Janine Ashbless's Blog, page 13
November 26, 2018
Blue Monday - with free books!
Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!
Today is a bit special because you can download these books for FREE on Kindle! Editor Rose Caraway is holding a sale at Stupid Fish Books, so today and tomorrow (26th-27th November) several of her beautiful erotica anthologies are going for £/$ NOTHING, even if you aren't signed up to Kindle Unlimited - including a couple featuring my own short stories (both definitely on the horror spectrum, btw).
Sweet Hel Below:
The Norse god Baldur dies, goes down to the Land of the Dead... and goes down on its terrifying queen
My brother killed me.
He didn’t mean to, of course. He only wanted to join in with all the other laughing, beer-giddy gods as they took it in turns to attack me and watch their weapons bounce off without even making contact. So when Loki sidled up to him, pressed the mistletoe dart into his hand and said “Here, I’ll guide your throw,” blind and trusting Hodur let him. The magical dart, sharp as iron, pierced my left eye and buried itself to the tip in my brain.
That is a story everyone knows. I’m telling a different one here.
They burnt me on a ship-pyre. The black smoke rose up and I blew away as soot. Then rain caught me and washed me down into the leaves of the World Tree, down the silvery bark to its roots, past mortal lands and the realms of fire and ice to the very lowest of the Nine Worlds. To Helheim.
Where else is there for a dead god to go?
I found myself facing a ravine full of raging water and churning sword blades. How wide that gulf stretched it was hard to tell; to my dismay the sight in my left eye had not returned to me. I walked the bank, stumbling sometimes, until I found a bridge with a roof of golden thatch. Guarding it was a blonde and lovely giantess almost twice my height, armed with shield and spear.
“What’s your name, traveler?” She grinned at me, looking me up and down in a way I’m quite familiar with.
“Baldur, Odin’s Son.”
“Baldur the Golden?” Her face fell a little. “I heard the news from Asgard. You may pass.”
I tried a smile. “I don’t have to fight you?”
“I am here to stop people getting out of Helheim,” she answered gently. “Follow the road north and downhill to find the Lady’s hall. But first, kiss me. Dead or not, I would have it said that Modgud was once kissed by Baldur the Beautiful.”
She knelt so that I could kiss her, though I fear my lips felt cold because her own felt so warm to me. I stroked her breasts until she began to sigh, feeling her big nipples rise to the kiss of my cool fingers and the heat thrum beneath her skin. Her heart beat harder. But then, with a sad laugh, she pushed me away.
“No more, alas, Odinsson. The Dead and the Living may not lie together.”
Amazon UK
Amazon US
The Sorcerer's Apprentice:
A cocky would-be sorcerer meets his match when he tries to take advantage of a succubus
Mr. Deverick kept a woman in the penthouse apartment. In a cage.
Heh. I felt a bit weird about that, the first time I saw her. The mirrored wall slid back and behind it was a dark windowless room. As Deverick stepped over the threshold the lights came on. The room was featureless except for the cage, and the cage was empty except for the girl. She was kneeling on the floor, her face to the hardwood inlay, her long blonde hair fallen over her hands. I could see a lot of bare skin, the color of clover honey.
The room smelled faintly of pussy.
I thought: Fuck, is this a test? He hadn’t warned me. And I’m pretty sure some of the bugshit-crazy stuff he gets me to do is just to test me out.
This made me nervous, and I couldn’t help making a snorting noise. Like a laugh, only not really, because this wasn’t funny or anything. It was a bit creepy.
But the noise made her raise her head and sit back, and then it became creepy and hot—both at the same time. She was wearing a little pair of baby-pink panties and a T-shirt in the same color, except that the shirt had been hacked off way too short, covering her nipples but showing a whole lot of under-boob. She had big tits, see, and because the room was cold I could see her nips poking through the thin cloth like light switches. Those trashy clothes made her look more fuckable than if she’d been naked, I swear.
As her eyes lit on Deverick her expression went from sad and pouty to a hopeful little smile, all eager to please.
My cock did 0-60 in less time than it took my hand to reach up and pull nervously at my tie.
“What’s on your mind, Dylan?” my employer asked me. “Something funny?”
