Janine Ashbless's Blog, page 30
November 19, 2017
Q: Why's he called Aquaman?
A: Because he makes women wet
November 17, 2017
INCOMING!!! Cover reveals!
WAAAAH! I thought it would take months, but things are moving fast on the re-release front all of a sudden! The old Sweetmeats versions of
So here's the new cover for Named and Shamed , my no-holes-barred romp through fairy lore:
"A chili pepper rating of 10. I’m tempted to add a kink rating just for this book and would put this at 6 out of 5 (and no that wasn’t a typo)" - Books, Books and More Books
And this is the new cover for Fierce Enchantments , my third short-story collection:
"There’s something for everyone in this wondrously abundant, cerebrally and erotically stimulating, perpetually entertaining collection.” – Erotica for the Big BrainAren't they beautiful? I'm so grateful to Sinful Press and the talented Emmy at Studioenp!
November 15, 2017
Trolled and sold
Kay Nielsen: The Troll was quite willing... (1914)More hoorays! I've now signed a contract with Rose Caraway for my story Yan, Tan, Tethera, Methera - which is all about trolls and their human pets. It's pretty long (10,000 words) for a short story, and believe me I needed every inch of my allowance - and then a bit more - in order to squeeze all that filthy, filthy sex in
November 13, 2017
Blue Monday
Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for you entertainment!
Today we go WAY WAY BACK in time to 1998 and the VERY FIRST EROTIC STORY I had published: Party Piece, which is set on a posh galleon during a prince's birthday celebration, and is perhaps surprisingly (for me) femdom, with an older military woman and the younger, callow nobleman who catches her eye.
"If my presence makes you feel tense then I must make amends. Drink this, for a start." She handed him the small glass and he reached for it, not because he desired the liqueur but because he longed to touch those velvet-clad fingers once more. But as their hands met the glass slipped; he grabbed for it and stopped it falling to the deck, but could not prevent the contents slopping out upon her bare thigh.
"That's cold," Allisandra said.
Leander bit his lip and stared down at the wet splash staining her leg. He felt light-headed; his limbs seemed to throb and buzz as if they were ready to explode. This felt worse than the moment before the cavalry charge at Moriens. There was only one cure, and that was action.
"Duchess," he said formally, "allow me." Without hesitation he slid to his knees on the deck and pressed his lips to her thigh. He heard the soft intake of her breath over the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. Her flesh was satin-smooth and incredibly warm and he could smell her secret musky perfume. He kissed the sticky moisture from her skin, gentle as the breath of spring, using his tongue to lap up the bitter spirit. He moved without haste, and it seemed as dreamlike and terrible to him as that first charge into battle.
When every last trickle of the pungent liquid had been erased, he rose before her again, his colour high, his jaw set. She gazed up at him; her eyes were bright and her lips softly parted.
"How gallant," she purred.
He found that he was still holding the useless glass. He tossed it over her shoulder into the sea.
"My pleasure, Duchess," he said, almost with a groan. His scrotum was as tight as a clenched fist and his stones felt as if they were burning.
Her laughter was like the jingle of spurs. "And so charming! You are wasted amongst rough soldiers, Leander. Did you come here with a companion? No? I think I ought to find you a paramour tonight. It should not be difficult, with so many fine ladies here to choose from. It is such a beautiful night ... and you are so very handsome."
"Allisandra," he grunted. His member had risen up and was rearing from between his legs like a war-stallion, straining its long neck against the curb.
"Yes." She began to play with one of the silver buttons on his open jacket, the one directly over his left nipple. Leander shut his eyes for a moment. "You are a very handsome, lovely boy."
His hand snapped shut around her wrist. "Don't mock me, madame," he said, eyes narrowed. "I am no boy, for you to tease; I am a man."
"Prove that," she whispered, her lips describing brush-strokes of provocation.
He no longer cared for decorum. He took her captive hand and laid it over the hard mound of his erection, and it leapt beneath her touch, stamping and bucking with an impatience that threatened to damage the fine doeskin of his breeches. Her eyelashes fluttered and her palm and fingers moved to clasp his bellicose flesh.
"Oh," she breathed. "Now you are teasing me, my Leander. Such a great promise cannot be made, if it is not to be fulfilled."
"I would fulfill it this instant, Madame," he growled, bending to her neck. He took her earlobe between his teeth and she shuddered with pleasure; the response nearly drove him to insanity.
"Is there a cabin nearby?" she asked, her voice low.
