Janine Ashbless's Blog, page 52
September 12, 2016
Blue Monday
Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your pleasure!
Since the nights are drawing in and Hallowe'en is on the horizon, I thought I'd showcase some stories from my erotic vampire novel Red Grow the Roses.
Short stories?! Isn't it a novel? Well yes, but it's a mosaic novel, made up of stand-alone shorts in different styles and voices. This excerpt is from Chapter/Story 1: Ten for the Ten Commandments
Blood lust and sexual desire; for vampires the two are inseparable.
There are six vampires in the city. Ageless, terrifyingly beautiful and always hungry - not just for blood but for the other pleasures the human body offers. Sadistic chanteuse Estelle; feckless Ben; Roisin, the mirror-ghost; Wakefield, haunted by his own damnation; Naylor, the most feral of them all. And Reynauld is the Good Shepherd, the one who holds them all in check. But his grip on his own humanity is fading, and when Wakefield accidentally kills a woman and Naylor gets the blame, a power-struggle erupts between the city's immortal undead.
Prepare to devour Red Grow the Roses, an explicit vampire erotica novel with plenty of bite.
‘You’re up for this, aren’t you?’ Naylor asked, dipping the neck of his bottle into the cleft of her cleavage and rubbing the glass suggestively from swell to swell of her breasts. His lips were parted and shiny. ‘You’re game for it, I can tell.’
‘Mm,’ she whimpered, nodding.
‘Told you you’d get everything you wanted, love,’ Ben said hoarsely. ‘Everything and more.’ He nuzzled at her ear and took the lobe between his lips, nipping softly.
‘Ben...’
Her head seemed to swim. Naylor had set the beers aside and was stripping off his clothes now. He shed his T-shirt and kicked his trousers off, revealing a slim smooth body, the only visible hair a black nest at his crotch that climbed in a narrow line to his navel. His beautiful smooth cock was already stiffly erect and nodding in the free air: it had a slight curve back toward his stomach and looked almost out of proportion to his delicate frame, so engorged was it. He stroked it like it was a hunting-dog waiting to be unleashed, as he stalked back to her and looked down into her face.
‘This is what you were hoping for, wasn’t it doll?’ he asked taking her hand and rubbing it over his cock. It seemed to pulse against her, its sticky mouth kissing her palm. ‘A bit of fun?’
Sophie nodded.
‘It’s going to get a bit messy.’ His gaze lifted to Ben over her shoulder. ‘Clothes off, I guess.’
They stripped her of everything: the purse hanging from her shoulder, the cherry-coloured dress from the boutique she couldn’t really afford on her wage, the lacy bra she’d bought only last week. All but her high-heeled shoes. Everything was tossed aside in a heap. Her boobs bounced free as Ben whipped the bra off and her nipples stiffened in the cool air of the church. She didn’t seemed to be required to do anything but accept their hands and the liberties they took groping her as they pulled at her clothes, playing with her tits and ass and pussy, pinching slyly between caresses until she squirmed. Ben pushed her into Naylor’s grasp as he wrenched off his own clothes, clearly impatient now. She caught a flash of his body, golden fuzz marching up his stomach and down his legs, before another shove landed her back in his embrace. He caught her wrists and pulled them to the small of her back, guiding her hands to the vertical staff of his cock.
‘Hold this,’ he said: ‘That’s right.’ Then his own hands went back round her, holding her under the jaw and around her waist.
She wasn’t quite sure she liked that. Without the use of her hands to fend anyone off, she felt strangely vulnerable, and she whimpered when Naylor patted her breasts back and forth with stinging force.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said; ‘does that hurt? Kiss it better.’ Falling to a crouch he caught her right nipple in his lips and sucked it long and slow and expertly. Pleasure crackled through her nerves, and she squeezed Ben’s cock hard in her hands. But it lasted all too brief a moment before Naylor lifted his mouth away and grinned. She saw his teeth, cruelly pointed fangs, just before he stooped back down on her breast and sank them in.
It wouldn’t be quite true to say she was surprised, not really. She’d known, after all, from the beginning; she’d just avoided thinking about it. But she tried to scream anyway, except that Ben’s broad hand clamped over her mouth and the sound was trapped in her heaving chest. There was no outlet for the pain, the searing hot cut of his fangs puncturing her skin.
Then the pain was gone, and something entirely different took its place. Sophie, pinned and thrashing, took a long time to grasp what it was, as it flowed through her right breast like melted sugar fizzing in every capillary - like worms of sparkling fire – like a hundred tiny meteors circling the burning sun of her nipple. She stopped fighting and sagged back against Ben, only half-aware that her hands were still clenched, sweating, around his erect cock, that Naylor was nursing on her tit, his throat working as he swallowed.
Slowly, Ben slid his grip from her mouth to her lower jaw so that she could breath. She whimpered ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck,’ her panic now swamped in the glorious sensation of the suckling, but horror making her pant.
‘“Oh Fuck No” or “Oh Fuck Yes”?’ murmured Ben. ‘Sounds like an “Oh Fuck Yes” to me, love.’ Lifting her left arm he sank his teeth into the fleshy bulge of her bicep.
Again – a white flash of pain, a wave of coruscating pleasure.
Then Naylor stopped feeding and lifted his mouth. There was surprisingly little mess on her breast, only two puckered puncture marks over her enflamed and aching nipple, each filled with a little ruby bead. No blood ran. But when Naylor licked his lips his mouth was red and wet.
‘Oh please,’ she moaned. All her will seemed to have faded away as the wild chemistry of their saliva ran riot in her body tissues. Her right breast pulsed with the hungry need for Naylor to latch on again and her left breast ached to join it, even though her stomach recoiled from what it meant that their mouths were that colour.
‘You like that?’ he asked with a mocking scarlet smile.
‘It feels ... nice,’ she whispered. She felt drunk with shock and her voice broke on the last word into a strange giggle she had no control over.
‘You do like it, don’t you?’ He pressed against her, grinning. ‘Naughty girl.’ His fingers slipped up between her thighs and paddled in the ooze of her sex juices. ‘Dirty fucking little girl.
’
‘Look at this,’ chuckled Ben, brushing her turgid right nipple with his thumb; it was as swollen as if it’d been stung by a bee, and so sensitive that she gasped. ‘Just bursting with juicy goodness, aren’t you love?’
‘Want another kiss, don’t you?’ Naylor lapped teasingly at her breast. ‘Let’s try something a bit different, heh?’ Then he sat back on his heels, took her thighs in his hands and spread them, lifting one to drape over his shoulder. He and Ben took her weight easily, as she was pulled onto the kneeling man’s mouth and he buried his face in her crotch.
‘Oh!’ she wailed reflexively, as his tongue broke the split of her sex, as he lapped and sucked at the juices welling there. She tried half-heartedly to struggle but her body wasn’t co-operating, and even if it had the two men were far too strong. For a long moment the sensation of his mouth was just one of simple pleasure and she stopped twisting altogether. That was when he bit down, and his fangs pierced the mound of her pubis either side of her clit. She spasmed once - and that was the last time, the last vestige of any resistance that night.
Buy 'Red Grow the Roses' at Amazon US
Buy 'Red Grow the Roses' at Amazon UK
Buy 'Red Grow the Roses' at Google Play
Buy 'Red Grow the Roses' at iTunes
Since the nights are drawing in and Hallowe'en is on the horizon, I thought I'd showcase some stories from my erotic vampire novel Red Grow the Roses.
