Title:

If you recall, Michael reviewed Leila’s Confessions Collection Vol.1 back in February and was left wondering just what was going to happen in the next instalment …

‘Two men. One a politician on the verge of greatness and the other a philanthropist on the cusp of corruption, each own a piece of me.’

This is a short review but this latest instalment in the Confessions series really isn’t that long.

I’ll admit that this is one of those books that took me some time to get started with but, after that, I was genuinely pulled back into the story.

The positive thing for me is that Desniah seems to be gaining more control over her life. London only plays the smallest part and Desniah makes a massive decision at the end – or at least I hope she did.

Caden makes a huge step forward as he finally realises the truth that has been staring him in the face for long.

Rhys I have nothing good to say about. Trying to create a total power exchange relationship with someone who isn’t totally enthusiastic about it is wrong. Telling someone that you intend to complete their hard limits list is also wrong.

Going in I probably liked Rhys more than Caden. I’ve changed my mind at this point.

*Please note that a copy of Bond Confessions (London Brown) Volume 2, Novella 1 was provided free of charge by the author in exchange for a fair review.

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to purchase a copy:

Amazon.co.uk

• Bond Confessions (London Brown) Volume 2, Novella 1 – Kindle

Amazon.com

• Bond Confessions (London Brown) Volume 2, Novella 1 – Kindle

Smashwords

• Bond Confessions (London Brown) Volume 2, Novella 1 – ePub

The post Bond Confessions (London Brown) Volume 2, Novella 1 – Leila DeSint appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

What we used: standard riding crop
From: Jack’s Floggers
Material(s): leather, glass fibre
Price: £12.00
Reviewer(s): Lizzie & Thomas

A crop is a crop is a crop. Or is it? Find out what Lizzie and Thomas think of their newest purchase from U.K.-based Jack’s Floggers.

First thoughts

Lizzie
So, can I just say that my eyes were going all over the place when I saw Jack’s line up of truly beautiful implements at LAM (the London Alternative Market), which is where Thomas and I bought this lovely, lovely riding crop a month or two back. The quality of Jack’s products was abundantly clear but, not only that, they were all, without exception, incredibly stylish. This crop stood out to me, first and foremost, because of the colour – I’m a sucker for red – but as soon as I picked it up, I thought ‘ooh!’. Our current Bondage Boutique crop, the one we reviewed a while back, is now a little worse for wear and, lately, we’ve noticed the keeper has started to part company with the shaft.

Thomas
Like Lizzie, I noticed straight away that this crop of Jack’s looked and felt far superior to our current one. And although they’re both about the same length overall (approximately 27.5 inches from end to end) the leather strop/keeper on his design is much longer (7.0 inches at the attachment point as opposed to 4.5).

Construction

Lizzie
I’ll say it again. This is an absolutely stunning crop and the quality of the craftsmanship is evident everywhere you look: the beautiful braided handle in gloss red leather; the black braided handle butts; the slim, tapered shaft; the soft leather keeper embossed with the Jack’s Floggers logo. Everything on it is neat and tidy, the finishing impeccable, and, basically, it’s just really well made. This isn’t an instrument that’s going to fall to pieces on you in a hurry.

Thomas
This crop is far whippier than our old one (I gave Lizzie a few experimental whacks before buying it and the difference was immediately evident) and it’s definitely better put together as well. The leather keeper is more securely attached to the shaft and the shaft material itself, which is glass fibre, is superior, too. I like that the handle is braided as the uneven surface helps with grip. Overall, the finish is very, very good.

In use

Lizzie
I love the crop. It’s become one of my favourite toy bag items. The threat and tease of it as it’s run or tapped over my body prior to or during a session; the sting of the tip and shaft when it’s applied to my bottom and thighs with force. The ‘smacking’ sound the keeper creates when it hits the skin, too, never fails to send a little thrill of fright through me.

Thomas and I liked our last crop a lot but, wow. It pales in comparison to this one. For starters, Jack’s creation has far (far) more bite than the Bondage Boutique version. The slim, stiff shaft really smarts when it hits and the split keeper seems to give far more sting to the wielder’s flicks and swings. Thomas had to strike relatively firmly to generate bruises with our previous crop. This one? Well, I had some truly spectacular purple keeper-shaped marks on my bottom for far less effort on his part.

If you’re someone who enjoys stingy sensations, this crop is a slice of heaven … and maybe just a little bit of exquisite masochistic hell, too .

Thomas
Jack’s crop is far more aggressive than our last one. The shaft is slimmer and stiffer, and the leather strop is softer and longer. This all combines for a lot more whip and a lot more snap in the end – and so a lot more sting. Lizzie wriggles about far more than usual when I use this crop, which tells me I have her undivided attention.

Any downsides?

Lizzie
None that I can think of. Although I would say that the slightly longer-than-we-were-used-to keeper dimensions caught us out a little; Thomas mis-judged a relatively firm hit by a fraction of an inch and ended up catching me between the legs before he intended to do so (he normally warms me up a bit more before going for that spot). I can tell you categorically that a firm swat with this on the clitoris will make you jump about like nobody’s business!

Thomas
As Lizzie mentioned, the only issue with this crop was that I made the schoolboy error of not practising enough with it beforehand and assuming if would behave the same way as our old one. The lesson? Always put a new toy through its paces, even if the overall style is familiar, so that you get the reach right. This one caught me out because I placed it fractionally further into the buttock than I should have (although I don’t think Lizzie minded too much .) If you are used to a crop with a short, unsplit keeper, you will need to be extra careful with your aim until you get used to it.

The verdict?

Lizzie
A superb riding crop that is amazingly priced, beautifully made, and a joy to be on the receiving end of. If you like sting with style, this is £12.00 you won’t regret parting with.

Thomas
A very nice crop nice to hold and use and very effective (especially when applied to the clitoris!).

In summary

Things we liked:

• The finishing. Truly beautiful.
• The design. Sting city!
• The price. At £12.00 this is a total bargain.
• Being able to try before we bought. Jack (and his stall) were fab. But he also offers a great online service, with worldwide shipping, if you can’t make it to the London Alternative Market.

Things we weren’t so keen on:

• Nothing!

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following link to visit the Jack’s Floggers website. (You will need to navigate to the Canes, Crops and Paddles etc. page.)

• Jack’s Floggers

*LAM (the London Alternative Market) runs the first Sunday of every month. Entry is £4 per person. Full details here.

The post The cream of the crop appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Title:

Oh, ho-ho. Michael knocked it out of the park with this joint read-and-review choice. Spanking, D/s, violet wands, vegetable safewords. Funny, hot and totally sexy.

MICHAEL’S TAKE

So Kaylee has been saving up for the moment of her life: a trip to The Castle, the hottest BDSM resort in Central Ohio. She gets to spend three whole days living out her fantasies.

She just has one teeny tiny little problem. She’s no clear idea of what her fantasies will be like in real life. She has never played, never been to a club, never done anything. And she is sure of one thing: if she tells The Truth, admits to her inexperience, she’ll be spending her entire stay in the kiddie pool wearing water wings.

So she lies. Not a big lie. She just wants them to think she has some experience. What could go wrong? It isn’t like they are going to drag her down to an underground dungeon and send in a Hulking Brute in an Executioner’s Mask with a Bullwhip, is it? Okay, so maybe it was a big lie.

What I loved most about this one was how patient the staff were with her. A fantasy doesn’t work out? Sure. No Problem. As soon as she’s dried her tears, they send her back to costuming and try again. (They had so many things to choose from in that department, I don’t think for a moment we saw everything it had to offer.) Not unlike Goldilocks, Kaylee just has to try and try again until she finds the kink that’s just right.

I think the most negative thing I can say about Kaylee’s Keeper is that it’s a little sad that The Castle isn’t actually real.

JANE’S TAKE

Attractive Random Person Dressed in Skydiving Gear: “Jane! Can you skydive?”
Jane: [Hell no, but you look kind of hot so I’ll give it a crack]: “Yes, of course I can! In fact, I used to be an instructor.”
Attractive Random Person Dressed in Skydiving Gear: “Awesome. Grab a parachute and get your arse in that plane over there.”
Jane: [How hard can it be?] “You’ve got it.”

