Janine Ashbless's Blog, page 75

Working from home

:-)

23 and Me

I've had my genes checked out with 23andMe. I wanted to know something about my genetic ancestry, and  - more importantly from a practical point of view - my future health risks.

Now there really are good reasons not to risk this. For a start, you could find out some very bad news indeed, which might affect not only you but your relatives. I don't recommend it to everyone, but I decided to go for it:

I am lucky enough to live in a country where my health care does not depend on talking an insurance company into coughing up cashI have no childrenMy sister and her children aren't genetically related to meMy brother already has a life-limiting condition with a genetic component, but he went ahead and had kids anyway, so I figure he's a fatalist
So after a disgusting spit-harvesting test whilst watching "How I Met your Mother"(!) - and a couple of months wait - I got my results back, and it's pretty cool:

I am in 3.1% Neanderthal, which I am totally stoked about! (Their customer average is 2.7%, as is the European average). It's like being a half-orc or something :-DMy more recent genes are depressingly homogeneous (lol) - I am definitely 99.8% European and probably 68% straight British/Irish. Nothing Ashkenazi, nothing from East Asia, the Middle East, India or America. Even the astonishingly fecund Genghis Khan doesn't seem to have sent his seed this far. No great Viking input even  ... Clearly my ancestors did not get out a whole lot.Much more interestingly, I am 0.6% Sardinian and have a small (0.1%) but fairly definite sub-Saharan Africa component. (Don't worry, I will not be doing a Rachel Dolezal anytime).
Health-wise? Nothing very shocking. They do send you three 'locked' reports which you have to opt into to see. Genetic tendencies to Alzheimer's, Parkinson's and breast cancer. For me, this turned out to be one badish news, one neutral and one good news.

I'm one of those people who would rather know in advance. I'm happy with my decision :-)                          

Library porn

Today I paid an all-too-brief visit to Leeds Central Library -  a vast Victorian palace of tiled floors and elaborate carvings in which the modern books look somewhat out of place, like they long to be leather-bound folios.

For all you library fans, my pictures below:





Tiled wall of the old reading room ... ... which is the cafe nowadays Snogging dogs!

The local history room "1st floor: C.I.D, Aliens registration, firearms registration, lost and found property, policewomen". Boy was librarianship TOUGH in those days!

Blue Monday - Primula Bond guests

 Every Monday I post a filthy excerpt for your entertainment!

This week's excerpt is from The Pool Party, by Primula Bond. It is one of the stories in the wet-themed anthology Drenched .



 Odette reaches the deep end and rests against the tiled side, arms outstretched along the edge, her big tits bobbing like air-filled buoys on the surface of the water.  Steam rises as the water shifts, her breasts teasing in and out of the water.
 
    Excitement kicks inside Kara's belly. The other guests are pretending not to watch as they help themselves to the drinks still left on the trays. Francois, Suki, and some other youngsters are still on the beach. The rest of the staff have gone home.

    Odette is on a mission. She beckons Kara over and wraps her arms round Kara's waist.  Kara knows she’s not the first woman Odette has played with like this. She wonders what the others are, or were, like. Is it her red hair that attracts Odette? Her white, limber body? Or just something behind the eyes that has woken up and said come and get me?

    Odette has probably tried everything under the sun at least once. And that's what Kara wants to do.

   The two women's faces are up close. Kara runs her hands over Odette's hips, over her ribcage. She can feel no bone, just soft, yielding flesh, and then those gorgeous breasts nuzzling into her hands. That's why they are called puppies! She looks down, pinches the long brown nipples into stiffness, and her own grow hard as nuts as if they are being fondled as well.  As Kara teases each taut tip, Odette arches her back so that everyone can see what Kara is doing to her.  

   Odette's legs encircle Kara's waist and their two bodies, two pussies, brush together. Kara smiles. Puppies and pussies. How cute is that?  Hard nipple scrapes across hard nipple and the tight ball of desire inside Kara starts to unravel.

   Odette wraps her arms around Kara's neck and kisses her, her big, generous lips tickling, her tongue flicking. Kara sucks the older woman's tongue into her mouth and as they circle in the steaming water they writhe and grind against each other, pussy lips parting, burning clits emerging, seeking friction.

     Kara keeps her eyes closed, imagining the watching faces, but what she doesn't expect is audience participation. Suddenly there's a mighty splash at the other end of the pool. The women pause then pull apart slowly, allowing their tongues to linger in a little slick of saliva, before they turn lazily to see who is joining them. Another girl, perhaps?

     Henri is swimming across the pool, already naked.  The handful of guests are gathered round the pool, sitting on loungers or standing, intrigued by the promise of aqueous synchrony.   Kara's frustration coils into jealousy as he pushes himself against his wife and there's an answering leap of desire in Odette's’s eyes.

