Return to Snctm: Who’s on Top in Utopia?

25 Oct
I just had one question. One persistent, slippery question.

I just had one question. One persistent, slippery question.

By Alexa Day

I was enjoying a long, lazy summer when I first wrote about Snctm this past May. The sex issue sent me right through the looking glass.

I go into a lot of detail about Snctm in that post, but in essence, Snctm is a sex club catering to men with money. Applicants, both male and female, are evaluated in large part on their appearance. There are pool parties and masquerades and such, but honestly, if you read erotic romance, you probably already know what a sex club is.

About two and a half months after that post, an email from a Snctm member appeared in the LadySmut mail room. I have agreed not to disclose this person’s identity or to quote this person in such a way that would lead to this person’s being identified. For ease of reference and in deference to the classical tradition of storytelling, I will refer to this person as Nemo.

Nemo guessed, correctly, that I have not been to a Snctm event. Nemo said the reality of the events surpassed the press coverage, which was plentiful.

Nemo also said that Snctm was empowering for women.

I was skeptical about this at first. After all, nothing I’d turned up for the first post left me with this impression. But the journalist in me wanted to improve inadequate coverage and the eroticist in me wanted to know how this worked. So Nemo and I began to correspond.

Because I have agreed not to quote Nemo, I will distill our correspondence to these bullets.

  • Nemo suggested that I interview Snctm founder Damon Lawner, which I would be delighted to do if I could get hold of him.
  • Nemo assured me that security was incredibly tight at Snctm events.
  • Nemo emphasized that women outnumbered men at Snctm events. If those women wanted to undress and engage in a little girl-on-girl while the men looked on, well, they should feel perfectly comfortable to do that wherever possible. Seriously, Snctm is all about greenlighting girl-on-girl.
  • Nemo said that everyone at the Snctm events had loads and loads of money.
  • And finally, Nemo repeated that women were empowered at Snctm events.

That last point was really all I was interested in. Snctm has been compared to the club in Eyes Wide Shut and to the Playboy mansion back in its heyday. If that conjures up visions of naked women cavorting around for the enjoyment of wealthy men, well, the Snctm membership video seems to back that up. (BTW, that video link is probably the most NSFW link I have ever posted.)

I asked Nemo what I was missing. Nemo promised to call. I wrote down a list of questions.

And then Nemo ghosted me.

I’ve been ghosted before. It happens. But that’s not the way to change my mind. Indeed, that cemented my opinion that Snctm was not empowering for women. It certainly sounded like Nemo wasn’t able to answer my one pressing question.

I signed on to the Snctm email list a while back. From time to time, I received lovingly overblown messages from them about a Classe (yes, with the ‘e’), like the one on “bondage, impact and sensation play,” complete with “canapes and premium libations.” Invitations to masquerades and pool parties joined the rest of the promotional emails in my inbox.

Then, on September 27, I received the following email.

“For 2 months in a row our problem is too many amazing, gorgeous ladies and not enough men! This is something most clubs only dream of, but we are serious. Our prices are very high for men and free for ladies guest list. What this means is we have created a literal sexual utopia for gentlemen smart enough, successful enough, and lucky enough to attend our events. The ladies to gentlemen ratio is 4 to 1. 2 or 3 to 1 is what we are looking to achieve. ‘Blessed are those entering our hallowed halls’ has never rung so true as now.”

I have trouble squaring empowerment for women with “a literal sexual utopia for gentlemen,” especially when utopia is about having two or three women for every man. That’s lovely news for guys bringing a partner to the events, right? No need to be limited to the one you brought, it seems. If you’re a woman not interested in girl-on-girl, I’m not sure what that means for you.

Anyone feeling empowered out there? Don’t worry if you don’t. There’s more.

On September 28, I received this next email.

“From this moment forward to any and all gentlemen who request discounts and/or free entry here is our response. FUCK OFF. If you can’t afford Snctm, you need to be a real man and get your shit together. Enough said.”

In May, I suspected that Snctm’s membership was made up of women Damon Lawner found hot and men he found cool. Still, this second email is a little jarring. One does not often find toxic masculinity in an environment that is empowering to women.

Want to try this club instead? Click to buy.

Want to try this club instead? Click to buy.

I think I was still rolling my eyes a little when I received yet another email. This one contained a link to an Esquire feature on Lawner. The title suggests that he is unhappy. I found this a little galling so soon after “FUCK OFF” but I read on anyway.

Esquire’s coverage of a Snctm masquerade includes all the luxe details. The giant mansion. The sumptuous food and drink. Topless women at the pool. When the feature opens, Lawner and Caroline, with whom he shares an open relationship, are evaluating someone’s membership application. The female applicant notes that she is a hyperpolyglot who enjoys dirty talk. Lawner is intrigued by the notion of dirty talk in multiple languages. Caroline suggests that the applicant probably “likes to get fucked really hard.”

You ladies feeling empowered yet?

Esquire also reports that “Lawner has tried to create a spiritual and erotic utopia where people of like minds and desires can have as much sex and romance as humanly possible, in as many different ways as the imagination can invent.” That sounds intriguing, no? It conjures up images of long conversations that might be inappropriate elsewhere, the kind of sensual, intellectual interaction that lasts for hours before anyone undresses. So how did he get from there to a “literal sexual utopia for men,” a place that can afford to tell potential applicants, guys who might have like minds but less extravagant budgets, to “FUCK OFF”?

The Esquire reporter also captures a disturbing moment between Caroline and another party guest, a man whose “vigorous” touch prompts her to flee the room in “obvious distress.” I remembered Nemo’s insistence that the parties were full of security personnel, but none are present in this account. Lawner follows Caroline out.

The next morning, he asks if he should have intervened.

The next morning.

I don’t think I need to say any more about that.

All is not lost.

Before the incident with Caroline, the feature touches briefly on a female Devotee, a performer in Snctm’s erotic theater. Dressed in a pig mask and a sign that reads “Touch Me,” she is led through the party by two other performers, who encourage guests to do as the sign says. The Devotee tells the reporter that “she loved the way the guests looked at her with a mixture of shyness and desire, men and women alike.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. This was all I wanted to hear. It took five months, but now we know that somewhere in Snctm is a woman who feels empowered by what the club has to offer her.

Actually, Esquire offers up a smaller feature — very NSFW — follows the Devotee into a performance with a Snctm regular known as the Bunnyman. Considering that this Devotee is the only woman to describe in detail how she’s empowered by the experience, that’s definitely worth a read. I’d certainly love to hear more from her, and from anyone who knows the thrill of power in a setting like this. I really am interested in the intellectual and erotic underpinnings that go along with this.

