Wednesday, 30 August 2017

"Damn, Janine, you rock!"

Fellow myth-smutter Samantha MacLeod is a past master at bringing a warm glow to my, ahem, heart ... And here she is with a fabulous review of The Sexy Librarian's Dirty 30 (vol.2)!

"I was, of course, immediately drawn to Janine Ashbless's Sweet Hel Below, which manages to tell a wildly creative and surprisingly touching love story between Norse gods, as well as transform an entire realm, in just a few pages. My own love story between Odin’s son Baldr and Loki’s daughter Hel, Death and Beauty, took 150 pages… so damn, Janine, you rock!"

You can read her whole  review HERE.

And you can buy the book at Amazon US :: Amazon UK because it it totally brilliant 😍

Monday, 28 August 2017

Blue Monday: Jo Henny Wolf guests

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Jo Henny Wolf, whose short story The Black Orchid appears in the Sinful Pleasures anthology, alongside my own contribution.

“But…” Donn’s thoughts were hazy, but he knew that he couldn’t wait six months. “I need the black orchid now.” No, dumbass, you need to find a killer. Somehow, in his mind, both things had become one, circling endlessly around each other.

Poppy didn’t give him room to think. Instead, she dropped her hand to the buckle of his belt, tapping her nails against it. Donn had no time to process this, for she slid her other hand from his arm up to his neck, dragging her nails over his scalp as she raked through his hair. Her lips moved against his ear. Donn was helpless to stop his hips from bucking. “Maybe we should play a game. If you win, you get a black orchid.”

“And if I lose?” Fuck, he was hoarse. He couldn’t concentrate with her fingers sliding through his hair and slipping around his throat.

“Oh, I’ll think of something, don’t worry about that.”

Donn’s answer came too quick and without thinking. “Okay, let’s play.”

“Perfect.” Poppy reached for something out of a tin on her potting table and showed it to him. It was a piece of soft paper string used to bind up flower stems. Not all that impressive, he thought. Then his brain was flushed out the drain as she clasped his wrists and brought his hands behind his back. “I’m going to tie your thumbs together, and you won’t break that tie if you don’t want to lose the game, okay?” Her fingers were hot as she encircled his thumbs in her grip, and Donn’s throat went dry. He would be at her mercy, completely helpless without his hands. This meant offering himself for the taking, and he wasn’t entirely sure that the nature of her taking was benign.

“Okay,” he rasped. A paper string wasn’t that hard to break. At least he hoped so, but when Poppy had tied his thumbs together, he tested the hold of this binding nevertheless. It was loose enough so he could slip out, but that also meant he had to take extra care not to lose it accidentally. Poppy turned him around.

“Did you know that mantises are cannibals?” she asked, looking him up and down as if she contemplated eating him. He nodded, feebly. Poppy continued, “The females eat the males when they don’t get away fast enough after mating. But they’re still ready to risk their lives for a fuck. Interesting, don’t you think?” She traced the bulge of his straining cock with the tip of her finger, and Donn opened his mouth. No sound came out. She tilted her head, an amused smile crooking her lips. Her eyes were as green as the filtered light inside her glass house.

“Your mouth is pretty useless, isn’t it? We should give it something to do.”

He clapped his mouth shut. Poppy’s grin became devious. She stepped so close he could feel her heat burn through his clothes, so close that he could see her skin shimmer. He thought she wanted to kiss him, but she bent sideways and picked something else up from the table.

“Open up…” She twirled a black orchid blossom between her fingertips. Donn hesitated. “Don’t worry, they’re not poisonous,” she said, tipping the flower to her own lips.

“Do you want me to eat it?”

“Of course not. I want you to open up and hold it in your mouth while I do… other things. And don’t you drop it, or it’s game over.”

Donn flexed his hands behind his back. His pants were growing tighter. He would be so vulnerable like that, but his blood simmered, pulsing in his groin, whispering to him to give in and let go.

Surrendering, he opened his mouth and allowed Poppy to gently push the blossom between his lips. It tickled his palate, his tongue, filling his whole mouth with its petals. Donn forced himself not to bite down against the fuzzy sensation. The blossom would offer no resistance if he did. It was solely his responsibility not to break it, his responsibility to keep his mouth open no matter what Poppy did to him. Saliva gathered behind his teeth, and he curled his lip inwards to keep from drooling. The scent of the flower filled every hollow of his skull as he inhaled, and on his tongue, the petals were as velvety soft as a woman’s sex.

