Thursday, 20 August 2020

Guest post: Ashley Lister on Blackstone Towers

Blackstone Towers Blog Tour – Day Seven 

First, I’d like to thank Janine for allowing me to bring my blog tour here today. This is day seven of the blog tour and I’m very excited because I’ve written a really fun horror novel and I want to tell you a little bit about it.

(I’ll be honest and admit I’m introducing myself in the same way each day, in case these words encounter someone who doesn’t know me or who hasn’t been following the blog tour. If you’ve already read my introduction on one of the other blogs, or if you simply don’t care who I am or what I’ve got to say, skip to the bit under the picture of the book cover).

By way of introduction, I should begin by saying my name is Ashley Lister; I write horror fiction and some of the crudest poetry known to mankind; and I’m here talking about a horror novel I’ve written which will be published on August 22nd. It’s called Blackstone Towers and this is what the story is about:

The talismans of the magi control seven realms of the mortal world. One can grant the bearer immortality; another gives its owner unfathomable wealth; a third gives the holder unerring foresight. There is a talisman to control reality, success, the deliberate and the accidental, and a talisman that governs the balance between love and hate. The planets are now aligning, and one worldly resident of Blackstone Towers knows the talismans urgently need collecting and destroying before they fall into the wrong hands. The only problem is establishing whose hands are the wrong ones.

This is a novel that includes zombies, ghosts, daemons and other generally scary creatures. The first question people ask when you write a novel that includes such features is, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Naturally, this shouldn’t be the first question anyone asks me. I think the first question should be, “That sounds awesome! Where can I buy a copy? And can I look at your back catalogue too?”

However, we don’t live in my ideal world so I’ll answer the popular question first: do I believe in ghosts?

The honest answer is: what time is it?

I’m writing this in daylight. I’ve got a portly dog on my lap and the soundtrack for Guardians of the Galaxy is playing in the background. Of course I know there’s no such thing as ghosts or the supernatural. If something does unexpectedly make a noise, the chances are that it’s the farty little dog on my lap.

However, tonight, I’d have a different response. I don’t believe in ghosts. But I also make sure I turn on every light in the house if I’m going for a late night pee. I used to work for a funeral director (I mentioned this earlier in the week) and I’m only just beginning to realise it probably wasn’t the best occupation for someone with my susceptible disposition. One night, and this was two in the morning night, I’d been called to drive the funeral director’s ambulance to a rural farmhouse.

It was very sad, as all deaths are. A relatively young man had passed away from cancer.
The funeral director had met me at the farmhouse and he helped me get the body into the back of the vehicle. And then I was expected to drive back through unlit and unfamiliar country roads, alone save for the dead body in the back of the ambulance.

I saw things on that journey home that could only have come from my imagination. As the promise of dawn crept toward the horizon, I saw the edges of the landscape shift as though it was a behemoth, uncurling and preparing to devour the tiny mortals that scurried over the earth.

I definitely didn’t hear anything in the back of the ambulance, scratching at the door that separated me and my travelling companion. I didn’t hear any strange sounds like that and I don’t still hear echoes of those sounds when I’m alone at home in the dark.

All of which is my way of building to my question for today: Do you believe in ghosts? And, if so, why? Answer below, if that’s easiest for you. I’ll be checking back throughout the day. Answer on Twitter if you prefer, using the hashtag #BlackstoneTowers. If you don’t use Twitter, and don’t like the comments box, please feel free to email me at me@ashleylister.co.uk. I’ll be collecting all the answers and, on the day of publication, I’ll chose my favourite response and send one lucky winner a free copy of one of my novels. 

This is day 7 of a 9 day blog tour and, each day up to the launch, I’ll be on a different blog, as detailed below. And, each day, I’ll be asking a different question. Please feel free to follow me, answer as many questions as you like, and if you’ve got any questions about the book or anything else, I’ll be happy to answer.

Also, if you fancy coming to the online launch, where I’ll be reading from Blackstone Towers and sharing some of my ribald poetry, drop me an email and I’ll send you an invite.



Thank you again to Janine Ashbless and to all you readers. I look forward to hearing what you’d do with the gift of foresight. And, if you want to pre-order a copy of Blackstone Towers, this link should take you through to the Amazon page

Tuesday, 11 August 2020

WAP

 

 This truly magnificent video and very catchy track has been quite controversial recently, it appears. Politicians have been parading their shocked tears. Because it's okay for male rappers to go on about how horny they are feel, but if women do it they are a threat to civilisation. You can read all about it here if you like.

