Saturday, 9 December 2017

Blogtour roundup #1

Wilhelm Alexandrovich Kotarbiński (1848-1921): Angel in a Cemetery

The Prison of the Angels was published a week ago, so of course I've been going round shouting about it  - thank you to everyone who has had me over at their gaff, wibbling about sexy angels!

Samantha MacLeod
had mercy on me for using Loki in the novel (when he's HERS) and let me interview my heroine Milja 🙋

At Kryssie Fortune's place I bemoaned my own stupidity 😜

On Tuesday I took over the Blissemas facebook page FOR 12 HOURS and posted lots of pics. Only one penis though. 💦#OMGitnearlykilledme


On Wednesday Emmanuelle de Maupassant and I discussed the moral maze of the trilogy🙏

Billierosie got to hear about Milja's BDSM journey from vanilla to kink 😲

Jennifer Denys posted a  naughty excerpt😍

And today I confess my perverse love of Satan to Kay Jaybee 😈

Thursday, 7 December 2017

When I was 50...



Around my birthday every year I take a look back at what I've done for the first time EVER, just to check that I'm not actually dead of old age yet.

This year, sadly, has been very quiet on the travel front. Basically we have a frail and elderly dog so we haven't been able to go on holiday since last January. Maybe next year...

"No - I will live forever! Give me snacks!"


Anyway, when I was 50:

For the Very First Time:

  • I rode on a banana-boat


  • I finished a novel trilogy: both In Bonds of the Earth and The Prison of the Angels were published this year
  • I hosted a Facebook Promo Party - in fact I've done two now, if you count Blissemas on Tuesday
  • I discovered that neat alcoholic spirits give me terrible indigestion. BOOO! I am getting old!
  • I had a dishwasher installed. Don't tell Mr Ashbless, but I love it!
  • I used a Rug Doctor and was impressed
  • I used a juicer ... yeah, okay, someone shoot me now...
  • I watched a branding (at Eroticon 2017)
  • I went to the Leeds Festival (despite friends insisting it was VERY DANGEROUS)
  • I saw ELO, Muse and Kasabian play live
  • I sold all my vinyl records
  • I had to handle serious fly-tipping in my wood
  • I successfully escaped an escape room (we've beaten three out of four so far, in fact)
  • I used a robo-loo! 

  • I attended a sibling's wedding (my sister's ... I missed my brother's a few years back because I was on holiday)
  • I visited the James Herriot Museum AT LAST (it's up the road ... have I been there at any point in the last 27 years? Have I heck.) Thank you Jo 😉



 I'm hoping by next birthday to have done some more travel to new countries, and be in a new house ... we'll see!

Tuesday, 5 December 2017

5th Day of Blissemas 2017: Befana the Xmas witch


Welcome all!

This is a Blissemas post - which means that if you comment on it you will be entered into a draw for a Kindle Fire 7 pre-loaded with kinky lit and hot romance! What's more, if you comment on all the posts on the Blissemas blog-hop, you will be entered multiple times! (Oo-er!)

La Befana, the Christmas Witch


Pictured above are two Christmas tree decorations I bought in Italy a few years ago. Yes – both are Christmassy, and have nothing to do with Hallowe’en!

“But … the witch! On a flying broomstick!” you might be saying. Well, there’s an Italian Christmas story that you may not have heard before…

Once there was a widow woman called Befana who was very tough despite her years and ever so house-proud. She couldn’t stand to leave her home untidy. One day she was sweeping out her kitchen when three men rode up and stopped to ask for food and drink. This she gave gladly, because she was a generous woman, but she could see that these were not ordinary beggars or travelers. They wore crowns and their eyes were bright with the vision of their purpose.

“We are three Wise Men from the East,” they told her. “And we’re traveling in search of the Christ Child who was promised. Come with us to find him!”

Now Befana was tempted, because she loved children and longed to see the Christ and give him a gift. But she said, “First I have to finish sweeping my floor and tidying the house. I can’t leave it in a mess. What would people think?” So when the Wise Men rode away she stayed behind, and only at the end of the day did she lock up and set off after them, her broom in her hand and a basket of cakes, to seek the Christ Child.

But she never found him, from that day to this. From that day onward she has wandered the world with her broom, giving out gifts to every good child (on the 5th of January, the night before the Feast of the Kings) just in case one of them is the Christ.

So that’s an Italian folk story for you. In my latest novel, The Prison of the Angels, my characters Milja and Egan are actually in Italy in the run-up to Christmas – in Rome to be precise – but they don’t meet Befana … just several archangels ;-) My heroes are trying to stop the imminent Apocalypse, btw.

My Blissemas Kiss Present to you all is this little excerpt from that book:

Excerpt from The Prison of the Angels:

Egan grabbed my shoulders. “You okay?”

I nodded, still gulping oxygen. We had arrived, it seemed, exactly where we’d been aiming for. The little piazza, barely more than a junction of three alleyways. It was daylight, and it was drizzling; a cool rain that seemed like a balm after the emptiness, and a joke in comparison to Ireland’s scything, horizontal precipitation.

My legs wobbled as he pulled me to my feet.

“Please, let’s not do that again,” he said.

“I’m not sure I could.”

“It worked though.” He laughed. “And if we survive any of this, at least I’ll be able to boast that I’ve literally been to Hell and back.”

My stare must have been questioning.

