Janine Ashbless's Blog, page 40
May 5, 2017
"I saw this and thought of you"
Hah - I received this postcard from a friend. Glad to see that it's still perfectly okay to send pics of naked dudes through Her Majesty's Royal Mail
May 3, 2017
Cleaning up your dirty bits
Jean-Leon Gerome: Femme Nue (1889)I rarely post actual writing advice, because, like - what do I know? But here's my standard check-list for manuscript clean-up when I'm sending something in to editors.
NB: DOUBLE CHECK WHAT THE EDITOR ASKED FOR. Always follow instructions, even if they ask for everything in 8-point Comic Sans!
If no other guidance is available, this is what I do:
Select the entire manuscript and choose a single font, size 12, double-spaced - I work across several laptops so my manuscripts end up a mess of Calibri and Ariel.Select entire manuscript and set the spellcheck language to US or UK English, depending on publisher. Single and double quote marks - to avoid a mix of curly quotes and straight quotes, for the same reason as above: [Find ' and Replace with ' then Find " and Replace with "]Tabs - Editors HATE tabs. You should have an automatic indent set instead. [Find ^t and Replace with nothing] Then check your manuscript to make sure you've not just got one HUGE paragraph now.Em dashes [Find - (space hyphen space), Replace with em dash: ctrl + alt + [minus on the number pad]. Do it again, searching for -- (two hyphens)]Ellipses [Find … (three periods) and Replace with ellipsis (ctrl + alt + period)]Double spaces (between sentences or words) [Find (space)(space) and Replace with (space) Important! Repeat this until 0 instances are found!]Trailing spaces at end of paragraph: [Find (space)^p and Replace with ^p]. Repeat until you get 0 resultsExtra spaces at start of paragraph text: [Find ^p(space) and Replace with ^p] Repeat until you get 0 results.
This doesn't take long at all, once you get used to it.
Now you're ready to spell-check.
May 1, 2017
Eyecandy Monday special: The Prison of the Angels preview
Every Monday I post a naughty scene for your entertainment!
Today's excerpt is a bit special. To mark my completion of The Prison of the Angels, here's a preview excerpt:
Jean Delville: L’Allégorie de l’Enfer, 1899
At that moment I heard Egan’s door thump open on the opposite side of the corridor. I caught my breath and braced myself for the crash of his fists on my own door.
Oh no. My dream. I was only dozing. I didn’t—did I?
But there was silence.
I sat hearing only the race of my own heartbeat. No accusations; not even the sound of his feet stomping away down the hall. Just silence.
What is he waiting for?
Me?
I pushed myself to my feet, pulled on a tank top shirt just long enough to afford me some decency, and went to the door. I could feel a trickle of sweat running down between my breasts. The handle felt slippery under my fingers.
Egan was standing on the other side of the door, one muscular arm braced against the frame, wearing nothing but the pair of gray briefs he’d presumably gone to bed in. The sight nearly sent me into meltdown then and there. His expression was grim, but not a word passed his lips. His pupils were still horribly dilated.
I searched his face for any sign of light, but saw none. It was the expression, I thought, of a man who had heroically fought the good fight against his inner demons—and lost. I took a step backward into my room and he followed me, pushing the door to behind him.
Are we going to fight? To kiss? To talk? I don’t want to talk. Not now. I want you to touch me.
We stood wordless in that dim yellow light, like we were stuck in amber.
Then I looked down. I wasn’t jiggling about naked in the snow now; just clad in a sleeveless top that was so tight my erect nipples drew a bar across the stretched cotton. Egan wore even less. And unless he had taken to smuggling a length of lead pipe sideways under his briefs, he was finding even that garment uncomfortably constricting. He loomed so close to me that I didn’t even have to step forward to put my hand on that imprisoned shaft and feel it kick against my palm.
Oh. He’s had enough of dreams and teasing. He needs sorting out. Now.
I looked up into his eyes, wondering if he would say anything, and wondering what I should say. But we’d run out of words, both of us.
Did he want me to carry on where I’d left off in the snow? To bend over the bed? He was hard and burning under my hand as I squeezed him through the soft cotton. Oh. Oh. Oh.
He stooped a little, just enough so that his cheek brushed mine, his breath on my ear and neck. I’m used to thinking of myself as tall and gangly, no delicate flower—but it suddenly came home to me how much bigger he was, so much muscle and bone. And that was before I recalled his history of extreme violence. It rather appalled me now to think how I’d had the gall to tease him; we’d shared rented rooms and a pup-tent and even a bed in our journeys together, and I’d never given him enough credit for his restraint, or his honor, or his kindliness.