The version above, by the way, is the censored one. Full and filthy lyrics here:

And if you think any of this is new, Whores of Yore has an EPIC Twitter thread about blues lyrics by women in the 1920s and 30s that will make your jaw drop and your hair curl! 

"I got nipples on my titties big as the end of my thumb

I got somethin' 'tween my legs  'll make a dead man come.

....

Say I fucked all night, and all the night before baby, 

And I feel just like I wanna, fuck some more”.

 

 

All power to those wonderful women who fiercely own their sexual desire!  πŸ’–πŸ‘ΏπŸ’–

Thursday, 18 June 2020

For the Shame of It



This is so great! At a time when I'm struggling to even remember the joy of writing fiction, LN Bey shoots me broadside with a huge post about writing Plague Porn, Consent and Dub-con ... which happens to include an enthusiastic (and very detailed) review of Named and Shamed, my most outrageous erotic novel. 😊😡😳😊

"Relentlessly filthy" is how LN describes it! Also "It’s a tricky, tricky thing to pull off—and many fans of more cozy erotica will probably not approve. Let them. I fully understand that this novel might not be everyone’s proverbial cuppa."

Here's the link to THE POST IN FULL  ('ware spoilers)

"Named & Shamed is not about a viral invasion of Britain and Europe, with its accompanying medieval cultural trimmings. It portrays an invasion by those horrific legends and myths themselves. In this world created by Ashbless, all the once-supposed causes of human suffering—the witches, fairies, and ogres of the Middle Ages—have come back, from the netherworld, from whatever dimension they’ve been in, and they are causing societal havoc. People are self-isolating, afraid to leave their houses—and let me tell you, they are no kinder than a mindless virus. They just have a far more wicked sense of humor. Named & Shamed is not only one of the most outright filthiest erotic novels I’ve ever read (possibly the filthiest—that’s a compliment, btw), it is primarily about how those old stories linger, even into our modern age—there’s something in our collective psyches that has never quite let go."

Thank you LN - I am all wibbly with delight! πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–

Thursday, 28 May 2020

For your shelf-ish desires


I thought I'd pop in with some recommendations for scurrilous books I've been reading under lockdown. First, a couple of new ones:

A Curious History of Sex is by Dr Kate Lister of Whores of Yore fame and it's a publication I backed on Kickstarter. Sex and Sexuality in Victorian Britain is by our international goth correspondent Violet Fenn and has just been released this last week. Both are easy-reading non-fiction, written with wit and a real fondness for their subject matter, and are to be recommended for any historian's bookshelf. Buy them and annoy your friends by reading out Interesting But Dirty Facts πŸ˜‰πŸ˜‰πŸ˜‰


Not so new is the immense graphic novel Lost Girls, authored by my writing hero Alan Moore and painted by Melinda Gebbie. Originally an extraordinarily expensive trilogy that has been out of print for a few years, it's now a single-volume edition (with extra material) currently on sale via their eBay shop at an astounding £20 (+P&P)!

So if, like me, you have been waiting to find an affordable copy, THIS IS YOUR CHANCE to read about Alice (of Wonderland), Wendy Darling and Dorothy Gale meeting as adults on the eve of WW1 and regaling each other with the "true" versions of their famous adventures. Careful with this one - it's very beautiful and artsy and intelligent (and very hot), but strong stuff even for porn and I'm slightly surprised it hasn't been banned. Moore rather famously does not give a shit what anyone thinks and does not believe in censoring art.


Tuesday, 28 April 2020

This be the verse

Hah! Look what I found! It's me reading my poem On Erotic Vocabulary, way back in 2015:


It's one of three of mine (with varying degrees of silliness) published in Coming Together in Verse:

Tuesday, 21 April 2020

Blue "Monday"

Okay, I'm running a bit late but who's counting the days in lockdown?

Hot to the Touch was released into the wild last week, so here's an excerpt from my story, Meet My Husband:


“Talking of neighbors…” said Andrew thoughtfully, and indicated the hedge with a sideways glance. “Should we perhaps continue this conversation indoors?”

Jeff nodded. Cassie abandoned her dessert plate but took her wineglass. She felt giddy, but she doubted it was the fault of the single glass of chilled Chardonnay.

“Want a top-up on that?” Andrew asked, and she nodded. As he scooted away to the kitchen Jeff intercepted her under the veranda, blocking her path through the cane furniture.

“Did I hear you right—you're not into Andrew's peek-a-boo fantasies?”

She shook her head. “I like to keep my private parts private.”

