Friday, 18 January 2019

Playing hooky



I spent yesterday in London rampaging around as many museums as I could in a day!


I saw this at the Tate Britain:


Which was just GLORIOUS - Burne-Jones isn't even my fave Pre-Raphaelite, but this collection of paintings and tapestries was just beyond amazing. I will post more photos later...


I went to the British Museum


for this:

And this:


And I finished off at the delightful Wellcome Collection of historical medical "objects" collected by a Victorian philanthropist -


for this kinda thing:

Birthing model for trainee doctors


A bourdalou - a chamber pot for ladies!


Roman votive offerings

and for this:

A BEETROOT LATTE :O
Then I went home and watched Bandersnatch, just to balance out my aching feet with an aching head!

Monday, 14 January 2019

Blue Monday special

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment! All since all this week my filthy fairy novel Named and Shamed is on a special price promo, here's a typically deranged excerpt from the wildest ride I've ever taken readers on:



Fairy tales were always thought to be childhood fancies. That is until the fairy folk returned.

As the closest thing to an expert on all things otherworldly, nobody knows better than Tansy the dangers of Them There. But with the world thrown into chaos, and another’s life in her hands, she has no choice other than to accept a magical offer of help.

And as Tansy soon finds out, there is always a price to pay for dealing with the Fairies. A price that may include her own life, if she can't find the True Name she is looking for.

So begins a descent into the wildest realms of Faerie - and into the darkest depths of Tansy's own out-of-control desires.



I turned on my heel and walked away, stuffing my boobs back into my bra. Vince dropped into the driving seat as I reached the car.

“Let’s go,” I said grimly, fishing a pack of baby-wipes out of the glove box and starting to clean up my knees and boots. “We’ve got trouble.”

“You’re trouble all on your own, girl.” He gunned the engine.

“You don’t know the half of it. That lot from the pub are still looking for us.”

Gail shot me a hard, angry glance. “You’ve got to be joking?”

“I wish,” I said, with feeling. “That’s all we need, isn’t it?” I swabbed moodily at my legs as we zigzagged down the twisty lanes. I felt scared and wired and guilty at the danger I was getting my friends into, and the combination didn’t sit well with me. As I tried to knot up the plastic bag I’d stuffed the dirty wipes into, it split and I lost my temper.

“Shit!” I shouted, flinging it all down.

Vince pulled the car over into a field gate and stopped the engine, glaring at me. I glared back — and then became aware that I’d rammed my hand between my thighs and was grinding it against my pubic mound in frustration.

“Get the fuck out of the car,” said Vince softly.

I was so surprised I obeyed. He came round onto the verge side where I stood, and shut my door for me with a decisive clunk. His eyes bored into mine.

“Turn around. Face the car.”

All the air went out of my lungs. As I turned, he tugged up my skirt, swatted my bum-cheeks and then reached down to grab my pussy, mashing it hard in his hand. I let out a strangled squeal as the burn flamed through my flesh.

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” he growled in my ear. “You’re just gagging to open wide for every man we meet, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” I moaned.

“I don’t know why you bother putting knickers on in the morning, girl. Unless it’s to keep your knees warm.” He demonstrated by pulling the garment in question right down and exposing my cunt.

“Spread them.”

I did what I was told, stretching my panties across my open thighs and thrusting my ass out in presentation. He smacked my sex with his open palm and I heard the wet splat.

“Damn!” he said appreciatively. “You’re just fucking insatiable. Your pussy’s like a black hole, girl — you’re going to swallow the whole damn world. Well, put me at the top of the queue.”

Action was matched to promise as his cock suddenly butted up against my pussy and — without preamble or foreplay — bulled straight into that tight hole, making me cry out.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, grabbing my hips and making space for his cock inside me with a few firm thrusts.

“God, you’re hard!” I yelped, awed. I couldn’t believe he was fucking me in broad daylight at the side of a public road. Where anyone could see us.

