Monday, 29 June 2015

Blue Monday - Vina Green guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

This week's excerpt is from A Divine Solution, by Vina Green. It is another of the stories in the wet-themed anthology Drenched,  which I'll be showcasing over the next month.

That first night, just after she had tentatively stepped into the bathtub under his instruction, she thought of the baptism, and it occurred to her that Tom was aroused by water.

The tub was so deep – much deeper than an ordinary bath – she’d had to carefully tuck her full skirt beneath her and perch on the edge and then lower herself in. He had bent down and placed one hand on the edge and jumped, so close he was nearly on top of her. His impatience was palpable, and almost anger. Though there was no malice in it, nor any real temper or frustration. No, the emotion wasn’t quite anger. It was longing. Sarah recognised that feeling as easily as she knew her own shadow, for it had followed her for as long as she could remember. 

This time, instead of pulling her into the water he put his hand on the back of her head and pushed her forward. She plunged in, face first, spluttering until he pulled her out again and let her catch her breath. Then he pushed her towards the opposite lip so that she could steady herself on the edge of the pool as he lifted her skirts up and prepared to enter her from behind. Her petticoats spread out on the surface like a parachute, and he bundled a bunch up on either side and pushed the fabric into her hands, indicating that she should keep it lifted for him.

Although the bath was deep it had only filled enough to reach the back of her thighs when she was standing. He curved his palms through the water, creating a pair of waves that rippled across the surface and then up and over her buttocks in a wet slap. He cupped his hands and threw scoops over her back. Rivulets poured over her shoulders, following the curve of her breasts that hung in front of her as she bent over like the udders of a cow, and formed droplets on the pointed nubs of her nipples. She felt a current of air, cool after the sting of the hot water, and then the wet smack of his hand as he brought his palm down first on one ass cheek, and then the other. She hissed from the shock of it, and gripped the lip of the tub tighter to avoid losing her balance. He ran the blade of his hand between the valley of her ass, the hard points of his fingers pressing against her asshole.

They developed a rhythm between them. As the pressure of his fingertips against her hole became more insistent, she pushed back against him, and he thrust further forward, until the push and pull of their desire was like the pulsing tide of the sea. A silent conversation of want, each of them intimating that with this new and forbidden exploration, they were fulfilling the need of the other and not their own desire. His fingers were inside her now, and as she relaxed and allowed him to enter he pushed deeper and began to thrust.

She moaned, a sound that was something like a croak. Despite the humidity in the air, her throat felt as dusty dry as the fields around them would soon become, as dry as a sand dune in the midday sun. She licked her lips, trying to moisten them but it was no use, as if all of the moisture in her body had been drawn down to her vagina. She was seeping, sodden. Wetness dripped from the folds of her cunt into the water below her.

Sarah steadied herself with one hand and reached the other between her legs. She grazed her clit and the unexpected touch, after so much longing, swept through her in one sharp jolt as though she had been irradiated. But it was not her clit that she was seeking. She fumbled at the air, reached the strong bulk of Tom’s thigh and travelled higher until she brushed against the softness of his balls, and then the hard pole of his cock. The effort nearly unbalanced her but she clung to the slippery edge of the tub as she wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft and tried to angle the path of his erection towards her cunt. She wanted him inside her, but he resisted her touch, and batted her hand away. He caught her as she nearly slipped sideways and lowered her hand back onto the bath’s edge.

His torso curved over her back and his penis jutted, a rigid point that jabbed against her leg until he stood upright again and directed it between her buttocks. Sarah raised her rump a little, using her body to nudge him lower, towards the entrance of her pussy but Tom was insistent. He dragged his cock up and down, following the same path that he had caressed with the flat of his hand earlier. When his cock head found the dip of her anus he let it rest there for a few moments and then began to gently push, to ease her open. Her hands turned white as she gripped the tub tighter in anticipation of what would come next.

Thoughts flickered in her mind, darting in and out of her consciousness like seabirds skimming the surface of the ocean but never settling. Her mind warred with her body. One thinking, questioning; would it hurt? Would God punish her for sodomy? Did she want this?

Her flesh paid no attention to her thoughts and simply processed these new sensations; the way the silky velvet tip of his cock head felt pressing against her asshole, the sound of his breathing, increasingly labored, the warmth of his saliva as he pulled away for a moment, spat on her and used his fingers to work the lubricant into her hole. He repeated this process again and again until she was wet and relaxed enough for him to slide inside. Just an inch, at first. He held still, and she held her breath. She exhaled and relaxed a little more and he slid a little further inside her. Eventually, the full length of his shaft was buried inside her ass, and she was rocking back and forward against him, pushing her rear up against his groin, encouraging him to thrust deeper and deeper. He was holding onto her hips now, one hand on either side of her buttocks. His thrusts becoming faster, more urgent.