He could have had me at any time.
Oh, that thought made me run wet.
I’d had my fill of taunting him, for the moment. Now I wanted to give him everything he needed. Keeping one hand on his Calvins and running the other down the glorious hard undulation of his torso, I sank to my knees until my hands could meet. My lips pressed the flat wall of his stomach. Then I slipped my fingers under the elastic of his briefs and pulled them down. His cock bounced free hard enough to give my face a hot, silky slap.
Oh you beauty…
I took him in my mouth, all the way, and I heard the quietest of sighs he uttered. That was all he did for a long moment; just stand there, almost motionless, as I sucked gratefully at his strong, beautiful length.
Then he touched my cheek. “Is that all you want?” he rasped.
No. Not all.
My mouth was too full to talk, so I shook my head. Only when I’d wrapped a hand firmly around his girth did I release him from my lips, and used my hand to pull him with me, step by step, as I crawled backward across the floor.
Today's excerpt is a bit special. To mark my completion of The Prison of the Angels, here's a preview excerpt:
Jean Delville: L’Allégorie de l’Enfer, 1899At that moment I heard Egan’s door thump open on the opposite side of the corridor. I caught my breath and braced myself for the crash of his fists on my own door.
Oh no. My dream. I was only dozing. I didn’t—did I?
But there was silence.
I sat hearing only the race of my own heartbeat. No accusations; not even the sound of his feet stomping away down the hall. Just silence.
What is he waiting for?
Me?
I pushed myself to my feet, pulled on a tank top shirt just long enough to afford me some decency, and went to the door. I could feel a trickle of sweat running down between my breasts. The handle felt slippery under my fingers.
Egan was standing on the other side of the door, one muscular arm braced against the frame, wearing nothing but the pair of gray briefs he’d presumably gone to bed in. The sight nearly sent me into meltdown then and there. His expression was grim, but not a word passed his lips. His pupils were still horribly dilated.
I searched his face for any sign of light, but saw none. It was the expression, I thought, of a man who had heroically fought the good fight against his inner demons—and lost. I took a step backward into my room and he followed me, pushing the door to behind him.
Are we going to fight? To kiss? To talk? I don’t want to talk. Not now. I want you to touch me.
We stood wordless in that dim yellow light, like we were stuck in amber.
Then I looked down. I wasn’t jiggling about naked in the snow now; just clad in a sleeveless top that was so tight my erect nipples drew a bar across the stretched cotton. Egan wore even less. And unless he had taken to smuggling a length of lead pipe sideways under his briefs, he was finding even that garment uncomfortably constricting. He loomed so close to me that I didn’t even have to step forward to put my hand on that imprisoned shaft and feel it kick against my palm.
Oh. He’s had enough of dreams and teasing. He needs sorting out. Now.
I looked up into his eyes, wondering if he would say anything, and wondering what I should say. But we’d run out of words, both of us.
Did he want me to carry on where I’d left off in the snow? To bend over the bed? He was hard and burning under my hand as I squeezed him through the soft cotton. Oh. Oh. Oh.
He stooped a little, just enough so that his cheek brushed mine, his breath on my ear and neck. I’m used to thinking of myself as tall and gangly, no delicate flower—but it suddenly came home to me how much bigger he was, so much muscle and bone. And that was before I recalled his history of extreme violence. It rather appalled me now to think how I’d had the gall to tease him; we’d shared rented rooms and a pup-tent and even a bed in our journeys together, and I’d never given him enough credit for his restraint, or his honor, or his kindliness.
He could have had me at any time.
Oh, that thought made me run wet.
I’d had my fill of taunting him, for the moment. Now I wanted to give him everything he needed. Keeping one hand on his Calvins and running the other down the glorious hard undulation of his torso, I sank to my knees until my hands could meet. My lips pressed the flat wall of his stomach. Then I slipped my fingers under the elastic of his briefs and pulled them down. His cock bounced free hard enough to give my face a hot, silky slap.
Oh you beauty…
I took him in my mouth, all the way, and I heard the quietest of sighs he uttered. That was all he did for a long moment; just stand there, almost motionless, as I sucked gratefully at his strong, beautiful length.
