Janine Ashbless's Blog, page 69
October 12, 2015
Blue Monday: Lucy Felthouse guests
Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!
This week my guest is Lucy Felthouse, who must be one of the busiest people I know - writing, editing AND marketing other writers. I want some of what she is on! This excerpt is from her new novel Eyes Wide Open, which is a M/M/F BDSM erotic romance.
An ordinary girl catapulted into an extraordinary world meets two even more extraordinary men—but what will she do when she discovers their sexy secret?
Fiona Gillespie moved to London shortly after graduating to take advantage of the opportunities the capital could offer. But working at the Totally Five Star London is just the beginning. She adores the role and flourishes, impressing her bosses and making her increasingly determined to climb the career ladder.
While her career is flying, though, her love life is non-existent. She hasn’t even thought about men, never mind met or dated one for months, so when she bumps into two gorgeous businessmen in the hotel, she’s surprised to find her head has been well and truly turned. Even more surprisingly, they flirt with her—both of them!
When a misunderstanding leads Fiona to James and Logan’s sumptuous top-floor suite, she has no idea what she’s about to uncover.
His hot mouth was just as skillful between her legs as it had been on her neck, shoulder and lips, and not being able to see what he was doing served only to heighten the sensations. With an enthusiasm that told her he enjoyed being with women just as much as men, he ran his tongue the length of her slick seam, delving deep. Murmuring contentedly, which caused little tremors to run across her swollen labia and clit, he parted her pussy lips with what she guessed were his thumbs, and gave a long, slow lick, before pulling away and blowing on the wet skin.
Chills skated across Fiona’s entire body, and her pussy clenched. Christ, but he knew how to tease! And she couldn’t even encourage, plead or beg, because her mouth was otherwise occupied. It was obvious to her that the two of them had done this before. It was a tried and tested method, one that left the lucky woman they were sharing in a position where she had to lie back and take it. But Fiona was most definitely not thinking of England. In fact, she could barely think at all. She was being bombarded by all these feelings and sensations, and she was sure that the moment James’ tongue touched her clit, she’d be spiraling into an orgasm that she felt she’d been building toward for hours.
Apparently, she wasn’t going to find out if she was right. Not just yet, anyway. James moved his mouth away, and his thick fingers entered her pussy, probing and stretching, though she was so wet that he could have penetrated her with his cock with no trouble at all. She’d have accommodated him easily and, more than anything, that was what she desperately wanted at that moment in time. There was a cock in her mouth, jerking away and continuing to lace her taste buds with salty pre-cum, and she wanted one in her pussy, too.
Digging her nails into Logan’s pert buttocks, humming around his shaft and tilting her hips in one movement, she hoped to spur the two men to some kind of action. She was suspended on the very edge of climax, and her arousal was rapidly turning to frustration. She just wanted to come, just once, then they could carry on doing whatever they wanted. But the pressure that built and raged inside her wanted out, and fast.
Bucking her hips again, and clawing at Logan’s buttocks, Fiona now grunted around the invasion between her lips. Come on! she screamed silently. For Christ’s sake, make me fucking come!
Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Logan slowed his movements and let out a chuckle. “Seems we’ve got a little wildcat on our hands here, doesn’t it, mate?”
“It does,” came the reply. “She’s jerking against my face like she’s in a fucking rodeo or something. Think she wants to come?” He continued to finger-fuck her as he spoke, feeding more and more pleasure into her system, but just not quite enough to tip her over.
“I think she’d love to come,” Logan all but purred, pushing his cock deeper into her throat than he’d ventured before, making her fear for her gag reflex. But he was apparently a pro in that department, too, and didn’t go too far. “And you know what? I think she’s probably earned it, don’t you? Just one orgasm, to get her started.”
Get me started? Holy fuck, how long are these two planning to carry on for?
“All right,” James said amenably. Angling the tips of his fingers, he stroked and pressed at her G-spot, then took her clit between his lips and began sucking. Lightly at first, which fanned the embers of her climax and turned them into gently flickering flames. Then, satisfied that she was used to the sensation, he licked the aching bud, getting it plenty wet. Over and over he licked, before closing his lips around her again and sucking harder, increasing the pressure at the same time as he upped the speed with which he stimulated her G-spot.
The gently flickering flames grew higher, brighter, hotter, and Fiona sucked in shaky, hasty breaths through her nostrils as her chest heaved. She was hanging over the edge now, just the merest thread stopping her from plummeting into the abyss.
“She’s close,” James said, his voice husky, laden with his own arousal. “Really close.”
“Good,” Logan replied, his own voice a little shaky. “I am, too. I’m going to come between these sweet lips any second—” He stopped, let out a strangled sound. “Now!”