“So you've never done it in the garden?”

“No.” Her inner alarms were a-quiver now; she knew that husky, considering tone in Jeff's voice. She knew where those roving glances were headed.

“Not even in the hot-tub? Or under here?” He indicated the structure of the veranda, its open walls almost sealed off by the heavy droops of leaves and flowers, the sunlight and shadows flickering where the breeze tried to break through. It made a lambent green room, humid with the smell of growing life.

“No...”

“Oh well,” he said with a grin. “Baby steps.” He looked down at her summer dress, blue cotton with a pink rose print, and put a fingertip lightly on the not-quite-risquΓ©, almost-intimate skin of her breastbone. “Now take those panties down.”

“Jeff…” she chided.

“What? You scared your husband might suspect something's going on between us?” His finger traced a path downward and the voice behind his grin was low, and warm, and teasing. But there was an edge of iron in there that made her knees go weak. “I've got a kiss for you, but you need to earn it. Take them off, now.”

Andrew hadn't come back into view. Cassie took a deep breath and pulled her panties down and off. She wanted that kiss, after all—she'd been two hours in his company with hardly a touch, and she wasn't used to that. She yearned to feel Jeff's mouth on hers.

He held his hand out and she dropped the claret-colored thong with the lace sides into his open palm. Jeff rubbed it between his fingers. “Wet,” he said, tucking it into the breast pocket of his shirt. “Who's secretly been getting all worked up, you bad girl?”

Of course she’d been getting worked up. She’d been sitting with her husband and her lover, watching both, enjoying the contrasts, yearning to break out of their stultifying politeness and touch somebody. She cast him a you-got-me look.

Then Jeff pulled her slowly toward him and she lifted her arms about his neck, stretching up on her toes. She slid into his kiss like it was a hot bath that lapped every inch of her shivering skin. So rapt was she in the tug and tease of his mouth that it took her a moment too long to register the movement of his hands inside the spaghetti straps of her dress and down her back, deftly unclipping her matching bandeau bra. As he released her he pulled it off completely, leaving her naked beneath the thin cotton dress.

Cassie flashed a protest with her eyes, but he wasn't looking that high. His free hand covered her right breast, shaping the material against its soft orb and stiff nipple. His mouth tugged in a smile even as his fingertips tugged at her, making her exhale a long whimper.

“Bad, bad girl,” he breathed, and she felt the heat and the weight of her desire swell between her thighs.


It doesn’t matter what you heard in the past, because Hot to the Touch: Views from the Polyamory Lifestyle is changing the rules. Three isn’t a crowd anymore—it’s the most erotic party your x-rated mind can imagine!
This new collection from well-known editor Cole Riley propels readers into the heads, hearts, and libidos of lovers committed to the Poly Life, open relationships, open communication, and open bedroom doors. With stories from those just beginning to explore the poly lifestyle to those that have years of experience pleasing multiple partners—in or out of the bedroom, together or separately—this collection will arouse your senses and make you yearn for your own menagerie of sexual partners, lovers, and so much more.
You can buy Hot to the Touch at:

Simon and Schuster 
Amazon US :: Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Kobo

Tuesday, 14 April 2020

Out now! Hot to the Touch


Hot news!

There's a brand new anthology of stories out today, edited by Cole Riley. A collection of polyamory erotica, Hot to the Touch includes a new story of mine: Meet My Husband 😍😍😍

This new collection from well-known editor Cole Riley propels readers into the heads, hearts, and libidos of lovers committed to the Poly Life, open relationships, open communication, and open bedroom doors. With stories from those just beginning to explore the poly lifestyle to those that have years of experience pleasing multiple partners—in or out of the bedroom, together or separately—this collection will arouse your senses and make you yearn for your own menagerie of sexual partners, lovers, and so much more.
 Publisher's Weekly reviews it:

"Janine Ashbless’s playful “Meet My Husband” and Sommen Madsen’s high-tension “Him” showcase the power of combining the erotic energy of three different lovers.  ...Though not a definitive collection of poly erotica, this anthology will appeal to those who want well-crafted, cheating-free stories that explore sexuality beyond the couple."