Short stories?! Isn't it a novel? Well yes, but it's a mosaic novel, made up of stand-alone shorts in different styles and voices. This excerpt is from Chapter/Story 1: Ten for the Ten Commandments
Blood lust and sexual desire; for vampires the two are inseparable.There are six vampires in the city. Ageless, terrifyingly beautiful and always hungry - not just for blood but for the other pleasures the human body offers. Sadistic chanteuse Estelle; feckless Ben; Roisin, the mirror-ghost; Wakefield, haunted by his own damnation; Naylor, the most feral of them all. And Reynauld is the Good Shepherd, the one who holds them all in check. But his grip on his own humanity is fading, and when Wakefield accidentally kills a woman and Naylor gets the blame, a power-struggle erupts between the city's immortal undead.
Prepare to devour Red Grow the Roses, an explicit vampire erotica novel with plenty of bite.
‘You’re up for this, aren’t you?’ Naylor asked, dipping the neck of his bottle into the cleft of her cleavage and rubbing the glass suggestively from swell to swell of her breasts. His lips were parted and shiny. ‘You’re game for it, I can tell.’
‘Mm,’ she whimpered, nodding.
‘Told you you’d get everything you wanted, love,’ Ben said hoarsely. ‘Everything and more.’ He nuzzled at her ear and took the lobe between his lips, nipping softly.
‘Ben...’
Her head seemed to swim. Naylor had set the beers aside and was stripping off his clothes now. He shed his T-shirt and kicked his trousers off, revealing a slim smooth body, the only visible hair a black nest at his crotch that climbed in a narrow line to his navel. His beautiful smooth cock was already stiffly erect and nodding in the free air: it had a slight curve back toward his stomach and looked almost out of proportion to his delicate frame, so engorged was it. He stroked it like it was a hunting-dog waiting to be unleashed, as he stalked back to her and looked down into her face.
‘This is what you were hoping for, wasn’t it doll?’ he asked taking her hand and rubbing it over his cock. It seemed to pulse against her, its sticky mouth kissing her palm. ‘A bit of fun?’
Sophie nodded.
‘It’s going to get a bit messy.’ His gaze lifted to Ben over her shoulder. ‘Clothes off, I guess.’
They stripped her of everything: the purse hanging from her shoulder, the cherry-coloured dress from the boutique she couldn’t really afford on her wage, the lacy bra she’d bought only last week. All but her high-heeled shoes. Everything was tossed aside in a heap. Her boobs bounced free as Ben whipped the bra off and her nipples stiffened in the cool air of the church. She didn’t seemed to be required to do anything but accept their hands and the liberties they took groping her as they pulled at her clothes, playing with her tits and ass and pussy, pinching slyly between caresses until she squirmed. Ben pushed her into Naylor’s grasp as he wrenched off his own clothes, clearly impatient now. She caught a flash of his body, golden fuzz marching up his stomach and down his legs, before another shove landed her back in his embrace. He caught her wrists and pulled them to the small of her back, guiding her hands to the vertical staff of his cock.
‘Hold this,’ he said: ‘That’s right.’ Then his own hands went back round her, holding her under the jaw and around her waist.
She wasn’t quite sure she liked that. Without the use of her hands to fend anyone off, she felt strangely vulnerable, and she whimpered when Naylor patted her breasts back and forth with stinging force.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said; ‘does that hurt? Kiss it better.’ Falling to a crouch he caught her right nipple in his lips and sucked it long and slow and expertly. Pleasure crackled through her nerves, and she squeezed Ben’s cock hard in her hands. But it lasted all too brief a moment before Naylor lifted his mouth away and grinned. She saw his teeth, cruelly pointed fangs, just before he stooped back down on her breast and sank them in.
It wouldn’t be quite true to say she was surprised, not really. She’d known, after all, from the beginning; she’d just avoided thinking about it. But she tried to scream anyway, except that Ben’s broad hand clamped over her mouth and the sound was trapped in her heaving chest. There was no outlet for the pain, the searing hot cut of his fangs puncturing her skin.
Then the pain was gone, and something entirely different took its place. Sophie, pinned and thrashing, took a long time to grasp what it was, as it flowed through her right breast like melted sugar fizzing in every capillary - like worms of sparkling fire – like a hundred tiny meteors circling the burning sun of her nipple. She stopped fighting and sagged back against Ben, only half-aware that her hands were still clenched, sweating, around his erect cock, that Naylor was nursing on her tit, his throat working as he swallowed.
Slowly, Ben slid his grip from her mouth to her lower jaw so that she could breath. She whimpered ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck,’ her panic now swamped in the glorious sensation of the suckling, but horror making her pant.
‘“Oh Fuck No” or “Oh Fuck Yes”?’ murmured Ben. ‘Sounds like an “Oh Fuck Yes” to me, love.’ Lifting her left arm he sank his teeth into the fleshy bulge of her bicep.
Again – a white flash of pain, a wave of coruscating pleasure.
Then Naylor stopped feeding and lifted his mouth. There was surprisingly little mess on her breast, only two puckered puncture marks over her enflamed and aching nipple, each filled with a little ruby bead. No blood ran. But when Naylor licked his lips his mouth was red and wet.
‘Oh please,’ she moaned. All her will seemed to have faded away as the wild chemistry of their saliva ran riot in her body tissues. Her right breast pulsed with the hungry need for Naylor to latch on again and her left breast ached to join it, even though her stomach recoiled from what it meant that their mouths were that colour.
‘You like that?’ he asked with a mocking scarlet smile.
‘It feels ... nice,’ she whispered. She felt drunk with shock and her voice broke on the last word into a strange giggle she had no control over.
‘You do like it, don’t you?’ He pressed against her, grinning. ‘Naughty girl.’ His fingers slipped up between her thighs and paddled in the ooze of her sex juices. ‘Dirty fucking little girl.
’
‘Look at this,’ chuckled Ben, brushing her turgid right nipple with his thumb; it was as swollen as if it’d been stung by a bee, and so sensitive that she gasped. ‘Just bursting with juicy goodness, aren’t you love?’
‘Want another kiss, don’t you?’ Naylor lapped teasingly at her breast. ‘Let’s try something a bit different, heh?’ Then he sat back on his heels, took her thighs in his hands and spread them, lifting one to drape over his shoulder. He and Ben took her weight easily, as she was pulled onto the kneeling man’s mouth and he buried his face in her crotch.
‘Oh!’ she wailed reflexively, as his tongue broke the split of her sex, as he lapped and sucked at the juices welling there. She tried half-heartedly to struggle but her body wasn’t co-operating, and even if it had the two men were far too strong. For a long moment the sensation of his mouth was just one of simple pleasure and she stopped twisting altogether. That was when he bit down, and his fangs pierced the mound of her pubis either side of her clit. She spasmed once - and that was the last time, the last vestige of any resistance that night.
Buy 'Red Grow the Roses' at Amazon US
Buy 'Red Grow the Roses' at Amazon UK
Buy 'Red Grow the Roses' at Google Play
Buy 'Red Grow the Roses' at iTunes
September 10, 2016
The Open-Arse Tree
Y'all know how fond I am of trees. Well here's my new favourite: the Open-Arse.
Can you see where it got its name? Picture from Wikipedia
Technically it's the Medlar (Mespilus germanica), which ticks every box for being a European native with a long British history, a really weird fruit tree, and possessing a filthy folklore. "Open-arse" was its original folk name.
It was really common and really popular back in the Middle Ages, as medlar fruits were some of the few available to consume during winter. That's because you can eat them only after they've started to decay.
Yummy! (pic from Wikipedia)They'll rot on the branches, after the first frost (it's called "bletting") or you can store them in straw and let them rot at their leisure.
