Friday, 23 June 2017


American Gods has just finished its Season 1 run, and what a lot of fun it was! - As well as laudable in its ethnic inclusivity, male nudity and fairly brave pokes at American Christianity. The CGI might have been ropey under HD, the artsy camerawork a little too self-indulgent, and the plot loaded with a typically Gaimanesque dearth of pace, but it was exactly what was needed whilst awaiting the next Game of Thrones season.  Hooray!

And then there's Shadow Moon, our luckless protagonist...

Shadow is the Everyman human pulled into a modern-day battle between the old pagan gods (Odin, Anansi, etc) and the new (Technology, Media, etc). He's bound to turn out to be pivotal and probably Prophesied (Mr Wednesday put a helluva lot of effort into recruiting him), but right now he just spends most of his time looking sweaty, and confused by the supernatural shenanigans unfolding around him

"OMG, WTF is this place?!"

""OMG y u here, Dead Wife?"
Physically, he looks a whole lot more divine than any of the actual gods!

To my surprise it turns out that the drop-dead gorgeous actor, Ricky Whittle, is actually British and really famous here! - I'd just overlooked his existence because he appeared in a terrible soap called Hollyoaks  that I don't watch (it's possibly the least accurate simulation of life in this country ever broadcast), and a celebrity dance-off series, Strictly Come Dancing, that I don't watch because ugh, dancing, and a SF series called The 100 which I was put off watching because it was full of bloody teenagers.

I can watch this for ages tho
Oh well, there's always Season 2 of American gods and MORE PRETTINESS to look forward to...
I shall leave you with a dance clip, because I'm all about giving the muse a go:

Wednesday, 21 June 2017

Sinful Pleasures lineup

The author lineup has been announced for Sinful Pleasures: an anthology of erotic tales, and it has an official release date of August 20th, yay!

Sinful Press is pleased to announce the release of our first anthology, Sinful Pleasures.Join us as we weave our way from mainstream erotic romance to surreal sex-filled dreamscapes and everything in between, created by some of the best new and established voices in the erotica genre.

Janine Ashbless - The Pier by Night
Ella Scandal
Jo Henny Wolf
Lady Divine
Gail Williams
Tony Fyler
Ellie Barker
Lisa McCarthy

Want an early look? Advanced Reader Copies are now available to reviewers and bloggers, so please contact Lisa Jenkins on:
to grab a copy!

Monday, 19 June 2017

Blue Monday: Samantha MacLeod guests

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is my amazing mythological-smutwriting-twin, Samantha MacLeod, with an excerpt from her latest Norse story Death and Beauty:

Baldr the Beautiful is dead.

Desperate to get back to his privileged role as Óðinn’s favorite son, Baldr strikes a bargain with Hel, the terrifying half living and half skeletal queen of the realm of the dead. He offers her the only thing he’s got: knowledge from the living world. Hel gives him three days. If he can teach her something new, she will return him to the realms of the living.

But the icy Hel seems completely impervious to Baldr’s charms. What’s worse, she already knows everything. By the end of the third day, Baldr realizes he’s only got one chance left to impress her.

Returning to his former life looks like it’s going to depend on Baldr the Beautiful seducing the most formidable woman in the Nine Realms.

I pulled Hel into my arms and kissed her. 

I wasn’t sure what to expect, if her lips would be silky, like her arm, or if I’d feel the hard scrape of bone against my mouth, but I couldn’t resist any longer. She looked so innocent, and so scared. I wanted to comfort her. 

I wanted to taste her.

Her lips felt soft and full against mine. I moved across them gently, feeling the hiss of air as she inhaled, then smiled before kissing her again, more urgently, tilting my head to meet her. I wrapped my arm around her waist, running my hand over the rough cloth of her ridiculously ugly dress as I pressed against her, asking for more.

She pulled back, shaking her head. “I don’t know how to kiss,” she said, her voice shaky and her breath uneven.

“You’re doing just fine.” I already missed her soft weight in my arms. 

She took a deep breath and smoothed the front of her dress. Her shoulders trembled. “I should lie down,” she said, looking at the petal-strewn grass beneath her feet.

Something golden flashed in the space between us. I froze. Hel panted as she stared intently at the ground. And with each ragged exhale, something flickered across her skin, like a slow ripple of light over water. When I wrapped my fingers gently around her wrist, the pulse of light flashed again, stronger and brighter. 

“Do you want to lie down?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Yes. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t…”
I stepped closer, turning my waist so I didn’t impale her with my hard-on, and leaned into her neck, running my lips softly along her skin as I reached around her back for the seam of that horrible dress. I kissed her lightly, listening to her breath catch in her throat as I unbuckled the row of clasps along her back. Her pulse raced, and golden sparks sizzled across her skin as I touched her. I wondered if she noticed them.

When the last clasp was undone, I raised my hand to her shoulder and gently slid the dress down her arms and over her waist. Then I stepped back, smiling at her. 