“C’mon, Milja,” he said, shouldering his bag. “Where did you think your short-cut was taking us?”

Ohhh…

Nobody seemed to have witnessed us, so we gathered ourselves and slipped out onto the main street. We pushed across stationary traffic and onto the Ponte Vittorio Emanuele II. The flow of pedestrians was that way too; a vast crowd heading toward Vatican City just over the water. Many were praying out loud. Everyone looked nervous. I glanced up and wondered at the strange look of the clouds overhead; they were clotted and writhing, like spoiled milk.

“Where’d all the people come from?” I gasped, bumping along at his elbow.

“Rome’s filling up with pilgrims for Advent; they come for the Papal Blessing. I’m guessing they’re heading for St. Peter’s Square right now. Happy birthday, by the way.”

“What?”

“You’re a December baby, aren’t you?”

Today’s date hadn’t even occurred to me. “How do you know?”

“I had a whole dossier on you to memorize when I was sent to Montenegro, remember.”

My mouth flapped a bit. I did remember. Of course, the Catholic Church had been keeping tabs on my family for years. “Birthdays weren’t a big thing in my family,” I said. “Our patron saint’s day is seen as much more important.”

“Who’s yours?”

The Archangel Michael. “One who doesn’t like me.”

Egan stopped abruptly, pulling me into the lee of a statue’s plinth. He put a warm hand around the back of my neck, inside my hood, and pressed into me for a sudden kiss that took me wholly by surprise and made my heart flutter and sing. “Happy Birthday,” he whispered.

“Well, I am a bit worried how it will all end,” I said in a small voice, “but at least I’m spending it with the man I love.”


Buy The Prison of the Angels at:


And don't forget to COMMENT FOR A CHANCE TO WIN 😇

Sunday, 3 December 2017

Ohmigawsh Ohmigawsh Ohmigawsh


ROFL! 😍
Once I'd stopped laughing, I had to post this reaction to The Prison of the Angels from Anna Sky of Sexy Little Pages 😀

She actually collected herself and posted a slightly less sweary 'official' review for the front pages:

"I adore Janine Ashbless' Watchers series, and The Prison of the Angels is no exception. Like the previous two books, not only is it extraordinarily well researched, but beautifully written. The pacing, dialogue and characters all combine to create a modern classic that's impossible to put down."
 ... which I've just added to the brand new TPotA page on my website

THANK YOU ANNA!

Friday, 1 December 2017

The Prison of the Angels - release day!


The angels have been released from their prison! Yes, the final part of the Book of the Watchers trilogy is NOW ON SALE - and what's more, the first Amazon review has been posted!



This is a romance with a lot of super-heated steam and the darkest shadows you can imagine, and I think it’s a fantastic conclusion to a story which has built up a serious head of steam over the previous two books.

In principle, this could be read as a stand-alone story, but I strongly enourage you to read the first two in the series. It’s imaginative, sweeping, full of twists and turns, and I genuinely had NO idea where Janine’s story was going right up until the end. She brings together myths from different cultures as well as archangels and angels who, being truly inhuman and created in a particular way, have a multitude of what we call human failings as well as unimaginable powers.

Wow.

And the ending was, well, endearing.


THANK YOU IAN! 💟


I thought I was a good girl. I thought that no matter what others did for my sake, I could stay innocent. I thought that as long as I acted out of love, I’d be blameless. I was wrong, wasn’t I? 

Milja Petak’s world has fallen apart. Her lover, the fallen angel Azazel, has cast her aside in rage and disgust. The other contender for her heart, the Catholic priest Egan Kansky, was surrendered back into the hands of the shadowy Vatican organization, Vidimus, after sustaining life-threatening injuries. 

She has killed and she has betrayed. She is alone, homeless, and at the end of her tether - torn apart by guilt and the love she has lost. But neither Heaven nor its terrifying representatives on Earth have finished with Milja. Both her lovers need her in order to further their very different plans, and both passionately need her, though they may try to deny it. 

Milja is once again forced into a series of choices as she uncovers the secrets Heaven has been guarding for centuries. But this time it is not just her heart at stake, or even the fate of a fallen angel. 

This time, the choices she make will change everything. 

This time it’s the End of the World

Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Janine goes to a stripshow

Ooh - look at me all dressed up like Chrissie Hynde and taking an actual selfie!

(On a borrowed phone, to be fair)
And the occasion?  I was off to see this:


The East London Strippers Collective is an activist/feminist community aiming at empowerment and equality for their members. Here's their statement video:



"ELSC are a group of feisty, articulate and fiercely independent women, who also happen to be strippers, challenging stigma and smashing stereotypes with their refreshingly honest and open discourse about their culture, working conditions and feminist beliefs. They have come together as a collective, united in their shared grievances about poor working conditions and exploitative business practises within their industry. They also lament the stigma surrounding their jobs; the lack of wider public understanding about what they do, compounded by negative connotations that come from poor mainstream media representation and “feminist” campaigns that seek to erase their industry and destroy their livelihoods.

To counter all this they have begun self-organising their own pop-up events to raise awareness, invite new audiences to explore their world and see what they do from a new perspective.
 Strippers of the ELSC seek to challenge the patriarchal conventions on which their industry is built, and we warmly invite women, couples and trans/queer individuals into our world of wondrous titty-twirling, booty-clapping, pole-dancing and underwear-peeling." 

Here's their WEBSITE - check out the "Lip Glossary" page; that's an education.