Sarah did not want him to go limp again and leave her empty and aching for more, as he had in the car earlier. She scooted her left arm across in front of her to centre her body and with her right hand she delved between her folds. A soft hiss escaped her lips, the sound of an out breath through her teeth at the sheer relief she took in pleasuring herself. Tom hadn’t even noticed. He was kneading her buttocks in his hands, pulling away and half slapping her in his effort to hold her hips in place as his pumping became more frenzied.

Sarah found her rhythm, quick circular strokes over her nub, occasionally dipping into her well to wet her fingertips before sliding through her furrow again and applying just the right degree of pressure to her clitoris, the peculiar physics of self love.

But she was too late, or too slow, or rather, Tom was too quick. He lasted far longer than he had the first time, perhaps because it was his second release in a few hours, or maybe because the circumstances were less hurried. When he came, he collapsed against her and she fell forward. Instinctively, she drew her right hand away from its position between her thighs and threw it out in front of her to catch her balance.

The ache of her frustration was a sharp knife twist, rapid and cutting. His cock softened and flopped out of her as he pulled away.

He stepped out of the tub and the water rippled and splashed around her.

She didn’t turn to look at him.

“Dry yourself,” he said, “and come to bed.” She heard the soft whump of a towel hitting the wooden floorboards nearby.

Drenched at Amazon US : Amazon UK

Vina Green's blog

"I’m a writer. I live in East London, though not in one of the cool bits. I don’t ride a bicycle, and I don’t have any cats (yet), but I do drink a great deal of coffee, and I don’t sleep as much as I’d like.
When I’m not writing, I work in a corporate job in the City.

When I’m not working or writing, then I’m likely swimming, or basking in a ray of sunlight somewhere. I am one of those people who can very happily spend an entire day doing absolutely nothing.

I never intended to write erotica.  In fact, the first piece of intentionally erotic writing I ever produced doesn’t have any sex in it at all.

But, on reflection, I think I’ve been writing erotica to some extent, all along. I like to write the feel of things – the squeeze of a lemon, the taste of a mouthful of sea water, the cool press of dirt on your hands. And I think this type of writing is by its nature, erotic, because it evokes feeling, and sensation. My aim is to create feeling, to emote something – not necessarily to turn my readers on, though I have been told that is sometimes a side effect – but to bring a scene to life in the readers mind. But I can tell you that I take pleasure in small things, and that’s what I like to write about. I get a kick out of hanging up wet laundry. I’m interested in people, in relationships, in the beauty of the ordinary. "

Friday, 26 June 2015

Congratulations USA!

The Supreme Court of the USA has ruled 5-4 in favour of gay marriage!

In a year stuffed with vile and depressing news from all over the world, this is like a ray of light. Well done SCOTUS!

Wednesday, 24 June 2015

Pass the port

Guess where I spent the weekend?
Clue: they sell glasses of Port in the street
Yes, it was Lisbon - capital of Portugal, home of strangely Stalinist monuments to imperialist explorers....

.... terrifyingly whizzy trams....

The one time we rode on one, it was so overcrowded the suspension broke and we were all thrown off

.... the best custard pies IN THE WORLD ...

... steampunk architecture ...

The Elevador de Santa Justa

And this is them tightening the bolts by hand, I kid you not.

We went on a fabulous Segway tour - dodging the potholes, waiters and aforementioned trams:

And we saw some amazing churches ...

 ... castles

 ... and statues:

But mostly we ate egg-based pastries:

Aprox one day's supply of custard pies for Ashbless

90% egg-yolk, at a guess

Did I find a corpse? YOU BET I DID:

What's a library without mummies?
Did I find someone enjoying Lisbon more than me? I fear so!

Tour leader: it's a shit job, but someone has to do it...

But let's face it, you cannot knock a nation who are that good at custard pies.

Monday, 22 June 2015

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!
And since it's Midsummer, here's a midsummer romp from my magical/pagan novella Summer Seduction:

"Shy and self-conscious librarian Liz Haven has lost her job and home, and is desperately grateful when a long-forgotten relative invites her to come live at her eerie old house in the rural West of England. Liz hasn’t been there since childhood, and her memories of the place are strangely blurred. When she does return to Enniswitrin House she finds herself the focus for the attentions of a series of handsome but strange men, yet she also realizes that Great-aunt Moira is far from the harmless old lady she seems. Moira has plans for Liz that she is not telling, and there is magic at work here. Real magic — as dark and thrilling and primal as desire itself. Each of her would-be lovers needs something from Liz that goes deeper than just the hot and increasingly transgressive sex. Liz is being seduced into a role she could not imagine, at the center of a web of ancient legend and mystery that will change everything."