Fiona’s world tilted on its axis. At the same time as her mouth was being filled by hot cum, her own climax ripped through her with a sudden, unexpected force that left her wildly grabbing for air. Black spots danced before her eyes as her abdomen undulated, her core clutching and spasming around James’ fingers and the flames now an inferno that raged along every nerve ending, leaving her completely burnt out.
“Shiiit,” James said, apparently the only one of them capable of speech. “If that’s the way she starts, I can’t wait to see how she carries on.”
Eyes Wide Open (Totally 5 Star London) is available in print from
Pride Publishing
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Barnes & Noble
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of
subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
This week my guest is Lucy Felthouse, who must be one of the busiest people I know - writing, editing AND marketing other writers. I want some of what she is on! This excerpt is from her new novel Eyes Wide Open, which is a M/M/F BDSM erotic romance.
An ordinary girl catapulted into an extraordinary world meets two even more extraordinary men—but what will she do when she discovers their sexy secret?
Fiona Gillespie moved to London shortly after graduating to take advantage of the opportunities the capital could offer. But working at the Totally Five Star London is just the beginning. She adores the role and flourishes, impressing her bosses and making her increasingly determined to climb the career ladder.
While her career is flying, though, her love life is non-existent. She hasn’t even thought about men, never mind met or dated one for months, so when she bumps into two gorgeous businessmen in the hotel, she’s surprised to find her head has been well and truly turned. Even more surprisingly, they flirt with her—both of them!
When a misunderstanding leads Fiona to James and Logan’s sumptuous top-floor suite, she has no idea what she’s about to uncover.
His hot mouth was just as skillful between her legs as it had been on her neck, shoulder and lips, and not being able to see what he was doing served only to heighten the sensations. With an enthusiasm that told her he enjoyed being with women just as much as men, he ran his tongue the length of her slick seam, delving deep. Murmuring contentedly, which caused little tremors to run across her swollen labia and clit, he parted her pussy lips with what she guessed were his thumbs, and gave a long, slow lick, before pulling away and blowing on the wet skin.
Chills skated across Fiona’s entire body, and her pussy clenched. Christ, but he knew how to tease! And she couldn’t even encourage, plead or beg, because her mouth was otherwise occupied. It was obvious to her that the two of them had done this before. It was a tried and tested method, one that left the lucky woman they were sharing in a position where she had to lie back and take it. But Fiona was most definitely not thinking of England. In fact, she could barely think at all. She was being bombarded by all these feelings and sensations, and she was sure that the moment James’ tongue touched her clit, she’d be spiraling into an orgasm that she felt she’d been building toward for hours.
Apparently, she wasn’t going to find out if she was right. Not just yet, anyway. James moved his mouth away, and his thick fingers entered her pussy, probing and stretching, though she was so wet that he could have penetrated her with his cock with no trouble at all. She’d have accommodated him easily and, more than anything, that was what she desperately wanted at that moment in time. There was a cock in her mouth, jerking away and continuing to lace her taste buds with salty pre-cum, and she wanted one in her pussy, too.
Digging her nails into Logan’s pert buttocks, humming around his shaft and tilting her hips in one movement, she hoped to spur the two men to some kind of action. She was suspended on the very edge of climax, and her arousal was rapidly turning to frustration. She just wanted to come, just once, then they could carry on doing whatever they wanted. But the pressure that built and raged inside her wanted out, and fast.
Bucking her hips again, and clawing at Logan’s buttocks, Fiona now grunted around the invasion between her lips. Come on! she screamed silently. For Christ’s sake, make me fucking come!
Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Logan slowed his movements and let out a chuckle. “Seems we’ve got a little wildcat on our hands here, doesn’t it, mate?”
“It does,” came the reply. “She’s jerking against my face like she’s in a fucking rodeo or something. Think she wants to come?” He continued to finger-fuck her as he spoke, feeding more and more pleasure into her system, but just not quite enough to tip her over.
“I think she’d love to come,” Logan all but purred, pushing his cock deeper into her throat than he’d ventured before, making her fear for her gag reflex. But he was apparently a pro in that department, too, and didn’t go too far. “And you know what? I think she’s probably earned it, don’t you? Just one orgasm, to get her started.”
Get me started? Holy fuck, how long are these two planning to carry on for?
“All right,” James said amenably. Angling the tips of his fingers, he stroked and pressed at her G-spot, then took her clit between his lips and began sucking. Lightly at first, which fanned the embers of her climax and turned them into gently flickering flames. Then, satisfied that she was used to the sensation, he licked the aching bud, getting it plenty wet. Over and over he licked, before closing his lips around her again and sucking harder, increasing the pressure at the same time as he upped the speed with which he stimulated her G-spot.
