
• Amazon.com 

Threesomes, spanking and fantasy. Absolutely no idea what the writing is like in this one but the ratings seem to be positive.

‘A compilation of erotic tales, packed with sizzling, unrelenting, graphic action. Explicit erotica designed for providing pleasure featuring threesomes, spanking, fantasy, and enough hot sex to satisfy a variety of tastes.’

A Bit of Bite – Cynthia Eden

• Kobo ePub 

Paranormal romance rather than erotica but Cynthia Eden is a popular author so I suspect that the quality of the writing in this short (it’s 11,000 words long) will be half-way decent.

‘A killer is stalking the streets of Crossroads, Mississippi, and it’s up to Sheriff Ava Dushaine to stop him. But when suspicion falls on werewolf alpha Julian Kasey—Ava’s ex-lover and the man who still haunts her dreams—Ava knows that she’ll either have to prove his innocence…or watch the whole town go up in flames.’

The Business of Pleasure – Justine Elyot

• Amazon.co.uk
• Amazon.com 

I’ve read this one before and can thoroughly, thoroughly recommend it. The writing is excellent and the sexual encounters in it are hot, hot, hot. Make sure you have some, er, relief handy.

‘If one call could set you on a trail to the heart of your darkest fantasy, would you make it? Charlotte does, and her bold decision propels her into a world where no desire is too outrageous, decadent or extravagant to be satisfied, for a price. Her own fantasy life merges with reality when she is hired to work for the shadowy organisation she first encountered as a client. She organises an array of wild set pieces involving banquets, film productions, mansions full of pleasure slaves, as well as thoroughly researching those requests that chime with her own kinky tastes. Two men, one woman, and every sexual fantasy imaginable, these are the ingredients that make up the business of pleasure.’

Wishing you all a wonderful, sexy weekend.

Jane xxx

The post Freebies and discounts: half-price lingerie and The Business of Pleasure appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

[Magic blog time-lapse technology]

Couldn’t do it? Eh, don’t sweat it. Seems they’re in pretty short supply.

I am flat-chested. And when I say ‘flat chested’, I don’t mean small hillock, gala apple, or half an orange. I mean like a blackboard. Little House on the Prairie flat. As a teenager, it used to bother me a lot. All the girls around me wore bras, filled out their tops and generally had the whole womanly shape thing going on. Me? Let’s just say there wasn’t (and still isn’t) much between me and an ironing board.

These days I’m perfectly fine with my flatness but there’s no denying that, as a society, we’re pretty damn obsessed with breasts. And, as far as the media is concerned, if you’re not sporting a pair of perfectly-shaped D cups then you might as well pack up and go home. Much to my dismay, however, it seems that the big-breasted ideal has set up shop and commenced trading in a lot of romantic and erotic fiction, too.

Over the past few years, I’ve noticed more and more authors eschewing the cookie-cutter perfect body – and quite rightly! – in favour of heroines with more realistic body shapes and sizes but, invariably, they seem to draw the line at women with non-existent breasts. It’s okay to have relatable heroines with flaws, it seems, as long as you can make up for the latter with a great rack. In fact, I can only think of one book off the top of my head that specifically calls attention to the leading lady’s small boobs and that’s Rachel Gibson’s See Jane Score (incidentally, one of my favourite mainstream romances). Oh, and Beth from Cherise Sinclair’s Breaking Free (although she doesn’t seem to be quite as flat as Jane).

Interweb and Amazon searches for ‘heroines with small breasts’ aren’t particularly helpful in turning up ladies with more economical assets either, although this thread and this one have a good bash at it. I wonder, is a small chest really that difficult to write about? Are they that difficult to view as beautiful and sexual? Not always, it seems. Tamsin Flowers, God bless her, recently told me she was writing a short (not yet published) titled Cherries on Top which specifically focuses on an erotic encounter with a woman who is a little challenged in the chest department – and was even kind enough to send me a wee teaser:

‘They used to sing it to me in the schoolyard; you know, the old taunt, “Flat as a pancake with cherries on top!” Over and over again.  So I was flat chested?  So the fuck what!  And as for cherries on top? Some girls were lucky; I was looking down on two tiny nubs that were closer in size to a pair of red currants. I hated the other girls for it but at least back then I thought there was still a chance I might grow a pair. I would sit through lessons with my pencil case stuffed up my T-shirt, resting it on crossed arms and hoping it would somehow morph into an actual part of me.’

Tamsin, can I just say I can’t wait to read this rest of this. It gladdens my little heart that you’ve written it.

So ladies and gents: am I alone here? Do you want to read an erotica or romances that feature heroines who are a little lacking in the chest department? Have you read a good one that you could tell me about? Or is there, perhaps, another ‘non ideal’ body type or part that you’d like to see appearing more frequently in the books you read?

The post Flat-chested heroines appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

He’d just started reading a new BDSM-themed erotica (which shall remain nameless) and made the fatal mistake of giving me an overview of the first chapter. All was going well until he mentioned the dreaded word ‘contract’, at which point he found himself engulfed in a storm of virtual babble – okay, ranting – that probably made him extremely thankful that we live in different countries and therefore ensured he didn’t have to listen to it in person (sorry, Michael):

‘Wow, that’s a lot of information in a single chapter! But do you know what my eye went straight to? The mention of another bloody contract! Contracts, contracts, contracts! If one more author writes about a contract I am going to … Well, I don’t know what, but it will likely involve a judge’s gavel being used on the offending book in the same manner that Basil Fawlty uses that tree branch on his car.’

And just in case that last reference is a British ‘in’ joke (I’m not sure how many countries had Fawlty Towers), this is what I’m talking about:

Attention authors! I don’t want to read about legal documents! They don’t turn me on! You do not need one to convey that your characters are in a relationship that involves power exchange. Really. You don’t. Just as villains don’t need to be dressed in black in order to convey their ‘badness’ and heroes in ‘white’ to denote their ‘goodness’, people who engage in BDSM aren’t all running off willy-nilly to their lawyers and defining their relationships through legalese. And if I was that desperate to get off on legal jargon I’d visit the solicitor in my local village and get him to lend me a conveyancing agreement.

I WANT WELL-CRAFTED EROTICA – NOT PAGES OF CLAUSES.

My husband does not take me to bed and spout legal jargon to get me in the mood. Nor does he make me read the folder of deeds to our house.

I am not saying that contracts – not to be confused with limit lists and negotiation forms – don’t exist in power exchange relationships. I am sure they do and that they work perfectly well for those who draw them up. But having one is not mandatory and, as Molly Moore said so eloquently in her Myth Busting: the Submissive Woman seminar at Eroticon earlier this month, if they are used, they ‘are rarely a standard rent agreement’.

I think we all know who, or rather what, we have to blame for this bat-sh*t obsession with ‘erotic’ paperwork. Yes, That Book. That great, grey brick of a thing whose name I dare not speak, because, frankly, it’s becoming a little bit like Voldemort:

‘Who gave you that scar?’

‘E.L. bloody James with all her talk of legal agreements and protagonists who have to be ‘damaged’ to engage in BDSM, that’s who.’

If only I had an Elder Pen to wave – or perhaps an Unforgiveable Manuscript Curse to make all this silliness disappear. (What would that be called, I wonder? Editora Kedavra?)

Hmm. Maybe I should recreate the Basil Fawlty moment above with a copy of You-Know-What and a nice, long rattan can. If only my technical skills were up to the job and I could get over the idea of destroying a perfectly good book.

It’s tempting, though. Very, very tempting …

The post I do not get turned on by legal jargon appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Image: Your temperature is dropping by C. Kennedy Garrett

After a whopping break between episodes (was it really November that I posted part fourteen of Garden?!), Nick and Grace are finally back. Sorry it’s taken me this long to crack on with their story; I got kind of sidetracked.

I’m 99.9% sure that those who’ve been following this serial have completely forgotten where we left things after such a lengthy break, so to refresh memories, here’s a quick re-cap …

Last time we saw Grace, she was at Nick’s place. She didn’t have her clothes on. And she was caught between a two delightful instruments: a feather and a crop. Oh, and Caelan was there lending a helping hand, too. All in all, things were going a lot more smoothly than they were the first time those three were in the same room together. So is it plain sailing from here?

Maybe.

This episode is pretty tame. But don’t worry; I fully intended to increase the heat level in the next few chapters. The next one will be posted this Friday.

Haven’t read Garden before? Start here.

THE GARDEN OF EARTHLY DELIGHTS – PART FIFTEEN

The sound of sharp, incessant beeping gradually permeated Grace’s sleep-fogged brain, dragging her out of the deep slumber that’d swallowed her the moment her head had hit the pillow.

She slapped at the offending alarm clock with her hand and groaned in relief when her fingers finally made contact with the Snooze button, plunging the room into blissful silence.

Arm resting across her forehead, Grace yawned and rolled onto her side, bunching her pillow under her neck as she did so. Despite being roused, her body was reluctant to wake up, so she snoozed on and off, her brain drifting languidly in a sea of pleasant nothingness. But, eventually, as she drifted closer and closer to full awareness, memories of the previous evening began to crowd into her head, a kaleidoscope of tantalising images that caused her to alternately tense with remembered arousal and groan with residual embarrassment.

It had been close to 1.00am when she’d arrived home, virtually boneless from the string of orgasms Nick had wrung from her.

How many times had he forced her to come? Four? Five? Normally, even a single climax was hard enough for her to achieve. And being stimulated again after having one? Forget it. Her body had always been far too sensitive. Or so she’d thought.

Nick had completely ignored her protests for him and Caelan to stop what they were doing and give her a break. That she couldn’t possibly come again. They’d kept up their relentless torment of her pussy and breasts until her nipples had burned like hot, bright coals and the table beneath her had been wet and sticky with the juice that had trickled relentlessly from her cunt.

Bluntly, they’d played her body like it was a well-tuned cello, seeming to know it – and what it was capable of – better than she did.

By the time they’d finished with her, she’d been unable to stand without help, her legs wobbling like thin blades of grass in the wind.

Nick had wrapped her in a blanket, given her sips of water and cuddled her against him on the sofa, talking quietly to Caelan all the while. She’d been so exhausted she had no recollection of what they’d discussed – or how long she’d lain there. Only that when she’d finally raised her head from Nick’s chest and told him she was ready to go home, he’d stared at her for no short time and then told her she was too tired to drive.

She remembered insisting that she leave – for some reason, being alone in her own home to process everything that had happened seemed monumentally important – and eventually, after telling her that she was welcome to stay for the night, he’d agreed to drive her himself if she really wanted to go.

The trip itself was a blur, although she had a vague memory of Nick carrying her into her bedroom, tucking her – naked – beneath her duvet and kissing her lightly on the forehead.

A smile crept across her lips. After what he done to her body, the incongruity of the gentle affection had seemed almost ridiculous.

Grace’s stomach growled and she sighed, resigning herself to getting out of her warm bed and going in search of some breakfast. Thank God it was Saturday and she’d been able to lie in.

Shit. With a jolt, she sat bolt upright and looked at her clock. 9.36. She’d completely forgotten she was supposed to be meeting Elsie for a walk on the downs at 10.30. Was her car still at Nick’s house? Crap, crap, crap.

Grace scrambled out of bed, hurried across the room and pulled the curtains to the side so she could peek out of the window. Breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her Golf was parked in the driveway. Caelan must have followed them back in it. God bless them; they hadn’t left her stranded.

She made a mental note to thank both men for being so considerate next time she saw them. A taxi back to Nick’s would have been hideously expensive, not to mention it would’ve taken a huge chunk of time out of her morning. Although the thought of being back at his house again, imagining what he would do to her while she was there…

Grace pulled back the curtains the rest of the way and hurriedly made her way to the bathroom for quick shower, pushing thoughts of the previous night aside as best she could. She was late enough and it wasn’t fair to keep Elsie waiting around for her any longer than necessary because she couldn’t get her head out of the gutter. As it was, she was going to have a hard enough time holding a decent conversation when all her brain wanted to do was think about Nick. And relive each delicious moment of the previous evening.

…….

‘I’m sorry I’m late! I didn’t wake up properly until after nine.’

Elsie rolled her eyes and grinned at Grace as she jogged towards her across the gravel carpark. ‘I think I’m used to your appalling time-keeping skills by now.’

Grace slowed as she neared her friend and enfolded in her in a tight hug. ‘I know you are. But I’m still rubbish.’

Elsie gave her a squeeze and drew back, shifting her grip on the leash in her hand so that she could better control the little Scottish Terrier bouncing playfully at her feet. ‘You’re just busy. And we’ve got plenty of time, so don’t worry about it.’ Grace dropped down, scratched Elsie’s excited little Scottie, Marmite, behind the ears and was rewarded with a warm lick and frantically wagging tail. ‘Hello, little dolt,’ she murmured softly.

‘So,’ said Elsie. ‘I take it you haven’t had any breakfast yet?’

Grace looked up, gave Marmite one last pat, and rose to her feet. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But I can hold out until after our walk.’

‘Are you sure?’ Elsie looked doubtful. ‘Because I don’t mind if you’d rather we go and find something to eat and come back?’

‘Positive.’ Now that she was out and about, all Grace wanted was to walk in the fresh air, give herself a chance to clear her head and think objectively about everything that had happened with Nick. In her heart, she knew the previous night had been a major turning point for her and, although she was still undoubtedly nervous about where things were going to go, she felt as if she had began to explore the fringes a rich and beautiful forest. One made up of bright, soothing pockets of light and dark, seductive shadows.

‘Okay, then. Let’s do an hour and then go and have a cup of tea and something to eat in Stockbridge. How does that sound?’

Grace smiled. ‘Perfect.’

With the late morning sun licking over them as they walked across the shaggy grass, the downs were glorious. Marmite snuffled happily along, occasionally stopping to sniff at rabbit holes and dig frantically at fresh mole mounds. She and Elsie chattered away as they walked, but in their quieter moments, Grace allowed herself to replay the previous evening with Nick in her head.

There was no denying it; she’d enjoyed submitting to him. Even more than she’d suspected she might. Had she felt ashamed? Well, maybe to start with, but her discomfort had very quickly morphed into a blunt arousal that seemed to eclipse everything else; to turn her into a glorious sexual vessel.

If she was being scrupulously honest with herself, she could even acknowledge that her embarrassment had actually seemed to feed her excitement.

Nick had made her feel good. Really good. And, like a glutton presented with a glimpse of a spectacular feast, she couldn’t wait for him to get his hands on her again.

They meandered on, occasionally passing other walkers who nodded and greeted them politely as they passed.

Marmite strained at his leash and barked furiously at a nearby pigeon.

Elsie seemed perfectly content with Grace’s lapses into contemplative silence, but when they paused briefly at the top of a hill to admire the view of the countryside stretched below them, she turned to her curiously. ‘You seem very relaxed this morning. Has your workload finally eased off?’

Startled by her friend’s question, Grace took a moment to collect herself. ‘No,’ she said carefully. ‘I think I just had a particularly good sleep last night. It’s amazing how much less stressed I feel when I’ve had a decent eight hours.’

‘Eight hours?’ Elsie looked at her contemplatively. ‘If you didn’t wake up until nine that means you didn’t go to bed until after midnight.’ Her intelligent gaze didn’t waver from Grace’s face, and she had to force herself not to squirm under her friend’s scrutiny. ‘What the heck were you doing ‘til,’ Grace could see her doing the maths in her head, ‘one in the morning?’

‘Oh, um …’ Grace felt cornered. She’d never lied to Elsie. Ever. But taking the risk of discussing her sexual quirks with her friend? Seeing a look of shock or disgust on her face? No. It just wasn’t worth it. She’d just have to tell her a version of the truth. She straightened her shoulders and looked Elsie directly in the eye. ‘‘I was just going over some things with a client. Jack’s given me one of his regulars and I’m going all out to make sure I do everything I can to accommodate him.’

Elsie nodded and reached down to pat Marmite, seeming to accept her explanation. ‘Ah, I think I remember you saying something about that job the other week. Is this the guy he’s friends with?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one,’ Grace said as she moved to start walking back the way they’d come. ‘His name’s Nick Stark.’

‘Well, I’m sure he’s very lucky to have you working on his project,’ said Elsie loyally, as she trailed after her, tugging Marmite gently away from what appeared to be a particularly enticing rabbit hole. ‘Just make sure you don’t burn yourself out bending over backwards trying to please the man.’

Oh, thought Grace. If only you knew.

……..

The remainder of the afternoon was beyond pleasant. She and Elsie went to their favourite café, scarfed savoury muffins, drowned themselves in cups of Earl Grey tea, and generally chatted each other’s ears off.

‘I’m in Seattle for work for the next two weeks,’ Elsie was saying as Grace’s mobile vibrated in her pocket, letting her know she’d received a message, ‘so I won’t be able to meet up again until the first week of September.’

‘That’s fine.’ Grace drew the handset from her pocket and glanced at the screen, her heart tightening when she saw it was from Nick. ‘Maybe we can go out for dinner and drinks?’ She opened the text, both nervous and curious as to its contents.

From: Nick @ 13.23 > Grace. Tried calling you at home. No answer. Text me back immediately and let me know you’re okay after last night. And, yes, that’s an order. Nick.

She couldn’t help the corners of her mouth curving upwards in amusement. Even via text message – and without him having to tell her – it was very clear he was giving her a command. If anyone but him had sent her this kind of imperious directive – well, maybe anyone other than him or Jack – it would have instantly put her hackles up. But, for whatever reason, the commands she received from him, in person or otherwise, felt increasingly … good. Comforting, even.

Grace’s fingers flew over the touchscreen of her phone.

From: Grace @ 13.26 > I’m fine, thank you for asking. Just out and about.

As she pressed ‘Send’, Grace absent-mindedly dropped a lump of uneaten muffin into Marmite’s grateful mouth, and turned to her friend as she placed her phone on the table. Only to find Elsie was watching her like a hawk.

‘You’ve met someone.’ A statement, not a question.

For a moment, Grace froze – and then somehow managed to find the presence of mind to feign complete ignorance. ‘What an earth are you talking about?’ she scoffed, whilst simultaneously feeling a flash of guilt for her subterfuge. ‘Of course I haven’t.’

‘You totally have.’ Elsie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. ‘That smile on your face is a complete giveaway.’

‘I’m not smiling!’ Damn it. She was. Cursed pokerface – or lack thereof. Grace tried to rearrange her lips into a neutral expression. ‘Okay, well maybe I am – but it was an amusing text,’ she defended.

‘Yeah, right.’

Grace made a show of draining the last of her tea from the cup in front of her and wiping her perfectly crumb-free hands on her trousers. Unable to think of a response that Elsie would believe, she stayed silent. Lying didn’t come naturally to her, and she’d already mislead her friend more times than she was comfortable with today.

To her surprise, when she looked up from her lap, her Elsie was grinning understandingly at her.

‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready to.’ Grace gave a mental sigh of relief that her friend wasn’t giving her the third degree. ‘But Grace?’ Oh, no. ‘When you are? I’m going to want details. Lots and lots of details.’

Her phone rattled on the table, signalling another message.

When Grace made no move to pick it up, Elsie quirked an eyebrow knowingly at her. ‘Aren’t you going to read it?’

Reluctantly, Grace picked up her handset and checked the screen.

From: Nick @ 13.31 > Next Friday. Same time. I left a key to my house on your kitchen counter. And Grace? No matter what, you are not to orgasm this week.

Grace flushed and slid the phone into her pocket. What did that mean, ‘no matter what’?

‘Like I said, details. Anything that has the power to make you blush like that has to be good.’

The post The Garden of Earthly Delights – an erotic tale (part fifteen) appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

I feel guilty. I didn’t do a post yesterday. But I did have a good reason.

As promised, I’ve been writing more Garden and, so far, have managed to finish the next two episodes. I’m on a bit of a roll and want to keep going while the flow is with me, so have decided that, for the next few days, I’m going to seize the moment and keep writing until I run out of steam.

So, unfortunately, no reviews ’til next week. Sorry. But if it’s any consolation, we have some lovely ones in the pipeline: the Rocks-Off Soft Tip Bullet Vibrator, the Silver Swan from Ann Summers, Bondara’s Heavy Duty Adjustable Spreader Bar and the Smile Makers’ fantasy man vibrators will all be added to the Chintz Toy Box in the near future.

Book-wise? Well, both Michael and I are reading loads (we don’t post reviews for everything we devour – only the better stuff!), but we’d like a bit of feedback from you so we can narrow down our endless list of candidates. So, tell us – what erotic themes would you like to see us cover over the next few months?

The post Do not disturb: smut in progress appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Image: Lupa – Julo (own work)

Since July of last year:

• Thirty-five book reviews.
• Fourteen Garden of Earthly Delights episodes.
• Three five-minute erotica stories.
• Twenty-eight sex toy reviews and countless other sex toy references.

As I’ve added more and more reviews and articles to Chintz, I’ve become increasingly aware that it’s more difficult for visitors to find what they want quickly. Chances are, if you’re diving into the Toy Box or Words sections, you want to know what’s in them without having to scroll through all the pages.

Behold.

Two hyperlinked lists to make your Chintz navigation life easier: the Toy Box Index and the Words Index.

You can find the relevant links to them at the very tops of the Words and Toy Box pages, or simply scroll down to access them via the Behind the Chintz Curtain footer. (The plan is to update the indexes every time a relevant post is added, but you’ll have to forgive me if there’s a short delay.)

For now, I’m leaving out Alert Me posts and Toy with me Tuesday entries, but I may add these in over the coming weeks, too. We’ll see how things go.

Here’s hoping that these indexes make finding your way around Behind the Chintz Curtain quicker and simpler.

The post For the love of an index appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

I’ve read some fabulous books over the past few days – including Cherri Lynn’s Leave me Breathless and Riley Murphy’s Reclaimed Surrender (reviews ahoy-hoy) – and also managed to pen another episode of The Garden of Earthly Delights, so expect to see a bit of a focus on books and writing in the next few Chintz posts.

More toy reviews in the pipeline, too – and perhaps some new reviewers …

The post Onwards! More books, more writing, more toys appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.