Then he touched my cheek. “Is that all you want?” he rasped.
No. Not all.
My mouth was too full to talk, so I shook my head. Only when I’d wrapped a hand firmly around his girth did I release him from my lips, and used my hand to pull him with me, step by step, as I crawled backward across the floor.
April 29, 2017
The bums of Brum
Following on from my full-frontal reveal of Epstein's Lucifer, here are some more pics of Slightly Naughty Art in and around the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery. It's actually famous for its Pre-Raphaelite collection, but I'm afraid they all photographed very badly (and kept their clothes on).
Dhruva Mistry: The River (1993) This one is in Victoria Square, along with a Gormley that couldn't help reminding me of bound angels...
Antony Gormley: Iron Man (1993)Moving inside the Museum... this is ancient:
"Bronze figure of two gods," Northern Syria, Old Babylonian period, 1850-1750 BCE
But these are modern art:
Henry Moore: Warrior with Shield (1954)
Pablo Picasso: The Young Man (1958)This vase is NOT modern, but it does have Gratuitous Boobies:
Gustave Joseph Cheret: The Fishing Season is Open (1890)As does this:
William Russell Flint: Silver and Gold (1931)And this has a Gratuitous Not-Even-Slightly-Symbolic Snake:
Alfred Gilbert: Athlete Wrestling a Snake
Art feeds the soul
Dhruva Mistry: The River (1993) This one is in Victoria Square, along with a Gormley that couldn't help reminding me of bound angels...
Antony Gormley: Iron Man (1993)Moving inside the Museum... this is ancient:
"Bronze figure of two gods," Northern Syria, Old Babylonian period, 1850-1750 BCEBut these are modern art:
Henry Moore: Warrior with Shield (1954)
Pablo Picasso: The Young Man (1958)This vase is NOT modern, but it does have Gratuitous Boobies:
Gustave Joseph Cheret: The Fishing Season is Open (1890)As does this:
William Russell Flint: Silver and Gold (1931)And this has a Gratuitous Not-Even-Slightly-Symbolic Snake:
Alfred Gilbert: Athlete Wrestling a SnakeArt feeds the soul
April 26, 2017
Short story news #2!
The Goddess Hel by Johannes Gehrts (1889) Woohoo - a second short story sale in a week!April 24, 2017
Blue Monday: Ian Smith guests
Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!
Today's guest is Ian Smith with a teaser from From the Top, which is Book 3 in his Merely
Players threesome romance series.
Paul, working with his lovers Becky and Hayley, feels deep-ended. He's acting in his first studio production—a slightly mad family-friendly TV show where amateur Egyptologists find a hidden tomb and temple, with a very realistic mummy on set.
They want to keep their developing three-way relationship private, while surrounded by people who love to gossip and just might let things slip to the media. Time is tight, working with a professional stunt team and egotistical actors is stressful, and Paul and Becky get some unwanted attention.
Adding to his anxiety is the important question of where their relationship can go.
Then there are his terrifying, painfully realistic, and very life-like dreams about nasty accidents. On TV, he can have another take. Real life only gives him one go. But it's almost as if he's getting a chance to change how things work out.
Sonny and Cher woke me up. Off the top of my head, I couldn't remember ever having heard "I Got You Babe" first thing in the morning before, and decided once was more than enough.
"Hate this fucking song," Becky mumbled from behind a veil of hair. She turned over and stretched an arm across my chest.
Hayley was face down beside me. She lifted her head and looked puzzled. "Time to get up already?" She flopped back onto the pillow and sighed loudly. Enough light spilled around the curtains for me to see her hair had spread out around her head. It tickled my face slightly.
I tried to rearrange my legs without disturbing either of my companions. We were staying with Becky, who, like Hayley, only had a standard double bed. Being several inches taller than it was long meant I had to sleep diagonally across it, keep my legs bent, or put up with my feet hanging over the end. When it had been just two of us, we'd coped comfortably. But three of us filled it. My leg muscles really wanted me to stretch them out before I lost all feeling below the waist.
"What's wrong with this song?" I asked.
"Boring and ancient. And he was a right bastard to Cher."
The song ended and was followed by a chirpy advert for a local car dealership.
"When's the taxi arriving?" Hayley mumbled.
"Around half eight," Becky said. She yawned and stretched. "It's from a fancy car and driver company."
She slipped out of bed and padded off to the bathroom. She knew I was watching her and did a bottom-wiggle in the doorway before she vanished from sight.