Table of Contents

Meet My Husband - Janine Ashbless
Ghost Swinger - Amanda Earl
The Dinner Party - Remittance Girl
Because of Bingo - Rebecca M. Kyle
Bob & Carol & Ted (But Not Alice) - M. Christian
Homecoming - Teresa Noelle Roberts
Snakefruit - Anne Tourney
Him - Sommer Madsen
Speed Play - Abigail Ekue
Between Two Lovers - Thomas S.. Roche
Reminder - Jeremy Edwards
Sleeper Car - Max Lagos
The Benefit of the Doubt - Cole Riley
One Last Fling - Kristina Wright

You can buy Hot to the Touch at:

Simon and Schuster 
Amazon US :: Amazon UK 
Barnes & Noble
Kobo

Monday, 6 April 2020

Blue Monday: isolation special


Keeping my finger on the pulse, LOL

Who says my erotica isn't contemporary and relevant for today's world?  😁 I've been fingering my way through my files, ahem, to find the stories that speak to this international pandemic.




The obvious one is Quarantine, which you can find in full and for free if you hop over to my Website and click on FREE READS in the top bar. It's set in an Ebola research facility and it's about two people going stir-crazy under lockdown:


'This bloody sucks!' Lee moaned.

'Well whose fault is that?' she yelled, surprising even herself with her vehemence.

'Not mine!'

'Really? Who are you blaming?'

'You're the one who bent -' Lee stopped mid-sentence.

'What?' Tessa sat up and dropped her voice to a hiss. 'What did I do?' She saw Lee's face work as conflicting impulses fought for control.

'You were bent over.' The words seemed to come from a constricted throat. 'Your ... arse...' He made a generously curved shape in the air with his hands to make up for his incoherence. 'I walked into the bench.'

She was gobsmacked. 'You dropped solvent everywhere because you were looking at my butt? In a HAZMAT suit?'


Bolt Hole which appears in my collection Fierce Enchantments, is also about two uneasy companions hiding away in a confined space, only this time it's during a zombie outbreak:


“What’re you doing out here on your own?” he asks.

“I wasn’t alone,” she rasps.

The water down her cleavage just feels like more sweat now. She can’t bear it. She’s got to lean back against the metal just to stay upright. Discarding the spade against the wall beside her, she wrenches off her other glove, then pulls down the zipper of her suit from collar to navel. The vest-top beneath is absolutely sodden with sweat, and plastered to her torso. She sees the pale flash of the man’s widening eyes, and she knows her chest is heaving as she pants for breath, but it doesn’t seem important. All she wants is to get out of these leathers.

She wriggles out of her bags and belts, frantic to shed the weight. The front zipper of her biker all-in-one goes all the way down to her crotch, making it easier to peel off the arms and shoulders and drop the top half of the suit to hang from her hips. That helps. She sets her shoulders back against the corrugated metal, praying for cool, but it’s warmer than she is. She can see the man staring. His torso is completely bare, and she envies that. She can feel the moisture flooding between her burning thighs. Her mind is a churning whirl.

She wants to be naked. She wants to be cold. She wants water and a breeze.

He’s gone very still. Outside, the living dead moan with frustration.


Amazon US : Amazon UK  
Kobo
Barnes and Noble



Lust in the Dust is of course full of apocalyptic crisis sex. My own story, The Basque of the Red Death, is a pastiche of Poe's famous plague tale:


On Midsummer Eve, six months after we'd sealed ourselves within the castellated walls, Prince Prospero threw his wildest party yet; a masquerade ball themed upon pagan Arcadia. A suite of seven chambers in the heights of the abbey was opened and prepared; a cloister in coloured glass wherein the old abbot had been inclined to contemplate the Seven Ages of Man, or the Seven Deadly Sins, or perhaps the Seven Sorrows of Our Lady, but now turned to more worldly and hedonistic use.

The Easternmost room, lit in blue, was dedicated to the pleasures of the tongue; Amuse-bouche, the nobles called such things. The centrepiece was a plump and naked maiden, lying supine amid platters of tiny pastries and sweetmeats, covered from head to rosy toes with creamed vegetables piped into intricate patterns, and bejewelled with pomegranate pips and sugared almonds — like a living, breathing, reliquary. Officially she represented Gaia, Mother Earth. I happened to know that Helga had volunteered for this role because she preferred it to running up and down the abbey's stairs.

The Purple Room centred upon a veiled trio of Fates who stood with arms linked, facing outward to the walls of the chamber. They were veiled and draped in prodigious swathes of plum-hued silk, so that not only their features but their very forms were impossible to make out — all but their breasts, which were uncovered and glistened with oil, the nipples stained dark with blackberry juice; somehow more naked for the being the only body-parts visible. The unspoken invitation to touch those orbs, to grope and stroke and play, was all but irresistible.

