Pondering Penis Lipsticks While Awaiting Inspiration

25 May

Sexy red head woman in black lingerieBy Elizabeth Shore

If you’re like me, with a thousand more things to do than there are hours in the day, you wish for more free time the way Kim Kardashian might wish for a brain. Recently, however, I’ve found myself with a boatload of spare time on my hands. Days and days and days of it.

Nothing has been worse for my writing career.

Why is this happening, I ask myself. WHY? I should have written three novels by now and outlined a fourth. I should have my Goodreads page updated, my Amazon author page updated, and have enough blog posts written so I can take the rest of the year off. But have I done any of those things? Even one? No siree! I also haven’t organized my closets, given my apartment a proper cleaning, or switched out my winter clothes for summer. Turns out, in order to get my rear in gear, I’m the type of person who needs a serious deadline. A pressure writer. Perhaps, even, a pressure thriver.

When I was in college I was asked by someone extremely close to me to write a paper on his behalf. Yeah yeah, I know. I probably shouldn’t have offered. But hey, I was in love. So anyway, I had this paper to write. I put it off and put it off, ’cause, you know, I had plenty of time. But then the deadline crept on up me and the night before it was due I holed up in my room sweating it out. Cursing and swearing and pledging to myself that I would never ever ever get myself into that position again. But I met the deadline, finished the paper, and turned it in to my friend. And the grade? Well, ahem. I aced it.


(Picture: Instagram/grownfolkparty) The colors are awfully bright, aren’t they? Wait, that’s NOT what I’m supposed to be focusing on?

I look back on that incident, combined with my thorough lack of motivation in my present situation, and it all adds up to needing some pressure, a deadline, a driver with a sharp whip screaming at me to get moving. If I don’t have that, I do senseless things that leave me completely unsatisfied, like looking at phallic lipsticks and trying to decide whether I like the available colors. Or whether I’d have the balls – heh – to use them in public.

In the absence of having a deadline put upon me, I need to put one on myself. This is surely one of the reasons why writers sign up for the annual NaNoWriMo challenge. You’re given an insane deadline with a clear cut goal. Now get to it. For me, the key to successfully wrangling this free time and making the best of it is structure. I need a schedule that tells me exactly what I should be doing, when, and for how long. And then I have to stick to it. If I don’t have that, who knows how I’ll occupy my time. I might decide I need to make my eyebrows multi-colored. In the meantime, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some cute kitten videos to watch.

Be sure to check back tomorrow for a FREE READ of my newest erotic historical release, Desire Rising 

Elizabeth Shore writes both contemporary and historical erotic romance. Her recent releases include Hot Bayou Nights and The Lady Smut Book of Dark Desires. Her newest book, released April 29th, is an erotic historical novella, Desire Rising, from The Wild Rose Press.










Being the Change: #StarringJohnCho

24 May
I vote yes.

I vote yes.

By Alexa Day
Why not John Cho?
William Yu took this question to Twitter a little while ago. If Hollywood knows that diversity sells, Yu says, why isn’t Hollywood trying harder to achieve that diversity? In fact, Hollywood seems to be running away from diversity with regard to Asian characters. Emma Stone made news when she was cast to play an Asian lead character in Aloha, and the news since then has not gotten better.
So what’s the problem? Yu points to a leaked email from Aaron Sorkin, in which the writer explains how hard it is to adapt stories with Asian leads for the screen because “there aren’t any Asian movie stars.
My personal favorite. I actually thought this was a real movie.

My personal favorite. I actually thought this was a real movie.

Wow. Hard to believe that someone who works in the industry at that level was willing to go there, even in an email not intended for public consumption. That’s something else.
Yu responded to this by creating #StarringJohnCho, a Twitter campaign designed to help people better visualize Asian leading men by Photoshopping one onto a whole lot of movie posters for some popular films. We need no longer imagine an Asian leading man. We have — we have always had — an Asian leading man in John Cho.
(Better yet, we had an Asian leading man long before this: check out #StarringJamesShigeta. And we have an Asian leading lady today in #StarringConstanceWu. But I digress.)
Too much? Nay, friends. Not enough. Thanks to @Becoming_Bryna.

Too much? Nay, friends. Not enough. Thanks to @Becoming_Bryna.

It’s not just that John Cho is pretty to look at, although I will not now be heard to deny that he is just as hot as the day is long. John’s smart. He’s funny. He has an impressive range — he’s played a legendary stoner in the Harold and Kumar series and he’s the reason I started watching Sleepy Hollow. And while he seems fairly down to earth — not many people would respond to a Twitter movement like this as quietly as he has — he’s not afraid to say what needs saying.
Like this:
That was a little more than a year ago, long before #StarringJohnCho.
My point is that I’m not just interested in John Cho’s presence in these mocked-up movies. I’m interested to see what John Cho would bring to these roles as the incomparable actor that he is.
So why not John Cho? We’re not really waiting for Aaron Sorkin to get the memo, are we?

Beyond Ecstasy by Kit Rocha: A Review

23 May

Click on image to buy!

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

We’re coming to the end of Kit Rocha’s bestselling “Beyond” series, a series I’ve been an avid fan of for some time now. Beyond Ecstasy is the penultimate installment in the series and the first book after the game-changing events of Beyond Ruin.

Look! A blurb!