He could not think properly. "The forecastle... There is to be some entertainment there later," he grunted, stretching his memory. "There are seats, and mummers' props laid out. But it was empty. Come now."
He led her back up the length of the deck, and she clung to his arm as if she could not bear to release him from her embrace. They reached the small deck before the forecastle cabin and found it as he had half-remembered: set out with cushions and padded benches and musicians instruments, but empty of people. In front of the steps to the cabin was a tall screen, contrived so that players would be able to exit from the makeshift stage without being watched. He pulled her behind this and towards the stairs, but she slipped from his grasp and, when he turned, laughed and set her back to the mast there.
"No further, my gallant, " she said, holding out her arms to him. "I would have you keep your promise right now."
"Here? Leander was surprised. They were concealed behind the screen, but it was the flimsiest of shields, and there was no surface on which to lie.
"Here," she commanded.
He grinned suddenly and went to her, pulling her into his arms. They kissed for the first time. Her tongue was savage and she bit his lips, but he pinned her by the throat and returned stroke for stroke. He could feel the blood racing through her jugular. They grew gentle then, exploring each other's hot mouths with all the murderous delicacy of jungle cats. She smelt of vanilla. He ran his fingers through her lustrous hair and chased the outline of her cleavage with his tongue.
"Take off your harness," she hissed, digging her nails into the nape of his neck. He obeyed her, tearing off his brocade jacket and dropping it to the floor.She forced her hands up under his white shirt and he discarded that too.
"Beautiful," she moaned, drawing her velvet palms across the smooth wall of his chest. "Oh, you are beautiful." She nuzzled the flat brown discs of his nipples and seduced them into erection with tongue and teeth. Leander had to brace one hand against the mast to keep his balance. Then she slid to her knees before him and rubbed her face against the soft leather that covered his tumescent crotch, and he thought he would faint with anticipation.
"Yes," she murmured, more to his imprisoned member than to him. "Oh yes; right now, my lovely one. Let's see you now." She unclasped his belt and pulled it open, then eased the tight breeches down over his narrow hips and tight, muscular arse. His shaft, released from all constraint, sprang into the light. Allisandra hissed with pleasure and caught it in one hand, drawing back the tender foreskin. Her grip was firm. The smooth helmet danced in her black velvet-gloved palm, thrusting out between her finders and thumb as she slid her hand up and down.
"Oh, you must have lied to me, Leander," she chided. "You are no duke's son; you have the parts of a cart-horse colt! I've never seen a noble youth endowed like this!" So saying, she gripped the fingertips of her left glove between her teeth and tore the garment off, allowing her to cup his balls with her bare hand.
Leander groaned, his head spinning. He could she her carnelian-painted nails; the twin hands, one black and one white, vying for his swollen genitals; her tongue slipping out to lap at the shiny head of his lance. Tension was building in the puckered bag of his stones. From his toes to the tip of his cock was one line of rigid muscle, strained to breaking point.
"I'm about to let slip," he warned her through clenched teeth.
"Oh? You told me you were a man, not a boy," she said cruelly, and probed the slit of his knob with her darting tongue-tip. "Can't you hold it?"
You can still buy Sugar and Spice Vol.2 at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Today we go WAY WAY BACK in time to 1998 and the VERY FIRST EROTIC STORY I had published: Party Piece, which is set on a posh galleon during a prince's birthday celebration, and is perhaps surprisingly (for me) femdom, with an older military woman and the younger, callow nobleman who catches her eye.
"If my presence makes you feel tense then I must make amends. Drink this, for a start." She handed him the small glass and he reached for it, not because he desired the liqueur but because he longed to touch those velvet-clad fingers once more. But as their hands met the glass slipped; he grabbed for it and stopped it falling to the deck, but could not prevent the contents slopping out upon her bare thigh.
"That's cold," Allisandra said.
Leander bit his lip and stared down at the wet splash staining her leg. He felt light-headed; his limbs seemed to throb and buzz as if they were ready to explode. This felt worse than the moment before the cavalry charge at Moriens. There was only one cure, and that was action.
"Duchess," he said formally, "allow me." Without hesitation he slid to his knees on the deck and pressed his lips to her thigh. He heard the soft intake of her breath over the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. Her flesh was satin-smooth and incredibly warm and he could smell her secret musky perfume. He kissed the sticky moisture from her skin, gentle as the breath of spring, using his tongue to lap up the bitter spirit. He moved without haste, and it seemed as dreamlike and terrible to him as that first charge into battle.