This does nothing to reassure me about what happened to Caroline or the environment in which it happened. That gives me very real reservations about the Snctm experience and the male members’ perception of it.

So while one of my questions is answered, others have arisen.

I know that readers of erotica and erotic romance are no strangers to the sex club, at least as it appears on the page. I found a new favorite in The Gentlemen’s Club by Emmanuelle de Maupassant, who leaves no question about whether the ladies of the club are empowered. Be sure to tell me who else is doing it right in the comments.

And follow Lady Smut. We’ll take you on a long trip sometimes, but the journey’s certainly worthwhile.


Ways to Be Wicked

24 Oct

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

It’s theme week here at Lady Smut as we celebrate the release of Lady Smut blogger and all-around guru, Madeline Iva’s, new novel Wicked Apprentice, a high-fantasy romance filled with betrayals and power juggling and chained up lovers and all sorts of sexy, magical hi-jinks just in time for Halloween!


Click on image to buy!

In Wicked Apprentice, the heroine, Zephyr, a magic apprentice, has to do a wicked deed in order to satisfy her mistress. This deed backfires in a delicious way when her captive elf becomes her captive lover and soon after, a power shift makes her his master–but you’ll have to read the book to find out how that comes about.

Wicked can mean different things to different people. Evil, obviously. That’s a given. Those from the Boston area have been known to use it as an expression of cool. I tend to use it more along the lines of “naughty”–a little bit of wicked to spice up life. For a couple of weeks now, I’ve been musing on the many ways one can be “wicked” (again, not the evil kind because, bad). Musing and occasionally–let’s say testing things out. A step-by-step approach in ways to be wicked, so to speak.

Enter Halloween, that bastion of wicked deeds done right. The one day a year (other than comic-cons) when people can legitimately dress up in costumes with varying flamboyance and indulge that wicked, naughty side that is otherwise kept, for the most part, under wraps and behind closed doors. It’s the time of the pagan solstice, of Samhaim, a night historically meant for remembering the dead, but one that is now more about costumes and hordes of candy. Hordes.

Every year, my inner feminist heartily frowns–frown, frown, frown–at the proliferation of sexed-up costumes for women. It’s hard to find an advert for an adult woman’s costume that doesn’t include the word “sexy” or pictures that require no added description. Honestly, it’s ridiculous. Sexy maid, sexy cat, sexy pirate, sexy teacher, sexy school girl, sexy plumber (you never know). These days, there’s even sexy Harry Potter characters, though, okay, yeah, who wouldn’t be tempted by thatespecially after a peek at this set of Harry Potter boudoir pictures. Acc-ee-ohhhhh.


Ruth Ginsberg Halloween costume

Fortunately, MTV and PopSugar have put together a list of feminist friendly costumes that may also be sexxed up to the wearer’s preference. Though, admittedly, I think “sexy tampon” or going as a (very large) vagina is a tad too on-point and, well, tasteless. But that’s me.

This helpful post from Bustle even gives assembly tips on how to construct your feminist-friendly costume. Here too is a Pinterest board of the same, and I gotta say, I’m sorely tempted by the Justice Ruth Ginsberg option. Because she rocks that SCOTUS bench hard.

A quick trip through the options left me with an overwhelming sense of pantsuits, but if it’s good for the (soon-to-be) POTUS-elect, then bring it on! Which is, of course, another feminist-friendly and seriously timely costume option (sexy quotient left up to the wearer, natch): Senator Clinton. If I had to guess, I suspect there’ll be a plethora of Clinton costumes on the adult Halloween party circuit this year. What would be really cool if a group of lady friends got together to be Clinton throughout the years. Cue the Google search.


I don’t care how sexy safe sex is. No. Just no.

That said, when I found myself in need of a costume for a Halloween party with a Jazz Age/Steampunk theme (compliance not required, bless them), I did not immediately search for a feminist-friendly costume. I immediately wondered if there was a prayer my red flapper dress might fit (it doesn’t) and then immediately went Amazon searching for the bustier/ruche skirt/high boots route. I may even have ordered thigh-highs and garters–okay, I totally did. Because, dammit, I wanna get my sexy on!

And that’s the key. Like lingerie, sexy costumes should, in my opinion, be about what makes the wearer feel sexy, not for another person’s prurient pleasure. (That’s just a bonus, am I right? *rim shot*.)

Look, I’ve been wearing some version of a Wonder Woman costume since I was five years old (surprising no one, I’m sure) and that’s basically just a leotard and a tiara (and a lasso!). I can see me revisiting that tried and true (and awesome) homage in future years, especially given the update the costume is getting in the new Wonder Woman movie next year. And I can’t imagine anyone claiming that Wonder Woman, of all female icons, is not feminist. Ditto the sexy. Because kicking bad guy ass in a sparkly leotard and a tiara (with a lasso!) is freakin’ sexy, y’all. Even a five-year old knows that (kinda) (you know what I mean).


Ah. Yeah.

There was a day and age when women’s sexuality was deemed to be wicked and evil. Women were called witches and heretics for daring to speak up for themselves. These days, thankfully, women–even the nasty ones–don’t have to eschew their wicked, sexy ways to avoid being burnt at the stake. They can indulge their inner naughty side and really, they don’t have to wait for Halloween to do it either. In the 60s, women burned their bras in protest. Me, I like my bras–the sexier, the better–and I’m way too frugal to burn them. Instead, this Halloween, I plan to embrace the spirit of the occasion and indulge my wicked, sexy ways without setting aside my inner feminist to do it. A little bit of wicked never hurt anyone…for long.

Be sure to check out Madeline’s Wicked Apprentice and follow Lady Smut so you never miss any of our wicked, sexy ways. 

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 Rocksis now available. Visit her website at and find her regularly over sharing on various social media via @kierstenkrum.

Sexy Sunday Snippet: An Early Taste of SEALed With a Twist

23 Oct

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

Now available exclusively from Kindle. Click image to buy!

Now available exclusively from Kindle. Click image to buy!

Happy Sunday, Lady Smutters. Are you feeling particularly holy today? Or are you unexpectedly in need of something for which to atone? Well, look no further! As part of our on-going excerpt Sundays, here is a *very* early taste of my upcoming novella, SEALed With a Twist.