“That’s watching you blow that farmer,” he grunted, through gritted teeth. “You, going down on your knees in the shit for that big ugly mother. With your tits out, wobbling. That’s the dirtiest thing I ever saw. You’re the dirtiest girl I ever met, Tansy. Sex on a fucking stick, girl! Sure, my cock wants some of that.”

And I wanted to give him everything his cock would take. With the whole world watching. Bracing against the car, I moved my hips to meet his every savage thrust. He was hard as iron and he moved like a machine built for fucking.

I didn’t think it could get any better — until Gail wound down the window from inside, pulled out my tits from their straining bra and bit them, chewing on my nipples until I came — screaming, “Yes! Oh Christ yes… yes! Fuck me! FUCK ME!” up and down the Queen’s highway.

Yeah. Vince was right. That was what I needed.

Buy Named and Shamed at:

Amazon Smartlink $0.99 /£0.99!!!
Kobo - £0.99!!!
Apple iTunes Smartlink - $0.99 / £0.99!!!


Friday, 11 January 2019

The loneliness of the long-distance editor


Just an update on what I'm up to. I've been getting first edits off to the authors this week - there's just one left to do at the weekend.

Here's the stats:



9 stories (chosen blind, i.e. without knowing who wrote them)

5x M/F
2x M/M
2x F/F

3x Zombies
3x UK spelling, 6x USA spelling and/or setting.

According to publisher Anna Sky (who has access to legal names on contracts), 5 of the authors are women, 4 are men.



Honestly, I could not be happier! I think I've got an amazing, very eclectic mix of tales. They vary from literary to bawdy, hopeful to heartbreaking, historical to SF.

And I just LOVE the process of being an editor. It feels like I'm polishing up pieces of jewellery that have been loaned by craftspeople to put on display - and it's such an honour to work with these beautifully wrought pieces.

It's also terrifying, because I've been on the other side of the process. I know how defensive I get whenever I see an editor's red pen on my work. My instinct is to protect my creation - every word choice, every semi-colon (... especially the semi-colons!). I've probably wound up 9 very talented authors this week, I'm sure, to some extent or another.

The only thing is, I also don't like an editor who says "Yeah, everything's fine" for my work. I don't believe them. I'm too close to the story - I can't see the writing as the reader out there will. I know I need an outside eye, coming to the text cold, needing to be convinced. The editor is there, in large part, to advocate for future readers. To say "Okay, I don't think that bit is entirely clear - can you just tweak it a bit?"

So I'm nervous, and I don't want to piss anyone off, and I know my analytical streak can be a bit domineering if I don't keep an eye on it... but I've got to make the best anthology I possibly can.

And I honestly think it's going to be awesome ๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–

Wednesday, 9 January 2019

Seasonal fashion notes


My friend Annie crocheted me some sparkly dragon-scale writing gloves for Xmas ๐Ÿ˜

Of course y'all know that writers are supposed to look like this when they work:

BadStockPhotosOfMyJob

So I'm rather letting the side down this week in my gloves and shawl ๐Ÿ˜

Frankly, it's a triumph if I'm not still in my dressing gown

From the bottom of my heart I apologise to the erotica writing community, and I promise I'll try harder!

Monday, 7 January 2019

Blue Monday: Samantha MacLeod guests

Welcome to 2019!

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment, and we kick off the year with one from blog favourite Samantha McLeod, who has a new short story collection out - Legends and Lovers:


A passionate one night stand sparks a struggle between two worlds. A young Irish priest meets his match in the spirited woman he’s sent to tame. And the Norse trickster Loki finds more than he bargained for when he partners with Thor to retrieve the Thunderer’s lost hammer.

Sensual and poetic, this spellbinding collection of erotic stories from Samantha Mac-Leod transports you to a world where gods walk among mortals, the long-dead return to embrace the living, and the fires of passion burn bright enough to transform even the immortals.