6,000 feet later …

Attractive Random Person Dressed in Skydiving Gear: “Are you okay, Jane? You look kind of green …”
Jane: [Fucking hell this is high!!!] “Oh, fine, fine. I think I had a bad prawn at lunch.”

12,500 feet later …

Attractive Random Person Dressed in Skydiving Gear: “You ready to jump?”
Jane: [FUCK!!!] Totally … absolutely … er … definitely. My, that weather doesn’t look at all good, does it? Maybe we should turn back?”
Attractive Random Person Dressed in Skydiving Gear: “It’s 30 degrees and sunny with no wind.
Jane: [FUCK x 10!] “See! Terrible conditions!”
Attractive Random Person Dressed in Skydiving Gear: “Er, Jane? Are you sure you’ve done this before?
Jane: [Oh, my God. Does Attractive Random Person Dressed in Skydiving Gear suspect something? That I’m not, perhaps, the skydiving goddess he imagines? Act defensive! Put him off the scent!] “How dare you! What exactly are you suggesting?”
Attractive Random Person Dressed in Skydiving Gear: “That you may not know how to skydive?”
Jane: [He’s fishing! Play it cool; there’s no way he can know I’m not telling the truth …] “Now why on earth would you say that?”
Attractive Random Person Dressed in Skydiving Gear: “Well, for starters, you’re strapping yourself to the emergency first aid kit rather than your parachute.”

Have you ever fudged the truth a little? Massaged your C.V. to get that perfect job? Not been entirely honest on that health questionnaire: “How many times a week do you take regular exercise/eat chocolate/drink more than two units of alcohol?” (Never, no, every day, only at Easter, and only at weddings. (Snort.)) Well, Kaylee’s Keeper is all about what happens when a sub pretends to have a little – okay, a lot – more BDSM experience than she actually does (none).

“Have you ever engaged in BDSM play before? Kaylee checked off her answer, yes, and kept going, swallowing back that same slight twinge of guilt that she’d felt back when she first typed that lie. She had never played. Up until now, all of her spankings had been received through fantasy and daydreams.”

I loved this book for a number of reasons. It did a wonderful job of showing that the fantasies in our heads don’t always play out as we imagine they will in real life. It did a wonderful job of showing how important open and honest communication is between partners. It did a wonderful job of showing that we don’t automatically know what will turn us on, that we often discover these things over time, through experience, with patience. Oh, and it absolutely showed why it is never ever a good idea to lie to a Top.

I don’t want to say too much more and ruin this delightful tale for you, but I will confess that the violet wand scene at the end of this story is awesome, as is the one that leads up to and includes Kaylee’s first use of The Castle’s universal safeword, onion. You’ll never look at an Allium cepa in quite the same way again.

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to purchase a copy:

Amazon.co.uk

• Kaylee’s Keeper (Masters of The Castle #2) – Kindle

Amazon.com

• Kaylee’s Keeper (Masters of The Castle #2) – Kindle

The post Kaylee’s Keeper (Masters of The Castle #2) – Maren Smith appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Title:

Doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. (Well, mostly.)

How do I even begin reviewing Truth? Firstly, let me say that if you haven’t read the previous two books in the Finding Anna series, Slave and Need, you’re going to be seriously, seriously lost if you go straight in with this one. It cannot be read as a stand-alone. All three instalments are closely tied together and to truly appreciate the circumstances that Brianna and Stephan find themselves in, you need to understand how they got to where they are.

Where to start?

Stephan. Stephan, Stephan, Stephan. I want to be on your side. I do. Truly. You rescued Brianna from something truly hideous, are utterly committed to her rehabilitation and willing to protect her no matter what the personal cost. Do I fundamentally agree with your methods, though? Well, there’s the rub. Yes, you want to help Brianna. Yes, you are protective and caring towards her. But underneath all that are your own needs and desires; they’ve been bubbling away since the very beginning and, in this book, they start to seep out. No matter how benevolent you strive to be, can your actions truly be classed as selfless when they are ultimately influenced by your emotions, consciously or unconsciously? Is Brianna even remotely ready – or in the position mentally – to accept what you ultimately crave from her? Even you’re not sure:

‘Do you think she’ll be all right with this?’

‘I have no idea.’

It would be easy to say that Stephan is the white knight in of the piece but, whichever way you look at it, Briana is vulnerable – and to that end, his shiny armour has to be a little tarnished. The question is, can it be cleaned?

Just as they did in Slave and Need, the Stephan and Brianna both take turns telling the story, giving us the ability to see exactly what’s going on inside their respective heads. But crucially, their descriptions of the actions and reactions of Truth’s secondary characters with regard to their relationship – Dr Cooper, Cal, Lily, Oscar and Michael, in particular – provide the objective outsiders’ point-of-view. Give us glimpses beyond the bubble-like environment that Stephan has created for himself and Brianna to exist in. The thing with bubbles, though? They have a tendency to burst.

If you’re expecting a neat ending, to have all your questions answered, to have some light shed on the very murky circumstances surrounding Brianna’s abduction, then I’m sorry to say that you may struggle with the conclusion to this book. Truth takes you to the edge of the white cliffs of Dover and leaves you hanging by your fingernails.

I’ll leave you with this one word: felony.

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to purchase a copy.

Amazon.co.uk

• Truth – Paperback

Amazon.com

• Truth  – Paperback

Kobo

• Truth – ePub

*Please note that an advance copy of Truth was provided free of charge in exchange for a fair review by The Writer’s Coffeeshop and NetGalley.

The post Truth (Finding Anna) – Sherri Hayes appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Title:

This joint review was a no-brainer for us. Michael and I are both big fans of Cherise Sinclair and it’s fair to say that we were both gagging to read this latest instalment in her Shadowlands series. When I suggested to him that This Is Who I Am should be our next project?

@Jane: I have been looking forward to that book for over a year:

‘”I won’t scar you. I won’t go past when you can take. If you can trust me that far, this will be much easier for you.” He met her eyes straight on, letting her read his body, hear the truth, and see it in his face. “But, Linda, I’m going to hurt you. You’ll hate me when I make you take it, and you’ll hate even more that you need it. That it fills that hole inside you and cleans away the clutter.”‘

(To Command and Collar (Shadowlands Book 6))

@Michael: CANNOT WAIT for Sam. And DeVries from Dark Haven. They both scare and tempt at the same time … *sigh*

Yep, we were pushing the download button on release day.

Did it live up to our expectations?

MICHAEL’S TAKE 

I tend to think of the Shadowlands series as one of the crown jewels of romantic BDSM fiction. Each book in it tends to be better than the last.

Last year we were treated to the most fantasy-oriented of the series. When Kim is rescued from the evil Harvest Association by Raoul, a series of improbable events causes her to assume the place of the slave he has always wanted. During the course of the story we see a moment occur between Linda, another woman kidnapped by the Harvesters, and Sam, a friend of Raoul’s, who tries to keep her safe in a rather unique way. A way that ends badly.

‘He rubbed his hand over his mouth, wanting to swear up a storm. He’d sliced into her defenses with less finesse than a baby dom with a new whip. After a glance at the attendant who still hovered nearby, Sam knew he couldn’t explain to her, to apologize–not here–but when this was over, they’d talk. Damn straight, they would.’

But they wouldn’t. At least not until now.

Linda is home. Back from her kidnapping. Recovered physically and largely emotionally. But she faces a new menace, in some ways just as destructive and self-serving as her kidnappers: The Court of Public Opinion. She wasn’t a child kidnapped from her bedroom. She wasn’t a teen walking home from her fast food restaurant job. She was a woman who had just stepped out of an S&M dungeon. That meant she deserved what happened to her, right? In fact, she probably enjoyed all of it.

Fortunately, not everyone feels that way. And foremost among them is Sam.