The show I watched took place at Club Aquarium in London and had a definite old-school-Rock theme with just our kind of music (AC/DC, Motorhead, Rammstein) 💖 - hence the dressing-up on the part of the audience too.


What was it like? Well, almost squeaky-clean, tbh! As a public event it had to stick to the licensing laws - thongs and nipple-tape, absolutely no full nudity, no physical contact. The performers were all pole-dancers, and WOW was that impressive - athletic, sensual, high-energy fun. The drinks were London-pricey but the bar staff were into the music too, which was nice.



Correct practice is to buy "strip dollars" and "make it rain" - throw them on-stage encouragingly during the performance (because no one wants pound coins being hurled around, lol). One guy had a money gun...



The audience? Diverse, young and predominantly female.

Time raced by, I have to say, and we had loads of fun. We even had a good trip home on the train for once, with no drunken blokes falling about (bad), or rabid teenaged girls (much worse), so altogether it was a most successful evening in town!

In short, if you're in London and want to see a sexy but not outrageous, guaranteed ethical, strip-show ... SUPPORT THE ELSC!



Monday, 27 November 2017

Blue Monday SPECIAL

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment... But TODAY I have a naughty bit from my soon-to-be-released novel  The Prison of the Angels - out FRIDAY 1ST DECEMBER 💙💚💛💛💝

In this chapter Milja is being taken by Egan to see his superior within the secretive Vidimus order, within the Vatican:


Claustrophobia and agoraphobia seemed to alternate in this place, with nothing in between. And everywhere we were surrounded by naked flesh—hugely muscled statues of ferocious-looking saints, frescoes where billowy people bumped around on clouds like pastel-colored helium balloons, and bare-bummed putti equally at home flashing pagan gods or the crucified Christ.

To top off my anxiety, as I’d fought my way out of the crush surrounding Michelangelo’s Pieta, I was pretty sure I’d spotted the Archangel Raphael. He’d been attempting to blend into a crowd of South Korean tourists, but had failed by dint of being head and shoulders taller than anyone else, and supermodel-beautiful. He’d walked away and I’d lost sight of him. If it truly had been him.

I hadn’t told Egan.

Here, at the top of the vast stairwell and through another anonymous door into a broad gallery, we were surrounded by flesh again. Vast tapestries covered the rear walls, full of unclothed Greek heroes slaughtering one other. Before these stood twin rows of white marble statues. I couldn’t tell if they were Roman originals or Renaissance homages, but almost all of them were nudes. I scrunched my face in bewilderment.

Egan knocked on the door at the end of the gallery. A wizened old priest came out briefly and they conducted a murmured conversation in Italian. The priest disappeared again and Egan shrugged. “We wait,” he said.

I strode slowly back along the lines of marble, peering at the ripped torsos and the contorted limbs, frozen in strife. Even the sedate bust of an elderly philosopher was heroically proportioned. “Is this part of the museum?” I asked.

“Yes. Not a bit open to the public though.” Unable to shove his hands into jeans pockets, Egan crossed them and tucked them into his armpits while he paced slowly about. “Father Giuseppe is a curator in the Vatican Museum, officially.”

“And unofficially?”

“He’s more important.”

“Like, the head of your order?”

“That’s not something I can discuss.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s an academic by inclination, not a crusader. Which is why he might listen to us. And he is my confessor within the order, so he knows about…us.”

“Hh.” I poked a dryad’s stone nipple. “Does your Pope know about Vidimus?”

“And that’s something else I’m not authorized to talk about.”

I sighed. “Why do you lot have all this stuff?” I asked, derision breaking into my voice. I waved my arms at the gallery and its contents. “It’s all pagan! What’s any of this got to do with the Church?”

Egan was keeping half an eye on the closed door. “You can look at pagan myths as metaphors for deeper eternal truths. I guess. Human attempts to depict the ineffable.”

“In my faith we never try to depict the divine in three dimensions, or like realistic people—it is too worldly.” I spun in a circle and laughed. “How can you keep your celibate priests clean of temptation surrounded by this stuff all day? All your nasty half-naked saints? It’s all abs and asses and heaving bosoms, it must drive you crazy!”

Egan frowned. “It’s just art.”

“It’s porn!” I crossed to a statue of a goat-legged man grasping a struggling, wide-eyed nymph and I clapped my hand against his bare butt. The statue, labelled Pan and Selene, was certainly dynamic. Pan, apart from his hairy calves and cloven hooves, was handsome in a coarse way and muscled like a wrestler, while Selene’s round breasts seemed to bounce weightlessly despite their marble. I could see the dints his fingers made in the alabaster of her thigh. “Really high-end, expensive porn, okay? And this is pretty violent stuff too. Doesn’t look consensual to me.”

I had Egan’s attention now. He uncrossed his arms and stalked toward me. “You shouldn’t touch that, Milja,” he said mildly. “It’s hundreds of years old and probably priceless.”

I wrinkled my nose at him, wanting to provoke. “I’m just trying to grasp an ineffable spiritual truth,” I told him, sliding my hand lasciviously up Pan’s thigh and tickling his heavy ball-sack.

Egan laughed, half disapproving and half amused. His response fueled the devil in me, and I caressed Selene’s bare bosom, stroking her while I watched Egan’s face. He was close enough now that I could see his pupils dilate, darkening his eyes. “Don’t,” he said softly.