She had a surprisingly lovely body, curvy and soft. Her single breast was every bit as perfect as I’d imagined. Even her skeletal side seemed vulnerable, not terrifying. I realized I might be the first person to actually see Hel naked. The ripples of light flashed faster and brighter now, obscuring her body as they washed over her. No, maybe not obscuring. It was almost as if there was something else underneath.

Hel hesitated, her brow furrowing. The ripples of light stopped moving over her body, and I realized she was holding her breath. She looked like she was about to cry.

“You okay?” I asked, wrapping my hand around her waist.

“You’re looking at me,” she whispered.

I kissed her again. This time she opened for me, leaning into me, allowing me to explore her secret, hidden places with my tongue. I fell into our kiss, pulling her chest to mine, feeling her breast swell against me as her breast rose with frantic, panting breaths.

“I like looking at you,” I said, when we pulled apart. “You’re fascinating.”

She trembled, hiding her face against my neck, and I realized the truth of my words. Hel was fascinating; she was the single most fascinating woman I’d ever met.

“Let’s lie down,” I said.

Hel nodded and pulled back, stepping out of her dress. She didn’t meet my eyes as she lay down on the petal-strewn grass. Her naked body flashed and rippled with light. I didn’t dare ask about it. 

“Will it hurt?” she asked. “I’ve read that it hurts, the first time.”

I lay down next to her living side, weaving my fingers with hers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I brought her hand to my lips and kissed every finger, moving slowly, watching her chest rise and fall. Sometimes, as the web of light surrounding her rippled and crackled, I could see two breasts, their twin nipples tight as rosebuds.

I turned her hand over and brought my lips to her wrist, feeling her pulse race against my mouth. My lips moved slowly up her arm, kissing her as the golden light surged around me. She was gasping by the time I reached her chest; she cried out when I closed my lips over her nipple. Her scent overwhelmed me, and I struggled with the dull throb in my groin. Oh, damn, I wanted her.

I closed my teeth gently around the hard bud of her nipple, and her back arched beneath me. My hand slid down, leaving the soft curve of her chest and caressing her stomach. Her breath stuttered as my hand reached her thighs. I gave Hel’s perfect breast one final kiss and watched her face as my fingers moved between her legs.

Her eyes closed. Both eyes, although I hadn’t been certain her skeletal half had an eyelid. The golden light poured over her now, pulsing in rhythm with her breathing, and her lips parted. 

I caressed the curls outside her sex, waiting and watching for her reaction. Hel groaned, moving her hips into my hand, and I slipped a finger into her folds. She was slick and wet; heat poured from her, bathing my palm. My hand circled her lips, pressing gently as she panted under me, searching for the tight little bud at the apex of her sex.

She gasped when I found it, and her legs tensed around my hand. For a moment I thought that was enough, that I’d brought her to climax with one touch. But she lifted her hips again, moaning a single word.


Death and Beauty can be pre-ordered (or bought from 20th June) at 

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 

Sunday, 18 June 2017

Another Train

We were at a friend's party the other week, and a folk-trio called Quietfire sang this song, which I thought just extraordinary.

Friday, 16 June 2017

I want it painted black

Can you hear Absolute 80s Radio blasting out from my house? That's a 100%-accurate giveaway that I'm redecorating.

I've been turning our hall from "Presidential Orange" to "Ultrabland Off-White".

And an osprey is about to land on my ass

I'm not touching the blasted woodchip, mind. That can stay into the 22nd Century as far as I'm concerned!

Wednesday, 14 June 2017

Purple pRose

Here's the pretty purple pleats of the cover for The Sexy Librarian's Dirty 30, Vol.2 (edited by the ever-wonderful Rose Caraway). And here's the table of contents!

1.  HONEY, I’M HOME – Chase Morgan
2.  CANVAS – Malin James
3.  JILLING OFF – Silas Bliss
4.  THUNDERCLAP – Sommer Marsden
5.  SWITCHES – Daily Hollow
6.  A POLITE FICTION – Terrance Aldon Shaw
7.  HEAVEN SENT – Jordan Castillo Price
9.  SWEET HEL BELOW – Janine Ashbless
10. BLOSSOMING – Jean Roberta
12. GIRL NUMBER TWENTY – Rose de Fer
17. THE SEER – R.A. Goli
19. PURITY – Melina Greenport
20. DO NOT DISTURB – Sonni de Soto
21. TORRID ZONE – Elliot DeLocke
22. MOBY TIT – Landon Dixon
23. THE THIEF – Michael Lewis
25. LIFE DRAWING 101 – Brantwijn Serrah
26. THE HONEYMOON – Emmanuelle de Maupassant
27. THE DUDE – Spencer Dryden
28. SPIDER TWO, COME IN – M.L. Doyle
30. I REALLY DO BELONG TO YOU – Dorothy Freed

What a line-up - I'm proud and delighted to appear among such company and can't wait to see the book!

If you are a blogger or keen reader and want an advanced review copy, then you can email Rose Caraway to get on the list:

Monday, 12 June 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

For the Pride Month I thought I'd try to share some f/f  from my back-catalogue. I've pathetically little to choose from, but here's a spanky piece from Named and Shamed:

“Gail!” My voice rose to a shout. “This is important! Get your ass out here!”

