Behind the Chintz Curtain » erotic

Sinful Sunday: Hand Ball

Jane — Sun, 20 Jul 2014 08:10:23 +0000

So, I wasn’t able to join in with the recent Sinful Sunday competition, where the theme was the 2014 Football World Cup. But I did manage to take an ‘in keeping’ shot of M, despite not being able to post it at the time. Better late than never. Can you forgive his ‘Hand of God’?

Who else is joining in with Sinful Sunday this week? Click on the banner below to find out.

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Two: Best Sinful Sundays … and a little bit of spanking

Jane — Wed, 02 Jul 2014 23:41:45 +0000

Today, 3 July, marks the second official blogiversary of Behind the Chintz Curtain. I’ve actually managed to babble smutty stuff at you all for a full two years.

Wow.

I’m not really going to say much in this post. Just thank all the awesome people who’ve supported me thus far (fellow bloggers, authors, writers, reviewers, friends, family) give you a little visual glimpse back over the past year’s worth of photographs (my favourite images taken for Molly’s Sinful Sunday – c.f. the collage at the top of this post), and leave you with the next little snippet from a story beginning I posted for last week’s Wicked Wednesday. This was the tale the majority of you wanted continued. And, of course, your wish is my command.

Hope you enjoy.

Jane

xxx

LOT – PART TWO

*For those who missed Part One, you can find it here. Simply scroll down to Story Two.

Oh, Christ, but I don’t want to go up there. Can’t think of anything more humiliating. To be stared at by all those men and then sold like a cow at a farmers’ market. Despite the pressure it puts on my windpipe, I find myself planting my feet as my handler begins to move forwards, trying to delay the inevitable, but as soon as he feels the resistance he stops and turns back towards me, his grey eyes narrowing. “Now, now. None of that, girl.”

I expect him to haul me forwards, much as the other girl’s keeper did, but it appears I have completely misjudged the man in charge of me. Before I can blink, his arm is clamped around my torso, we’re chest-to-chest, and a heavy palm is landing on the flesh of my bare bottom. The are blows strong, designed to hurt and, pinned as I am to his torso, I cannot pull away, only yelp in pain each time his hand makes contact with my flesh. On and on the spanking goes, until the cheeks of my backside feel as if they’ve been scorched beneath a hard desert sun. When he finally stops, I am crying, breathing hard against his chest, trying to get my head around the hurt and emotions roiling through me. I concentrate on sucking in air through my nose, releasing it through my mouth, and notice, bizarrely, that the shirt I’m pressed against smells of faintly of laundry detergent.

Fresh, clean and grassy.

“Ready to behave?” he says as he releases me.

His voice is gentle – completely at odds with the physical punishment he has just met out – and I find myself looking at the ground and nodding furiously, unable to meet his eyes.

“Good.” He tugs lightly on the leash. “Let’s get you up there.”

I keep my gaze fixed on the wooden floor as we move forwards, me slightly behind him, refusing to look at the audience, trying to forget that they’re there. But they begin to murmur as we emerge from the wings of the stage and, once again, it becomes impossible to avert my eyes.

Faces. So many faces. They blur, the sea of men seemingly becoming one before me. My heart is beating so fast it aches.

“Watch the steps.”

The softly spoken command has my head swinging back to the man at my side; we’re at the very centre of the stage and he is waiting patiently for me to mount the auction dais. When I don’t move, he steps closer to me and drops his mouth to my ear. “If you don’t get up there, little girl, I’ll bend you over right here so that every man in this room can see just how wet that little pussy of yours is. And then I’ll spank your ass until it’s purple.”

I recoil, his words sending a volatile cocktail of shock and horror raging through my body. “You wouldn’t dare,” I whisper softly, face flaming. “And I’m not wet.”

His mouth hardens and I notice a glint in his eye.

“Did you just challenge me?”

What?! Oh, lord. “No!” I say frantically, reaching out to touch his arm with a placating hand. “I didn’t mean it like that!” I close my fingers around his forearm.

For a second he simply stares at me and I think he’s going to let it go. But then he looks away, opens his mouth to address the room, and I know I am done for.

“Gentlemen!” His voice carries across the rumble of voices swirling around the room. He waits for them to fall silent before turning and nodding to the man with the gavel. “Auctioneer.” The man inclines his head in response. “It appears that,” he looks down at the number written in permanent marker on my left breast, “Lot 14 doesn’t know her place.”

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

“In fact, I’m not entirely sure she is fit for sale.”

I want to hide in shame and fear as sounds of disapproval swell out from the audience.

“First,” this as he holds up a single finger to the audience, “she refused to come out onto the stage when instructed.” A second finger. “Then, she refused to climb on the block.” A third finger. “And, finally, she challenged me and denied her little cunt was wet from the spanking I just gave her.”