Is that a dare?

I ran my fingertips sensually down the long line of the goddess’s arched torso, from erect stone nipple to the curve of her hipbone—and as I dropped my hand away I swept it out and let it graze the black fabric of his cassock. My fingers guessed accurately; there was nothing soft in the bulge they found there, and Egan caught his breath. He went terribly still. He wasn’t looking at the marble assault, he was looking down at me.

“Milja,” he whispered.

But he didn’t back away.

The knowledge of what I was doing to him was like a liquid flame running through my core. I felt like I could have sprouted horns and a tail at that moment. I could have tied his erect cock with a ribbon and dragged him away by it into the fires that never die.

What I did was let my hand drift back, and use two knuckles to slowly trace the thick, curved ridge hidden beneath his robe and trapped in his pants. It was already more turgid than it had been a moment ago.

“Ah please, Milja, why?” He pleaded like a man tied helplessly to a wall, unable to escape, unable to defend himself. All he had to do was thrust my hand away, or step out of reach, but somehow he was now closer to me instead, looming over me. Helplessly.

I stretched up until my lips were all but brushing his. “I want to make sure you have plenty for the confessional,” I murmured.

“Oh, you have no idea.”


 

Pre-order The Prison of the Angels at:



Friday, 24 November 2017

Totally Sinful


Hahahah! I appear to have taken over Sinful Press! When you visit their website my four books are plastered across the top of the homepage (well, temporarily, for about 5 seconds until the rolling banner moves on... all glory is but brief, eh?).


And yipeee - the new "Sinful" version of Named and Shamed is already appearing up on sale in various places, with more to follow!



How much more sinful could you ask for?!

Wednesday, 22 November 2017

"Crying over my Kindle" - FIRST REVIEW and pre-order links


The first review for The Prison of the Angels comes from Samantha MacLeod! I was scared! She was scared! (No, honestly... we were both really worried I couldn't pull the trilogy off...)

Her verdict?

"Both surprising and ridiculously satisfying, in a heart-breaking, crying-over-my-Kindle sort of way.

I wanted a lot of things out of this series. And I won’t say The Prison of the Angels met my ridiculously high expectations. Because, somewhere between sneaking through the Vatican’s secret chambers and skiing the mountains of Norway, The Prison of the Angels took those expectations and blew them out of the freaking water."

 FULL REVIEW HERE

Thank you so much Samantha!



Here are the buy-links for pre-orders; The Prison of the Angels is released on DECEMBER 1ST:

Amazon US paperback :: Kindle
Amazon UK paperback :: Kindle



I thought I was a good girl. I thought that no matter what others did for my sake, I could stay innocent. I thought that as long as I acted out of love, I’d be blameless.
I was wrong, wasn’t I?

Milja Petak’s world has fallen apart. 

Her lover, the fallen angel Azazel, has cast her aside in rage and disgust. The other contender for her heart, the Catholic priest Egan Kansky, was surrendered back into the hands of the shadowy Vatican organization, Vidimus, after sustaining life-threatening injuries. 


She has killed and she has betrayed. She is alone, homeless, and at the end of her tether - torn apart by guilt and the love she has lost.


But neither Heaven nor its terrifying representatives on Earth have finished with Milja.


Both her lovers need her in order to further their very different plans, and both passionately need her, though they may try to deny it. Milja is once again forced into a series of choices as she uncovers the secrets Heaven has been guarding for centuries. But this time it is not just her heart at stake, or even the fate of a fallen angel. 


This time, the choices she make will change
everything.

This time it’s the End of the World

Monday, 20 November 2017

Blue Monday: Samantha MacLeod guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Samantha MacLeod is back today as the second part of a double treat (her excerpt from Claiming Thor's Hammer is HERE). Today's sexy snippet is from her new fantasy story The Night Watch, which will be released on November 28th.



When Prince Liam returns to his kingdom after five years away, there's only one person he wants desperately to see: Cerdec, his closest friend since childhood. But Cerdec is now a knight sworn to protect the kingdom, and Liam fears he is the only one who remembers their stolen moments together.

Newly-sworn knight Cerdec has had no shortage of lovers since Liam left, but he's never felt as close to them as he once felt to the prince. Now that Liam has returned, Cerdec is prepared to serve as his personal guard, even if the position torments his with longing he's terrified to voice.

Even if it means he must welcome and protect the bride Liam's father has selected.


Liam paused at the intersection. "If you would be so kind," he said in a level, measured voice. "Please show me to my room."

He did not turn to meet Cerdec's eyes. In the torchlight, Liam looked pale and exhausted. He looked, Cerdec realized, like he could really use a guard.

"Of course," Cerdec said. "You're almost there."

Liam trailed him down the corridor, his steps seeming to slow as they approached the wing reserved for the royal family. They'd spent years renovating; Cerdec had examined the plans along with his father, discussing their defensibility, their tactical implications. And Cerdec had tried, desperately tried, not to think of Liam sleeping there. Of the way his beautiful body would move through those empty rooms.

"This is it," said Cerdec. "It's all new. I... I hope you like it."

Cerdec stepped back, wanting Liam to be the one to open the doors to his new quarters. Liam hesitated at the entrance, running his fingers over the smoothly polished wood.

"Eagles," he muttered, tracing the delicate carving on the door.

"I hope they're still your favorite," Cerdec said. The eagles had been his idea, suggested very discreetly through his father.