The O’Kanes have a reputation for working hard and playing harder—except for Hawk. He joined the gang with one goal: to ensure his family’s survival through the impending war with Eden. It’s been years since he had the luxury of wanting anything for himself. Now, he wants Jeni. From the first moment he saw her, he’s been obsessed with making her his. Not for a night—forever.

Jeni’s been lusting after the former smuggler for months, but he keeps shutting her down. She’s almost given up on getting him in her bed when he offers her the last thing she ever expected—a collar. Accepting it means belonging to him, body and soul. It’s a reckless gamble, but Jeni can’t resist the chance to slip under Hawk’s armor.

The only thing more shocking than the dark, dangerous pleasure they discover is how right it feels. But falling in love is even more reckless when forever is far from guaranteed. Because they aren’t just at war, they’re out of time—and every breath could be their last.

Now that Eden has bombed the holy hell out of Sector Two, attempt to assassinate one sector leader and successful assassinated another, the O’Kane’s and their allies are shoring up their defenses and preparing for the inevitable worst: an invasion of the sections by the forces of Eden. Tensions are high, crime is up, and people are starting to despair, even those who are loyal to Dallas O’Kane. For the last several books, Hawk and Jeni have been circling around one another. Hawk hails from Sector Six, where massive farms produce the majority of the food that feeds Eden. Where other sections get birth control piped into their water, in Sector Six, fertility drugs are pushed so that the multiple wives of the farm owner’s can produce more workers on a regular basis. So Hawk comes with a host of stepmothers and half sisters and brothers, all of whom he left behind when he helped Finn and Trixie escape the tyranny of Sector Five back in Beyond Addiction, cinching his entrée into the O’Kanes.

Jeni is a dancer at the Broken Circle and one of the elite prostitutes of Gia’s famed house, the same house where Ace and Jasper both once plied their former trade. She has a picture perfect memory, so Dallas sets her to work unraveling and vetting coded messages to find out who in their sector might be betraying them to Eden. Sexually, she’s been playing with Dallas and Lex for a while as their submissive, but as she’s seen other O’Kane’s pair up to find happiness, with a front-row seat to Dallas and Lex’s own perfectly balanced union, she’s realized this is the kind of love and partnership she wants for herself, not to always remain an accessory of another’s pairing. She thinks she might find this with Hawk, who snagged her attention and interested from the moment he arrived, but she can’t seem to make it past his taciturn shields.

Hawk’s been holding out on Jeni for several reasons. While he holds no judgment, the free-wheeling sex fun of the O’Kane’s isn’t really his bag. He wants the real thing, and when Jeni finally gets him to admit how he feels about her, he warns that he’s not into her for a hook up, he wants her to wear his mark from the get go, a collar he’s already had made, because it’s the end of the world so why waste time, ya know? Since he has a point, and she’s been wanting him for a long time, Jeni signs on for a trial run.

Except this is Sector Four, so naturally, it’s not as easy as that. Hawk returns to his home sector as Dallas’s envoy–and takes Jeni with him to meet the extended fam–so he can advise them how to prepare for the coming invasion. It’s while they’re there that Hawk and Jeni begin their relationship, getting to know each other while exploring limitless lines of pleasure and pain together.

Jeni and Hawk are basically trying for one last chance at love and happiness before the world ends. Hawk needs to believe there’s a future to fight for while Jeni is looking to enjoy what time they have left, two philosophies that may not be able to coast along together no matter how much love they may feel for one another. And when Eden makes its forceful hand known, Hawk and Jeni get caught up in the aftermath, leading them to a heart-breaking, all or nothing situation from which only one of them will survive.

Beyond Ecstasy isn’t the calm before the storm, it’s smack in the eye of it. Each Beyond book widens the depth and breath of this world and this time around, we’re back to get more of Sector Six while there’s also a sprinkling of hints of what’s to come in the final clash between the O’Kane’s/the Sectors and the might of Eden. After the bedroom gymnastics to accommodate a union of four in Beyond Ruin, focusing on only two people in Beyond Ecstasy was a relief. Maybe this is why Beyond Ecstasy feels somewhat sweeter and less complicated. Or it might be because Hawk’s family farm in Sector Six is a more traditional venue with green grass and barns and extended family who are actually related to one another, as though the gritty, urban series was transported to the Heartland before it’s destroyed (or is it?). The world-building has all its usual sublime intricacy and all of the favorite suspects make appearances to check us into their statuses. All around, Beyond Ecstasy is another sexy and satisfying romp with the O’Kanes, chock full of heart-stopping action and shocking revelations, centered around a couple trying to hold off the end of the world by holding on to each other for just a little while longer…if they can.

Check out all our Lady Smut Kit Rocha coverage here

Follow Lady Smut. It’s the end of the world and we know it, but we feel fine.

Writer, singer editor, traveler, tequila drinker, and cat herder, Kiersten Hallie Krum avoids pen names since keeping her multiple personalities straight is hard enough work. She writes smart, sharp, and sexy romantic suspense. Her debut romantic suspense novel Wild on the Rocks is now available. Visit her website at www.kierstenkrum.com and find her regularly over sharing on various social media via @kierstenkrum.

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read part 2

22 May

By Isabelle Drake

Each Sunday, I’m offering up a part of my serialized erotic zombie horror story, Servant of the Undead.  If you missed last week’s Part : “Do it” please start there.


Part 2: “Do it Now.”

“Give me hand?” she said, her voice rough, probably from climbing up the side of the building. One of her hands started to slide, and she used her elbow to brace herself in the frame. “ServantPlease?” Snow and wind blew in, slickening the sill and her elbow started to slide. “Hurry.”