All of a sudden, the odd familiarity of the scent made sense, and it hit him like a hammer. It smelled of sex. Of cunt. Its taste filled him to the brim and overwhelmed his senses, rushing through his veins and straight down to his prick. Moaning, he thrust his head back, grabbing the edge of the potting table to keep on his feet as his knees threatened to buckle. He made the most ridiculous sound when Poppy Baines cupped his cock through his pants and squeezed.

“Think of that flower,” she warned him. Had it not been for that, he would have swallowed the blasted orchid the very next moment, when Poppy undid first his belt, then his pants, and worked his cock free of its prison. “Nice.”

She stepped back, examining him like the specimen of a rare plant. Something in her eyes had him on edge, and Donn prepared to be taunted for being so easy. His cock didn’t care about his humiliation though, jutting out recklessly. Wobbly, he spread his feet apart to keep his pants from slipping down and pooling around his ankles.

Poppy shrugged out of her cardigan and dropped it to the floor between them, and Donn stopped breathing when she sank to her knees. Fucking hell. He looked down at her, dripping drool from his mouth and almost losing the flower. She was rigging the game, and not playing by the rules at all… not that they had specified any rules beyond don’t drop the flower. It had seemed simple enough a moment ago, yet when Poppy parted her lips and breathed onto his cock, then dragged her tongue across the tip, wetting it, it turned into an impossible challenge.

The only thing harder than holding still was his cock. Tension coiled between his pelvic bones, drawing every bit of his conscious mind down into the roiling vortex of need smouldering there. He wanted Poppy’s soft, red lips around his shaft, and he longed to push deep into her throat, like she was an orchid and her mouth the vessel to receive his seed.

Buy Sinful Pleasures at:
Barnes and Noble
Google Play
Support your small publisher and buy the paperback direct

Jo Henny Wolf lives with her husband and two daughters in the idyllic Rhine Valley in one of the warmest places of Germany. She spent her childhood roaming the woods of the Black Forest, steeped deeply in myth and folklore and ingrained superstition, where her love for fairytales was nurtured and cemented.

She holds a B.A. in German Language and Literature as well as Scandinavian Language and Literature. Tracing intertextual influences is like a treasure hunt and a fascinating puzzle to her, but it's not as fulfilling as writing her own stories, accompanying her heroines and heroes through adventures full of magic, love and melancholy, and lots of steamy sex. She writes Romance novels as J. H. Wolf.

Website | Twitter | Facebook

Sunday, 27 August 2017


I was completely blown away by Muse's performance at the Leeds Festival!

Shit - does that mean I'm into Prog Rock now?!

Friday, 25 August 2017

I've been mugged!

Look what my wonderful ex-editor Mary Harris sent me! I love her! 😍😍😍

Goodness knows how she got it through Customs, but yes, I am now inspired to drag myself out of my rut and write a short story next week πŸ˜€

Wednesday, 23 August 2017

COVER REVEAL: The Prison of the Angels

Aargh, I'm so nervous! I hope you like it!

Here it is - the cover for The Prison of the Angels - which is officially due to be published by Sinful Press on
1st December 2017!

Here's the wraparound:

And the blurb:

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 of 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, 21 August 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

The Sinful Pleasures anthology was launched yesterday, so here's a bit from my story, The Pier by Night, a tale very much about the terrible weight of temptation. Old friends Maz and James are hanging out together in Brighton as their respective spouses attend a conference...

“What do you want to do now?” James asked, as they came level with another set of concrete stairs leading back up to the promenade. The question was lightly posed, but it seemed to carry an unconscionable weight. Maz looked sideways at him, rearranging the tickling strands of her hair back from her face one more time. Her body knew exactly what it wanted to do. Her body seemed to belong to some other person – someone with no memory, no ties, no guilt. Somebody who had lived all her life here, in the sun, on the beach, far away from any home or husband.

How easy it would be to do something irrevocable. Something that would tear down their carefully ordered world.

“Do you think they’ve got an aquarium?” she heard herself ask. “I like them.”

“It’s a seaside town. Of course they’ve got an aquarium.”

They did.

Indoors, it was surprisingly quiet and empty. The sun must be keeping everyone else outside. After the blaring pop music of the pier and the excited children on the beach, the dimly-lit faux-rock tunnels, with their windows onto pellucid underwater landscapes, seemed like another planet.

Maz and James took their time. She hadn’t been kidding about how much she enjoyed displays like these. The glowing pools drew her, and the fact that James was beside her only heightened the sense of dreamlike intensity. He would touch her occasionally – a hand on the small of her back, a finger brushing her wrist, the gentlest of clasps upon her upper arm as he pointed out a delicate seahorse among the reed grass. There was a quiet intimacy to it that made her shiver and blush and lose focus.