More disgruntled sounds from the audience.

“So, tonight, if you are all in agreement, I would like to propose an amendment to proceedings.”

An expectant silence.

“That I be allowed to purchase Lot 14, free and clear, and in return give you the opportunity to observe the corrective lesson that I intend to give her.”

He can’t be serious. He can’t be. I close my eyes and try to ignore the excited whispering that floods the room at his words.

“Does anyone object?”

A chorus of ‘nos’ hit us as the sea of men give their approval and I squeeze my eyes shut more tightly as if doing so will make them go away.

“Excellent.” My keeper’s voice holds a definite note of satisfaction and I feel his warm fingers clamp around my wrist. “You’ve just been bought and paid for, little slut.” The sound of footsteps tapping a steady beat across the wooden stage have my eyes springing open of their own volition; another guard is making his way towards us, a pair of antiquated metal shackles in one hand, a long, thin cane in the other. “Now. Let’s see about getting my money’s worth.”

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Wicked Wednesday: Beginnings

Jane — Wed, 25 Jun 2014 04:27:41 +0000

Image: MAKY. OREL via Wikimedia Commons

There’s nothing quite like penning the first few lines of a new story. Realising a new character, allowing them to step out of your head and onto the page; setting a scene and creating a world for them to walk about in. In fact, I think I may have a slight addiction to beginnings because I’m particularly good at writing these as opposed to middles and ends! Looking in my Drafts folder, I’m greeted by a veritable wash of documents containing snippets of text – monuments to ideas that I absolutely had to get down before they disappeared into the black hole of lost thoughts and then, after typing those critical words, promptly did nothing with.

It’s not that I consciously abandon creative flashes, rather that I an idea strikes and nine times out of ten I’m working on something else that means I can’t give it my undivided attention. Inevitably, by the time I have the breathing room to explore it, the urgent creative outpouring I initially experienced has ebbed or I’ve forgotten that I had the idea in the first place. There have been quite a few occasions when I’ve gone to open a document up, seen a file I have no recollection of creating, opened it, and gone “Oh, yeah! Why didn’t I keep going with that?”

So, I need your help, my lovelies. Below, are snippets from three stories I started writing and failed to continue with. There is one that stands out more than the others to me but I thought it would be fun to see which introduction is most appealing to you.

Given the choice, which story should I continue to write? Which would you most like to read?

EXCERPT ONE: “CLEAN”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I shriek, spinning around as I do so. Almost slip on the wet, soapy tiles.

He’s standing right next to the glass door of the shower cubicle, completely naked, a grim look on his face.

Busted.

My face flames and I drop my guilty hands to my sides, the hot shower spray washing the last of the frothy suds from my belly and between my legs, sending them swirling down the drain.

There’s nothing I can say.

We both know that I’ve broken my promise.

I’d hardly say that I’m a neat freak. I’m not the sort of girl who folds up her clothes after wearing them, who makes her bed neatly every morning before skipping merrily off to work. No, more the kind who leaves the washing in the dryer for as long as possible rather than putting it away. Leaves flowers in vases until the blooms have long dried up, withered and crumbled into dust.

In fact, I’m not really tidy at all.

But when it comes to cleanliness? Well, you know that old mantra. It really is next to Godliness in my book. Especially when it comes to my body. I shower at least twice a day, every day – and always, always after sex.

The drip and trickle of rapidly cooling semen coating my pussy and legs?

The sticky smear of my own arousal?

The urge to wash both from me pounces within seconds of him pulling out.

I know it’s irrational. I do. And he hates that I’m so eager to wash the evidence of his possession off of me, his disappointment seeping into me like a cold, dismal damp. I think we both knew that my promise to try and accept the mess of our joinings was a hollow one but to have my lack of commitment to our agreement confirmed is worse than I imagined.

His gaze bores into mine.

“Get out of the shower. Go and lie on the bed.”

EXCERPT TWO: “DOCTOR’S ORDERS”

Your eyes are as wide as saucers; white moons eclipsed by little planets of deep green. “I … I’m sorry?”

Mortification perfumes your voice, makes it vibrate and shiver like smoke.

Oh, this is perfect.

You heard me. No question. But on this occasion I’m happy to repeat myself – not least because I want to see the look on your face when the words finally sink in.

“You’re going to be examined,” I say blandly, careful to mask my pleasure at your reaction.

“But …” Your eyes skitter across to the shiny metal table winking beneath the bright, hanging lights and then dart quickly away, as if the sight of it burns your retinas. Even as I watch, the skin over your collarbone turns a delicious shade of strawberry. “You know I don’t like being …” You trail off again, wavering from the path of speech.