Hayley shuffled up against me, slid one of her legs over mine and stroked my calf with her foot. She reached across my tummy with one of her hands. "Think we can have a quickie before Becky gets back?"
"Have to go like the clappers," I said.
"Better get started, then." Hayley slid on top of me and I wrapped my arms around her.
"No bonking till I get back," Becky shouted from the bathroom.
Hayley and I kissed and writhed together, squashing my erection nicely between our tummies.
I heard the toilet flush and Becky's feet on the carpet as she hurried back, then what could only be a drawer being opened and closed. She joined us in bed, knelt beside my legs and leaned over Hayley.
Hayley squealed into our kiss and stiffened her body, then she started moving her hips around. I heard a quiet buzzing and realised Becky was teasing Hayley with a vibrator.
"That's evil," Hayley murmured.
"Yeah, yeah, where do you want it?" Becky asked.
"In me, on my g-spot, please."
I held Hayley and kissed her as she got closer and closer to her climax. Becky kissed and stroked Hayley's back, bottom, and the inside of her thighs.
"This is going to blow my mind," Hayley mumbled. She'd closed her eyes and her expression was very clear. She was already really close to coming.
"Didn't know vibrators got you this excited so quickly," I murmured.
"I woke up from a really sexy dream," she said, then gasped and bit her lip for a second. "All three of us rolling around for ages, then you were piling into me like there was no tomorrow."
Her whole body tensed and she opened her mouth in a silent scream, then cried out and twitched several times.
She relaxed and lay on me, breathing heavily. "I am officially dead from the neck down," she panted. "You two are to blame."
"Don't blame us," Becky said, then she leaned down and I felt her mouth slowly enclose the tip of my erection.
Hayley slid off me and rolled onto her side, then picked up the vibrator. She watched Becky taunt me for a few seconds, then made an effort to get to her feet. "Shit, my legs are wobbly." She moved around behind Becky, who spread her knees further apart. She moaned gently and I guessed Hayley had slid the vibrator along her cleft.
I relaxed and concentrated on the soft wetness of her mouth and her small, warm hand on my cock. From the speed of her movements and her tight grip around me, I thought she was trying to finish me off before she climaxed. I let myself go and came a few seconds before she did. She gulped and swallowed as I came, then let go of me, relaxed onto my tummy and gasped loudly as she climaxed. I'd opened my eyes in time to watch her face. I loved watching both of them as they came. Their expressions made me slightly envious of how relaxed they seemed and how intense their feelings were.
Buy From the Top at:Amazon UK Amazon USBookstrand FirebornSmashwords
Ian Smith says:
"I currently live and work in the south-western corner of the UK, but I’ve spent time in quite a few parts of the country over my life. My education and professional life have been very focused on science, so I've no idea where my interest in writing fiction came from is a mystery. But I have this quaint day-dream that it might become more than a hobby. Well, one day?
I like to write stories which are at least plausible, especially in the little details. So research has involved me doing a few odd-sounding things. Or maybe I use the odd things I’ve done for fun as retrospective research? I’ve learned the basics of the traditional British rural skills of dry-stone walling and hedge-laying, and spent a day getting an introduction to bushcraft. I've driven a tank, spent the night in a snow-cave I dug in the Cairngorms, flown in a hot air balloon, gliders and light aircraft, and been for a walk with some nominally tame wolves. I took up archery as a sport after a taster session. And I spent a day doing some jousting. Honestly!"
Regular Facebook profile - https://www.facebook.com/Dr.Ian.D.SmithFacebook author profile - https://www.facebook.com/ian.d.smith.writer/?ref=settingsTwitter - https://twitter.com/ians2005Blog - ianiscurious.blogspot.co.ukAmazon author page - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ian-Smith/e/B00Q060KCQ
Today's guest is Ian Smith with a teaser from From the Top, which is Book 3 in his Merely
Players threesome romance series.
Paul, working with his lovers Becky and Hayley, feels deep-ended. He's acting in his first studio production—a slightly mad family-friendly TV show where amateur Egyptologists find a hidden tomb and temple, with a very realistic mummy on set.
They want to keep their developing three-way relationship private, while surrounded by people who love to gossip and just might let things slip to the media. Time is tight, working with a professional stunt team and egotistical actors is stressful, and Paul and Becky get some unwanted attention.