    ‘I thought you weren’t into anything over thirty these days?’ taunts Odette as her husband's big hands reappear to stroke her breasts. ‘After all, I’m only your wife.’

    ‘Yes, but something has fired up your lagging appetite since we arrived here.’

     The competition, now that Henri has joined them, makes Kara all the more determined to win back Odette's attention. Under the cover of the water she edges her hand between Odette's legs, parting the soft lips with her fingers. Smiling and gasping with surprise Odette falls back against Henri, hooking her ankles loosely round Kara's thighs so that her body rises to the surface of the pool like an offering.

     ‘I'm tempted to stay right here,' Henri replies, hands moving possessively over his wife's breasts.  The guests crane forwards, and another man Kara hasn't seen before, casually dressed, pulls off his shorts and Breton jersey and dives in to the pool. Kara assumes everyone will join now, but the others stay on dry land, assuming this is all part of the entertainment.

  The new guy swims up and circles them like a shark. Henri looks so astonished that he doesn't stop his thickset, unshaven rival, from joining in. Kara can see there's some kind of power struggle going on between the two men, but she has her own power struggle going on now. She wants to fight them for Odette's lovely body. Pushing her fingers inside Odette, she leans forward over Odette’s bare belly, pushes Henri's hand out of the way and bites down on one taut nipple. Henri and the other man fall away to watch. The bud enters Kara's mouth, thrusting up against her teeth, and Kara sucks on it, blinded by the wicked excitement searing through her. 

   There's an answering pull on her fingers as Odette's cunt tightens. She starts to fidget in the water, and Kara sucks harder on the tight nipples, thrusting her fingers in and out of Odette until she comes, moaning in surprise, her head splashing back in the water.

   Everyone on the edge of the pool starts clapping.

     The two men waste no time in tugging Kara and a limp Odette to the shallow end. Maybe now's the time to scramble out of the pool. But the men are just getting started.  The shallower the water gets, the higher their torsos rise from the water, until Henri's cock shoots upwards out of the water and bangs against Odette's face.  At the same time, the second man comes up behind Kara, his big hands on her hips. She tries to pull away, but Henri shakes his head.

   'You stay right there and do as you're told,' he says, cradling Odette so that she is floating on her back in front of him. 'And watch what I do to my wife when she has been naughty.'  Standing to one side of Odette, Henri pokes the swollen head of his massive dick into the corner of her mouth. 

   For a moment Odette remains motionless as if she is asleep, then her mouth opens slowly.  Her tongue slips out and welcomes the round knob, sucking it in. Those lips that Kara was just kissing, and so beautifully made for blowjobs, start pulling on her husband's stiff cock.  Not even an expert mouth like hers could take in the entire length without choking, and the sight of at least a third of his length sliding in and out of Odette's mouth turns Kara to jelly as she absently strokes Odette's legs. 

   She wants to be out of the pool, on a big warm bed away from everybody, rolling her body to fit with Odette's. She wants to abandon herself to the experience of feeling Odette's big lips kissing her again, going down on her snatch, nibbling her clit, tonguing her cunt - she wants it all.

   But she's not going to get it, at least not this minute, because the other man has pushed up and bent her over Odette's prone body so that now her face is between Odette's floating thighs. She kisses the other woman there, parting her legs to reveal the plump, delicious crevice; and as she bends to lick her mistress, the second man pulls Kara's legs apart and she's so excited and so wet that when he pushes himself inside she is ready.

     Kara tries to focus on licking her lovely Odette but she is losing control. Her aroused body responds to the man’s brutal, rough stimulation. His big fingers under the water somehow muffle the roughness, but a fierce renewed lust still kicks inside her. 

      Her bottom is tipped up out of the water and into the air for everyone to see. The man opens her up, pushes his hard cock into her. Then, as her body loosens and lets him in, his strong hands rock her violently back and forth as he thrusts hard and fast, and now all Kara can think about and see and hear are her own groans of lust, Odette's muffled moans, and the bestial grunting of the men.  

     ‘Doucement,' growls the man in Kara's ear. 'God, you feel as good as our hostess!'

   Kara's not sure she's heard right, but she can't think further than the cock filling her, its accelerating, determined thrusts, pushing her forwards so that her face grinds into Odette's pussy. What an incredible combination they must make. Two men, two women. A sexual chain, a novel kind of line dance. The working parts of a sex machine.

   Kara gives herself up to this debauchery. Odette is in her hands. Everything is fine. More than fine. Odette opens her mouth to show us the stream of her husband's cum and that starts the chain reaction of the others, until they are all coming, lifting and splashing in the water in a shuddering sequence.