A sequel to my debut novel Wild on the Rocks that released earlier this year, SEALed With a Twist features Navy SEAL Grant “Twisted” Sisti and the defrocked debutante he once happily fished out of a pool at the Casa Blanca resort on Barefoot Bay. Six months after the events in Wild on the Rocks, Twist has returned to Barefoot Bay to stand with his best friend and former commander, Jasper, as he remarries his ex-wife, Quinn. But all things are not happy-go-lucky with the man who’s twisted sense of humor earned him his call sign. And they’re about to get even more complicated.

SEALed With a Twist will be available to buy in February. Keep an eye out for the novella’s upcoming smokin’ cover reveal and, in the meantime, enjoy this early taste of Twist.


Grant unlocked the villa with the key card and a faint regret for the lack of a hard key in his hand. Hard to defend yourself against some asshole who might shove inside the room right behind you with only a key card.

The default to combat readiness reassured him. Not that he expected to stumble upon violent crime here—recent Russian mob incursions notwithstanding. But it felt good to know his head might be screwed up, but his training looked to be intact.

It was that training that had Grant scanning the villa’s interior as he ambled in. Someone had left a light on in the living area and another over the kitchen sink leaving an ambient haze to hover over the main rooms. He noted the food set up on the island block before breaking off to reconnoiter the bedrooms and baths. Satisfied no one else had breached the perimeter, he was halfway to the patio when his phone chimed with Jasper’s reply.

Even through the flat, emotionless language of a text, Jasper’s words were resolute. NEED YOU TO BRIEF ME ON WHAT THIS SHIT IS ABOUT.

Grant snorted. Like that was gonna happen. He pulled back the wide glass doors that led out to the patio and pool before typing out WHATEVER, MAN. KISS QUINN FOR ME.

This time, the reply came quick: FUCK OFF.

And now they were back on the easy ground where Grant felt most comfortable. It was his job to dig into the emotions of his Team, to make sure their heads were in a place where they could continue to complete their duty.

Hell, if he’d have any of them, even Jasper, do the same to him.

He let Jasper keep the last word and tucked his phone in his back pocket just as his foot tangled in a pair of shorts left in a pile on the pool deck.

The hell?

His gaze tracked along to land on a matching golf shirt. He could just make out the Merry Maids logo in the glow of the pool lights

Shit. A gatecrasher. He was not in the mood to deal with this shit. Feelin’ too much today already. Watching Jasper and Quinn get their happy ending, dealing with Putter, working to keep that devil may care attitude at the forefront so his friends didn’t cotton on to the shit messin’ with his head. He didn’t have it in him to deal with some employee taking advantage of the late-day wedding and plush environs.

The muscle in his jaw clenched when he saw the bra and panties discarded at the edge of the deep end. A soft splash caught his attention and he turned his head in time to catch glimpse of arms cutting through the water with smooth, sharp strokes.

Her body had length, most of it in the legs that kicked rhythmically in time with her arms, calf muscles cut in relief. Her head tilted his way for her to take a breath, eyes shut, the oval shape of her face perfectly bisected by the water like a Carnivàle half mask. Grant’s eyes tracked down to the equally round and, it had to be said, pert shape of her bare ass with tight cheeks he guessed would comfortably fit in each of his hands.

She reached the end of the pool and executed a perfect flip that set her feet in precise location to launch into another lap. The floor lights in the pool illuminated the gleam of her body as she undulated under the surface for near half the pool’s length before breaching the surface with the sharp bob of a breast stroke.

Emphasis on breasts, plural, as both globes were revealed to Grant’s growing admiration. The SEAL in him admired her skill. She was an amateur but a damn good one who knew to move with the water rather than against it. Not many amateurs cottoned on to that trick, instead thought swimming was a battle to tame the water to their forms. All too many of them never learned the truth.

There was no taming the water. Not in any form.

The man in him was impressed by her other intriguing assets. He crossed his arms and settled in at rest to enjoy the show.

She was halfway through the return lap when she finally tagged him. Immediately, she floundered, getting a good swallow of pool water as she did, which led to an epic bout of choking while she got her feet under her.

Fixed on him, her eyes bugged out wide, but the pool light now put her face in shadow, hiding their color. Her once fluid limbs locked with alarm and a shocked embarrassment that grudgingly intrigued him.

‘Cept he wasn’t in the mood to tangle with a moonlit mermaid.

“You’ve got some nerve.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she accused between coughs.

“Pretty sure I am given how much I’m paying for it.” His gaze swept over her without a sign of his admiration. “Don’t remember checking off the ‘naked water nymph’ perk on the reservation.”

“It’s –it’s only—” A final harsh gurgle cleared her throat. “It’s only offered to Gold Star members.”

She had the nerve to joke? Her job in his hands and she was jerking his chain?

“I’ll remember to thank management for the upgrade when I report you.”

That took care of her cheek. “You can’t do that,” she whispered.

“Think you’re wrong there, nymph.”

Something odd flashed through the shocked embarrassment in her face. Odd and…familiar.

His vision narrowed to pinpoint on her features. Her wet hair left her face in relief and that whisper of warning teased the back of his neck again. The one that’d saved his life countless times in the field. The one that told him he’d missed something important.

He felt it, but didn’t get it, so he got pissed. For once, Grant let the aggravation show. “Tell me your name”

She started at his bark. “Ska—Skye.” She checked the distance to where she’d left her clothes. It was the new angle of her head that finally clicked.

“You’re the maid who snuck behind me when I was on the phone.”

“I hardly ‘snucked’,” she denied with instinctive insult. “But yes, that was me” She swallowed and he could see her rally right before his eyes. Her shoulders rolled back, chin tilting with an arrogance he’d expect from his Yankee, blue-blooded mother, not a housemaid at a Florida beach resort. “And don’t speak to me like that,” she demanded, all traces of embarrassed guilt gone.

He showed her the edge of her amusement. “Not in the position to make demands, darlin’.”

She turned that rigid shoulder to him, exposing plump side boob and a very nice back whose spine was ramrod straight. She swished her way to the edge of the pool where she’d left her clothes—which were now at his feet.

This seemed not to bother her at all. Once at the side of the pool, she looked up, fingers curling around the rim, and, fuck him, his dick finally dialed in to take acute notice, rousing despite her breasts being out-of-sight crushed to the wall

Her legs kicked idly in the water, muddying his view, but he’d seen enough to know she’d be worth the time and effort—if he was in the mood to make either. Well, parts of him were in the mood, but it’d been a long time since he’d been led around by his dick. One tempting water nymph wasn’t going to make him revert.