I cleared my throat, knowing that if he glanced in the vicinity of my crotch he wouldn’t have to ask. That girl was just prime T&A. Majestic tits, teeny little waist, wide hips flaring out below. Hair long and blonde and sleek, streaked with ashy highlights. Big wide don’t-hurt-me-daddy eyes that looked green even from this distance. And a mouth like …
I told my inner art critic to shut the fuck up. “I was just wondering if they’re real, Mr. Deverick,” I said, trying to sound all cool. “Her tits, like.”
He lifted an eyebrow. Flicking a finger at the girl he spoke a few words in a language I didn’t recognize, and though he didn’t raise his voice it was clearly an instruction. She rose to her feet and came forward to the bars, allowing me to add Incredible Long Legs to my inventory of her assets.
The steel struts were placed just the right distance apart. She pulled up her T-shirt and thrust herself forward so that a bar was nestled in the valley of her cleavage, and her award-winning golden globes stuck through on either side. Her nipples stared at me.
“Have a feel,” said Deverick with a polite gesture.
Say what you like about my boss—and people do say some nasty shit about him, though only when they think he’s out of earshot—Michael Deverick knows a thing or two about perks for loyal employees. Today’s particular perks were … perky, to the max. I moved in close. The girl, either bashful or plain old nervous, looked up at me through her long lashes and glanced at Deverick as if for reassurance. At the periphery of my vision I saw him nod.
She smelled like sex in a rose garden.
I cupped those fabulous titties with a feeling of genuine awe and squeezed slowly, questing—in vain—for the over-firm bulge of silicone implants. I pressed them together round the bar and thumbed her nipples and rubbed her skin. And to my surprise I felt her respond: a flush crept up her throat and her eyes darkened as her pupils dilated. Then she moaned, very softly: perhaps too softly for Mr. Deverick to hear. It was like a secret between us.
My cock was like a fucking totem pole by this point. You could have held a war dance around it.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Are they real, then?” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Oh yeah.” I gave her nips another tug and saw her eyelids flutter. I knew I should stop, having done the task requested of me, but my hands had a will of their own and my hard-on was voting with them. “They’re real alright. Is she Russian? I mean, I know you’ve got a line in luxury imports…”
He laughed softly. “No, not Russian.”
“That language?”
“Enochian.”
Fuck. Enochian. I might have a shed-load to learn from Deverick, but I’d already heard of Enochian. It’s the language of angels … and fallen angels.
I let go of the beach-balls and took a couple of steps back. My boss grinned that Hollywood Irish grin of his. But the girl just grabbed the bars and looked up at me with those big innocent eyes, desolate.
“Is she …?” I didn’t want to say angel. It sounded gay. “A demon?”
“A succubus.”
I stared at her, waiting for a flash of sulfurous yellow eyes or fangs or something. But she just looked like a human girl. Except better.
“So your job while I’m away next week is very simple,” he told me, pointing at the floor of the cage and putting her on her knees with two words.
I shut my slack jaw and tried to focus. Simple was good. Simple made a change. He was forever sending me off on errands that were complex and downright peculiar—crossing five Thames bridges, blindfolded and on foot, before sunset; or busking outside Kings Cross Underground and giving a bottle of … something … to the first blue-eyed man who dropped me a coin. Nor did the sly bastard ever explain what purposes these acts had. I just had to guess—and if my guesses were getting stronger over the last year, that was down to my own hard work. He was in no damn hurry to teach me anything, despite our agreement.
“Every night after dark you come in to this suite, you open this door and come in here. Then you whack your Mr. Ugly through the bars and give her a cream tea. That’s all. Don’t fuck her, and whatever you do don’t kiss her. Once only. Then leave.”
Amazon UK
Amazon US
November 25, 2018
Brave New World
Take one look at your skies
And in the darkness realize
Kill fear, the power of lies
For we will not be hypnotized
November 23, 2018
Who's a Big Boy then?
I have made a pilgrimage to what must surely be my spiritual home, and paid respects to my totem god.
Can you see him over my shoulder there?
It's the Cerne Abbas Giant, who is official possessor of the Biggest Dick in Britain - 36 ft long!
