Janine Ashbless's Blog, page 21
May 26, 2018
Yorkshire Sculpture Park
Antony Gormley: One and OtherWe've had some astonishingly good weather for May, up here in Yorkshire, thus giving me the atypical chance to go look at some outdoors art at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. Here's the highlight nudes, boobs and willies for you ;-)
Zak Ové: Black and Blue: The Invisible Man and the Masque of Blackness
Sue Ryder: Sitting
My favourite sculpture here!
Elizabeth Frink:
Riace Figures
William Turnbull: Large IdolYou can see all the outdoor exhibits HEREThe Yorkshire Sculpture Park is free to visit too!
May 23, 2018
The Erotic Writer's Thesaurus
Okay, okay - despite all my protestations, this is me doing a book review.
The Erotic Writer's Thesaurus , a true labour of love* by Terrance Aldon Shaw, deserves to be the exception to my rule. 513 pages in PDF, 10,000 entries, countless cross-references (okay, I didn't count) and several pages of notes on such tangential topics as lists of gun-types, the strange modern dislike of the word "moist," and the difference between "demur" and "demure," as well as a beautiful little opening essay on the usage of the word "ass" - this is such a useful resource for anyone writing about sex or romance that it feels like a huge relief to have it at my electronic fingertips at last.
What it is not is just a list of filthy words, although GOD YES we all do occasionally need a synonym for "cock" at some point in our sex scenes. A sprawling range of um, relationship-related terms, covering everything from Mascara to Yawn is presented for our educational delight (and now that I have this book, hopefully I will never have to bash out such a clunky descriptor as "relationship-related" again!). It also functions as a dictionary, so you can look up the meaning of, say, "Irrumation" should you so desire, and includes nearly 2000 usage examples. Just browsing it is inspirational.
It rocks.
Some caveats: it is an idiosyncratic work in which the author's voice and opinions comes across strongly in the expanded notes and topics, take it as you like. Reader opinions may differ on, say, whether a particular word is derogatory, or biologically accurate. I'd always avoid describing an adult woman as a "girl," say, except within dialogue, but of course many people do that and intend no slight. Language is a living, mutable, constantly evolving thing and one of the skills an author must have is choosing the right words to convey not just meaning, but also nuance and character.
TAS is also American, and although there are many inclusions from different sources (Hindi, African-American, Portuguese, Yiddish, Elizabethan, etc - all helpfully flagged as such) and he's done his research, I noted in my uncorrected review copy some question-marks when it came to British slang (which have been fixed in the latest PDF). That's probably inevitable in a single-author work, and to be honest it's probably all but impossible to write accurately in another culture's idiom. This book will hopefully help you flange it, though. (See!)
The Erotic Writer's Thesaurus is the dog's bollocks
May 21, 2018
Blue Monday: Lea Bronsen guests
Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!
Today's is from Lea Bronsen's new book, A Thorned Rose in the Sand, about which she says:
"I got the idea for this story after watching a video of French “globe cooker” Fred Chesneau visiting nomads in the Moroccan desert. They generously shared their food, home, and wisdom with a stranger, and I thought it would be cool to write about a female rally driver having the same experience – but with more spice!
A Thorned Rose in the Sand is set in the beautiful, quiet dunes of western Sahara where the sun is so hot you can’t walk barefooted and you could go miles and miles without seeing a single soul. In this story, you’ll meet a badass 450cc rally motorcycle, an opiniated but gentle dromedary, and two highly strong-willed young persons from opposite sides of the planet who get off to a bad start then can’t keep their hands off each other"
Today's is from Lea Bronsen's new book, A Thorned Rose in the Sand, about which she says:
"I got the idea for this story after watching a video of French “globe cooker” Fred Chesneau visiting nomads in the Moroccan desert. They generously shared their food, home, and wisdom with a stranger, and I thought it would be cool to write about a female rally driver having the same experience – but with more spice!
A Thorned Rose in the Sand is set in the beautiful, quiet dunes of western Sahara where the sun is so hot you can’t walk barefooted and you could go miles and miles without seeing a single soul. In this story, you’ll meet a badass 450cc rally motorcycle, an opiniated but gentle dromedary, and two highly strong-willed young persons from opposite sides of the planet who get off to a bad start then can’t keep their hands off each other"
May 18, 2018
The Domino effect
I watched Deadpool 2 yesterday. Don't worry, no spoilers, but I thought it was loads of clever, violent fun. And now I am drooling over super-cool Domino, played by Zazie Beetz.