When every last trickle of the pungent liquid had been erased, he rose before her again, his colour high, his jaw set. She gazed up at him; her eyes were bright and her lips softly parted.
"How gallant," she purred.
He found that he was still holding the useless glass. He tossed it over her shoulder into the sea.
"My pleasure, Duchess," he said, almost with a groan. His scrotum was as tight as a clenched fist and his stones felt as if they were burning.
Her laughter was like the jingle of spurs. "And so charming! You are wasted amongst rough soldiers, Leander. Did you come here with a companion? No? I think I ought to find you a paramour tonight. It should not be difficult, with so many fine ladies here to choose from. It is such a beautiful night ... and you are so very handsome."
"Allisandra," he grunted. His member had risen up and was rearing from between his legs like a war-stallion, straining its long neck against the curb.
"Yes." She began to play with one of the silver buttons on his open jacket, the one directly over his left nipple. Leander shut his eyes for a moment. "You are a very handsome, lovely boy."
His hand snapped shut around her wrist. "Don't mock me, madame," he said, eyes narrowed. "I am no boy, for you to tease; I am a man."
"Prove that," she whispered, her lips describing brush-strokes of provocation.
He no longer cared for decorum. He took her captive hand and laid it over the hard mound of his erection, and it leapt beneath her touch, stamping and bucking with an impatience that threatened to damage the fine doeskin of his breeches. Her eyelashes fluttered and her palm and fingers moved to clasp his bellicose flesh.
"Oh," she breathed. "Now you are teasing me, my Leander. Such a great promise cannot be made, if it is not to be fulfilled."
"I would fulfill it this instant, Madame," he growled, bending to her neck. He took her earlobe between his teeth and she shuddered with pleasure; the response nearly drove him to insanity.
"Is there a cabin nearby?" she asked, her voice low.
He could not think properly. "The forecastle... There is to be some entertainment there later," he grunted, stretching his memory. "There are seats, and mummers' props laid out. But it was empty. Come now."
He led her back up the length of the deck, and she clung to his arm as if she could not bear to release him from her embrace. They reached the small deck before the forecastle cabin and found it as he had half-remembered: set out with cushions and padded benches and musicians instruments, but empty of people. In front of the steps to the cabin was a tall screen, contrived so that players would be able to exit from the makeshift stage without being watched. He pulled her behind this and towards the stairs, but she slipped from his grasp and, when he turned, laughed and set her back to the mast there.
"No further, my gallant, " she said, holding out her arms to him. "I would have you keep your promise right now."
"Here? Leander was surprised. They were concealed behind the screen, but it was the flimsiest of shields, and there was no surface on which to lie.
"Here," she commanded.
He grinned suddenly and went to her, pulling her into his arms. They kissed for the first time. Her tongue was savage and she bit his lips, but he pinned her by the throat and returned stroke for stroke. He could feel the blood racing through her jugular. They grew gentle then, exploring each other's hot mouths with all the murderous delicacy of jungle cats. She smelt of vanilla. He ran his fingers through her lustrous hair and chased the outline of her cleavage with his tongue.
"Take off your harness," she hissed, digging her nails into the nape of his neck. He obeyed her, tearing off his brocade jacket and dropping it to the floor.She forced her hands up under his white shirt and he discarded that too.
"Beautiful," she moaned, drawing her velvet palms across the smooth wall of his chest. "Oh, you are beautiful." She nuzzled the flat brown discs of his nipples and seduced them into erection with tongue and teeth. Leander had to brace one hand against the mast to keep his balance. Then she slid to her knees before him and rubbed her face against the soft leather that covered his tumescent crotch, and he thought he would faint with anticipation.
"Yes," she murmured, more to his imprisoned member than to him. "Oh yes; right now, my lovely one. Let's see you now." She unclasped his belt and pulled it open, then eased the tight breeches down over his narrow hips and tight, muscular arse. His shaft, released from all constraint, sprang into the light. Allisandra hissed with pleasure and caught it in one hand, drawing back the tender foreskin. Her grip was firm. The smooth helmet danced in her black velvet-gloved palm, thrusting out between her finders and thumb as she slid her hand up and down.
"Oh, you must have lied to me, Leander," she chided. "You are no duke's son; you have the parts of a cart-horse colt! I've never seen a noble youth endowed like this!" So saying, she gripped the fingertips of her left glove between her teeth and tore the garment off, allowing her to cup his balls with her bare hand.