This time her giggle was accompanied by a resumption of the headboard rattle.

I lost my temper. Throwing open the door, I marched into the room. Vince was stretched out on the bed and Gail was riding him, cowgirl-style. Both were naked and the room stank of vigorous sex, but I ignored all that. Well, as best I could, anyway — it wasn’t possible not to notice the way her little tits were bouncing up and down like two tennis balls, or the taut stretch of her thighs straddling his dark hips, or the sheen of sweat all over her slender body. But did my best. I walked over, grabbed Gail’s long hair right at the base of her scalp, and hauled her unceremoniously off her boyfriend. I caught a glimpse of his cock when I did it, all slick and bobbing, but that wasn’t important right then. Gail yowled in protest as I dragged her out into the living room.

“Where’s my car?” I repeated as I let go of her and spun her to face me.

Gail stuck her bottom lip out, wrinkled her nose mutinously, and then suddenly grinned a slow dirty grin. “Not telling.”

Crap. I ran my hand over my face. “Gail, this isn’t the time for games. Tell me where it is.”

“Make me.”

Oh great. She’d decided to play the brat. We’d been doing this for years. We’d grown up close, living in the same Warwickshire village and playing together and often sharing a room overnight. Very early on, Gail had discovered she liked to have her bottom spanked and, to be honest, I didn’t mind obliging. I have powerful memories of her — back in the day when her hair was honey-brown and wavy, not blonde and straight — bending over in a corner of a remote field beneath the shelter of the willows, pulling up her skirt and displaying her teenaged bottom to me in the dappled light. Go on Tansy, she’d whisper: Spank me. Please! . . . . I just need it! I remember the sense of transgression, one that always brought a hot gush to my pussy, as I slapped her firm little ass. It had been our secret game. And yes, we still played at it sometimes, usually when Gail was between boyfriends.

She liked to initiate a session by acting the naughty girl. Something about rebellion and punishment clearly tripped her switches.

“I don’t need this now! It’s serious!”

“Make me,” she repeated, eyes narrowing.

“Fine,” I growled.

Seizing her hair again, I dropped her over one arm of the sofa with her ass in the air. For such a slim girl, she’s got a nice round bottom. Planting my knee in a cushion, I pushed one hand down between her shoulder blades and aimed the other at that pretty target. Hard. Damn it, I usually make it a rule never to do this when I’m genuinely worked up about anything, but this time I was in a real fix. Gail squealed and kicked with her legs as I landed smack after smack on her ass-cheeks and thighs, but she was off-balance and couldn’t get any purchase on the carpet. She rubbed her face in the seat cushions and clawed at the fabric and shrieked.

“Tell me!” I commanded grimly.

“Oww!” she howled, thrashing her thighs apart and giving me a distracting flash of her open pussy lips, pink and glistening from sex. She usually likes me to spank her pussy too, though rather more gently. But I wasn’t playing nice today. I clapped my tingling hand down on her left cheek with almost the full weight of my arm, seeing the flesh jounce and hearing her scream.

“Jeez,” said Vince: ‘Should you really be doing that?”

I looked up at him standing in the bedroom door, half-distracted from my mission. He was holding his jeans in front of his crotch to defend his modesty, but I could see the rest of his long, lean, mahogany-hued body all the way from his toes to the shaved fuzz of hair on top of his head. His brows were knitted in a frown, but his jaw was slack with surprise.

It must have been quite a sight from his standpoint, I guess. Tall redhead flatmate; little blonde girlfriend. Her legs were open and her ass was already scarlet, and her glistening snatch was pointed straight at him.

“Where’s my car?” I demanded. When no one answered me, I shifted my hand and evened up the score on Gail’s right cheek.


“Where’s my car?”

Vince’s mouth worked. “It’s . . .” he mumbled, but ground to a halt. His eyes were wide, his gaze fixed on Gail’s suffering rear.

I shook my head at their obstinacy. Smack. Smack. Smack. Swift and fierce, not giving her time to recover.

“Nooo!” she wailed.

I lifted my palm again, but held it aloft. “Where’s my car?” The noise of my hand falling was like a shot going off.

“AH! It got clamped!”

I let go of her. “What?”

“It got clamped and towed,” she sobbed. “We went out for pizza and when we got back they were taking it away on a truck.”

I felt like hitting her again but I didn’t. Never in real anger.

“You stupid -” I started to protest, but cut myself off. I had to stand up and pace around the room to vent my frustration. “You parked it on a double yellow line again?

“Only for a few minutes!” Gail lifted herself on her elbows but made no attempt to rise from the spanking position. Maybe she was too sore to sit up. I don’t know about her ass, but my hand was red hot and stinging.

“Where?” I demanded. “Where’s it gone?”

“Here,” said Vince: “We have the ticket here.”

I shot him a hard look. So he’d known. He’d known enough to stop the pain, all along. He sort of sidled around us, his gaze sliding back and forth from Gail to me, until he reached the sideboard and found a piece of paper, all without turning to show me his bare butt. I suspected that under his crumpled jeans he was nursing an almighty hard-on. In fact, as he handed the ticket to me, I saw him squeeze his crotch through the denim. He and Gail were going to have to have some things to talk over real soon, I suspected. And probably more than talk.