“You gonna stand there all night or you gonna report me?”

More cheek. He really didn’t want to like this woman.

“Haven’t decided. Maybe if you were a little nicer, you could talk me out of it.”

Any other woman would’ve cut and run by now, especially when he was deliberately being this much of an outright asshole.

Instead, Skye contemplated him from below and then, shocking the shit outta him, she flattened her hands and hoisted herself out of the pool. A whoosh of water heralded her expulsion and then there she stood, naked and without a hint of shame.

He took her in, half aware of the effort it took not to have his mouth gaping like a mouth-breather. Water dripped down her chest and over her high, pert breasts whose nipples raised to points against the cooler air. Down the concave slope of her belly and over the natural flare of her hips and vee of her exposed sex to pool around her feet on the asphalt.

A surge of lust contorted him. He wanted his hands on those hips, his mouth on those breasts, and those lithe legs wrapped tight and high on his back as he surged inside her. He felt the pull of her expectation and somehow wrenched his eyes from the feast of her body to the no less bounty of her face. When Skye caught his gaze, her lush mouth curved in a Cheshire smile.

“How much nicer do you want me to be?”

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 Rocksis now available. Visit her website at and find her regularly over sharing on various social media via @kierstenkrum.


Sexy Saturday Round Up

22 Oct

1-ssruLovely people! Autumn is here! The debates are over! There’s obviously lots to celebrate.  Or maybe you want to take a mellow afternoon to yourself and toodle through some of our interesting, fascinating links below. Enjoy!

UNBOUND GIVEAWAY – less than a week left.

Do you sext? Read this article for the comments. 

One of the oldest sites for sex tourism is in Greece.

Our very own Rachel Kramer Bussel writes on this fascinating topic: Do condoms kill the mood in erotica/erotic romance?

By Elizabeth Shore

So you want to massage his prostrate but don’t know how? NYC Sex Educator Ducky Doolittle gives step-by-step instructions. Try it. He’ll love it.

Some words of advice on having fun with cyber sex.

7 things to know when getting to know your dom.

It’s official. Watching GIFs porn is now a thing.

Writers, start your keyboards. It’s almost NaNoWriMo time.

Halloween’s around the corner. Get inspired with these costume suggestions for badass feminists.

The ultimate in WTF-ery from our friends at Unbound. It’s the Donald Trump merkin.



Size 18 and sexy with a “great big ass:” Body positivity in Alice Clayton’s Cream of the Crop

21 Oct

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

I look to romance novels, as well as other types of fiction, to both entertain me and, on some occasions, inspire me. Cream of the Crop by Alice Clayton, her second in her Hudson Valley series, does both because of its bold, outspoken and very sexy size 18 heroine, Natalie Grayson. In some ways, I’m like Natalie; I used to live in New York and brie is my favorite kind of cheese.

Cream of the Crop by Alice Clayton

Cream of the Crop by Alice Clayton

But in one key area, I’m sadly not like her: she doesn’t apologize for her size, wish she were a smaller size, or have any hangups about her body or her attractiveness. Whereas I, despite working on “loving my body,” which perhaps doesn’t need quotes around it but feels like it does, from my teen years into my forties, simply don’t have her level of sheer belief in myself. Here’s how Natalie describes her approach to men:

I found a certain kind of power in walking into a room where I knew no one, and figuring out how everyone ticked. Narrowing in on the best-looking guy in any room, and going on the offense. Size-eighteen women were supposed to be timid. Size-eighteen women were supposed to be shy. Size-eighteen women were supposed to be grateful for any male attention, and to feel especially honored if a good-looking man paid attention to them.

Fuck all that noise. I took the best-looking guy home with me whenever and however I pleased. Confidence went a long way. You walk into a room armed with the knowledge that you can have anyone you want? You can literally have anyone you want.

Plus I had a sweet rack. Which always helped.

No matter what size you are, I’m pretty sure you could do with a boost of Natalie’s confidence, which in the novel, extends beyond the bedroom and into the advertising firm where she works. Even though the hero, sexy cheesemonger Oscar, seller of her beloved brie, gives her butterflies and leaves her tongue tied in the beginning, she is still someone who exudes a core belief in her own power, strength and hotness that I envy.

There’s a fabulous moment, the ultimate flirtation crossed with mixed signals combined with some grammar nerd hijinks, where Natalie and Oscar are talking for the first time outside of his stall at New York’s Union Square Market, where she first met him. She’s been lusting after him but didn’t know whether he was aware of her existence, and after telling her, “I know exactly who you are,” he elaborates with, “You’re the Brie girl with the great big ass.”

She takes offense at first, as probably most women would do after being told they have a “great big ass,” but Oscar isn’t sure what he did wrong. She asks him, “Are you saying great big ass? Or great comma big ass?” That’s classic Clayton rom com right there.

Befuddled, he repeats her last question back to her, so Natalie tells him. “Okay, I’m confused. So you’re not saying that I have a great big  . . . ass, you’re saying that I have a great . . . big ass. Meaning—”

His answer? “Your ass is big. And it’s great…How is that confusing?”

She lets him know, “You’re not supposed to say something like that to a woman.” But because she’s so hot for him, and coming to understand exactly what he meant, she responds, “Luckily for you, I’m aware that it’s a great ass. And yes, it’s big.”

Can you imagine all the “Does this skirt/dress/jeans make my ass look big?” conversations that would be eliminated if every woman could embrace the size of her bottom, and the rest of her, the way Natalie does?

I did forget one other thing Natalie and I have in common: beyond brie, food is a centerpiece of our relationships. Clayton’s descriptions of Natalie’s love of cheese and the way she savors other meals is part and parcel of her personality. She’s not going to order a bland, boring salad just because everyone else is doing it, just as she is bold enough to go after whatever and whoever she wants. She doesn’t shrink away from the richness of food around her, and in fact, revels in it, as does her pal Roxie, the heroine of the first book in the series, Nuts.

This might not seem like that big of a deal, but the body positive and food loving message in these hilarious romances spoke to me in a major way. I have moments of confidence, about my body, my ambitions, my core self, but they are all too often softened by the fears that literally wake me up at night, the impostor syndrome lurking in wait for any time I get too lofty in my goals. The other day, I put on one of my favorite skirts, a silky black number that clings to my ass in a way that emphasizes it, rather than minimizing it. I was looking for the perfect complement to a new sweater, and stood in front of the mirror, debating whether or not to ditch that skirt for one that might not put quite the same focus on my rear. But I went with it, because despite all the things I wish I could change about my body, I want to be more like Natalie. I want to have at least a little of her confidence.