Linda is a masochist and a submissive. This isn’t a story about a woman who thinks that she’s become either of these things through a bad experience. What Sam provides is a way for her to work through her feelings and figure out where she wants to go with them. And she actually helps Sam do the same thing in the process. Because he’s got some experiences in his past that he’s never quite dealt with, too.

Just one minor thing: The stories are set in Tampa, a place I know pretty well. In fact, I used to live right where one of the key events in the story takes place (when Sam meets Linda’s children at the café). But I never got the feeling that they were really there, as much as the geographical references are sprinkled in, from looking at a map. Next time, I would at least like to know if we are on Fowler, Fletcher, or 30th Street.

This one is timely, both advancing the genre and the story of the series. And I can’t wait to see what happens next.

JANE’S TAKE 

Responsible.

That’s the word that springs to mind whenever I read a book from Cherise Sinclair’s Shadowlands series. Basically, I know that whatever happens, the Doms won’t behave like complete tools and the submissives, whatever their issues, will end up grinning from ear-to-ear because they’ve been done six kinky ways ‘til Sunday. And then some. Given that This Is Who I Am’s male protagonist is a Dominant sadist and the plotline revolves around sexual enjoyment through pain, both giving and receiving? Well, let’s just say that knowing the story was written by Ms Sinclair was a huge (huge) weight off my mind going in. This sort of subject matter can be pretty frickin’ scary to read about when tackled with the wrong pen but, as predicted, this book goes to all those lovely dark places you want it to without ever feeling negatively risky or dangerous.

As Michael said to me while we were reading:

‘Cherise just has a way of creating Doms that I trust implicitly to do the right thing. Not every author does that for me.’

So, the pain factor; how hardcore is the hurting? Well, personally, I thought all the scenes between Linda and Sam were handled beautifully and, while there are some things that may make certain readers’ eyes open a little wider, their interactions are written in such a way that everything that passes between them feels incredibly natural and erotic. The descriptions of masochistic pleasure and the way Linda processes it are excellent and the way Sam conducts himself and his need to hurt refreshingly unapologetic. The play never feels out-of-control or violent – just measured, sensual, exciting and very, very hot. It’s accessible S/M, in other words; I wasn’t reading and going ‘I can’t believe they did that!’ or ‘WTF?’.

Which leads me on nicely to my next point.

I really (really) loved the ‘normalisation’ of masochism and sadism in this book – and would even go so far as to say this was the aspect of This Is Who I Am that resonated with me the most. People being to able to talk openly and honestly, to accept themselves for what they are without fear and/or shame? Bring it on.

Finally, Sam.

Dear, God, but I love that man. (He’s not real, Jane. He’s not real …)

@Michael:

I love Sam.

I love Sam.

I love Sam.

Did I mention how much I love Sam?

I think if I could assemble my perfect Sadist, LEGO-style, he’d be pretty close to what I’d end up with.

I know that This Is Who I Am is an idealised, romantic version of BDSM but the core sentiments are beautiful and, ultimately, what many of us would want to find or experience in a D/s S/M exchange. The suspense plot is a little woolly but with such erotic scenes between the protagonists, who really cares?

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to purchase a copy:

Amazon.co.uk

• This Is Who I Am – Kindle

Amazon.com

• This Is Who I Am – Kindle

The post This Is Who I Am – Cherise Sinclair appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Title(s):

Take three!

In our third joint-review outing, Michael and I debate the motivations of the supremely debonair Ramon from Kate Belle’s Master of Love series. I suspect he and Sting have been hanging out together a fair bit; Michael’s trying to decide how he’d look with a pair of Eros wings.

Now, if someone would just lend us the Sorting Hat …

MICHAEL’S TAKE

What can I say about Ramon Mendez?

Men want to be him. Women want to be with him. He’s working on a Ph.D. in Women’s Sexuality – only he isn’t a woman. He puts ladies through a real workout – without them even taking off their clothes.

And Dude’s a Rule Breaker. If he wants to be with a woman, he finds a way. It doesn’t matter if she is in a position of authority over him, like his College Adviser, or one of his students in a mid-morning fitness class. If he sees something he likes, he doesn’t hesitate.

Grace had a chance at love once. But she decided to focus on her career instead. She was happy and the last thing she wanted to do was advise a man in her speciality where he had no business being. A man who made her feel things she had given up on.

Emma had it all. A husband who was a good provider. Three healthy children. And a dog. She was just missing one teeny tiny thing. Romance. A way for the man she loved to see that she needed more than a roof over her head. Someone who would remember to keep her birthday open.

Ramon – the Licentious Lothario. Ramon – the Caring Cupid. Ramon – the Tantric Tornado.

He knows not just what these women want but what they actually need. The things he does to them and with them could destroy them. Instead they come out with their hearts intact and ready to go after the thing they only dared to hope for.

The only thing we don’t know is what he is actually searching for.

JANE’S TAKE

Breaking the terms of your employment agreement to have sex with a student.

Cheating on your husband.

Are either of these scenarios ever okay in a romance novel? Is it possible to create a love story in which the characters in a book do things that so ostensibly break the unwritten rules of the genre (no cheating, a storyline that involves the development of a meaningful and lasting relationship between the characters)?

For me personally? The second of these scenarios is a difficult one. At least as far as my own definition of romantic love goes. I know it sounds crazy, but I am far, far more comfortable reading about kink or indulging my passion for Dark Erotica than encountering infidelity in a story. Yeah, I know that probably sounds upside down to some people. What can I say? My mind works in mysterious ways.

The commonality between these two books from Kate Belle’s Master of Love series, Breaking the Rules and Bloom, is Spanish lothario, Ramon, who appears to be every woman’s sexual fantasy come to life. He’s young. He’s handsome. He’s charming. He has an unbelievably talented tongue. But in both books, he’s not actually the Happily Ever After. Not the man that the female lead in either story is destined to be with. He’s merely a catalyst for sexual and emotional change.

Grace is a forty-something university professor who has locked off her sexuality in an attempt to cope with her male-dominated career environment. Thirty-six-year-old Emma is overweight and crumbling under the weight of kids and a husband who is too busy working to notice her. In rides Ramon on his white stallion (sorry, in his red Honda), masterful tantric penis at the ready (he and Sting must be attending the same classes because he can orgasm without ejaculating) to chase away the cobwebs, restore sexual vitality and point the women towards the men they are ultimately supposed to be with.

Surprisingly, the adultery depicted in Bloom was less of a hurdle for me than Ramon himself. There was nothing I could put my finger on, nothing overtly wrong or sinister about him, he just seemed so … calculated. The way he places himself in Grace’s path. The way he handles Emma. Throughout both books I kept asking myself ‘Why is he seducing these ladies?’ and ‘What exactly is his motivation?’ It’s never quite clear – we never get inside his head – and, as a result, it became impossible for me to categorise him as either ‘hero’ or ‘villain’. I couldn’t categorically name him as ‘the man who put everything to rights’ or ‘the man who took advantage of women at their most vulnerable and it just all happened to turn out okay’.

Is he Vicomte de Valmont, Don Juan, Casanova, or an Alfie with morals?

Who knew I had such an obsession with compartmentalising characters?

Unexpected, different and quietly brave. Breaking the Rules and Bloom both felt very real. Definitely not your typical erotic romance fare and, for that reason, these novellas will likely be a Marmite choice for readers.

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to purchase:

Amazon.co.uk

• Breaking the Rules – Kindle
• Bloom – Kindle

Amazon.com

• Breaking the Rules – Kindle
• Bloom – Kindle

Kobo

• Breaking the Rules – ePub
• Bloom – ePub

* Please note that copies of Bloom and Breaking the Rules were provided by the author, free of charge, in exchange for a fair review.

The post Breaking the Rules, Bloom – Kate Belle appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Title:

Yep. As requested, Michael and I are back once again as a book-reviewing double act. Are we less ranty than last time? I think so. But I still ended up drawing stick figures. Couldn’t seem to stop myself. He, meanwhile, took the high road and included intelligent and insightful quotes. (I think it’s clear which of us is Batman and which of us is Robin in this instance …)

JANE’S TAKE …

Before I say anything else, I just want to make it clear that I liked this book. The story was interesting, the characters likeable, and the sex hot. (Very, very hot in fact.) But it disturbed me. And I felt bad for enjoying it at times.