In the Green Room an ivy-wigged and leaf-painted dryad sat in a sling at head-height, her thighs spread by two loops. On a table beneath was a bowl heaped with brandy-soaked fruit, which the wanton would receive with a giggle into the slippery clench of her sex before squeezing it back out of that cornucopia, now subtly flavored.

The Orange Room was staffed by Cynocephali; naked girls masked with the heads of dogs and leashed like animals too. They served strictly on their knees.

The White Room took this theme further; the seven Pleiades here were bound firmly to racks and upended over tables, thighs spread by bars and wrists hoisted over their heads; their virginal silk dresses artfully inadequate to the task of shielding their maidenly modesty.

In the Violet Room flagellation was on offer; the three mistresses there were dressed as avenging Furies and strutted about with horse-whips in hand, taking full advantage of their license to inflict punishment.

But the Red Chamber, the one at the end — the one with that terrible black-draped clock — stood empty and unused. Whatever debauchery it was intended to host, no one had yet plucked up the courage.

 

 
 
Oh - and if you are up for a horror (not erotica) tale of necrophilia, dark gods and mental collapse set during the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1919, you can always try my story Nine Portraits of Empress Danrin, found in Dark Voices:
 

Monday, 30 March 2020

Blue Monday: Lea Bronsen guests

Mondays are the days I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is
Lea Bronsen with her dark erotic romance Shade Addiction. Can I just say how much I love that tagline?



Ex-boxer Mike Logan struggles to put a brutal past behind and make ends meet as a bus driver. When a young runaway settles for an all-night ride, he seizes the chance to do a good deed—get her home safely. But first, they’ll drive around and talk.

What he doesn’t anticipate is that this broken night angel is also a sexy little minx needing a lot more…and not just the gentle kind.



Hours later, I carry my lunch tray through the employee restaurant at the bus terminal to my usual table in a corner. I’ll eat alone. Being the broody kind doesn’t get me many friends, but I don’t care. My struggle is simple: Make it another day, then another, putting more time between me and the tragic event from all those years ago until one day, I’m freed of it all, six feet under.

The door opens, and there she stands, wild and beautiful, with a rainfall of black-purple curls over a red leather jacket, fishnet stockings, shiny high-heels, and a mini skirt.

Fuck me!

She searches the room, and we connect. My heart jumps to the goddamn roof, before questions assault me. How did she get in the secure building? Why did she go through that trouble to find me? And what does she think she’ll get from seeing me again?

My panicky attempt to reason doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see her. I am. I’m heating all over, every hair on my body standing.

She walks toward me, seemingly uncaring that a dozen of my male colleagues glance from her to me until she plumps into a seat in front of me and steals my plate.

Dumbstruck, I sit and watch as she scarfs down mouthfuls of meatballs, salad, and bread. I should ask her responsible stuff like how things are going at home, whether she made up with her parents, but all I can do is lean over the table and whisper, “What do you want?”

She wipes her mouth and flashes me a smile. “You.”

That sends a dart of heat to my groin, but I have to keep my cool. Can’t let her get to my head. She’s way out of my league, for fuck’s sake. I don’t want to hurt her, but best stop anything from growing in her little head before it’s too late. “It can’t happen,” I say, leaning back and crossing my arms. “You’re too young for me, and I’m definitely not your kinda guy.”

“Well, then I’ll just get what I need from my ‘friends’.” She makes quote marks in the air and rolls her tongue on her lips. “They know how to treat a girl, see.”

Oh, no, can’t let that happen! Anger shoots to my brain. I can’t stand the idea of her messing with other men, of someone other than me drooling on her. As crazy as it sounds, a voice inside me screams, “You’re mine!” 

Without a word, I slip out of my seat, trying not to overturn the table between us, take her hand, and lead her through the restaurant. Heads turn, but I ignore them.

Out the door, in an empty hall, I press her against the wall, chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach, and hold her hands above her head. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re playing with.”

“I’ve missed you.” She squirms in my tight grip and rubs against my cock so it rises to attention. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“You’re insane,” I growl. “Out of your fucking mind.”

Staring at my lips, she flutters her black eyelashes once, slowly, lazily. “No, Mike. It’s true. I haven’t been able to function without you. I need you. I need a strong man like you, a real man. I told you, the other night.”

My inner voice yells, “But you don’t know me!” yet her words make me sway, my limbs feel like Jell-O, and my resolution goes down the drain. I should insist that she leave and stay the fuck away from me, but…I can’t. I’ve missed her too, and God knows I need a hot chick like her. I’m so damn tired of being alone and feeling miserable. If she can bring a little joy into my life, why would that be such a bad thing? We’re two consenting adults.

