Anyway, brave lady that she is, Tamsin chose to include a snippet from an unpublished story of mine, Dark, in her line-up. Centred around erotic humiliation, it’s a tale I’ve had kicking about on my hard drive for a while now (I’m hoping to find a home for it in an anthology and am thus holding onto the full version with a death grip) but, as we head towards Valentine’s Day, I thought you were all deserving of a smutty little morsel to get you past the cheesy hearts and flowers currently coming at us from all sides. And it’s been a while since I posted some of my own stuff on Chintz.

I hope you enjoy this little taster of Dark; I’ll let you know if and when it finds a place beyond my laptop so that you can read it in its entirety.

Jane
xxx

PS – Tamsin’s up to yet more mischief with Superotica Valentine posts; she’s currently on Day 9, so hurry on over and catch your smutty selves up!

DARK

‘Give me a number.’

It takes me a moment to work out what you mean. My normally agile brain is completely sodden, struck dumb beneath a chaotic waterfall of thoughts.

You want to know if I’m okay. To gauge if this – whatever this is – is too much.

My lips part, a number that I know will bring everything to a halt perched like fluttering bird on the tip of my tongue. But then I press them together again, caging it in. Forcing myself to think before I let it fly free.

Am I scared?

Yes. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. And like most sane people, I fear the unknown. This you, the you that’s managed to surprise me, is someone I’ve not met before. At least, not in a way that’s made such an impression. I think he frightens me a little. But … I’m not entirely sure I dislike the feeling. Really, it all comes down to whether I trust you. Whether I believe you’ll stop whatever it is you’re doing if it transcends beyond what I can bear. Do I believe that?

That answer is easy.

Yes. Absolutely.

So what is the number, then? I’m not hurting. I know you’re here with me, even if I can’t touch you. But I am further from my comfort zone than I can remember being for some time. Amazing, the games your mind can play with you.

Think, think …

A different bird flies free of my mouth, ghosting across the air between us.

‘Six,’ I hear myself croak. ‘Six.’

‘Hmmph.’ A satisfied grunt. Has my answer pleased you? Was it what you were expecting? I can’t see your face, so I have no idea.

‘Position her, please.’

What?! What do you mean ‘position me’? Who are you talking to?

Even as I ask myself these questions, prepare to voice them to you aloud, hands, firm but gentle, wrap around my upper arms and press into the curve beneath my bottom, pulling me backwards and down. I yelp in fright and kick my legs in panic – partly because the hands are not yours and partly because I don’t want to fall – but then I feel something firm meet my upper thighs and I steady. It feels like the hard edge of table. I’m dragged backwards over its surface until the backs of my knees hit the edge, and then someone cups the back of my head before pressing their palm against my sternum.

The unspoken command is unmistakable. Lie down.

I do.

The clinical detachment in your voice as you instruct an unknown someone to raise my dress and lift me feet onto the table is mortifying. Yet even as I feel fingers circling first my left ankle, then my right, the skin of my soles pressing into the smooth wood, I feel something else.

Humiliation. And it is making me wet.

Worse, exposed in this way, my legs crooked and spread, I know you can see that shameful truth. As can whoever else is with you.

A laugh. Not yours. ‘Quite the little whore, isn’t she?’

Oh, god. My skin tightens and burns with embarrassment, even as a sly feeling of pleasure at the base assessment spreads insidiously through my chest.

There is a smile in your voice as you answer, ‘Yes. She is.’

‘Pretty cunt, too.’ Another man’s voice this time, casually observant, as if he were discussing nothing more interesting than the weather.

‘It is a rather lovely pink. Especially when it’s wet like this.’

The rattle of ice in a glass, as if someone has tipped a drink to their lips.

‘Perhaps you’d like a closer look?’

‘Please.’

The burn of embarrassment turns into a prickling inferno. I suspect I know what you’re going to say next.

………………..

The post A little morsel: Dark appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Image: Christmas Fairy. (Me, wearing my halo, whilst sitting in a Pohutukawa – also known as the ‘New Zealand Christmas tree’.)