     There is a brief silence, just the panting of the participants and the splashing of the water against the edge of the pool. Then the laughter and clapping starts again. The men swim silently to the edge, shaking the water from their hair.  Kara edges herself up close to Odette even as the men climb out of the pool, their buttocks taut and muscled, their heavy cocks and juicy balls still bouncing and swinging as they strut to the chairs to pick up their clothes.

   'Who the hell was that?' Kara gasps, pointing at the rough guy now giving a jovial high five to Henri.

   'That's my friend with the art gallery,' laughs Odette, kissing her softly and reaching for a towel. 'Come and meet him properly!'

Drenched at Amazon US : Amazon UK

"I am an Oxford educated married mother of three boys and have worked variously as a London temp, a kindergarten teacher in Cairo, and a legal secretary. My part time day job is working for criminal lawyers and sometimes going to the law courts to take notes for the
barristers during a case. I also take in foreign students to feed my addiction for nice cars, sumptious meals out and sun-drenched holidays. As you can imagine, the law courts, foreign students, living in Cairo and most other experiences in my life provide a rich fodder for my novels.

I write newspaper features and am still struggling to get something 'literary' published, but I started writing erotica as a kind of challenge when I was once rejected by Mills and Boon for being too sexy! Since my first story, Man In A Cage, was published by For Women magazine back in 1995 I have lost count of the number of short stories I have written for magazines and for Virgin Books, but I never run out of ideas."

Primula's blog
Primula on Goodreads
Primula on Facebook
Primula's Amazon page

Lord of the Dance

All creative works builds on what came before...
Photographed and animated by Nina Paley. Music by Todd Michaelsen
Posted by Alp Alphan on Sunday, 12 April 2015

I love this!

Frenzy of Exultations

Frenzy of Exultations (1893)

Władysław Podkowiński was a Polish painter of pretty countryside scenes who clearly had a bit of a Moment one day, and in the midst of his battle with terminal TB produced one inspired symbolist painting that surprised the hell out of everyone. Including himself, it seems.

Thirty-six days into the sensational public exhibition of this painting - 12,000 people had queued to be thoroughly scandalised - Podkowiński rocked up to his creation and slashed it repeatedly with a knife, cutting only at the figure of the woman.

The 3m high painting was restored after his death, and donated to the national museum in Krakow.

There's a story in there somewhere: a dark muse, a succubus riding a nightmare, the terrifying power of eroticism...

Happy again

Following on from last Wednesday's grim maunderings, I am delighted to say that all the news has been good news, our dire contingency plans can be scrapped, and that my life can go on as normal.

Or as it was broken to me: "I'm about to ruin the narrative..."

How else do you give a writer good news, eh?  :-D

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a filthy excerpt for your entertainment!

Revisiting my old novels and novellas for my re-vamped website reminded me how much I loved my story Bear Skin, which is part of my Secret Agenda (you can look that up on the website too). It's a retelling of the fairy story "East of the Sun, West of the Moon" - and fairy stories are on my mind at the moment too, since I will be talking about them at Eroticon!


Three writers from Black Lace show you there's nothing childish about fairy tales. In Bear Skin Hazel is whisked away from her tedious job and humdrum life by the mysterious bear Arailt, to be his lover. The only problem is there is more to Arailt than meets the eye - much more! 
The East Wind lived right on the edge of London in a penthouse flat overlooking marshy country bleak with driven snow. Three hundred and sixty degrees of curved glass gave him wonderful light, even on a winter’s dawn. He opened the door with a camera in his hand.

‘This is Hazel,’ said Skuld, and walked away.

‘You have an interesting face,’ said the East Wind. ‘May I take some pictures?’ His own face was craggy and hawkish with a long nose and thick brows, and he was casually dressed in grey T-shirt and trousers with designer logos.

‘I’m looking for the house East of the Sun and West of the Moon,’ I gasped.

‘I know. Why?’

I was momentarily confused. ‘There’s a man – Arailt-’

‘I know that. Why are you trying to get to him?’

I bit my lip. His scrutiny was cold but intense. ‘It’s my fault that he’s held there. I’m to blame.’ I shuffled my feet. ‘That’s what everyone thinks, anyway.’

‘Really? Does Arailt blame you too?’

I thought about the flare of his anger, as bright as a match-strike in that darkened bedroom and then extinguished almost as quickly - because in his heart of hearts he’d never expected me to succeed.

‘No,’ I said, feeling sick. Arailt’s forgiveness was as unbearable as everyone else’s condemnation. He’d expected so very little of me.

‘Fascinating.’ The East Wind lifted his camera to his eye and clicked.

‘Will you take me?’ I asked, my mouth dry.