“Fuck,” I growl. “We can’t do this here.” I release her, grab her hand, and bring her to a small restroom down the hall. She trots happily by my side, wiggling her sweet ass. Part of me says I can’t wait to get inside her, the other warns she’s only nineteen. Then again, she’s been with several guys, so she’s no newbie in the business.

After locking the door, I plaster her to a wall again, in a corner, this time lifting one of her legs and pressing my erection between her thighs. She throws her head back, spreading that stunning purple hair on the wall like a peacock displaying its feathers, and moans.

Sounds like she likes it rough.

Yeah?

If that’s what she wants, that’s what she’ll get, and rather from me than from an insecure, pimple-faced kid using the opportunity to hurt her just so he can feel like a man. I can do her hard, but in a controlled way. “You got a condom?”

“No.”

“Shit.”

Well, one way or the other… I rub my stiffness against her pussy, back and forth, in a rhythmic and insistent manner. With my free hand beneath her shirt, I cup her breast that fills my hand so nicely and stroke the full, oh-so-soft flesh before squeezing its firm bud.

Lips parted, breaths heavy, she mews while rocking against me, meeting my rhythm stroke for stroke. Sweat makes her blushing face shine.

I move my hand to her shoulder bone, rubbing on my way up to her throat and leaving red marks on her skin. Her breathing comes out ragged, needy. Reaching her face, I insert a finger between her teeth, and she sucks on it—then bites.

“Ouch.” The sting makes me even harder.

“Kiss me,” she begs. “I want to feel you everywhere.”

Fuck, she’s hot. I oblige, covering her mouth with mine and driving my tongue inside to conquer and devour hers. She squeals, her rocking against me more insistent. I move both my hands to her butt and lift her in the air so I can increase my rhythm and rub every single inch of her pussy, clit and all, back and forth.

There, she arches her back like a bow and jerks in my hold.

Good girl. 

She screams, but I swallow the sound, my excitement at such an unbearable level, it takes all my willpower and focus not to shoot in my pants.


Available from



Put the book on your to-read shelf on Goodreads


Lea Bronsen

likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her own stories the same intensity. After a deep dive on the unforgiving world of gangsters with her debut novel Wild Hearted, she divides her writing time between romantic suspenses, dark erotic romances, and crime thrillers.


Meet Lea Bronsen on

Tuesday, 24 March 2020

Lockdown post


Last weekend I should have been in the 19th century.

We were supposed to be running a LARP weekend for 40 people. We'd spent over a year (and numerous crew meetings) writing and honing the plot, making props, sewing and buying costume. It was so full-on I almost totally neglected my writing. It was to centre round a Victorian mummy-upwrapping, something Mr Ashbless and I have been trying to bring off for years.

(Yes, we do have a mummy. I wrapped it myself!)




The last thing we could have imagined was that we'd have it all trashed by a worldwide pandemic. In a matter of days it went from "There's a virus on the horizon" to "People are officially requested not to gather in large numbers" to "All schools are closed." We called everything off, but luckily we arranged with the site to bump our event into 2021.

Now here's the awkward bit. I'm in a risk group because I have asthma that can go from 0 to 100 when I get any respiratory infection. I've no particular fear of death* and wasn't worried about the Coronavirus anymore than I worry about getting flu every winter ("It'd be fairly likely to kill me. No point worrying."). I figure I've had an excellent life and not really left anything undone that I wanted to do.

Now, goddamnit, I have to survive this plague. The Show Must Go On!

Pah.

I'm in the best possible position, to be fair. We'd stocked up for Brexit and I'd just done the food shop for our Victorian weekend (which means there's a hell of a lot of carrot soup in my near future). My SOs are both here and normally work from home anyway. We're watching Altered Carbon and playing SO MUCH Gloomhaven, a game so long and complex it could have been invented for siege conditions:


So like Prince Prospero during the Red Death we are partying on. (It ended so well for him, heh? πŸ˜›)


It's weird finding ourselves apparently living in a SF novel, or a horror movie. We truly live in Interesting Times and it's all a salutary reminder how thin the ice of our comfortable civilisation truly is. And how much we rely on the tolerance, help and benevolence of those around us. My foreword to Lust in the Dust is looking too bloody prescient.


Stay safe everyone! And stay kind!



* Mr Ashbless is of a different opinion regarding my mortality and has been working his ass off to keep me from infection.