This Wicked Wednesday is an unapologetic, sentimental and festive ‘thank you’ – a big one! – to all the amazing people who have made my 2013 so happy and wonderful.

Bloggers, writers, readers, fellow kinksters … There are so many of you that I am pleased and proud to know (both online and in person), and who have been totally selfless in support of me and this little Chintzy corner of the Interweb these past twelve months. To that end, I’d like to embarrass a few of you by specifically calling out your awesomeness.

Firstly, Marie, who runs this fantastic meme and has always encouraged and given me the opportunity to participate in it.

The truly lovely and talented Tamsin Flowers. We met over a coffee table at this year’s London Eroticon, and I can honestly say she’s been one of life’s best chance encounters. (It’s not often you find a kindred spirit in smut-writing crime.) Not only that, she’s been a constant source of encouragement and patience. (Read: she’s put up with me even though I’ve been completely rubbish at delivering … well, anything useful to her these past six months.)

Michael, who I adore reviewing erotic books with and who never fails to keep me entertained with John Norman Gor analogies. That, and he doesn’t bat an eyelid at my over-the-top book rants.

Author Natasha Knight. All-round good person and willing to drink cocktails with me on Messenger whilst talking kink.  (I can type ‘nanl exs’ and she still knows what I mean.)

E, who has consistently gone above and beyond the call of duty to help me out with Sinful Sunday pictures (shielded my topless self from unexpected dog walkers in English fields, shooed neighbours away from the front door whilst I’ve lain half naked in her sitting room covered in glitter, etc., etc., etc.).

Molly and DomSigns, who have been nothing short of amazing with me and my other half, M. Thank you both for absolutely everything this past year. Your company, your advice, the excursions, and your friendship. I (we!) miss you guys.

And last but certainly not least, my family, who, without exception, have been unflinchingly supportive of my slightly left-of-centre life and blog – and aren’t afraid to own me and what I do. (Although in future, a certain brother might want to wait until his friends don’t have mouthfuls of crisps and beer before nonchalantly asking me ‘how my porn site is going’.)

Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to you all.

Jane
xxx

The post Wicked Wednesday: Glad Tidings appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

[Magic blog time-lapse technology]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you’re a regular Chintz visitor, you’ll know that I was lucky enough to win one of three Xcite-sponsored tickets to Eroticon 2013, which was held in London last weekend. The conference ran for two full days and featured what can only be described as a truly mighty line-up of speakers, all there to encourage us, whatever our medium – blog or book – to write sex right.

I was so excited to be able to attend, although I must admit I was a little nervous about walking into a crowd of people I’d never met in person before. The very lovely Emma over at Dirty Little Whispers, who I speak to a fair bit online (and who also won a sponsored ticket) thankfully agreed to meet up with me during the initial registration session so I’d be a little less ‘island in the ocean’. However, while I was waiting for her to arrive, I happened to go and stand next to a woman who was busy perusing the weekend’s schedule. We got to chatting and what do you know? Her name was Tamsin Flowers and she was the winner of the third Xcite sponsorship. So in a room full of people, we’d somehow managed to gravitate towards each other. Spooky! (Is there such a thing as Xcite vibes?)

After listening to Ruby Kiddell’s lovely welcome and Rebecca Findlay’s talk about the XES: We Can’t Go Backwards campaign (did you know that on 1 April 2013 contraception and STI services will no longer be provided by the NHS but your local council?!) I said farewell to Tamsin, and Emma and I headed off to the first of many fabulous seminars, Molly Moore’s Myth Busting: the Submissive Woman.

I’m a regular visitor to Molly’s blog, Molly’s Daily Kiss, so was really looking forward to hearing her talk in person. And oh, boy, did she ever live up to her online persona. Molly is such a dynamic, engaging speaker and I could easily have listened to her for hours. She validated so many thoughts I, personally, have about submission and what it is and isn’t, but the thing I liked best was the word graph that she shared with us as the session drew to a close. Molly had asked other submissive women to provide her with a word that they felt best described what submission, as a concept, meant to them. The biggest and boldest words indicated those that were used most frequently. And what were they? Well, I’ll give you three of the largest ones: Trust, Love and Freedom.

