Janine Ashbless's Blog, page 18
August 4, 2018
Full set
Getting excited now!
Will I hit my writing deadline before we fly, that's the question...
August 1, 2018
The Scent of Tears - cover reveal!
It's official now! With a gorgeous wrap-around cover by Jon Sullivan -
There I am (in my KM guise), honoured to be nestled next to a Costa Prize Winner and an Arthur C Clark Award-winner. Out in October!
July 30, 2018
Blue Monday
Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!
Today, because we've finally been able to switch from grumbling about the heat to grumbling about the rain here in the UK, I've picked an excerpt from my soggiest story to date: At Usher's Well.
My Mistress is wrestling with God, and will not give an inch.
I watch her from the floor of her chamber, as I squat over the fireplace trying to get the logs to blaze properly. We’re using birch because it’s the only thing that’ll catch when wet, but it burns through so fast, and with so little heat, that I’m forever traipsing up and down the stairs with the log-basket on my back. She’s wrapped in a fur-lined pelisse to make up for my lack of success. Her face, thinner now after all these weeks of half-starving herself, catches the grey light along her cheek bone.
Oh Lord, but she looks like Finlay from that angle. My heart clenches inside me, a spasm of loss.
Finlay. Sweet Finlay with the curly brown hair and the fluff of beard on his lean cheeks. Finlay who would follow me into the dairy and press me against the shelves and call me his sweet Meg, his pretty Margaret, his windflower and his kitten and his little white dove. Who’d kiss my hands and my lips and hold me close, nuzzling my hair. Who swore he loved me, even when I laughed him off and pushed him away.
Gently. I was gentle with him. I didnae want to hurt his feelings. He said he loved me and would marry me and we would have beautiful bairns together, three of each, and the lassies would look like me and the lads would look like him.
It was all lies of course—no, not lies, but thistledown dreams. He was the smart one, the son who had learned his letters. He was destined for Oxford University far away down south, and so to take Holy Orders. He would never marry anyone. Besides, my Mistress would never countenance any one of her sons marrying a mere serving maid. Marriage is for equals, and I’d never be theirs’.
That hadnae stopped Finlay’s older brother Rory tumbling me of course—and taking my maidenhead, in fact. Rory was a big, straightforward fellow with a boisterous, ever-eager cock. He rummaged his way through every wench of beddable age in the household, but I doubt that anyone resented him for it, for he was always generous with his coins, and an easygoing master who often intervened with his mother to make sure there were extra portions at dinner for the servants, or to turn away her wrath at some domestic transgressor. Unlike my Mistress, Rory never complained that I was late lighting his fire in the morning, or slow serving at the table. He would only wink and smile at me and pat my rump, and when he came upon me in private he’d pull up my skirts and bend me over a press and slip me his length, strong and easy. On feast days he’d dance me on his broad lap until his prick was as hard as a pole and I was red and flustered, and then he’d touch me secretly under my skirts until I was running as wet and slick as a crock of butter left too close to the oven, and ready to do anything he wanted. That was how he had me, the first time.
Henry Matthew Brock, 1934
‘Are you a woman, yet, Meg?’ he’d murmured in my ear as he dandled me. He could have shouted it and no one would have heard over the ruckus.
‘No, Master Rory,’ I’d said, blushing, feeling my blood soar and my skin flame and my bones loosen.
‘Are you ready for me to make you one?’ His fingertips had stroked my purse until it gaped, begging for him to steal what lay within.
I’d moaned then, and shuddered on his lap.
‘Och, this medlar is ripe, I think,’ he’d said. His other arm was around me, his other hand stroking and squeezing my maiden breasts through my bodice. I was losing all sense; nothing in all the world mattered as much as that devastating tease between my thighs.