He's actually best seen from the sky:
Photo from Wikipedia, CC LicenseCarved into the chalk hillside above a Dorset village by hands unknown (but probably sticky), the Giant is ancient (at least early 17th Century) and may possibly be Romano-British or even older. No one knows. He's a big hit round Cerne Abbas. Apparently spending the night on his knob is helpful if you are trying to get pregnant - or so they say!We ate lunch in this nice pub:
Where we drank this beer:
See - travel does broaden the mind ;-)
November 21, 2018
Dirty 30 Vol.3: table of contents
Rose Caraway is publishing a third volume in The Sexy Librarian's Dirty 30 series of anthologies, now officially aiming at Spring 2019. She's just published the line-up, and my story, Sourdough , is right up there!
Sourdough is a step outside my comfort zone because it's a Western - you can read a teaser snippet here.
The Sexy Librarian returns withDirty 30, Volume 3!
COMING, Spring of 2019!!This may be her hottest collection yet.Get ready for; a concubine who makes samurai blush, interrogation room suspense, moonshine and revenge, a nurse who gives good bedside manner, a night burglar, priestly desires and parishioner confessions, couple’s massage, a sexy bidding war, rekindling of old flames, a jewelry heist, hot courtroom drama, aliens, a new spin on Hansel and Gretel, mermaid folklore, and so much more!
November 19, 2018
Blue Monday: S J Smith guests
Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!
Today's guest is Sinful Press stablemate S J Smith, with an excerpt from his new erotic-comedy novel Return to the House of Fox:
The new management has embarked on a program of modernisation, intending to reopen the doors of the greatest brothel in the known universe for business. But while the plans are not welcomed by all, forces of both good and evil have recognised an opportunity to finally worm their way inside the infamous House of Fox.
For Doctor Katrina Moore, a chance meeting with a mysterious patient will set her on a journey of self-discovery. Meanwhile, Kitty de Catt just wants her old job back, and is prepared to go to any lengths to make sure she gets her way.
Once again, every fantasy will come true, in this gripping sequel to The House of Fox that literally no one has been waiting for: Return to the House of Fox: The ***** of the Golden ***** (subtitle redacted for legal reasons).
“So now you go quiet on me.” Katrina, chin propped on knuckles, sat on a kitchen stool in front of Willy, who remained in a comatose flop in his wheelchair. She’d brought him back to her home for lack of any better ideas, but now, with the sun well on the rise and the traffic steadily building toward rush hour outside, she realised that particular decision had been a stupid one. A rush of blood and adrenaline had carried her through the night, but in the cold light of day she had to face up to the fact she had kidnapped a patient from the hospital, and sooner or later, someone was going to start looking for him.
She had to take Willy and get out of here, that much was obvious. But where? Now she had him, what the hell was she supposed to do with him? “Come on, Mister, a little help would be appreciated,” she implored for the umpteenth time. But the Jesus Penis wasn’t playing ball, and remained small and shrivelled, hiding in the nook of Willy’s pyjama flies like some tiny, skittish mammal, too scared to poke its nose out its nest.
“Okay,” she pointed a waggling finger. “Maybe I’ll just force you to come back to life,” and she took hold of it, rubbed and squeezed it, gently massaged the shrunken head. Nothing happened. So she leaned forward and kissed it, trailed her tongue along the limited length of its shaft. Nothing happened. Not a sausage.
Hmm. This was a headscratcher. How to coax an erection from a seemingly impotent cock. If anyone could do it, surely it ought to be the former eminent cockologist, Dr Katrina Moore? Medically, she knew exactly how the damn things worked. Give her the right combination of tools, physical therapy and drugs and she could raise even the limpest of winkles from the dead. To personally inspire a stiffy was a different matter, however. She’d never exactly pushed the frontiers in the bedroom department. Standard missionary with the lights off was perfectly sufficient, thank you very much. Just get it over with quickly, because she had far more important things to do.
“Got to be sexy,” she whispered to herself, as she narrowed her eyes and tried to second guess the reluctant cock. She undid a couple of buttons and leaned forward, giving the Jesus Penis an eyeful of cleavage. Nothing happened. How about a bit of dirty talk? “Hey there. How’d you like to engage in full penetrative intercourse and be inserted into my vagina?” Nothing. God, she sucked at this.