Hayden glanced down the hall, but he was surrounded by dim silence. That security guard was probably combing the stacks, looking for anyone else desperate enough to be at the library in the middle of a snowstorm. Or, more likely, trying to find the scary monster section. The coast was clear, so he pulled a chair over and stepped on to the seat.

He reached up. “Give me your hand.”

Clouds of snow blew in, blinding Hayden, but he reached up, grabbing for the girl. His hands connected with something wet and cold, an arm maybe, and he curled his fingers around icy flesh.

“I think I have you,” he said, trying to look up but getting a face full of snow.

“Pull me in.”

Hayden yanked until he heard a yelp.

“Okay, stop. I can climb down from here.”

“You sure?” he asked, still holding on.

“Yes. Get out of the way.”

Hayden squared himself. “I’m not sure I care for your tone.”

The girl’s voice came again, the hesitation completely gone. “Get out of the way or I’m going to land on you.”

“Suit yourself,” Hayden said, stepping off the chair.

Between gusts of wind and snow, a body appeared. Somehow, she’d managed to turn herself around in the window, spinning so her legs, covered in tattered black fishnets, came down first. Booted feet landed on top of the copier. A tiny, midnight blue skirt barely covered her ass. Her torso was wrapped in some kind of red sweater that left parts of her skin exposed. Once she was fully out of the window and standing on the copier, she reached up on tiptoe, closed the window and turned around.

Hayden looked up her skirt and caught a glimpse of skin. The fishnets were real stockings. That meant her thighs were bare. What if she wasn’t wearing panties? Her pussy would be—

d40574bec76925c961a59063b71e087f“Do you always have such an attitude when someone asks for help?” She put her hands on her hips, her long fingers flashing white in the fingerless gloves, and looked down at him. Her arched back made her breasts look huge.

Instead of waiting for an answer, she dropped down to sit on the copier then hopped down to the floor. Correction. Her breasts were huge. Porn worthy, for sure.

Shit. His hard dick had conjured her up.

She lifted her hands to smack snow from her hair, her breasts shaking from the movement. Maybe the sweater would give way on its own? A scent drifted through the air and settled in the back of his mouth, on his teeth—bitter, like the smell of blood.

“You’re not very friendly. Is there anyone else here?” she asked, running her hands across her arms and legs, spreading snow onto the floor and flicking some on to him.

Obviously, he hadn’t conjured her up, because if he had she wouldn’t be looking for anyone else besides him, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be using that tone. And that smell—he wouldn’t have added that, couldn’t have imagined a scent so insidious, one that filled his mouth, making him salivate and gage at the same time.

“It’s a bit snowy out there.” He swallowed, clearing his throat. “I think the flurries might be keeping people at home.” If she noticed his sarcasm, she didn’t respond. She didn’t seem to notice his rude staring, either, so he kept on. If she wasn’t going to bother being polite he wasn’t either.

Her nipples were peaked tight, rubbing against the red fabric. The scent faded. Either that or he stopped caring. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, staring at the red material wrapped around her torso. It wasn’t really a sweater; it looked more like a strip of fabric spun around her like a giant ace bandage.

She finally got the last of the snow off, but her clothes were soaked and clinging. Even so, she wasn’t shivering. Didn’t even look cold. Or concerned about the oddness of climbing in through a library window in the middle of a storm. Hayden backed up and she came closer, then brushed past him and marched halfway down the hall, her skirt brushing against her thighs. Hayden started wondering about panties again. She definitely seemed like the kind of girl who would go without. When she reached the end of the hall, she looked from side to side, then strutted back, coming straight for him.

“You’re right about the storm, and it’s empty on the streets, too. That’s why I came in here,” she said, her voice switching to an awkward sweetness when she continued. “You are the only person around.”

“There’s a security guard.”

Her lip curled. “Doesn’t sound like a good idea. Not the kind of man I’m looking for.” She moved forward, swaying so that the hem of her skirt came up, showing the tops of her stockings.

Obviously, this girl was trouble with a capital T, and Hayden had spent his whole life avoiding trouble, playing it safe and getting things done. He backed up, reaching for the stack of books he’d left on top of the copier. Never mind the copies. He tucked the books under his arm and marched back the way he’d come. He didn’t even take one last look at her gorgeous round breasts, pouty lips, or fishnet-covered legs. No need, really. He wouldn’t be forgetting any of the details any time soon.

“Wait!” she called after him, and he heard the thud of her boots as she took off.

The even rhythm followed him all the way to the table where he’d left his things. He set the books down and started putting his papers into folders. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.


Part 3 “Thanks” coming Sunday, May 28.

Until then follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.


Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

Sexy Saturday Round Up

21 May

SSRU“It’s May, the lusty month of May!” You’ve found us–and it’s Saturday! Time for our SSRU.  Here we inspire you with hope about progress on the pro-sexual front, roll our eyes occasionally, and tickle your gender palate with all the smexy there is.  Your antidote to the weekend blahs.

From Madeline:

But I don’t want a blue-tooth in my vagina. Tampons for the future.

From NYTimes: Single Woman seeking manwich.  [While I appreciated this article, it was, alas, not about a woman forming a human sandwich with two guys like I thought it would be.😦 ]

Who you calling dunk? Jezebel glories in stock photos of supposedly drunk women /women about to hurl.