I’m a bit of a fan of both the non-con and D/s genres when it comes to erotica. But I see them as very separate things and when they start getting tangled together in a work of fiction, sirens, alarm bells and all manner of other emergency service warning systems start going off in my head. Consent is fundamental to BDSM. Always. And if it’s not? Well, that’s abuse. Plain and simple. As a rule, I will immediately stop reading books that portray non-consensual interactions between characters as D/s or S/M. Take Me, Break Me, however, managed to twist all the traditional rules of engagement.

The premise is intriguing. Jodie wants to make a documentary about living through the experience of a capture fantasy and asks her ex-boyfriend, Klaus, to imprison her in the basement of her house for the period of one month. He is – initially – shocked by her proposition but eventually agrees because he’s concerned that if he doesn’t, Jodie might engage the services of someone who would take advantage of the situation and truly hurt her. A very arbitrary and vague set of guidelines (The Rules), consisting of five sketchy bullet points is drawn up, a detailed ‘in case it all goes horribly wrong’ protection contract signed, and off they go. You can see where this is heading, can’t you?

Needless to say, things don’t go to plan (there’d be no story if they did) and after little more than a day or so Jodie and Klaus find themselves in a bit of a situation. Klaus discovers his sadistic side. Jodie discovers she likes to be hurt. Klaus decides to throw away The Rules (such as they are) and make new ones. Without any discussion. Oh, boy.

My Take Me, Break Me experience went something like this …

@Michael (just after starting the book):

‘RED PEN ALERT!

I had to read the first chapter twice because all the tense switching confused me. (Maybe I am just A Bear of Very Little Brain?!) Present tense, then past written in the past tense, then past written in the present tense, then back to present in the present tense. Huh? What exactly are you signing, man [Klaus]?! End-of-year finance reports or a down-and-dirty sex slave agreement? Because, you know, that distinction is kind of important!

I now have the awful urge to sing Brittany Spears’ ‘Slave for You’, btw. :-/’

I get frightened by the lack of discussion and awful bullet-pointed rules:

I get confused about what genre I am actually reading:

[Brief interlude, during which Michael and I disagree over the outfit Klaus makes Jodie wear (he thinks it’s ridiculous, I think it’s fabulously degrading) and we both start Googling Magnetic Island, the setting for Take Me, Break Me, real estate prices.]

I get distracted by the idea of green bamboo canes:

Then Jodie and Klaus go to a play party and I want to get one of these out:

All in all, I felt like this the entire time I was reading:

As I said right at the very beginning, I liked Take Me, Break Me. But it scared me. Ergo the above picture. This is a case of the reader being ‘head f*cked’ as much as the characters because you’re enjoying all the things they’re doing together but feel horrible for it because the proposition is so dangerously and badly flawed …

This is a great story, albeit an uncomfortable one.

Safe, Sane and Consensual. Take Me, Break Me certainly proves how important this mantra is.

MICHAEL’S TAKE …

“I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

– Don Corleone

Jodie is a comedienne. Not the worst, but not the greatest either. Her career is just going so-so. So she gets an idea. Make a documentary. But not about the life of a so-so comedienne. No, her idea is to make one about psychological enslavement. You see, Jodie has a secret love for that particular type of erotica we call the Capture Fantasy. So her idea is to film a woman throughout the process and through to the end result. And not just any woman. Herself (with some preset automatic cameras). But who can she get to be her captor?

Klaus. Good old Klaus. Her accountant. Oh, and her once-upon-a-time boyfriend. He’s the perfect guy for this sort of thing. Except maybe a little too cautious. When she approaches him with the idea, he reluctantly accepts. But only after drawing up a Contract and set of Rules so strict he pretty much takes all the fun out of it for both of them.

After all, this is supposed to be fun. Safe, Sane and Totally Consensual but fun as well. So what happens after 36 hours or so when Klaus dispenses with The Rules and makes it up as he goes along?

“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

– Lord Acton

When I read the description for this one, I actually bought it immediately. Because even though I didn’t plan on reading it as soon as soon as I did, I knew it was one I was definitely going to read. I thought this could be a fun and sexy story. Instead I found it to be a brutally realistic portrayal of two people playing around with things they didn’t understand and getting in absolutely and completely over their heads.

Especially Klaus. I am often pretty hard on male lead characters for doing the wrong thing. But in this case, I didn’t really blame him. Things were so off from the very beginning that you just had to hope they both got out without any permanent damage.

“When you stare into the abyss the abyss stares back at you.”

– Friedrich Nietzsche

Do I think you should read this book? If you like capture fantasy and BDSM fiction, I would say absolutely, positively, unequivocally ‘yes’.

But just keep in mind this is more what not to do.

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to purchase a copy:

Amazon.co.uk

• Take Me, Break Me – Kindle

Amazon.com

• Take Me, Break Me – Kindle

Smashwords

• Take Me, Break Me – ePub

The post Take Me, Break Me (Pierced Hearts) – Cari Silverwood appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Title:

Prepare yourselves. Michael and I decided to read and review Rush in tandem. And let’s just say that we had, er, pretty strong reactions to it. Warning: it’s a general winter of discontent below the fold and we only just refrained from using SHOUTY CAPITALS in our respective reviews. Buckle up.

MICHAEL’S TAKE …

First off, let me say this. Maya Banks has been doing this for a while now. I don’t really think this is her version of Fifty Shades of Grey despite the fact that it did sort of feel that way. (Oh, and if you don’t want spoilers, don’t read this because this is a fully-fledged rant.) Having said that, she has accomplished something I wouldn’t have thought possible: created a male lead in Gabe Hamilton that makes Christian Grey and Gideon Cross (Bared to You) look like normal, well-adjusted, thoughtful young men.

Gabe is in the hotel business. He and his partners, Jace and Ash, have been friends since college and seem to collectively be this generation’s Conrad Hilton. They are all thirty-eight and none of them have settled down – making all three eminently eligible bachelors. Well, actually, Gabe was married to Lisa for a while. And while we don’t find out much about it, it was some sort of power exchange relationship where he made all of the decisions. Until the day she decided to leave him and ran to a divorce attorney and the press painted their relationship as abusive. She got a hefty settlement when he didn’t fight her.

Since then, Gabe has avoided romantic entanglements. Oh, he has relationships but they all have a contractual component. Every woman he sleeps with has to sign his combination Slave Contract Non-disclosure Agreement. After that, he and his chosen paramour get physical for a while but never more than six months before he moves on.

So then he runs into Mia. Jace’s little sister. A twenty-four-year-old who seems to have gotten an MBA or at least a business degree but is waitressing at a pastry shop. Sweet little Mia who was raised from childhood by her big brother after their parents were killed. And it turns out he was wanted her for years. Long enough that he has now decided that a fourteen-year age difference doesn’t matter as much as it did when she was twenty or sixteen or whatever.

So he goes to Jace and explains to him that he wants to use and abuse his baby sister for the next six months or so. Oh, wait, no, he doesn’t. That probably wouldn’t work out very well.

So he goes to Mia and explains to her that he wants to use and abuse her for an unspecified period of time. Oh, and she really should have career goals so she can be his assistant so he can do the using and abusing right in his office. As long, of course, as she signs up to be his NDA’d sexual submissive. So at this point she files a complaint with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. Oh, wait, no, she doesn’t. But she probably should have.

So a bunch of stuff happens and then Gabe and Mia end up in a hotel room in Paris with three prospective business partners. In order to prove to himself that he doesn’t have feelings for his best friend’s little sister he binds and essentially tosses her to the wolves – after setting a few ground rules.

There are roughly five kinds of men:

1. The kind whose personal code would, for moral and religious reasons, make them want to leave.
2. Those who prefer other guys to women.
3. Guys who aren’t really Doms but aren’t going to pass up an interesting opportunity.
4. Actual Doms who delight in the joy of a submissive woman.
5. Abusers who won’t hesitate to hurt women to make themselves feel superior.