How did they do it, those seducers and teasers of men? How could a grown woman pout and jiggle and slowly strip naked for some drooling man, without the patent ridiculousness of the situation sending her into a laughing fit? She thought about the girls she’d seen on TV, how they held their audience enraptured by simply hinting they might take off their clothes. Maybe that was the answer; would a lap dance entice the Jesus Penis out of its shell? She got to her feet, stood over Willy and undid a couple more buttons while swaying her hips in what she hoped was a vaguely erotically pleasing manner. Nope. She couldn’t go through with it; it was just way too stupid. “To hell with you,” she snapped, turned her back on the cock and stormed away to put the kettle on.
Angrily throwing a teabag into a mug, she decided to take matters into her own hands. What was the point hanging around here waiting for a limp dick to tell her what to do? Since when was a man the master of her? She carried her cuppa to the kitchen table, then went and fetched a road atlas from the shelf in the drawing room. Opening it out at a full page map of Wales, she blew the steam off her tea and pondered the image; here was Coraton, down on the south coast, and out of its urban sprawl, a network of highways led off in all directions, each one a potential journey in the making. All she had to do was choose one; throw Willy in the back of the car and set off; see where the road took her.
As she traced the red line of a motorway with her fingernail, she became aware of movement in the corner of her eye, and turned to see the Jesus Penis expanding and swelling. “Oh, finally you decide to put in an appearance.” She folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip, keen to let the appendage know it wasn’t in her good books right now. But there was something different about this erection, something altogether more powerful, and instead of arousal, fear coursed through her veins.
Below her feet, a tremble shook the ground, and she clutched at the rim of the table in alarm. The light in the hall dimmed and surged, dimmed and surged, and the digital radio sprung to life, broadcasting some ominously heavyweight German opera. The Jesus Penis grew bigger and bigger, passing a foot in length, vibrating as if being manipulated by some unseen hand.
“Oh my God,” Katrina ducked down. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
A deafening roar, like the approach of a tsunami, had her put her hands over her ears, and she dived below the table for cover. Plates tumbled from the cupboards and pictures fell from the wall as the whole room shook. The Jesus Penis’ angry purple head swung around in her direction.
“
No, please, stop.”
With a sound like the popping of a champagne cork, the King of Cocks ejaculated a wad of spunk. It flew through the air, six feet off the ground, and landed with a splat on top of the table, somewhere above Katrina’s head. The shaking stopped. Everything became quiet and still.
After a couple of minutes, she dared to creep out from her hiding place. The room lay wrecked, broken crockery and glass shards scattered across the beige floor tiles. Katrina got to her feet, trembling with fear. The Jesus Penis had returned to its dormant state, tiny and insignificant, a snail in its shell. “What the hell happened?” She took two steps out into the open, and only then did she realise.
The blob of greyish white spunk had landed on the atlas, plopping down right on top of a town called Rhyl.
Buy Return to the House of Fox at:
Amazon (universal link)
SJ Smith is a neurotic recluse who lives in a small town in North Wales. It has long been his dream to become a filth monger.
SJ Smith blog
Twitter
Facebook
Today's guest is Sinful Press stablemate S J Smith, with an excerpt from his new erotic-comedy novel Return to the House of Fox:
The new management has embarked on a program of modernisation, intending to reopen the doors of the greatest brothel in the known universe for business. But while the plans are not welcomed by all, forces of both good and evil have recognised an opportunity to finally worm their way inside the infamous House of Fox.
For Doctor Katrina Moore, a chance meeting with a mysterious patient will set her on a journey of self-discovery. Meanwhile, Kitty de Catt just wants her old job back, and is prepared to go to any lengths to make sure she gets her way.
Once again, every fantasy will come true, in this gripping sequel to The House of Fox that literally no one has been waiting for: Return to the House of Fox: The ***** of the Golden ***** (subtitle redacted for legal reasons).
“So now you go quiet on me.” Katrina, chin propped on knuckles, sat on a kitchen stool in front of Willy, who remained in a comatose flop in his wheelchair. She’d brought him back to her home for lack of any better ideas, but now, with the sun well on the rise and the traffic steadily building toward rush hour outside, she realised that particular decision had been a stupid one. A rush of blood and adrenaline had carried her through the night, but in the cold light of day she had to face up to the fact she had kidnapped a patient from the hospital, and sooner or later, someone was going to start looking for him.
She had to take Willy and get out of here, that much was obvious. But where? Now she had him, what the hell was she supposed to do with him? “Come on, Mister, a little help would be appreciated,” she implored for the umpteenth time. But the Jesus Penis wasn’t playing ball, and remained small and shrivelled, hiding in the nook of Willy’s pyjama flies like some tiny, skittish mammal, too scared to poke its nose out its nest.