Due to its strange appearance and pungent squishiness, medlar fruit was associated with the female genitals - and also became a metaphor for premature decay, as in the Prologue of Chaucer's The Reeve's Tale:
But if I fare as dooth an open-ers --That ilke fruyt is ever lenger the wers,Til it be roten in mullok or in stree.We olde men, I drede, so fare we:Til we be roten, kan we nat be rype (Unless I fare as does the fruit of the medlar --That same fruit continually grows worse, Until it is rotten in rubbish or in straw.We old men, I fear, fare like that:Until we are rotten, we can not be ripe)
Shakespeare uses the fruit's repulsive/bawdy connotation:
Now will he sit under a medlar tree,And wish his mistress were that kind of fruitAs maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.O Romeo, that she were, O that she wereAn open-arse and thou a pop'rin pear! (Romeo and Juliet)
By his time the word "Medlar" had become specifically a symbol and slang term for a prostitute: sweet and desirable but 'rotten on the inside' and old before her time.
The misogyny reaches its succinct apex in The Honest Whore by Thomas Dekker:
"Women are like medlars, no sooner ripe but rotten"
I feel an overpowering urge to plant some :-)
Can you see where it got its name? Picture from WikipediaTechnically it's the Medlar (Mespilus germanica), which ticks every box for being a European native with a long British history, a really weird fruit tree, and possessing a filthy folklore. "Open-arse" was its original folk name.
It was really common and really popular back in the Middle Ages, as medlar fruits were some of the few available to consume during winter. That's because you can eat them only after they've started to decay.
Yummy! (pic from Wikipedia)They'll rot on the branches, after the first frost (it's called "bletting") or you can store them in straw and let them rot at their leisure.Due to its strange appearance and pungent squishiness, medlar fruit was associated with the female genitals - and also became a metaphor for premature decay, as in the Prologue of Chaucer's The Reeve's Tale:
But if I fare as dooth an open-ers --That ilke fruyt is ever lenger the wers,Til it be roten in mullok or in stree.We olde men, I drede, so fare we:Til we be roten, kan we nat be rype (Unless I fare as does the fruit of the medlar --That same fruit continually grows worse, Until it is rotten in rubbish or in straw.We old men, I fear, fare like that:Until we are rotten, we can not be ripe)
Shakespeare uses the fruit's repulsive/bawdy connotation:
Now will he sit under a medlar tree,And wish his mistress were that kind of fruitAs maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.O Romeo, that she were, O that she wereAn open-arse and thou a pop'rin pear! (Romeo and Juliet)
By his time the word "Medlar" had become specifically a symbol and slang term for a prostitute: sweet and desirable but 'rotten on the inside' and old before her time.
Lucio. I was once before him for getting a wench with child.
Duke. Did you such a thing?
Lucio. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear it: they would else have married me to the rotten medlar.
(Measure for Measure)
The misogyny reaches its succinct apex in The Honest Whore by Thomas Dekker:
"Women are like medlars, no sooner ripe but rotten"
I feel an overpowering urge to plant some :-)
September 7, 2016
Jennifer is 5!
Sci-Fi kinkster and high queen of the bunnies Jennifer Denys is celebrating her 5th birthday as an author of erotic romance" - with a special post about the smutwriters she's met, carshared with and bedded(!).
I'm up there, first on the list!
It's an amazing, cool feeling to have helped inspire someone to start their own writing career. Damnit, I should have demanded a cut!
There's also a daily prize competition for blogreaders all this week, so GO FOR IT!
September 5, 2016
Blue Monday: Ian Smith guests
Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment. Today we have a bonus mini-interview with today's guest Ian Smith too!
He brought us an excerpt from his first book in the Merely Players erotic romance series a while back, and now the second, The King's Captain, is out and available to buy. Ian says: "At the end of the first story, Knights Errant, Paul and Hayley become lovers. The storyline is continued in The King’s Captain, which I tried to make
Where did the idea for the Merely Players series come from?
It's a messy sort of mix of ideas! I started with a few ideas for flash fiction stories involving two lovers working together on TV shows. I developed these ideas into some "supporting cast" characters in a draft novel, and then used one of the scenes they filmed as a setting for part of the story.
I'm sure I wouldn't know where to start writing this series! - Did it involve much research?
I'd seen a couple of jousting shows and thought I could plausibly use a team in my story. I also had a day's training with a stunt group as a "Red Letter Day", doing jousting and combat. I've been riding for years, which is why I wanted his horse to have a real personality. All the TV stuff is purely from my imagination, at least partly inspired by the filming techniques used in 24 Hours in A&E, Air Ambulance and some of the emergency service TV series. A lot of the TV shows they'll work on are pretty obviously based on hit films and shows, but I thought making them for a family audience (eg 6pm at the weekend) would allow lots of leeway and fun.
What do you have in mind for your next writing project?
My next publication will be a story in an anthology called “Love and Lust in Space”. This is being edited by Jennifer Denys and will be published by Sexy Little Pages.
I’ve finished the first draft of the third novella in the “Merely Players” series, which now needs revision. The next one I send to my publishers will almost certainly be a “spin-off” novel about Paul’s friends Mark and Maggie, currently being tweaked. I’ve got ideas for three more novellas in this series and perhaps another spin-off. And there are three other substantial ideas rattling around in my mind, nagging me to write them. I keep getting ideas, most of which I develop as a piece of flash fiction in the hope they give me a memory jog some other day.
Have you ever had a character just “do their own thing?”
Yes, and it was a weird feeling when it happened! I was working on a draft novel and an incident occured to me, which seemed perfectly logical and plausible, but how to develop from that stumped me for ages. I’ve got some ideas now, and can use this incident as a source of tension in the relationship between the two characters in the second part of the story.
What’s your writer’s routine? Are you a plotter or do you just write and see where it goes?
I write as and when I can find time and the mental energy. It tends to be weekends at the moment, with a couple of hours on the odd weekday evening. I’ve always had a vague idea of the overall storyline, but for some reason I never want to write this out. I’ve almost always had some key scenes in mind, and have written some of these first to provide me with “way-markers”.
Now here's the excerpt:
Paul is Hayley's lover and now her leading man. But acting and portraying a hero on a period TV show takes far more than a suit of armour. He's totally out of his depth, personally and professionally.
Help arrives with dramatic lessons in leadership and courage, when strange events put him and his friends in harm's way.
Hayley's happy when her best friend Becky books hotel rooms with a bed big enough for three, which confuses Paul. Sorting out their relationships is even scarier than acting, jousting, and stunt fighting in front of the camera.
Life doesn't imitate art. Life shoulders art out of the way. Discovering a secret threatens Paul's trust in Hayley and Becky, and forces him to face his doubts and fears. He must decide if it's braver to walk away, or ask for honest answers. Even if they may break his heart.
I slid my hands under her tee shirt and managed to undo her bra fairly slickly. Well, for me. She sat up, wriggled, and somehow removed her bra through one sleeve without lifting her top. She threw the bra aside, took my hands and placed them on her breasts. Through her soft cotton top, they felt lovely in my hands and her nipples were firm little buds. She looked down at me with something approaching open lust as I fondled her breasts. And she shifted her hips around, teasing my constrained erection.
"Can't decide whether I want to take you, or have you take me," she murmured.
"Suppose I get all overenthusiastic? You know, forceful and pushy."
She grinned at me. "You? Mister gentle and thoughtful?"
I pulled her down onto me and rolled us over so I was on top. I straddled her thighs and pinned her hands on either side of her head. "So? Who says I can't be thoughtfully pushy, too?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Prove it, big boy."
I pulled her arms up and held both her wrists with one hand, then tugged her tee shirt up. She wriggled to help me pull it over her head, but I left her arms in it, not quite trapped, but restricted. While she giggled and struggled with that, I unfastened her jeans and tugged them down to the top of her panties, then I rolled to one side and pulled her clothing down as far as I could.
"You're cheating," she grumbled, throwing her tee shirt to the floor.
"How am I cheating?"
"I can't put up a decent fight, but I want you be all forceful and overpower me. And I'm half-naked but you're still fully dressed."
"Well, let's sort that out." I jumped up and stripped quickly.
Hayley got into her bed and grabbed the duvet to stop me getting in with her. But she didn't try all that hard, and squealed when I won and threw the duvet back. We cuddled and giggled, then she stroked my face tenderly.
"Paul, I know you're very conscious of being a lot bigger and stronger than me, and I love it that you try to be gentle. And you're probably trying to avoid me feeling too dominated. But sometimes I want you to be a bit rougher. Like we were in that feed room last night. I know you won't hurt me and if I want to give in to you, that's not you dominating me." She kissed me gently and ran her fingers through my hair, all the way from my forehead to where it was spread across my shoulders. "Sometimes, I just want to feel that you're completely hugging me, every little bit of me."
I took both her hands in one of mine, stretched her arms up above her head and kissed her slowly and deeply. "Yellow and red, okay?"
She nodded and smiled shyly.
I rolled her onto her tummy, eased her legs apart and knelt between them. Once I'd got myself balanced, I slid a fingertip along the cleft of her pussy, which immediately opened for me. She was deliciously hot, slick, and very tempting. I teased her entrance and spread her wetness over her lips until I thought she was really ready. Then I moved and stroked her pussy with the tip of my cock. She gasped quietly and raised her hips. I took the hint and slid into her. She was so wet and open that I filled her after a couple of gentle thrusts. I screwed her slowly, pulling as far back as I could each time, then sliding as deep into her as I could.
She twisted her head and kissed me roughly. Her eyes were bright with desire and mischief. "Go on, have me."
I went faster, but still pulled almost out before sliding back deep into her. Hayley closed her eyes and relaxed completely. She made a sound like a cross between a gasp and a moan each time I slid into her.I remembered her comment about being hugged completely and had an idea. I stopped for a few seconds and put my legs outside hers. She got the idea and moved her legs together. My cock still slid in and out easily, with my balls touching her thighs each time I thrust into her. She arched her hips up off the bed, making it easier for me to pump in and out of her. Her gasping got louder and we soon had a film of sweat over us. She climaxed loudly and suddenly, almost pulling me over the edge with her.
"You okay?" I murmured.
"Green, go for it." She gasped. "Don't stop now."
I let my self-control go. My world was entirely centred around my cock sliding into the wet, soft core of the lithe, firm body beneath mine. Her gasps grew louder and she slipped her hands out of my grasp, pressing them on the bed. She pushed back against my thrusts. "Green, green, green," she whispered, then her whole body tensed as she found another climax. That one was too much for me, and I released inside her, pulse after pulse of hot need washed through my cock to fill her.
We rolled onto one side and snuggled together; hot, sweaty, breathless and bathed in the unmistakable aroma of vigorous sex.
Hayley stroked the arm I had around her tummy. "That was rather fun," she murmured.
"Bloody amazing," I said. "Remind me to let go and be rough more often."
She chuckled. "Only when it's the right moment. Your tender, gentle approach is pretty bloody mind-blowing, too."
She rolled onto her back and turned her face towards mine. Our noses were only millimetres apart. "And I know exactly where my g-spot is now."
"Oh?"
She nodded. "I felt it every single time you slid into me. And it was heavenly." She grinned and kissed me. "Thank you."
"Thank you," I said.
"No, thank you." She giggled, then put her fingers over my mouth. "Let me have the last word. You know it's less painful that way."
I rolled onto my back and stretched my legs, which meant my feet dangled over the end of the mattress. But at least the room was warm.
She snuggled up against me, enveloped by my arms. My woman. It's so good to know that feeling again.Buy The King's Captain at:
Universal Amazon linkFireborn PublishingSmashwords KoboAll Romance eBook B&N NookBookstrandiTunes store
He brought us an excerpt from his first book in the Merely Players erotic romance series a while back, and now the second, The King's Captain, is out and available to buy. Ian says: "At the end of the first story, Knights Errant, Paul and Hayley become lovers. The storyline is continued in The King’s Captain, which I tried to make
Where did the idea for the Merely Players series come from?
It's a messy sort of mix of ideas! I started with a few ideas for flash fiction stories involving two lovers working together on TV shows. I developed these ideas into some "supporting cast" characters in a draft novel, and then used one of the scenes they filmed as a setting for part of the story.
I'm sure I wouldn't know where to start writing this series! - Did it involve much research?
I'd seen a couple of jousting shows and thought I could plausibly use a team in my story. I also had a day's training with a stunt group as a "Red Letter Day", doing jousting and combat. I've been riding for years, which is why I wanted his horse to have a real personality. All the TV stuff is purely from my imagination, at least partly inspired by the filming techniques used in 24 Hours in A&E, Air Ambulance and some of the emergency service TV series. A lot of the TV shows they'll work on are pretty obviously based on hit films and shows, but I thought making them for a family audience (eg 6pm at the weekend) would allow lots of leeway and fun.
What do you have in mind for your next writing project?
My next publication will be a story in an anthology called “Love and Lust in Space”. This is being edited by Jennifer Denys and will be published by Sexy Little Pages.
I’ve finished the first draft of the third novella in the “Merely Players” series, which now needs revision. The next one I send to my publishers will almost certainly be a “spin-off” novel about Paul’s friends Mark and Maggie, currently being tweaked. I’ve got ideas for three more novellas in this series and perhaps another spin-off. And there are three other substantial ideas rattling around in my mind, nagging me to write them. I keep getting ideas, most of which I develop as a piece of flash fiction in the hope they give me a memory jog some other day.
Have you ever had a character just “do their own thing?”
Yes, and it was a weird feeling when it happened! I was working on a draft novel and an incident occured to me, which seemed perfectly logical and plausible, but how to develop from that stumped me for ages. I’ve got some ideas now, and can use this incident as a source of tension in the relationship between the two characters in the second part of the story.
What’s your writer’s routine? Are you a plotter or do you just write and see where it goes?
I write as and when I can find time and the mental energy. It tends to be weekends at the moment, with a couple of hours on the odd weekday evening. I’ve always had a vague idea of the overall storyline, but for some reason I never want to write this out. I’ve almost always had some key scenes in mind, and have written some of these first to provide me with “way-markers”.
Now here's the excerpt:
Paul is Hayley's lover and now her leading man. But acting and portraying a hero on a period TV show takes far more than a suit of armour. He's totally out of his depth, personally and professionally.
Help arrives with dramatic lessons in leadership and courage, when strange events put him and his friends in harm's way.
Hayley's happy when her best friend Becky books hotel rooms with a bed big enough for three, which confuses Paul. Sorting out their relationships is even scarier than acting, jousting, and stunt fighting in front of the camera.
Life doesn't imitate art. Life shoulders art out of the way. Discovering a secret threatens Paul's trust in Hayley and Becky, and forces him to face his doubts and fears. He must decide if it's braver to walk away, or ask for honest answers. Even if they may break his heart.
I slid my hands under her tee shirt and managed to undo her bra fairly slickly. Well, for me. She sat up, wriggled, and somehow removed her bra through one sleeve without lifting her top. She threw the bra aside, took my hands and placed them on her breasts. Through her soft cotton top, they felt lovely in my hands and her nipples were firm little buds. She looked down at me with something approaching open lust as I fondled her breasts. And she shifted her hips around, teasing my constrained erection.
"Can't decide whether I want to take you, or have you take me," she murmured.
"Suppose I get all overenthusiastic? You know, forceful and pushy."
She grinned at me. "You? Mister gentle and thoughtful?"
I pulled her down onto me and rolled us over so I was on top. I straddled her thighs and pinned her hands on either side of her head. "So? Who says I can't be thoughtfully pushy, too?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Prove it, big boy."
I pulled her arms up and held both her wrists with one hand, then tugged her tee shirt up. She wriggled to help me pull it over her head, but I left her arms in it, not quite trapped, but restricted. While she giggled and struggled with that, I unfastened her jeans and tugged them down to the top of her panties, then I rolled to one side and pulled her clothing down as far as I could.
"You're cheating," she grumbled, throwing her tee shirt to the floor.
"How am I cheating?"
"I can't put up a decent fight, but I want you be all forceful and overpower me. And I'm half-naked but you're still fully dressed."
"Well, let's sort that out." I jumped up and stripped quickly.
Hayley got into her bed and grabbed the duvet to stop me getting in with her. But she didn't try all that hard, and squealed when I won and threw the duvet back. We cuddled and giggled, then she stroked my face tenderly.
"Paul, I know you're very conscious of being a lot bigger and stronger than me, and I love it that you try to be gentle. And you're probably trying to avoid me feeling too dominated. But sometimes I want you to be a bit rougher. Like we were in that feed room last night. I know you won't hurt me and if I want to give in to you, that's not you dominating me." She kissed me gently and ran her fingers through my hair, all the way from my forehead to where it was spread across my shoulders. "Sometimes, I just want to feel that you're completely hugging me, every little bit of me."
I took both her hands in one of mine, stretched her arms up above her head and kissed her slowly and deeply. "Yellow and red, okay?"
She nodded and smiled shyly.
I rolled her onto her tummy, eased her legs apart and knelt between them. Once I'd got myself balanced, I slid a fingertip along the cleft of her pussy, which immediately opened for me. She was deliciously hot, slick, and very tempting. I teased her entrance and spread her wetness over her lips until I thought she was really ready. Then I moved and stroked her pussy with the tip of my cock. She gasped quietly and raised her hips. I took the hint and slid into her. She was so wet and open that I filled her after a couple of gentle thrusts. I screwed her slowly, pulling as far back as I could each time, then sliding as deep into her as I could.
She twisted her head and kissed me roughly. Her eyes were bright with desire and mischief. "Go on, have me."
I went faster, but still pulled almost out before sliding back deep into her. Hayley closed her eyes and relaxed completely. She made a sound like a cross between a gasp and a moan each time I slid into her.I remembered her comment about being hugged completely and had an idea. I stopped for a few seconds and put my legs outside hers. She got the idea and moved her legs together. My cock still slid in and out easily, with my balls touching her thighs each time I thrust into her. She arched her hips up off the bed, making it easier for me to pump in and out of her. Her gasping got louder and we soon had a film of sweat over us. She climaxed loudly and suddenly, almost pulling me over the edge with her.
"You okay?" I murmured.
"Green, go for it." She gasped. "Don't stop now."
I let my self-control go. My world was entirely centred around my cock sliding into the wet, soft core of the lithe, firm body beneath mine. Her gasps grew louder and she slipped her hands out of my grasp, pressing them on the bed. She pushed back against my thrusts. "Green, green, green," she whispered, then her whole body tensed as she found another climax. That one was too much for me, and I released inside her, pulse after pulse of hot need washed through my cock to fill her.
We rolled onto one side and snuggled together; hot, sweaty, breathless and bathed in the unmistakable aroma of vigorous sex.
Hayley stroked the arm I had around her tummy. "That was rather fun," she murmured.
"Bloody amazing," I said. "Remind me to let go and be rough more often."
She chuckled. "Only when it's the right moment. Your tender, gentle approach is pretty bloody mind-blowing, too."
She rolled onto her back and turned her face towards mine. Our noses were only millimetres apart. "And I know exactly where my g-spot is now."
"Oh?"
She nodded. "I felt it every single time you slid into me. And it was heavenly." She grinned and kissed me. "Thank you."
"Thank you," I said.
"No, thank you." She giggled, then put her fingers over my mouth. "Let me have the last word. You know it's less painful that way."
I rolled onto my back and stretched my legs, which meant my feet dangled over the end of the mattress. But at least the room was warm.
She snuggled up against me, enveloped by my arms. My woman. It's so good to know that feeling again.Buy The King's Captain at:
Universal Amazon linkFireborn PublishingSmashwords KoboAll Romance eBook B&N NookBookstrandiTunes store
September 3, 2016
Don't say a word
... but I've been reading my copy of Silence is Golden to the new dog...
She says "Contemporary kink-inspired erotica at its best. Can I have that dog treat now?" ;-)
September 1, 2016
The last battle
Gustave Dore, illustration for Paradise LostFINAL CHAPTER!!!
I WILL FINISH "THE VALLEYS OF THE EARTH" THIS WEEK
You are going to hate me ...
... cliffhanger ending
August 29, 2016
Blue Monday: Samantha MacLeod guests
Every Monday I post a hot excerpt for you entertainment!
Today's guest is Samantha MacLeod with an excerpt from her new paranormal novel The Trickster's Lover, which is released on September 6th.
Surviving Graduate School ~ Falling in Love ~ Preventing Ragnarök
Graduate student Caroline Capello has always been more comfortable with books than people. She’s just moved to the University of Chicago to become the world’s foremost authority on Norse mythology, making her the only member of her family to leave San Diego, and the family business.
But she’s wondering if she’s just made the biggest mistake of her life.
When the enigmatic and irresistibly sexy Norse god Loki appears in her studio apartment, Caroline is forced to question everything she’s learned. Do the gods exist? Are the legends about Ragnarök, the apocalyptic battle that destroys the gods and ends the Nine Realms, actually true? Or is she losing her mind?
I felt him cut the drawstring on my sweatpants, and they fell to the floor. He touched my wrists, his hands cool and gentle, and my entire body trembled. He pulled my arms away from my breasts, exposing my nipples, my skin flushed with heat. His smell surrounded me; woodsmoke, salt spray. My body hummed under his touch. Loki stepped back, tilting his head to one side. And he stared at me, his eyes burning.
I’ve never been very happy with my body. I’m tall and awkward, I hate my nose, and my breasts are so small my mom keeps buying me bras with an inch of extra padding. But as I stood naked in front of a Norse god, and his eyes traveled the length of my body, devouring me with a hunger I’d never seen before, I flushed with heat and shivered with arousal, and I felt sexy.
I actually felt sexy.
I watched him as he stared at me. I could trace the lines of his muscles through his leather armor, and I wanted to touch them, wanted to run my hands up his arms, along his chest. I wanted to pull his face to mine, to sink my fingers into his hair, to again feel those cool hands on my skin.
“Yes, very nice,” he said. His voice was thicker this time.
I nodded and swallowed, hard. “Thanks,” I whispered, frantically trying to think of something clever I could say to him. You’re fucking hot as hell, I thought, and then I bit my lip again. Caroline, you cannot say that.
He took a step closer to me. I could feel his body, wrapped in leather, inches from my naked skin. I trembled; the inside of my thighs were wet. I hoped he couldn’t tell. I hoped he couldn’t hear the wild pounding of my heart.
His cool fingers wrapped around my upper arm, and he leaned close to me. I felt the whisper of his hair against my skin, the warmth of his breath on my neck.
“Mortal woman,” he said, with a catch in his voice. “I desire you.”
It was suddenly very difficult to breath. My head swam with his scent, my body buzzed with his nearness. His face fixed on mine, waiting. The earlier dancing amusement in his eyes vanished, replaced by hunger and need.
I was not a virgin. I’d had sex with Doug, many times, and enjoyed it. But my body had never ached like this for Doug’s touch. I had never wanted anything as singularly, as fiercely, as I wanted this tall stranger. Now.
We were only half an inch apart; the space between us vibrated with energy.
I hesitated for another heartbeat before my hips rocked into his, my naked breasts pushed against his soft leather armor, my hands reaching up, plunging into his hair. I pulled his face to mine.
Our lips touched and electricity surged through my body. His mouth parted slightly, and I could taste salt on his soft lips. His tongue entered me and heat filled my body as he explored me, his cool hands running down my back, pressing my trembling body against his.