The thing is, it is mighty hard to tell which is which just by looking at someone. The fact that Gabe assumed that these three potential investors were 3s and 4s was idiotic. I don’t even think scenarios 1 and 2 entered his head. But you don’t take a chance on having a 5 in the room. That was one of the most boneheaded moves I have ever seen.

And I have to say that Mia was part of the problem. Being submissive is one thing. Letting someone walk on the fine line of being abusive (assuming you don’t think that Gabe crossed the line) is something else. Later on, Jace worries that her next boyfriend might actually be abusive as a result of her time with Gabe; if only the latter had given as much thought to what was going on.

Honestly, my favorite moment was when Jace punched Gabe out. Because someone needed to. Of course, it didn’t actually knock any sense into him. That would have to come later.

I did kind of like the ending but I am still thinking Gabe may need a couple of decades or so of therapy.

I actually pre-ordered the next book, Rush, which will be featuring Jace. I am curious to see how he and Ash fare from an outsider perspective. Because even if they were kind of the guardian angels in this one, they probably won’t be in their own stories.

JANE’S TAKE …

My Rush reading experience can pretty much be summarised by my Goodreads ‘in progress’ status updates and ranty emails:

Status update 1: “9% in and the words ‘steel’, ‘minx’ and ‘kitten’ have been used. :-/”

Status update 2: “Oh, for the love of Pete: ‘There is no negotiation’. REALLY?”

Status update 3: “Rapidly losing the will to live reading this. I’m so not absorbed that I’m watching clips of Scottish Terrier puppies on YouTube every few pages to try and boost my flagging spirits.”

[Pause in reading]

@Michael: “Are you going to finish this or what?”

@Jane: “I’ve stalled … I got partway through, got cross, skimmed the last bit, got even more cross, and then put it down. I really do need to finish it though. It’s dreadful and deserves my full wrath.”

[Michael starts reading]

@Michael: “Wow! I am still not sure what to make of it but if Jace kills Gabe with his bare hands when they get to New York I think I could let him off for temporary insanity if I were on the jury.”

@Jane:  “So you’ve been to Paris, then? … Gabe is a total sh*t. The term ‘control freak’ seems most appropriate. And for the love of a flogger, why the HELL would you invite business associates to Top your ‘beck and call girl’? Because, let’s be honest, that’s what she is.

The thing that really irks me though? Maya Banks writes so bloody nicely. There’s just something about the flow and rhythm of her prose that appeals to me. It’s why I keep buying her. But her actual characterisation and interactions are so hit and miss. I haven’t felt this cross about a male protagonist of hers since Micah (Sweet Temptation). I mean, come on! Contrast this idiot with Damon from Sweet Persuasion.

@Michael: “I couldn’t understand what could upset you so much but when I got to that scene I understood. This guy makes Christian Grey and Gideon Cross look stable.”

@Jane: “I think our joint review of this is going to turn into a joint rant …”

Um, yeah, it kind of did. If you don’t find narcissistic, wankerish men off-putting in an erotic romance then you’ll probably like this. Because that’s exactly what Gabe is. The writing’s solid, though, and that’s what stops it from becoming a total bust. I quite liked Jace and Ash as characters, too, although the way this series has started I’m tempted to lay money on them turning into total morons during the next two books.

Series prediction:

• Book two = ménage meltdown. Jace decides he can’t share his women with Ash anymore. Ash can’t decide what to do with his penis now he’s on his own.
• Book three = Ash has ménage withdrawal but has to ‘rescue’ Caroline from her bouncer boyfriend and in the process emerges from his DP funk.

Roll on Fever.

Rush tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to purchase a copy:

Amazon.co.uk

• Rush – Kindle
• Rush – Paperback

Amazon.com

• Rush – Kindle
• Rush – Paperback

Kobo

• Rush – ePub

The post Rush (The Breathless Trilogy) – Maya Banks appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Image: Gabel – Foto von: wiktionary:de:Benutzer:acf (Own work) 

After what seems like ages, I’ve finally completed my latest ‘Five-minute erotica’ story. I started Table Manners before Christmas, but the holidays and illness kept scuppering my attempts to finish it. Initially, it featured more than two characters but I decided whilst writing that the scenario actually worked better when the third participant wasn’t exactly … present. (You’ll understand what I mean when you read it.) It’s a bit longer than usual, too (more like ‘ten-minute’ erotica, actually), but – I hope – still a quick and enjoyable bit of smut.

Let me know what you think …

Jane

PS – I know some of you are waiting for the next Garden instalment and I promise that’s the very next thing on my writing list. And for those who’ve missed my previous ‘Five-minute erotica’ stories, you can find them here:

• Frostbite
• All Girls Love Ponies

IMPORTANT: Please note that Table Manners is a work of fiction and contains explicit sexual content and BDSM elements, including impact play. If such material offends you or you are under the age of 18, please don’t read any further.

TABLE MANNERS

In a frantic scramble to find the proofs for my last client meeting, I picked up the bleating mobile and wedged it between my shoulder and ear without bothering to look at the caller ID.

‘Beth speaking,’ I snapped, making minimal effort to hide my frustration at being interrupted. It was my personal phone – none of my clients had this number – and most of my friends would forgive me barking at them in a moment of stress.

No reply.

‘Hello?’ I said distractedly, as I continued to lift up job bags in my in-tray, in search of the one containing the Crestworth mock-ups.

So much for the paperless office. If this was another one of those stupid marketing call centres flogging insurance …

More silence. I paused in rifling through the job piles on my obscenely over-crowded desk, dislodged the phone from beneath my cheek and glanced down at the display to check if the call had disconnected.

Everything inside me froze.

Someone was most definitely on the other end. And I knew exactly who it was.

Proofs forgotten, I sank down into my chair and glanced furtively around at my colleagues. As much as I loved our modern, open-plan office with its buzzy atmosphere and feeling of ‘in the trenches together’ camaraderie, at times like this I wished I worked inside a cardboard box, shielded from all the eyes and ears around me.

Of course, that was likely exactly why he had phoned me, knowing what a struggle it was for me to talk with him in the way he expected, surrounded by a sea of oblivious workmates.

Pressing the phone to my ear, I leaned down towards the floor, pretending to look for something inside my handbag but, in reality, trying to hide my side of the conversation I was about to have from the two colleagues at the desk island opposite. Thank goodness James, whose desk was next to mine, was out with a client for the rest of the afternoon. Having him overhear this exchange would be beyond mortifying.

‘Sir,’ I said softly, lips brushing against the mouthpiece of the handset in an effort to make my barely-there voice heard. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know it was you.’

There was the sound of a sigh at the other end of the phone and I knew straight away that he was seriously annoyed with me. Courtesy was something he placed monumental value on, and in all our debauched dealings with one another he’d taken great pains to stress that respect between us was paramount.

‘You didn’t even bother to check who it was before you answered, did you?’

My face flamed and I shook my head, forgetting that he couldn’t see me. ‘No, Sir. I was looking for …’

‘Don’t even try, Beth.’ His voice was level but the tone stopped me mid-speech. ‘You were rude. End of story. There was no call to speak to me – or anyone you know – like that.’

I don’t know how he managed it, but a reprimand from him, no matter how small the misdemeanour, had the power to shame me to the tips of my toes. A cool look, a single admonishing word and I invariably felt worse than the time I’d broken the glass vase my mum had inherited from her great grandmother.

I was momentarily grateful not to be in front of him. Having to deal with my transgression in person, and bear the weight of the chastisement that would no doubt be in his eyes. Cowardly, but true.

‘You know what happens to girls who aren’t respectful, don’t you?’

With great effort I swallowed around the lump rapidly forming in my throat at his words, its presence called forth partly by fear, partly by the desolation at having let him down. But, most shamefully, by my excitement at the prospect of submitting to the punishment he undoubtedly had planned.

‘Beth?’ His voice was sharp, demanding I answer his question.

‘They get corrected,’ I croaked, my voice breaking despite my best efforts to control my whispered response.