Liam closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nostrils. Cerdec was struck with the sudden, bizarre impression that he was trying not to cry. Then the moment passed and Liam pushed open the doors.

The torches had burned low, bathing the room in soft golden flickers. Liam shook his head as he entered, his fingers lingering on the massive wooden desk. "It's enormous," he said.

"This is just the antechamber," Cerdec said. "Beyond is the, uh, the bedchamber."

"All this for one person," Liam whispered.

Cerdec fell silent. He slept in a bunk in the barracks, in a room he shared with seven other knights. Liam turned toward the bedchamber, but hesitated on the threshold. His shoulders hunched, as if he were in pain, and Cerdec moved toward him.

"If there's anything else I can do for you," Cerdec said.

Liam's hand darted out and caught Cerdec's wrist. His fingers shook as they closed over Cerdec's skin. Liam turned toward him, his eyes burning with mute longing and loneliness, with fear and desire. The space between their bodies trembled.

I might hang for this, Cerdec thought.

And he pressed his lips against Liam's.

Liam's body exploded under Cerdec's touch. His fingers plunged into Cerdec's hair, pulling him closer as he moaned into Cerdec's mouth, opening to his tongue. They pressed against each other, destroying the space between them. Liam pulled away from their kiss to run his lips over Cerdec's jaw, his breath hot on Cerdec's neck and ear. Cerdec wrapped his arms around Liam's waist and lifted him, carrying him through the antechamber as Liam wrapped his legs around Cerdec's back.

The door to the bedchamber was closed, and Cerdec braced Liam against the polished wood, their hips pushing against each other as Cerdec fumbled with the latch. Liam was devouring him, licking and sucking on his bottom lip, digging his fingers into Cerdec's shoulders, his cock throbbing against Cerdec's thighs, and Cerdec could not for the life of him figure out the damn door. It was just a doorknob for fuck's sake—

The door swung open and Liam fell backward. Cerdec caught him, his strong arms around Liam's waist, and their lips crashed together again, their tongues furiously mating as Cerdec pulled at the waist of Liam's pants. Buttons pinged against the stone floor as he ripped open the slacks and shoved them over Liam's hips. Liam's entire body shuddered as Cerdec wrapped his fingers around the hard heat of Liam's manhood.

Cerdec hesitated, his heart in his mouth. Gods, he wanted this—he'd wanted this for years. But he wanted this to be good. He moved his fingers along the length of Liam's cock, rubbing his thumb over the head. Liam moaned into his neck, his body trembling in Cerdec's arms. Cerdec turned to kiss the length of Liam's exposed neck, and Liam's hips began to rock against Cerdec's fingers.

"Shall we test the bed?" Cerdec whispered.

Liam moaned something that may well have been assent, and Cerdec brought his hands to Liam's thighs, lifting him. Liam pressed his lips to Cerdec's and the whole room spun as they kissed and kissed, deeply and hungrily. Liam's hips thrust rhythmically against Cerdec's when they found the bed, his cock hot and hard against Cerdec's stomach, his breath coming in gasps.

Cerdec sat on the bed, releasing Liam's thighs as he brought his hand back to Liam's glorious cock. He ran his fingers along its length, and Liam moaned in response, his entire body trembling. Cerdec smiled, his hand moving faster. Liam panted and then cried out, tilting his head back as he came hot and thick across Cerdec's chest. Cerdec pulled him close, kissing his collarbone, his neck, taking in his scent, the feel of his prince's body in his arms.

Liam's shoulders began to shake. A heartbeat later, a ragged sob escaped his lips. Cold panic coursed through Cerdec's veins. What have I done?

"My prince?" Cerdec whispered. "Liam, are you —"

Liam sobbed again, his arms tightening around Cerdec's shoulders. "Oh, gods," he gasped. "I thought—I thought I was the only one."

Relief spread through Cerdec like sunlight. "My gorgeous prince, you are certainly not the only one."

Liam sobbed louder, his entire body heaving in Cerdec's arms, and Cerdec kissed the top of his head, kissed his neck. "You're not alone," Cerdec whispered over Liam's tears. "You're home."


Preorder The Night Watch at:
Less Than Three Press


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’s Blog
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Sunday, 19 November 2017

Q: Why's he called Aquaman?


A: Because he makes women wet 👿

In honour of the fact I watched Justice League yesterday, here are some pics of the sexiest man in all the Seven Seas:




And here's the haunting Leonard Cohen song the movie opens with, since this was my Facebook review:

"Everybody knows the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich"

Well WOW, if you want a metaphor for Trump's West, just try the death of Superman. JL opens with a montage, to Leonard Cohen's lyrics, of a world where hope has died; stuck in a spiral of hate and vicious self-interest, where white supremacists attack hijabied shopkeepers and nihilistic terrorists attempt to return us to a medieval age of "holy fear". The good guys hide in the shadows, firefighting but not daring to lead. To be clear: I never liked Superman as a character, but this really hits home with why he mattered.

And if "Batman vs Superman" was the turn of the wheel into darkness, "Justice League" is the very necessary counterpart - the turn toward the light again, the righting of past wrongs, the reaching out from isolation to others. The two movies make a whole. 

"The deepest darkness is not the absence of light, but the belief that the light can never return".


Friday, 17 November 2017

INCOMING!!! Cover reveals!