You know how I like kick-ass women ... I mean,
May 16, 2018
Sexy Trees
I have joined a very silly Facebook group called SEXY TREES. It was actually inspired by this rather nice article ... but fundamentally is for people who are childishly amused by pics like this one I took in Peru a few years back:
I mean, who doesn't love that?
May 14, 2018
Blue Monday
Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!
Today's snippet is from my recently re-released Arabian Nights novel Heart of Flame. It's a romance novel, mind, so don't go expecting chapter upon chapter of rumpy-pumpy, but it does feature TWO passionate and troublesome romantic relationships, so there's a lot of angst going around. The main story is that of Taqla and Rafiq, who are charging back and forth across the Middle East on a magic horse, trying to rescue the Amir of Damascus' daughter from the djinni who's kidnapped her. Since this is taking some time, poor abducted Ahleme is having to deal with the djinni Yazid herself...
He circled the pillar until he was almost on top of her. “You humans must be miserable all your short lives,” he growled. "Living without love."
She averted her face, pivoting on her trapped ankle to turn her back on him. “Maybe we are. It isn’t important.” She rested one flank against the pillar, feeling the cool glass against her thigh and left breast.
“How can you say that?” He was standing right over her now. She could feel his breath on her hair when he spoke. “I would make you happy, Ahleme, if you’d let me.”
“You’d make me your slave,” she whispered.
“I would set you free.” His hand descended on her thick braid at the nape of her neck and she jerked.
“No!” she warned. Yazid hissed and withdrew his hand.
“Don’t—I’m not going to hurt you. Not even touch you. Just your hair, Ahleme. Let me stroke your hair.”
She pressed her face to the pillar, gathering her will to repel him. Then he laid his hand on her head gently and ran it down her braided hair, and she nearly whimpered.
“There. There. It’s not hurting you, is it?”
He wasn’t hurting her. Her resistance wavered.
“You’ve beautiful hair, like darkest honey.” His voice was a low murmur, and Ahleme felt her bones turn to water at its purr. She was tired and scared and she dreaded the thought of mutilating herself once more—every part of her recoiled from that thought—but she would do it to stop his assault, she was ready for that if she must. If he did. If he didn’t just stand there stroking her hair, twining the long tail of her braid with his fingertip, dipping his face to the top of her head to breathe the scent of the rosewater she’d washed her hair with. She shut her eyes. He wasn’t hurting her. It didn’t feel bad. It even felt good, this slow caress, because it had been so long since she’d been touched or embraced or comforted by anyone she knew. She was accustomed to physical contact every day with her women, and she’d missed those soothing fingers massaging or anointing or combing out her hair. It was good now just to feel the contact, the rhythm of his stroking hand, the warmth radiating from his skin, the brush of his fingers on her spine…
She shivered.
“Oh… Your skin is so soft.” Yazid traced the line of her backbone, from the cloth stretched across her shoulder blades all the way down to the hem of her skirt just above the cleft of her bottom, exploring each dimple of her spine. He was very gentle and she couldn’t feel even the tip of his claw. She wanted to feel angry but she couldn’t. It would have been so much easier if he’d made her angry. She couldn’t even feel scared now, not really, although in one way she was as dizzy with terror as if she were back outside standing on that high arch. Yet it wasn’t a fear that made her recoil or fight. It made her press herself to the glass, aware of every inch of her skin as he repeated the motion. Her scalp pricked and shivers chased the length of her back, raising gooseflesh, which he soothed away with the warm sweep of his palm. “Don’t be frightened,” he whispered.
She was frightened. And yet she wasn’t, not at all. She didn’t understand how she was feeling, only that that there wasn’t room to step back and analyse it, only to react to that gentle, searing touch. One way or the other.
“Let me just stroke you.” Yazid’s spread hand nearly encompassed the whole width of her waist. “You’re so beautiful. I just want to…” His hand slid over one firm cheek of her bottom.
“No!” she groaned, stiffening instantly. No—that was too far, she knew that. That crossed the line. Yazid removed his hand.
“All right. It’s all right. Just your back. You don’t mind me touching your back, do you?”