Molly’s session set the standard for the rest of the day and each lecture I walked into had me scribbling furiously in my notebook.

Indigo Moore’s Blogging Basics proved that my obsession with love of Pinterest isn’t such a bad thing; Hazel Cushion’s Pitching to Publishers gave me some serious food for thought regarding the rise of serials (I’ve been writing one on Chintz for over six months now; woohoo! for the first time ever, I’m on trend!); and M.K. Elliot’s Self Publishing 1 introduced me to the wonders of AutoCrit.

I can’t really end my summary of Day One, however, without talking a little bit about Remittance Girl’s Creative Writing, which was both entertaining and just all-round awesome. There’s no way I can accurately describe or recount her lecture (too much good stuff came out of her mouth) but I did manage to jot down some rather lovely quotes, which I think outline the flavour and intent of what was an extremely insightful session:

‘Push the limits’

‘Fiction is the best place to put those dark sides of ourselves’

‘The most interesting sexual experiences are the ones that aren’t structured quite right’

‘Erotica must do more than arouse – it’s not just about f*ckers.’

Her words even spawned His Holy Eroticness, @HuggyPope. (If you’re not following the robed one yet, you need to be.)

Day Two began with a truckload of coffee (I’d gotten to bed late after attending the previous night’s Aural Sex readings – thank you to Harper Eliot for organising such a great evening) and a rather large bacon sandwich. But the caffeine and grease soon did their work and before I knew it, I was back into the fray, writing down everything I could with an increasingly blunt pencil.

Tamsin and I attended the Anthologies Panel first thing (Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Yes, Sir and Please, Sir are personal favourites of mine, so I was particularly keen to hear her speak), and then it was off to Molly’s Top Ten Tips For Writing a Sex Blog. Conclusion? I really need to spend some time making Behind the Chintz Curtain easier to navigate.

Given my dysfunctional relationship with Google Analytics, I thought that Michael Knight’s SEO Love would be a great session for me to attend (it was), and it also enabled me to find out a bit more about ‘no follow’ links, which, prior to Ruby Kiddell’s closing plenary on Day One, I had no idea existed. I also learned a catchy new chant: ‘Don’t be a numbers whore!’

My favourite Sunday sessions? The last two: BDSM Tools of the Trade and Self Publishing 2: Sell eBooks and Make Money. The former had what I can categorically say is the most exciting table of items I have ever seen at a conference, and Michael and Molly’s frank and open dialogue with everyone in the audience – and amazing flogging demonstration – elevated the session from excellent to pretty damn terrific. Harper Eliot did a great job (once again!) of live tweeting it, too, so if you’d like to know more about what was covered, go on Twitter and search for the #ToolsBDSMTrade hashtag. I must admit, I may have become a bit enamoured with a little implement that popped up in Tools. Ever heard of a Misery Stick? No? Well, I now own one! And guess what? It makes me very happy!

Self Publishing 2 was a continuation of a session I’d attended on Day One, and a wonderful way to close what was an exceptional weekend. Both M.K. Elliott and Guy New York were a pleasure to listen to – Guy Skyped into the session from across the pond – and, together, they made me feel a lot less nervous about the idea of self publishing, something that I’ve been considering doing for a while now.

In short, Eroticon 2013 was everything I hoped it would be: I met some lovely, lovely people (particularly enthusiastic waving to Tamsin, Emily Rose, Heather, Molly, Emma, and Indigo) and now have about a billion thoughts and ideas buzzing around in my head. A huge and heartfelt ‘thank you’ to Hazel of Xcite Books for giving me the opportunity to attend, everyone who took the time to answer questions I had, particularly Molly, and, of course, to Ruby Kiddell for organising such a brilliant event.

The post My Eroticon: hug a pope, get happy, get published appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.