“Okay,” she pointed a waggling finger. “Maybe I’ll just force you to come back to life,” and she took hold of it, rubbed and squeezed it, gently massaged the shrunken head. Nothing happened. So she leaned forward and kissed it, trailed her tongue along the limited length of its shaft. Nothing happened. Not a sausage.
Hmm. This was a headscratcher. How to coax an erection from a seemingly impotent cock. If anyone could do it, surely it ought to be the former eminent cockologist, Dr Katrina Moore? Medically, she knew exactly how the damn things worked. Give her the right combination of tools, physical therapy and drugs and she could raise even the limpest of winkles from the dead. To personally inspire a stiffy was a different matter, however. She’d never exactly pushed the frontiers in the bedroom department. Standard missionary with the lights off was perfectly sufficient, thank you very much. Just get it over with quickly, because she had far more important things to do.
“Got to be sexy,” she whispered to herself, as she narrowed her eyes and tried to second guess the reluctant cock. She undid a couple of buttons and leaned forward, giving the Jesus Penis an eyeful of cleavage. Nothing happened. How about a bit of dirty talk? “Hey there. How’d you like to engage in full penetrative intercourse and be inserted into my vagina?” Nothing. God, she sucked at this.
How did they do it, those seducers and teasers of men? How could a grown woman pout and jiggle and slowly strip naked for some drooling man, without the patent ridiculousness of the situation sending her into a laughing fit? She thought about the girls she’d seen on TV, how they held their audience enraptured by simply hinting they might take off their clothes. Maybe that was the answer; would a lap dance entice the Jesus Penis out of its shell? She got to her feet, stood over Willy and undid a couple more buttons while swaying her hips in what she hoped was a vaguely erotically pleasing manner. Nope. She couldn’t go through with it; it was just way too stupid. “To hell with you,” she snapped, turned her back on the cock and stormed away to put the kettle on.
Angrily throwing a teabag into a mug, she decided to take matters into her own hands. What was the point hanging around here waiting for a limp dick to tell her what to do? Since when was a man the master of her? She carried her cuppa to the kitchen table, then went and fetched a road atlas from the shelf in the drawing room. Opening it out at a full page map of Wales, she blew the steam off her tea and pondered the image; here was Coraton, down on the south coast, and out of its urban sprawl, a network of highways led off in all directions, each one a potential journey in the making. All she had to do was choose one; throw Willy in the back of the car and set off; see where the road took her.
As she traced the red line of a motorway with her fingernail, she became aware of movement in the corner of her eye, and turned to see the Jesus Penis expanding and swelling. “Oh, finally you decide to put in an appearance.” She folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip, keen to let the appendage know it wasn’t in her good books right now. But there was something different about this erection, something altogether more powerful, and instead of arousal, fear coursed through her veins.
Below her feet, a tremble shook the ground, and she clutched at the rim of the table in alarm. The light in the hall dimmed and surged, dimmed and surged, and the digital radio sprung to life, broadcasting some ominously heavyweight German opera. The Jesus Penis grew bigger and bigger, passing a foot in length, vibrating as if being manipulated by some unseen hand.
“Oh my God,” Katrina ducked down. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
A deafening roar, like the approach of a tsunami, had her put her hands over her ears, and she dived below the table for cover. Plates tumbled from the cupboards and pictures fell from the wall as the whole room shook. The Jesus Penis’ angry purple head swung around in her direction.
“
No, please, stop.”
With a sound like the popping of a champagne cork, the King of Cocks ejaculated a wad of spunk. It flew through the air, six feet off the ground, and landed with a splat on top of the table, somewhere above Katrina’s head. The shaking stopped. Everything became quiet and still.
After a couple of minutes, she dared to creep out from her hiding place. The room lay wrecked, broken crockery and glass shards scattered across the beige floor tiles. Katrina got to her feet, trembling with fear. The Jesus Penis had returned to its dormant state, tiny and insignificant, a snail in its shell. “What the hell happened?” She took two steps out into the open, and only then did she realise.
The blob of greyish white spunk had landed on the atlas, plopping down right on top of a town called Rhyl.