(This excerpt is from The New Priest of Dunquin)


It was an especially beautiful day in early June, the Wednesday when everything changed. I’d rushed through my chores, digging potatoes from the field with frantic energy and sweeping out the henhouse like a dervish. When I arrived on the steps of the church, nearly breathless but pausing to smooth my hair, I found John had packed a lunch for us to share.

“I thought we could walk the cliffs,” he said. “Seems a shame to be indoors to-day.”

So we walked, although we might as well have been walking in a circle around the church for all I noticed. The cliffs of the Dingle Penninsula, those famous black, jagged rocks topped with emerald that draw tourists by the thousands, were no more than a passing distraction from the lines and curves of John’s face.

We stopped for lunch in a little hollow, tucked away from the wind and out of sight. After sharing his homemade bread and a chunk of hard farmhouse cheese, John lay back in the grass to stare at the sky. After a moment’s consideration, I joined him, placing my head in the crook of his arm. It seemed only natural.

“What’s it like, then?” I asked.

The warmth of the early summer sun rolled over both of us as the breakers crashed against the rocks far below.

“Hmmmm?”

“Heaven. God. All that. Surely you know?”

He laughed softly, his beautiful laugh that filled the hollow places in my heart and made me feel that this was, without doubt, the most perfect of all possible worlds.

His hand moved idly through my hair as he answered, and my skin prickled with heat. “They say it’s eternal bliss, in heaven,” he answered. “There’s no time, no sense of urgency or regret. It’s just...joy.”

“That’s how I feel with you,” I said.

Looking back, it’s impossible to say who moved first. Perhaps he leaned to me; perhaps I stretched to reach him. I would prefer to think we both moved, our lips meeting for the first time to fill the space between us, sparked into motion by the unspoken, urgent needs of both our bodies.

Either way, he kissed me, and my heart opened like a flower greeting the distant sun. Heat flashed through me as the world shrank, reduced to the single point in space where our lips met. I closed my eyes, melting against his chest.

John pulled back. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he stammered.

I did not give him the chance to finish his sentence. I wrapped my hand around his neck, pulling his lips back to mine. He came willingly. His mouth opened for me, allowing my tongue to explore him. My hands sought his body, pushing his sweater over his chest, running my fingers along the warm, hard lines of his abdomen, the body that had filled my dreams for months.

I hesitated at his waistband, my fingers trembling. I’d followed the delicate rasp of hair against my palm, leading down, as our lips pressed against each other. Finally, half stunned by my own desperate boldness, I let my fingers dip below his pants to where his hair thickened and grow coarser.

He moaned into my mouth, and I became shameless. I wanted to feel all of him, the length of his body against mine. I pushed myself up from the grass and wrapped my legs around his waist, my skirts pooling over his thighs. I could feel him, the hard, hot length of him under his pants, and my body burned in response, pressing closer to him, heat from the core of me soaking into his pants, coating him. His breath came in hot gasps against my lips, and my hips churned into his, feeling him pulse in response, the fire inside me wanting to get closer and closer. Oh, he felt so good beneath my thighs, my John—

Then the pleasure crested, and I thought I was dying. Red heat exploded across my vision as every muscle in my body tensed, every nerve fired. I cried out, my mind swept away. Beneath me, John’s hard body shuddered and he gasped as his hands gripped my thighs hard enough to leave bruises.

I collapsed on top of his chest, panting into the hollow of his neck. He smelled so good, clean and warm, with a lingering hint of thick, holy incense. But his neck tensed against my kisses, and he sat up, pushing me off.

“Shannon…” he began, his voice trembling.

He stood, and I saw the dark, wet patch on the front of his pants. I blushed, thinking it had all come from me. John shook his head, ran his fingers through the waves of his sand-colored hair, and turned away from me. He began walking in a rushed sort of stumble toward the huddled stone buildings of Dunquin, almost as though he were drunk.

“John!” I called.

