Wednesday, 30 November 2016

Kitchen sink drama

No, it's not some particularly ineffective attempt at drowning myself...

I'm trying out my whizzy new snorkelling mask for size!

Monday, 28 November 2016

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's excerpt is from Hare Coursing, one of three very short stories I have in 69.

“Don’t you think Erik’s hot?”
She lifted a brow. “He’s not bad, I suppose.”

“What about me?”

Both the men flanking her were as lean and fit as hounds, and they’d been flirting with her for half an hour now. She’d once seen a pair of dogs chasing a hare like that: one at each shoulder. “You’re okay too.”

“Which one of us do you want to disappoint, then?”

“Maybe,” she said chirpily, “I want to disappoint you both.”

“Oh ... I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Are you wanting us to fight over you?” Erik’s grin suggested he was not in a fighting mood. His fingertips had been on the small of her back for the last ten minutes, stroking her gently through her party dress. She hadn’t objected.

“Now that’s an idea.”

“Winner takes all?” Brandon’s voice dropped to a sexy growl. He ran the back of his finger over her cheek and she flushed.

“You’d like to see two guys fight for the right to fuck you?”

“Oh,” she protested, not quite happy with Erik’s choice of words but finding the discomfort compelling.

“Stripped down, maybe? D’you want to watch us wrestle? That’s pretty kinky of you.”

“I’d win, of course,” Brandon pointed out.

“Feck off,” laughed Erik. “Don’t listen to him. I’d kick his butt.”

“But it’d be a pity to waste so much energy, wouldn’t it? When there are so much better ways to spend it.”

“Make love, not war, eh?”

“You guys are bad!” She squirmed happily.

“I mean, think of the possibilities. Two men. That’s two mouths kissing you, love. Four hands, touching you all over. Two big solid cocks for you to ride as long as you liked.”

She shivered. 

Brandon leaned in and kissed her cheek, softly. “Two men sucking your breasts at once,” he whispered.

“A hand on your hot button,” Erik murmured in her other ear, tickling her with his warm breath. “Another up your sweet wet pussy. Two others on your ass, stroking you in all the right places.”

“Oh!” she said, her body full of heat and confusion. With a man at either side and the wall of a flowerbed behind her rump, it was impossible to turn away.

“D’you like the sound of that?” Brandon asked. The lift of his hand drew her attention down to where her nipple had pebbled against the thin cloth of her dress. “It looks like you like it.” One finger circled the stiff point delicately, sending tingles of pleasure through her flesh. She stared, mesmerised – and then Erik turned her face toward him and kissed her, just as softly, his tongue brushing against hers in time to the other man’s caress of her tit.

No matter how the hare had zigzagged from side to side, there was always a hound there.

“Um,” she gasped, pulling back after a long moment. “We shouldn’t.”

“You’re right. You might drop your glass. Here – let me take that.” Erik slipped it from her unresisting fingers and planted it in the earth behind her. His body leaned in against hers as he moved, and she felt the hard jut of his erection. She knew she should be protesting. But Brandon still had her right nipple, flicking it, and she couldn’t think past that thrill of sensation.

“Please,” she said incoherently, turning to that man – and then it was his turn to kiss her. His mouth was smoky with rolling tobacco, his tongue warm and slow. She felt Erik cup her left breast too and a moan rose from the depths of her being.

“There,” Brandon said when he had finished kissing away her words and her breath. “Now, you did like that.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “But...”


“I feel bad.”

His hand moved down from her breast, trailing over the shallow curve of her stomach, stroking in circles as it approached her pubic mound. “You feel fucking marvellous.”

“That’s not what I meant.” But her voice was uneven, and her hips tilted in response to his caress.

“Come on,” Erik murmured. “You must have thought about it. Two guys. Both focused on you, both trying to outdo each other - giving you everything you ever dreamed of. It must be a turn-on.”

“That’s just dirty,” she said, and whimpered as Brandon’s finger tickled the thin cotton shielding her swollen clit.

“Too fucking right, it’s dirty. Dirty is good. Dirty is his cock up your wet pussy while mine slips in and out between those amazing lips. Dirty is him licking you out from the front while I do it from the back. Dirty is both our cocks rubbing all over your beautiful tits. In fact it’s so dirty,” Brandon growled, butting softly up against her, his arm wrapped right round her waist, “that the thought of it is making both of us hard as rock. And I bet it’s making you wet.”

She arched her back, pushing her breast into Erik’s cupped hand. “I’m not wet.”


“Shall we prove it?”

Brandon gathered her skirt with his fingers, lifting it until he could slip his hand in the front of her panties. “Oh you liar,” he admonished, grinning, finding her split swollen and slippery. “Dirty little liar.”

Buy 69 at
Amazon UK

Sunday, 27 November 2016


Since I'm all about the cowboys this week (I spent yesterday fighting the evil Earps in a Western/horror game too) ...

Friday, 25 November 2016

Go West

That awkward moment when you spot your characters wandering round in someone else's TV series...

I'm totally loving Westworld at the moment - it's high-concept speculative fiction, very violent, very twisty-turny, with lots of nudity (male and female), a fairly diverse cast and some strong female roles. It asks awkward existential and moral questions about humanity. Like the theme park it depicts, it's stuffed with clever detail that makes you feel pleased with yourself for working it out (which the writers actually point out through a character, the clever-meta-clogs).

It has a ton of cast eyecandy :-)

But I was both delighted and genuinely freaked-out when doppelgangers of my current characters Milja and Egan showed up and then went out on a quest together!

Elsie Hughes (Shannon Woodward) is a prickly, smart programmer of androids.

Ashley Stubbs (Luke Hemsworth) is the security chief with the muscles and the gun whose job it is to protect everyone.

I'm now way too invested in those characters and really hope they survive to have WILD, ON-SCREEN SEX together. Which sadly isn't looking too likely at the moment...


Wednesday, 23 November 2016

King for a day!

I took some time off yesterday to meet up with the lovely D L King, erotica writer and legendary editor, on her trip to the UK. We went round the utterly brilliant Harry Potter Studio Tour near London - that's the queen chesspiece from HP and the Philosopher's Stone behind us.

I've already blogged tour photos on a previous occasion, but you can see more of D L's pics on her Facebook page too :-)

Monday, 21 November 2016

Blue Monday: Samantha MacLeod guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is my writing twin Samantha MacLeod (she loves Vikings and chainsaws too, what are the odds?) who, hot from the release of The Trickster's Lover, is back with the newly-published sequel, Honeymoon:

Mythology expert Caroline Capello agreed to marry Loki, the Norse god of fire and lies. She didn’t realize the most dangerous part of their marriage might be the honeymoon...

I felt Loki’s chest vibrate as he laughed. But he hesitated, watching me with an unusual intensity burning in his blue eyes.

“What is it?” I asked.

He leaned so close I could feel the cool skin of his cheek pressed against mine. “Do you want to try something different?” he whispered. His breath on my neck made my skin prickle as his hands ran down my back.

Something different. I shivered. He’s a two-thousand-year old, shapeshifting, trickster god. 

That could literally mean anything.

“Sure,” I said. “Honeymoon, right?”

 His eyes danced, and then he kissed me, slowly and deeply, for a long time. My body tingled against his, shivering and trembling as his hands moved across my hips. I had no idea what he was doing, but his tongue and his lips were so distracting, I didn’t care.

He pulled away and I sighed, blinking, trying to focus. His face seemed different, somehow. Softer. He took my hand and moved it slowly to his chest—

I jumped. “What the—”

Loki tilted his head and arched an eyebrow. My hand cupped the warm skin of a perfect, round breast. His body moved against mine, softer. Curvier.

“Something different,” Loki whispered.

“Okay,” I said, slowly.

I pulled back, but he pressed his lips against mine. Those, at least, felt the same. As we kissed, I ran my hand very lightly over the unfamiliar swell of his breast, and his nipple grew hard against my palm.

“Oh, very nice,” he whispered.

I shivered again, flushed with heat and desire. And then something felt very different; there was an unfamiliar pressure, and an ache, between my legs. I pulled away from his hungry lips and turned to his ear. “What did you do to me?” I whispered.

He smiled and wrapped his fingers around mine, pulling my hand from the curve of his breast and down the length of his new, female body. To the space between my legs.

I gasped. “Oh, fuck!”

He laughed against my neck. “What do you think?”

I looked down. There was a very long, very stiff cock erupting from my pubic hair. I could feel it; it was so hard it almost hurt. I swallowed. It felt strangely vulnerable to have my arousal be so obvious.

I took a deep breath and met his eyes. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

“Oh, you know exactly what to do with it,” he whispered, his breath soft and warm against my skin. He stepped back and lay on the bed, his legs spread.

I blinked. “You’re a...a woman.”

Loki laughed again. I’ve never been attracted to a woman before, but watching the curves of Loki’s breasts, the swell of red hair between his legs, my new cock stiffened and throbbed. Oh, damn, I thought. Maybe I do know what to do with it. 

“Well,” he said, arching his hips, “don’t keep me waiting.”

I bit my lip and climbed on the bed. He wrapped his legs around mine and then reached between my legs. Electricity surged through my body as he touched me, making me gasp. It felt so good, so fast. My hips pushed against his, and he guided my cock into his pussy.

I moaned, low and deep in my throat, as his entire body embraced me. “You’re so warm,” I said. “And so—oh—” He started to move his hips against mine, and I completely lost my train of thought.

“Now, typically,” he said, his voice thick, “it’s considered gauche for the cock to come first.”

I moaned again, biting my lip and trying to slow down. My legs trembled, and I just wanted to thrust against him, to push deeper and deeper. “I—I don’t—” I gasped as he grabbed my thighs.

“Just breathe,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe as the waves of pleasure crashed over me, making my entire body shake. I tried to slow my hips, to remember why I was trying to slow my hips, but Loki was moaning and thrusting against me, and I couldn’t think any more, I could only feel, feel his new body beneath me, feel the familiar burn of passion and arousal as his skin touched mine, as our bodies danced and flickered together—

Loki cried out, a primal, animal gasp of pleasure; his new body spasmed and tightened around me. And I lost control. My hips thrust faster and faster against his, my head tilted back, my eyes closed, his name ripped out of my lips. My orgasm came from somewhere deep inside my body, and it crashed through every muscle, drowning me.

I blinked as my mind attempted to recover from the oblivion of that orgasm. Loki’s smell surrounded me, his salt and woodsmoke. I took a deep, juttering breath and realized I’d collapsed on top of him. I opened my mouth to apologize and then gasped; I was still inside him, and so sensitive it almost hurt to pull apart.

“Oh. Wow,” I said, falling back against the pillows.

 Loki propped himself up on his elbow and smiled at me. “Not bad. For your first time.”

I laughed and shook my head as the room slowly came back into focus. “So that’s what it feels like.”

“That’s what it feel like,” he said, leaning to kiss my forehead. “What did you think?”

I closed my eyes and waited for my heartbeat to stop thundering in my ears before I responded. “Different,” I said, finally. “Intense. And, uh, fast.”

He laughed, bringing my fingers to his lips. “You get better at controlling it,” he said, kissing my fingertips gently.

My body shivered again, and I felt a low tightness spreading across my abdomen. I reached for his chest, cupping the curve of his breast.

He laughed, and his eyes sparkled. “Want to try it again?”

I shrugged, leaning to meet his lips. “Sure.”

Buy Honeymoon at 
Amazon US :: Amazon UK

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

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

Samantha MacLeod's website
Amazon author page

Saturday, 19 November 2016

Loki and Sigyn

James Doyle Penrose (1862-1932): The Punishment of Loki
If you like Victorian art of naked men in bondage, rather than women, there are - sadly - a rather limited number of mythological themes to go to. Prometheus is one, as I've blogged before. Another is the Viking story of Loki.

William Pogany: The Children of Loki (1920)
Loki is a fascinating character (even before you reach the Hiddleston era). He's the sworn blood-brother to Odin the Allfather, and present throughout the tales of the gods - with an honoured place in their halls, and constantly at their beck and call to get them out of trouble with his Cunning Plans. But he himself is a giant not a god, so often he's working on the gods' behalf against his own kin. And very often the troubles he saves them from are of his own making. He is a mischief-maker, a trickster and a shit-stirrer. He's also not terribly masculine by the standards of the time - a thinker not a warrior, and one who often shape-shifts (considered a terribly effeminate type of magic) - sometimes into female form, wherein he even gives birth. When he fathers monstrous children by a giantess they are instantly recognised as terrible danger to the gods and imprisoned.

Niels Jacobsen (1861-1941): Loki Chained to the Rocks 

Eventually Loki himself goes too far - he causes the death of the beautiful god Baldur and then gets mean-drunk and talks smack to all the rest. They decide to chain him up forever beneath the earth.

W. G. Collingwood: Loki Bound (1908)
To punish him even further one of his sons is killed to furnish the ropes that bind him.Then the goddess Skadi hangs a snake over his head to drip agonising poison in his eyes. Because gods are sadistic like that.

Loki and Sigyn (1863) by Mårten Eskil Winge
The only god to side with Loki is his wife Sigyn, who stays with him.
Loki and Sigyn, by Gebhardt

She catches the venom in a cup to save him as much torment as possible.

But every so often the cup gets full and she has to turn aside to empty it out. Loki then writhes in agony - which is where earthquakes come from.

Sigyn, by Arthur Rackham

But there is good news for Loki! At the end of the world he will break free from his bonds and - accompanied by his three monstrous offspring, the ice- and fire-giants and the hosts of the Dead, he will slaughter the gods at the Battle of Ragnarok and burn the whole damn place to the ground.

Loki breaks free at the onset of Ragnarök, by Ernst H. Walther (1897)
Which is nice for him, but a bit of a shame for those of us who enjoy picturing him in chains. And, er, the whole wide world, obviously...

Wednesday, 16 November 2016

WIP - The Prison of the Angels update

Joys of research: boy have I found some Crazy on the web. 

I've never written a novel so fast. Part 3 of The Book of the Watchers: The Prison of the Angels is already standing at 35K words. It helps that I know the characters so well by now, I guess!

The action so far has gone from here:

Minot in North Dakota
To here:

"Photo by DAVID ILIFF. License: CC-BY-SA 3.0"
To here:

Setback: I watched Angels and Demons and saw that Dan Brown had beaten me to all the best sites in Rome, damn him...

My go-to sites are Wikipedia (of course), Bible Hub, the Vatican, (for its rather wonderful virtual tours) .... and oooh look: 101 Lokis

Milja's character has evolved in quite radical ways - anyone who complained that she was 'too reactive' in Bk 1 isn't going to have a leg to stand on now. Egan has turned out to be kinky AF. Penemuel has acquired a personality that surprised me. Poor Azazel is still struggling to cope with human ways.

I'm in the process of finally answering a bunch of questions that have been deliberately left hanging since the first volume -

  • "Why did the Nails work?" 
  • "Why have only three out of four archangels made an appearance so far?" 
  • "What does God Himself think about all this?" 
  • "What is Uriel plotting? Why do the other archangels shun him?" 
  • - and most disturbing of all: "What the hell is Egan's problem?!" (OMG OMG OMG)

I've introduced the Blasphemous Plot Revelation.

I'm a pantser, of course. At this stage my characters are approaching a big action scene. I don't actually know what the result is going to be or how Milja is going to get out alive ... but I do know that things are going to go REALLY BADLY WRONG at this point.

I can't wait to find out how :-)

Monday, 14 November 2016

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Because I am currently up to my neck in Viking mythology for my WIP, here's a excerpt from my short story about Norse witchcraft, The Grief of the Bond-Maid - which, unusually for me, is mostly fantasy with a bit of M/M/F sex.

Sjofn is a seidr-witch and a slave to the cruel rune-wizard Vegtamr. He hangs himself as a sacrifice to the god Odin, a ritual that will bring him back in nine days more powerful than ever. Sjofn siezes that chance to escape from the Hanged Man's control once and for all, and enlists the help of a pair of warriors to journey into the magical world and destroy him before he returns to life. But they have secrets of their own, and the journey is deadly dangerous, and time is running out ...

When she blinked the tears from her eyes it was daylight, and they were kneeling breathless under an ordinary ash tree in a narrow stone enclosure, and Bjarni was standing up from the headless corpse of a week-dead wizard. There was no yawning gulf beneath their feet. The runes on her skin were only ink, not fire. Sjofn lifted her tear-streaked face to Thorkell and without thinking, kissed him: hard and fierce and frantic with relief.

    His response was instant: he rose to his feet, pulling her up against him, and pressed his kisses hungrily upon her lips. He only stopped when Bjarni came up behind her, and then he pulled away enough to grin – a grin like the sun coming out through clouds. Both men were laughing: she was laughing now too. Bjarni’s arm swept round her to clap Thorkell on the back and suddenly Sjofn found herself sandwiched between the two men as they embraced, hot and sweating and loud with delight, their words all boasts and praise and exultation. She craned her neck so she could look over her shoulder and kiss Bjarni too.

    His eyes flashed. Swiftly his hands cupped her bare breasts, squeezing her like he thought she might be about to vanish. Both men were pressed up against her, their big hard bodies like a protective fortress, and now their breathing was turning quick and shallow again, the joy of victory changing to something else. Sjofn gasped as she felt their arousal.

    ‘Wait,’ Thorkell insisted. ‘Not here.’  He took possession, scooping her up in his arms and turning away toward the gate in this, the innermost circle. Sjofn circled a forearm about his neck and relaxed into his chest as he bore her away. She watched in dizzy wonder the granite boulders marching past her vision, until shadow gave way at last to warm sunlight and he carried her out into the meadow. His steps were quickening: she could feel the haste in his pulse. But he lowered her to her feet gently and kissed her lips one more time before he started to tear at the fastenings of his clothes.

    ‘After strife, joy,’ he grinned.
    She twisted in his one-armed embrace. Bjarni was striding down the dark track they’d left in the grass, bare-chested now, his own armour and clothing littered to either side where he’d discarded them piece by piece. Red hair stippled his chest like flecks of blood; Sjofn reached out and ran her eagerly fingers through it. He was slippery with the sweat: they all were.  He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her like he was drinking from a mead-cup.

    ‘Sjofn ... slayer of wizards. Our warrior-witch.’

    From behind, Thorkell gripped her hip with one hand and slid the other under her, searching out her hot wet places. She gasped, and Bjarni caught her breasts again. There was no hesitation this time, no pause for negotiation, none of the slowness of seduction. But she understood how they felt, what they needed: they had fought to the edge of exhaustion and the brink of death, and now they were half wild with joy and the need for release. She felt just the same - Thorkell found her slippery and eager for his touch, and he groaned with delight.

    Pinned between the two men, Sjofn was lifted right off the ground as Thorkell sought entry for his stiff cock. She clung to Bjarni’s neck, mewing as Thorkell worked at the awkward angle. They found some kind of grace only when Bjarni reached in from the front, took the other man’s erection in his hand and guided it inside her. Then Thorkell lowered himself into the grass and lay back, his big hands on her waist, holding her above him, settling her astride his shaft. Each thrust of his hips pushed him deeper into her. Bjarni knelt before them, touched with wonder the dark lines of the serpent marked on her skin, then stooped to lick her breasts and suck at her nipples, and slid down even further to lie on his belly between Thorkell’s spread legs. She felt his lips on her thighs and her pubic mound. He parted her labia with his hands and licked at her clit and she nearly wrenched herself off Thorkell’s impaling column, so exquisite was the shock. As one man lifted her up and down on his cock, the other gave worship to her sex. She looked down into his eyes and he arched his brows at her.

    Suddenly he was no longer licking her clit, but nuzzling lower. Thorkell swore in delight and Sjofn’s physical loss paled under the realisation that Bjarni was sucking his balls, was licking at the root of his cock as it thrust into her sex. She squealed. Bjarni took this as admonition and rose again to lick at her clit, and this time it was too much to bear: she began to fall down the long slope of orgasm, and her cries wrought upon Thorkell to pound even faster into her, until he was crying out too and spurting hot and deep inside her.

    When they had both quieted, Thorkell shifted his hips and pulled out, laying her back supine upon his torso. She looked down her body and saw his engorged cock jutting up between her thighs, the flushed skin glistening and wet. The next instant Bjarni took that long weapon right down his throat, sucking the spilt cream, and she felt Thorkell’s moan of satisfaction through her whole body.

     Then it was Bjarni’s turn. Kneeling up over them, he stooped to kiss Sjofn and she tasted her own tang, before he kissed Thorkell over her shoulder. His own cock was as stiff as a spearshaft, and when he put it to her open sex it went in eagerly, its passage eased by the slick of Thorkell’s seed. ‘Oh yes,’ he grunted.

    Bjarni’s cock rooted deep inside her. Thorkell’s hand sought out her sex-lips and spread them, rubbing her clit between two fingers. His other hand tugged at her left nipple. Pounded between such a hammer and such an anvil, she had no chance to resist: she came again, weeping with terror that there should be such pleasure in the world, before Bjarni emptied his horn inside her.

    Then they rolled slowly apart and lay tumbled in a row, grinning. Sjofn shut her eyes, feeling the sweep of fingertips as they lazily stroked her; her head swimming with the scents of crushed grass and fresh sweat - and her heart, at last, full of peace.

The Grief of the Bond-Maid is currently available in this paperback anthology: Cast the Cards

Amazon US

Sunday, 13 November 2016

Friday, 11 November 2016

De Morgan Exhibition

I've been fan-grrling the best-known female Pre-Raphaelite painter, Evelyn de Morgan (1855-1919). There's a small exhibition of her works on long-term display at Cannon Hall Museum, near Barnsley:

It's the posh bit of Barnsley, mind!
De Morgan was related to the Spencer-Stanhope family who owned Cannon Hall, hence the connection. She was a mold-breaker for a Victorian artist, because it she didn't stick to respectable ladylike subjects but scandalised her teachers and critics by painting nudes. Lots of nudes.

Boreas and the Fallen Leaves

I love this picture!

Interesting ... burls ... there

It was really difficult for her even to find models - she used her sister's maidservant and a hired Italian (shocking!) - to pose for Boreas and Oreithyia here:

She was a suffragette, feminist and a pacifist with spiritualist inclinations. Her works tend heavily toward allegory and symbolism. This one below depicts the discontented soul trapped in the physical flesh of the body:

The Soul's Prison House
This one is Blindness and Cupidity Chasing Joy from the City:

catchy title...

Hunted Joy flies through the gate.
Blind Blindness is left desolate.
Cupidity, the city’s fate,
With hungry hounds insatiate,
Stays fettered to a sightless mate.

 Something more cheerful?

Love's Passing
Maybe not... it's all about lovers being parted by death for years and years. But if you are interested, there are many many more lovely works of hers to be found here and here and here.

Cannon Hall belongs to the local council and as such it is FREE to visit the grounds, hall and exhibition!

Monday, 7 November 2016

Blue Monday: Bronwyn Green guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Bronwyn Green, with a sporty treat from her new book In Bounds.

Her summer holiday just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

Ivy Wright knows several things to be true: Marrying a guy who can’t keep it in his pants is a terrible idea. So is having a drunken, secret one-night stand with her best friend’s little brother. And catching a soccer ball with one’s face never works out well for anyone. When all three collide, what was supposed to be a relaxing vacation in the English countryside becomes unbelievably awkward not to mention sexually charged.

While recovering from a potentially career-ending injury, English football player, Will Darby, runs into the one woman he’d given up hope of ever seeing again. No longer chafing at being sidelined, Will is a man on a mission. He’s never forgotten his one and only night with Ivy, and their attraction is stronger than ever.

Convincing her to give him a chance is only the first hurdle. Getting her to admit her kinks and let him give her what she needs physically and emotionally is another, but is their connection enough when her secrets keep pushing them apart?

Placing his hand in the center of her back, he shoved her down toward the mattress.  “Hair over your shoulder.”

Ivy swept the silky locks forward and exposed the gorgeous line of her back. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of the flogger and dragged the leather over her skin, tracing swirling patterns over her flesh and giving rise to trails of goosebumps as she shivered beneath his touch.

Twisting his wrist, he brought the fronds down against her left cheek. Her skin blushed sweetly, and she startled forward at the impact before moving back into position. He brought his arm down again, letting the strands, still damp with her arousal, snap against her right cheek.

She bowed her head to the mattress and clutched at the bedding, fisting the fabric in her grip as he let the flogger’s tails fall against her back. He alternated left to right, arse to back, occasionally letting the fronds wrap around her to catch the sides of her tits and even her nipples if he got a lucky shot. Her whimpers punctuated the arousing sound of leather against her soft, lush skin.

Stepping closer to where she knelt on the bed, he slid the wooden handle between her knees and nudged them apart.

“That’s it, love. Let me see that pretty pink cunt.”

She shifted, baring herself to him. Her thighs were shiny with her juices, and he leaned down and swiped his tongue across her flesh, letting her sweet, tangy taste coat his tongue.

When she squirmed, he slapped the outer curve of her ass. “Unless you’re ready to end it, you need to keep your arse right where I want it.”

He draped his arm over the small of her back and held her where he wanted her and dragged his tongue up her exposed cleft, loving the way she trembled as she fought to hold herself still for him. He repeated the action, nuzzling her slick flesh and thrusting his tongue inside her, listening with satisfaction to her guttural moans.

Once she let herself get past the anxiety and discomfort that continued to plague her, she was so beautifully responsive. He’d love to see her banish the self-consciousness for good and just freely accept how fucking gorgeous she was.

“Oh, god, Will.”

He sank his teeth into the sweetly rounded curve of her hip before he answered. “Yeah?”

“Please just fuck me already. I’m dying.”

He adjusted his grip on the flogger and brought it down across her arse, smiling as she lifted into the stroke. With his free hand, he reached into the bag and grabbed a condom as he continued to lash the backs of her thighs, and back, watching as the fronds curved up and around to snap hungrily at her pussy. She squirmed, clearly wanting more and less at the same time.

Her reactions were more arousing than he ever would have believed. Steady lines of pre-come leaked from his cock, dripping down his shaft, and his balls ached, threatening to spill all over her lash-reddened skin. He laid the flogger across the small of her back while he quickly sheathed himself and climbed onto the bed behind her. His knee twinged at bearing his weight, so he shifted slightly to the side in hopes of relieving the pressure long enough to give them both what they needed.

Gripping his cock at the base, he dragged it up and down her dripping slit. “This what you want?” he practically grunted as he centered himself at her opening.

“Yes, please. Please. Please. Please. Please.”

He dug his fingertips into her hips and held tight. “How could I deny you when you beg so sweetly?” He paused for a moment. “I mean…I suppose I could.”

She shoved her hips back at the same time she groaned out the word, “No.”

But his hands on her hips kept her from impaling herself on this dick. 

“God damn it, Will.” She panted with frustration. Her head dropped and her arms shook with unrelieved tension.

When he sensed the fight go out of her, he slammed forward, roughly filling her. Her back arched, and her breath pushed from her body on a surprised squeal as he seated himself fully within her. Her channel clenched around him, sending ripples of awareness of how close he was to the edge. He refused to leave her hanging and unfulfilled.

Lifting the flogger from her back, he gathered the ends in his other hand and leaned forward, bringing the collected strands over her head to rest around her neck, startling a gasp from her. As soon as the leather wrapped around her neck, her internal muscles clamped down on him as little unintelligible sounds escaped her lips.

Any attempts to hold back and let her find her peak first vanished at the sight of her straining into the flogger and the feel of her flooding arousal coating them both. He’d never seen anything hotter in his life. Or more beautiful. It seemed like the more time he spent with her, the more often he had that thought.

Then there were no more thoughts. There were only the sounds of their bodies straining wetly together and their harsh breaths—Ivy as she trembled toward her release and Will as he tried to hold his at bay, all the while shafting her harder and faster.

“Tighter,” she whispered—half demand, half plea.

His cock twitched, her need for more nearly overwhelming him. He shifted the leather and handle to one hand and buried his other hand in the silk of her hair and yanked.

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Bronwyn Green is an author, blogger, and compulsive crafter. She lives in Michigan with her husband, two children, and four somewhat psychotic cats. When not frantically writing, she can be found binge-watching Netflix while working on her latest craft project.

Sunday, 6 November 2016

Evil in Evelyn

This picture is the chilling An Angel piping to the Souls in Hell, by Evelyn de Morgan (1855-1919).

I've just been to visit a small exhibition of her work - more pics later in the week!

Friday, 4 November 2016

Cover reveal: In Bonds of the Earth




Here's the Blurb:

"I will free them all."

When Milja Petak released the fallen angel Azazel from five thousand years of imprisonment, she did it out of love and pity. She found herself in a passionate sexual relationship beyond her imagining and control – the beloved plaything of a dark and furious demon who takes what he wants, when he wants, and submits to no restraint. But what she hasn’t bargained on is being drawn into his plan to free all his incarcerated brothers and wage a war against the Powers of Heaven.

As Azazel drags Milja across the globe in search of his fellow rebel angels, Milja fights to hold her own in a situation where every decision has dire consequences. Pursued by the loyal Archangels, she is forced to make alliances with those she cannot trust: the mysterious Roshana Veisi, who has designs of her own upon Azazel; and Egan Kansky, special forces agent of the Vatican – the man who once saved then betrayed her, who loves her, and who will do anything he can to imprison Azazel for all eternity. 
Torn every way by love, by conflicting loyalties and by her own passions, Milja finds that she too is changing – and that she must do things she could not previously have dreamt of, in order to save those who matter to her.

In Bonds of the Earth: The Book of the Watchers 2 is currently scheduled for release in the first week of March, 2017.

Advance review copies (e-print and paper) will be available very soon. If you think you'd be a good candidate for one, you should probably contact the editor at Sinful Press and ask her nicely :-)

I am now too excited to sleep until March... :-D

Wednesday, 2 November 2016

Magic mushrooms

Actually I have very little idea of the identity of any of these fungi except the obvious Fly Agarics above. But I've never see so many or such a variety in one walk as I did this week!

Slugs love those trippy mushrooms
Some look utterly disgusting...

and some more appealing:

Is it a fungus or a pancake?
Some were HUGE

(Bad pic showing pores not gills on the underside)
and some were weeeeeeny:

And they came in a variety of colours:


Pale yellow

different Brown

I do love autumn!