As a feminist, I’m so pleased to read about a heroine who, yes, has her stumbling blocks, because a romance novel without drama wouldn’t be compelling, but who isn’t hung up on how much she weighs or the number labeled inside her clothes. As someone who, despite knowing logically just how punishing and unfair our culture’s beauty and body image norms are, still finds myself falling down the rabbit hole of thinking my life would be “perfect” if only I dropped 10, or 20, or 30, or 40 pounds, I need these kinds of reminders. I applaud those who are taking this ongoing struggle into the real world, like Good Housekeeping Beauty Editor Sam Escobar, who shared their weight and clothing size on Twitter as a way to normalize these numbers. In solidarity, I’ll share mine: 180 pounds, size 10 or 12, large or extra large, depending on the retailer. What I took away from Natalie is that it’s not about the number, it’s about how you feel about the number. She doesn’t let it stop her from doing anything or anyone, nor does it keep her from eating fabulous foods and simply luxuriating in being herself.

I don’t weigh myself anymore (I got that figure from various doctors’ visits), but I know that in the last few years of living in suburbia, where I don’t get nearly as much daily exercise in as I did as a New Yorker, I’ve put on plenty of pounds. I’ve had to update my wardrobe because much of the old one doesn’t fit. I’m not proud of that, but I also don’t want the entire focus of my life to be on depriving myself in order to fit back into them. I want to bring a little of that Natalie magic into my mindset, especially when I start to waver and fall into a body image shame spiral. I’m not going to pretend that will be simple or easy, but I’m sharing that vow here because I want to push through those negative moments so that I can make the most of my time on earth, rather than spending it berating myself simply for existing.

I’m off to attend romance convention Shameless Book Con in Orlando, where I’m going to tell Alice Clayton exactly how much Natalie meant to me, while picking up her latest, Roman Crazy.

Rachel Kramer Bussel ( has edited over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1, Come Again: Sex Toy Erotica, Begging for It, Fast Girls, The Big Book of Orgasms and more. She writes widely about sex, dating, books and pop culture and teaches erotica writing classes around the country and online. Follow her @raquelita on Twitter and find out more about her classes and consulting at

Selene & Her Cold, Cold Heart: UNDERWORLD #5 Where Are We Going? Where Have We Been?

20 Oct neehz2hlbagphk_2_b
Cold kick-ass heroine? Yeah. LURV IT!

Cold kick-ass heroine? Yeah. LURV IT!

By Madeline Iva

I’m an Underworld follower—are you?  UNDERWORLD #5 BLOOD WARS comes out January 6th. I’m not a big movie franchise person. Didn’t see all the Twilight films. Didn’t see all the Star Wars films, Star Trek films, Hobbit films, etc, etc.

I’m going to go see UNDERWORLD BLOOD WARS for three reasons: Theo James, Theo James and Theo James.

If you’ve missed the whole Underworld franchise, below are reasons why I loved the original film-as well as which of the films to watch and which to skip. For those of you who have seen Underworld #1 – 4, check out down below where I parse the preview for Underworld #5.

WHY UNDERWORLD? It vampires vs. werewolves–or Lycans as they call them, and I’m all about cool, glittery Vampires with style. And even more about Theo James.

Before Theo popped up in Underworld #4, what first drew me into this world was Selene—cold, rational, ruthless Selene. All alone and perfectly bad-ass. Wearing head to toe black with ice blue eyes, she is a liquid ripple of lethal grace in a sapphire city. A female action adventure lead who sees trouble with a slight irritated wrinkle of her logical brow, and then proceeds to ruthlessly shoot up whatever needs obliterating.neehz2hlbagphk_2_b

But you haven’t seen the movies? You poor thing. Come with me, let me guide you through them.

UNDERWORLD #1 is awesome! Great casting. Great style. Great photography–shot in shades of elegant blue and black. Where are we? Who cares. Probably America. But not really.

The toys are fun too: Vampires invent liquid silver bullets–how do they stay liquid at room temp? Reasons. The silver spreads through a Lycans’ bloodstream killing them dead.  But the Lycans find a way to create these glow-y untra-violet liquid bullets.  It’s sunshine in a bullet and also kills vampires dead.

However, while the Lycans run around like homeless hipsters through the underground all fight club-ish in the sewers, the vampires have retreated mostly to their gated gi-normic estate where they hold parties and such.  Selene seems to be the only one out there doing the gritty job of nailing the Lycans with a spray of bullets in the subway system, while her cohorts are all obsessed with the pecking order and some stupid party.


Michael is hot. And kinda cursed, poor guy.

One would think that Selene is without any feelings at all, but when she spots Michael she finds him interesting. She watches him from above – as he starts to experience a “my life is about to get pretty trippy right now” moment.  He’s hot in a Heath Ledger on steroids kind of way.

And yes, there’s a love story that develops.  Though at first it’s a “Shut up while I save your ass, idiot human” story.

The number one bad guy is played by the actor, Michael Sheen.  Michael Sheen’s greatness impresses me–I’m convinced he can do anything.  He was fabulous as “the pedantic one” in MIDNIGHT IN PARIS, and so very good in MASTERS OF SEX.


Michael Sheen–he’s soooo good!

To have a great story, your villain must be as compelling and as charismatic as your protagonists. We have that in Michael Sheen – he rivals our lovers in sympathy by the end, as well as in acting chops. Yet he’s willing to chew the scenery a bit, while the other two commit to underplaying their moments. (I love underplaying.  Seriously.)

And what’s-his-name –Bill Nighy, is GREAT as a clammy ancient vampire risen from his freeze-dried stasis. You get the feeling that if he was once human he’s long forgot all about it.  (It takes a certain kind of actor to sell that larger-than-life mythic quality–and Bill N is perfect.)

So we get a very good first half of the film, the beginning of the third act is great as well and the end wraps up with lot of fighting mixed with some dirty politics, then a lot more fight fight fight –and then we’re done.  Overall, Underworld #1 is very much worth seeing.

UNDERWORLD EVOLUTION is a great title–but a miss. Our protagonist from Underworld #1, Michael–aka Heath on Steroids–can transform into this bizarre, ferocious, black gargoyle thing.  The black gargoyle thing likes to fight.  And that’s what this movie is: fight fight fight, politics, politics, blah, blah, blah, fight fight fight. Selene, as always, has to get Michael back, fight everyone, then fight some more and–Yawn. Also the movie is shot too much in daylight. The Underworld franchise works best during the hours of midnight to 4am. I recommend skipping this movie.