Adding to his anxiety is the important question of where their relationship can go.
Then there are his terrifying, painfully realistic, and very life-like dreams about nasty accidents. On TV, he can have another take. Real life only gives him one go. But it's almost as if he's getting a chance to change how things work out.
Sonny and Cher woke me up. Off the top of my head, I couldn't remember ever having heard "I Got You Babe" first thing in the morning before, and decided once was more than enough.
"Hate this fucking song," Becky mumbled from behind a veil of hair. She turned over and stretched an arm across my chest.
Hayley was face down beside me. She lifted her head and looked puzzled. "Time to get up already?" She flopped back onto the pillow and sighed loudly. Enough light spilled around the curtains for me to see her hair had spread out around her head. It tickled my face slightly.
I tried to rearrange my legs without disturbing either of my companions. We were staying with Becky, who, like Hayley, only had a standard double bed. Being several inches taller than it was long meant I had to sleep diagonally across it, keep my legs bent, or put up with my feet hanging over the end. When it had been just two of us, we'd coped comfortably. But three of us filled it. My leg muscles really wanted me to stretch them out before I lost all feeling below the waist.
"What's wrong with this song?" I asked.
"Boring and ancient. And he was a right bastard to Cher."
The song ended and was followed by a chirpy advert for a local car dealership.
"When's the taxi arriving?" Hayley mumbled.
"Around half eight," Becky said. She yawned and stretched. "It's from a fancy car and driver company."
She slipped out of bed and padded off to the bathroom. She knew I was watching her and did a bottom-wiggle in the doorway before she vanished from sight.
Hayley shuffled up against me, slid one of her legs over mine and stroked my calf with her foot. She reached across my tummy with one of her hands. "Think we can have a quickie before Becky gets back?"
"Have to go like the clappers," I said.
"Better get started, then." Hayley slid on top of me and I wrapped my arms around her.
"No bonking till I get back," Becky shouted from the bathroom.
Hayley and I kissed and writhed together, squashing my erection nicely between our tummies.
I heard the toilet flush and Becky's feet on the carpet as she hurried back, then what could only be a drawer being opened and closed. She joined us in bed, knelt beside my legs and leaned over Hayley.
Hayley squealed into our kiss and stiffened her body, then she started moving her hips around. I heard a quiet buzzing and realised Becky was teasing Hayley with a vibrator.
"That's evil," Hayley murmured.
"Yeah, yeah, where do you want it?" Becky asked.
"In me, on my g-spot, please."
I held Hayley and kissed her as she got closer and closer to her climax. Becky kissed and stroked Hayley's back, bottom, and the inside of her thighs.
"This is going to blow my mind," Hayley mumbled. She'd closed her eyes and her expression was very clear. She was already really close to coming.
"Didn't know vibrators got you this excited so quickly," I murmured.
"I woke up from a really sexy dream," she said, then gasped and bit her lip for a second. "All three of us rolling around for ages, then you were piling into me like there was no tomorrow."
Her whole body tensed and she opened her mouth in a silent scream, then cried out and twitched several times.
She relaxed and lay on me, breathing heavily. "I am officially dead from the neck down," she panted. "You two are to blame."
"Don't blame us," Becky said, then she leaned down and I felt her mouth slowly enclose the tip of my erection.
Hayley slid off me and rolled onto her side, then picked up the vibrator. She watched Becky taunt me for a few seconds, then made an effort to get to her feet. "Shit, my legs are wobbly." She moved around behind Becky, who spread her knees further apart. She moaned gently and I guessed Hayley had slid the vibrator along her cleft.
I relaxed and concentrated on the soft wetness of her mouth and her small, warm hand on my cock. From the speed of her movements and her tight grip around me, I thought she was trying to finish me off before she climaxed. I let myself go and came a few seconds before she did. She gulped and swallowed as I came, then let go of me, relaxed onto my tummy and gasped loudly as she climaxed. I'd opened my eyes in time to watch her face. I loved watching both of them as they came. Their expressions made me slightly envious of how relaxed they seemed and how intense their feelings were.
Buy From the Top at:Amazon UK Amazon USBookstrand FirebornSmashwords
Ian Smith says:
"I currently live and work in the south-western corner of the UK, but I’ve spent time in quite a few parts of the country over my life. My education and professional life have been very focused on science, so I've no idea where my interest in writing fiction came from is a mystery. But I have this quaint day-dream that it might become more than a hobby. Well, one day?