Buy Return to the House of Fox at:
Amazon (universal link)SJ Smith is a neurotic recluse who lives in a small town in North Wales. It has long been his dream to become a filth monger.
SJ Smith blog
November 18, 2018
The Old Straight Path
Here's a setting for a spooky encounter I came across this week ... the old Drove Road across the Quantock Hills in Somerset. It's been in use by shepherds and drovers since at least medieval times, when it was called the Alferode ("Elf-Road"? "Alfred's Road"?) Certainly Alfred the Great might have used it, as it it was a Saxon "Harepath" (an army route) and features an even earlier Bronze Age monolith at Triscombe Stone.
The wibbly beech trees are relatively late plantings on top of the stone walls.
November 16, 2018
1933
Frank Turner puts my reaction to the last few years into verse
November 14, 2018
Read it, now edit
The submissions window for Lust in the Dust has now CLOSED, which means it's time for me to go into overdrive.
Sexy Little Pages likes a fast turnaround on acceptances and rejections, so my job now is to make that choice of 9 stories. Already I'm feeling bad.
Why? Because I'm going to be rejecting some perfectly great stories, for various good reasons - they don't quite fit the theme of the anthology, or I've reached my quota of zombies, or they aren't right for this publisher (but they'd do fine elsewhere). One of the stories I love, but we're really not sure it'll get past the Apple censor. Two of the stories, both of them dramatic and well written, have essentially the same plot twist ... and I can't choose both!
And I'm aware, because I'm on the other side of this so often, that those authors have poured hours of effort, their heart and soul, into their creations. So it feels cruel saying Sorry, No.
It's a tough job ... but I guess someone's got to do it. Pity the editor, folks.
November 12, 2018
Blue Monday: Lucy Felthouse guests
Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!
Today's guest is more used to organising promo for other people - it's erotica powerhouse Lucy Felthouse, with an excerpt from her own new short story collection, Multi-Orgasmic: Vol.2
If you’re a fan of erotic short stories, then get your hands on this collection from the pen of award-winning erotica author Lucy Felthouse.
From famous movie stars to sexy farmers, holiday flings to seducing delivery drivers, and even unusual household items being used as bondage, this book has variety galore. It’s sure to get you hot under the collar and eager to turn just one more page.
Enjoy nineteen titillating tales, over 54,000 words of naughtiness packed into one steamy read.
Please note: Many of the stories in this book have been previously published in anthologies, as standalones, and online, but three are brand new and never seen before!
“Need a hand with that, sweetheart?”
The oh-so-familiar voice crashed through her fantasy like a bulldozer through a sheet of paper. Her eyes flew open and she shrieked, cursed, then died of embarrassment right then and there. Or at least she wished she’d die of embarrassment, wished the ground would swallow her up… anything that would mean she wasn’t sitting, spread-legged with a makeup brush inside her pussy and Lucas Forbes right in front of her.
She wanted to tell herself that at least he couldn’t read her thoughts, didn’t know she’d been fantasising about him, masturbating over him. But it didn’t lessen the shame at being caught in such a compromising position. Her face was so hot it had to be almost purple.
“I… I… I…” It was the best she could do. Realising she’d frozen in place, in that lewd position, she yanked the brush from her cunt and snapped her legs shut.
Lucas smirked, then turned and closed the door behind him, before twisting the lock. “What’s the matter, Carmen?”
She couldn’t answer. Literally. Fear and humiliation had paralysed her tongue, stopped her brain from providing anything useful. Stopped her thinking, full stop.
Then Lucas did something totally unexpected. He walked over to where she sat and knelt down in front of her. Without a word, he removed the brush from her hand and put it on the table. Then he placed his hands on her knees, pushed her legs open, and let out a hum of approval. “Somebody’s wet. I can smell you from here. And now I want to eat you. Any objections?”
He looked up, an expectant expression on his face. She met his gaze, but couldn’t do anything else. He raised an eyebrow. After several more long seconds of silence, she managed to choke out a reply. “N—no. No objections.” She shook her head rapidly, emphasising her words.
“Well then, that’s great.” He slowly moved his hands up her legs, inching closer to her crotch.
Carmen didn’t realise she’d tensed up until her muscles began to scream with the effort. She made herself relax, or as much as one could with Lucas Forbes’s hands and head growing ever closer to one’s sex. She watched as he hooked his fingers around the gusset of her panties, just as she had done, and pulled them out of his way. Immediately, he shoved his face up against her pussy, slid his tongue between her labia, and moaned as he tasted her.