I remain silent, delighting in your struggle to find the right words. To admit the truth. And your fear. Bless. There really is nothing more beautiful, more intoxicating, than a sub who’s just realised she’s about to be eaten by the wolf. That he’s going to sink his teeth in.

“People will see me,” you finally blurt out, your gaze locked to the floor, seemingly absorbed in watching your left foot paint awkward patterns on the wooden floor.

“They’ll see your cunt, you mean.”

The blush climbs your neck and threatens to scorch your lovely, pale cheeks.

“I can’t do it,” you say, almost defiantly, although when you finally look up, your eyes silently plead with me for mercy. Mercy we both know I’m not going to show.

For a time I simply watch you, enjoy observing the war you’re waging with yourself play out across your face: your ingrained sense of modesty versus your need to submit. To me. I know what the outcome of the battle will be, of course – knew before the skirmish was even declared – but I have no doubt your humiliation will be far, far deeper if you agree to this without any form of coercion on my part. None of this “he gave me no choice” crap.

I want to fuck both your body and your head. Invade every recess of both and turn you inside out until you’re nothing but a ball of shame and need.

You’re going to hate me for it, without a doubt. But you’re going to adore me in equal measure.

It’s just the way it is.

EXCERPT THREE: “LOT”

The auctioneer’s gavel strikes like an axe against a neck.

“Sold, for five hundred pounds, to the gentleman in blue.” Polite applause. “Congratulations on your purchase, sir.”

Don’t look, I tell myself. Don’t look. But, inevitably, I find my eyes scanning the audience of smartly dressed men, trying to spot the buyer. It isn’t difficult; he’s tipping his head slightly in acknowledgement of his purchase, a smirk on his too perfect face. Arrogant shit. I stare at him for a few moments but the sounds of a struggle pull my attention abruptly away.

It’s the red-headed woman he’s apparently just bought. She’s being led from the auction block, resisting like crazy, by a huge blonde man.

“Please. Not him. Please, not him!”

Her feet scrabble at the floor as she tries to pull backwards but her jailor pays her absolutely no attention, remains completely unperturbed. He just marches her relentlessly forwards until she stands, trembling, before the blue-shirted man who has paid for her.

The buyer doesn’t bother to get up, doesn’t touch her. Simply regards the naked woman in front of him with a detached expression. A faint smile plays about his lips, though, and it appears that he is pleased with his purchase.

A tug at my neck startles me and I jerk in fright before remembering the collar at my throat and the leash dangling from it like a thin, black snake. I turn and glare at the man holding the latter.

“Watch it,” I growl.

He chuckles slightly. “You’re next, darlin’.” Nods his head towards the stage and the auction block at its centre.

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Sinful Sunday: Shadow Game

Jane — Sun, 22 Jun 2014 07:14:40 +0000

More lighting fun. Amongst other things …

Click on the banner below to find out who else is joining in with this week’s Sinful Sunday.

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Sinful Sunday: Phoenix

Jane — Sun, 01 Jun 2014 05:35:09 +0000

This month’s Sinful Sunday prompt is ‘Black and White’:

“Not to be confused with monochrome which means ‘one colour’. I am looking for purely black and white images. No Sepia, no Cyanotype, no Split Tones, no Infrared etc just plain ole Black and White.

However, in order to add interest I am going to suggest that it would be fun if we all posted the original colour version of the image alongside the Black and White so we can see how the two compare.”

Ever since I took my triptych images for the last Sinful Sunday competition, I have become more and more interested in how I light my photographs. The below picture was lit almost entirely by the glow of a fire (hence the post title) with a little stray light coming through the doorway of an adjoining room.

I’m actually not sure whether I like the black and white or the colour version, with its very orangey tones, as the two variations give me completely different feelings. Which do you guys prefer?

Oh, and ten points if you can spot the stray piece of LEGO I forgot to pick up off the floor before shooting this!

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Sinful Sunday: His Take

Jane — Sun, 25 May 2014 07:48:56 +0000

“It’s not how the world see you, it’s how you see yourself.”

Well, that’s true to a certain extent. But I’m always curious as to how M sees me. This week, I decided to give him my camera. I told him he could take any picture of me that he liked and I would publish it for Sinful Sunday – and this is the result.

Didn’t realise just how many freckles I’ve acquired on my back over the years!