He did not stop. I came to my feet, my legs trembling, my heart throbbing in my chest. He did not look back, my John.

And so I ran to him.

“John,” I panted, closing the distance between us.

I grabbed his arm, forcing him to spin and meet my eyes. His face churned with emotions I could scarcely recognize, and his dark blue eyes burned. His lips trembled, but no words escaped.

“John, it was heaven,” I whispered. “It was just like heaven.”


Buy Legends and Lovers at:

Amazon US

Amazon UK
Everywhere else

Born and raised in Colorado, Samantha MacLeod has lived in every time zone in the US, and London. She has a bachelor’s degree from Colby College and an M.A. from the University of Chicago; yes, the U. of C. really is where fun comes to die.

Samantha lives with her husband and two small children in the woods of southern Maine. When she’s not shoveling snow or writing steamy sex scenes, Samantha can be found teaching college composition and philosophy to undergraduates who have no idea she leads a double life as an erotica author.

Samantha’s Blog
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Monday, 31 December 2018

Happy New Year!




I hope that whether you are celebrating tonight or not, alone or in company, you all have a joyous start to a great 2019!

XXX

Janine




Sunday, 30 December 2018

2018 in the rearview mirror

This is my annual post where I look back at the cultural touchstones of the year.

Best Movie:

I saw very few films this year, sadly, because my regular movie-buddy upped and moved to Nottingham, and then I moved house, so was too busy on most weekends with Painting Everything White.

Of the paltry 13 I saw on the big screen, my faves were:



1) Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
2) Avengers: Infinity War
3) Deadpool 2


Best Book:

Sapiens just bowled me over - it's a history of humankind which focuses on the big forces not the events, and has a way of taking everything you thought you knew and framing it in completely unexpected ways. All I can say is that the section on the development of share-based capitalism was riveting, which was one hell of a surprise to me, I can tell you!


Best TV:

We finally finished watching Breaking Bad this year! I've also enjoyed the second series of Westworld, the first few series of Justified, Inside Number 9, Black Mirror, Altered Carbon, The Terror ... but my greatest love this year went to two very different series:

A piratical romp:


And a philosophy-based sitcom:



Best DVD/Download:

I actually managed to catch up on a few movies I should have seen at the cinema (The Quiet Place, I Fight Giants, Black Panther) but my fave off-the-shelf finds were a Bollywood horror:


And a piece of 1970s family entertainment complete with embarrassing blackface and execrable SFX.:




Best Music:

Oh pooey, I've let my musical tastes fall into a bit of a rut this year! There were new albums from old faves Frank Turner and Muse, but I've only been to one live gig ๐Ÿ˜ž

New-to-me bands whose CDs I've been listening to are: Heilung, Madisen Ward and the Momma Bear and Greta Van Fleet...





Best Picture:

Elon Musk is busy devolving from Bruce Wayne into Doctor Octopus, but THIS WAS AWESOME:



May 2019 be the year we start to raise our collective selves from the gutter to the stars...

Monday, 24 December 2018

Have a greyt Xmas!


I'm signing off for the usual drunken debauch chez-Ashbless - see you on the other side everyone, and I hope you have a very happy and peaceful holiday!



XXX
Janine

Saturday, 22 December 2018

Post from Whamhalla


FINALLY - I've got the Xmas tree decorated!

I sacrificed my Wham! mortality in a last minute dash to the supermarket for lights though. And they were already clearing the shelves for Easter Eggs !๐Ÿ˜ฎ


Thursday, 20 December 2018

Tentacular Spectacular

(This pic, BTW, is from Tumbbad, which is definitely worth watching on Amazon)

After a week which has felt like wading through cold custard in lead wellies, I've finally finished the witchy erotic story I was writing. I'll be pushing right up to the deadline, but if I can get it tidied up and handed in tomorrow, all is well!

Also I've finished redecorating the dining room in time for Xmas. Yay me!