The gently flickering flames grew higher, brighter, hotter, and Fiona sucked in shaky, hasty breaths through her nostrils as her chest heaved. She was hanging over the edge now, just the merest thread stopping her from plummeting into the abyss.
“She’s close,” James said, his voice husky, laden with his own arousal. “Really close.”
“Good,” Logan replied, his own voice a little shaky. “I am, too. I’m going to come between these sweet lips any second—” He stopped, let out a strangled sound. “Now!”
Fiona’s world tilted on its axis. At the same time as her mouth was being filled by hot cum, her own climax ripped through her with a sudden, unexpected force that left her wildly grabbing for air. Black spots danced before her eyes as her abdomen undulated, her core clutching and spasming around James’ fingers and the flames now an inferno that raged along every nerve ending, leaving her completely burnt out.
“Shiiit,” James said, apparently the only one of them capable of speech. “If that’s the way she starts, I can’t wait to see how she carries on.”
Eyes Wide Open (Totally 5 Star London) is available in print from
Pride Publishing
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Barnes & Noble
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of
subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
October 11, 2015
Weapons in the form of words
uess whi
Guess which popular beat combo I am seeing tonight? :-)
Guess which popular beat combo I am seeing tonight? :-)
October 9, 2015
The Sorcerer's Apprentice
Behold! - the artwork by Dayv Caraway for my very own story in the forthcoming Libidinous Zombie anthology. Isn't it cool? :-D
The Sorcerer's Apprentice starts with this line:
"Mr Deverick kept a woman in the penthouse suite. In a cage."It's a story that's just a bit too mean and nasty for any normal collection. I should know; I wrote the earlier version for Fierce Enchantments and then had panicky second thoughts and held it back. But it is perfect for an erotic horror anthology. It's found its true home!
And I'm so looking forward to hearing it read aloud. Mwahahahahah!
October 7, 2015
Vice verse
Yes, I'm afraid I've caught poetry :-)
Ashley "The People's Porny Poet" Lister made me do it. He is totally to blame. He's editing a charity anthology called Coming Together: In Verse (one of the many great Coming Together erotica collections). All proceeds go to Hope for Paws, which is a great animal rescue cause.
And I have poems in it!
I'm sort of shocked, really.
Love the pipe!THANK YOU ASHLEY!
October 5, 2015
Blue Monday
Every Monday I post a filthy bit for your entertainment!
Today's excerpt is inspired by the news this month of the discovery of the Homo naledi bones in a South African cave, and in particular the details about the skinny women palaeontologists who went in through 8-inch crawlways to excavate this incredible site. It reminded my of my archaeology story Ritual Space - which is definitely not erotica suitable for the claustrophobic!
Alex has tempted her archaeology supervisor down into a tight underground chamber with her...
‘Oh … yes!’ hissed Hayden appreciatively. Carved over his head in high relief was a phallus, complete with bulging testes and a clearly defined glans. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have a ritual object.’
‘You’ll see that it’s polished smooth compared to the surrounding rock,’ I said, reaching to run my hand gently along its considerable length. Hayden made a noise in the back of his throat and I blushed, withdrawing my hand. Fingertip sweat can cause damage even to stone objects. 'Um. I think it’s been handled a lot by whoever came down here.’
‘Fertility ritual,’ he said hoarsely. ‘The virile member buried deep in the earth to make it fertile.’ He scratched his throat, musing. ‘Or perhaps it’s nothing that obvious. In the pre-Christian Empire the phallus was a good-luck symbol of protection from evil - a fascinum.’
‘I have a theory.’ I was shy but determined.
He turned his head to look me in the eye. We were both sweating a little and breathing quickly in the stuffy air. Only the chill of the stone kept this constricted and intimate space from growing too warm.
‘I think this is an oracle,’ I said.
‘Yes?’ He actually sounded interested. It’s not often a student theory gets that far.
‘Do you remember the description of the Oracle of Trophonius? It’s described as a pit with a narrow hole at the bottom into a deeper passage. Supplicants were pulled in feet-first and granted information about the future though a vision or a voice. And they came out babbling and terrified.’
‘Maybe.’ His eyes are all dark glitter. ‘And the visions?’
‘This is ritual space: anything could happen here. The supplicants would be lying alone in the pitch dark. Keyed up. Hyperventilating because they’re scared and claustrophobic and horny and there’s not much air. Reaching out to touch the protective sigil above them. They’d be capable of seeing things even without priests prompting them.’
Hayden rolled carefully onto his side to face me, his shoulder nearly brushing the roof. ‘Horny?’
I shrugged, thinking that my words had run away with me. ‘Perceived peril makes people more aroused. It’s freshman psychology.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well thank God it’s not just me then.’
I laughed, mostly from tension, and he chuckled with me.