Have you tried the latest trend in Rainbow Brite eyebrows?

From Elizabeth SaFleur: The tantalizing truth about sex pheromones

From Elizabeth Shore:

Here you go, guys: A user’s guide for how to f**k a turned-on woman.

And here’s a bonus guide! – What we’re thinking when guys are going down on us.

Get married, watch more porn. Well, women do anyway.

Sex toys for people with lots and lots of money. 24-karat dildo, anyone?

Self-pleasure 101.









Please keep writing, because the world wants your sexy words

20 May

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

This post was originally going to be about why tattoos are sexy, and I promise I will write about that soon, but instead, I wanted to give those of you who want to write, or have dreamed of writing, or do write but have doubted yourself lately a little pep talk. (For the record, I place myself in that final category.)

I know not all of you reading Lady Smut consider yourself writers, but I also know that almost all, if not all, writers start out as readers. There’s a huge overlap between the two groups, and so for those of you who’ve ever entertained the idea of writing but put it off because you weren’t sure of your abilities, or were nervous about what people would think because you write romance or erotica or sex scenes, or for any other reason, I want to say: the world wants your writing.

Now, that may sound grandiose, especially because I can’t guarantee that you will sell your writing or find a wide readership; nobody can guarantee that, and that’s okay. I can tell you that your writing is valuable no matter how many people read it and that if you put it out there, wherever “out there” is, someone will read it.

I teach erotica writing classes in person and online, and every single time I do, I’m struck by the fact that many of my students are taking a huge risk in daring to open themselves to a genre that is still often looked down up, maligned and misunderstood. There’s often a lot of fear about even putting down sexy words on their computer screen, let alone showing them to anyone else. But when they do it anyway, they are almost always amazed at how freeing it is to simply start unleashing the images and scenes and ideas that have been floating around in their head.

I was inspired today to share this pep talk by an essay novelist Jaime Clarke wrote at Literary Hub titled “Why I Quit Being a Writer.” Before I even started reading it, even though I’m not familiar with Clarke’s work, I felt a pang of sadness, because for me, writing has been the mainstay of my life, the thing that has gotten me through the toughest of times, that has allowed me to access other worlds and communities, the thing that has always grounded and centered me. After finishing the essay, I have a better understanding of Clarke’s perspective, and I respect it, but I also know that so many would-be writers quit before they start, or quit at the first sign of rejection, or let someone else’s opinion matter more than their own, and I want to encourage you get right back out there and keep writing, if it’s something that’s at all important to you.

That’s not to say writing is “easy.” For me, certain pieces flow out of me as if fully formed, and others are absolutely agonizing, each word one I have to search my mind desperately to conjure. Often, I have to trick myself into writing, daring myself to write a certain number of words or for a given time period simply to get my fingers moving, even if what comes out looks to me like gibberish. I’ve written short stories that have gotten published and when I’ve read them later, all I could see was where I wish I’d done things differently.

But that’s all part of the process. Our writing experience doesn’t necessarily end when we hit send or publish or see our name in print. While the words may remain static, our minds do not. There is always the next story, the next chapter, the next blank page to tackle.

For me, I find that when I start to compare myself with other writers, that’s where I start to falter. Whether that’s ogling their Instagram accounts or fancy blurbs or book reviews, the truth is, I will never be that person or able to write in their voice. I can certainly hone my craft, but at the end of the day, I can only write as myself—and that’s a good thing. That’s where your strength, uniqueness and individuality come into play, and where your words can shine and draw in readers who want to hear what you and only you have to say.

signing at Book Expo America

signing at Book Expo America

Last week, I attended book publishing convention Book Expo America (BEA) to sign copies of my anthology Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1, and also to simply observe all the new books surrounding me and talk to others who are as passionate about books as I am. It would be very easy to get discouraged at such an event, to feel like such a small fish in such a giant pond that I might as well swim away and shut up. Instead, I made sure to truly connect with the many readers, writers, librarians, booksellers and distributors I spoke with, to feel grateful that out of the hundreds of thousands of books published each year, there were people who were excited about mine.

Back in March, Elizabeth Shore posed the question, “Should we be writing if nobody’s reading?” This post is my way of saying to you, whether you’re a multi-published author, a budding writer, or someone who’s never even contemplated picking up a pen, that yes, you should. Now, I’m not arguing that everyone is somehow obligated to write; not everyone wants to express themselves in that format.

Yet based on my experience teaching hundreds of erotica writing students, I have a strong feeling that the line between “reader” and “writer” is incredibly malleable. Witness all the erotic authors who’ve said that on some level, the success of Fifty Shades of Grey inspired them to start writing, whether because they thought they could do better, or they saw that E.L. James didn’t come to fiction from a lofty place on high, but as a TV executive turned writer of fan fiction. Maybe you don’t see yourself as a writer today, but tomorrow something fabulous and unexpected, or horribly life-changing, or explosively erotic, happens and you find yourself thinking, I have to write about this. If you wind up in that position, even it’s just a momentary inkling and you have no idea what will happen after you write the first sentence, do it. Don’t hesitate, don’t wait, don’t look to anyone else for “permission.”

Here’s the thing about writing: you never know who’s reading, who’s paying attention, who’s absorbing what you write. You might think you’re writing for people who look and sound and think like you, but find that your work connects with people who are in totally different places in life than you are. There’s no way of knowing that until you put those words down and send them off into the world, whether that’s a blog post, a Facebook status update, a short story, an essay, a book, a magazine, or a handwritten missive posted on a coffeeshop bulletin board. Call it woo-woo if you like, but I fully believe that the right people will find your words at the right time, and I don’t mean because you used the perfect SEO or used the best Amazon meta tags or hired the best book cover designer, but because you wrote something that mattered to you.