You can still buy Named and Shamed (if you hurry, before Sweetmeats Press closes) at:

Friday, 9 June 2017

Night of the living dead

I stayed up all night until 5am to track the UK General Election. I feel like death right now, mind!

What it is to live in Interesting Times... and with the hung parliament we've come up with, it doesn't look like anything's going to settle down peacefully anytime soon.

Fingers crossed.

Wednesday, 7 June 2017

Can't see the wood for the trees

We've been having fun in my wood today

... filming

... for a super-special project

... and I had very important roles!

... I was both "Crew Hiding Behind a Tree and Pulling on the End of the Rope"

... and "Crew Standing Ready with a Blanket".

I want a Technical Oscar for this, damnit!

More details to follow, in due course :-)

Monday, 5 June 2017

Blue Monday: Saskia Walker guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Saskia Walker, with a teaser from her wicked new stepbrother novel, Rex:

Rex Carruthers can have any woman he wants, but he wants only one -- his stepsister, Carmen Shelby. Their desire was once forbidden, and Rex walked away from his heritage as a result. Now, the reading of a will brings them back together, and Rex has something Carmen wants – his birthright, the stately home, Burlington Manor.

Carmen Shelby is haunted by her desire for her stepbrother, Rex -- a dangerous, masterful player, the man who broke her heart. Then Rex makes an outrageous suggestion -- he will give her the Burlington Manor Estate, in exchange for the affair they were denied.

Carmen risks her fragile heart and explore a new, submissive sexuality with Rex, a natural Dom. But while they thrash out their mutual passions, Carmen and Rex discover family secrets threaten and surround them. Carmen learns Rex is her true Master, but can he control the powerful forces that both drew them together – and threaten to tear them apart?

Her attitude triggered something dark in Rex. Something that demanded to be fed. “Crawl,” he commanded.

Carmen’s head dropped back as if she’d been physically slapped.

The urge to push her some more roared in on him, taking charge. He strode to the chair where his clothes lay abandoned from the night before.

Swiping up his jeans, he fished into the pocket. He tossed the key chain out across the floor, holding on to the end of the long chain. “Get down on your hands and knees and crawl over here for it.”

When the key landed on the Persian rug, she stared down at it.

Rex jerked on the chain.

The key flipped over on the floor between them, like bait. Like a lure.

“Show me what you want, what you came here for,” he said.

Carmen shook her head.

“I want to know exactly what you wanted when you stepped through the door. The truth.”

She stared up at him. “I can’t do this.”

“You can, because you want the Manor, and you agreed to do whatever I said to get it.” Would she use the safeword? Would this push her humiliation trigger just that bit too far? He didn’t care, as long as it got the truth out of her. He had to know. “Why are you here? What did you want? Just the property?”

“Yes.” She dropped onto her hands and knees. Her voice was weak, forced. “It’s a fair exchange, that’s what you said.”

The light outlined her body, drawing his eye to her curves.

She moved suddenly, jerking forward and crawling toward the key, but she was in turmoil. He could sense it. He could see it.

The sight of her that way made him painfully hard and yet his sense of frustration only grew. He wanted to understand this woman more than anything in the world.

When she got to it, her hand wrapped around the key, but she stayed there, shifting uneasily. The light from the window fell across her naked form, delineating the arch of her waist and the curve of her hip. Her soft skin glowed in the morning light. In contrast, her face was shadowed by her hair as it fell forward, and she looked up at him like a wild creature, her eyes blazing.

“Tell me why,” he demanded, and he held tight to his end of the key chain.

Her body rippled, her back arching. Her head swung to one side. She whimpered. Taking a deep breath she moved again, gathering the chain up in her hand as she went.

“Just the house?” he asked. “That’s all you wanted? You were that mercenary?”

She froze, then sat back on her heels. Her breathing was labored. She was battling inner demons.
He pressed her further. “Why is this so hard for you to talk about?”

“Because I’m scared.” She stared up at him, and her eyes looked wild.

Rex swallowed. “Why are you scared?”

Her eyes flashed shut. “Because I wanted you.” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper “I didn’t realize how much, at first, but I came here because I’ve always wanted you.”

Rex's chest felt tight and restricted.

He let go of the key chain, throwing it down on the floor, and clicked his fingers. “Then come to my side.”

She moved fast, kneeling at his feet, her arms wrapping around his thighs. The key and its chain lay abandoned on the floor. Rex stared down at it, assuring himself of what had occurred.

She clung to him, and he felt damp tears against his skin. “Please don’t tease me about it.”

Rex let his head drop back, relief barreling through him.

Grateful, and empowered, he stroked her head possessively, admitting to himself that a month would never be enough.

Never enough.