‘Aye,’ I’d whimpered. And as that wicked fingertip had circled the plump little pip of my medlar, I’d said ‘Aye!’ again and shut my eyes and pressed my face to his neck as I’d slithered helplessly over into paradise—right there in front of the whole household, his brothers and his mother and all the guests. I didnae cry out, but I heard the catch of Rory’s breath and then his long exhalation. I dinnae ken if anyone paid any attention. Well—I know that my Mistress saw, because she shot me a narrow-eyed glare as Rory eased me from his lap, patted my rear, and pushed me out of the hall in front of him.
It was the Midsummer feast. Rory led me out into the unmown hayfield and laid me down in the long grass, lifting my skirts. His length looked smooth as wood in the moonlight. He wet his thumb in my juices and placed it over my pip, and he kept that there, pressing and stirring, as he laid his cock to my gates and broke them down.
He was heavy, and the smell of wine and crushed grass made my head spin. I wondered why anyone did anything else but this all their lives.
My poor Mistress at the window there disnae look like Rory, and never has. I suppose he takes after his father, who was dead before I came to this place. Certainly he’s her favoured son.
Was her favoured son. It’s hard sometimes to remember that he’s dead, she denies it so adamantly. They’re all dead, drowned in the deep.
Buy 'Fierce Enchantments' at Amazon US
Buy 'Fierce Enchantments' at Amazon UK
Buy 'Fierce Enchantments' at Kobo
Buy 'Fierce Enchantments' at Google Play
Today, because we've finally been able to switch from grumbling about the heat to grumbling about the rain here in the UK, I've picked an excerpt from my soggiest story to date: At Usher's Well.
My Mistress is wrestling with God, and will not give an inch.
I watch her from the floor of her chamber, as I squat over the fireplace trying to get the logs to blaze properly. We’re using birch because it’s the only thing that’ll catch when wet, but it burns through so fast, and with so little heat, that I’m forever traipsing up and down the stairs with the log-basket on my back. She’s wrapped in a fur-lined pelisse to make up for my lack of success. Her face, thinner now after all these weeks of half-starving herself, catches the grey light along her cheek bone.
Oh Lord, but she looks like Finlay from that angle. My heart clenches inside me, a spasm of loss.
Finlay. Sweet Finlay with the curly brown hair and the fluff of beard on his lean cheeks. Finlay who would follow me into the dairy and press me against the shelves and call me his sweet Meg, his pretty Margaret, his windflower and his kitten and his little white dove. Who’d kiss my hands and my lips and hold me close, nuzzling my hair. Who swore he loved me, even when I laughed him off and pushed him away.
Gently. I was gentle with him. I didnae want to hurt his feelings. He said he loved me and would marry me and we would have beautiful bairns together, three of each, and the lassies would look like me and the lads would look like him.
It was all lies of course—no, not lies, but thistledown dreams. He was the smart one, the son who had learned his letters. He was destined for Oxford University far away down south, and so to take Holy Orders. He would never marry anyone. Besides, my Mistress would never countenance any one of her sons marrying a mere serving maid. Marriage is for equals, and I’d never be theirs’.
That hadnae stopped Finlay’s older brother Rory tumbling me of course—and taking my maidenhead, in fact. Rory was a big, straightforward fellow with a boisterous, ever-eager cock. He rummaged his way through every wench of beddable age in the household, but I doubt that anyone resented him for it, for he was always generous with his coins, and an easygoing master who often intervened with his mother to make sure there were extra portions at dinner for the servants, or to turn away her wrath at some domestic transgressor. Unlike my Mistress, Rory never complained that I was late lighting his fire in the morning, or slow serving at the table. He would only wink and smile at me and pat my rump, and when he came upon me in private he’d pull up my skirts and bend me over a press and slip me his length, strong and easy. On feast days he’d dance me on his broad lap until his prick was as hard as a pole and I was red and flustered, and then he’d touch me secretly under my skirts until I was running as wet and slick as a crock of butter left too close to the oven, and ready to do anything he wanted. That was how he had me, the first time.
Henry Matthew Brock, 1934‘Are you a woman, yet, Meg?’ he’d murmured in my ear as he dandled me. He could have shouted it and no one would have heard over the ruckus.