He laughed when we pulled apart, his eyes sparkling. “I must warn you,” he whispered in my ear, his voice now low and thick, “I’ll ruin you for all mortal men.”
“Oh, please,” I gasped. “Please ruin me.”
He laughed again, deep and wild, and his shirt disappeared. I pressed my body against his naked chest, my skin burning against him. I could feel the hard length of his cock inside the soft leather of his pants, throbbing against my inner thighs, and I moved my hips against his as he ran long, delicate fingers down my neck. He kissed and then gently bit my ear, and my entire body responded, trembling. I need him, I thought, my breath catching in my throat. I need to feel him -
He bit my neck, harder, and I cried out, aching for him. Then his pants vanished, and he grabbed me, lifting me by my thighs. He pushed my legs apart with his hips and my knee hit the chair, knocking it over. My head hit the wall, hard, as I arched my back, offering myself to him. He moaned softly as he entered me.
Relief and pleasure crashed through my body as I felt him inside me. I wrapped my legs around his hips. For a heartbeat we were still, my arms around his neck, my legs wrapped around his thighs, his breath fast and shallow on my neck.
Then he began to pull back and thrust against me, my hips banging into the wall, shaking the entire apartment. I clung to him, my body rocked with heat and ecstasy, moaning and gasping. He was inside me, fucking me, and still I wanted him, wanted more of him, wanted to destroy the distance between us, obliterate the distinction between our bodies. I arched my back against the wall, pushing him deeper as his slender hips crashed into me again and again.
My picture frames shattered as they fell from the trembling walls and hit the floor. I realized I was screaming his name, digging my nails into his back as our bodies came together, the space between us collapsing and exploding into fire. My entire body was aflame - it had never been like this before, never, it had never -
We came at the same time, like an explosion. The heat of my orgasm burned over me as his head arched back and he cried out, eyes shut, his pale face tilted to the ceiling. I felt his cock spasm inside me, and I pushed my hips into it, my entire body trembling and covered with sweat.
We pulled apart as my feet again found the floor. He brought his face to mine and
kissed me, a slow, gentle kiss, a kiss that felt like our bodies had known each other
forever.
Pre-order The Trickster's Lover at Amazon US :: Amazon UK
Samantha MacLeod has lived in every time zone in the US, and London. She has an M.A. from the University of Chicago; yes, it really is where fun comes to die.
Samantha lives with her husband and two small children along the Niagara River just outside Buffalo, New York. 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 MacLeod 's website
Twitter
Facebook
Tumblr
Goodreads
Amazon author page.
Today's guest is Samantha MacLeod with an excerpt from her new paranormal novel The Trickster's Lover, which is released on September 6th.
Surviving Graduate School ~ Falling in Love ~ Preventing Ragnarök
Graduate student Caroline Capello has always been more comfortable with books than people. She’s just moved to the University of Chicago to become the world’s foremost authority on Norse mythology, making her the only member of her family to leave San Diego, and the family business.
But she’s wondering if she’s just made the biggest mistake of her life.
When the enigmatic and irresistibly sexy Norse god Loki appears in her studio apartment, Caroline is forced to question everything she’s learned. Do the gods exist? Are the legends about Ragnarök, the apocalyptic battle that destroys the gods and ends the Nine Realms, actually true? Or is she losing her mind?
I felt him cut the drawstring on my sweatpants, and they fell to the floor. He touched my wrists, his hands cool and gentle, and my entire body trembled. He pulled my arms away from my breasts, exposing my nipples, my skin flushed with heat. His smell surrounded me; woodsmoke, salt spray. My body hummed under his touch. Loki stepped back, tilting his head to one side. And he stared at me, his eyes burning.
I’ve never been very happy with my body. I’m tall and awkward, I hate my nose, and my breasts are so small my mom keeps buying me bras with an inch of extra padding. But as I stood naked in front of a Norse god, and his eyes traveled the length of my body, devouring me with a hunger I’d never seen before, I flushed with heat and shivered with arousal, and I felt sexy.
I actually felt sexy.
I watched him as he stared at me. I could trace the lines of his muscles through his leather armor, and I wanted to touch them, wanted to run my hands up his arms, along his chest. I wanted to pull his face to mine, to sink my fingers into his hair, to again feel those cool hands on my skin.
“Yes, very nice,” he said. His voice was thicker this time.
I nodded and swallowed, hard. “Thanks,” I whispered, frantically trying to think of something clever I could say to him. You’re fucking hot as hell, I thought, and then I bit my lip again. Caroline, you cannot say that.
He took a step closer to me. I could feel his body, wrapped in leather, inches from my naked skin. I trembled; the inside of my thighs were wet. I hoped he couldn’t tell. I hoped he couldn’t hear the wild pounding of my heart.
His cool fingers wrapped around my upper arm, and he leaned close to me. I felt the whisper of his hair against my skin, the warmth of his breath on my neck.
“Mortal woman,” he said, with a catch in his voice. “I desire you.”
It was suddenly very difficult to breath. My head swam with his scent, my body buzzed with his nearness. His face fixed on mine, waiting. The earlier dancing amusement in his eyes vanished, replaced by hunger and need.
I was not a virgin. I’d had sex with Doug, many times, and enjoyed it. But my body had never ached like this for Doug’s touch. I had never wanted anything as singularly, as fiercely, as I wanted this tall stranger. Now.
We were only half an inch apart; the space between us vibrated with energy.
I hesitated for another heartbeat before my hips rocked into his, my naked breasts pushed against his soft leather armor, my hands reaching up, plunging into his hair. I pulled his face to mine.
Our lips touched and electricity surged through my body. His mouth parted slightly, and I could taste salt on his soft lips. His tongue entered me and heat filled my body as he explored me, his cool hands running down my back, pressing my trembling body against his.
He laughed when we pulled apart, his eyes sparkling. “I must warn you,” he whispered in my ear, his voice now low and thick, “I’ll ruin you for all mortal men.”
“Oh, please,” I gasped. “Please ruin me.”
He laughed again, deep and wild, and his shirt disappeared. I pressed my body against his naked chest, my skin burning against him. I could feel the hard length of his cock inside the soft leather of his pants, throbbing against my inner thighs, and I moved my hips against his as he ran long, delicate fingers down my neck. He kissed and then gently bit my ear, and my entire body responded, trembling. I need him, I thought, my breath catching in my throat. I need to feel him -
He bit my neck, harder, and I cried out, aching for him. Then his pants vanished, and he grabbed me, lifting me by my thighs. He pushed my legs apart with his hips and my knee hit the chair, knocking it over. My head hit the wall, hard, as I arched my back, offering myself to him. He moaned softly as he entered me.
Relief and pleasure crashed through my body as I felt him inside me. I wrapped my legs around his hips. For a heartbeat we were still, my arms around his neck, my legs wrapped around his thighs, his breath fast and shallow on my neck.
Then he began to pull back and thrust against me, my hips banging into the wall, shaking the entire apartment. I clung to him, my body rocked with heat and ecstasy, moaning and gasping. He was inside me, fucking me, and still I wanted him, wanted more of him, wanted to destroy the distance between us, obliterate the distinction between our bodies. I arched my back against the wall, pushing him deeper as his slender hips crashed into me again and again.
My picture frames shattered as they fell from the trembling walls and hit the floor. I realized I was screaming his name, digging my nails into his back as our bodies came together, the space between us collapsing and exploding into fire. My entire body was aflame - it had never been like this before, never, it had never -
We came at the same time, like an explosion. The heat of my orgasm burned over me as his head arched back and he cried out, eyes shut, his pale face tilted to the ceiling. I felt his cock spasm inside me, and I pushed my hips into it, my entire body trembling and covered with sweat.