How could she say no, when she’d let him already? When he went back to stroking her back it was such a relief, and such pleasure. Even when he hooked a finger under the stretched cloth of her top and the fabric turned to dust that fell shimmering down her smooth skin like sprinkles of gold.
Ahleme gasped and pressed her bare breasts to the glass, her breath fogging the blue surface. Yazid laid his hand flat between her shoulder blades, on the bit that always itched, rubbing in slow circles.
“Don’t be afraid. You’re beautiful, my Jewel of the Earth.” His voice was the growl of a lion, but so quiet, so very quiet that he had to lower his mouth to her temple and utter the words with his lips brushing her ear, something that sent shivers prickling all over her skin. He sensed the movement and scratched her gently between the shoulder blades, which made her gasp with gratitude. Then he ran his claws down her back, tenderly, all the way to the rising sweep of her rump, and that made her groan out loud. “Oh yes,” he breathed.
Dimly she realized she wasn’t thinking straight anymore, that somewhere along the line sensation had become too important, that her body was overriding her better judgment. Somewhere in her head she was still scared and outraged by the djinni, but not enough to drive him off. Not even when he buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply the scent there, not even when his bare chest brushed against her bare back, his heat making up for the cold of the glass he was pushing her up against, the cold that was pinching her nipples to stiff points. Not even when he stopped talking and just breathed hard and quick.
Buy Heart of Flame from your seller of choice HERE
A romantic Arabian Nights adventure
The most beautiful woman in all Arabia has been abducted by a djinni - and only forbidden magic can bring about her rescue.
Taqla the sorceress lives in comfortable secrecy, until she agrees to help the handsome traveller Rafiq find the kidnapped daughter of the Amir. They set off together on a journey fraught with magic and peril, though a landscape of ancient desert ruins, terrible monsters and deception. With so many secrets to keep, Taqla cannot afford to trust Rafiq – and yet she must, with her life.
In the meantime, the captive Ahleme must try to fend off the attentions of the terrifying djinni who wishes to father upon her a new saviour of the Djinn race. Can Ahleme survive her imprisonment? Can Taqla really bring herself to help Rafiq win Ahleme back, when she is hopelessly in love with him herself? Can she trust him not to betray her, when sorcery is a crime punishable by death? Passion may yet betray them all.
Today's snippet is from my recently re-released Arabian Nights novel Heart of Flame. It's a romance novel, mind, so don't go expecting chapter upon chapter of rumpy-pumpy, but it does feature TWO passionate and troublesome romantic relationships, so there's a lot of angst going around. The main story is that of Taqla and Rafiq, who are charging back and forth across the Middle East on a magic horse, trying to rescue the Amir of Damascus' daughter from the djinni who's kidnapped her. Since this is taking some time, poor abducted Ahleme is having to deal with the djinni Yazid herself...
He circled the pillar until he was almost on top of her. “You humans must be miserable all your short lives,” he growled. "Living without love."
She averted her face, pivoting on her trapped ankle to turn her back on him. “Maybe we are. It isn’t important.” She rested one flank against the pillar, feeling the cool glass against her thigh and left breast.
“How can you say that?” He was standing right over her now. She could feel his breath on her hair when he spoke. “I would make you happy, Ahleme, if you’d let me.”
“You’d make me your slave,” she whispered.
“I would set you free.” His hand descended on her thick braid at the nape of her neck and she jerked.
“No!” she warned. Yazid hissed and withdrew his hand.
“Don’t—I’m not going to hurt you. Not even touch you. Just your hair, Ahleme. Let me stroke your hair.”
She pressed her face to the pillar, gathering her will to repel him. Then he laid his hand on her head gently and ran it down her braided hair, and she nearly whimpered.
“There. There. It’s not hurting you, is it?”
He wasn’t hurting her. Her resistance wavered.
“You’ve beautiful hair, like darkest honey.” His voice was a low murmur, and Ahleme felt her bones turn to water at its purr. She was tired and scared and she dreaded the thought of mutilating herself once more—every part of her recoiled from that thought—but she would do it to stop his assault, she was ready for that if she must. If he did. If he didn’t just stand there stroking her hair, twining the long tail of her braid with his fingertip, dipping his face to the top of her head to breathe the scent of the rosewater she’d washed her hair with. She shut her eyes. He wasn’t hurting her. It didn’t feel bad. It even felt good, this slow caress, because it had been so long since she’d been touched or embraced or comforted by anyone she knew. She was accustomed to physical contact every day with her women, and she’d missed those soothing fingers massaging or anointing or combing out her hair. It was good now just to feel the contact, the rhythm of his stroking hand, the warmth radiating from his skin, the brush of his fingers on her spine…
She shivered.