‘So … Did it make you horny, working down here?’ he wondered.
I blushed and ran my tongue across my lips. ‘Sometimes.’ My voice sounded weak. ‘It’s the silence…’
‘Did you ever do anything about it?’
Those eyes would not let me go. I bit my lip and nodded.
‘Down here?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
He grinned, soft and slow. ‘I’m not sure that’s good archaeological practice.’
‘No,’ I admitted. Our voices were very low now.
His face moved closer to mine. ‘I want to know what you did, Alex ... when you should have been working.’
‘Why?’
‘Professional curiosity.’ But the sweep of his lips was a caress described on the air. My skin tingled.
‘I … would sometimes touch myself.’
‘Through your panties?’
‘Sometimes. Or I would pull down my fly and … touch myself properly.’
‘Ah. Were you wet before you started?
’
‘Usually.’
‘Are you wet now?’
I nodded.
‘Show me.’ His eyes were shining. ‘Show me how you did it.’
For moment I just held my breath. Then, hardly daring to think, I lay back and pulled up my T-shirt, revealing a flat stomach glazed with sweat and speckled with grit. Hayden watched entranced as I thumbed open my fly button and tugged at my zip.
‘Left-handed?’
‘Uhuh.’ Pushing down my trousers and panties to my hips, I shimmied out of them far enough to reveal the tufts of hair at the crease of my sex. Softly I touched myself. Hayden ran the tip of his tongue between his teeth. I could hear his breath coming fast and shallow. I could smell my own musk.
‘Yes,’ he sighed, then reached to draw my top up higher, taking my lycra bra with it as he found the thicker fabric, pushing both layers right up to reveal my breasts. They felt cold beneath his warm hand. His fingers moved on my sweat-slicked skin, then withdrew. My nipples tightened, aching for the touch they’d known so briefly. ‘Go on.’
I pushed my fingertip into my own wetness, drawing the moisture up to my clit. I was wet with a fierce, boiling heat. I began to play with myself, watching him watching me, seeing how his eyes swept from my quivering tits to my tilted pussy and back to my face. Feasting on his hunger, on the rapt concentration I’d only ever seen him direct at newly-discovered artefacts before this moment. Under his gaze I felt as if every inch of my skin was alive with significance. My fingertip rolled over my burning clit, back and forth. I didn’t want it to end, but I knew it wouldn’t take me long; I’d been building up a sexual charge since he joined me in the pit. I felt my orgasm heave deep within me, reaching toward the surface, and then he obliged by covering my working hand with his, cupping my fingers and my pubic mound and my wetness for a moment before sliding two fingers deep into me. Already on the edge, I came at once with that first electric clitoral climax; he felt my muscles clench on him, pulsing, as I arched my back and cried out.
The stone roof echoed my voice, distorting it strangely.
Buy at Amazon US : Amazon UK : Google Play
Today's excerpt is inspired by the news this month of the discovery of the Homo naledi bones in a South African cave, and in particular the details about the skinny women palaeontologists who went in through 8-inch crawlways to excavate this incredible site. It reminded my of my archaeology story Ritual Space - which is definitely not erotica suitable for the claustrophobic!
Alex has tempted her archaeology supervisor down into a tight underground chamber with her...
‘Oh … yes!’ hissed Hayden appreciatively. Carved over his head in high relief was a phallus, complete with bulging testes and a clearly defined glans. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have a ritual object.’
‘You’ll see that it’s polished smooth compared to the surrounding rock,’ I said, reaching to run my hand gently along its considerable length. Hayden made a noise in the back of his throat and I blushed, withdrawing my hand. Fingertip sweat can cause damage even to stone objects. 'Um. I think it’s been handled a lot by whoever came down here.’
‘Fertility ritual,’ he said hoarsely. ‘The virile member buried deep in the earth to make it fertile.’ He scratched his throat, musing. ‘Or perhaps it’s nothing that obvious. In the pre-Christian Empire the phallus was a good-luck symbol of protection from evil - a fascinum.’
‘I have a theory.’ I was shy but determined.
He turned his head to look me in the eye. We were both sweating a little and breathing quickly in the stuffy air. Only the chill of the stone kept this constricted and intimate space from growing too warm.
‘I think this is an oracle,’ I said.
‘Yes?’ He actually sounded interested. It’s not often a student theory gets that far.
‘Do you remember the description of the Oracle of Trophonius? It’s described as a pit with a narrow hole at the bottom into a deeper passage. Supplicants were pulled in feet-first and granted information about the future though a vision or a voice. And they came out babbling and terrified.’
‘Maybe.’ His eyes are all dark glitter. ‘And the visions?’