WAAAAH! I thought it would take months, but things are moving fast on the re-release front all of a sudden! The old Sweetmeats versions of Named and Shamed and Fierce Enchantments are coming down, which means the new, revamped Sinful Press versions can go up on sale VERY soon - in fact probably next week 😲💖💕💝

So here's the new cover for Named and Shamed, my no-holes-barred romp through fairy lore:

"A chili pepper rating of 10. I’m tempted to add a kink rating just for this book and would put this at 6 out of 5 (and no that wasn’t a typo)" - Books, Books and More Books

And this is the new cover for Fierce Enchantments, my third short-story collection:

"There’s something for everyone in this wondrously abundant, cerebrally and erotically stimulating, perpetually entertaining collection.” – Erotica for the Big Brain

Aren't they beautiful? I'm so grateful to Sinful Press and the talented Emmy at Studioenp!😊

Wednesday, 15 November 2017

Trolled and sold

Kay Nielsen: The Troll was quite willing... (1914)
More hoorays!

I've now signed a contract with Rose Caraway for my story Yan, Tan, Tethera, Methera  - which is all about trolls and their human pets. It's pretty long (10,000 words) for a short story, and believe me I needed every inch of my allowance - and then a bit more - in order to squeeze all that filthy, filthy sex in 😈😈😈

In fact squeezing things into an inadequately-sized vessel is a bit of a theme in that story... 😛

Want to read a tiny snippet?

“You are looking to tighten the bloodline, or to breed out?” the old troll males ask him.
Their lips writhe back from their long saurian jaws as they grin hungrily at you, baring teeth like flint knives. This makes you nervous, even though you know they’d never hurt you in Papa Xanto’s presence. They thrust their snouts into your crotch and snuffle loudly, their breath hot and wet. They lift you up and open your legs and probe your cunt with their bifurcated tongues, assessing your readiness from the gush of your juices. You can’t help but respond to being handled like that, even though you’re frightened of their teeth and ashamed by your own reaction to strangers. Shouldn’t you only have eyes for your papa?


The title, btw, comes from very ancient shepherding words for counting sheep, in which 10 is "dick" and 15 is "bumfit". It could hardly be more appropriate.

More details of the collection I'm to be part of, and publication dates, when they are available!

Monday, 13 November 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today we go WAY WAY BACK in time to 1998 and the VERY FIRST EROTIC STORY I had published: Party Piece, which is set on a posh galleon during a prince's birthday celebration, and is perhaps surprisingly (for me) femdom, with an older military woman and the younger, callow nobleman who catches her eye.



"If my presence makes you feel tense then I must make amends. Drink this, for a start." She handed him the small glass and he reached for it, not because he desired the liqueur but because he longed to touch those velvet-clad fingers once more. But as their hands met the glass slipped; he grabbed for it and stopped it falling to the deck, but could not prevent the contents slopping out upon her bare thigh.

"That's cold," Allisandra said.

Leander bit his lip and stared down at the wet splash staining her leg. He felt light-headed; his limbs seemed to throb and buzz as if they were ready to explode. This felt worse than the moment before the cavalry charge at Moriens. There was only one cure, and that was action.

"Duchess," he said formally, "allow me." Without hesitation he slid to his knees on the deck and pressed his lips to her thigh. He heard the soft intake of her breath over the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. Her flesh was satin-smooth and incredibly warm and he could smell her secret musky perfume. He kissed the sticky moisture from her skin, gentle as the breath of spring, using his tongue to lap up the bitter spirit. He moved without haste, and it seemed as dreamlike and terrible to him as that first charge into battle.

When every last trickle of the pungent liquid had been erased, he rose before her again, his colour high, his jaw set. She gazed up at him; her eyes were bright and her lips softly parted.

"How gallant," she purred.

He found that he was still holding the useless glass. He tossed it over her shoulder into the sea.

"My pleasure, Duchess," he said, almost with a groan. His scrotum was as tight as a clenched fist and his stones felt as if they were burning.

Her laughter was like the jingle of spurs. "And so charming! You are wasted amongst rough soldiers, Leander. Did you come here with a companion? No? I think I ought to find you a paramour tonight. It should not be difficult, with so many fine ladies here to choose from. It is such a beautiful night ... and you are so very handsome."

"Allisandra," he grunted. His member had risen up and was rearing from between his legs like a war-stallion, straining its long neck against the curb.

"Yes." She began to play with one of the silver buttons on his open jacket, the one directly over his left nipple. Leander shut his eyes for a moment. "You are a very handsome, lovely boy."

His hand snapped shut around her wrist. "Don't mock me, madame," he said, eyes narrowed. "I am no boy, for you to tease; I am a man."

"Prove that," she whispered, her lips describing brush-strokes of provocation.

He no longer cared for decorum. He took her captive hand and laid it over the hard mound of his erection, and it leapt beneath her touch, stamping and bucking with an impatience that threatened to damage the fine doeskin of his breeches. Her eyelashes fluttered and her palm and fingers moved to clasp his bellicose flesh.

"Oh," she breathed. "Now you are teasing me, my Leander. Such a great promise cannot be made, if it is not to be fulfilled."

"I would fulfill it this instant, Madame," he growled, bending to her neck. He took her earlobe between his teeth and she shuddered with pleasure; the response nearly drove him to insanity.

"Is there a cabin nearby?" she asked, her voice low.

He could not think properly. "The forecastle... There is to be some entertainment there later," he grunted, stretching his memory. "There are seats, and mummers' props laid out. But it was empty. Come now."

He led her back up the length of the deck, and she clung to his arm as if she could not bear to release him from her embrace. They reached the small deck before the forecastle cabin and found it as he had half-remembered: set out with cushions and padded benches and musicians instruments, but empty of people. In front of the steps to the cabin was a tall screen, contrived so that players would be able to exit from the makeshift stage without being watched. He pulled her behind this and towards the stairs, but she slipped from his grasp and, when he turned, laughed and set her back to the mast there.

"No further, my gallant, " she said, holding out her arms to him. "I would have you keep your promise right now."

"Here? Leander was surprised. They were concealed behind the screen, but it was the flimsiest of shields, and there was no surface on which to lie.

"Here," she commanded.

He grinned suddenly and went to her, pulling her into his arms. They kissed for the first time. Her tongue was savage and she bit his lips, but he pinned her by the throat and returned stroke for stroke. He could feel the blood racing through her jugular. They grew gentle then, exploring each other's hot mouths with all the murderous delicacy of jungle cats. She smelt of vanilla. He ran his fingers through her lustrous hair and chased the outline of her cleavage with his tongue.

"Take off your harness," she hissed, digging her nails into the nape of his neck. He obeyed her, tearing off his brocade jacket and dropping it to the floor.She forced her hands up under his white shirt and he discarded that too.

"Beautiful," she moaned, drawing her velvet palms across the smooth wall of his chest. "Oh, you are beautiful." She nuzzled the flat brown discs of his nipples and seduced them into erection with tongue and teeth. Leander had to brace one hand against the mast to keep his balance. Then she slid to her knees before him and rubbed her face against the soft leather that covered his tumescent crotch, and he thought he would faint with anticipation.

"Yes," she murmured, more to his imprisoned member than to him. "Oh yes; right now, my lovely one. Let's see you now." She unclasped his belt and pulled it open, then eased the tight breeches down over his narrow hips and tight, muscular arse. His shaft, released from all constraint, sprang into the light. Allisandra hissed with pleasure and caught it in one hand, drawing back the tender foreskin. Her grip was firm. The smooth helmet danced in her black velvet-gloved palm, thrusting out between her finders and thumb as she slid her hand up and down.

"Oh, you must have lied to me, Leander," she chided. "You are no duke's son; you have the parts of a cart-horse colt! I've never seen a noble youth endowed like this!" So saying, she gripped the fingertips of her left glove between her teeth and tore the garment off, allowing her to cup his balls with her bare hand.

Leander groaned, his head spinning. He could she her carnelian-painted nails; the twin hands, one black and one white, vying for his swollen genitals; her tongue slipping out to lap at the shiny head of his lance. Tension was building in the puckered bag of his stones. From his toes to the tip of his cock was one line of rigid muscle, strained to breaking point.

"I'm about to let slip," he warned her through clenched teeth.

"Oh? You told me you were a man, not a boy," she said cruelly, and probed the slit of his knob with her darting tongue-tip. "Can't you hold it?"


You can still buy Sugar and Spice Vol.2 at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Friday, 10 November 2017

Publication news

It's never over...

Hurray! Some news!

First, my short story Nine Portraits of the Empress Danrin has been chosen for inclusion in horror anthology Her Dark Voice vol. 2, edited by Theresa Derwin. Set in 1919 in an influenza hospital, this story is about sex ... a lot of sex ... but it's not erotica, it's horror, so be warned (or intrigued) 😈😈😈


You can read my post about the legend of the Empress Danrin HERE -  it's relevant but tangential to the story plot.




The second wonderful bit of news is that I have just signed contracts with Sinful Press (publishers of my angelic Book of the Watchers trilogy) to re-release two reverted titles from Sweetmeats Press - to whit Named and Shamed - my outrageous XXX fairy-tale wherein I let loose the filthiest things in my imagination - and Fierce Enchantments, my third short-story collection.💖💖💖

They'll have spanking new covers and hopefully should be out in 2018. Things are looking up again!

Wednesday, 8 November 2017

All out of spoons


Normal service will be resumed when something goes right for a change...

Monday, 6 November 2017

Blue Monday: Samantha MacLeod guests

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is my internet-twin Samantha MacLeod, back here with her new Viking Gods story Claiming Thor's Hammer.


All of Asgard depends on Thor, and his legendary hammer Mjölnir, to protect them from their foes. So when Thor returns one night without his hammer, refusing to say how it was lost or where it may be, all of Asgard is at risk. Loki tracks Mjölnir to the muscular arms of the fearsome warlord Thrym, who reluctantly agrees to a deal: Thrym will return Thor’s hammer in exchange for Freyja, the most beautiful woman in Asgard.

There’s only one problem with Loki’s plan. Freyja refuses to marry the ruthlessly handsome Thrym. Low on options, Loki insists he can still retrieve the hammer. All it takes is wrapping Thor in a wedding dress obnoxious enough to allow him to pass for Freyja.

Once inside the dark confines of Thrym’s castle, however, things take an erotic turn not even Loki the Trickster could have predicted…


I took a deep breath. In a Jötunn wedding, the bride swears fealty to her husband by placing her hands on his most valued possession. Thrym’s most valued possession, now, had to be Mjölnir. At least, I hoped so.