She could feel her whole body thrumming, as if she were lambent with arousal.

She enjoyed every moment, from the starfish in the touch-and-feel pools to the huge Japanese spider crabs from the bottom of the Pacific, their span of spindly legs metres across, that lurked in ultraviolet darkness. But her favourite was the jellyfish display. This room was dimly lit with glows of red and blue, the tanks bare except for their denizens pulsing delicately as they rose and fell, like phosphorescent thistledown, in the gin-clear water. No other tourists were around. She came to halt in front of one tank, fascinated by their utterly alien beauty, their slow dance emptying her mind like a meditation.

She felt James come up and stand behind her. He put his right hand on her waist, then the left found its place over her other hip. He stood quietly, so close that she could feel his body warmth on her back. They were in perfect symmetry.

Her mind was empty, and her body felt like it was shining in the dark.

Without a word, she covered his right hand with her own, and slid it up to cup her breast.

She heard him sigh under his breath. Then he moved against her, his chest to her back, his face stooped to her hair. And both hands on her breasts, squeezing softly, hefting their slight weight, thumbing her nipples. That friction through her clothes sent burrs of pleasure dancing across her skin, all the way to her core. Ridiculously, she wished she had more tit for him to caress – but it was a fleeting fancy, nothing more than a shadow of her sense of inadequacy. The hands that were supposed to touch Shauna were upon her, now; his body was warm against hers, his breath was shallow and pent against the whorls of her ear. She could feel herself melting under the heat of his regard, the warmth running right through her to escape in a trickle between her thighs. Her whole body softened into one thrilling ache – all except her nipples, which somehow, perversely, were pebbling as he teased them, until he was able to take each point between thumb and finger and roll them with exquisite boldness.

“Hhhhh,” she gasped.

The jellyfish hovered before her blurred vision, like angels falling through an alien heaven.

When he moved one hand around and trailed his fingers down the cleft of her cleavage, her legs nearly gave way beneath her. She relaxed back into his embrace, surrendering. Then he turned her in his arms and pulled her close.

She lost sight of the jellyfish. His shadow engulfed her and his lips moved over hers. Soft and warm, he kissed her. It was almost chaste, at first. Then he broke the seal of her lips with his tongue and their kiss, though gentle and slow still, became something not in the least platonic. Through his clothes, she felt the press of his hardening cock.

Buy Sinful Pleasures at:

Google Play
Barnes and Noble

Sunday, 20 August 2017

Sinful Pleasures - out now!

It's out! It's proud! It's TOO DAMN HOT for Amazon!

Because side-buttock may drive you into an erotic frenzy
Yes, that's the  "safe for Amazon" cover, which has been carefully hidden behind its porno search-filter just to make it even harder for you dirty dirty readers to find it. 😏

But this collection of eleven short stories (including mine, The Pier by Night) is well worth getting your shaking and hairy-palmed hands on, for torrid tales by Ella Scandal, Sonni de Soto, Jo Henny Wolf, Lily Harlem, Lady Divine, Gail Williams, Samantha MacLeod, Tony Fyler, Ellie Barker and Lisa McCarthy.

Here's Ian D Smith's lovely advance review:
"With this anthology, Sinful Press have drawn together eleven quite varied stories of different lengths, all engaging, erotic and imaginative. The stories include some which are plausibly real-life, one which hints at being a horror story, and another which is almost paranormal.

I always find it difficult reviewing anthologies, because it seems unfair for me to pick out my favourite story. I know fully well that it’s my personal choice, and others would say another is their favourite. And I think they’re all good. But “The Pier By Night” by Janine Ashbless was the one which struck me most, at several levels.

A five-star read as far as I’m concerned."


Google Play
Barnes and Noble:

Friday, 18 August 2017

Smut Leeds

I'm all tied up with one thing and another at the moment...

But I managed a lovely day out at Smut in the City: Leeds last weekend!

I went there with Jennifer Denys - here she is being tied up by Zak Jane Kier:

It's research!
Zak did a fab "Diceman" workshop on using random factors which gave me a WHOLE new idea for a short story 😈😈😈 - now I just wish she'd write a book of random lists!

And Jennifer gave us a really interesting workshop on "What Shape of Writer Are You?" (More details here) I turned out to be a rectangle, to my surprise.