Buy Rex at
Amazon US :: Amazon UK

Saskia Walker is a British author of erotic romance, an award winning writer and a USA Today
bestseller. Saskia's short stories and novellas have appeared in over one hundred international anthologies including BEST WOMEN'S EROTICA, THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF BEST NEW EROTICA, SECRETS, and WICKED WORDS. Her erotica has also been featured in several international magazines including COSMO, PENTHOUSE, BUST, and SCARLET.

After writing shorts for several years Saskia moved into novel-length projects. Her erotic single titles include ALONG FOR THE RIDE, THE HARLOT, RECKLESS, and INESCAPABLE. Fascinated with seduction, Saskia loves to explore how and why we get from saying "hello" to sharing our most intimate selves in moments of extreme passion. Her novels DOUBLE DARE and RAMPANT both won Passionate Plume awards and her writing has twice been nominated for a RT Book Reviews Reviewers' Choice Award. She has lots more stories in the pipeline! Saskia lives in the north of England, close to the beautiful Yorkshire moors, with her partner, Mark, and a houseful of felines.

Saskia's Website

Sunday, 4 June 2017

Big guns!

I've been neglecting my blog in order to enhance my military training and Prepare for the Apocalypse:

What I have discovered is that, come the collapse of civilization, the one thing we will be in most need of is elbow-and kneepads. Because after an hour ... OW, OW, OW!

Also indigestion tablets ... 😏
Maybe I'm just too old for the Apocalypse.

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

Sun Dome

Millennium Dome 1
The O2 Dome, London - pic used under Creative Commons license
In Greenwich, London, on the Thames bank and right next to the international date line, is a bloody big tent that used to be called The Millennium Dome and is now officially the O2. I was there last Saturday, on a beautiful sunny afternoon, to see Iron Maiden in concert.

But before rocking out we climbed across the roof!

We hadn't planned it, but we grabbed the opportunity to join a tour:

You walk on a springy rubber mat that bounces like a trampoline (you are not supposed to bounce), and you're clipped to a safety line for the ascent and descent, which are actually pretty steep.

At the apex you can unclip and take photos and admire the panorama of London's docklands:

The structure is an exercise in sacred geometry, btw. The canvas dome has 12 supporting struts (one for each month of the year), is 365m across (for the days of the year) and 52m high (for the weeks). And Up At the O2 are celebrating their 5th anniversary on the 21st June (Summer Solstice) although the first public event within the canopy was actually staged on 24th June 2007 ... which is St John's Day, the traditional Midsummer.

No pagan conspiracy to see around here folks, no ...  😉

Monday, 29 May 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's teaser is from my M/M short story Reckless, which appeared in gay romance anthology, The Handsome Prince.

The prince just grins. “Stop being sulky, Tancred.” He clasps my face firmly, framing it in his hands, looking me in the eyes. “I know how much you’ve done for me. I haven’t forgotten. I appreciate every bit.” Then he swoops in and plants a kiss on my lips. It’s a firm, quick, masculine kiss – a prince’s benison. The sort of intimacy only royalty gives one the right to bestow.

Once more I hear the thunder of the boar’s feet.

I react without thinking, just as in the woods. Reaching round, my hand grips the back of Alberic’s neck, holding him so that he can’t pull away. My mouth seizes his. Angrily. Needfully. For a moment I know nothing but his lips, his tongue, the taste of the wine he’s been drinking, the taint of my own blood. For a moment he does not react. Then he tries to pull back – and I hold him, refusing to let him go. I am too hungry for his mouth.

I don’t know why I do it. It just happens.  

Eventually he pushes me hard in the chest and we break with a gasp.

“What was that?” His voice is a hoarse whisper. 
God have mercy on me, I say to myself, my eyes suddenly opened to my actions. What had I been thinking of? I’m as shocked as he is, but unlike Alberic I’m stunned into a kind of resignation. My voice sounds unfamiliar as I say the unsayable: “That was love, sire.”


I’m going to be exiled. I’ll never see him again. Terror makes me dizzy. My brown eyes meet his wide blue ones. “I love you.”

“Of course you do – I’m your prince!”

“No, Alberic.”

There’s a rising note in his voice. “As a brother to me, then!”

I shake my head. “No.”

The blow takes me by surprise: back-handed across the face and hard enough to stagger me. I put my hand up to my cheek. He’s in a panic, I tell myself. He has no idea how to react to such a shock. I have always been like his elder brother.

“Get on your knees, vassal!”

I obey. I feel sick, the conflicting instincts tearing at each other inside me. I half expect Alberic to strike me again, but he throws up his hands instead.

“This is a joke, isn’t it? A sick joke!” My one blessing is that Alberic isn’t shouting: his voice is raspy with strain but kept deliberately quiet. If he does start shouting at me then there are plenty of people within earshot who would hear everything.

“No joke, sire.”

“But I’ve seen you! With women!”

“Women are,” I shrug, unable to say out loud I did what was expected of me; “... all very well. But it’s you alone that I love.”

 “You want to fuck me?”

I don’t answer. Yes, I want to fuck him. I want to wrap him in my arms and feel his hot hard muscles contesting mine. I want to be inside him and him to be in me. I want to feel his strength and his eagerness and his appetite. I want to taste him: his spunk and his sweat, his tears and his kisses.

I cannot say that. I don’t have to. He reads it in my eyes.

“How dare you?” I’ve never seen Alberic look so distressed. The blood has risen in an unbecoming flush to his face. “How...?” he chokes. “You want to play the woman for me, do you?” He fumbles at his insulted crotch. “You want this, do you? You like it?’ Unlacing his hose, he pulls out the member in question. ‘Then suck my cock. Kneel there and take it.”

It’s half-hard, I see, and my heart wallops painfully against the inside of my breastbone. If he thinks he’s humiliating me then he has misjudged badly. I’ve fantasised about his cock for years. I’ve seen it when he’s undressed, when we swim together, when he makes water; I’ve seen it shrivelled with chill, and all perky of a morning, and long and silky and relaxed when he stretches his body out after exercising. His prick is almost as familiar to me as my own, and a ghostly accompaniment to my every erection. How can I recoil now, when there are nights I’ve lain in my bed and tasted my own semen on my fingers and pretended it was Alberic’s?

“There.” He’s nearly crying. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” And he shoves it into my face and thrusts it into my unresisting mouth. Soft skin; thick meat wrapped in satin. It is my first. Strange to think that I’ve never had a man in my mouth before; I’ve never dared risk the public shame, the destruction of my life at his side. It tastes unfamiliar – musky, sweaty, faintly pissy – and yet my mouth fastens upon it with instinctive appetite. And though it’s easily manageable at first, so that I can engulf the whole thing and lap at his scrotum with my tongue, it doesn’t stay that way. In moments it’s thickening, lengthening, hardening. I have to move back as it fills my mouth and nudges into my throat.

Merciful God, but it excites me. Every thrust of his makes my own cock jump and swell. I grab at myself through the cloth of my hose, knowing that I have an inexcusable hard-on already, should he look down. Can he tell how eager my sucking is, how grateful? That the tears he has forced to my eyes are not simply testament to how he is choking me with his polearm?  
Alberic gasps my name. His spread hands frame his crotch as he thrusts clumsily into my mouth. He’s hard now: really hard: his weapon set and braced like a boar spear. I get one hand on his cock just to gain myself breathing space, and he freezes. My tongue traces the slit of his glans, tasting a slippery ooze there, exploring the tiny wrinkled delta of his frenum until he moans in his chest. The noise is half protest, half plea.

It is a signal that changes everything.

I rise to my feet, his shaft still gripped in my fingers. We are matched in height as well as in physique, so we lock gazes eye-to-eye. There is no anger in him any more: I’ve sucked it all out of him and taken it for my own. There is only fear in his wide eyes, and need. I can still taste his cock on my bruised lips. The scent of him is intoxicating. I give his prick a little tug, caressing the ball of my thumb across his slippery glans. The tilt of his hips tells me I have him captive. The emerald on the ring he’s gifted me gleams.

“You don’t want me to stop, do you?” I growl.

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Sunday, 28 May 2017

Blood Brothers

I was at the Iron Maiden gig in London yesterday - the arena was packed, so despite the horror of the Manchester bombing last week people are not hiding at home.

And the band were most definitely getting their inclusivity on - a strong welcome for their fans of all religions, colours, genders and sexualities :-)

Friday, 26 May 2017

Erotic horror

Franz von Stuck: The Sin (1893) 

No, I'm not talking about the current state of publishing...

I was asked in an interview during my last blog tour what it was that I'd like to write but haven't done yet. And I said that I'd like to write some real erotic *horror* - not "dark fantasy", but no-holds-barred horror. Which would make for an, ahem, interesting combination with erotica, because there is WAY more (self-)censorship in the erotica genre. As a society we're far more scared of being corrupted by sex than by violence.

Anyhoo, this last week or so while I've been away from the blog I've been writing a longish short story which is definitely Erotic Horror. And should break several rules of good taste. And might be a bit triggery.

Also I visited my parents.

(No connection.)

Watch this space 😉

Monday, 22 May 2017

Blue Monday: Emmanuelle de Maupassant guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Emmanuelle de Maupassant with an excerpt from her hot new novelette Viking Thunder - which is on sale now but also available FREE until the end of May.

A storm brings the Northmen’s ship ashore.

Elswyth struggles to remain independent, but cannot deny her sexual attraction to Eirik, nor the satisfaction she finds in his bed.

I saw the power of his body. His head almost touching the cross beam of the ceiling, his shoulders double the width of most men. His abdomen was hard, muscled. Most striking of all, his upper body was thickly patterned in dark blue-green patterns, interlocking, covering all his arms, as if he wore sleeves upon his skin. Designs stretched across his upper chest, and continued up his neck.

I’d never seen such a thing, such a man.

He smiled to see me look, and his cock gave a small leap. When he laughed, it was not as before, to command the approval of a crowd, but because the amusement was his.

Faline wasted no time. With a toss of her head, she stripped herself and climbed into my bed, pulling the soft furs to her neck. There was malice and mischief in her defiance.

Outside, the thunder rolled closer and, when Eirik spoke, it was as if his voice were a continuance of its resonance.


I was drawn to the strength of him, to the force of his body and the power that I knew was his.

Once close enough, his fingers pulled at the laces of my costume, dexterous, despite their size. One by one, the garments dropped, or were pulled over my head.

I shivered in my nakedness, feeling the touch of his eyes upon me, their roaming of my skin, and the nearness of his body.

My husband had been a perfunctory lover, interested only in his own satisfaction, and as likely as not to give me a clout about the head as he entered me. Moreover, his bedding was a quick matter, over almost as soon as it had begun.

My grandmother had told me that I must be patient. Love would grow with time and, with it, pleasure, but it had not.

I had no idea what it was to love. I had loved a dog we kept from a puppy, and the lambs I’d raised one spring, when their mother had abandoned them. I’d felt nothing of the kind for a man: not for my husband and not for this Northman. His arrogance was insufferable, yet I burned for him.

He knelt, pressing his mouth first to one breast and then the other, taking not only my nipple but the whole orb into his mouth. His warm tongue worked with his teeth, to pull and tease, sending a spasm through my cunt. His hands grasped my buttocks and I felt a rush of desire. His warriors had raped and killed and stolen, and yet I could think only of my need to feel him inside me.

And then he was lifting me in his arms, to lay me upon the bed, pushing my legs apart. His cock loomed above, and his balls, large and heavy. The muscles of my sex contracted in anticipation.

I’d quite forgotten about Faline, but felt now her hands upon my shoulders, pulling me further up the bed. I struggled, indignant, but she pinned me at the upper arms, placing her weight upon me.

Faline’s legs were open behind my head, so that I smelt her, active as she had been.

She exchanged a look with Eirik, one of knowing, of encouragement. Whether I liked it or not, she was to be the third in my bed and take her share.

I’d expected Eirik to push himself into me, to begin the fucking he must intend. I knew the sex act well enough. Instead, he raised my hips to his waiting mouth.

I’d never felt a man’s tongue inside me. I would have twisted away, but that he held me tight. His laughter hummed against my sex, and then he ran his tongue through my slit, finding the nub I would press when I lay still at night.

I sighed in longing, wrapping my legs about his head, drawing him down further. His tongue gave me more pleasure than my husband’s member had ever done.

What a strange thing for a man to do, I thought. For what enjoyment is there in this for him?

But enjoyment there must have been, for his mouth ate me as ravenously as the wolf will take a goose, feathers and all. And I, the goose, was only too willing to be devoured.  Such moans escaped me.

When he raised his face, I caught a glimpse of something darker: the desire to pursue his lust.

Keeping my hips raised to him, he aligned his cock to my gaping wetness, holding me firm beneath my buttocks. I felt the first nudge of his swollen head, and then he entered, as smooth and easy as a knife through freshly set butter.

A crack of lightning broke directly overhead, so bright that it lit through the gap around the door. A deep, resonant rumble of thunder filled the room.

“Thor is watching us,” gasped Eirik. “Beating his hammer across the heavens for all to hear.”

 He sank his cock into me once more.

“Hear Thor! He approves of our union.”

I opened to the length of him, his girth stretching me sweetly as it slid deep. His thrusts rolled into me, swivelling and grinding upwards, his cock pressing where I most desired it. His abdomen flexed with each stroke, and then he was bellowing, sending his cock on a final thrust of pulsing victory, filling me with his seed.

My voice began to rise, as I approached a place of searing pain and pleasure. I could not retreat. And then, I was no longer in the room but carried from my body, seeing white light. His head thrown back, Eirik gave a triple wolf howl and began to laugh.

I lay panting, light-headed, the world having been born anew.

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Buy at Amazon US :: Amazon UK

Emmanuelle tells us, “This is my first foray into Viking territory and I can't begin to tell you how much fun it was. There are two things that turn me aflutter: one is brains (I've had a thing about clever old Sherlock since watching Basil Rathbone in the original black and white films); the other is pure physical brawn. Give me Conan the Barbarian, give me Ragnar and Rollo in the Vikings series, give me Chris Helmsley as Thor in the Marvel Comic films. There is something in me that responds, at the basest animal level, to physical, overpowering strength - the sort that comes from wielding an axe in battle. I want the throw down!

It was an utter joy to write my own Viking, Eirik. Of course, this being a romance, I've given him other qualities besides brute strength. My heroine discovers that he's not only a magnificent (and inventive) lover but is loyal to his men, and proud of his warrior heritage. 

‘Viking Thunder’ is a story of sexual awakening, independence and identity.

What else can I say? It features a whole lot of Vikings, and some volcanic-level sex!”

Emmanuelle de Maupassant on 
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Friday, 12 May 2017


The Last Chapter by Robert Braithwaite Martineau (1863)

 I'm taking a week off the blog. Maybe I'll have found my writing mojo by the time I get back.

Wednesday, 10 May 2017

Interesting Times

Oskar Zwintscher: Grief (1898)

Well, 2017 is turning out to be The Year My Erotica Publishers Folded. First Ellora's Cave, at the very start of the year, then Samhain in March - and now Sweetmeats.

I am pretty depressed about this one. I loved the covers and production values at Sweetmeats, and I loved Named and Shamed - hands down the most wildly filthy novel I have ever written and made even more shocking by its interior illustrations by John LaChatte. It got 5/5 for story and 5/5 at BDSM Book Reviews!

It's still on sale at Amazon US and Amazon UK, though I don't know for how much longer.

Amazon US :: Amazon UK

Hopefully I'll get my rights back - no official word yet 😔

Monday, 8 May 2017

Blue Monday: Lea Bronsen guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Lea Bronsen, with an excerpt from her new release Fiery 10-16, a scorching firefighter tale of desire, abuse and bravery.

Runo Wiggins is a scarred man, the wounds etched into his psyche deeper than those on his skin. But he loves his job: fighting fires helps reenact his survival of a house fire as a teen, one that killed his mother and brutal stepfather.

Dawn Caravello is married to a psychotic drunk. She can take his beatings as long as he doesn't touch their children, and she'll do anything to put food on the table, even if it means stealing from the town hero.

When Runo meets the fiery Dawn, sparks fly. But he suspects she is victim of the same abuse as his mother was. As day turns to night, the past and the present blend in an exhausting, nerve-wrecking chase to prevent another death.

After everyone had left the showers, Runo found a folded towel on a shelf, wrapped it around his waist, and walked back to the empty locker room.

A silhouette appeared in the door.


So damn sexy in her black mold-to-her-body dress.

What did she want?

Her shiny gaze wandered down his chest and abs, and stopped at crotch level.


Holding his breath, he sat on a bench with his elbows on his knees and stared back.

She wanted him, but he should ignore it. She was going through emotional distress and might do something she’d regret later.

He still motioned for her to come over. They were both adults. Whatever happened, he would put on account of exhaustion. And the fact he’d been fired. That she’d left her husband. Nothing wrong with a little mutual comforting.

She obeyed, moves slow and cat-like, and sat on his lap.

He circled her slim waist with a hand and fisted her hair with the other, pulling her face down to his. Their open mouths collided. Driven by need, he sucked on her lip, then dove in, his tongue seeking hers. She smelled, tasted, and felt like fucking heaven, and he wanted more, more. Beneath the towel, his cock thickened and lengthened.

She took his hand from her waist and brought it to a breast. He weighed its fullness and firmness in his palm. Perfect. Needing to taste her warm skin, he reached for the top of her dress and tugged until the garment slid off her shoulder, exposing a hard, dark brown nipple. Enticing. He leaned forward to lick and suck the bud into his mouth.

She moaned and spread her legs, causing her dress to glide up her thighs. She took his hand again and brought it to her panties. Whew, so fucking hot and wet. He was on a roll, couldn’t stop. Mouth closed on her nipple, he continued to suck while diving two fingers inside her wet hotness. She clenched her inner muscles around him, jerked her head back, and let out another moan.

Loving that he could provoke such a reaction, he gazed at her sweaty face and grinned, relishing the sight of the aroused and astoundingly sexy woman on his lap. His inflated cock pushed against the towel; she had to feel it pressing beneath her thighs. With two fingers still pumping inside her, he moved his thumb to her clit and toyed, rubbed in circles. She writhed on his thighs, danced to the rhythm of his playing fingers, her moves so intense he had to hold her with his free arm so she didn’t fall off his lap. Her intoxicating scent of arousal drifted to his nose, enhancing his own building pleasure, and the rolling movements of her thighs rubbed the tip of his cock back and forth. Jesus, she was on fire. A pussycat on fire.

She whimpered, her breaths coming out harsh and short. “Harder. Faster. Please!”

He pulled out of her wetness, grabbed her tiny bundle of nerves with his thumb and index finger, and squeezed. In response, she shot her hips in the air and trembled. So near the edge. A little more—he dove for her breast, caught her nipple between his teeth, and bit. She came then, arching her back like a bent bow, mouth open in a silent scream.

Wanting to enjoy her climax to the fullest, he dipped a finger inside her convulsing pussy again. The contractions of her inner muscles combined with her rhythmic rubbing of his cock undid him. His balls tightened and hot cream shot through his rock-hard length in quick pulses. He had to be spraying through half the locker room. His mind blackened and he barely held back a groan.

“Wiggins!” the chief called from somewhere distant.

Oh, fuck.

“Quick.” Not having time to catch his breath, Runo pulled his finger out of Dawn and pushed her off his lap. “Go.”

She staggered to a corner and flattened her dress, moves panicky.

Seconds later, Captain Norton stood in the door. “There you are.” His cold and sharp voice cut through the awkward silence as he stared from Runo to Dawn.

Too tired for bullshit, Runo snapped. “What?”

“A Joe Caravello is asking for his wife.”

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Lea Bronsen says: I like my reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strive to give my own stories the same
intensity. After venturing into dirty inner-city crime drama with my debut novel Wild Hearted, I divide my writing time between psychological thriller, romantic suspense, and erotic dark/contemporary romance.

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