Here’s something wise my writer friend Lauren Baratz-Logsted posted today on Facebook: “If you’ve written something that has made just one person laugh or think of the world in a new way, if you’ve made one person who while in a dark night of the soul say, ‘I’m staying alive to keep reading so I can find out how this thing turns out’ thereby helping that person see another dawn: you’ve already succeeded.”

One of the reasons I’m so passionate about erotica is because it welcomed me into its folds (I promise I didn’t mean that as a double entendre) when I as at a point in my life when I wasn’t sure what direction to take. I was in law school but increasingly feeling out of touch with my classmates and found myself ditching class because I didn’t understand the material and, most importantly, realized I didn’t want to be a lawyer.

I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do next, but I found myself starting to submit erotica stories and getting them published, one by one. Those first few stories led to editing my first erotica anthology back in 2004, and now 12 years later I’ve edited over 60 of them. I say this not to brag, but simply to point out that I entered this field with one idea that has since blossomed into something far greater than I could have imagined. But none of that would have happened if I didn’t take that first idea and let it come to life.

Erotica is, I fully believe, just as welcoming and eager for new authors as it was back then. There are new publishers popping up all the time and new ways for writers to reach readers, whether it’s blogging, Wattpad, self-publishing or other means. Erotica editors want your stories. Right now there are calls for submissions open for everything from lesbian romance to “characters living and loving while STI-positive” to the theme of, simply, lust, to name but a few. What you do with those topics is up to you, but the point is: they are ripe for your own spin.

Maybe I sound like an erotica Pollyanna, but I don’t care. I don’t want any of you to miss out on the joy of sharing your words with readers because you let fear get in the way. Happy Friday, and happy writing, wherever your words take you.

Rachel Kramer Bussel is the editor of over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1, Dirty Dates, Come Again: Sex Toy Erotica, The Big Book of Orgasms and Fast Girls. She interviews women about their sex lives for Elle.com and writes widely about sex, dating, books and pop culture. Find out more at eroticawriting101.com and follow her @raquelita on Twitter. Sign up for book giveaways in her monthly newsletter at rachelkramerbussel.com.

Building Up Confidence, One Gigolo At A Time

18 May
Cowboys4Angels Gigolos, as seen on the Showtime series

Cowboys4Angels Gigolos, as seen on the Showtime series

By Elizabeth Shore

We all have our guilty pleasures, right? Like eating an entire box of Froot Loops in one sitting. Or pretending you’re a rock star and singing your heart out into a spoon microphone. Viewing endless hours of cute kitten videos on YouTube. You get the drift. For me, as many faithful LadySmut readers know, my guilty pleasure confession is an incurable addiction to the Showtime series Gigolos. I’m sorry to say that the most recent season – (sniff) – has just ended. Yet what a season it was!

As Captain Obvious would point out, a hugely appealing aspect of the show is simply looking at the Adonis-like bodies of the Gigolos themselves. While they’re naked. It’s pure, uncut, eye-candy crack. As well it should be. After all, the service of these guys doesn’t come cheap, so if you’re going to plunk down the cash you sure as heck better be getting a handsome return. And, well, you do. To wit:

Nick Hawk

Nick Hawk

Vin Armani

Vin Armani

Bradley Lords

Bradley Lords

Ash Armand

Ash Armand









Handsome indeed. To be clear, what one is paying for with these guys is their time. What you choose to do with that time…well, that’s between him and you. But in truth that’s what I find interesting about the entire premise. When I first saw this show I wondered, and blogged, about what kind of woman would hire a gigolo in the first place. And for what reason? This last season seemed to put added focus on answering that question via the interviews with clients. My personal favorite was the insight given by one of them who just happened to be a little person.

This client made a rather heartbreaking confession to Gigolo Vin that she often gets interest from men for no reason other than because they have a dwarfism fetish. Talk about a soul crusher! You think a guy’s into you, but turns out it’s only because you’d fulfill his secret fantasy of (fill in the blank): having sex with a large woman. Or an Asian woman. Or someone with a disability. There are, sadly, a lot of sick jerks out there with callous disregard for a woman’s feelings. They couldn’t care less if she gets hurts as long as he gets off. The majority of men, thankfully, aren’t like this. But encountering those who are have scarred and scared lots of women from having successful relationships. Such was the case with the woman who’s a little person. Enter, Gigolo Vin.

Vin himself confessed nervousness about the “date,” as they’re referred to. He’d not been with a little person before. Would the sex be different? Did he need to be afraid of hurting her? Turns out, his fears were for naught. The encounter appeared, from this viewer’s vantage point, anyway, to be wholly satisfying for them both. The little person said she loved her date, loved how Vin made her feel, and would highly recommend the experience to others. Hmmm…

The primary appeal of the show for me is the realization of how many women struggle with self-confidence, and how a date with a Gigolo genuinely seems to give them a boost. There’s a heady feeling of gratification, after all, from a man giving you attention, saying you’re beautiful or smart or sexy or strong or whatever attribute makes you feel fabulous about yourself. The cynic in me points out that these women are paying to be queen for a day, so of course the guys will shower them with compliments. It’s part of the deal! But when the Gigolos are interviewed, they repeatedly emphasize how much they enjoy women, all kinds of women, in all shapes and sizes. As Vin said, “When I’m with a woman, I’m having fun.” And if the encounter gives the woman a well-needed shot of confidence, that sounds pretty good to me.