Rectangle: the flexible writer

  • Open-minded
  • Inquisitive
  • Courageous 
  • Growing

Sounds great, eh? Sadly us rectangles are easily distracted by real life and prone to being disheartened. I need to be more obsessive and sure of myself ;-)

To round off the day I ended up in Stephanie Robb's hogties.

A huge thanks is due of course to Victoria and Kev Blisse for working so hard to organise and host Smut: Leeds - there are lots more pics over on their Smut Website πŸ’–

Wednesday, 16 August 2017

Out now: Dirty 30 Vol. 2

I'm over the moon! The Sexy Librarian's Dirty 30 Vol. 2  is available on Kindle NOW!

Amazon US
Amazon UK

The Sexy Librarian, Rose Caraway returns with another Library of Erotica, just for you. From Torrid Literature to BDSM, Fairy Tales to Orgies, Clandestine Military Adventures to Bi-Curious Rendezvous, this adventurous, and fantasy-filled collection is here to turn you on. So grab your partner and peruse the card catalog and see which sexy story catches your interest first. This is your very own, hand-held library! Explore this volume of Erotica to your libido's content.

There will be both print and audio versions out in due course, but in the meantime here's the opening of my own Viking story, Sweet Hel Below:

My brother killed me.

He didn’t mean to, of course. He only wanted to join in with all the other laughing, beer-giddy gods as they took it in turns to attack me and watch their weapons bounce off without even making contact. So when Loki sidled up to him, pressed the mistletoe dart into his hand and said “Here, I’ll guide your throw,” blind and trusting Hodur let him. The magical dart, sharp as iron, pierced my left eye and buried itself to the tip in my brain.

That is a story everyone knows. I’m telling a different one here.

They burnt me on a ship-pyre. The black smoke rose up and I blew away as soot. Then rain caught me and washed me down into the leaves of the World Tree, down the silvery bark to its roots, past mortal lands and the realms of fire and ice to the very lowest of the Nine Worlds. To Helheim.

Where else is there for a dead god to go?

I found myself facing a ravine full of raging water and churning sword blades. How wide that gulf stretched it was hard to tell; to my dismay the sight in my left eye had not returned to me. I walked the bank, stumbling sometimes, until I found a bridge with a roof of golden thatch. Guarding it was a blonde and lovely giantess almost twice my height, armed with shield and spear.

“What’s your name, traveler?” She grinned at me, looking me up and down in a way I’m quite familiar with.

“Baldur, Odin’s Son.”

“Baldur the Golden?” Her face fell a little. “I heard the news from Asgard. You may pass.”
I tried a smile. “I don’t have to fight you?”

“I am here to stop people getting out of Helheim,” she answered gently. “Follow the road north and downhill to find the Lady’s hall. But first, kiss me. Dead or not, I would have it said that Modgud was once kissed by Baldur the Beautiful.”

She knelt so that I could kiss her, though I fear my lips felt cold because her own felt so warm to me. I stroked her breasts until she began to sigh, feeling her big nipples rise to the kiss of my cool fingers and the heat thrum beneath her skin. Her heart beat harder. But then, with a sad laugh, she pushed me away.

“No more, alas, Odinsson. The Dead and the Living may not lie together.”

Amazon US
Amazon UK

Monday, 14 August 2017

Blue Monday: Oleander Plume guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Oleander Plume with an excerpt from her new book, Horatio Slice: Guitar Slayer of the Universe.

She says:
When Janine told me she needed an excerpt that was “The ruder the better!”, I rubbed my filthy hands together and laughed like a villain in a super hero movie. Here’s the thing, my book is not short on sex, in fact, it’s filled to the brim with it. Which made picking a scene kind of difficult. In the end, I chose this, which is a favorite of my editor, Jacob Louder. In this scene, Snake (space pirate/vampire) meets a werewolf sentry named Grif and a game of seduction begins…

Horatio Slice is NOT dead.
Gunner Wilkes knows a secret. Heartthrob rock star Horatio Slice is not dead. Sure, Gunner may turn heads with his big brain, good looks, and gym-built body, but his mind is on one thing only: returning his all-time favorite rocker and secret fanboy crush to Earth. 

Yes, there are VAMPIRE PIRATES
Fame and stardom were starting to wear thin for Horatio Slice, but when he was sucked through a magical portal while on stage at Madison Square Garden into a jail cell in a strange dimension called Merona, his confusion quickly cleared upon meeting his sexy, dark-haired cellmate, a vampire pirate named Snake Vinter, who filled Horatio in about life in the universe, jumping from dimension to dimension, and craftily avoiding the wrath of gnarly-mask-wearing leather queen King Meridian—a guy nobody wants to cross.

All the zany magical comedy of Mel Brooks, an adventure not dissimilar to Indiana Jones meets Barbarella, and men, men, horny men, of all shapes and sizes, Horatio Slice, Guitar Slayer of the Universe is wild, fun, pornographic fiction for anyone who loves the masculine, the feminine, and all identities in between. Even more so, it’s for cravers—for aficionados—of big, hard, pounding cock, and anyone who can handle laughs that won't stop coming.

Snake checked on Sugar and Canis, who were dead to the world. After putting on pants, he crept to the kitchen, pausing to throw a blanket over Horatio and Gunner before grabbing two beers and heading outside. The sentry turned out to be an auburn-haired hunk of a werewolf named Grif, who had a bushy tail that reached his ankles and a firm handshake. They drank their beers and shared small talk while leaning against the ship, gradually moving closer together. Grif was a mature wolf with a more powerful musk than Canis. Snake grew weak in the knees.

“Sexy tats, Snake. Sexy body, too.” Grif stared at Snake’s chest and used a finger to trace a tattoo.

“What does this one signify?”

“Sugar, my lover. Funny thing, they all say Sugar. Each tattoo spells out his name in different languages and symbols.”

“Sugar must be one hell of a mate. Tell me about him.”

“Let’s see, how do I describe Sugar?” Snake panted as Grif sucked his left nipple. “He’s a beautiful badass … yeah, suck my tits … keeps his lip gloss in the same holster that he keeps his gun.”

“What color are his eyes?” Grif licked a trail from Snake’s left nipple to his right.

“Green.” Snake groaned as Grif switched from tongue to teeth. “I’m fairly certain they can … stare a hole through steel.”

“And his body?” Grif pinched both of Snake’s tits while nibbling along his collar bone.

“Perfect. All muscle.” Snake put his palms against the ship, fingers spread, in the hopes of grounding himself. Grif’s seduction made him dizzy. “Soft skin that always smells sweet.”

Grif crouched and tugged down the front of Snake’s pants, kissing the spot where pubic hair would grow if he had any. “Tell me about his dick.”

“Big. Thick. Pink and kind of shimmery.”

Grif stood and reached behind Snake, sliding one finger down the back of his pants until it teased the top of Snake’s crack. “Do you let him bend you over and put that shimmery dick up this ass? Does he fuck you good?” he said, right against Snake’s ear.

“Really good,” Snake said, eyes shut tight. “Really fucking good.”

Grif said, “He won’t object if I play with you?”

“No,” Snake said. “If he were awake, he’d want to watch.”

“Bet you already fucked him to sleep,” Grif said, kneading Snake’s ass while keeping his eyes averted. Snake buzzed with excitement. He’d played wolf games before and understood their tactics. Grif would use his scent to ensnare Snake’s senses, all the while avoiding Snake’s vampire gaze. “You smell like sex,” Grif murmured against Snake’s neck. His tongue slithered along Snake’s jawline. “Taste like it, too.”

Snake kept his breath shallow so he wouldn’t inhale as much wolf perfume. The game was heady enough. A battle of will and lust, Snake fought hard to emerge the victor, but Grif proved to be a cunning adversary. The wolf had a sixth sense of what turned Snake on: dirty talk, nipple sucking, and slow teasing. Winning would require cheating, a tactic Snake wasn’t above using on occasion.

Grif cupped Snakes bulge. “Lot of meat in here.”

Snake noticed Grif’s cock twitch. He knew the wolf was using extreme control to keep himself from getting a hard-on. “Maybe you want this meat inside you?”

Grif smirked, still staring down. “You’ll be taking mine,” he said. “Might as well give in, vamp.”

Snake snickered. “Let me see those eyes of yours, wolf.” Grif shook his head. “You’re not playing fair.” Snake put his fingers under Grif’s chin and forced him to look up. A millisecond of eye contact, and Snake had him under control. “You do have pretty eyes, pet, as golden as the sun.”

Grif wore a goofy grin. “You win vampire,” he said. “Bend me over.”

“I’d rather you fucked me,” Snake said, stroking Grif’s hard cock.

Grif said, “But you won fair and square, so you get to be alpha. Those are the rules.”

Snake reached lower and fondled Grif’s balls. “But I cheated, so I’m relinquishing the role of alpha to you, and I expect the full treatment.”

Grif licked his lips. “I’ve never fucked a vamp before.”

“Oddly enough, I’ve fucked a few of your cousins,” Snake said.

“Loup Garous?” Grif’s nostrils flared and his voice grew harsh. “They’re vile.”