‘No, Master Rory,’ I’d said, blushing, feeling my blood soar and my skin flame and my bones loosen.
‘Are you ready for me to make you one?’ His fingertips had stroked my purse until it gaped, begging for him to steal what lay within.
I’d moaned then, and shuddered on his lap.
‘Och, this medlar is ripe, I think,’ he’d said. His other arm was around me, his other hand stroking and squeezing my maiden breasts through my bodice. I was losing all sense; nothing in all the world mattered as much as that devastating tease between my thighs.
‘Aye,’ I’d whimpered. And as that wicked fingertip had circled the plump little pip of my medlar, I’d said ‘Aye!’ again and shut my eyes and pressed my face to his neck as I’d slithered helplessly over into paradise—right there in front of the whole household, his brothers and his mother and all the guests. I didnae cry out, but I heard the catch of Rory’s breath and then his long exhalation. I dinnae ken if anyone paid any attention. Well—I know that my Mistress saw, because she shot me a narrow-eyed glare as Rory eased me from his lap, patted my rear, and pushed me out of the hall in front of him.
It was the Midsummer feast. Rory led me out into the unmown hayfield and laid me down in the long grass, lifting my skirts. His length looked smooth as wood in the moonlight. He wet his thumb in my juices and placed it over my pip, and he kept that there, pressing and stirring, as he laid his cock to my gates and broke them down.
He was heavy, and the smell of wine and crushed grass made my head spin. I wondered why anyone did anything else but this all their lives.
My poor Mistress at the window there disnae look like Rory, and never has. I suppose he takes after his father, who was dead before I came to this place. Certainly he’s her favoured son.
Was her favoured son. It’s hard sometimes to remember that he’s dead, she denies it so adamantly. They’re all dead, drowned in the deep.
Buy 'Fierce Enchantments' at Amazon US
Buy 'Fierce Enchantments' at Amazon UK
Buy 'Fierce Enchantments' at Kobo
Buy 'Fierce Enchantments' at Google Play
July 29, 2018
Bunk up
We spent the weekend in a family-friendly bunkhouse in the Lake District. This was written on the wall over our beds.
Er ... is it just me or is that a bit rude?
July 27, 2018
Sneaky cover preview!
Here's a VERY sneaky peek at an upcoming anthology I'm included in. This advert was on the back of one of the pamphlets at EdgeLit, so it's public domain, I guess. If you squint hard you can see an anthology called The Scent of Tears , which is a Tales of the Apt collection set in Adrian Tchaikovsky's fantasy universe. Included in that is my eponymous story The Scent of Tears .
I can't show you the cover in detail until it has had its official reveal, but rest assured that I am pretty damn excited!
Launching at Fantasycon in October!
July 25, 2018
On target
Ludvig Abelin Schou: Chione Slain by Diana (1866)Apologies; I took an unannounced break off my blog for a week. I went to EdgeLit for the launch of Dark Voices ...
#WomenInHorror... but since then I've mostly been writing horror scenarios (one for a publisher, one LARP) and making endless cups of sugary tea for builders. Oh yes - and I did THIS INTERVIEW for Fiona McVie:
"Fiona: You only have 24 hours to live how would you spend that time?EdgeLit was fab, by the way. My next convention is going to be FantasyCon in Chester ... this is after me saying I wouldn't do any conventions this year!
Janine: Having sex!"
July 16, 2018
Blue Monday: Ellie Barker guests
Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!
A few weeks ago I featured Ellie Barker's LGBT novel Secrets and Spies. Well it was the first of an innovative cross-genre trilogy, Undercover Lovers, from my favourite Sinful Press, and the second is out now too - In Bed with the Enemy:
Nikolas Jinsen, police mole and mafia odd-job man, is given an ultimatum; stop seeing his girlfriend, or lose his job. When a hasty attempt to keep both goes wrong, he does the only thing he can think of: he lies. But with his new roommate a member of the elite gang that Nikolas has been tasked to look into, and his assignations with his girlfriend constantly interrupted by calls on his services as a lover, Nikolas finds that work isn't all fun and games.