Shane grinned suddenly. “It’s just you and me here.”

It took a moment for Liz to catch up with his meaning. Trying to control her pounding heart and her heaving lungs, she put her hand on his chest, feeling him warm and solid and real. Everything else—the Green Knight and the fire and the cattle and the village hall and the rest of her life—seemed flimsy and translucent in comparison. It was all too much to think about. So much easier to see only what was before her, within the grasp of her hands. She reached up to touch his warm throat, feeling the thrum of his blood.

“Liz,” he whispered.

She’d never known anyone like him. A man so full of life. It couldn’t be constrained; it flowed out of him like light, like fire. It burned.

“Liz,” he whispered again, leaning in so that his forehead rested gently against hers. His lips sought her own, soft and sweet and full of dangerous longing. She could taste the question on them. At the same time she could feel his hands on her hips. She could feel the hardness of the length that pressed against her through his jeans.

Do I want this? she asked herself.

“Yes,” she whispered in answer. Yes—oh hell YES!

Gently he backed her up to the verge of the road, and then he stooped and slid his big hands around her ass and lifted her—light as a feather—to sit her down on a stone wall. It put them almost nose-to-nose, height-wise. He opened her legs and stepped between her knees so that he could kiss her again, this time deeper. Tongues met.

He tasted of cider and fire.

His hands were on her spread knees. His hands were under her skirt. His hands were up, up, all the way, fingertips to her hips, thumbs brushing and then stroking the silky cloth of her panties. The itch of need flared out from her clit until it seemed to set her whole body alight. She bit his lower lip, softly, panting.

Touch me. Touch me like that oh yes oh god a bit farther down oh please please PLEASE!

“Oh chrissakes Liz,” he groaned. “You know I want you, don’t you?

“Uh huh,” she groaned as his hands moved on her, his knuckles pressed and rubbed, his fingers probed.

“Really, really want you. You’re like… I want every bit of you—I want to get all over you…those gorgeous sweet tits of yours—your beautiful big arse—I could just…oh fuck you’re driving me crazy, Liz!”

It wasn’t exactly poetry and it wasn’t romantic, but it was entirely sincere, and Liz loved every hoarse and heartfelt syllable. She wound her arms around his neck and bit at his ear.

“Say yes, Liz, my sweet, my lovely.”


“Oh hell yes…”


“Here.” He started to tug at her panties. “Oh fuck. I can’t wait any longer.”

They were up a side street, on a wall, in the dark—so maybe they’d go unseen, though she could hear music and shouting still from the village green. At the moment it didn’t seem to matter much. There was a raging wet ache of need in her sex that didn’t want to wait either, and that knew it needed Shane to fill it. The whole reckless crazy night demanded culmination. “Have you brought protection?” she hissed.

“Huh?” Shane paused in his quest, her knickers already halfway down her thighs. “No…”

“Oh no,” she keened. And she forced herself to say it; “Then it’s not happening.” She wanted to scream with frustration. “Oh no, this is so not fair!”

“Wait. Wait.” He kissed her lips fervently. “It’s all right, my lovely, it’s all right.”

“No it’s not—when am I ever—?” When am I ever going to get a chance like this again?

“Shhh!” He gripped the back of her neck with one hand, pulling her mouth against his so that they panted together. His other hand, hidden beneath her bunched-up skirts, cupped her open pussy like an answer to prayer. Fingertips traced the wet slot, danced a circle about the slick nub of her clit, and set wildfire burning to light the midsummer night.

“Oh!” she whimpered, shocked.

“That’s sweet,” he whispered. “That’s good.”

She clasped his face like she was drowning and trying to cling to him, but her sight was glazing over already. The all-too-knowing, relentless tease of his fingers on her sex was more than she could bear. The waves of pleasure slithered over each other, rose, crashed, and rose again building higher.

“Oh god, Shane!”

“Give it up, my lovely, that’s right,” he urged her, low and thick in his throat. “Give it up to me.”

She knew she should say No. She knew she should be ashamed of being played with right here in the street, too turned-on to stop, her knees spread and jerking. She knew she should be ashamed that it wasn’t his bullish, boyish need that was overwhelming them both; he wasn’t the one who couldn’t hold back; he wasn’t the one witless with arousal. It was her. She needed this.