“Yeah, but they don’t look so bad bent over.”

Grif chuckled. “I like you, vampire. Want my dick?”

Snake rubbed his face against Grif’s furred chest and took a long inhale, allowing the buzz to sink into his guts.

“That’s it,” Grif said. “Drink me in. Let me take over.” He grabbed Snake by the hair. “Now get on your knees and suck me.”

Snake complied, then opened his throat and let Grif fuck his face. It seemed fitting that he should be taken by this wild creature outside, under a brilliant moon, with the odor of crushed grass wafting up from beneath his knees. Grif put both hands on the back of Snake’s head and ground against his face.

“I’m ready for your ass to swallow me now,” Grif said, pushing Snake face down onto the ground and lowering Snake’s pants just enough for access. He mounted Snake, holding him in place with one strong arm while the other gripped a wad of hair. Snake emitted a guttural cry when Grif’s fat dick speared his eager hole. Grif fucked him with the fervor of a dog in heat, slamming hard, causing Snake’s cock to rub against the soft ground.

Grif said, “You want a wolf bite, vamp?”

“Fuck, yeah. Do it,” Snake moaned.

“Tell me when.”

“Now.” Right before Snake came, Grif bit into the back of his neck, paralyzing him and ratcheting up the pleasure one-thousand percent. Snake heard a keening moan split the night and realized that he was the moaner, howling as he created a puddle on the grass.

Buy Horatio Slice: Guitar Slayer of the Universe at:
Amazon US :: Amazon UK
Go Deeper Press

Oleander Plume writes (mostly gay) erotica while sipping martinis, and, yes, they are dirty martinis.
She lives in Chicago.

Amazon Page

Saturday, 12 August 2017

I'm off smutting!

It's Smut: Leeds today!

I shall be riding the omnibus to that fair city with one of the stars, Jennifer Denys, very shortly 😊

Thursday, 10 August 2017

You wouldn't believe me

So, the fabulous Sexy Librarian, Rose Caraway, is ramping up for the release of Dirty Thirty vol.2, which features my story Sweet Hel Below along with 29 other filthy gems.

"She is SO close to publication, I can taste it. In just a few days, The Sexy Librarian's Dirty 30, Vol.2 will be available on Kindle. Print is coming too, and, of course, so is the audiobook. There are many FIRSTS with this project that I seriously can't wait to reveal. This D30v2 has had more moving parts than any other project I've put together thus far. In all honesty, we aimed pretty high and, well, I think we hit a new sexy bullseye. #BookPrideMotherfuckers.

I can't wait to reveal my absolute favorite first. (There I go teasing again.) This is Stupid Fish Productions' very 1st Series!!! Which I hope to expand for as long as is possible. Yes, a new #CallForSubmissions is in the works, so stay tuned for that."
Rose's posting a series of guestspots by her authors, and after flattering the hell out of me ("She’s clever, she’s witty, and she’s an incredible storyteller who’s turned me on and even made me laugh a time or two") she asked me to give some very brief writing tips on building believable characters.

Which I, perversely, refused to do.

"Hold on… Why would I want to write “believable” erotica characters? Aren’t we in the business of giving people fantasies? Aren’t we trying to get them off? Who wants an erotic story where the guy comes too soon and leaves in embarrassment, or the heroine accidentally farts mid-anal? We’re looking for ideals when we go to read one-handed fiction, aren’t we?"

Sorry, Rose, lol!

Anyway, you can read my full attempt to wriggle out of my task over at the Stupid Fish blog. πŸ˜‰

And I genuinely can't wait to see the collection - it's going to be AWESOME!

Tuesday, 8 August 2017

Blue Monday (a tad late)

Argh - I was so busy binge-watching Game of Thrones that I didn't post on Monday! So today's excerpt is extra-length and has a Bonus Hungarian Cover to make up for it...

It comes from Thrones of Desire (there's some theme going on on my blog this week, it's hard to say what) which has my FAVE EVER ANTHOLOGY COVER. My story, Of High Renown, is a romance and therefore everyone is of course conflicted and miserable.

She remembered how she had misused him.

It was an unending struggle to keep him alive. The venom in his blood seemed to have destroyed his body’s sense of equilibrium, and threw him between burning fever and frigid tremors every few hours. Emlhi cleaned and bandaged the deep puncture wounds in his shoulder, but after that she simply tried to keep his temperature on an even keel—stopping the fever boiling his brains at one moment, piling blankets over him to maintain some vestiges of warmth the next. She fed and watered him, cut fresh bracken every morning for his mattress and, when she was not watching over him, tried to keep up the work of her smallholding. She snatched her own sleep during his chills.