‘This is ritual space: anything could happen here. The supplicants would be lying alone in the pitch dark. Keyed up. Hyperventilating because they’re scared and claustrophobic and horny and there’s not much air. Reaching out to touch the protective sigil above them. They’d be capable of seeing things even without priests prompting them.’
Hayden rolled carefully onto his side to face me, his shoulder nearly brushing the roof. ‘Horny?’
I shrugged, thinking that my words had run away with me. ‘Perceived peril makes people more aroused. It’s freshman psychology.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well thank God it’s not just me then.’
I laughed, mostly from tension, and he chuckled with me.
‘So … Did it make you horny, working down here?’ he wondered.
I blushed and ran my tongue across my lips. ‘Sometimes.’ My voice sounded weak. ‘It’s the silence…’
‘Did you ever do anything about it?’
Those eyes would not let me go. I bit my lip and nodded.
‘Down here?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
He grinned, soft and slow. ‘I’m not sure that’s good archaeological practice.’
‘No,’ I admitted. Our voices were very low now.
His face moved closer to mine. ‘I want to know what you did, Alex ... when you should have been working.’
‘Why?’
‘Professional curiosity.’ But the sweep of his lips was a caress described on the air. My skin tingled.
‘I … would sometimes touch myself.’
‘Through your panties?’
‘Sometimes. Or I would pull down my fly and … touch myself properly.’
‘Ah. Were you wet before you started?
’
‘Usually.’
‘Are you wet now?’
I nodded.
‘Show me.’ His eyes were shining. ‘Show me how you did it.’
For moment I just held my breath. Then, hardly daring to think, I lay back and pulled up my T-shirt, revealing a flat stomach glazed with sweat and speckled with grit. Hayden watched entranced as I thumbed open my fly button and tugged at my zip.
‘Left-handed?’
‘Uhuh.’ Pushing down my trousers and panties to my hips, I shimmied out of them far enough to reveal the tufts of hair at the crease of my sex. Softly I touched myself. Hayden ran the tip of his tongue between his teeth. I could hear his breath coming fast and shallow. I could smell my own musk.
‘Yes,’ he sighed, then reached to draw my top up higher, taking my lycra bra with it as he found the thicker fabric, pushing both layers right up to reveal my breasts. They felt cold beneath his warm hand. His fingers moved on my sweat-slicked skin, then withdrew. My nipples tightened, aching for the touch they’d known so briefly. ‘Go on.’
I pushed my fingertip into my own wetness, drawing the moisture up to my clit. I was wet with a fierce, boiling heat. I began to play with myself, watching him watching me, seeing how his eyes swept from my quivering tits to my tilted pussy and back to my face. Feasting on his hunger, on the rapt concentration I’d only ever seen him direct at newly-discovered artefacts before this moment. Under his gaze I felt as if every inch of my skin was alive with significance. My fingertip rolled over my burning clit, back and forth. I didn’t want it to end, but I knew it wouldn’t take me long; I’d been building up a sexual charge since he joined me in the pit. I felt my orgasm heave deep within me, reaching toward the surface, and then he obliged by covering my working hand with his, cupping my fingers and my pubic mound and my wetness for a moment before sliding two fingers deep into me. Already on the edge, I came at once with that first electric clitoral climax; he felt my muscles clench on him, pulsing, as I arched my back and cried out.
The stone roof echoed my voice, distorting it strangely.
Buy at Amazon US : Amazon UK : Google Play
October 4, 2015
October 2, 2015
I'm a Libidinous Zombie!
I'm proud to announce my inclusion in a new anthology! Libidinous Zombie is an audio and e-anthology (which may later go to print) edited by the silver-tongued Rose Caraway, who describes it as "my dream come true". Its a collection of erotic horror - not just zombies, I promise - and should be out for Hallowe'en this year!
The contributing authors are:
Allen Dusk
Jade A. Waters
Janine Ashbless
Malin James
Raziel Moore
Remittance Girl
Tamsin Flowers
Rose Caraway
My story is called The Sorcerer's Apprentice and it is a nasty, dirty, indefensibly evil tale, heh heh heh :-)
That's about all I can tell you at the moment, but feast your eyes on the striking and horrifically lovely artwork by Dayv Caraway...
September 30, 2015
"Game of Thrones plus Cucumber"
To celebrate the publication of Kristina Lloyd's On My Knees (featured last Eyecandy Monday), there are a couple of fun competitions going on...
Over at Kristina's blog you can have a go at comparing gobs and lipsticks of various erotica writers, including my ridiculous self. If you can match 12 writers to 12 lipsticks you can win a copy of On My Knees.
And Charlie Powell is sponsoring a short-short-story competition! Write a tale based around a lipstick name, and not only can you win a bigger prize, but Charlie and Kristina will be donating money to the charity Refuge for every entry they receive!
Closing date for both competitions is 11th October, so go for it!
September 28, 2015
Blue Monday: Kristina Lloyd guests
Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!
This week's guest is Kristina Lloyd with an excerpt from her brand new collection On my Knees, which presents fifteen of Kristina's best-loved tales of female submission, including 'The Bondage Pig', 'On My Knees in Barcelona' and 'All My Lovers in One Room'.
The stories in this collection feature a range of characters, settings and submissive desires. In 'Living off Lovers' a woman in a haunted apartment block becomes obsessed with a man she barely knows; while in another tale, Susanna, despite being married, can't stop thinking about her local butcher ('Cutting Out Hearts'). An army-boot fetishist meets her match in 'Boot Camp'; and when Coral's lover claims ownership of her ass, she orchestrates a threesome so she can enjoy being shared ('My Ass is Your Ass is My Ass').
"Kristina Lloyd is one of my favorite writers... Her atmospheric style sends me into orbit" - Alison Tyler
On My knees in Barcelona was originally published in 'Best Women’s Erotica 2010' (ed. Violet Blue). In this excerpt, it’s late and hot in Barcelona, and a woman visits a dingy, male-dominated bar in search of some ice.
The bartender poured a large brandy then set it in front of me.
“Gratis,” he said.
Unwilling to risk offence, I accepted the drink while trying to convince myself it left me under no obligation. So bloody English of me. Why couldn’t I decline the brandy, pay for the ice conventionally and leave?
“Graçias,” I said, turning to the customer, but I didn’t smile.
He nodded, lips tilting in wry amusement. The brandy was rough, its heat scorching my throat and blazing inside my chest. The nape of my neck was wet with sweat, my hair damp. I was concerned about the ice melting in my jug and wished I could sip the ice water. The ceiling fan clicked faintly. Nobody spoke and I was relieved. It could simply be that this guy was silently extending the hand of friendship. If so, I would silently shake it then shoot off home. The brandy was difficult to drink though, fire when I wanted ice.
“Ay, qué calor,” said my new friend at length.
“Sí, qué calor,” I replied.
Hot weather. I sipped my brandy. I could feel him watching and his passive interest bugged me. After a couple more minutes, wanting to escape his gaze, I asked for the lavabos and was directed down a flight of rickety stairs. I descended towards a basement with scruffy, dark crimson walls, toilets at the far end and a swing door with a small, dirty window lined with wire mesh. Halfway down the stairs, movement below caught my eye. I paused, looking over my shoulder at the corridor behind me. Beyond an open door was a guy on a chair and a woman on her knees, her head bobbing in his lap. I clutched the banister, immobilized by fear and a sudden, pornographic lust.
My cunt swelled and swelled, blood throbbing there. Oh Christ, what a picture. The guy’s mouth was slack, his head tipped back, as the woman, her chestnut curls fanning over his thighs, dipped up and down, up and down. Had they heard me? Hell, I hoped not. I needed to watch. Until that moment, I hadn’t known how much I wanted cock; hadn’t known how much I’d missed it since dumping the guitarist; hadn’t known that stab of raging desire. Because while I could fuck myself with cock-shaped objects (cool as a cucumber), nothing could ever come close to the overwhelming sensations of a deep, dark, blinding mouthful. I stared, hardly daring to breathe.
The guy was young and lean, a tumble of ink-black curls giving him an air of flamenco passion. Transfixed, I watch him grow fiercer, pulling the woman onto him, his fingers snarled in her hair as his pelvis rocked either to meet or defeat her. In her kneeling position, the woman kicked at the floor, squealing in muffled protest, her hands flapping. My yearning for cock was knocked for six by a second wave, a shocking urge to be claimed and used in a myriad of filthy ways.
My cunt flared to a cushiony mass of need, so sensitive I fancied I could feel the warp and weft of cotton in my underwear. I wanted to be where she was, at the mercy of a wild stranger who regarded me as nothing but an object for his pleasure, insignificant and disposable. I wanted to be all body and no mind, a thing made of cunt, mouth and ass, wide open and ready to receive.
Face aflame, I turned, intending to hurry back to the bar. I would put it from my thoughts, pretend nothing had happened, pretend I hadn’t seen either the couple or the grubby depths of my desire. Was this because I hadn’t had sex for so long? Was I craving the basest sort of action as compensation for those months of lack? Feeling shaky, I clasped the banister, mouth dry as a bone.
My stomach somersaulted. To my horror, at the head of the stairs stood the big-nosed guy from the bar. He grinned, descending in slow, swaggering steps. Panicking, I glanced down to the room. The guy in the chair was looking right at me, smirking as he slammed the woman’s head between his thighs. My knees turned wobbly while blood pumped in my ears, roaring like seashells and high fever.
Big Nose was at my side, his forehead gleaming with a film of sweat. He tipped his eyebrows at me. “Cuatro miles pesetas,” he said.
Outrage spiked my fear. Four thousand pesetas! He thought I was a whore, thought I would blow him for a nasty brandy and a handful of notes!
“Déjame paso!” I snapped, attempting to sidestep him. He mirrored me, blocking my path. I grew more afraid then, trapped between these two randy cucarachas, and yet my groin was pulsing as hard as my heart.
“Cuatro miles,” he repeated, nodding towards the basement room. Then in Spanish he added, “Take it, go on. It is a good price. You know you want it.”
And I understood at once that I was to pay; that I was the punter not the whore. I didn’t know whether to be more or less insulted. I stared at him, incredulous. He actually thought I was so desperate for cock I would pay to suck off a stranger in a sleazy, backstreet bar!
“Move,” I said, no longer bothering to speak his language. Despite being on a lower step, I tried shouldering him out of the way but with swift skill, he jostled me backward. I cried out to realize I was now sandwiched between him and the wall, his chest pressing against my breasts, my arms trapped in his hands. For several seconds we stood there, our breaths shallow and tense.
“No me molestes,” I said, a Berlitz phrase I’d never had to use before.
The guy laughed and with good reason. My demand sounded so pitifully insincere I may as well have said “Molest me”. He crooked a finger, resting it in the hollow of my throat, and I turned aside, looking past him to the room below. The woman was watching us. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and laughed, white teeth flashing. I was relieved to see she wasn’t in trouble but, more than that, I was relieved to see I wasn’t the only woman keen on skirting so close to danger.
Buy links for On My Knees
Amazon UK :: Amazon US :: Amazon Ca
Kristina Lloyd writes erotic fiction about sexually submissive women who like it on the dark, dirty and dangerous side. She is the author of five novels, including the controversial Black Lace
bestseller, Asking for Trouble, a dark, psychological thriller dubbed ‘awesome’ by top-selling crime writer Elizabeth Haynes.
Kristina’s short stories appear in numerous UK and US anthologies, including several ‘best of’ collections, and her work has been translated into German, Dutch and Japanese. Her non-fiction has been published in The Guardian, The Sunday Times Travel, Scarlet, FHM, Filament, The International Business Times and more. She has a master’s degree in twentieth century literature and lives by the sea in Brighton, UK.
Visit her at her blog or follow her on Twitter.
This week's guest is Kristina Lloyd with an excerpt from her brand new collection On my Knees, which presents fifteen of Kristina's best-loved tales of female submission, including 'The Bondage Pig', 'On My Knees in Barcelona' and 'All My Lovers in One Room'.
The stories in this collection feature a range of characters, settings and submissive desires. In 'Living off Lovers' a woman in a haunted apartment block becomes obsessed with a man she barely knows; while in another tale, Susanna, despite being married, can't stop thinking about her local butcher ('Cutting Out Hearts'). An army-boot fetishist meets her match in 'Boot Camp'; and when Coral's lover claims ownership of her ass, she orchestrates a threesome so she can enjoy being shared ('My Ass is Your Ass is My Ass').
"Kristina Lloyd is one of my favorite writers... Her atmospheric style sends me into orbit" - Alison Tyler
On My knees in Barcelona was originally published in 'Best Women’s Erotica 2010' (ed. Violet Blue). In this excerpt, it’s late and hot in Barcelona, and a woman visits a dingy, male-dominated bar in search of some ice.
The bartender poured a large brandy then set it in front of me.
“Gratis,” he said.
Unwilling to risk offence, I accepted the drink while trying to convince myself it left me under no obligation. So bloody English of me. Why couldn’t I decline the brandy, pay for the ice conventionally and leave?
“Graçias,” I said, turning to the customer, but I didn’t smile.
He nodded, lips tilting in wry amusement. The brandy was rough, its heat scorching my throat and blazing inside my chest. The nape of my neck was wet with sweat, my hair damp. I was concerned about the ice melting in my jug and wished I could sip the ice water. The ceiling fan clicked faintly. Nobody spoke and I was relieved. It could simply be that this guy was silently extending the hand of friendship. If so, I would silently shake it then shoot off home. The brandy was difficult to drink though, fire when I wanted ice.
“Ay, qué calor,” said my new friend at length.
“Sí, qué calor,” I replied.
Hot weather. I sipped my brandy. I could feel him watching and his passive interest bugged me. After a couple more minutes, wanting to escape his gaze, I asked for the lavabos and was directed down a flight of rickety stairs. I descended towards a basement with scruffy, dark crimson walls, toilets at the far end and a swing door with a small, dirty window lined with wire mesh. Halfway down the stairs, movement below caught my eye. I paused, looking over my shoulder at the corridor behind me. Beyond an open door was a guy on a chair and a woman on her knees, her head bobbing in his lap. I clutched the banister, immobilized by fear and a sudden, pornographic lust.
My cunt swelled and swelled, blood throbbing there. Oh Christ, what a picture. The guy’s mouth was slack, his head tipped back, as the woman, her chestnut curls fanning over his thighs, dipped up and down, up and down. Had they heard me? Hell, I hoped not. I needed to watch. Until that moment, I hadn’t known how much I wanted cock; hadn’t known how much I’d missed it since dumping the guitarist; hadn’t known that stab of raging desire. Because while I could fuck myself with cock-shaped objects (cool as a cucumber), nothing could ever come close to the overwhelming sensations of a deep, dark, blinding mouthful. I stared, hardly daring to breathe.
The guy was young and lean, a tumble of ink-black curls giving him an air of flamenco passion. Transfixed, I watch him grow fiercer, pulling the woman onto him, his fingers snarled in her hair as his pelvis rocked either to meet or defeat her. In her kneeling position, the woman kicked at the floor, squealing in muffled protest, her hands flapping. My yearning for cock was knocked for six by a second wave, a shocking urge to be claimed and used in a myriad of filthy ways.
My cunt flared to a cushiony mass of need, so sensitive I fancied I could feel the warp and weft of cotton in my underwear. I wanted to be where she was, at the mercy of a wild stranger who regarded me as nothing but an object for his pleasure, insignificant and disposable. I wanted to be all body and no mind, a thing made of cunt, mouth and ass, wide open and ready to receive.
Face aflame, I turned, intending to hurry back to the bar. I would put it from my thoughts, pretend nothing had happened, pretend I hadn’t seen either the couple or the grubby depths of my desire. Was this because I hadn’t had sex for so long? Was I craving the basest sort of action as compensation for those months of lack? Feeling shaky, I clasped the banister, mouth dry as a bone.
My stomach somersaulted. To my horror, at the head of the stairs stood the big-nosed guy from the bar. He grinned, descending in slow, swaggering steps. Panicking, I glanced down to the room. The guy in the chair was looking right at me, smirking as he slammed the woman’s head between his thighs. My knees turned wobbly while blood pumped in my ears, roaring like seashells and high fever.
Big Nose was at my side, his forehead gleaming with a film of sweat. He tipped his eyebrows at me. “Cuatro miles pesetas,” he said.
Outrage spiked my fear. Four thousand pesetas! He thought I was a whore, thought I would blow him for a nasty brandy and a handful of notes!
“Déjame paso!” I snapped, attempting to sidestep him. He mirrored me, blocking my path. I grew more afraid then, trapped between these two randy cucarachas, and yet my groin was pulsing as hard as my heart.
“Cuatro miles,” he repeated, nodding towards the basement room. Then in Spanish he added, “Take it, go on. It is a good price. You know you want it.”
And I understood at once that I was to pay; that I was the punter not the whore. I didn’t know whether to be more or less insulted. I stared at him, incredulous. He actually thought I was so desperate for cock I would pay to suck off a stranger in a sleazy, backstreet bar!
“Move,” I said, no longer bothering to speak his language. Despite being on a lower step, I tried shouldering him out of the way but with swift skill, he jostled me backward. I cried out to realize I was now sandwiched between him and the wall, his chest pressing against my breasts, my arms trapped in his hands. For several seconds we stood there, our breaths shallow and tense.
“No me molestes,” I said, a Berlitz phrase I’d never had to use before.
The guy laughed and with good reason. My demand sounded so pitifully insincere I may as well have said “Molest me”. He crooked a finger, resting it in the hollow of my throat, and I turned aside, looking past him to the room below. The woman was watching us. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and laughed, white teeth flashing. I was relieved to see she wasn’t in trouble but, more than that, I was relieved to see I wasn’t the only woman keen on skirting so close to danger.
Buy links for On My Knees
Amazon UK :: Amazon US :: Amazon Ca
Kristina Lloyd writes erotic fiction about sexually submissive women who like it on the dark, dirty and dangerous side. She is the author of five novels, including the controversial Black Lace
bestseller, Asking for Trouble, a dark, psychological thriller dubbed ‘awesome’ by top-selling crime writer Elizabeth Haynes.
Kristina’s short stories appear in numerous UK and US anthologies, including several ‘best of’ collections, and her work has been translated into German, Dutch and Japanese. Her non-fiction has been published in The Guardian, The Sunday Times Travel, Scarlet, FHM, Filament, The International Business Times and more. She has a master’s degree in twentieth century literature and lives by the sea in Brighton, UK.
Visit her at her blog or follow her on Twitter.