‘I can’t. I don’t go that way. But … if you’ll let me take some pictures of you I’ll ask my brother the West Wind. He might be able to carry you there.’

I blinked.

‘Will you?’ He steered me gently to face the inner walls of his apartment. They were covered in huge blown-up photographs of women. The pictures were all monochrome and to my untrained eye extremely beautiful. I was certain from the style that he was the one who’d taken the portrait of the Queen of Shadows. They were also, despite their tasteful artiness – a curved shoulder here, a flexed back there, the stark black lines of a leather bodice on pale skin – unmistakably themed around bondage and fetishwear.

‘Like that? Do you … put them on exhibit? To the public?’

‘Of course.’

As if I’d not been censured and disparaged enough. I thought of Arailt and took a deep breath. ‘Okay.’

He took me through to his studio, which was set up with lights and back-cloths and, in one corner, a computer and a huge flat screen. Displayed on it right then was the picture he’d just taken of my face, the doubt and dismay etched around my eyes for all to see. It’s not easy to confront your own face on that scale. ‘Ignore the screen,’ he advised me: ‘Just pay attention to me. Now, if you’d care to undress…’

He took photos swiftly and casually while I undressed, as if to get me used to the camera’s intrusive eye and the pageant of images it produced. Then he got out a roll of black tape and took pictures of my bound wrists and ankles. The tape wasn’t sticky on my skin but it clung to itself securely when wound multiple times. He set me in various poses, seated and then lying down. The creamy texture of my skin filled the screen. He blew on my nipples to bring them erect and the resulting close-shot, with those tight areolae perfectly rendered, surprised even me with its vulnerable beauty. He took pictures of my backside and my spread thighs and my flushed face. I couldn’t stop blushing. He took pictures with and without flash, fiddling with the camera settings, absorbed in the technicalities of lighting. I found his abstraction both comforting and provoking: a man shouldn’t be able to see a woman’s pussy peeking between the pale curves of her thighs like that without being moved.

He taped my wrists to my ankles so that I was nearly immobile and took shots of my raised arse. The flash went off like a rain of warm kisses on my sex. I wriggled, forgetting my anxieties. He fetched something from his desk. ‘Do you mind?’

It was a bullet-shaped object about the size of my thumb, the colour of haematite. I stared.

‘It’ll take your mind off any discomfort,’ he said with a smile, slipping it between my sex-lips. I was moist to his touch. The bullet came with a remote-control; when he thumbed the button it came to life within me with a low purr, sending its vibrations right through me. I gave a little gasp.

‘Too intense?’ he whispered. ‘No. I don’t think so.’

He laid me on my side and then on my back for more photos, shooting several directly up between my quivering thighs. The vibrator hummed, provoking a thousand tiny electric shocks to my nerve-endings. My breathing was coming in a new rhythm. I twisted against my bonds, finding them frustrating, shifting my pelvis. The East Wind took shot after shot; hundreds by now, maybe into the thousands. He caught my flushed face and my parted lips and my dilated pupils. He caught the sheen on my breastbone and the first glisten of escaping moisture between my plump labia. He explored my slit with his fingers and captured the expression on my face, shooting one-handed, awkwardly, but still snatching each tiny moment from oblivion.

‘Oh God,’ I whispered, my eyes full of terrible, wonderful images of my own helpless surrender to desire. ‘I’m going to come. Please. Please. Let me.’

‘Hold on a little longer,’ he whispered, opening his own trousers and releasing a stubby, immensely thick erection. He knelt over me to jerk off. It was the only time in the session that he wasn’t able to take pictures as he needed both hands; one to cup his big balls and one to jack his tool. His splashes of hot, sticky semen fell copiously on my belly and tits and open lips. And as soon as he’d done he snatched up the camera again and shot like he was thrusting into me. One finger sought my sex and stirred my clit and I arched and spat and came shamelessly under the repeated thud of the flash, soaking up the light, letting him see everything and capture everything, for all time.

As I showered and dressed he sifted through the photos on the computer. ‘That one, I think,’ he said at last, putting it up full-sized on the screen. I looked at the low-angle shot. My right breast dominated the foreground, with my partially-occluded face behind. There were pearly globs of jism melting on my nipple and the curve of my breast, but it was the expression in my eyes that really caught me; that expression of terrible need and sorrow that was almost agony - and yet somehow perfect. It was like looking into my naked soul and seeing everything that I felt for Arailt. I looked beautiful.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s the one.’


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Le Bookshop Pun

Reginald D Hunter

Yay! I'm off to a Reginald D Hunter standup gig tonight.

Younger version
Double bonus: not only is he funny but he's one of the very few few comedians who's HOT too :-)

Older version ... because I am old too and I appreciate a bit of grey ;-)