She was the one who was wet.

She was the one swollen and slippery and shuddering with lust.

She was the one moaning into his mouth, making helpless animal noises that cascaded out of her open throat.

And then she was the one coming, shamelessly.

When the last of the tension had ebbed from her quivering frame, Shane kissed her again. “That’s right,” he told her.

“Oh god, Shane!” He’d robbed her of her senses. He’d made her do something she’d never dreamt of doing in public. Her whole body pulsed with the afterwash of her climax, and her dress clung to her damp skin.

His lips brushed the whorl of her ear. “Touch me, Liz,” he breathed, squeezing her juicy sex.


“Please, touch me.” There was dew on his upper lip. “I’m fucking begging you, my lovely.”

“This?” Liz dropped her hand to his groin, groping the thick length that pressed up against the denim. Shane groaned.

“Take it out. Go on. Touch it.”

Like an earth shock following a major quake, a spasm flickered through her, deep inside, just at the thought. She wanted to see the beastie that had been bruising her all night. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to strip him naked and run her hands over his lanky, wonderful body before it was too late and she lost her chance forever.

“Please,” he whispered, lost in his need.

Underneath his white shirt was a belt cinch and a button and a zipper. Her hands felt clumsy on the fastenings, but he held back his impatience. And when she pulled down the elastic of the cotton briefs beneath, she almost giggled in shock at the way his cock did not just slip out—no, it bounced out like a sprung toy, half-comical and half-appalling in its urgency. Wholly impressive in its dimensions though, she quickly discovered. Liz would admit that she didn’t have that much practical experience in the cock department, but this was rather more than she’d imagined—thick, ridged with a single bulging vein, and hot to the touch. Like his hands and his shoulders, it seemed out of proportion to his youthful frame. When she wrapped her hand around its girth, she found she could hardly get thumb and fingertip to meet.

Shane was a big, big boy.

Buy 'Summer Seduction' at Amazon US
Buy 'Summer Seduction' at Amazon UK
Buy 'Summer Seduction' direct from Ellora's Cave

Friday, 19 June 2015

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 cash
  • I have no children
  • My sister and her children aren't genetically related to me
  • My 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 :-D
  • My 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 :-)                          

Wednesday, 17 June 2015

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!

Monday, 15 June 2015

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

Sunday, 14 June 2015

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!

Friday, 12 June 2015

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...

Wednesday, 10 June 2015

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

Monday, 8 June 2015

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.’

Friday, 5 June 2015

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 ;-)

Wednesday, 3 June 2015

Everything Comes Down to This

Apologies for the vagueblogging, but this is a tough couple of weeks and writing is not on my mind.

I don't know how this is going to end
and I don't know how this is going to change
I don't know how this is going to feel
But everything comes down to this

Monday, 1 June 2015

Blue Monday - Jennifer Denys guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

This week's excerpt is from BDSM Weekend, by Jennifer Denys.

A weekend of BDSM activities for beginners. That was what James Shaw had booked at Lindsey Park Manor. He was now anxious about telling his wife, Caroline. In the past, they had tried out various implements at home, and were keen to take it further—even considering joining a ‘swingers’ site—but it was quite daunting doing anything with others! And then a shock awaits them on arrival in the form of James’ best friend.

As they progress through the various events—cropping in the stables, fellatio in the ballroom, and an unusual fox hunt—they have to deal with animosity, jealousy and the dropping of inhibitions, as all of them grow in their knowledge of a lifestyle which is exciting, yet challenging.

Just as the dynamics of their threesome change considerably, a further surprise awaits them at the end of the weekend.

Master George patted the left half of the billiard table. “I suggest you lay on this side with your butt up against the wooden edge, with legs over the side. That way Caroline can easily sit on top and bend forward, taking Mark in her mouth from that position, while I have access to her bottom without leaning across you.”

He hopped up onto the table, wondering how many other couples had done the same. In fact, he realised he didn’t know how long the Manor had been doing these BDSM events. His thoughts were swiftly brought back to the present when Caroline eagerly climbed on top of him. It was a good thing he was already aroused. Not that he had been anything but turned on all weekend.

Her face was vivid with excitement as she wiggled herself so that he was in her entrance. Neither of them were expecting her to plummet down suddenly.


Mistress Beatrice came over to comfort Caroline. “You were probably very wet after the fun earlier and that eased the way. Don’t move for a second or two.”

That was easier said than done as James’ cock had a mind of its own and started thrusting up. He took a deep shuddering breath.

“I’m fine,” said Caroline, smiling down at him.

“Excellent. Now, before Mark jumps up, James would you like Mark to wear a condom?”

Caroline shook her head at him. James knew she never liked the taste or texture of condoms, even the flavoured ones. “No, that’s fine. Thank you,” he answered.

“Then, Mark, climb up and kneel by James’ head, if you will.”

James found it quite disconcerting to have Mark’s cock looming over him.

Mistress Beatrice patted his arm. “I can tell you are uncomfortable, James. You are the most dominant of the three of you, so take charge. It is up to you to position the others.”

Clearing his throat, James did as suggested. “Caroline, lean forward so you are on hands and knees over me.” He waited a moment while she complied, holding her hips tightly to keep her from pulling away from him.

“This is fun.” She grinned down at him.

“It certainly is. Your boobs are in an excellent position for me to play with.” James showed her by twirling her nipple between a finger and thumb.


He chuckled, and then glanced up to Mark who was patiently waiting. “Okay, Mark, ease forward. Caro, open your mouth. I want to see Mark slowly push inside those luscious lips of yours.”

It was actually very erotic watching this happening over his head and he made a note to do it this way again—if they were to continue having sex together.

“Good,” declared the Mistress. “Now feel free to direct George and myself.”

“Ah!” Turning his head away from the action over him, James could see George had a flogger of sorts in his hand.

“This is a short cat-o’-nine-tails,” explained the Master, winding his fingers through the many tails.

James could see it had knots in it, and he frowned at the host. “Won’t that be rather painful?”

“Waste of time doing it otherwise. I assure you Caroline will be so busy with what you and Mark are doing she won’t notice it. And, in case you are concerned I will hit you, I am very experienced with this tool.”

“Okaaaaay, go for it,” he said reluctantly.

He felt the instant the Master struck at Caroline’s backside as she jerked forward with a cry, dropping Mark out of her mouth.

It hadn’t been a very hard strike and James admonished his wife, “Uh-uh. Keep that dick in your mouth, or I’ll tell Master George to go harder.”

She hurriedly took Mark in again. This time when Caroline was hit she held on and they got into a rhythm. As she was struck with the flogger, she lifted up slightly pushing her mouth further onto Mark’s cock, who didn’t need to do anything other than kneel there, lightly clasping her head to steady himself.

James, once he got over the worry of being hit himself, realised he needn’t have been concerned as George was a Master at his art. All he felt was the swish of air over his legs just before the instrument landed on Caroline’s backside. Instead, he relaxed and found he had his hands free to do whatever he wanted. Consequently, he roamed Caroline’s body, stroking her back—keeping well away from where their host was hitting her—tickling her clit, enjoying teasing her breasts, knowing that she could only squirm.

He then noticed the hostess standing patiently by. Smiling wickedly he said, “Mistress Beatrice, if you will, I would like you to spank Mark every time Master George strikes Caroline.”

“W–what?” the man above him stuttered, almost pulling away from Caroline.

“I’m sure my colleague above me is man enough to take it.”

“Bastard.” Mark wasn’t really perturbed, judging by his grin.

“Good idea. You are learning very fast.” With that, Beatrice walked up the table and proceeded to carry out James’ demand. This meant when Caroline moved onto Mark’s cock after being hit by George, Mark thrust forward away from the spanking with a grunt.

He laughed, thoroughly enjoying himself.

As his arousal rose, coherent thoughts went out of his head and James lifted his butt up to push into Caroline, gripping her waist to hold her still, so he could thrust quicker, feeling Caroline’s pussy contract around him every time George hit her. He could certainly get used to it.

Mark started groaning above him.

It echoed James’ own moans and he started pushing up inside her more quickly, not caring that he was going to be bruised from the ledge of the table.

Suddenly, Caroline shuddered just as Mark yelled his release, and she jerked back and forth uncontrollably. It was enough for James to let himself go with a loud cry, to clapping from their hosts.

Buy at:
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Jennifer Denys is a bestselling author in various genre (BDSM, contemporary, sci-fi, paranormal, with historical and fantasy in her works in progress) with several different publishers.

An Englishwoman through and through, she lives in a beautiful historical city and is game to try most things once. She’s had a tattoo done on her calf, flew down zip wires 100 feet up in the trees, and was photographed nude by a professional photographer. All of which have taken place since she turned 50!

Many of her experiences end up in her books… but you will have to read them to find out what!

Jennifer's website/blog