Leander groaned, his head spinning. He could she her carnelian-painted nails; the twin hands, one black and one white, vying for his swollen genitals; her tongue slipping out to lap at the shiny head of his lance. Tension was building in the puckered bag of his stones. From his toes to the tip of his cock was one line of rigid muscle, strained to breaking point.
"I'm about to let slip," he warned her through clenched teeth.
"Oh? You told me you were a man, not a boy," she said cruelly, and probed the slit of his knob with her darting tongue-tip. "Can't you hold it?"
You can still buy Sugar and Spice Vol.2 at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK
November 10, 2017
Publication news
It's
never
over...Hurray! Some news!
First, my short story Nine Portraits of the Empress Danrin has been chosen for inclusion in horror anthology Her Dark Voice vol. 2, edited by Theresa Derwin. Set in 1919 in an influenza hospital, this story is about sex ... a lot of sex ... but it's not erotica, it's horror, so be warned (or intrigued)
November 8, 2017
All out of spoons
Normal service will be resumed when something goes right for a change...
November 6, 2017
Blue Monday: Samantha MacLeod guests
Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!
Today's guest is my internet-twin Samantha MacLeod, back here with her new Viking Gods story Claiming Thor's Hammer.
All of Asgard depends on Thor, and his legendary hammer Mjölnir, to protect them from their foes. So when Thor returns one night without his hammer, refusing to say how it was lost or where it may be, all of Asgard is at risk. Loki tracks Mjölnir to the muscular arms of the fearsome warlord Thrym, who reluctantly agrees to a deal: Thrym will return Thor’s hammer in exchange for Freyja, the most beautiful woman in Asgard.
There’s only one problem with Loki’s plan. Freyja refuses to marry the ruthlessly handsome Thrym. Low on options, Loki insists he can still retrieve the hammer. All it takes is wrapping Thor in a wedding dress obnoxious enough to allow him to pass for Freyja.
Once inside the dark confines of Thrym’s castle, however, things take an erotic turn not even Loki the Trickster could have predicted…
I took a deep breath. In a Jötunn wedding, the bride swears fealty to her husband by placing her hands on his most valued possession. Thrym’s most valued possession, now, had to be Mjölnir. At least, I hoped so.
If everything went according to my plan, this was when Thrym would bring out Mjölnir and all but dump it in Thor’s lap. Thor would then rip off his dress, bash some heads, and go back to Asgard, Mjölnir in hand, leaving me with the mental image of Thor the Thunderer in a puffy white dress to savor until Ragnarök.
“This is it,” I whispered to Thor. “Get ready.”
Thor pushed me out of the way and stood up.
He left the room.
I blinked as his impressive shoulders, sparkling in beaded ivory cloth, vanished through a door behind the great fireplace. What in the actual fuck?
“You too, pretty little thing,” Thrym hissed in my ear, grabbing my arm and pulling me after Thor.
The crowd roared their approval as we pushed our way to the door. Someone splashed mead down the front of my dress, and I almost broke the arm of the asshole who tried to grab my tits. Thrym shoved me through the door behind the fireplace and into a quiet hallway.
“Are we going to get Mjölnir?” I asked, as innocently as I could manage.
Thrym just chuckled. “Come on,” he said.
I followed him through the hall, trying to calculate how totally fucked we were. Thor and I couldn’t take on this many Jötunn, especially without Mjölnir, but I could probably get us back to Asgard unharmed. Humiliated, but unharmed.
I shuddered. Humiliation was worse than harm.
Thrym pushed open a door and we entered a luxurious bedchamber. Thor stood at the foot of an enormous four-poster bed like a white-clad mountain.
“My bride!” Thrym roared. “I hear you want to see my hammer?”
I couldn’t see his face under the bridal veil, but I would have sworn Thor smiled.
Thrym clucked and waved his finger. “I want something from you first,” he said.
He leaned back and unhooked his massive belt buckle, pushing his pants down. I couldn’t help but stare; the cock that sprang from those pants was damned impressive. Thrym was enormous, thick, and very, very hard.
“Just look what you’ve done to me already,” Thrym said, fixing his eyes on Thor. “You want to see Mjölnir? Well, I want you to suck me.”
I forced myself to tear my eyes away from Thrym’s impressive endowment. “Uh, Master Thrym, my lady Freyja—“
My words died in my throat. Thor fell to his knees in front of Thrym, tore off his veil, and licked the entire length of Thrym’s massive cock.
Oh, damn. That was hot. I flushed with heat under my mead-soaked dress. Thor closed his eyes, running his tongue over the head of Thrym’s cock. By the Nine Realms, he was enjoying it. Thor was sucking a cock, and he was enjoying it.
The slick green silk of my dress suddenly felt too tight as my nipples hardened. I slipped a hand under the folds of fabric at my waist, sliding my fingers up the inside of my thighs and along the wet slit of my cunt. Thor kissed the length of Thrym’s cock, his tongue teasing the head. I pressed my clit, sending jolts of sexual energy through my body as Thor wrapped his lips around the head. Thor moved his mouth over Thrym’s cock, taking much more than I would have imagined possible. I pressed harder. My hips swayed forward, and I clamped my lips together, trying not to moan out loud.
“You little slut,” Thrym growled, sinking his hands into Thor’s hair and pushing the bridal crown off his head. “You’re enjoying this, you whore.”
Thor growled, pulling back to suck just the head of Thrym’s cock. Thrym gasped, his hips thrusting against Thor’s mouth. My finger moved faster, rocking my body with pleasure. Thrym screamed, his entire body tensing as he came in Thor’s mouth. I came a second later, sighing as the oblivion of orgasm crashed through me.
Ah, yes!
I allowed myself a moment to bask in the velvet glow of my climax. Now I’d have to plan, to come up with some brilliant way to get us both out of here alive, but damn. How many times would I get to make myself come watching Thor suck a cock?
Buy Claiming Thor's Hammer at
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Born and raised in Colorado, Samantha MacLeod has lived in every time zone in the US, and London. She has a bachelor’s degree from Colby College and an M.A. from the University of Chicago; yes, the U. of C. really is where fun comes to die.
Samantha lives with her husband and two small children in the woods of southern Maine. When she’s not shoveling snow or writing steamy sex scenes, Samantha can be found teaching college composition and philosophy to undergraduates who have no idea she leads a double life as an erotica author.
Samantha’s Blog
Facebook
Twitter
Tumblr
Amazon Author Page
BookBub
Today's guest is my internet-twin Samantha MacLeod, back here with her new Viking Gods story Claiming Thor's Hammer.
All of Asgard depends on Thor, and his legendary hammer Mjölnir, to protect them from their foes. So when Thor returns one night without his hammer, refusing to say how it was lost or where it may be, all of Asgard is at risk. Loki tracks Mjölnir to the muscular arms of the fearsome warlord Thrym, who reluctantly agrees to a deal: Thrym will return Thor’s hammer in exchange for Freyja, the most beautiful woman in Asgard.
There’s only one problem with Loki’s plan. Freyja refuses to marry the ruthlessly handsome Thrym. Low on options, Loki insists he can still retrieve the hammer. All it takes is wrapping Thor in a wedding dress obnoxious enough to allow him to pass for Freyja.
Once inside the dark confines of Thrym’s castle, however, things take an erotic turn not even Loki the Trickster could have predicted…
I took a deep breath. In a Jötunn wedding, the bride swears fealty to her husband by placing her hands on his most valued possession. Thrym’s most valued possession, now, had to be Mjölnir. At least, I hoped so.
If everything went according to my plan, this was when Thrym would bring out Mjölnir and all but dump it in Thor’s lap. Thor would then rip off his dress, bash some heads, and go back to Asgard, Mjölnir in hand, leaving me with the mental image of Thor the Thunderer in a puffy white dress to savor until Ragnarök.
“This is it,” I whispered to Thor. “Get ready.”
Thor pushed me out of the way and stood up.
He left the room.
I blinked as his impressive shoulders, sparkling in beaded ivory cloth, vanished through a door behind the great fireplace. What in the actual fuck?
“You too, pretty little thing,” Thrym hissed in my ear, grabbing my arm and pulling me after Thor.
The crowd roared their approval as we pushed our way to the door. Someone splashed mead down the front of my dress, and I almost broke the arm of the asshole who tried to grab my tits. Thrym shoved me through the door behind the fireplace and into a quiet hallway.
“Are we going to get Mjölnir?” I asked, as innocently as I could manage.
Thrym just chuckled. “Come on,” he said.
I followed him through the hall, trying to calculate how totally fucked we were. Thor and I couldn’t take on this many Jötunn, especially without Mjölnir, but I could probably get us back to Asgard unharmed. Humiliated, but unharmed.
I shuddered. Humiliation was worse than harm.
Thrym pushed open a door and we entered a luxurious bedchamber. Thor stood at the foot of an enormous four-poster bed like a white-clad mountain.
“My bride!” Thrym roared. “I hear you want to see my hammer?”
I couldn’t see his face under the bridal veil, but I would have sworn Thor smiled.
Thrym clucked and waved his finger. “I want something from you first,” he said.
He leaned back and unhooked his massive belt buckle, pushing his pants down. I couldn’t help but stare; the cock that sprang from those pants was damned impressive. Thrym was enormous, thick, and very, very hard.
“Just look what you’ve done to me already,” Thrym said, fixing his eyes on Thor. “You want to see Mjölnir? Well, I want you to suck me.”
I forced myself to tear my eyes away from Thrym’s impressive endowment. “Uh, Master Thrym, my lady Freyja—“
My words died in my throat. Thor fell to his knees in front of Thrym, tore off his veil, and licked the entire length of Thrym’s massive cock.
Oh, damn. That was hot. I flushed with heat under my mead-soaked dress. Thor closed his eyes, running his tongue over the head of Thrym’s cock. By the Nine Realms, he was enjoying it. Thor was sucking a cock, and he was enjoying it.
The slick green silk of my dress suddenly felt too tight as my nipples hardened. I slipped a hand under the folds of fabric at my waist, sliding my fingers up the inside of my thighs and along the wet slit of my cunt. Thor kissed the length of Thrym’s cock, his tongue teasing the head. I pressed my clit, sending jolts of sexual energy through my body as Thor wrapped his lips around the head. Thor moved his mouth over Thrym’s cock, taking much more than I would have imagined possible. I pressed harder. My hips swayed forward, and I clamped my lips together, trying not to moan out loud.
“You little slut,” Thrym growled, sinking his hands into Thor’s hair and pushing the bridal crown off his head. “You’re enjoying this, you whore.”
Thor growled, pulling back to suck just the head of Thrym’s cock. Thrym gasped, his hips thrusting against Thor’s mouth. My finger moved faster, rocking my body with pleasure. Thrym screamed, his entire body tensing as he came in Thor’s mouth. I came a second later, sighing as the oblivion of orgasm crashed through me.
Ah, yes!
I allowed myself a moment to bask in the velvet glow of my climax. Now I’d have to plan, to come up with some brilliant way to get us both out of here alive, but damn. How many times would I get to make myself come watching Thor suck a cock?
Buy Claiming Thor's Hammer at
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Born and raised in Colorado, Samantha MacLeod has lived in every time zone in the US, and London. She has a bachelor’s degree from Colby College and an M.A. from the University of Chicago; yes, the U. of C. really is where fun comes to die.
Samantha lives with her husband and two small children in the woods of southern Maine. When she’s not shoveling snow or writing steamy sex scenes, Samantha can be found teaching college composition and philosophy to undergraduates who have no idea she leads a double life as an erotica author.
Samantha’s Blog
Tumblr
Amazon Author Page
BookBub
November 5, 2017
November 3, 2017
Night visitors
We've been testing out the new stealth camera in our wood!
We pointed it at the badger sett, but didn't get the badger footage we'd hoped for. Instead...
Based on the palmate(ish) antlers we think they're fallow deer in their dark winter coats - possibly even melanistic variations on the species.
We aim to get better at pointing the camera!
October 31, 2017
Ride that broom, baby
Preparation for the Witches' Sabbath - French School, 1800sHappy Hallowe'en!Witches everywhere will be dusting off their faithful brooms and preparing to ride the autumnal skies tonight. In 'Fine Art', of course, all witches are either young and incredibly sexy or aged and incredibly repulsive ...(which makes you wonder what happens to the ones in between - presumably they're too busy holding down jobs and families to spend time gallivanting about with satanic goats or whatever).
So here are some sexy ones, mostly engaged in the 19th Century equivalent of pole-dancing:
Departure for the Sabbath, by Albert Joseph Pénot, 1910
Riding Witches by Otto Goetze, 1924
Walpurgis Night, by Lovis Corinth ,1893
Muse of the Night by Luis Ricardo Falero, 1880
Photo from the series: Witches’ Sabbat in Paris, 1910
Photo from the series: Witches’ Sabbat in Paris, 1910
Sabbat de Sorcières, Adolf Munzier,1909
Jan Frans De Boever (1872 - 1949)
The Apotheosis of a Witch, by Clara Siewert (1862-1945)
Marguerite au Sabbat, by Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret, 1911.
La_Sorcière, Martin van Maele, 1911
The Young Sorceress, by Antoine Wiertz, 1857
The Departure of the Witches, by Luis Ricardo Falero, 1878Happy Hallowe'en!