In Bed with the Enemy continues the story of Nikolas, a bisexual police mole, and Sky, a transgender thief, as they work to infiltrate the local crime syndicate. Ellie Barker has created a fast paced and highly entertaining trilogy, with a diverse range of characters, various sexual encounters, and unconventional romance.
I finished the last of my half-pint, and gestured at his crotch. “So what’s next?”
He put his own glass down. “I want to see you.” He sounded almost shy, nervous. “I want to fuck you.”
“Here?”
“The sofa’s had worse.”
I don’t usually bottom, but that’s because Sky loves it—and I like making her happy. But I’m definitely not averse to it. I pulled my t-shirt over my head while Bear undid my jeans, and then we squirmed and wriggled and I was naked on his sofa, the leather cushions under me and Bear’s weight on top, horny as hell. All he had to do was lower his head and I was kissing him, our legs tangled together and his beard rubbing against my face, his tongue pushing between my lips in a way that was making my hips thrust. I pulled away, panting, and found him almost as breathless as I was.
“You,” I told him and began to undo the rest of his shirt buttons. He helped, revealing a chest covered in the same reddish-brown hair as his face, and then pulled his still-undone trousers down. I just watched, leaning up on my elbows, my body bare and smooth in the golden lighting and my cock showing just how badly I wanted the man now naked in front of me.
He caught me watching, and smiled. “So?”
His chest-hair continued down across his stomach and joined with the mass of curls around his cock. I looked him down, and then back up, and caught his eye.
“I want you to fuck me,” I told him. “I want you to come inside me.”
His cock jerked, and I could see the desire overtaking his nerves. He pulled a condom out of the box and rolled it on, his fingers shaking slightly, and then grabbed the lube and knelt down between my legs.
“I don’t want to hurt you…”
“Then go slow.” I turned myself over, pushing my ass up towards him, and felt the cool drizzle of lube go down my crack. After the warmth of the sofa it was a shock, but a good one; and my cock was now against the warm material, smooth and silky.
Bear’s finger slid in, and I gasped.
“I’ll go slow,” the man murmured, and I spread my legs as he pulled me further onto his lap, lifting my hips and gently pushing his finger back in, opening me. I buried my face in the oiled pillows and let him tease me, pushing in and out, filling me and then withdrawing, pushing in again with another finger, spreading me wider and wider as he pushed in another and another—
And then I heard him groan by my shoulder, and his body was against mine, warm and rough, and his hips met my ass. “There…Nikolas. There.”
“Fuck me,” I told him.
“You…I don’t…I’m not hurting you?”
“No.” He filled me tighter than anyone ever had, but the slow build-up meant I didn’t hurt. I felt pinned, held in place by the tightness and pleasure mixing. “Just go slow.”
He was gentle, and he was slow—painfully, agonisingly slow, a tease and a torment that had me moaning into the cushions. And then he was tugging my elbow, and pushing my hand down to my own cock. “Finish yourself. I want you to come.”
“Your sofa…” I managed.
“It’ll clean.” He sounded hoarser, and I wondered how much self-control it was taking for him to go slowly. Had he ever been able to fuck any of his lovers without hurting them?
I began to stroke, and heard a deep groan from behind me. My ass had tightened around his cock and I was holding him, feeling every thrust and twitch of him inside me. He began to fuck me again, unable to hold back the lust. His hips slammed into mine again and again, pinning me against the leather, my cock clenched in my fist and my ass filled with him, pushing me so close with every stroke—
I came, gasping into the cushions, my whole body jerking. He was still thrusting into me and I could feel him getting closer, tense and urgent.
His fingers dug into my hips and he gave a queer little moan, almost hurt—and then pulsed once, twice, a long third stroke that started his legs shaking. And then he subsided against me, his head on my shoulder, pressing me down into the leather with a long, panting sigh.