Between fire and ice, the knight would have passages where he seemed to be lucid but completely exhausted. Then as the fever flared up afresh he’d begin to talk, and sometimes try to rise from his bed. He stared at the ceiling and spoke to people who weren’t there. He raved about battles and campaigns and the horrors he’d witnessed, until Emlhi wanted to stop her ears for sorrow. Sometimes his hallucinations grew worse and in terror or fury he would lash out at her. If he hadn’t been so weakened by his illness, he might have been really dangerous.

It went on for days, and there were times she couldn’t understand why he did not die. She might have called in an older female relative to share the labor of care, but she guarded her sole right to Gareth possessively. Exhausted, she took strength from his stubbornness.

And she took more than strength.

The first time, it wasn’t her doing. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, tending him as he burned. She’d been wiping his face and chest with a damp cloth, dipping it in fresh water every few minutes and waving it about to cool it. He was twisting in discomfort, tossing in a delirious dream, his hands scrabbling convulsively across his belly. When she touched his cheek with the cloth he would turn his face toward it, like a baby seeking the teat. She ran it down the midline of his torso and he grabbed her hand, knotting his fingers around hers. Gently she freed the cloth with her other hand and continued to bathe him. He kept his grip on her. His head was thrown back, his larynx working. Then he pushed her hand into his crotch.

Until now she’d kept his hose on, unwilling to steal the last shreds of his dignity. It was a mistake, she realized; the fabric was sodden with sweat - and beneath it his cock was engorged, as hot and solid as the rest of him. He wrapped her hand around the thick length and squeezed hard, and, as Emlhi felt a blush flood her face, a great sigh of relief escaped his taut throat. Then he began to rub her hand up and down. She squirmed with shame but she didn’t pull away. His cock grew harder beneath her imprisoned grasp, lengthening as it filled. She was clumsy, passive, too inexperienced to know what to do. He masturbated with her hand until he spasmed—and then he relaxed, falling almost instantly into a dreamless sleep.

Emlhi, trembling, pulled her cramped fingers away and plunged them into the bowl of water.

That was the first time; it wasn’t the last. She began coming to him when he burned, the sheets thrown aside and his body—fully naked now, and cleaner and cooler for it—sprawled out across her bed. Then she would take his cock in her hand and stroke its velvet length, squeezing him gently at first and then with more firmness, her face rapt, her breath shallow in her throat, her pulse pounding in her breast and her groin. She thrilled at the catch in his breath and the wet kisses of his foreskin and the noises of his pleasure. She delighted to see him stretch and shudder at her touch, to see his balls tighten and jettison their burden in spurts across his belly. She loved the peace that came across his features when it was done. She would sit and watch him even when he slept, enchanted by the simple rise and fall of his chest.

Because, if she could make herself overlook his suffering, he was beautiful. The heat had melted any fat from his body, stripping him down to muscle. His shoulders were broad, his hips tight, his thighs long and slab-hard. His nipples responded to the cold cloth by turning into little brown berries. Emlhi loved to touch him.

She knew what she did was shameful, but she couldn’t stop herself.

* * * * * * * *

One night she’d checked on him and found him curled in a fetal ball on the bed, with the blankets piled like fallen enemies on the floorboards. She put the candle down and touched his shoulder, finding his skin icy. He shook beneath her hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she gasped and grabbed up the blankets. He didn’t seem to notice; he was whimpering very softly under his breath, like a dog in pain. Quickly Emlhi slid into the bed at his back. She was wearing only her shift, because she’d been ready for bed herself. She pressed her warm belly to his spine and felt the chill of his flesh soak into her own. She ran her hand down his ribs and hips and rubbed the rough hair of his thigh.

“Hush,” she whispered, kneading the knotted muscles of his neck with her other hand, pressing her face to his shoulder blade. “You’re alright. You’re alright.” She rubbed her thighs against his, willing the warmth into him. By tiny increments he relaxed, the shuddering soothed away as the covers trapped the heat. His limbs unknotted enough to allow her to slip her hand round his waist, right into the pit of his belly where his pubic hair tickled her fingers. It took a long time, though, and she was tired by the day’s work. Gradually she fell into a doze.

Emlhi awoke when Gareth pulled the blanket aside. Sleepily she protested at the draft, then realized that the man in her bed was no longer cold. He’d stretched out and turned to press against her and he was hot, his skin burning on hers. He put his hand on her thigh, and even through the rucked linen of her shift it felt like he was branding her. Emlhi surged into wakefulness. He wasn’t just uncoiled—he boasted an erection that was pressed into her hip.

He’s sick, she thought. And weak as a kitten. If I want to stop him, I can.

Moonlight through the window revealed little, only his bare calf, his knee pushing between hers. Higher up, their bodies were drowned in shadow. The guttering stub of the candle outlined only the peak of his shoulder. His head was on her pillow and he was panting. Emlhi put her hand up and felt his face; the rasp of stubble, the smear of sweat from his temple, the loose locks of his hair. His breathing was faster than any healthy man’s and he was leaving a wet patch on her throat.

“Sir knight,” she whispered. The pulse in her belly began to beat. He can’t make me, she told herself. He can only do what I let him.

Pulling up the last span of her skirt, he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh and pressed it into her delta. “Hsgood,” he slurred.

Emlhi juddered beneath him.

His fingers probed deep into her slit, seeking her moisture. She whimpered, feeling his heat catch in her sex, flaring up thorough her belly. He parted her folds and dabbled his fingertips within, while his palm and thumb stirred her mound and caressed the rough hair. Her wetness was growing more marked by the heartbeat. She felt completely helpless, suffused by the ancient imperative to yield, to melt, to submit to him. She parted her thighs and he slid his hand up and down the length of her slot, drawing the juices up to the bud of her clit. She moved under him, pushing up to meet him, her shallow little gasps drowned by his fevered panting. The shadows shook against the wall. His thigh was growing heavier and heavier on hers. She slid her own hand across her belly, under his arm, and took hold of his shaft. It jerked in her hand.

Then without warning, just as she was rising to her crisis, he pulled from her grasp and shifted his weight, heaving on top of her. The black silhouette of his head and shoulders loomed over her. Bereft, she caught her breath but spread her thighs willingly, thinking that she knew what must happen next—but she was completely unprepared.

Buy Thrones of Desire at:
Amazon US: Amazon UK

Sunday, 6 August 2017

Butts are coming

Hooray! I'm binge-watching the new season of Game of Thrones this weekend!

Friday, 4 August 2017

Shame! Shame! Shame!

Victorian art lovers were always up for a good bit of slut-shaming:

Augustus Egg: Past and Present no.1: Misfortune (1858)
In the very famous painting above, the wife's adulterous letter has been intercepted by her husband and she's about to reap the whirlwind. In fact the other two painting in the tryptich go on to show the children abandoned in a garret years later, and the destitute adultress dying under a bridge near the Thames.

But hey! Since you - as an upright Victorian - don't approve of women being naughty, you get to enjoy pictures of them being shamed for it! In fact there is a loooooong artistic history of depiction of Christ and the Woman Caught in Adultery (John 8), in which she can be seen looking suitably disheveled, frightened and penitent.

Giuseppe Sciuti. The Adulteress (1906)
Here's an obscure Arthurian legend illustrated by, you'll note, a female artist:

Isobel Gloag: The Magic Mantle (1898)
In the story, a boy comes to court with three magic items; a mantle that conceals nothing if the woman wearing it has ever been unfaithful, and a knife and a drinking horn that can only be used by a man who is not a cuckold. Queen Guinevere tries on the dress with disastrous results and has to flee in shame from the court.

In fact, you didn't even have to have been shagging about to be publicly stripped and leered at. Here's Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester in a historical incident in which she has to do the Walk of Shame for consulting with a witch-woman about the possible future date of the King's death:

Edwin Austin Abbey: The Penance of Eleanor (1900)

She addresses her husband in the crowd thus, according to Shakespeare:

Methinks I should not thus be led along,
 Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back,
 And followed with a rabble that rejoice
 To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans.
 The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,
 And when I start, the envious people laugh
 And bid me be advised how I tread.
 Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?
 (Henry VI, Part 2)

But don't fret; occasionally the guy gets equal artistic treatment too:

Jules Arsène Garnier: The Punishment of the Adulterers (1876)
Altogether now: "Shame!"

Wednesday, 2 August 2017


I have a new writing mug! It's not the one I really wanted, but I can't afford the customs charges from the US for that, lol.

And sadly it's not accurate at the moment. It's been ages since I wrote anything new! This week has been dedicated to

  • Writing a guest blogpost
  • My tax form, which is frankly not worth HMRC's effort to process
  • Avoiding Game of Thrones spoilers 
  • Cleaning the house
  • Wishing someone would buy the bloody house so I can stop cleaning it

 I have stripped all the lovely postcard-collages off my doors now, and left them boring white - Boooo!