Bill Nighy plays Viktor with relish.

Bill Nighy plays Viktor with relish.

UNDERWORLD 3, RISE OF THE LYCANS is freaky deaky. We go back to the past – and the past is bleak, my friends. It’s all stone castles, whips, and people layered in furs, wearing swords.  You know what I mean. I actually didn’t make it through the movie.  This ur-myth of the Lycans and how they came to be at war with the vampires for All Time was missing a crucial component for me–Selene.

I stopped watching when Michael Sheen and Rhona Mitra are making forbidden love. But they’re like, doing it sticking over the edge of a cliff. That was just odd. She was on top, and Michael Sheen was the one hanging over an abyss.  His character seems to like it.  Cliff kink.  Who’d a thunk it?

SIDE NOTE: Kate Beckinsale, by this time, was married to the director.  Which is like, uh-oh.  Because when she first came into the first Underworld movie she was married to Michael Sheen–with whom she has a child.  So there’s this whole personal relationship issue between Kate, the director Len Wiseman, and Michael Sheen–but Kate says they’re all cool.  Apparently she and Wiseman eventually broke up.len-wiseman

So although UNDERWORLD RISE OF THE LYCANS had it’s moments, it had no Selene. No Selene –and no Selene/Michael-Ledger-on-Steroids romance. This was a problem. Without Selene, I didn’t care.

But I’m still a believer!


Theo James is the kind of hero I can get behind.

UNDERWORLD AWAKENING got a big boost of energy in the form of Theo James and a tight new script that wasn’t exactly just the same-old same-old.  Selene had been caught and frozen.  She wakes up at the beginning of the film to find that we’ve gone from the kinda present to the near future – awesome! But wait! What about Michael? Selene is busting out of some nasty lab facility but before she leaves, she uses her sense of connection to track down Michael in another vampire popsicle container.  Only, when she busts in, it’s not Michael in the container.  It’s some tweener girl she’s never seen before.  Cool! But what about Michael?

They escape and discover Theo James.  Hell yeah—but what about MICHAEL?

I mean, the bite of love Selene feels for Michael–this is why we root for team Selene. And yet, I have to admit, if Michael has to die saving his little family or something and then Theo James steps in, I could live with that. I’m ready.

Ultimate decision: Underworld #4 is a decent movie. Plenty of Selene, and I’m able to let go Michael and move onto Theo.  Definitely worth watching.

Moving on!

UNDERWORLD 5: BLOOD WARS.  Here’s the trailer:

Okay, what can we ken from this 2:41 minute trailer?

Well, we’re back to Selene. And…there’s more Theo James.  (Fist pump!) What else can we glean from this preview? It’s shot in that blue-y light which makes me very very happy.

However, it’s not a good sign that they spend the first minute or so of the preview on the past.


Marius–watch out. Selene is coming for you.

The villain looks GOOD. It’s that British actor I see in lots of things that I think of as Not-Cumberbitch. (He’s tall, has the same coloring and small squinty blue eyes too. He plays a Lycan named Marius. I like the way Selene spits out the words “Tell your leader—Marius–” Ptwoo! “I’m coming for him.”

Theo’s around and he’s protecting Selene.  Great! Bring it on! Apparently the Lycans want the blood of Selene and her daughter and…somehow this will make someone invincible?  There are kick ass Lycans, power-hungry vampires, and a woman with long white hair. There’s some winter wonderland stuff that ends with Selene wrapped up like a mummy being dunked in ice water…and some kind of cage match.

Sign me up! I know, it all sounds sort of muddled, but I have faith.  They clearly have great actors, the blue-y light, and Selene plus Theo. This is what I like and for the rest, I’ll cross my fingers and hope for the best, because this movie has such a great fantasy/paranormal vibe.

Alas, it’s going to come out months from now.  Meanwhile, my own fantasy romance is out in two weeks — and I’m having a give away to celebrate.  Stay tuned!


Right now you can click to pre-order it for .99 cents. Crazy, right?

Right now you can click to pre-order it for .99 cents. Crazy, right?

Madeline Iva writes fantasy and paranormal romance.  Her fantasy romance, WICKED APPRENTICE, featuring a magic geek heroine, is available for pre-order and releases November 1st.  Sign up Madeline Iva news & give aways.  Follow her on facebook.


The Great Debate – Big Nips or Big Tits?

19 Oct

By Elizabeth Shore

So, here we are, heading down the final stretch of insanity that has defined this year’s presidential election. Tonight, if you choose, you can strap yourself in to endure listen to the last of the three debates between our two major party hopefuls. And yet…why? Why would you do that to yourselves, peeps? Do you really want to sit there cringing as verbal slings and arrows are hurled back and forth like so much steaming cow dung?

Ahhh…lemme think. No. Hell no. At the same time, it’s debate night, the opportunity we get from living in a free society to hash out some issues. All well and good, so I say let’s debate…but make it Lady Smut style.

As Kiersten Hallie Krum mentioned in her Monday post, I was at the fabulous New Jersey Put Your Heart in a Book annual conference last weekend. Lots of laughs, lots of drinks (wretched margaritas aside), and useful workshops galore. But let’s be clear. This was a gathering of romance writers, those ladies (and sprinkle of men) who write about and think about eternal love and scorching hot lust and craft those thoughts into deliciously wicked stories. So it should come as no surprise that at the conference, I overheard a conversation between a few writers that I’m submitting as fare fodder for our Lady Smut debate. Tonight’s topic: if forced to make a choice, do men overall prefer their ladies with large, robust nipples on small breasts or big, plush breasts with small nipples? Put that question in your pipe and smoke it, Chris Wallace.

I posed this question to a panel of esteemed experts – my guy friends. Now, admittedly, it put them a bit on the spot. Do they answer truthfully, or do they tell me what they think I want to hear? In fairness, I think they gave me the straight dope, and overwhelmingly the answer was, it doesn’t matter. Big and small, they like them all. Yeah, OK. But still…

Ever the intrepid Lady Smutter, I delved deeper, thinking some historical data may prove useful. An article in Time magazine pointed out that the U.S. issued its first patent on the modern bra a little over 100 years ago, on November 3, 1914. It was initially meant to alleviate the discomfort of “the girls” just silently swinging with no support. But in 1948 Frederick’s of Hollywood gave us the first push-up bra and the modest little garment was no longer relegated to mere practical clothing but rather an alluring enhancement meant to entice. Entice the viewer of breasts, that is, thus giving credence to the argument that it’s the big breasts men want, nipples be damned.