Monday, 24 February 2020

Woman in Horror

Art from Libidinous Zombie
I suppose I ought to address the change in my social media presence recently.

A couple of weeks ago I changed my Facebook handle to my other (real life) name, Keris McDonald. This is because this year I'm stepping back from erotica. My Facebook Author Page remains active and unchanged under the Janine Ashbless handle but things are a bit quieter here on my blog, as you may have noticed.

I have been given a WONDERFUL opportunity to write for my favourite tabletop games company, Chaosium Inc., as I have been drafted in to write part of the games manual for the upcoming Rivers of London roleplaying game. I can't tell you how lucky, proud and honoured I feel!


The Rivers of London series by Ben Aaronovitch is contemporary dark fantasy, not explicit horror, but it seemed slightly simpler not to be waffling on about it under my erotica name online. Of course, the changeover was a bit of a shock to all those who have only ever known me as Janine! Oddly, that includes plenty of  horror LARPers ... But honestly, I answer to both and don't care what folks call me.

To celebrate my Coming Out I've got a post on the similarities between the horror and erotica genres over at Simon Bestwick's blog.  Simon has been a longtime enthusiast of my stories and a great convention friend. He is nagging me into getting a collection of my horror stuff in print ... more news on that later this year, hopefully!

I'll be continuing to post my erotica news here - I do have the odd smutty story coming out this year - never fear πŸ˜‰

Monday, 3 February 2020

Blue Monday: Zak Jane Keir guests

Mondays are the days I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Head of the pack for 2020 comes Zak Jane Keir and her new collection Eroticise This!


When the storm clouds are gathering…
When nothing is quite what it seems…
When you don’t know who to trust…

Will love or hope or kinky sex save the day? Can we find that spark of erotic joy, no matter how frightening the circumstances? Do we dare to hope for something better?
Six sexy short stories about the mess we’re all in, and what might happen in the very near future.

Eroticise This - sexy stories for troubled times began as a manifestation of Rule 35 in action. (Rule 35 is the corollary to Rule 34, which states that, if something exists, there’s porn about it. Rule 35 insists that, if you can think of it and there is no porn about it, it becomes your job to produce some.)
It’s a collection of six short stories, the first three of which are directly inspired by some of the political events in the second half of 2019. The second part of the book contains speculative sex stories which are set in potential near futures.

Zak Jane Keir would like to reassure readers that the closing story offers a note of optimism.


BEFORE RISING - an excerpt

‘How do we… Where do we go?’ she asked, and then gave herself a mental shake. She was still Sammy, still Mistress, she was in charge here, and Scrap was facilitating her pleasure. ‘I’d like some dungeon time; arrange it,’ she said, and Scrap bowed his head for a moment. He was wearing black rubber shorts, the pair she liked to see him in. And now they were in a hallway that looked very much like the one which ran between the dancefloor and the playspace at Club Mischief. She was carrying a whip; Nicola’s rose-gold whip. She didn’t want to be carrying it; she flexed her hand and found the whip she now held was made of black and violet leather, smooth and supple to the touch. It was very like the one she had seen and coveted at the last Kinkmarket, but had been unable to afford.

The playspace wasn’t particularly crowded, though Sammy was aware of the usual background sounds of conversation and faint music from the main room. The big A-frame was free, and she led Scrap over to it and cuffed him into place. His skin was warm to the touch and she rested her cheek against his shoulder blade for a moment. Every sensory stimulus was real: Scrap’s body; her feet in heeled boots, even the familiar scent of Club Mischief, with its mixture of incense, beer, bodies and leather. Her sub gave a little anticipatory purr.

She had a flogger, the red suede one with the thick, soft tails. She started to wield it lightly against his shoulders, setting up a steady rhythm. He writhed in his restraints, and she hit a little harder. She saw his back reddening; she switched to the heavier black flogger and turned her attention to his arse, which was now bared for her. She beat him for quite some time, moving on from floggers to paddles and finally to a cane. The thought of the black and violet whip seemed to cross her mind occasionally, but she didn’t use it at any point.

He was on his back now, spread out in front of her, his cock fully erect and the tip of it glistening with moisture. She licked and bit at his nipples, tasting salt, feeling the flesh yield to her teeth. She mounted him and he was hard and hot and ready. Her pussy muscles clenched on his erect shaft and they ground against one another. It was good, so intense, so perfect; the best fuck they had ever had.

‘Please remove the headset when you are ready. Please remove the headset when you are ready. You may experience temporary disorientation on removing the headset. Please do not exit the pod until disorientation has passed.’