“Oh… Your skin is so soft.” Yazid traced the line of her backbone, from the cloth stretched across her shoulder blades all the way down to the hem of her skirt just above the cleft of her bottom, exploring each dimple of her spine. He was very gentle and she couldn’t feel even the tip of his claw. She wanted to feel angry but she couldn’t. It would have been so much easier if he’d made her angry. She couldn’t even feel scared now, not really, although in one way she was as dizzy with terror as if she were back outside standing on that high arch. Yet it wasn’t a fear that made her recoil or fight. It made her press herself to the glass, aware of every inch of her skin as he repeated the motion. Her scalp pricked and shivers chased the length of her back, raising gooseflesh, which he soothed away with the warm sweep of his palm. “Don’t be frightened,” he whispered.
She was frightened. And yet she wasn’t, not at all. She didn’t understand how she was feeling, only that that there wasn’t room to step back and analyse it, only to react to that gentle, searing touch. One way or the other.
“Let me just stroke you.” Yazid’s spread hand nearly encompassed the whole width of her waist. “You’re so beautiful. I just want to…” His hand slid over one firm cheek of her bottom.
“No!” she groaned, stiffening instantly. No—that was too far, she knew that. That crossed the line. Yazid removed his hand.
“All right. It’s all right. Just your back. You don’t mind me touching your back, do you?”
How could she say no, when she’d let him already? When he went back to stroking her back it was such a relief, and such pleasure. Even when he hooked a finger under the stretched cloth of her top and the fabric turned to dust that fell shimmering down her smooth skin like sprinkles of gold.
Ahleme gasped and pressed her bare breasts to the glass, her breath fogging the blue surface. Yazid laid his hand flat between her shoulder blades, on the bit that always itched, rubbing in slow circles.
“Don’t be afraid. You’re beautiful, my Jewel of the Earth.” His voice was the growl of a lion, but so quiet, so very quiet that he had to lower his mouth to her temple and utter the words with his lips brushing her ear, something that sent shivers prickling all over her skin. He sensed the movement and scratched her gently between the shoulder blades, which made her gasp with gratitude. Then he ran his claws down her back, tenderly, all the way to the rising sweep of her rump, and that made her groan out loud. “Oh yes,” he breathed.
Dimly she realized she wasn’t thinking straight anymore, that somewhere along the line sensation had become too important, that her body was overriding her better judgment. Somewhere in her head she was still scared and outraged by the djinni, but not enough to drive him off. Not even when he buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply the scent there, not even when his bare chest brushed against her bare back, his heat making up for the cold of the glass he was pushing her up against, the cold that was pinching her nipples to stiff points. Not even when he stopped talking and just breathed hard and quick.
Buy Heart of Flame from your seller of choice HERE
A romantic Arabian Nights adventure
The most beautiful woman in all Arabia has been abducted by a djinni - and only forbidden magic can bring about her rescue.
Taqla the sorceress lives in comfortable secrecy, until she agrees to help the handsome traveller Rafiq find the kidnapped daughter of the Amir. They set off together on a journey fraught with magic and peril, though a landscape of ancient desert ruins, terrible monsters and deception. With so many secrets to keep, Taqla cannot afford to trust Rafiq – and yet she must, with her life.
In the meantime, the captive Ahleme must try to fend off the attentions of the terrifying djinni who wishes to father upon her a new saviour of the Djinn race. Can Ahleme survive her imprisonment? Can Taqla really bring herself to help Rafiq win Ahleme back, when she is hopelessly in love with him herself? Can she trust him not to betray her, when sorcery is a crime punishable by death? Passion may yet betray them all.
May 13, 2018
That's my excuse
... and I'm sticking to it ;-)If you go over to the original SMBC strip you can click on the red button for bonus stimulation
May 11, 2018
Heart of Flame is on sale!
I got buy-links!
Well, one actually - here's the UNIVERSAL BUY LINK that takes you to the shop of your choice - more are still being added but Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Apple are up there already.
A romantic Arabian Nights adventureOriginally published by the late-lamented Samhain Books, this re-worked version of the novel comes with lovely reviews:
The most beautiful woman in all Arabia has been abducted by a djinni - and only forbidden magic can bring about her rescue.
Taqla the sorceress lives in comfortable secrecy, until she agrees to help the handsome traveller Rafiq find the kidnapped daughter of the Amir. They set off together on a journey fraught with magic and peril, though a landscape of ancient desert ruins, terrible monsters and deception. With so many secrets to keep, Taqla cannot afford to trust Rafiq – and yet she must, with her life.
In the meantime, the captive Ahleme must try to fend off the attentions of the terrifying djinni who wishes to father upon her a new saviour of the Djinn race. Can Ahleme survive her imprisonment? Can Taqla really bring herself to help Rafiq win Ahleme back, when she is hopelessly in love with him herself? Can she trust him not to betray her, when sorcery is a crime punishable by death? Passion may yet betray them all.
“This lush fantasy will bring to mind the tales of the Arabian Nights. With sorcery, djinnis and a seemingly never-ending list of tasks that leads heroine Taqla and Rafiq, the object of her affections, through the desert, Heart of Flame is a book you can’t put down. The two burgeoning relationships in the book are achingly perfect in their development, as each completed task brings both Taqla and Rafiq — and the amir’s daughter and her djinni — closer to their ultimate meeting. Even when you think you know how the story will end, Ashbless keeps the surprises coming” – 4.5 STARS - RT Book Reviews
“With so many elements mixed together it’s a fantastic read for any genre lover. Heart of Flame gets better and better as the tension builds page after page.” - Sizzling Hot Book Reviews
"What a tale it is, with twists and turns and adventures galore. There were times when I honestly had no idea of what would come next and instances when I gnashed my teeth at whatever it was that interrupted me from reading the next page. Had I gotten off my duff and read it last year when I got the book, it would definitely have landed on my top ten list for the year." A- RECOMMENDED READ - Dear Author
May 9, 2018
Some people have ducks on their wall...
... not me though.
Dragons are the new ducks.
May 7, 2018
Blue Monday: Kay Jaybee guests
Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!
Last year Kay Jaybee was my guest with The Fifth Floor, the first in The Perfect Submissive trilogy. Now here's an excerpt from book two, The Retreat.
Just as Jess Sanders is adjusting to her new life as the submissive in residence on the fifth floor of The Fables Hotel, her employer, Mrs Peters, makes a startling announcement. She has agreed to loan Jess, and her dominatrix Miss Sarah, to one of their most demanding clients; Mr David Proctor.
Whisked away by the mysterious Kane to The Retreat, a house hidden in a remote part of Scotland, Jess and Miss Sarah find themselves teaching a new submissive how to meet Proctor’s exacting rules.
As Jess comes to terms with the techniques of The Retreat’s overpowering dominatrix, Lady Tia, she discovers that Proctor’s motives may not be all they seem. Just who or what is Fairtasia? And why does Jess feel like she’s walked into a warped fairy tale?
In order to get back to the fifth floor, Jess is going to have to be far more than just a perfect submissive...
...As the level of tension, sexual and malevolent, rebounded around the turret room, Jess was reminded of two lionesses pacing it out, sizing each other up, before their fight for the territory truly began.
Her colossal chest giving the impression that it was going to burst free from its harness all on its own, Lady Tia abruptly swung around and slapped Jess across both breasts.
The shock of the unexpected smack sent a whistled howl from Jess’s lips, causing her to shuffle on her seat. She dug her fingernails into the flesh of her thighs to prevent herself from moving further.
Without stopping to admonish Jess again, Lady Tia took the cold metal end of the tape measure, and pressed it against Miss Sarah’s right nipple. Jess stared in horror as, with that one simple move, Miss Sarah was reduced from controlled dominatrix to a woman panting sharply through pursed lips, having difficulty remaining static against the mirror.
White now, rather than merely pale, Miss Sarah spluttered as Lady Tia swapped sides, torturing the left nipple in the same way. Her hands, which had been hanging at her sides, now gripped the edges of the mirror’s frame, her toes curled into clenched balls.
‘The question is –’ Lady Tia didn’t release any pressure as she bought the clawed fingertips of her free hand down sharply against Jess’s chest, leaving a graze which stung like a paper cut ‘– which of you am I going to satisfy, and which will I forbid to climax?’
Letting go of Miss Sarah’s breasts, she smiled at the inflamed crimson tips. ‘As I seem to have found your weak spot very quickly, I’m trying to decide if it should be Miss Sanders or you I should torture with a withheld orgasm? Although I suppose that would be unfair, really, as you’ve already had one climax from me tonight, whereas your toy’s body couldn’t be more blatantly desperate for a fuck if it tried.’
Jess had been referred to as a toy by many people and on many occasions, but there was something about the way Lady Tia said it that frightened her. After all, when toys were worn out or finished with, they got thrown away …
Unrolling the tape measure, Lady Tia hung it around her rival’s neck. Taking hold of both ends, she crossed the fabric strip so it formed a yellow X between Miss Sarah’s tits. Jerking the tape taut, she ordered her rival to lean forward, before tucking the free ends behind her, so it was trapped between her bare back and the mirror.
‘I bet you can imagine how good this is going to feel, Miss Sanders.’ Lady Tia taunted Jess as she lapped an agile tongue around the edges of the tape cross, where the fabric touched Miss Sarah’s abused and sensitive skin.
Jess could imagine all too well. Never had she felt so jealous of an object. She wanted to be wrapped around her mistress’s torso, wanted it to be her tongue that attended to the burning chest, to kiss better the sore patches that were already beginning to bruise around her nipples.
Grasping her own legs harder, Jess felt the trickle of juice escaping her pussy. The woman she’d forever think of as the Wicked Queen had barely touched her, yet it was as if she was experiencing every touch to Miss Sarah’s flesh upon her own.
Only when Lady Tia’s mouth had journeyed over each edge of the cross did she stand back, and wallow in the sight of Miss Sarah, who was clinging onto her composure, but only just.
The Retreat’s dominatrix grinned; the breathing of the submissive behind her was more laboured than that of her mistress, even though nothing had happened to her … yet.
With a rough tug, Lady Tia grabbed the centre of the tape measure cross, and snatched it from Miss Sarah’s flesh. The burn of the fabric as it was ripped away caused Miss Sarah to emit a sharp yell. Her knuckles whitened further as she held the mirror harder.
Lady Tia’s eyes bored into Miss Sarah’s gaze, daring her to blink as she rolled the tape measure into a tight coil. ‘Miss Sanders, stand up. Turn around. Lean over the chair so that your butt is presented to me. Spread your legs.’
Bracing herself for the beating she’d expected from the moment she’d been bustled out of Fables, Jess knew Mrs Peters would not have been pleased with her performance so far, and she was determined to do better. She’d survived so many erotically charged spankings over the last six months she was sure that, if she kept control of herself, this was one area where she could impress the bigger woman.
It was with considerable shock, therefore, that Jess felt Lady Tia’s thick fingers come to her pussy. Spreading her labia with one hand, she stuffed the coiled measure inside Jess with the other, letting about six centimetres of its length hang from her body like a misplaced tail.
Gasping at the blissfully unusual intrusion, Jess fought to stem the climax which wanted to race through her stomach and down her throat at the same time.
Ignoring her struggle, Lady Tia barked, ‘Stand up, Miss Sanders, and go to your partner.’
As Jess shuffled her feet across the stone floor, Lady Tia issued another order. ‘Miss Sarah, step away from the mirror and come here.’
As Miss Sarah obeyed, Lady Tia smiled at the mirror. ‘What a nice smeared outline you have left.’
Jess stared at the mirror; it had indeed temporarily captured the outline of her superior.
‘You can even see where your buttocks have been, and where your liquid has escaped and made a mess against the glass.
‘On your knees, Miss Sanders. I have no doubt you enjoy licking your mistress. Now you can, or at least, the remains of her reflection.’
The measure was beginning to feel awkward within her. The strip hanging free tickled her thighs, and sent shocks of longing to her pussy as Jess shuffled closer to the mirror. Lowering herself to her hands and knees, very conscious that the tape could fall out at any moment, Jess ran her tongue over the sweat marks left by Miss Sarah. With every creamy lick, her mistress’s liquid tasting as though it had been sprinkled with dust, Jess’s muscles cramped with tension as she tried to guess what Lady Tia was doing behind her back.