But not so fast! One of my guy friends actually did take a stand, firm in his opinion that big nipples on small breasts out-trumps (zing!) large breasts with small nipples “every time.” Further, he stated, “natural breasts are always better than fake.” Size, in this case, truly doesn’t matter. Backing up his conviction was an article I found from our friends at Psychology Today discussing men’s “complex feelings about women’s breasts.”

The article’s author, Michael Castelman, says that for him personally, when he found a woman who was kind, willing to put up with him, and willing to remove her bra, he was so grateful that he “thoroughly enjoyed anything that fell out of them.” Good on ya, Michael.

His article does cite a couple of studies showing men’s preference toward larger breasts. But it’s not as straightforward as one might assume. Taking a trip back in time, evolutionary psychology suggests men’s preference for larger breasts is embedded in the belief that large breasts indicate a well-fed woman, who in turn would be better suited to bear children than her lean breasted (read: under-nourished) counterpart. Transporting that to today’s time, Castleman cites a study of 66 Englishmen who ranged from hungry to well-fed and who were shown photos of women’s breasts. The hungry ones preferred the larger breasted women, while the ones fully sated went for the smaller breasts. On a socio-economic scale, there are studies similarly showing that wealthy men prefer smaller chested women (thus, Castleman points out, rich guys going for skinny, smll-breasted models).

Yeah, but back to our debate. Large breasts, small nipples or small breasts, large nipples? A writer who dubs himself “Dr. Tickles” wrote in an article for, “I have to say the girl with a small pair of nipples would have to be amazing in almost every way because big nipples simply drive me crazy and frankly, I don’t think it’s something I can do without.”

Huh. Well, I dare say we might have to declare a tie. Truth is, we all have our preferences. One gal’s Brad Pitt is another’s Pee Wee Herman. As for the guys, while Dr. Tickles goes nuts over nips, his buddy may well prefer the more lushly endowed. At the end of the day, as one of my friends put it, “all breasts are lovely.”

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




P*ssy, Unchained

18 Oct
Ready to grab your own? Click to buy.

Ready to grab your own? Click to buy.

By Alexa Day
A few days ago, at the Washington Romance Writers Reader and Blogger Appreciation Luncheon, my mom and I shared fried zucchini and conversation with Sarah Wendell from Smart Bitches, Trashy Books. Sarah said she was reading The Infamous Miss Rodriguez, which I later used to demonstrate the power of Amazon’s 1-Click Button for Mom. Mom talked about her favorite male/male romances; she’s partial to rock star heroes these days.
And then Sarah asked what I was reading.
“P*ssy,” I said.
Sarah and I were across the table from each other. I wasn’t altogether confident that she’d heard me, but the table went still, so I guess I didn’t have to worry about that after all.
“What?” she asked, tucking one finger behind her ear. The rest of the table might have heard, but she hadn’t.
“P*ssy,” I repeated, just a bit more loudly. I wasn’t trying to get the attention of the entire room, after all. But this time the whole table leaned in, looking for a confirmation that would lead to laughter and relief. Ohhh, everyone would say. We thought you said p*ssy.
When I said it the third time, I felt like E.F. Hutton. And then I felt really, really old for thinking of E.F. Hutton. Does anyone even remember E.F. Hutton? They’re still around, or I would put an ad here.
My point is that “p*ssy” is a loaded word. Just about 24 hours after the Republican candidate for President of the United States bragged that he could, with impunity, “grab [women] by the p*ssy,” here I was, trying not to shout the word over the appetizers. As a culture, we’ve been uncomfortable with the word “p*ssy” and what it represents for a pretty long time.
Enter P*ssy: A Reclamation by Regena Thomashauer. Put very, very simply, the premise of P*ssy is that a woman’s sexual energy is the most powerful force in existence … and that most of us have lost sight of that. Society has made the study of women’s sexual pleasure into something dirty. It has made women’s sexuality subject to the patriarchy. If women don’t want what men want, in the very specific way that men want it, then society decides that we are in need of correction and guidance. The result is that many, many women lose sight of what they want. Their desires are buried and ignored, and they are themselves diminished as a result.
I would submit that a patriarchal society isn’t always to blame for the suffocation of women’s desires. I thought I was in close contact with what I wanted, especially because I have so few people of influence in my life. But it’s been quite a year. Fear around the loss of one job. Frustration with another. Pressure from tight deadlines. A long, long list of tasks left untended for too long. For a long time, all I wanted was to be left alone — not a great place for an erotica writer to be.
The solution? Living a more “p*ssified” life.
P*ssy describes a course of action, a series of lifestyle decisions, and more than one event that had me wishing that I lived in a more sexually open place. (Is there a Demonstration of Extended Massive Orgasm course near me, I wonder?) Along with the guided tour of the female anatomy, P*ssy invites the reader to invest more time in self-pleasure of the sexual and non-sexual kind. The more time we spend exploring our desires and opening ourselves to the sensual world around us, the more powerful we become. We are receptive and transformative. We become “able to live a life that is based on [our] dreams rather than the agenda other people have for [us]” (page 46).
P*ssy leads us to reconnect to feminine intuition, to the deep well of emotion, to the broad spectrum of desires that have all been stifled by the world’s desire to see us safe, nice, and frankly, more manageable. No matter how we might have lost track of that tremendous feminine force — and so many of us remember exactly when that happened — P*ssy reminds us that it’s never too late to find our way home. The journey definitely has its roots in the sexual; you will spend a great deal of time touching and talking to yourself. Ask Your P*ssy, Panty-Free Friday, and an intense study of “Cliteracy” are definitely highlights of the book. But orgasm is a gateway to exalting the entire body. Dance, luxuriant meals, and indulgent self-care soon join a regimen of self-pleasure, which in turn leads to self-discovery and self-knowledge.
Alexa is not about to share Ray Donovan. Click to get your own.

Alexa is not about to share Ray Donovan. Click to get your own.

It all starts with p*ssy. In my case, if you’re interested, I finally determined that what I wanted was to spend a great deal of time watching Ray Donovan. In his own way, Ray is more overwhelmed than I am. But the ugly truth is that I would rather watch Liev Schreiber be overwhelmed than be overwhelmed myself. (Unless we’re thinking … well, you know.)
I gave Sarah Wendell and the rest of my lunch companions a much abbreviated version of all this. (I left Ray Donovan out of it. I didn’t even really want to tell you about that, but sharing is caring.) Whether people were interested in just the title or in the premise of the book, I’m not sure. At length, Sarah nodded at me.
“I read something much like that once,” she said thoughtfully. “It was called C*nt.”
No one asked her to repeat that.
Are you following Lady Smut?
Alexa Day is the USA Today bestselling author of erotica and erotic romance with heroines who are anything but innocent. In her fictional worlds, 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. Check out her new release, Illicit Impulse, for plenty of sex, (experimental) drugs, and friendships with benefits.

Lady Smutters Out and About…and Causing Trouble

17 Oct

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

Okay, the causing trouble aspect might be a wee bit subjective, but Madeline Iva came home from the Washington Romance Writers Blogger and Reader Luncheon with a bag of (very cool) skull jewelry, so really, anything goes.

But you, lovely Lady Smutters, already knew that.

Last week, I posted about how our Lady Smut bloggers were out and about in the real world. This past weekend, I was bouncing around the New Jersey Romance Writers annual Put Your Heart in a Book Conference. Two days talking about books and publishing and romance. Oh my!

Lady Smut blogger Elizabeth Shore was also there, but she’s wily and slick, so though we caught glimpses of one another and even one side-arm hug, unfortunately there’s no evidence (i.e. a photo) of us in the same place. Bestselling authors HelenKay Dimon, Tessa Dare, and Terri Brisbin graced us with their publishing and writing experience and wisdom. I unfortunately missed Tessa Dare’s special presentation (in my defense, it was very early in the morning), but greatly enjoyed both HelenKay and Terri’s wit and insight.


With HelenKay Dimon at the conference

Conference keynote speaker, HelenKay Dimon, spoke passionately about why reading matters, why it is so important. We don’t read only to escape or for stress relief or to indulge in fantasy. We read to survive. To escape bullying. To escape family illness or tragedy. To believe and feel better and to figure out how to defeat the monsters in our lives. In books, the bad guys are defeated, and that gives us hope that the bad guys in life can be defeated too.


Worst margarita ever. No, REALLY.

“I have never felt guilty for reading a book,” HelenKay said. “Love is empowering. It has the ability to take us to a different place, to make us feel great.” In romance novels, she said, women are the heroines of their own stories (sound familiar?). To the hero, no matter how plain or regular or normal or whatever, to the hero, she is the most beautiful woman in the world. “In romances, there are women who are comfortable in their sexuality and men who celebrate it. Romance is about hope that you can overcome, no matter how many mistakes you’ve made or how flawed your past is, that someone will love you for you. When someone writes that romance doesn’t matter, my answer is ‘kiss my ass!’.”

Preach it, HelenKay.

Luncheon speaker, Terri Brisbin, spoke about the rules of writing–write what you know, make sure hero and heroine meet within first 10 pages, write the breakout book, blah blah blah. According to Terri, none of them really matter. Terri counseled that only three rules were important: If you want to be a writer, you have to write, and you have to find the time in your life to do it whatever your challenges. Tied in with that advice is that you have to read, you have to keep reading to refresh the well that hydrates your writing. She also advises to gather good people around you and hold on to them. “Trying to be a creative person in a business world is hell, unless you have good people around you,” she said. “Sometimes, they’re right there with you and you don’t even know it.” Finally, as a dental hygienist, Terri emphasized the only one true thing in life that everyone must do: “brush and floss two times a day.”



First-line bingo fun

On Sunday, after the conference, we had the inaugural NJRW Hearts & Sparks Reader and Blogger Brunch. Here writers mixed and mingles with readers and bloggers with a delicious full brunch. First-line bingo sheets were employed as a fun, interactive ice-breaker where guests had to find out which first line on the bingo sheet came from what author’s book. Given my book WILD ON THE ROCKS starts with the line “Check the stalls.” I got a lot of people wondering just what kind of stall was being employed–and exactly what they were doing in the stall! Naturally, I told them to read the book and find out! Okay, I gave in and told ’em because I hate waiting. But still!


First-line bingo fun


Swag tables at the brunch

It was so wonderful to meet so many enthusiastic readers and bloggers–people who love passionately love romance novels. As bestselling historical romance novelist Tessa Dare noted, we sit behind our computers and laptops all day, in our PJs or our yoga pants or whatever (I’m writing this wearing a new nightie, FTR. TMI? Oh well.) and we so rarely get to meet in person the people for whom we’re writing (after ourselves, naturally). And that’s you, lovely readers and Lady Smutters, and that’s why we have our MEET page here on Lady Smut, so that you can come on out and meet us and, even better, we can meet *you*.

Plus, ya know, free stuff.



That’s right! I have goodies for you–free, author signed books, including the super sexy MINE by HelenKay Dimon,  one of three Scottish medieval adventures from Terri Brisbin, and Tessa Dare’s new historical regency romance A WEEK TO BE WICKED. Subscribe to our Lady Smut newsletter and/or click the FOLLOW button, and then leave us a shot of the confirmation in the comments along with your choice of the above pictured books. I’ll do a random selection and post the winners on next Monday’s post.

Follow Lady Smut. We’ll give you lots of reasons to keep reading to survive.

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 Rocksis now available. Visit her website at and find her regularly over sharing on various social media via @kierstenkrum.

Sexy Saturday Round Up

15 Oct

1-ssruIt’s been quite a week people! If you need a break from it all – well, you’re in the right place. Sorta.  Take some solace in the articles below, wrap up yourself in a sassy scarf and get cozy! It’s the weekend.

From Madeline Iva:

UNBOUND GIVEAWAY – You want this box, and you’ve got one week left to get it. 

Seven types of boobs? Do tell.

This is your brain on sex: is sex addiction like drug addiction?

Top 10 facts about the concept of nymphomania

10 freaky sex scenes in historical literature

The new hot trend: HISTORICAL FANTASY – Yeah, baby!

Black women doctors take to social media.  Find out why.

The secret to love is kindness – DUH! Actually, though, this is the number one bit of advice to having a happier relationship, and it’s so easy.

From Heroes & Heartbreakers: More joy for the tv show FLEABAG

Which witch are you?

I got Glinda the Good Witch. Because I *AM* Glinda. (At least I wanna be.)

I got Glinda the Good Witch. Because I *AM* Glinda. (At least I wanna be.)



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