Sammy heard herself whimper in protest at the nagging, mechanical voice. Her mouth felt horribly dry and there was a slippery dampness between her legs. Her hands shook slightly as she pushed the headset up and away and sat up, blinking in the warm, yellowish light. It was over.

Buy Eroticise This at:  

Amazon UK
Amazon US

Zak Jane Keir is a veteran writer, with over 30 years of telling stories about sex and kink and ‘a little bit of politics’ behind her. She has worked on various adult magazines as well as publishing several novels and quantities of short fiction. She has recently embarked on compiling a history of the UK fetish scene, work on which was interrupted by a compelling need to write something sexy about the current political climate…

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Monday, 16 December 2019

Blue Monday: Jennifer Denys guests

Mondays are days on which I post sexy excerpts for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Jennifer Denys, with a new Naughty Xmas story: Naughty Christmas Present


This is a tale of unrequited love . . . but will it be requited by the end? Of course, it will — this is a Christmas story after all!

The question is, how will Gren, a troll and bartender at Pogue’s Bar, prove to the beautiful blonde Siren, Ligia, that he is the man for her? When unexpected circumstances bring them together, he jumps at the chance to give her a special Christmas present and show her that he is everything she needs. Will his present — a session in his personal S&M playroom – be enough? Or could her Siren song cause his death in the process?


The Siren turned her body to lounge back on her elbows, spreading her knees wide in invitation, grinning at him. She lifted one foot to rub it over his stomach, pushing her breasts forward invitingly, while running her tongue over her lips, trying all her seductive tricks.

Little minx.

He swatted her leg way. Gren was sorely tempted but the gleam in her eye gave him pause. He knew she was trying to get him to ejaculate but he wasn’t going to give in to her that easily. Surging forward he dropped the flogger to the floor and with one thick forearm, he pressed both of her legs against her stomach, pushing her back on the bench with a thud, and delivered several swift hard smacks to her bottom with his other hand.

“Ouch! Gren!” She punched ineffectually against his arm.

“Serves you right.” He stared her down as she struggled to get up. “Stay still. I haven’t finished.”

The Siren subsided. Her expression going from hurt to bemused. She stroked his arm, running her fingers over his bulging biceps. “Okay, lover. What are you going to do next?” Her voice was silky smooth.

He smiled inwardly at her attempt to charm him into doing things her way.

Not a chance, sweetheart.

The troll followed up his spanking by rubbing her hot butt, soothing her while he contemplated his next move. “This is a very tempting position. There are several things I could do while you are on your back like this.”

She guffawed. “I know what I’d do.” She then reached down with her right hand feeling her way until she encircled his cock.

Gren gave her a mock frown. “I could spank you some more. Would you like that?”

Her huff made him smile but the dilation of her eyes told him something different. She let go of him, although her hand caressed his butt instead. “So, tell me what you had in mind.”

“I could get the flogger to finish what I started earlier if you don’t put your hands on the bars.”

The rise of her eyebrow was a challenge and he couldn’t resist chuckling. But at least she did as he commanded.

“Or I could do this.” Ligia’s eyes opened wide as his thumb strayed up to her slit, pressing into her labia. He hadn’t intended doing that, wanting to keep the play to some fun BDSM, but the smell of her arousal was so powerful he just had to touch her.

Immediately his cock shot up, his seed threatening to spill and he clenched his jaw, holding himself rigid. Meanwhile, the woman beneath him squealed, lifting her butt up off the bench. She was pressed back down by Gren’s strong arm as her fingers clasped over his bulging muscles, nails digging in.

She shuddered. “Holy Ghost. Don’t stop.”

Gren grinned. He had no intention of ceasing, not yet. This was a heaven-sent opportunity to touch her as he’d always dreamt and he moved his thumb upward to rub her engorged clit.

Buy Naughty Christmas Present at:

Amazon US 
Amazon UK
Bookstrand  
Luminosity Publishing
Barnes and Noble


Jennifer Denys lives in a lovely historical city. Other than writing, her interests include reading (naturally! She always has at least one book on the go if not one by her bed, one by the bathroom, and one in the lounge); all things historical including genealogy which she has done for many many years; watching films (particularly sci-fi); gardening; jigsaws; and walking. She lives with her pet rabbit who is thoroughly spoilt. Jennifer says she wants to come back as her own rabbit in the next life - unfortunately that would mean she still needs to be alive herself. Maybe there is a time travel story there ......

Keep up to date with Jennifer via her blog: