I'm a writer of erotic fiction, mostly of a paranormal/fantasy bent. Welcome to my Blog! Adults only please ... you know the drill. All commenters welcome. All text copyright Janine Ashbless unless otherwise stated.
To celebrate the publication of Kristina Lloyd's On My Knees (featured last Eyecandy Monday), there are a couple of fun competitions going on...
Over at Kristina's blog you can have a go at comparing gobs and lipsticks of various erotica writers, including my ridiculous self. If you can match 12 writers to 12 lipsticks you can win a copy of On My Knees.
And Charlie Powell is sponsoring a short-short-story competition! Write a tale based around a lipstick name, and not only can you win a bigger prize, but Charlie and Kristina will be donating money to the charity Refuge for every entry they receive!
Closing date for both competitions is 11th October, so go for it!
Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!
This week's guest is Kristina Lloyd with an excerpt from her brand new collection On my Knees, which presents fifteen of Kristina's best-loved tales of female submission, including 'The Bondage Pig', 'On My Knees in Barcelona' and 'All My Lovers in One Room'.
The stories in this collection feature a range of characters, settings and submissive desires. In 'Living off Lovers' a woman in a haunted apartment block becomes obsessed with a man she barely knows; while in another tale, Susanna, despite being married, can't stop thinking about her local butcher ('Cutting Out Hearts'). An army-boot fetishist meets her match in 'Boot Camp'; and when Coral's lover claims ownership of her ass, she orchestrates a threesome so she can enjoy being shared ('My Ass is Your Ass is My Ass').
"Kristina Lloyd is one of my favorite writers... Her atmospheric style sends me into orbit" - Alison Tyler
On My knees in Barcelona was originally published in 'Best Women’s Erotica 2010' (ed. Violet Blue). In this excerpt, it’s late and hot in Barcelona, and a woman visits a dingy, male-dominated bar in search of some ice.
The bartender poured a large brandy then set it in front of me.
“Gratis,” he said.
Unwilling to risk offence, I accepted the drink while trying to convince myself it left me under no obligation. So bloody English of me. Why couldn’t I decline the brandy, pay for the ice conventionally and leave?
“Graçias,” I said, turning to the customer, but I didn’t smile.
He nodded, lips tilting in wry amusement. The brandy was rough, its heat scorching my throat and blazing inside my chest. The nape of my neck was wet with sweat, my hair damp. I was concerned about the ice melting in my jug and wished I could sip the ice water. The ceiling fan clicked faintly. Nobody spoke and I was relieved. It could simply be that this guy was silently extending the hand of friendship. If so, I would silently shake it then shoot off home. The brandy was difficult to drink though, fire when I wanted ice.
“Ay, qué calor,” said my new friend at length.
“Sí, qué calor,” I replied.
Hot weather. I sipped my brandy. I could feel him watching and his passive interest bugged me. After a couple more minutes, wanting to escape his gaze, I asked for the lavabos and was directed down a flight of rickety stairs. I descended towards a basement with scruffy, dark crimson walls, toilets at the far end and a swing door with a small, dirty window lined with wire mesh. Halfway down the stairs, movement below caught my eye. I paused, looking over my shoulder at the corridor behind me. Beyond an open door was a guy on a chair and a woman on her knees, her head bobbing in his lap. I clutched the banister, immobilized by fear and a sudden, pornographic lust.
My cunt swelled and swelled, blood throbbing there. Oh Christ, what a picture. The guy’s mouth was slack, his head tipped back, as the woman, her chestnut curls fanning over his thighs, dipped up and down, up and down. Had they heard me? Hell, I hoped not. I needed to watch. Until that moment, I hadn’t known how much I wanted cock; hadn’t known how much I’d missed it since dumping the guitarist; hadn’t known that stab of raging desire. Because while I could fuck myself with cock-shaped objects (cool as a cucumber), nothing could ever come close to the overwhelming sensations of a deep, dark, blinding mouthful. I stared, hardly daring to breathe.
The guy was young and lean, a tumble of ink-black curls giving him an air of flamenco passion. Transfixed, I watch him grow fiercer, pulling the woman onto him, his fingers snarled in her hair as his pelvis rocked either to meet or defeat her. In her kneeling position, the woman kicked at the floor, squealing in muffled protest, her hands flapping. My yearning for cock was knocked for six by a second wave, a shocking urge to be claimed and used in a myriad of filthy ways.
My cunt flared to a cushiony mass of need, so sensitive I fancied I could feel the warp and weft of cotton in my underwear. I wanted to be where she was, at the mercy of a wild stranger who regarded me as nothing but an object for his pleasure, insignificant and disposable. I wanted to be all body and no mind, a thing made of cunt, mouth and ass, wide open and ready to receive.
Face aflame, I turned, intending to hurry back to the bar. I would put it from my thoughts, pretend nothing had happened, pretend I hadn’t seen either the couple or the grubby depths of my desire. Was this because I hadn’t had sex for so long? Was I craving the basest sort of action as compensation for those months of lack? Feeling shaky, I clasped the banister, mouth dry as a bone.
My stomach somersaulted. To my horror, at the head of the stairs stood the big-nosed guy from the bar. He grinned, descending in slow, swaggering steps. Panicking, I glanced down to the room. The guy in the chair was looking right at me, smirking as he slammed the woman’s head between his thighs. My knees turned wobbly while blood pumped in my ears, roaring like seashells and high fever.
Big Nose was at my side, his forehead gleaming with a film of sweat. He tipped his eyebrows at me. “Cuatro miles pesetas,” he said.
Outrage spiked my fear. Four thousand pesetas! He thought I was a whore, thought I would blow him for a nasty brandy and a handful of notes!
“Déjame paso!” I snapped, attempting to sidestep him. He mirrored me, blocking my path. I grew more afraid then, trapped between these two randy cucarachas, and yet my groin was pulsing as hard as my heart.
“Cuatro miles,” he repeated, nodding towards the basement room. Then in Spanish he added, “Take it, go on. It is a good price. You know you want it.”
And I understood at once that I was to pay; that I was the punter not the whore. I didn’t know whether to be more or less insulted. I stared at him, incredulous. He actually thought I was so desperate for cock I would pay to suck off a stranger in a sleazy, backstreet bar!
“Move,” I said, no longer bothering to speak his language. Despite being on a lower step, I tried shouldering him out of the way but with swift skill, he jostled me backward. I cried out to realize I was now sandwiched between him and the wall, his chest pressing against my breasts, my arms trapped in his hands. For several seconds we stood there, our breaths shallow and tense.
“No me molestes,” I said, a Berlitz phrase I’d never had to use before.
The guy laughed and with good reason. My demand sounded so pitifully insincere I may as well have said “Molest me”. He crooked a finger, resting it in the hollow of my throat, and I turned aside, looking past him to the room below. The woman was watching us. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and laughed, white teeth flashing. I was relieved to see she wasn’t in trouble but, more than that, I was relieved to see I wasn’t the only woman keen on skirting so close to danger.
Kristina Lloyd writes erotic fiction about sexually submissive women who like it on the dark, dirty and dangerous side. She is the author of five novels, including the controversial Black Lace
bestseller,Asking for Trouble, a dark, psychological thriller dubbed ‘awesome’ by top-selling crime writer Elizabeth Haynes.
Kristina’s short stories appear in numerous UK and US anthologies, including several ‘best of’ collections, and her work has been translated into German, Dutch and Japanese. Her non-fiction has been published in The Guardian, The Sunday Times Travel, Scarlet, FHM, Filament, The International Business Times and more. She has a master’s degree in twentieth century literature and lives by the sea in Brighton, UK.
OMFG. This is almost too much for me to wrap my head round. There's an artist from Slovakia, Martin Vargic, who makes the most incredible maps. Here's his map of World Literature:
Here, north of Romance, are the Islands of Erotica:
And if you zoom in ... there on the middle island is the tiny port of Janine Ashbless!!!
Some people make history ... I'm geography! ;-)
You can see much more detail of the Map of Literaturehere
and buy the book here
I'm just going to leave this here while I take a few days off the blog...
I don't talk much on this blog about my horror writing - mostly because it goes on under another name - but I have to show off about THIS!
My story The Coat Off His Back appears in Ellen Datlow's uber-anthology Best Horror of the Year Volume 7. YESSSSS! I HAVE ARRIVED! BOW BEFORE ME, WORLD!
A sin-eater plies the tools of her dangerous trade; a
jealous husband takes his rival on a hunting trip; a student torments
one of his teachers; a cheap grafter is selling artifacts form hell;
something is haunting the departure lounge of an airport . . .
The Best Horror of the Year showcases
the previous year’s best offerings in short fiction horror. This
edition includes award-winning and critically acclaimed authors Laird
Barron, Caitlín R. Kiernan, Nathan Ballingrud, Genevieve Valentine, and
more.
For over three decades, award-winning editor and anthologist Ellen
Datlow has had her finger on the pulse of the latest and most terrifying
in horror writing. Night Shade Books is proud to present the seventh
volume in this annual series, a new collection of stories to keep you up
at night.
I am so smug I want to punch myself in the face :-)
Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!
This week's guest is Ashen White, with an excerpt from her book Queen of Storms, the first in the Tales from the Tarot of the Acolyte series.
Having the luck of the Irish, Gerry O'Keith has a beautiful fiancé, a high-paying job, a secluded lakeside summer cottage, and a big, black Harley. He also has a keen interest in fine art, and strange, arcane artefacts like Tarot cards. On a trip to the lake, he picks up a unique deck of Tarot cards from a strange, old gypsy - and very quickly learns there's more to Tarot than meets the eye!
Without warning, he put his arm out and grabbed her by the back of her head, then pulled her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. She responded immediately, her lips parting to give his rampant tongue access to hers, the heat of her lips melding with his. On and on they kissed, their bodies closing the space between them until they were wrapped together, his hands caressing the dewy smoothness of her silken skin, squeezing the exquisite firmness of her bottom, pushing her vulva against the straining mound of inflamed man-flesh still entrapped within his shorts. His nose inhaled the growing sweet scents of her arousal, filling his lungs with their passionate message, and his mind exploded with visions of wild, storm-wracked forests and tall-grassed meadows freshened with warm summer rains, through which he and Sín ran, naked, making love.
Breaking their embrace, he swept his arm around her legs and lifted her off her feet, then carried her through to the bedroom at the back of the cottage. Throwing her down roughly on the unmade bed, he literally tore off the clothes he was wearing, then clambered up beside her, his mouth retaking possession of hers, as his hands sought the firmness of her waiting breasts. Mercilessly he squeezed and tugged at her nipples, feeling them heat up and harden as she writhed beneath his touch.
Nibbling her lip, he broke their kiss, his mouth gently caressing the skin of her neck, as he worked his way down to gorge himself on her breasts – alternating with mouth and hand between them, tasting again the subtle flavour of her skin’s secretions, feeling her body squirm and gyrate, as her essences filled his mind with a powerful, insistent longing.
Outside the cottage, some way in the distance, the rumble of thunder made its way towards them, but Gerry was too engrossed in his passions to pay any attention to the sudden change in the weather. Sín moaned beneath him, her body pulsating and trembling with pleasure, as her master, slowly, oh, so slowly, ate his way lovingly down to the heart of her sex. He’d paused at her navel, to dip his tongue in there, and nipped and licked at her sinuous abs, and now he was poised, with her yoni in vision, to sample and savour the full sweetness within. She watched him through eyes almost closed with arousal, as he took in the beautiful sight of her wanting, waiting cunt.
He took hold of her thighs just behind her knees, and lifted and pushed them up and apart, exposing and expanding the delightful flower within. Her pale outer labia spread gently open, showing the dusky pink inner lips of her yoni, glistening now with the juices of arousal, warmly inviting his tongue to taste her. At their apex, the hard, reddened nub of her clitoris seemed to glow with the enticing heat of her fire, luring the watering mouth of her master down to eat. Gerry watched, entranced, as a small drop of fluid escaped from her cunt and ran down and over the pretty pink pucker of her anus, the lump in his throat making it almost impossible for him to swallow.
Slowly he lowered his head down to inhale a lungful of Sín’s sweet aromas, then his tongue delved between her succulent lips, stroking across the dark entrance of her cunt and running over her sensitive, juice-laden skin, soaking up her delicious, tangy secretions. Carefully he sucked one of her labia into his mouth, then tugged it with his teeth, causing her to gasp and shudder as ripples of ecstasy ran through her. Then he covered her hot, red clitoris with his lips and sucked it hard, releasing a deep growl from the depths of her lungs.
“Is that good for you, dear?” he asked, looking up between her thighs at her rolling head.
“Oh, yes, master,” she moaned again, as Gerry continued to suck and nip her clit, her juices running over his chin, too copious now for his mouth to consume. Gently he tickled the wet sphincter of her anus with the tip of his finger, then, dropping his tongue to delve deep into her sex, he simultaneously slid his finger deep into her ass, causing her to buck on the bed, mashing her vulva into his face, as she shrieked his name. Outside, lightning flashed and thunder rolled, as the Queen of Storms hit an orgasmic peak, but Gerry was so engrossed in his sexual prowess, he barely registered the storm at all. As the thunder rumbled away, and Sín lay trembling on the bed, he sat back on his haunches and let her legs stretch out. Licking her juices from around his mouth, he looked at the emotions crossing her face, her eyes closed as she enjoyed her afterglow. He took in the darkening pinkness of her hardened nipples, and the contours of her abs as they rippled with aftershocks, each of which was accompanied by a rumble of thunder somewhere in the distance.
“Are you enjoying the view, master?” Sín’s voice, husky with arousal, drew his attention from her body to her face. Her blue eyes twinkled, and her lips smiled at him, drawing him closer. Sitting up, she put out her arm and stroked his face, bringing him to her so she could kiss him, savouring the flavour of her sex on his lips.
Gerry climbed up and across the bed, laying her down again, and then lying beside her, their arms enclosing each other. As they kissed, her hand drifted down to his manhood, swollen and hard and seeking attention. Gently she coddled his balls, squeezing them, milking them, feeding their contents into his body, where he could feel the insistence of oncoming orgasm building. Pushing him onto his back, she straddled him carefully, positioning herself just above his throbbing, waiting cock.
Queen of Storms at Amazon US : Amazon UK Goodreads Amazon Best Selling Author Ashen White writes the kind of stories you love to get lost in. Rich in detail, she believes in making her readers not just read her stories, but wants them to become part of the action, the passion, the sights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes! Whether writing horror, erotica, romance, poetry or drama, she loves weaving tales that pull her readers into the worlds she creates, where they are not merely outsiders looking in - but where they become involved in the lives of her characters and the interesting things they get up to!
Born in the north-east of England, Ashen has spent her time learning as much as possible about ancient and modern mythology and legend, delving deep into epic fantasy and horror, and studying the arcane and the occult, so she can bring all of these elements into the stories she writes.
Ashen writes the kind of stories she loves to read, and works constantly and consistently at producing the best quality stories she can!
Ashen lives on the edge of Toronto, with her two partners and their three cats. Ashen's Blog Facebook Amazon Author Page Twitter
I finally got to see the Foo Fighters live! Last time I tried, the lead singer fell off the stage and broke his leg...
So this time Dave Grohl had to do the whole gig sitting down, on his Davros-style motorised throne:
The concert was at the Milton Keynes Bowl, in the middle of a huge park, which is now my fave venue. It was like a mini-festival, complete with funfair, falafel wraps...
.. and special trains:
We even enjoyed the Iggy Pop set ... possibly because we were at a good safe distance and couldn't actually see him, but hey, that's still more than we were expecting ;-)
My writer chum Lucy Felthouse has a brand-new paranormal release out: Sated. So here's a teaser glimpse of the action :-)
Since getting together with her vampire boyfriend, Ace, Aneesa is enjoying a sex life she could never have with a human. Ace has skill, strength, stamina…and is massively adventurous. Aneesa is checking things off her sexual bucket list at a rate of knots. However, she hasn’t even come close to experiencing the ultimate item on her list. So when Ace beats her to it, proposing a threesome with his werewolf friend, Barton, Aneesa’s definitely up for it. Barton is attractive, smart and sexy—almost too good to be true, in fact. Aneesa decides not to jump straight into things, but makes sure it’s what she truly wants. However, it turns out Barton’s not so easily dissuaded. Will Aneesa get the ultimate erotic experience she’s desired for so long? Will she be truly sated, or is the plan doomed to failure?
A human, a vampire and a werewolf walked into a bar. Sounds like the start of a bad joke. I can assure you it isn’t. And telling you that, actually, the human and the vampire walked into the bar together, and found the werewolf already there, probably doesn’t make it sound any better. Well tough, because that’s the way it went down.
Ace and I met at a Halloween fancy dress party. I know, I know—cliché of clichés. And yes, he was dressed as a vampire—Albeit a horrendously exaggerated one—all slicked-back hair, über pale skin and visible fangs. In real life, he actually looks no different to you or I. Okay, he is a bit pale. But at the time, I’d laughed at him and asked if he thought vampires weren’t a bit overdone—it was when Twilight was at the height of its popularity—all angsty teens and stalkerish behavior.
He’d laughed right back, a joyous, melodious sound that had heat pooling in my groin—then as suddenly as it had arrived, his mirth disappeared. Then he’d said, “Overdone or not, we’re here to stay. And I don’t fucking sparkle.”
My heart had been pounding, and my mouth had gone dry. Somehow, I’d known he wasn’t joking. And, although my conscious brain had shut down, my subconscious had had my back, because I’d heard myself say, “Well, thank fuck for that, because I’ve never been a fan of glitter.”
He’d laughed again, the sound tugging at my very core. And—apologies for yet another cliché—we’ve been together ever since.
Several years later and we’re still as madly in love as ever, and still fucking like rabbits. Sex with a vampire is everything you’d expect it to be—energetic, powerful, finessed, mind-blowing and packed with stamina. Providing you can keep up, that is.
In addition to our unquenchable lust for each other, Ace and I have engaged in bondage, sex toys, spanking, anal, pegging—almost an A to Z of things to do in bed. Some we’ve tried and discarded, others have been a regular part of our sexual repertoire.
And yet, our latest adventure was the most exciting yet. You see, after mine and Ace’s initial meeting, I was given an almighty education in everything it meant to be a vampire. Myths were dispelled, other beliefs were confirmed—he definitely didn’t sparkle—and yet more things I’d never even thought of were seared into my brain.
So when Ace announced he had a friend who was a werewolf, I didn’t even bat an eyelid. It was the follow up information that surprised me.
“He wants to what?” The tone of my voice by the end of the sentence was so high that probably only dogs could hear me. And yet it was genuine surprise, rather than disapproval, that fuelled my reaction.
Raising his eyebrows, Ace gave me that sexy smirk that always gets my blood pounding through my veins and my pussy aching to be filled. “You heard me, Aneesa. My friend Barton would like to screw you. With me present, of course, and actively taking part.”
“A th-threesome?” I stumbled over the word—not because I was horrified. Quite the opposite, in fact. Being fucked by two hot guys at once had long been on my sexual bucket list—a list that, since meeting Ace, had had items checked off it at a rate of knots. I was going to have to start thinking of some more shit to put on it. I was way too young to have completed my bucket list—sexual or not—for Christ’s sake!
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and
erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100
publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several
editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic
Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and
co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house.
She owns Erotica For All, is book
editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth
of The Brit Babes. Find out more
at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk.
Join her on Facebook
and Twitter, and subscribe to her
newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
Every Monday I post a rude bit from one of my stories, for your entertainment.
After seeing the Foo Fighters in concert yesterday - complete with Dave Grohl gliding Davros-like on his shiny chrome throne - I really have to share an excerpt from my storyDubbel. It's one of my unattributed stories that appeared in the Nexus "Confessions" series, which were all anonymous pieces written for a male readership. It features the FF track "The Pretender" and appeared in Nexus Confessions Vol. Six
‘Hey,’ he whispered very softly in my ear: ‘Do what you’re told.’
I quivered, inside and out. Those were Bedroom Words. They meant we were starting on the obedience game – and there were only two possible responses to that phrase. I could use our safeword to chicken out. Or I could do what he told me to. Suddenly I was hot all over.
Craig had never done this in public before. I wondered what the hell he and Damien had been talking about before I came in, and I cast a wary look at our friend sat in the armchair opposite. Damien’s eyes were on the screen, an open bottle cradled at a casually suggestive angle in his lap. I’d always fancied him quite a bit; he’s pretty good-looking in his way, with thick backswept red hair and intense eyes. And don’t let anyone tell you that women don’t assess all their husbands’ friends.
Deliberately I relaxed against Craig, letting his fingers continue their work on my breast. He showed his approval by kissing my flushed cheek and nuzzling my ear, his tongue-tip tracing its whorls, his breath hot, his teeth nibbling my lobe. I had to force myself not to squirm visibly with pleasure. His thumb and finger tightened to a pinch on my nipple, and I squeaked under my breath.
Damien’s eyes flicked in my direction. His expression stayed neutral. If it was obvious that I was looking flustered he didn’t acknowledge it. Under the tight stretchy cotton of my clothing, Craig’s fingers played vigorously with my nipple.
Damien turned back to the screen. ‘Bet she’s a wild fuck, mind,’ he said dreamily. He was talking about the singer, of course. He had to be.
God, this was turning me on. It was years since the early days when Craig and I had been wild-horny enough to mess around in public. Did Damien count as ‘in public’? Who was Craig trying to tease more?
The music changed; the new video was The Pretender by the Foo Fighters. I really like that song. Craig wasn’t about to allow the fact to remain a secret.
‘Now this is Rhiannon’s song. She loves to fuck to it.’
I opened my mouth to protest but my poor tortured nipple got a pinch that sent electricity jumping all over my skin.
‘Does she now?’ Damien looked faintly amused.
‘Fast and rough.’
Damien ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth, thoughtfully.
‘And if I start shafting her when it starts, she comes dead on the final lines.’
Damien lifted an eyebrow and I squirmed against Craig. He was exposing my intimate secrets, and the humiliation felt horribly, unbelievably good – because, I supposed, it was Damien, and I’d always deep down wanted to bare myself to him and get a response. Or maybe just because it was so dirty a thing to do. The point of the obedience game is to see how far I can be pushed, after all – and to see how horny I get on the way.
For a moment the three of us watched each other silently, half-listening to the pounding chorus. Then Craig bent his lips to my ear. ‘Want to sit up on my boner?’ he whispered.
I caught my lip in my teeth, but nodded, and he let go of my breast in order to pull me into his lap, facing outward. I kicked off my shoes and tucked my feet behind me before I relaxed back against his torso. I guess I was obscuring his view of the TV a bit, but he didn’t seem to mind. From this position, once he’d set his beer aside, he could slide both hands up under my top to cup and squeeze my breasts; my right nipple was burning from his earlier attentions and it was a relief to have the left one tormented too. I could feel Craig’s cock hard against my bum-cheek and I writhed my hips to make sure of his arousal. Damian sat back in his armchair, his eyes resting on me even while he tilted his bottle to his lips.