I like to write stories which are at least plausible, especially in the little details. So research has involved me doing a few odd-sounding things. Or maybe I use the odd things I’ve done for fun as retrospective research? I’ve learned the basics of the traditional British rural skills of dry-stone walling and hedge-laying, and spent a day getting an introduction to bushcraft. I've driven a tank, spent the night in a snow-cave I dug in the Cairngorms, flown in a hot air balloon, gliders and light aircraft, and been for a walk with some nominally tame wolves. I took up archery as a sport after a taster session. And I spent a day doing some jousting. Honestly!"
Regular Facebook profile - https://www.facebook.com/Dr.Ian.D.SmithFacebook author profile - https://www.facebook.com/ian.d.smith.writer/?ref=settingsTwitter - https://twitter.com/ians2005Blog - ianiscurious.blogspot.co.ukAmazon author page - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ian-Smith/e/B00Q060KCQ
April 23, 2017
Intervention needed
HEEEEEELP - My "to-read" pile has broken out of the bookcase and is taking over the windowsill!
April 21, 2017
The Archangel Lucifer
Yesterday I went to the city of Birmingham (UK) - not a place normally at the top of my wish-list, I admit. But I wanted to see Epstein's
The Archangel Lucifer
, which is prominently displayed in the City Museum and Art Gallery.
It is a truly spectacular bronze, with an interesting back-story. Jacob Epstein, one of the most important sculptors of the 20th Century, cast it in 1945, inspired by the proud Lucifer described in Milton's Paradise Lost. He reputedly used a male model for the body and a female one for the face, giving at an androgynous aura. It has a fine, fine ass!
But it was instantly controversial, not least because it is rather obviously well-endowed. Epstein considered the sculpture his finest work at the time, but couldn't sell it at exhibition. He tried to give it away to the V&A Museum and then the Tate Gallery in London, but neither wanted it. The Mayor of Birmingham stepped in to ask for it if it was going begging and it was duly gifted to what was frankly a provincial industrial city with little cultural status.
The BMAG remains slightly embarrassed about this artistic windfall. You'd have to hunt hard for any depiction of the statue on their website, despite the fact that it dominates the Round Room at the top of the main stairs. There is no souvenir of it on sale in the shop - not even a postcard.
Luckily they do let you take photos :-)
It is a truly spectacular bronze, with an interesting back-story. Jacob Epstein, one of the most important sculptors of the 20th Century, cast it in 1945, inspired by the proud Lucifer described in Milton's Paradise Lost. He reputedly used a male model for the body and a female one for the face, giving at an androgynous aura. It has a fine, fine ass!
But it was instantly controversial, not least because it is rather obviously well-endowed. Epstein considered the sculpture his finest work at the time, but couldn't sell it at exhibition. He tried to give it away to the V&A Museum and then the Tate Gallery in London, but neither wanted it. The Mayor of Birmingham stepped in to ask for it if it was going begging and it was duly gifted to what was frankly a provincial industrial city with little cultural status.
The BMAG remains slightly embarrassed about this artistic windfall. You'd have to hunt hard for any depiction of the statue on their website, despite the fact that it dominates the Round Room at the top of the main stairs. There is no souvenir of it on sale in the shop - not even a postcard.
Luckily they do let you take photos :-)
April 19, 2017
Short story news!
I have horribly neglected my short-story writing over the last couple of years, what with various novels claiming my attention, but hopefully 2017 is going to be a bit different.
I'm delighted to announce that my short story The Pier By Night has been accepted for the very first Sinful Press anthology: Sinful Pleasures. Yay!
THIS pier
The Pier By Night is a contemporary, non-fantastical, tale of succumbing to temptation, set in Brighton - which I visited for both the World Horror Convention 2010 and the World Fantasy Convention 2013. So admittedly my mental picture may be a bit skewed, but it seemed an appropriately sinful setting to me!
April 17, 2017
Blue Monday
Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!
Since I have been banging on about dragons with regards to In Bonds of the Earth, I thought I should post an excerpt from one of my early short stories, The Dragon's Bride. It's a story I'm pretty sure most editors would not dare touch these days - certainly I was lucky to get it into Black Lace during its more daring early incarnation!
Sheldi has been offered as a maiden sacrifice to a dragon, but when the vast beast snatches her away to his lair, it turns out that he can talk and has an alternative in mind to just eating her...
"Oh please," she whispered, forced to admit her pleasure as her hips, without voluntary instruction, pressed her aching mound against his reptilian tongue.
"Not yet," Oromon reprimanded, pulling his whole head back into the gloomy shadows of the roofspace. Sheldi stayed kneeling, her dignity stripped from her, her mind reeling. "Go to the fireplace," he told her. "There is oil there; anoint yourself."
Sheldi rose to her feet and walked unsteadily across to the cold hearth of the hall. She found the oil, golden and nearly odourless, in a barrel. As the dragon watched she poured cupfuls over her breasts and down her legs, rubbing it in with her hands until she was slick and gleaming from shoulders to toes, pressing herself shamelessly between the legs as he rumbled his amusement.
"Now come on," he commanded at last, but she needed no telling. She burned with frustration and curiosity. She wanted to know what a dragon's pizzle looked like. Taking a cupful of the oil with her, she walked across the breadth of the hall to the red wall of Oromon's belly.
From its rigid protective sheath his erection was beginning to protrude, white as fish-skin - shockingly pallid in fact against the dark colours of his scaled body - and glistening with its own moisture . Whether it was her taste and scent or his anticipation, she had begun to arouse him, and this made her flush in turn. Sheldi reached out to touch the pale flesh, feeling it smooth and slick beneath her palm. She poured some of the oil onto its tip and began to stroke it along the length, but more flesh emerged into sight in response to her touch.
"Harder," growled the dragon thickly. "You must be firm."
She obeyed at once, pressing and massaging him with the heels of her hands, causing him to to rumble deep in his throat and twitch his barbed tail. His penis was as thick as her own thigh, and not bulbed at the end like that of a man but tapering to a point, on the underside of which was a moist slit. Sheldi was awestruck. Her oiled hands described lavish caresses down span after span of its turgid length, and the erection jumped beneath her touch.
"Climb up now," Oromon told her.
She scrambled onto the ridged sheath and wrapped her arms around his pizzle to hold on as he rolled carefully onto his back. Sheldi found herself yards above the ground, straddling the dragon's stiff prick, her knees on the hot soft leather of his belly. The hard, slippery pole under her was as long as her own body now and pointed out like a battering ram. Sheldi had a vivid image of how bizarre it must look, this enormous spear rising from between her thighs, and the thought made her wriggle upon her perch. She pushed forward with her hands and rubbed backward with her groin upon the oily surface, working up a rhythm of pressure and motion. Oromon groaned and her head buzzed from the deep tones. Her own open, needy cunt was pressed against the white flesh, hopelessly unable to encompass its girth but yawning and desperate and sliding. Waves of heat passed through her belly; without warning she began to come, frigging herself on the dragon's huge prick, exultant, gasping out her release. The pizzle bucked beneath her, lifting her from her footing - she nearly lost her balance and had to lie forwards and cling to it as the shocking vibrations of her pleasure died away.
She came back to her senses lying face down, draped around the white lance that fitted tightly between her slippery breasts. She looked up the length of it toward Oromon's head, saw the glow of his golden eyes, his teeth bared in tension. No words came from him now; he was caught on the apex of anticipation, wordless and unthinking as any beast, needing her to finish what she had begun. She smiled.
Then she began to work her way up the length of that prick to the tip, using her whole oiled and sweat-slick body to rub it, wrestling, using the friction of hands and feet and breasts and thighs and groin. She clung to his member as if it were her lover, grinding and mauling. She felt muscular spasms chase through the taut surface of his belly. She reached the tip and pushed her face into the slit, delving with her tongue as she hugged and writhed.
And the dragon roared and arched and spent in ecstasy, his come gushing from him all over Sheldi, exploding in her face like a bucket of water, drenching her hair and breasts. It was hot and very wet; Sheldi choked as it forced its way into her open throat and she swallowed great mouthfuls.
It tasted of burned sugar, bitter and sweet all at the same time.
Buy 'Cruel Enchantment' at Amazon US
Buy 'Cruel Enchantment' at Amazon UK
Buy 'Cruel Enchantment' at Google Play
Buy 'Cruel Enchantment' at iTunes
Audiobook available on Audible
and iTunes
Since I have been banging on about dragons with regards to In Bonds of the Earth, I thought I should post an excerpt from one of my early short stories, The Dragon's Bride. It's a story I'm pretty sure most editors would not dare touch these days - certainly I was lucky to get it into Black Lace during its more daring early incarnation!