My ears picked up a grunt of vaguely amused satisfaction at my answer.

‘And how should they be corrected, Beth?’

I knew the answer, but, nonetheless, it was hard to say.

‘However Sir chooses.’

‘I’m glad we agree.’

I let out a breath I was unaware of holding. The seconds ticked by without either of us saying anything, although I could hear the steady pulse of his breathing down the line. Finally, I couldn’t stand the quiet lying between us a moment longer.

‘Sir?’ I whispered.

‘I’m trying to decide what to do with you. I had planned on treating you to a nice supper this evening. But under the circumstances, I don’t think that would be appropriate.’

‘Oh,’ I said, at a loss as to what else to say, mentally kicking myself for my stupidity.

I waited, knowing he would speak when he was ready. Stared down at my open handbag and the still arm that had given up all pretence of searching for a random item.

At last: ‘My house, 7.00pm.’

‘Of course, Sir.’

‘I suggest you dress to please me.’

………..

At exactly 6.49pm I tottered up the steps to his front door in the ridiculously high stilettos I knew he loved to see me in. They were a striking peacock-green suede and made my legs look gratifyingly long, but the five-inch heels meant they were total hell to walk any distance in. Thankfully, I’d only had to stagger from where my car was parked a short way down the street.

A cool wind blew against my stocking-clad legs as I reached for the doorbell and I couldn’t help pressing my thighs together as a gust slid beneath my mac and licked over my knickerless pussy.

‘Dress to please me’ had been the instruction and after six months of getting to know him, the real him, I hoped I had come to understand exactly what that meant. Nothing covered that he would want to play with or look at. Decorative garments only – hence the shoes and stockings. I’d even pulled my hair up into an artful knot on the top of my head so that my neck and throat were fully exposed. I’d never done that before, often hiding behind the veil of my hair during our more intense moments, trying to preserve some vestige of modesty. Would he recognise the physical and metaphorical significance of my gesture?

Just as I was about to press the bell again, the door swung open and soft light spilled outwards over the doorstep. My eyes went briefly to the suit-clad man towering over me before dropping down in deference.

‘Hello, Sir,’ I said softly.

‘Good evening, Beth.’ His voice had a low rumble to it that never failed to make my stomach tighten. ‘Do come in.’

He took a step backwards, allowing me to brush past him, and closed the door with a firm click. I heard the bolt slide home as he turned the deadlock.

My gaze remained fixed on the tiled foyer floor but I had no doubt he was looking at me.

‘Eyes up please, Beth.’

I raised me head and barely stopped myself from taking a step backwards. His expression was stern, but also laced with a look of complete devilment that I’d not seen before. At least, not while we’d been playing.

‘Remove your coat and hang it up.’

My hands went automatically to the fabric belt, making swift work of picking apart the knot tying the ends together before unfastening the row of buttons down the front. As the last one slipped free of its hole, the lapels of the mac parted to reveal my nakedness beneath. I shrugged my arms out of the sleeves, carefully gathered the coat in my right hand, and reached up to hang it on the coat rack next to the door.

Turning once again to face him, I waited.

His eyes studied everything. They slowly made their way upwards from my peacock-heeled feet and stocking-clad legs, paused briefly at my suspender-framed pussy and bare breasts, and – finally – came to rest on my face.

I struggled not to fidget as he looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of my bared throat.

‘You have been paying attention.’

A flush of relief crept through me at his praise and the note of approval in his voice, but a shiver of nervousness whispered through me when he moved to retrieve some items from the small hall table.

A collar. And a leash.

I forced myself to stand still as he moved to stand behind me, reminding myself to breathe as the cool, smooth leather of the choker surrounded my neck.

In all the time we’d spent together, he’d never placed anything around my throat. Had never so clearly marked his ownership and my subjugation.

There was a gentle clinking as he drew the collar’s leather tongue through the buckle and then a soft tugging sensation as he fastened it in place and probed between the leather and my neck with his fingers to check the fit. Seemingly satisfied, he reached around and retrieved the leash dangling between my breasts. ‘How does that feel? Is it too tight?’

I shook my head, too shaken to answer verbally.

A firm tug had me turning immediately to face him, red-faced with embarrassment and arousal.

‘I need to hear you say it, Beth. Is it too tight?’

‘N-no, Sir.’

‘Excellent.’

He gripped the leash close to my throat and pulled it lightly upwards, forcing me to raise my chin. ‘Rules for this evening.’ His green eyes bored into mine. ‘Since you seem to be having trouble being polite to others, I am removing your right to speak. The only exception to this is if you need to use your safeword.’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘Tonight is a lesson in manners and your behaviour will be a direct reflection on me. I expect you to conduct yourself impeccably, no matter what.’ His eyebrow raised imperiously at the look of dismay on my face and I hurriedly schooled my face to a neutrality I was far from feeling lest he think I was challenging his order.

Satisfied, he continued.

‘Because of your behaviour earlier today, you have forfeited the right to eat supper with me and will eat at the end of the evening, once the lesson is complete.’

He tilted my head even higher, bringing my face even closer to his until our lips almost touched.

‘Any questions?’ he murmured against my mouth.

I shook my head, as much as my elongated neck would allow.

He smiled, relaxed his hold on the leash, and took a step backwards.

‘Come.’

………

My mind was still struggling to process the sensation of being led like a lamb to the slaughter as he pulled me down the hallway and into dining room, but the moment I walked through the door and saw the long dining table, all thoughts of leashes and collars flew from my mind.

I felt as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over me.

Instinctively, I tried to back up and reverse out of the doorway I’d just walked through.

The leash pulled me up short.

My mouth opened, words of protest poised to trip off the tip of my tongue. But then I remembered I’d given up my right to speak.

I glanced sideways at him and then back at the table in front of me, forcing myself to take it all in.

Candles. A perfectly starched white linen cloth precisely laid with a single setting. A folded napkin. Chopsticks. Silver cutlery flanked by a cane and a shiny metal plug.

Instinctively, I clenched my buttocks.

I managed to tear my eyes away from the objects in front of me and look at the man at my side.

He was studying me carefully, taking in the nuances of my reaction to the table of instruments before me. ‘Do you want to use your safeword, Beth?’

Did I? Even as I asked myself the question, I knew what my answer would be. Yes, I was scared – but I knew him well enough by now to understand that he wouldn’t push things further than I could handle.

I shook my head and stood a little straighter, trying to project an air of confidence when, really, I was shaking in my impractical shoes.

The ghost of a smirk passed over his lips and then he tugged gently on the leash. ‘Down,’ he said firmly. ‘On your hands and knees.’

At first I thought I’d misheard him, but a glance at his face told me my ears definitely weren’t playing tricks on me. Registering my hesitation, he looked pointedly at the ground.

I dropped awkwardly, the soft carpet pressing against my shins, and as soon as I was in position, he moved towards the table, forcing me to crawl after him.

It was humiliating. Trailing after him on all fours like a naughty puppy, my breasts swinging unfettered beneath me as I crawled. But despite my brain’s mental protests at being treated like an animal, my body was undeniably turned on. The space between my legs felt achingly heavy, and each time my thighs rubbed together, I could feel more and more moisture gathering between the lips of my pussy.

He stopped. Lowered himself into the antique wooden dining chair next to the place setting, allowing the loop of the leash to fall down over his wrist as he sat.

I sidled awkwardly up to him and almost squeaked when his hands unexpectedly gripped me around the waist and aligned me so that I was pressed against the side of his chair and his legs. Then, without warning, one was fisted in my bound hair, gripping firmly, pushing downwards so that I was staring at the floor. At the same time, two fingers were shoved unceremoniously into my increasingly wet cunt.

The shock of the invasion caused me to try and buck upwards, but the hand holding my head merely tightened its grip and the fingers inside me pressed in harder.

My body shook as I fought to still myself. Now that the initial surprise was over, I wanted to fuck against the fingers inside me, to push backwards and forwards against them and bring myself to orgasm. But I knew from experience that if I tried to take control, to direct the course of our session, he wouldn’t hesitate to punish me.

Courtesy. Obedience. Surrender. These were the terms of our arrangement, and I knew better than to flout the rules.

It took a few moments, but I somehow managed to get a measure of control over my increasingly turned-on body. Yet as soon as he felt me rein myself in, he started moving his fingers in a smooth, firm rhythm in and out of my body. A rhythm that he often used to make me come.

Thrust, retreat. Thrust, retreat.

It was unbearable. All I wanted was to shove myself back against his hand, but I knew that if I did, or worse, had an orgasm without his permission …

He paused briefly. Added a third finger.

I gulped a breath in and held it, trying desperately not to move.

The fingers slid forwards, all the way in.

Paused again.

As the seconds ticked by with them buried in my cunt, giving me a brief respite from their glorious friction, I almost believed I could hold on to myself.

But then they crooked downwards and slid backwards, dragging across my G-spot. Pushed vigorously forwards again. Pressed firmly downwards in retreat.

I exploded.

Became nothing but a writhing body riding a lightening strike through the aether. The ability to dictate my body’s reactions completely gone. Worse, my mouth was open and I was whimpering softly as the orgasm threaded itself through me, simultaneously sewing my body together and ripping it apart. Technically, it didn’t count as talking, but I had no doubt the distinction was meaningless as far as he was concerned.

My brain, well aware a rule had been broken, fought to regain the upper hand, to bring my body back to itself. I clamped my lips together and locked my knees in an effort to stop my hips from moving but it was an uphill struggle.

Gradually, however, the shivers settled and I became aware that his fingers were resting lightly on the swollen lips of my labia.

The air around us seemed ominously heavy.

‘Did you ask for permission to come?’

‘N-no – Ow!’ I leapt like a doe as his hand landed squarely and firmly between my legs.

‘Remember your manners. You don’t have permission to talk, Beth.’

Oh, crap.

I shook my head vigorously – or as vigorously as the fingers tangled in my hair would allow, each shake causing small bursts of discomfort as the strands pulled against my movements.

The hands let go of me.

‘Sit up, please.’

I did as I was told. And found myself at eye-level with the top of the table. Directly in front of me on the spotless linen sat the chopsticks, the plug and the cane. A trio of silent tormentors, waiting to be used.

‘Pass me the chopsticks, Beth.’

With a trembling hand I reached out, plucked the four wooden utensils from their small obsidian cradle, and laid them gently in his outstretched palm. They were bound together in pairs, held against each other by rubber bands at either end.

‘Stand.’

I wobbled to me feet and stumbled slightly has he pulled me closer to him, his face level with my chest.

The chopsticks still gripped in his right hand, he used his left to push up the breast closest to him and bring my nipple to his lips. There was a warm feeling as his tongue licked across it and then a silky wetness as he sucked the pink flesh into his mouth. I leaned in as he gently teased the flesh into hardness, jerking slightly when he contrasted his softer pulls with light, scraping bites.

Eventually, he released it, leaving it aching and tight in the cool air, before turning his attention to its already peaking sister.

By the time he’d finished with both nipples, I was unconsciously rubbing my thighs together to relieve the throbbing feeling building relentlessly between my legs. His hand came to rest against my thigh – a warning – and I immediately stilled.

I’d had a pretty good idea of what he planned to do with the chopsticks the moment I’d seen them, and my assumptions were confirmed when he proceeded to prise the bound rods apart ­– as much as the rubber bands would allow, at least – and sandwich my erect flesh between them.

I barely managed to stop myself from crying out when he removed his fingers after positioning the sticks on the first nipple, allowing it to be squeezed mercilessly between the two spokes of wood. The second set was even more difficult to take – mainly because I knew what was coming.

Once they were in place, he didn’t give me any time to gather myself.

I was still trying to regulate my breathing, to move past the achy pain assaulting the crushed tips, when he put a hand around my forearm and tugged downwards.

‘Back in position.’

I dropped to my hands and knees immediately and swivelled myself so that I was once again pressed against his legs and the side of his chair, head hanging down.

‘Stay.’

I did. Concentrated on holding perfectly still. Embracing the slow throb of my clamped nipples.

I heard him get up and leave the room.

I wasn’t bound – the leash around my neck hung down on the floor – but I didn’t dare break position.

When my ears picked up the vague sounds of pots and pans rattling, cupboards opening, and the chink of crockery in another part of the house, I realised he was in the kitchen.

The minutes ticked by, steady but endless.

I stared at the carpet beneath my hands, studying the endless rows of woollen loops and trying to ignore the chopsticks torturing my breasts.

Eventually, I heard his footsteps, the slight creak of the door as he re-entered the dining room. There was the sound of something being set on the table and then I felt him pause – perhaps to study me? – before settling back into his chair.

Rustling. A soft click, and then music was drifting through the air.

He’d turned on the sound system.

Oddly, with the mellow notes floating us, his verbal silence seemed more and more pronounced. The scrape of cutlery across a plate. The sound of liquid being sipped. Slight rustles as he shifted position.

While the noises clearly told me he was at my side, the fact that he didn’t speak reminded me loudly and clearly of my place. And the lesson he was giving me.

……….

The sensation of fingertips trailing lightly across my back at what I judged to be the midpoint of his meal was so unexpected that I nearly wriggled out of place, but the comfort of his acknowledgement quickly overrode my surprise. They began to drift lazily up and down my spine, slow and unhurried, and I couldn’t help but relax into the pleasurable caresses. It was as if all the nerve endings in my back were chasing his fingers as they traversed my skin.

When his hand trailed down to the crease of my buttocks and swept through the slick flood of moisture trickling from my pussy, however, my earlier tension returned with a vengeance. And as his hand moved upwards again and he paused to rub his wet fingers across the pucker of my anus, I knew which item would be next to make its way from the table to my body.

‘I believe I’d like you to pass me the butter and the plug, please, Beth,’ he said as he continued to stroke the tight opening.

As I jerked upright to obey and his hand slipped up my back in response to the change in position, he must have registered the look of horror on my face, because he chuckled with undisguised mirth. ‘Oh, Beth. You’ve never seen Last Tango in Paris?’

I shook my head.

He leaned towards me, grabbing the leash close to where it was attached to the collar and bought our faces together so that they were bare millimetres apart. ‘Go get the butter.’

His dark tone had me on my feet in an instant, the leash sliding through his fingers as he allowed me to rise, and my eyes skittered frantically over the table for the butter dish. I spotted it on the far side, sitting by itself on the pristine, white tablecloth, and started to make my way around to it.

‘No.’ The leash stopped me short. ‘Lean over.’

I noticed he had pushed his half-finished plate of food aside and that there was a gap directly in front of his chair between the butt plug and cane.

Oh, shit.

My mouth was dry as I bent forwards and practically lay across the starched linen cloth. The friction as I strained towards the butter dish pulled at my poor, clamped nipples, the pointed ends of the chopsticks dragging against the fabric. I was stretched so far only the toes of my green shoes remained on the ground.

As my fingers closed around the little porcelain saucer, a warm hand pressed against the back of my neck, holding me in place.

‘Reach back and grab the plug, Beth.’

Unable to turn, my left hand floundered at my side like a seizing jellyfish but, eventually, the cool metal plug was gripped in my fist.

The hand moved from my neck to the small of my back.

‘Pass me the butter please, Beth.’

Another awkward scramble as I tried to hand the dish back to him from my prone position on the table. When I managed to get it to my hip, I felt him take it from me and place it in the middle of my back.

‘Don’t move.’

A pressing feeling against my spine – the fingers of his free hand dipping into the dish – and then a relentless pressure against my ass as a well-greased finger was slowly pushed inside. When it could go no further, he withdrew completely and then eased in again.

His movements were completely unhurried, speaking absolutely of his power over me.

The next time his finger left my body, he said only, ‘Plug.’

I released my grip on the metal bulb, loosening my fingers so it lay free in the middle of my palm. Within seconds, its weight was gone and I could feel the butter dish moving on my back as something was pressed into it.