‘I think you should pull down your top and show Damien your pretty tits, love,’ Craig murmured. My pussy pulsed, warm and wet, and I obeyed, lifting my breasts out into view while he transferred his hands to the outside of my clothes and resettled them. The cooler air made my nipples stand out harder. Yet our friend showed no sign of emotion, even when Craig pulled at my swollen teats, tugging them out then flicking them cruelly before stoking them in soothing circles. But he was watching carefully. I groaned as the stimulation became too much for me.
'Just you watch the telly, love,’ I was instructed. But I couldn’t; I couldn’t take my eyes off Damien, though my lids were heavy and I had to gaze at him from under my lashes. Was he properly enjoying the sight of my tanned, pert tits being played with? His free hand rested in his crotch, hiding any sign of arousal.
Then Craig moved one hand down to my pussy and rested it between my open thighs, sending a whole new thrill through my body and saying, ‘I think he’d like to see your snatch too, love.’
‘Okay,’ I whispered, because his hand on my pussy was making it soften and open and I couldn’t think any more about anything except how much I needed to be touched there.
‘Pull your skirt up.’
I used both hands to draw it right up my thighs, revealing the gusset of my lacy panties – which Craig’s tickling fingers instantly discovered to be soaked through. He stroked my clit through the cloth, scratching with his fingertips, then pushed the moistened fabric aside to get his fingers into my wetness. I squirmed even more, both self-conscious and helplessly needy. The fact that Damien was looking at my swollen pink pussy-lips was incredibly arousing. The fact that my husband was making me do this for his best mate was even more dirtily delicious and made me unable to resist the waves of heat surging through me. Forget about needing a good shafting; it took only one hand mauling casually at my breasts and a single finger on my clit to bring me off there and then, as the last lines of the song roared out through the room. And I didn’t hold back on the gasping and crying out either.
I was rewarded by Damien’s unblinking attention, and the slow slide and squeeze of his hand on his thigh.
‘Kneel up,’ Craig urged, when I’d recovered from my spasms. I put my hands on his knees and lifted my backside up: giving him room, it turned out, to tuck my skirt up into its waistband and wrestle his cock out of his fly. He guided my bottom back into his lap, spearing me with his thick prick and sliding it right the way into me.
‘Hold on,’ I gasped, head spinning. ‘Give us a drink first.’
‘Ask Damien.’
I groaned as he pushed deep inside me. ‘Please Damien ... Could I just have a sip of your beer?’
Damien stood then, and the bulge in his jeans made it clear at last how much he’d been enjoying the show. He came forward to stand in front of me, and put the mouth of his bottle to my dry lips. ‘How deep can you take it, Rhiannon?’
I thought I'd show you the sophisticated and extensive planning wot I do for my books. This is the timeline for the first two novellas in the Lover's Wheel quartet - Summer Seductionand Falling Deep.
Since the action takes place over a whole year and is intimately tied to the change of the months, the pagan festivals and even (gods help me) the signs of the Zodiac, the timeline's really important. And fiddly! I'm currently writing the last scene for Falling Deep - though it is a long and complex BDSM scene so I'm not quite as close to finishing as I'd like to be.
"Smudge" is the name of my protag's cat. The letter codes at bottom right are shopping discounts for a shoe website. I have no recall whatsover of the significance of the Fifty Shades date.
And the design showing through the back of the scrap paper? It's for a Sami shamanic drum, of course.
More perversion in the library, ahem ... Just to let you see the fabuloso Gold Award won by The Sexy Librarian's Big Book of Erotica (which includes my Oedipus story Three Legs in the Evening).
Congratulations of course to our amazing editor Rose Caraway, who put so much love and effort into this big beautiful volume. High fives to all my fellow-contributors!
And following on from my wicked Monday dalliance with Kay Jaybee ... she's returned the favour by having me over at her place yesterday for Day Nine of her Tasty Tasters - two weeks of finger-lickin' smut excerpts. I've gave her a juicy slice of Named and Shamed.