The tree has been up for nearly a week but I haven't had time to decorate it. Naturalism is in this year.

I've not written a single Xmas card. BOO me!

The new dog we were hoping to adopt will NOT be arriving in this country at 4.30am on Xmas Eve after all ... I had a bit of a blub but it'll certainly mean the holidays involve less driving the length of the country in the middle of the night. So that's good, I guess.

I need 12 hours sleep and a drink, not in that order!

Monday, 17 December 2018

Blue Monday: Ashe Barker guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today Ashe Barker is my guest star, with an excerpt from her new book Her Celtic Masters:


Two fierce Celtic Warriors with a thirst for vengeance, and the proud Viking lady with the strength to submit.

Left penniless and without a home by a sudden, tragic turn of events, twenty-year-old Kristin Lofnsdottir plans to start a new life as a seafaring trader. If she is going to have any chance at surviving, however, let alone succeeding, she'll need money and capable men to protect her. A partnership with a pair of Celts offers both, but Kristin quickly realizes that the arrangement will mean sharing much more than just her profits. The two stern, handsome brothers intend to make her theirs, demanding obedience, punishing defiance, and mastering her beautiful body together.

Though Nyle and Bowdyn have been given plenty of reason to hate Vikings over the years, conquering the feisty, headstrong Kristin proves even more satisfying than they had anticipated. As they claim her ever more thoroughly and shamefully, her need for them only grows more intense, but can they be firm enough to tame her recklessness before it puts them all in danger?



Her nipples swelled into hard pebbles and poked between his fingers. Nyle continued to toy with them as Bowdyn moved round and onto her pallet. He knelt down, his back resting against the outer wall of the dwelling and gazed up at his brother’s play.

“When you have quite finished…” he grumbled.

“My brother is impatient to feel your lips around his cock,” murmured Nyle. “Perhaps we should not keep him waiting.” He relinquished his hold on her breasts and stepped to the side, his powerful arms folded across his chest. “Kneel down between Bowdyn’s legs and open his trousers to release his cock.”

The instruction was clear enough. Kristin sank to her knees as directed and reached for the fastenings on Bowdyn’s trousers. She could readily discern the bulge within his clothing, but still let out a small gasp when his erection sprang free.

Bowdyn’s cock was beautiful, the skin smooth and adorned with a network of raised veins. The bulbous crown was already slick with the juices that trickled from the slit at the end. Her husband’s attentions had been perfunctory and usually conducted in the dark. This was the first opportunity she had had to study such an organ in detail and she was stunned by the sheer wonder of it.

“You are magnificent,” she breathed. From the occasional glance she had caught she had assumed Baldvin to be of average proportions but clearly, he was not. Or perhaps Celts were simply… bigger.

“I am sure my brother appreciates your compliment. Now, if you please, you will grip his cock in your fist and rub your fingers up and down.”

Kristin was delighted to do so. She grasped the shaft firmly. Her fingers did not meet around it but rather than employ both hands she used her free one to cup the balls that hung beneath. She was astonished at the softness of the skin as she squeezed lightly.

Bowdyn let out a groan. Kristin loosened her grip. “Did I do something wrong?” She looked from Bowdyn to Nyle for guidance.

“No,” growled Bowdyn. “Nothing wrong…”

Nyle lowered himself to his haunches behind her. “Grip hard. Yes. Like that. If he groans that is a good sign. Lean forward, take the head in your mouth.”

Kristin opened her mouth wide to be able to do as Nyle instructed. The tangy, salty flavour of the liquid filled her senses.

“How does that taste?” Nyle had leaned in close to murmur in her ear.

“Strange,” she replied, lifting her head to enable herself to speak, “but pleasant.”

“Good. Lean forward and lift up your bottom. Take him as deep as you can. Yes, like that, and work with your hands, too.”

As Kristin concentrated on obeying the instructions she was given, Bowdyn reached for her and combed his fingers through her tangled hair. “Look at me,” he commanded.
She did so. He smiled, then his gaze shifted to his brother who was now behind her. “She’s ready for you to fuck her now.”