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Sinful Sunday: M

Jane — Sat, 17 May 2014 22:55:58 +0000

Browsing through the various pictures I’ve taken since I started joining in with Sinful Sunday, I suddenly realised that I haven’t taken all that many of M. Hmm. Time to rectify the oversight, methinks …

Click on the link below to find out who else is joining in with this week’s Sinful Sunday …

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e[Lust] #58

Jane — Fri, 16 May 2014 03:09:35 +0000

As ever, there are some excellent articles in this month’s edition of e[Lust] but I’d just like to say how pleased I am that Cara Sutra’s post has made the top three. A balanced, articulate and well-thought out piece that skilfully tackles the subject of rape fantasy. A tricky and emotive topic – one that many of us will likely disagree on – handled with care, surety and aplomb. Bravo.

Photo courtesy of Pandora Blake

Welcome to Elust #58 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #59? Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Do NOT take my rapeplay fantasy away from me!

Pulp Fiction

“O” is for Outlaw No More

Ein (The Dustmother Trilogy) – Sorcha Black

Jane — Wed, 30 Apr 2014 04:27:28 +0000

Title: Ein
Author: Sorcha Black
Publisher: Belfry Publishing (22 March 2014)
ASIN: B00J6S8YSW
Reviewer: Jane

Quiet.

That’s the word that springs to mind when I reflect upon Sorcha Black’s first solo novel, Ein. It seems like an unusual adjective to apply to an ‘erotic’ fantasy – I can’t recall a time I’ve ever thought of describing a story from this genre in such a way – but against all odds given the content (torture, sadomasochism, non-con), it just seems to fit. And this lack of literal ‘noise’ in Ein is in no way negative. Far from it. As a writer, it takes some serious, serious skill to wield a club weighed down with a heavy storyline and stop yourself from beating readers over the proverbial head with it.

If I’m going to read fantasy, I generally prefer the urban kind. It’s not that I have a rubbish imagination, rather that I tend to enjoy those books that have some sort of link to my own reality. There’s a level of grittiness to a novel that’s only a few steps removed from real life that I just don’t seem to be able to find in one that’s infested with plagues of elves and goblins. Creatures that breathe fire and have hairy feet don’t really get my engine going. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is about my limit.

So is Ein an urban fantasy, then? Well, no. Somehow, it manages to sit smack bang in the middle of an erotic fantasy no-man’s (or should I say ‘no dragon’s’) land. And that’s a place that I’ve not visited before. It’s as if Sorcha Black’s gone a hundred metres towards Graceling, hung a left up the hill towards Comfort Food, crossed the bridge towards Robin Hood’s house, and finally pitched the Ein tent on a patch of land about a mile down the road from all three. Perhaps the reason the story feels so relatable is the mediaeval undercurrent that seems to flow gently through the world that the author has created.

The mold-breaking doesn’t end there, either. Einan, our heroine (Ein for short) isn’t, despite the hellish ordeals she goes through, a damsel dishrag in need of rescuing.

Halle-bloody-lujah.

The girl has a backbone of pure steel and is able to compartmentalise the sacrifices she makes with her body for the sake of her children in a way that we rarely see. She loves her man (and her woman) fiercely but her relationships don’t define her personality or her well of inner strength. Even when they’re not there, she survives and endures.

The BDSM content is intriguing, to say the least. There are clear markers for the modern D/s lifestyle – such as Ein’s simple and beloved rope collar – however, as with her characterisation, Sorcha doesn’t go for the obvious. This is definitely not the standard male Dom, female sub story. I won’t say any more than that to avoid introducing spoilers but even if switching and F/F are not normally your bag Ein is still worth your time; the characters’ relationships are twined together so beautifully that I’m pretty certain you won’t find the time to get hung up on who is topping and who is bottoming.

The sharp-eyed amongst you may have noticed that I wrapped the word ‘erotic’ in the first paragraph in quotation marks. That’s not unintentional. Even though Ein does have erotic elements (capture fantasy, D/s, polyamory) I would tentatively suggest that if sits closer to the dragonless fantasy genre than traditional erotica. Why? Because the Gutrian/Cedesian tapestry into which Ein’s love stories are woven is just too colourful and rich to ignore and, to my mind, supersedes the sexual content.

A wonderful, albeit intense, read and the perfect book to drag me out of the erotic romance cookie cutter funk I’ve been drowning in lately.

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

Amazon.co.uk

Ein – Kindle

Amazon.com

Ein – Kindle

*Please note that a copy of Ein was provided free of charge by the author in exchange for a fair review.

The post Ein (The Dustmother Trilogy) – Sorcha Black appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

e[lust] #57

Jane — Fri, 25 Apr 2014 06:03:01 +0000

*A massive ‘thank you’ to Molly and DomSigns who have been so patient with regard to my lack of Internet these past two weeks and kindly allowed this delayed posting of the April edition of e[lust].

Photo courtesy of Cammies on the Floor

Welcome to Elust #57 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #58? Start with the rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!