We lay there for a long minute, me just cataloguing the aches and the pleasure, feeling his cock still twitching in my ass and his beard smooth against my shoulder. Then Bear stirred, and said, “Sorry, Nikolas, I’m squashing you.”
“Not to worry.” We got ourselves disentangled with a few smiles, and then Bear directed me to the bathroom to clean up. When I came out, the cat had woken up and come to investigate—and when Bear came out in turn, he found me butt-naked on the second sofa with a cat sitting on my clothes, purring madly.
“She obviously doesn’t want you to get dressed,” Bear joked, looking entirely at ease in a pair of boxers and nothing else.
“Obviously,” I said, and picked her up. “C’mon, sweetheart, I have to go and tell Sky what I’ve been up to.”
The Undercover Lovers trilogy is Amazon exclusive for a limited time before being released across all main platforms. It is available to read through Kindle Unlimited.
Buy In Bed with the Enemy : Amazon smartlink
Buy the Undercover Lovers trilogy (paperback) : Amazon smartlink
Ellie Barker mostly writes short'n'dirty flash fiction and short erotic fiction in any genre going. She prefers vampires over werewolves, and is always hot for a rainy night.
You can find out more about Ellie over at her website, or follow her on Twitter as @EllieBa3
A few weeks ago I featured Ellie Barker's LGBT novel Secrets and Spies. Well it was the first of an innovative cross-genre trilogy, Undercover Lovers, from my favourite Sinful Press, and the second is out now too - In Bed with the Enemy:
Nikolas Jinsen, police mole and mafia odd-job man, is given an ultimatum; stop seeing his girlfriend, or lose his job. When a hasty attempt to keep both goes wrong, he does the only thing he can think of: he lies. But with his new roommate a member of the elite gang that Nikolas has been tasked to look into, and his assignations with his girlfriend constantly interrupted by calls on his services as a lover, Nikolas finds that work isn't all fun and games.
In Bed with the Enemy continues the story of Nikolas, a bisexual police mole, and Sky, a transgender thief, as they work to infiltrate the local crime syndicate. Ellie Barker has created a fast paced and highly entertaining trilogy, with a diverse range of characters, various sexual encounters, and unconventional romance.
I finished the last of my half-pint, and gestured at his crotch. “So what’s next?”
He put his own glass down. “I want to see you.” He sounded almost shy, nervous. “I want to fuck you.”
“Here?”
“The sofa’s had worse.”
I don’t usually bottom, but that’s because Sky loves it—and I like making her happy. But I’m definitely not averse to it. I pulled my t-shirt over my head while Bear undid my jeans, and then we squirmed and wriggled and I was naked on his sofa, the leather cushions under me and Bear’s weight on top, horny as hell. All he had to do was lower his head and I was kissing him, our legs tangled together and his beard rubbing against my face, his tongue pushing between my lips in a way that was making my hips thrust. I pulled away, panting, and found him almost as breathless as I was.
“You,” I told him and began to undo the rest of his shirt buttons. He helped, revealing a chest covered in the same reddish-brown hair as his face, and then pulled his still-undone trousers down. I just watched, leaning up on my elbows, my body bare and smooth in the golden lighting and my cock showing just how badly I wanted the man now naked in front of me.
He caught me watching, and smiled. “So?”
His chest-hair continued down across his stomach and joined with the mass of curls around his cock. I looked him down, and then back up, and caught his eye.
“I want you to fuck me,” I told him. “I want you to come inside me.”
His cock jerked, and I could see the desire overtaking his nerves. He pulled a condom out of the box and rolled it on, his fingers shaking slightly, and then grabbed the lube and knelt down between my legs.
“I don’t want to hurt you…”
“Then go slow.” I turned myself over, pushing my ass up towards him, and felt the cool drizzle of lube go down my crack. After the warmth of the sofa it was a shock, but a good one; and my cock was now against the warm material, smooth and silky.
Bear’s finger slid in, and I gasped.