We pulled apart as my feet again found the floor. He brought his face to mine and
kissed me, a slow, gentle kiss, a kiss that felt like our bodies had known each other
forever.
Pre-order The Trickster's Lover at Amazon US :: Amazon UK
Samantha MacLeod has lived in every time zone in the US, and London. She has an M.A. from the University of Chicago; yes, it really is where fun comes to die.
Samantha lives with her husband and two small children along the Niagara River just outside Buffalo, New York. 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 MacLeod 's website
Tumblr
Goodreads
Amazon author page.
August 26, 2016
Lammas
I AM SO SORRY. I have been remiss - Because the pagan/natural cycles are woven into my Lovers' Wheel series, I'm taking a look in 2016 at the four great Celtic festivals, the most important festivals of the neo-pagan year. I've covered Imbolc and Beltane previously, but I'm several weeks late for poor old Lammas!LAMMAS ("loaf mass") is also known as LUGHNASADH, the assembly sacred to the god Lugh. It takes place on 31st July / 1st August. Like the others it is a fire-festival, and marks a turning point in the agricultural year: in this case the first harvest feast, and the start of Autumn.
This is triple-faced Lugh:
He's one of those multi-functional Irish warrior-gods of craft, law, battle, the sun, storms and generally strutting round being very manly. He also invented a boardgame, fidchell, which makes him a bit geeky.
Lugh's Enclosure (1912) by Ernest WallcousinsThe Lughnasadh festival was a specifically founded as funeral games for Lugh's foster-mother, Taillte, an agricultural goddess who cleared the whole Ireland for farming - and then died of exhaustion. (Remember, Imbolc features imagery of a pure young girl, Beltane a horny young maiden: Lughnasadh is founded on a sacrificial mother-goddess, even if she doesn't get the name credit).Festivals took place on hilltops and included feasting, matchmaking, athletic contests, an offering of the first fruits of the year (bilberries and blackberries and apples), and a bull sacrifice. All these customs were kept on by the Christian Church, including making pilgrimage up hills and mountains. Though nowadays the name is mostly remembered for a very depressing movie, Dancing at Lughnasa:
Lughnasadh was also the occasion for "trial weddings" that lasted a year and day! Modern Wiccans and neo-pagans still favour it for handfasting ceremonies.
Edmund Blair Leighton, My Fair Lady (1914)The Anglo-Saxons / English put more emphasis on Lammas ("hlaf-mas") being a festival to do with wheat - the bringing in and baking of the first sheaf, and its dedication in the local church. Cereal crops, of course, keep through winter in a way summer fruit don't.
With regard to the year's cycle, Lammas takes place when the slide from high Summer into the shorter darker days has become noticeable. If the year has gone well and the gods are kind, the harvest is bountiful. It is a time of comparative plenty and thankfulness, a huge amount of hard work in the fields, of reaping rewards but also preparing the community against the Winter to come - rejoicing that takes place under a shadow of encroaching hardship.
Lawrence Alma Tadema, A Harvest Festival, 1880 This is the time of year that John Barleycorn, spirit of the barley harvest and pseudo-god of Beer, is sacrificed, according to the folksong:They hired men with the scythes so sharp
To cut him off down by the knee.
They rolled him and tied him around by the waist,
Served him most barbarously.
They hired men with the sharp pitchforks
Who pierced him to the heart.
But the loader, he served him far worse than that
For he bound him to the cart.
They rode him around and around the field
Till they came into a barn,
And there they made a solemn mow
Of poor John Barleycorn.
They hired men with the crab-tree sticks
Who cut him skin from bone
But the miller, he served him far worse than that
For he ground him between two stones.
Here's little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
And brandy in a glass.
And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
Proved the stronger man at last.
For the hunter, he can't hunt the fox
Nor so loudly blow his horn,
And the tinker, he can't mend his kettles or his pots
Without a little bit of John Barleycorn.
Don't worry, he always comes back
August 24, 2016
The End is Nigh!
Paradise Lost by Emile Bernard, 1868 – 1941I'm up to 77K on The Valleys of the Earth and about to launch into the final extended scene. Things may be about to get a teensy weensy bit violent, but I'm sure that's fine in a romance, ahem. At least I now know exactly how the novel ends! (I also know how the first three chapters of the sequel go, but that's just got to wait.)
So there are no more surprises awaiting me for this volume ... probably. My heroine Milja managed to broadside me this morning, mind...
It's repeatedly asserted in The Book of Enoch, my go-to sourcebook of angelic craziness, that those women who slept with the fallen angels were taught magic as a consequence and became "witches" or "sirens" (depending on translation). I've treated this as an organic bodily change wrought by angelic influence/body fluids, not learned spells. So Milja has been developing some interesting new abilities throughout the series...
Vol 1: Cover Him with Darkness
She finds it physically impossible to cryCats love her, dogs hate and fear her She can see ghosts, sometimesShe can tweak chance to give herself unusually good luck (small magics)She has vaguely prescient dreamsShe can pull other sleeping people, and angels, into her dreams to interact with them
Vol 2: The Valleys of the Earth
During a sexual encounter she can speed-heal her own wounds, or her partner'sIt's very possible she can reverse this to do harm through hate-sex, though she hasn't actually triedShe's immune to disease (which is very helpful when visiting Ethiopia, believe me)She can see in the darkShe can order certain animals around ... or at least scare them awayI'm trying to keep her powers witchy and low-key, and not to just pull another one out of the hat whenever it's convenient for the plot. But given that she started off as an ordinary human and she's hanging out in the major league with the big angelic boys, it's nice to be able to redress the balance of power slightly and give her some more effective agency.
August 22, 2016
Blue Monday
Every Monday I post a filthy excerpt for your entertainment!
Since I did my annual tree-tour at the local cemetery yesterday, I thought I'd post a nice woodsy piece from my nature-magick novel Falling Deep.
Liz has just been rescued by Jake, August's avatar ... from a unicorn. Trust me, guys. It makes sense.
And as she came up his hand was suddenly on the nape of her neck. Her breath caught in her throat.
“You’ve started something you can’t stop,” his deep voice murmured in her ear. “You know that, don’t you.” It was not a question. And it made the heat gush between her legs.
“Oh god,” she whispered.
Without answering he pushed her forward, his hand on her neck the only thing stopping her from stumbling as she tripped over her clumsy feet. Straight at the trunk of a nearby beech. “Hold on,” he growled. “Ass out. I want to see that.”
The gray bark was smooth beneath her hands. She arched her back, sticking her bottom out as he desired. She could feel the slick wetness running from her core through every fiber of her body, soaking her in heat. Jake knew her weakness. He had heard her confession. It wasn’t just his strength that rendered her helpless; it was her own blind and hungry lust.
Unseen behind her, he bent and grabbed her skirt. It was no match for his strength. The back seam, already split halfway by her fall down the ravine, rent up the zipper line with a scream of parting threads. The zipper backing resisted momentarily and then snapped. The button at the waistband popped. He threw it aside and then slapped her ass to make the right bum-cheek bounce. “Wider.”
Stunned, she did as she was told, opening her thighs.
He smacked the other cheek just as hard, then grabbed both and mauled them. Leaning into her, he growled, “See what you done, Liz? See what you’ve done to me?”
She couldn’t see, but she knew all right. His pants were open and his erect cock—a bar of hot flesh that felt like it was branding her—was out, dunting hard up against her soft ass, rubbing into the cleft between her cheeks as he stooped to grind the rear she presented so obediently. Her poor wet panties felt like no barrier to his determined forays.
“There are consequences,” he breathed into her ear. Even his whisper sounded deep, like a lion’s purr. “Every choice you make. You have to bear the consequences.” One hand caught at her left breast and tugged the stiff nubbin of her nipple, making her gasp and writhe her ass against his cock.
“No!” she whimpered, as the sweet silvery pain ran through her from tit to clit. Even the clench of her rear hole tingled.
“Yes,” he contradicted her. “Remember…you asked for this.”
Those words. Oh, those dirty, reprehensible words—each one of which she wanted to reject, each one of which made the dark heat swell in her sex, and made her nipples ache and her pussy run wet. Bad words. Words that turned wrong to right and right to wrong, incantations of the blackest magic. And he knew exactly what he was doing to her. He could hardly miss it—when he slipped fingers into the gusset of her panties, they slithered in the melt his words had made.
“You made me do it,” he growled, his voice thick with lust, running two fingers deep inside her. There was no resistance, only the slick yielding of flesh that opened greedily to his thick knuckles and long digits. “Remember that.”
Liz moaned helplessly as he flexed his wrist and twisted, testing her capacity to open up. She knew he was looking for room for that thick cock of his to lodge. She wanted it just as much as she feared it—for its girth and its length and its power. “Oh, yes!” she cried.
“I’m going to have to fuck you now.” He withdrew his hand, and Liz watched as he trailed her sex juices across the white moon of her ass. “Take those down.”
It was the last surrender. She stooped, one arm against the beech bole, to pull down her knickers. She fully expected him to take her from behind, as before. So she was surprised when he spun her around to face him, slapped her back against the bark, and grabbed her ass in both hands to lift her bodily to a height that matched his own. Her shoulders and upper spine mashed forcefully against the tree and she grabbed at the bark to try to stop herself slipping, but any discomfort was a distant and irrelevant thing. The only thing she needed to fear was the length spearing her between her open thighs.
Liz squealed—the sensation of invasion was so intense she mistook it for pain at that first instance. Jake grunted, twining his voice with hers. Then he began to work his hips, sliding in and out.
There was no pain. There had never been any pain, except the pain of not having him inside her. There was only the huge jolting pressure of his thrusts, making the breath flee her lungs, making her bare breasts dance and jiggle. There was only the knowledge that she was splitting apart, falling in two. Her belly ached from the strain of pushing back at him and trying to arch her spine. Her head banged off the bark and she didn’t feel a thing. The rhythm he was setting was making her breasts slam up and down, and the grip of his hands on her ass was bruising.
“Fuck!” he rasped, jaw open, face contorted. This was a swift, brutal rite—a desperate summoning of power from beyond. This, she knew suddenly, was real magic. Her words and her actions had turned him from rescuer into ravisher. His words and the passes of his hands and the brandishing of the staff he bore between his legs had transformed her from shy town girl into a shameless animal. Forbidden and unspeakable words loaded with power—words such as slut and dirty and whore—danced through her head.
I am his fuck. I am his horny bit of gash. He is my dark man of the Sabat and I am a filthy, sex-hungry witch who will debase myself for him. I will burn for it.
And she did, she did, she did.
Amazon US :: Amazon UK
Since I did my annual tree-tour at the local cemetery yesterday, I thought I'd post a nice woodsy piece from my nature-magick novel Falling Deep.
Liz has just been rescued by Jake, August's avatar ... from a unicorn. Trust me, guys. It makes sense.
And as she came up his hand was suddenly on the nape of her neck. Her breath caught in her throat.
“You’ve started something you can’t stop,” his deep voice murmured in her ear. “You know that, don’t you.” It was not a question. And it made the heat gush between her legs.
“Oh god,” she whispered.
Without answering he pushed her forward, his hand on her neck the only thing stopping her from stumbling as she tripped over her clumsy feet. Straight at the trunk of a nearby beech. “Hold on,” he growled. “Ass out. I want to see that.”
The gray bark was smooth beneath her hands. She arched her back, sticking her bottom out as he desired. She could feel the slick wetness running from her core through every fiber of her body, soaking her in heat. Jake knew her weakness. He had heard her confession. It wasn’t just his strength that rendered her helpless; it was her own blind and hungry lust.
Unseen behind her, he bent and grabbed her skirt. It was no match for his strength. The back seam, already split halfway by her fall down the ravine, rent up the zipper line with a scream of parting threads. The zipper backing resisted momentarily and then snapped. The button at the waistband popped. He threw it aside and then slapped her ass to make the right bum-cheek bounce. “Wider.”
Stunned, she did as she was told, opening her thighs.
He smacked the other cheek just as hard, then grabbed both and mauled them. Leaning into her, he growled, “See what you done, Liz? See what you’ve done to me?”
She couldn’t see, but she knew all right. His pants were open and his erect cock—a bar of hot flesh that felt like it was branding her—was out, dunting hard up against her soft ass, rubbing into the cleft between her cheeks as he stooped to grind the rear she presented so obediently. Her poor wet panties felt like no barrier to his determined forays.
“There are consequences,” he breathed into her ear. Even his whisper sounded deep, like a lion’s purr. “Every choice you make. You have to bear the consequences.” One hand caught at her left breast and tugged the stiff nubbin of her nipple, making her gasp and writhe her ass against his cock.
“No!” she whimpered, as the sweet silvery pain ran through her from tit to clit. Even the clench of her rear hole tingled.
“Yes,” he contradicted her. “Remember…you asked for this.”
Those words. Oh, those dirty, reprehensible words—each one of which she wanted to reject, each one of which made the dark heat swell in her sex, and made her nipples ache and her pussy run wet. Bad words. Words that turned wrong to right and right to wrong, incantations of the blackest magic. And he knew exactly what he was doing to her. He could hardly miss it—when he slipped fingers into the gusset of her panties, they slithered in the melt his words had made.
“You made me do it,” he growled, his voice thick with lust, running two fingers deep inside her. There was no resistance, only the slick yielding of flesh that opened greedily to his thick knuckles and long digits. “Remember that.”
Liz moaned helplessly as he flexed his wrist and twisted, testing her capacity to open up. She knew he was looking for room for that thick cock of his to lodge. She wanted it just as much as she feared it—for its girth and its length and its power. “Oh, yes!” she cried.
“I’m going to have to fuck you now.” He withdrew his hand, and Liz watched as he trailed her sex juices across the white moon of her ass. “Take those down.”
It was the last surrender. She stooped, one arm against the beech bole, to pull down her knickers. She fully expected him to take her from behind, as before. So she was surprised when he spun her around to face him, slapped her back against the bark, and grabbed her ass in both hands to lift her bodily to a height that matched his own. Her shoulders and upper spine mashed forcefully against the tree and she grabbed at the bark to try to stop herself slipping, but any discomfort was a distant and irrelevant thing. The only thing she needed to fear was the length spearing her between her open thighs.
Liz squealed—the sensation of invasion was so intense she mistook it for pain at that first instance. Jake grunted, twining his voice with hers. Then he began to work his hips, sliding in and out.
There was no pain. There had never been any pain, except the pain of not having him inside her. There was only the huge jolting pressure of his thrusts, making the breath flee her lungs, making her bare breasts dance and jiggle. There was only the knowledge that she was splitting apart, falling in two. Her belly ached from the strain of pushing back at him and trying to arch her spine. Her head banged off the bark and she didn’t feel a thing. The rhythm he was setting was making her breasts slam up and down, and the grip of his hands on her ass was bruising.
“Fuck!” he rasped, jaw open, face contorted. This was a swift, brutal rite—a desperate summoning of power from beyond. This, she knew suddenly, was real magic. Her words and her actions had turned him from rescuer into ravisher. His words and the passes of his hands and the brandishing of the staff he bore between his legs had transformed her from shy town girl into a shameless animal. Forbidden and unspeakable words loaded with power—words such as slut and dirty and whore—danced through her head.
I am his fuck. I am his horny bit of gash. He is my dark man of the Sabat and I am a filthy, sex-hungry witch who will debase myself for him. I will burn for it.
And she did, she did, she did.
Amazon US :: Amazon UK