If everything went according to my plan, this was when Thrym would bring out Mjölnir and all but dump it in Thor’s lap. Thor would then rip off his dress, bash some heads, and go back to Asgard, Mjölnir in hand, leaving me with the mental image of Thor the Thunderer in a puffy white dress to savor until Ragnarök.

“This is it,” I whispered to Thor. “Get ready.”

Thor pushed me out of the way and stood up.

He left the room.

I blinked as his impressive shoulders, sparkling in beaded ivory cloth, vanished through a door behind the great fireplace. What in the actual fuck?

“You too, pretty little thing,” Thrym hissed in my ear, grabbing my arm and pulling me after Thor.

The crowd roared their approval as we pushed our way to the door. Someone splashed mead down the front of my dress, and I almost broke the arm of the asshole who tried to grab my tits. Thrym shoved me through the door behind the fireplace and into a quiet hallway.

“Are we going to get Mjölnir?” I asked, as innocently as I could manage.

Thrym just chuckled. “Come on,” he said.

I followed him through the hall, trying to calculate how totally fucked we were. Thor and I couldn’t take on this many Jötunn, especially without Mjölnir, but I could probably get us back to Asgard unharmed. Humiliated, but unharmed.

I shuddered. Humiliation was worse than harm.

Thrym pushed open a door and we entered a luxurious bedchamber. Thor stood at the foot of an enormous four-poster bed like a white-clad mountain.

“My bride!” Thrym roared. “I hear you want to see my hammer?”

I couldn’t see his face under the bridal veil, but I would have sworn Thor smiled.

Thrym clucked and waved his finger. “I want something from you first,” he said.

He leaned back and unhooked his massive belt buckle, pushing his pants down. I couldn’t help but stare; the cock that sprang from those pants was damned impressive. Thrym was enormous, thick, and very, very hard.

“Just look what you’ve done to me already,” Thrym said, fixing his eyes on Thor. “You want to see Mjölnir? Well, I want you to suck me.”

I forced myself to tear my eyes away from Thrym’s impressive endowment. “Uh, Master Thrym, my lady Freyja—“

My words died in my throat. Thor fell to his knees in front of Thrym, tore off his veil, and licked the entire length of Thrym’s massive cock.

Oh, damn. That was hot. I flushed with heat under my mead-soaked dress. Thor closed his eyes, running his tongue over the head of Thrym’s cock. By the Nine Realms, he was enjoying it. Thor was sucking a cock, and he was enjoying it.

The slick green silk of my dress suddenly felt too tight as my nipples hardened. I slipped a hand under the folds of fabric at my waist, sliding my fingers up the inside of my thighs and along the wet slit of my cunt. Thor kissed the length of Thrym’s cock, his tongue teasing the head. I pressed my clit, sending jolts of sexual energy through my body as Thor wrapped his lips around the head. Thor moved his mouth over Thrym’s cock, taking much more than I would have imagined possible. I pressed harder. My hips swayed forward, and I clamped my lips together, trying not to moan out loud.

“You little slut,” Thrym growled, sinking his hands into Thor’s hair and pushing the bridal crown off his head. “You’re enjoying this, you whore.”

Thor growled, pulling back to suck just the head of Thrym’s cock. Thrym gasped, his hips thrusting against Thor’s mouth. My finger moved faster, rocking my body with pleasure. Thrym screamed, his entire body tensing as he came in Thor’s mouth. I came a second later, sighing as the oblivion of orgasm crashed through me.

Ah, yes!

I allowed myself a moment to bask in the velvet glow of my climax. Now I’d have to plan, to come up with some brilliant way to get us both out of here alive, but damn. How many times would I get to make myself come watching Thor suck a cock?


Buy Claiming Thor's Hammer 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.


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Friday, 3 November 2017

Night visitors


We've been testing out the new stealth camera in our wood!

We pointed it at the badger sett, but didn't get the badger footage we'd hoped for. Instead...


Based on the palmate(ish) antlers we think they're fallow deer in their dark winter coats - possibly even melanistic variations on the species.



We aim to get better at pointing the camera!

Tuesday, 31 October 2017

Ride that broom, baby

Preparation for the Witches' Sabbath - French School, 1800s
Happy Hallowe'en!

Witches everywhere will be dusting off their faithful brooms and preparing to ride the autumnal skies tonight. In 'Fine Art', of course, all witches are either young and incredibly sexy or aged and incredibly repulsive ...(which makes you wonder what happens to the ones in between - presumably they're too busy holding down jobs and families to spend time gallivanting about with satanic goats or whatever).

So here are some sexy ones, mostly engaged in the 19th Century equivalent of pole-dancing:

Departure for the Sabbath, by Albert Joseph Pénot, 1910

Riding Witches by Otto Goetze, 1924

Walpurgis Night, by Lovis Corinth ,1893
Muse of the Night by Luis Ricardo Falero, 1880

Photo from the series: Witches’ Sabbat in Paris, 1910
Photo from the series: Witches’ Sabbat in Paris, 1910

Sabbat de Sorcières, Adolf Munzier,1909
Jan Frans De Boever (1872 - 1949)
The Apotheosis of a Witch, by Clara Siewert (1862-1945)
Marguerite au Sabbat, by Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret, 1911.

La_SorcièreMartin van Maele, 1911
The Young Sorceress, by Antoine Wiertz, 1857
The Departure of the Witches, by Luis Ricardo Falero, 1878
Happy Hallowe'en!