“I’ll go slow,” the man murmured, and I spread my legs as he pulled me further onto his lap, lifting my hips and gently pushing his finger back in, opening me. I buried my face in the oiled pillows and let him tease me, pushing in and out, filling me and then withdrawing, pushing in again with another finger, spreading me wider and wider as he pushed in another and another—
And then I heard him groan by my shoulder, and his body was against mine, warm and rough, and his hips met my ass. “There…Nikolas. There.”
“Fuck me,” I told him.
“You…I don’t…I’m not hurting you?”
“No.” He filled me tighter than anyone ever had, but the slow build-up meant I didn’t hurt. I felt pinned, held in place by the tightness and pleasure mixing. “Just go slow.”
He was gentle, and he was slow—painfully, agonisingly slow, a tease and a torment that had me moaning into the cushions. And then he was tugging my elbow, and pushing my hand down to my own cock. “Finish yourself. I want you to come.”
“Your sofa…” I managed.
“It’ll clean.” He sounded hoarser, and I wondered how much self-control it was taking for him to go slowly. Had he ever been able to fuck any of his lovers without hurting them?
I began to stroke, and heard a deep groan from behind me. My ass had tightened around his cock and I was holding him, feeling every thrust and twitch of him inside me. He began to fuck me again, unable to hold back the lust. His hips slammed into mine again and again, pinning me against the leather, my cock clenched in my fist and my ass filled with him, pushing me so close with every stroke—
I came, gasping into the cushions, my whole body jerking. He was still thrusting into me and I could feel him getting closer, tense and urgent.
His fingers dug into my hips and he gave a queer little moan, almost hurt—and then pulsed once, twice, a long third stroke that started his legs shaking. And then he subsided against me, his head on my shoulder, pressing me down into the leather with a long, panting sigh.
We lay there for a long minute, me just cataloguing the aches and the pleasure, feeling his cock still twitching in my ass and his beard smooth against my shoulder. Then Bear stirred, and said, “Sorry, Nikolas, I’m squashing you.”
“Not to worry.” We got ourselves disentangled with a few smiles, and then Bear directed me to the bathroom to clean up. When I came out, the cat had woken up and come to investigate—and when Bear came out in turn, he found me butt-naked on the second sofa with a cat sitting on my clothes, purring madly.
“She obviously doesn’t want you to get dressed,” Bear joked, looking entirely at ease in a pair of boxers and nothing else.
“Obviously,” I said, and picked her up. “C’mon, sweetheart, I have to go and tell Sky what I’ve been up to.”
The Undercover Lovers trilogy is Amazon exclusive for a limited time before being released across all main platforms. It is available to read through Kindle Unlimited.
Buy In Bed with the Enemy : Amazon smartlink
Buy the Undercover Lovers trilogy (paperback) : Amazon smartlink
Ellie Barker mostly writes short'n'dirty flash fiction and short erotic fiction in any genre going. She prefers vampires over werewolves, and is always hot for a rainy night.
You can find out more about Ellie over at her website, or follow her on Twitter as @EllieBa3
July 15, 2018
Protesting
That's me marching in Leeds, in my 1989 "Desert of Desolation" T-shirt ;-)
I got a lot of love for my placard! Amazing how many gamers there are out there!
... and other nerds...But my fave sign - and I'm sorry I didn't get a pic of it - said simply:
I bet he doesn't even like tea
July 13, 2018
Today I'm marching
Because I feel like the world is sliding into a nightmare from which we may never wake up.
Because I like to believe that if I'd been alive in the 1930s, I would have protested against the Fascists.
Because I read Eichmann in Jerusalem. According to Arendt, under Nazi occupation the numbers of Jews deported to the camps varied enormously from country to country in Europe. Three-quarters of Dutch Jews died under Nazi occupation. Yet not a single Bulgarian Jew was deported - and the difference was down to public compliance.
Because silence is not neutrality, it is siding with evil. Doing nothing is not a moral option.
July 11, 2018
Perk of the job
One of the best bits about writing ... is the books you have an excuse to buy in the name of research ;-)