Snctm: House of Raised Eyebrows

17 May
Being in charge is about more than just holding the crop.

Being in charge is about more than just holding the crop.

By Alexa Day
Full disclosure: I first heard about Snctm in the goop.com sex issue. Also in the goop.com sex issue is a list of sex toys, which includes something called — and I am not kidding here — the Mandingo. The Mandingo is a 7-inch long bloodstone (which is black) “love wand” intended to “bring healing and orgasmic energy into your life.” I just want you to have some context.
In fairness, Snctm is also in The Daily Beast. I enjoyed reporter Jen Yamato’s coverage; she seems to view the Snctm experience without goop-colored glasses. That’s definitely worth reading.
It’s kind of difficult to describe anything in goop.com with any level of specificity, but I’m going to try to do it with Snctm.
Snctm is a sex club in Beverly Hills. (They’ve apparently had a party in New York, too.) Descriptions compare it to the club in Eyes Wide Shut and to the Playboy mansion as it existed in the 1970s, but if you read erotic romance, you probably already know what a sex club is.
I went over to the Snctm website, where of course I signed up for the email list and checked out a brief video clip of an average party at Snctm, which you absolutely do not want to play at work. The rules at Snctm are also not that unusual, although they’re a little convoluted. I put my attorney skills to work for you and translated them.
If you’re a man, and you want to get in, you have to buy a membership, reserve Dîner, or reserve a table. The best bang for your buck, if you’re a dude, is probably to get the membership. That way you can get into the monthly masquerade and you get priority registration for the soirees. You also get access to the member lounge. These options are available to women, too, but women can also go as guests. They just have to buy a guest pass or be on the guest list.
Yes, they did spell Dîner like that. My first email is about a Classe. That’s just how they roll, I suppose.
You can apply for all this online. The application requires photos. It will also require you to answer a couple of short essay questions (“If you could amplify an erotic trait in yourself, what would it be?”). Snctm is very clear about one thing: you are being graded for appearance. It’s a sex club, after all. Looks matter. I could, but will not, address the lack of diversity in that video. I certainly hope attendance at the parties is not so monochrome.
What do you get for all this?
If you go to the parties and such, just know that as a man, you’re expected to wear a tux, unless it’s a pool party, in which case you’re expected to wear black trunks. Women in attendance can wear evening wear or lingerie. At pool parties, the choices are bikinis or nothing.
As far as I can tell, people drift from room to room at these parties, watching people have sex or having sex with each other. You’d see guys dressed as minotaurs, women on all fours as tables, probably a longtime member called the Bunnyman, a woman with a flogger. Judging from the video and to some extent, from Yamato’s article, the women are at these parties either to perform or to accompany men. This is true even with the membership requirements, which are likely intended to keep the amount of unattended men to a minimum. The trouble is that membership is expensive, but not prohibitively expensive for guys with money. Those guys are certainly getting in by themselves, and then gushing afterwards (oh, geez, sorry about that) about how a performer woke them up in the Snctm hotel with a post-party breakfast.
Founder Damon Lawner, in his Q&A in the goop sex issue, insists that women are in charge at Snctm. They are either initiating the action or consenting to action.
Yeah, I don’t know. That doesn’t say women are in charge to me, it says the women at the parties are okay with the parties. That’s not the same thing at all.
I think if women were in charge, we’d see more male performers. We might see more of them with each other. We’d see them actively seeking out the women and asking what they want, not just reaching out for them and waiting to be accepted or refused. We’d see more women attending by themselves — if women were in charge, I feel like I’d see more of them without dates in that video. We wouldn’t see the gaggles of men Yamato describes, moving eagerly from one show to another with wide eyes.
If women were in charge, I think we’d see women in management. As it now stands, those applications are reviewed by Lawner. The result, I would imagine, is that membership is comprised of men Lawner finds cool and women Lawner finds hot.
If Lawner is committed to this female-centered experience, he must remove it from the context of men. Right now, I’m hearing that women are in charge because they have their pick of the limited, male-curated pool of male guests and the right to say no if someone offends them. That’s a very passive view of what “in charge” means. Honestly, it sounds like the same experience a girl can get at a really upscale bar, except for all the nudity.
I think Lawner can do better, if he’s interested in doing better. I also think women can do better. I wonder why we aren’t trying.
There is no reason at all that women can’t run a club just like this. All the orgiastic sexytimes, with women who really are in charge.
So what’s the problem? Why aren’t we taking the wheel?
Is it possible that we are taking the wheel, but that we’ve actually managed to be discreet about it? If so, is there any way to get an application to that place?
I can think of a couple of people who could write a place like that quite convincingly, if they haven’t already, but you all know how much I love recommendations. Hit me up in the comments.
Follow Lady Smut. We won’t make you send us two pictures, one of which must be full-length.
Alexa Day writes erotica and erotic romance with heroines who are anything but innocent and fictional worlds where strong, smart women discover excitement, adventure, and exceptional sex. A former bartender, one-time newspaper reporter, and recovering attorney, she likes her stories with just a touch of the inappropriate, and her literary mission is to stimulate the intellect and libido of her readers.

Romance Invasion

16 May

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

Romance has invaded everywhere.

That was the lead statement in the speech made by guest speaker Leah Hultenschmidt, editorial director for Forever and Forever Yours imprints at Grand Central Publishing, at the Long Island Romance Writers 19th annual Agent and Editors luncheon.

“Romance has invaded everywhere. Readership has been changing over the last few years. The ‘rules’ are completely out the window. This freedom has allowed the storytelling to shine through. Writers can write with passion and tell the stories of their hearts.”

This, for most of us who live in Romancelandia, is a bit of a no-brainer. Try and think of an action film, however sexist and annoying, that hasn’t had some bit of a romance woven in, be it the loyal wife waiting at home, the rescued damsel, or the sultry siren who may or may not be working for the enemy. Romance crosses all genre lines one way or another. It has, as Ms Hultenschmidt stated so succinctly, invaded everywhere.

That wasn’t all she had to share at the luncheon. With regard to the never-ending question of print vs e-book publishing, Ms. Hultenschmidt likened the divide to be like network television vs cable TV. Print publishers are looking to convince the book store owners that this book or that one is worth putting on their shelves. E-book publishing allows for more leeway for readers to give something new a try.

Part of this is because the distance between writers and readers is much smaller now than ever before. Social media and the digital age has narrowed that gap considerably, and more and more readers are using their social platforms to make their wishes known regarding what and who they read. Perhaps this is why, Ms. Hultenschmidt stressed that it is more important than every before that authors know their audience. Knowing your audience helps shapes these expectations while creating a plan for your books–perhaps even that book of your heart. Is it part of a series? If so, what is the series hook? Know how the books in your series relate and make sure that relation is there in book one and carries through the series.

Likewise, it’s key for an author to know their market. What are the holes in that market? Are there opportunities in those holes? What are people talking about on Goodreads? Is there a new angle in a crowded category, like paranormal romance or small-town contemporary romance? Knowing your market and your audience and how the two relate together can offer an author key insights in how best to craft and target their books.

As for what that market was currently in the market for, Ms. Hultenschmidt noted that Walmart particularly loves contemporary cowboys. Despite the report from the RT convention that romantic suspense novels are dead (again), Ms. Hultenschmidt noted that romantic suspense is on an uprising in print. Contemporary and erotic romances are both crowded marketplaces, but still selling, while paranormal romances are underselling in print publications.

In e-book publications, Ms. Hultenschmidt reported that the billionaire romance has begun to go bankrupt and, along with NA romances, is a crowded category. Readers, she said, are also done with trilogies with contemporary characters. I’m of the mind that series will never go out of fashion, but it’s interesting to hear that contemporaries particularly, always a reliable category, are wearying readers in this manner.

Sports romances and romantic suspense are currently trending categories in e-book publications. Ms. Hultenschmidt claims that readers do not go to romance for issues. They go to escape. While I don’t doubt many romance readers come to the genre for an escape, the fact that the romance genre by its very nature is feminist fiction means that even in stories without an overall “issue,” the journey of personal discovery made by a heroine between the pages is one for which all romance readers are eager, whether as escapism entertainment or to learn about a new profession or a new cause brought to light by a character’s journey through that story.

As always, the Long Island Romance Writers annual luncheon was an inspiring and informative event during which Ms. Hultenschmidt and other editors and agents shined a light on romance so that all of us who attended could feel a bit of that glow.

Follow Lady Smut. We loved to shine down on you.

Writer, singer editor, traveler, tequila drinker, and cat herder, Kiersten Hallie Krum avoids pen names since keeping her multiple personalities straight is hard enough work. She writes smart, sharp, and sexy romantic suspense. Her debut romantic suspense novel Wild on the Rocks is now available. Visit her website at www.kierstenkrum.com and find her regularly over sharing on various social media via @kierstenkrum.



Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

15 May

By Isabelle Drake

Each Sunday, I’ll be offering up a part of my serialized erotic zombie horror story, Servant of the Undead. You loyal Lady Smutters will recall I wrote about this dark, dirty story a little while ago.

No, without further ado, let’s get you started with Servant of the Undead.Servant

Part 1: “Do it.”

Hayden Thomas shifted on the wooden captain’s chair, trying without success to ease the
stiffness in his spine. Whoever selected the chairs for the Boston Public Library obviously never sat in them. The damn things had no armrests and were crammed so close together Bates Hall looked like a cafeteria. Except for the green desk lamps and rows of bookcases lining the wood paneled walls of the vast, deserted room. Hayden leaned back, placing his palms on the small of his back as he stretched.

Fine, it did look like a library. And it was everything the city claimed it to be, historical, well-cared for, and a fucking architectural gem. He just didn’t want to be there, digging through old books sane people shouldn’t care about. As if on cue his phone flashed. He picked it up and read the message. That article will be done tonight. Right? You’ll have something fresh. Right?

As if he had a choice.

Hayden tapped in his reply, yes and yes, then shoved the phone in his pocket. He wasn’t going to look at it again until he had what he needed. Something fresh. What the hell did that mean anyway? A paycheck. Control over his future. Little things like that. So he’d come to the library, to look through actual books. He’d scanned through several about werewolves then set aside the ones on vampires when he found the ones he needed.

Coming to the library had been a good idea. Not only had he found fresher content than the guys only using the internet, he’d also made a video clip of the inside with his webcam. He might be able to use that on the paper’s website as part of the series. A scholarly approach to give the piece an air of authority. Bob would love the irony of that.