Sheldi has been offered as a maiden sacrifice to a dragon, but when the vast beast snatches her away to his lair, it turns out that he can talk and has an alternative in mind to just eating her...
"Oh please," she whispered, forced to admit her pleasure as her hips, without voluntary instruction, pressed her aching mound against his reptilian tongue.
"Not yet," Oromon reprimanded, pulling his whole head back into the gloomy shadows of the roofspace. Sheldi stayed kneeling, her dignity stripped from her, her mind reeling. "Go to the fireplace," he told her. "There is oil there; anoint yourself."
Sheldi rose to her feet and walked unsteadily across to the cold hearth of the hall. She found the oil, golden and nearly odourless, in a barrel. As the dragon watched she poured cupfuls over her breasts and down her legs, rubbing it in with her hands until she was slick and gleaming from shoulders to toes, pressing herself shamelessly between the legs as he rumbled his amusement.
"Now come on," he commanded at last, but she needed no telling. She burned with frustration and curiosity. She wanted to know what a dragon's pizzle looked like. Taking a cupful of the oil with her, she walked across the breadth of the hall to the red wall of Oromon's belly.
From its rigid protective sheath his erection was beginning to protrude, white as fish-skin - shockingly pallid in fact against the dark colours of his scaled body - and glistening with its own moisture . Whether it was her taste and scent or his anticipation, she had begun to arouse him, and this made her flush in turn. Sheldi reached out to touch the pale flesh, feeling it smooth and slick beneath her palm. She poured some of the oil onto its tip and began to stroke it along the length, but more flesh emerged into sight in response to her touch.
"Harder," growled the dragon thickly. "You must be firm."
She obeyed at once, pressing and massaging him with the heels of her hands, causing him to to rumble deep in his throat and twitch his barbed tail. His penis was as thick as her own thigh, and not bulbed at the end like that of a man but tapering to a point, on the underside of which was a moist slit. Sheldi was awestruck. Her oiled hands described lavish caresses down span after span of its turgid length, and the erection jumped beneath her touch.
"Climb up now," Oromon told her.
She scrambled onto the ridged sheath and wrapped her arms around his pizzle to hold on as he rolled carefully onto his back. Sheldi found herself yards above the ground, straddling the dragon's stiff prick, her knees on the hot soft leather of his belly. The hard, slippery pole under her was as long as her own body now and pointed out like a battering ram. Sheldi had a vivid image of how bizarre it must look, this enormous spear rising from between her thighs, and the thought made her wriggle upon her perch. She pushed forward with her hands and rubbed backward with her groin upon the oily surface, working up a rhythm of pressure and motion. Oromon groaned and her head buzzed from the deep tones. Her own open, needy cunt was pressed against the white flesh, hopelessly unable to encompass its girth but yawning and desperate and sliding. Waves of heat passed through her belly; without warning she began to come, frigging herself on the dragon's huge prick, exultant, gasping out her release. The pizzle bucked beneath her, lifting her from her footing - she nearly lost her balance and had to lie forwards and cling to it as the shocking vibrations of her pleasure died away.
She came back to her senses lying face down, draped around the white lance that fitted tightly between her slippery breasts. She looked up the length of it toward Oromon's head, saw the glow of his golden eyes, his teeth bared in tension. No words came from him now; he was caught on the apex of anticipation, wordless and unthinking as any beast, needing her to finish what she had begun. She smiled.
Then she began to work her way up the length of that prick to the tip, using her whole oiled and sweat-slick body to rub it, wrestling, using the friction of hands and feet and breasts and thighs and groin. She clung to his member as if it were her lover, grinding and mauling. She felt muscular spasms chase through the taut surface of his belly. She reached the tip and pushed her face into the slit, delving with her tongue as she hugged and writhed.
And the dragon roared and arched and spent in ecstasy, his come gushing from him all over Sheldi, exploding in her face like a bucket of water, drenching her hair and breasts. It was hot and very wet; Sheldi choked as it forced its way into her open throat and she swallowed great mouthfuls.
It tasted of burned sugar, bitter and sweet all at the same time.
Buy 'Cruel Enchantment' at Amazon US
Buy 'Cruel Enchantment' at Amazon UK
Buy 'Cruel Enchantment' at Google Play
Buy 'Cruel Enchantment' at iTunes
Audiobook available on Audible
and iTunes