Even though the sound he’d made had clearly been one of pleasure, of approval, she couldn’t prevent her blush. Lucas Forbes was licking her pussy, for heaven’s sake! How was a girl supposed to be cool about that? She was cool with it, of course—fucking delighted, in fact—but she couldn’t act like it was normal, like it was just a day in the life of being Carmen Montero.
Ugh—she was thinking way too much. She should just enjoy what was happening, while it was happening. Pulling in a breath through her nostrils, she tried to chill out. To concentrate on Lucas, on what he was doing. After a few seconds, she actually achieved it. Only then did it hit her how skilled he was at going down on a woman. Her nerve endings were on fire, her abdomen was tight and her hormones raged. God, any second now and she was going to come all over his face.
She couldn’t stop—once her climax was imminent, it was nigh on impossible to prevent its arrival. And if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to. She let the pleasure overtake her. Lucas played deftly with her cunt, his tongue and lips licking and sucking at her clit, his fingers pumping in and out of her, just as the makeup brush had done. She edged closer and closer to the precipice, her entire body tingling, and felt as though she were floating. On a cloud, perhaps. Cloud nine.
Then, with another suck and thrust from Lucas, she was undone. She stuffed her fingers into her mouth to muffle her screams and tumbled into bliss. She was aware of Lucas slipping his fingers from her, and her internal walls rippled around nothing as she bucked and twisted in the chair, juices gushing onto the cushion and Lucas’s waiting tongue.
After a couple of minutes, she came down from her natural high and grinned goofily at Lucas. His expression mirrored hers, and the sheen of wetness around his mouth made hers drop open with shock. Had that really just happened? Had one of the hottest male actors on the planet today really just made her come all over his face? While they were at work, no less!
She cleared her throat. “W-what are you doing here? I mean, why did you come back? Aren’t you meant to be shooting?”
“There was a technical fault, and the team aren’t expecting it to be fixed for another hour or so. I figured I’d come here and chill out. Instead, I found you… fucking yourself with a makeup brush. I couldn’t resist taking over. I hope you don’t mind.”
Blinking stupidly, she shook her head. “Why the hell would I mind? But I have to ask… why did you do it?”
Lucas frowned. “What do you mean, why? Why not? You’re a beautiful, sensual, sexual woman, and I’ve wanted you for a long time. I was trying to stay professional, but seeing you like that… well, let’s just say you broke my resolve, big time.”
“Oh. Oh!” She didn’t know what else to say. Was he teasing her? Or just flattering her? What the hell did a man like him want with a woman like her?
“Carmen,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Would you mind awfully if we finished what we started?” He stood up and cupped his crotch, the bulge there immediately apparent.
Oh, to hell with it.
Buy Multi-Orgasmic Vol.2 at:
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iBooks
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Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Heiress’s Harem series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at her website, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here
Today's guest is more used to organising promo for other people - it's erotica powerhouse Lucy Felthouse, with an excerpt from her own new short story collection, Multi-Orgasmic: Vol.2
If you’re a fan of erotic short stories, then get your hands on this collection from the pen of award-winning erotica author Lucy Felthouse.
From famous movie stars to sexy farmers, holiday flings to seducing delivery drivers, and even unusual household items being used as bondage, this book has variety galore. It’s sure to get you hot under the collar and eager to turn just one more page.
Enjoy nineteen titillating tales, over 54,000 words of naughtiness packed into one steamy read.
Please note: Many of the stories in this book have been previously published in anthologies, as standalones, and online, but three are brand new and never seen before!
“Need a hand with that, sweetheart?”
The oh-so-familiar voice crashed through her fantasy like a bulldozer through a sheet of paper. Her eyes flew open and she shrieked, cursed, then died of embarrassment right then and there. Or at least she wished she’d die of embarrassment, wished the ground would swallow her up… anything that would mean she wasn’t sitting, spread-legged with a makeup brush inside her pussy and Lucas Forbes right in front of her.
She wanted to tell herself that at least he couldn’t read her thoughts, didn’t know she’d been fantasising about him, masturbating over him. But it didn’t lessen the shame at being caught in such a compromising position. Her face was so hot it had to be almost purple.
“I… I… I…” It was the best she could do. Realising she’d frozen in place, in that lewd position, she yanked the brush from her cunt and snapped her legs shut.
Lucas smirked, then turned and closed the door behind him, before twisting the lock. “What’s the matter, Carmen?”
She couldn’t answer. Literally. Fear and humiliation had paralysed her tongue, stopped her brain from providing anything useful. Stopped her thinking, full stop.
Then Lucas did something totally unexpected. He walked over to where she sat and knelt down in front of her. Without a word, he removed the brush from her hand and put it on the table. Then he placed his hands on her knees, pushed her legs open, and let out a hum of approval. “Somebody’s wet. I can smell you from here. And now I want to eat you. Any objections?”
He looked up, an expectant expression on his face. She met his gaze, but couldn’t do anything else. He raised an eyebrow. After several more long seconds of silence, she managed to choke out a reply. “N—no. No objections.” She shook her head rapidly, emphasising her words.
“Well then, that’s great.” He slowly moved his hands up her legs, inching closer to her crotch.
Carmen didn’t realise she’d tensed up until her muscles began to scream with the effort. She made herself relax, or as much as one could with Lucas Forbes’s hands and head growing ever closer to one’s sex. She watched as he hooked his fingers around the gusset of her panties, just as she had done, and pulled them out of his way. Immediately, he shoved his face up against her pussy, slid his tongue between her labia, and moaned as he tasted her.
Even though the sound he’d made had clearly been one of pleasure, of approval, she couldn’t prevent her blush. Lucas Forbes was licking her pussy, for heaven’s sake! How was a girl supposed to be cool about that? She was cool with it, of course—fucking delighted, in fact—but she couldn’t act like it was normal, like it was just a day in the life of being Carmen Montero.
Ugh—she was thinking way too much. She should just enjoy what was happening, while it was happening. Pulling in a breath through her nostrils, she tried to chill out. To concentrate on Lucas, on what he was doing. After a few seconds, she actually achieved it. Only then did it hit her how skilled he was at going down on a woman. Her nerve endings were on fire, her abdomen was tight and her hormones raged. God, any second now and she was going to come all over his face.
She couldn’t stop—once her climax was imminent, it was nigh on impossible to prevent its arrival. And if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to. She let the pleasure overtake her. Lucas played deftly with her cunt, his tongue and lips licking and sucking at her clit, his fingers pumping in and out of her, just as the makeup brush had done. She edged closer and closer to the precipice, her entire body tingling, and felt as though she were floating. On a cloud, perhaps. Cloud nine.
Then, with another suck and thrust from Lucas, she was undone. She stuffed her fingers into her mouth to muffle her screams and tumbled into bliss. She was aware of Lucas slipping his fingers from her, and her internal walls rippled around nothing as she bucked and twisted in the chair, juices gushing onto the cushion and Lucas’s waiting tongue.
After a couple of minutes, she came down from her natural high and grinned goofily at Lucas. His expression mirrored hers, and the sheen of wetness around his mouth made hers drop open with shock. Had that really just happened? Had one of the hottest male actors on the planet today really just made her come all over his face? While they were at work, no less!
She cleared her throat. “W-what are you doing here? I mean, why did you come back? Aren’t you meant to be shooting?”
“There was a technical fault, and the team aren’t expecting it to be fixed for another hour or so. I figured I’d come here and chill out. Instead, I found you… fucking yourself with a makeup brush. I couldn’t resist taking over. I hope you don’t mind.”
Blinking stupidly, she shook her head. “Why the hell would I mind? But I have to ask… why did you do it?”
Lucas frowned. “What do you mean, why? Why not? You’re a beautiful, sensual, sexual woman, and I’ve wanted you for a long time. I was trying to stay professional, but seeing you like that… well, let’s just say you broke my resolve, big time.”
“Oh. Oh!” She didn’t know what else to say. Was he teasing her? Or just flattering her? What the hell did a man like him want with a woman like her?
“Carmen,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Would you mind awfully if we finished what we started?” He stood up and cupped his crotch, the bulge there immediately apparent.
Oh, to hell with it.
Buy Multi-Orgasmic Vol.2 at:
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
iBooks
Kobo
Smashwords
Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Heiress’s Harem series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at her website, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here