“Lights in this section getting turned off early. ‘Bout twenty minutes.”

The security guard had come up behind Hayden and was standing in the aisle between the rows of gleaming wood tables. He motioned toward the expansive windows that started at the top of the bookshelves and reached up about fifteen feet to the domed ceiling. “Snowmaggeddon, man. Everybody’s leaving. You should too.”

Outside, snow whipped against the glass, so fierce and bright that even though the sun had gone down an hour ago the white blast was still visible. The bloated flakes brushed against the glass, spun in circles, creating a delicate, menacing spiral. Shit. A storm. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with. He’d promised Rachelle, a girl he’d started seeing, that he’d be done with the article that night so they could “do something fun, something crazy” tomorrow. Hayden eyed the stack of books surrounding his laptop.

“Do you have a photocopy machine?” he asked, scanning the area behind the guy.

“Yeah.” The guard looked at the piles of books, his mouth twisting into a frown as his gaze skimmed over the titles. “Where’d you find those?”

“In the scary monster section, under Z for zombies.”

“Seriously, dude. I need to learn how to protect myself.” The man whipped a folded newspaper out of his back pocket and brandished it, showing the headline. “It’s all in here—Zombies Flooding Beantown Streets, Hungry for Human Flesh.” Hayden didn’t need to see it in print because he’d come up with it when Bob insisted they write some pieces connected to the comic convention beginning that upcoming weekend.

“You believe what you read in The Boston Weekly?”

“They wouldn’t print it if it wasn’t true.” The man folded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket. “Or could be true.”

No wonder Bob Keeler had enough money to live in Chestnut Hill.

“The copier?”

The man pointed to a hall tucked between two bookcases. “It’s down there. But like I said, you better get going.” He stepped away then turned back, his gaze hopping from one book to the next before finally landing on Hayden’s face. “Snowmaggeddon. Zombies. Be careful. Article says to avoid isolated places and stay with others.”

“I get it,” Hayden assured him, using his firmest professor voice, the one he’d perfected while being a grad assistant at Boston College.

The guy gave Hayden the once over, doubt lining his face as he turned, the folded paper waving at Hayden as he marched off.

That teacher voice was handy, but according to Rachelle, he used it—and the attitude that came with it—too much. She complained about his work ethic and said they needed to have more ‘epic fun’. How was he supposed to have any kind of fun when he had years of student loan payments coming his way and only a one page CV to deal with them?

d40574bec76925c961a59063b71e087fHe swung out of the chair, grabbed the three books he hadn’t gotten to yet, and headed for the hall. The photocopier, positioned under a rectangular window, hummed in the dimly lit space. He lifted the lid, set the book on the glass surface and started flipping through, scanning for the chapter he needed for his research. Research. Right. There was a euphemism. He jerked through the pages, black-eyed stares and ragged clothes flashed past. Good God. Zombies. Why did people waste their time with this sort of thing?

But Bob Keeler was convinced that because Rodney McKinnon, star of Zombie Rites, was coming to the comic convention, that if the paper featured anything having to do with zombies, especially something fresh, that he’d sell thousands of copies. The man was crazy. Sure, Boston was going to be overrun with comic book freaks. But those people were educated, right? They didn’t believe zombies were real. So why would they want to read about them?

Hayden flipped to a chapter where the zombies looked like regular, live, people. No rotting flesh, no odd jerky movements. His skin prickled. What if you couldn’t tell a zombie from a human? He paused at a drawing made by an eyewitness, a so-called zombie tracker. Apparently, the witness spent an entire summer stalking on a tribe believed to take part in hazing rituals that included a lot of sex. The drawing showed two men, bare-chested and wearing chaps. One, with a rope tied around his waist, leaned against a tree while the other man tied the opposite end of rope to the trunk, tying him up like a dog he didn’t want getting away. Hayden lifted the book closer. They weren’t wearing anything under the chaps. And the tied-up guy had a huge boner.

He turned the page. More drawings. The guy tied to the tree held the ass of a woman and was pounding that boner into her. Apparently, the witness had in mind to document the entire ritual. There were five more drawings, each one showing the man fucking a different woman while others watched. And all the women looked very satisfied. And willing.

Hayden’s cock stiffened.

Okay, so they’re people into group sex, but where was the proof they were zombies? Proof that zombies are real. He snickered. That would be fresh, so that’s what he needed. What he didn’t need was the distraction of a rock-hard dick. He reached down and shifted the zipper on his khakis.

The last page in the section outlined the zombie tracker’s theory of that particular tribe’s sexuality. Those zombies could remain “alive” by either eating human flesh or through frequent sex. The sex method worked because the live human passed out afterward, giving the zombie an opportunity to escape. Sometimes humans were taken as sexual servants, kept like pets and used for sustenance. The sexual hazing rituals were designed to encourage survival skills and teach tools to acquire and use humans.

Overhead, a window squeaked open. Gusts of snow flew in. Fingers scratched at the sill, clawing at the wood trim. A full hand appeared, covered with a black fingerless glove. The other hand appeared. Then a forearm, wrapped in red wool, an elbow, bare skin peaking out between the strips of red. A mass of tangled hair, a mix of brown and red, popped through the opening. One of the hands reached over, swiping the hair away. Two brown eyes, rimmed with smudgy make-up peered down.


Part 2 “Do it Now” coming Sunday, May 22.

Until then follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.


Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.


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