All too soon, the plug’s cool tip was at the entrance of my anus.

‘Breathe out and relax.’

Easy for him to say. No sooner were the words past his lips and he was driving the toy slowly but steadily forwards. At its widest point, the burning sensation was almost unbearable and it felt as if I might split in two, but then it slipped deeper and I was left with it buried inside of me, together with a feeling of fullness that was both disconcerting and arousing.

‘Stand, please.’

I dragged myself backwards across the table and tottered on the ridiculous heels as I tried to get my balance. A hand on my arm steadied me, and I was grateful.

‘I think it’s time we moved those chopsticks, don’t you?’

I knew an answer wasn’t required – that I couldn’t give one anyway – but if I’d had my voice I knew I would have protested. I knew from experience how much their removal was going to hurt.

Sure enough, as his hands released first one nipple, and then the other from their wooden jailors, it took everything I could not to whimper in pain as sensation rushed back into the blood-starved nerves.

Thankfully, he gave me a moment to gather myself. Allowed me to grab the edge of the table as I muscled the ruthless throbbing into a masochistic box. Waited until I stood there quietly: naked, plugged and ready for him to cane me.

‘Nicely done, Beth.’ He moved to my side and briefly caressed the side of my face. ‘You’ll be pleased to know that I’m giving you your voice back for this last part of the lesson.’

Thank God. I’d had no idea how I was going to get through a caning from him without making a sound.

But then he reached into his suit, pulled his mobile from the inner pocket and placed it in front of me on the table.

‘However, you may not be so pleased to know that I’m expecting a business call from James in,’ he glanced at his watch, ‘about ten minutes.’ He paused. ‘He knows you’re here for supper tonight, so don’t worry – he won’t find it odd when you answer my phone – politely – and tell him that I’m on the landline.’ He paused, his eyes glittering. ‘Understood?’

The sadistic bastard.

James. Whose desk was directly next to mine in the office. And he was expecting me to have a conversation with the man while he caned me?

Part of me doubted my ability to do it. The other part, the defiant part, wanted nothing more than to accept the challenge.

‘I asked you a question, Beth.’ His voice was sharper this time. ‘Do you understand me?’

I took a deep breath and nodded, remembering as I did so that I could actually speak once again. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I understand.’

‘Then hand me the cane and bend over the table, please.’

As I picked up the thin instrument and placed it in his waiting hands, I realised that, despite my fear of what was about to happen, I was impossibly excited. Everything – the subjugation, the clamped nipples, the humiliation of being lubricated with a common household condiment and subsequently plugged, for goodness’ sake – had tangled together to bring me to a pitch of arousal that was equivalent to a scream.

The evidence was smeared all over the pink flesh of my cunt and the soft skin of my inner thighs.

I leaned over the table.

‘I’ll warm you up with my hands first. But when James phones, you can expect six strokes from the cane. Three on each side.’

I nodded. ‘Yes, Sir.’

………

To start with the swats of his hand were almost playful, the intensity light, but then they started to become more forceful and the heat in my buttocks began to build. Every so often, his palm would catch me on the base of the plug, and the sensation would ripple through my body and elicit an uncontrolled groan.

By the time the phone rang, I was sure my backside was blushing a fiery, fiery red.

Initially, the trilling caused me to freeze, but then he said ‘Pick it up, Beth,’ and I somehow found the courage to reach out, press the Answer button and bring it to my ear.

‘Gray’s phone. This is Be-.’

The first strike caught me across the left buttock and I whooshed in a breath, momentarily depriving myself of the ability to speak. As the pain burst forth like a sunrise, I struggled in vain to finish the word I’d started. My own name. ‘Beth,’ I gasped. ‘This is Beth.’

‘Oh! Hi, Beth. It’s James. Gray mentioned you were popping over to his place tonight. Something about the …’

My brain short-circuited, James’s words becoming a distant buzz as the cane fell again – not once but twice on my behind in rapid succession. My breathing sounded like thunder to my own ears and I battled to bring it back under control, forcing myself to suck air through my nose.

‘Beth?’

‘I’m so sorry, James,’ I gasped, wracking my brain for a plausible excuse for my stilted speech. ‘I … I thought I’d knocked my drink over. I do apologise. What was it you were saying?’

Crack.

The cane landed on my right cheek this time, and I realised he’d switched sides. Thankfully, James was talking again and I was saved the embarrassment of trying to immediately provide a coherent answer as I tried to ride out the pain.

‘… mentioned you were going over the budget for the Crestworth designs. Anyway, I won’t keep you. Is he there? He wanted me to run him through the latest sales figures.’

‘N-o.’ The word came out partially strangled as he chose that precise moment to strike me on the lower curve of my bottom.

Keep it together, Beth! Only one more …

‘No,’ I stammered again. ‘I mean, he is, but he’s on the landline. Can I get him to call you back?’ I had no idea how I was actually stringing the words together, the buzz in my head, the pain in my bottom, and the throbbing between my legs were pulling at me like a riptide, but, somehow, I actually managed to finish my sentence.

‘Course he can. I’m around all evening.’

‘I’ll tell him.’

‘Thanks, Beth. See you tomorrow, okay?’

‘Yes. Goodbyeeeee.’

The last lash was by far the hardest and there was no way I could moderate my response. Thankfully, my finger had been resting on the phone’s End button, and I could only hope that I’d managed to press it before James heard my ear-splitting shriek.

As I swam in the drugging aftermath of the cane’s kiss, my body shaking and sheened with sweat, I was aware of the plug being removed from my body and a new pressure taking its place. A crisp shirt pressed against my back and strong arms wrapped around me, inserting themselves between my stomach and the table beneath it.

A finger snaked down and brushed lightly over my clit, causing me to buck backwards against the cock buried in my ass. I could feel an orgasm hovering just out of reach.

‘Do you want to come, Beth?’

‘Yes,’ I sobbed. ‘Very much.’

‘Then what do you say?’

‘Please, Sir.’ I tightened my inner muscles around him and heard his breath catch in the back of his throat. He was as close to the edge as I was. ‘Please may I come?’

He pulled back and then rocked his hips forwards, driving me against the edge of the table. Pinched my clit between his clever fingers.

‘You really do have lovely manners when given the right motivation, you know.’

‘I know,’ I gasped as I started to come. ‘How do you think I talked you into becoming my business partner?’

The post Five-minute erotica: Table Manners appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Title:

What do you call a tale where a woman shows up for a business meeting only to be assaulted, manhandled, stripped naked, rendered immobile by being bound to a specially designed piece of furniture, blindfolded, gagged and forced to submit to her captor and, possibly, his stalwart management team?

Aw, you guessed it – it’s a love story.

Geoffrey Tennyson wasn’t one of those men who felt sorry for himself because he had a daughter and not a son. He just played the hand life dealt – and spent every moment from the day she was born until the day he died instilling in her his own version of the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition. There simply wouldn’t be a situation that would come up in any business negotiation that Savannah wouldn’t be prepared for.

But then Matthew Kensington enters the equation.

He’s determined to peel back the layers of business acumen and ice cold ruthlessness to find the woman underneath. To anyone else, it would probably seem like an impossible task. But with the right amount of strategic planning, a carefully crafted and briefed team of associates, and the element of surprise, he’s confident that he can pull it off.

Extreme situations call for extreme measures. And what Matt puts Savannah through is definitely intense. But she actually never says ‘no’ to him (or his colleagues), even though he gives her not one but two methods of calling for help if things get to be too much. And he stays right there with her through every single moment.

Nothing tender or sweet about this one but it’s definitely something of an emotional thrill ride.

Reader advisory: Board Resolution is kind of consensual non-consensual, so if that theme pushes any hot buttons, it may be one to avoid.

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to buy a copy:

Amazon U.K.

• Board Resolution (Knights of the Boardroom #1) – Kindle

Amazon U.S.

• Board Resolution (Knights of the Boardroom #1) – Kindle

Kobo

• Board Resolution (Knights of the Boardroom #1) – ePub

The post Board Resolution – Joey W. Hill appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.