Kristin blinked, then startled when Nyle laid his palm on her still-throbbing buttock.

“Spread your legs wide for him,” encouraged Bowdyn, “and keep your bottom up nice and high.”

They are twins. Is Nyle as huge as Bowdyn? Will he fit…?

Bowdyn must have seen the panic in her eyes because he stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “Relax. No harm will come to you.”

Nyle was kneeling behind her now. At some stage he had removed his own trousers because his cock was at her entrance, pushing, pressing…

No, not his cock. His fingers. His gentle, skilled fingers entered her as before, first one, then two, then a third. The sounds of her wetness, her arousal, reached her ears. Kristin was embarrassed despite the waves of pleasure created by his touch. Lust, however, rapidly overcame any residual shreds of modesty. She clenched, swayed her hips from side to side, sought to press back against his hand.

Nyle withdrew his fingers and she groaned around Bowdyn’s cock.

“She is impatient, brother. Our little Viking wants you inside her. Is that right, Kristin?”

She nodded, the movement small, barely perceptible but Bowdyn saw. He glanced up at Nyle, gave a brief but decisive nod of his own. Nyle pivoted his hips forward and drove his cock deep into her channel.

Kristin moaned, the sound completely muffled by the other cock that filled her mouth. She knew a brief moment of panic as sensation threatened to overwhelm her, but Bowdyn’s hand against her scalp held her steady and grounded her.

“Slow, easy, be still. Breathe,” he commanded. “You can do this.”

He was right. She could. Her sudden burst of alarm receded. She swallowed, wrapped her tongue around Bowdyn’s cock, and lapped at it.

“Suck,” he murmured.

She did. He tightened his grip in her hair and thrust his hips forward.

Kristin grasped his waist and hung on as he began to take charge. He found a rhythm, driving his cock in and out, a little deeper with each stroke until the crown reached the back of her throat. Kristin thought she might choke, but he never allowed it to come to that, pulling back each time and permitting her the gulps of air she needed.

All the while, Nyle remained motionless within her. He filled her. Her inner walls stretched about his wide girth, but he did not thrust. He demanded nothing of her but that she accept his solid presence inside her. Only when Bowdyn had established his own rhythm and Kristin was coping with that did Nyle add his contribution.

He used his thumbs to part her punished buttocks and Kristin tensed when he perused her most private rear hole. He laid his thumb over the furled ring of muscle, gently rubbed, but no more than that. He withdrew his cock halfway then slowly drove it back again. The next stroke was longer, his re-entry slower as she stretched to accept him, her inner walls reshaping around his cock.

It was intense, the sensation again threatening to consume, to overwhelm her. But he was slow, achingly gentle, timing his strokes to somehow match those of Bowdyn. As her mouth emptied, her cunt was filled, and when Nyle slid back Bowdyn drove his cock to the back of her throat. It was a sensual, intimate dance, and Kristin was rapidly captivated by the perfect symmetry of it.

Buy Her Celtic Masters at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Read Chapter One for free!


USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.

Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea. 

Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontรซ moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days - her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises. And a very grumpy cockatiel. 

At the last count Ashe had over forty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too. 

Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.

Ashe loves to hear from readers. Here are her social media links:

Newsletter sign-up
Website
Facebook
Twitter
Instagram
Pinterest
Goodreads
Or you can email her direct on ashe.barker1@gmail.com

Friday, 14 December 2018

The Alarm


Last week, for my birthday, a friend took me to see The Alarm,Wales' finest Eighties export. Mike Peters is pretty old now, but still does a stonking live show! They're full of incredible energy and absolutely buoyed up by the adoration of their fans.

If you have fond memories of the group, I'd absolutely recommend seeing this latest incarnation while the chance exists.

I worked out that it was 1990 when I saw them last... OMG!