Jess didn’t have to guess for long. Two hands came to her rump, smoothing and probing every section of her buttocks, before initiating a crescendo of slaps against her rounded arse. With her face pressed against the heated glass, Jess closed her eyes so she didn’t have to witness the grotesqueness of her squashed reflection.
As the slaps she’d both dreaded and longed for built in power, Jess felt a hand move with catlike speed. A strangled scream shot like a bullet from her throat, as Lady Tia yanked the tape measure from her sodden channel. The top of Jess’s head was sent banging into the mirror as a climax ricocheted through every part of her, and her exhausted body flopped helplessly to the ground...
You can buy The Retreat from all good retailers including -
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Barnes and Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Kobo
Smashwords
(The Perfect Submissive Trilogy does not have to be read in order, but you will get more out of Jess’s story if you read The Fifth Floor before The Retreat)
Kay Jaybee was named Best Erotica Writer of 2015 by the ETO
Kay received an honouree mention at the NLA Awards 2015 for excellence in BDSM writing.
Last year Kay Jaybee was my guest with The Fifth Floor, the first in The Perfect Submissive trilogy. Now here's an excerpt from book two, The Retreat.
Just as Jess Sanders is adjusting to her new life as the submissive in residence on the fifth floor of The Fables Hotel, her employer, Mrs Peters, makes a startling announcement. She has agreed to loan Jess, and her dominatrix Miss Sarah, to one of their most demanding clients; Mr David Proctor.Whisked away by the mysterious Kane to The Retreat, a house hidden in a remote part of Scotland, Jess and Miss Sarah find themselves teaching a new submissive how to meet Proctor’s exacting rules.
As Jess comes to terms with the techniques of The Retreat’s overpowering dominatrix, Lady Tia, she discovers that Proctor’s motives may not be all they seem. Just who or what is Fairtasia? And why does Jess feel like she’s walked into a warped fairy tale?
In order to get back to the fifth floor, Jess is going to have to be far more than just a perfect submissive...
...As the level of tension, sexual and malevolent, rebounded around the turret room, Jess was reminded of two lionesses pacing it out, sizing each other up, before their fight for the territory truly began.
Her colossal chest giving the impression that it was going to burst free from its harness all on its own, Lady Tia abruptly swung around and slapped Jess across both breasts.
The shock of the unexpected smack sent a whistled howl from Jess’s lips, causing her to shuffle on her seat. She dug her fingernails into the flesh of her thighs to prevent herself from moving further.
Without stopping to admonish Jess again, Lady Tia took the cold metal end of the tape measure, and pressed it against Miss Sarah’s right nipple. Jess stared in horror as, with that one simple move, Miss Sarah was reduced from controlled dominatrix to a woman panting sharply through pursed lips, having difficulty remaining static against the mirror.
White now, rather than merely pale, Miss Sarah spluttered as Lady Tia swapped sides, torturing the left nipple in the same way. Her hands, which had been hanging at her sides, now gripped the edges of the mirror’s frame, her toes curled into clenched balls.
‘The question is –’ Lady Tia didn’t release any pressure as she bought the clawed fingertips of her free hand down sharply against Jess’s chest, leaving a graze which stung like a paper cut ‘– which of you am I going to satisfy, and which will I forbid to climax?’
Letting go of Miss Sarah’s breasts, she smiled at the inflamed crimson tips. ‘As I seem to have found your weak spot very quickly, I’m trying to decide if it should be Miss Sanders or you I should torture with a withheld orgasm? Although I suppose that would be unfair, really, as you’ve already had one climax from me tonight, whereas your toy’s body couldn’t be more blatantly desperate for a fuck if it tried.’
Jess had been referred to as a toy by many people and on many occasions, but there was something about the way Lady Tia said it that frightened her. After all, when toys were worn out or finished with, they got thrown away …
Unrolling the tape measure, Lady Tia hung it around her rival’s neck. Taking hold of both ends, she crossed the fabric strip so it formed a yellow X between Miss Sarah’s tits. Jerking the tape taut, she ordered her rival to lean forward, before tucking the free ends behind her, so it was trapped between her bare back and the mirror.
‘I bet you can imagine how good this is going to feel, Miss Sanders.’ Lady Tia taunted Jess as she lapped an agile tongue around the edges of the tape cross, where the fabric touched Miss Sarah’s abused and sensitive skin.
Jess could imagine all too well. Never had she felt so jealous of an object. She wanted to be wrapped around her mistress’s torso, wanted it to be her tongue that attended to the burning chest, to kiss better the sore patches that were already beginning to bruise around her nipples.
Grasping her own legs harder, Jess felt the trickle of juice escaping her pussy. The woman she’d forever think of as the Wicked Queen had barely touched her, yet it was as if she was experiencing every touch to Miss Sarah’s flesh upon her own.
Only when Lady Tia’s mouth had journeyed over each edge of the cross did she stand back, and wallow in the sight of Miss Sarah, who was clinging onto her composure, but only just.
The Retreat’s dominatrix grinned; the breathing of the submissive behind her was more laboured than that of her mistress, even though nothing had happened to her … yet.
With a rough tug, Lady Tia grabbed the centre of the tape measure cross, and snatched it from Miss Sarah’s flesh. The burn of the fabric as it was ripped away caused Miss Sarah to emit a sharp yell. Her knuckles whitened further as she held the mirror harder.
Lady Tia’s eyes bored into Miss Sarah’s gaze, daring her to blink as she rolled the tape measure into a tight coil. ‘Miss Sanders, stand up. Turn around. Lean over the chair so that your butt is presented to me. Spread your legs.’
Bracing herself for the beating she’d expected from the moment she’d been bustled out of Fables, Jess knew Mrs Peters would not have been pleased with her performance so far, and she was determined to do better. She’d survived so many erotically charged spankings over the last six months she was sure that, if she kept control of herself, this was one area where she could impress the bigger woman.
It was with considerable shock, therefore, that Jess felt Lady Tia’s thick fingers come to her pussy. Spreading her labia with one hand, she stuffed the coiled measure inside Jess with the other, letting about six centimetres of its length hang from her body like a misplaced tail.
Gasping at the blissfully unusual intrusion, Jess fought to stem the climax which wanted to race through her stomach and down her throat at the same time.
Ignoring her struggle, Lady Tia barked, ‘Stand up, Miss Sanders, and go to your partner.’
As Jess shuffled her feet across the stone floor, Lady Tia issued another order. ‘Miss Sarah, step away from the mirror and come here.’
As Miss Sarah obeyed, Lady Tia smiled at the mirror. ‘What a nice smeared outline you have left.’
Jess stared at the mirror; it had indeed temporarily captured the outline of her superior.
‘You can even see where your buttocks have been, and where your liquid has escaped and made a mess against the glass.
‘On your knees, Miss Sanders. I have no doubt you enjoy licking your mistress. Now you can, or at least, the remains of her reflection.’
The measure was beginning to feel awkward within her. The strip hanging free tickled her thighs, and sent shocks of longing to her pussy as Jess shuffled closer to the mirror. Lowering herself to her hands and knees, very conscious that the tape could fall out at any moment, Jess ran her tongue over the sweat marks left by Miss Sarah. With every creamy lick, her mistress’s liquid tasting as though it had been sprinkled with dust, Jess’s muscles cramped with tension as she tried to guess what Lady Tia was doing behind her back.
Jess didn’t have to guess for long. Two hands came to her rump, smoothing and probing every section of her buttocks, before initiating a crescendo of slaps against her rounded arse. With her face pressed against the heated glass, Jess closed her eyes so she didn’t have to witness the grotesqueness of her squashed reflection.
As the slaps she’d both dreaded and longed for built in power, Jess felt a hand move with catlike speed. A strangled scream shot like a bullet from her throat, as Lady Tia yanked the tape measure from her sodden channel. The top of Jess’s head was sent banging into the mirror as a climax ricocheted through every part of her, and her exhausted body flopped helplessly to the ground...
You can buy The Retreat from all good retailers including -
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CABarnes and Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Kobo
Smashwords
(The Perfect Submissive Trilogy does not have to be read in order, but you will get more out of Jess’s story if you read The Fifth Floor before The Retreat)
Kay Jaybee was named Best Erotica Writer of 2015 by the ETO
Kay received an honouree mention at the NLA Awards 2015 for excellence in BDSM writing.
