Monday, 10 December 2018

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

This last week I've been writing a witch story, so here's an excerpt from my early story,
White as Any Milk, Black as Any Silk, which is about two rival medieval sorcerers battling it out for magical supremacy ... which involves each trying to get the other one to orgasm first!


I hardly had time to notice this and stretch out flat across the expanse of the bed when the door to my chamber opened and Galiena walked in. She was naked but for the ash-drift of her unbound hair and the blue filigree of tattooing on a skin white as moonlight itself. Her eyes were hard, but her mouth twisted in a smile when she saw me.

I was struck dumb and frozen with shock. I could not react even when she reached the side of my bed and looked down upon me.

"Chedzoy's dog," she sneered. Her voice was soft, nonetheless. She reached for the blanket and drew it from the bed in one motion, dropping it at her feet. I think I raised my hands in protest. And my prick moved too, stirring to life under her gaze with a wrench so sharp that it was almost painful. Her glance was not modest; it was cool and appraising, conducting as harsh an examination of my supine form as it had of my character. She raked her glance down my body from head to foot, taking in all from my startled face to my chest with its delta of black hair, down the flat stomach bisected with a line of hair that flared into the thicket of my groin - lingered there while my prick quivered and thickened visibly - and then travelled on down the stretch of my legs right to my toes. I felt self-conscious about every inch but she did not seem displeased. Her smile even relaxed a little. She laid one hand upon my burgeoning member and it leaped under her touch like a hound greeting its mistress.

I groaned out loud and stared helplessly as she slipped her hand about my shaft and caressed it from root to tip.

The smile, still not entirely kindly, suffused her face still further. Still stroking me, she sank down on the edge of the bed, laid one finger on my lips and then explored my face with her free hand; my short beard, the stubble on my cheeks, the soft skin of my throat. I could not have resisted even if she had produced a knife and cut my jugular. Her left hand now cupped and weighed my ballocks, pulled tenderly at my hairs, then slid up and down the rampant length of a prick that was harder than rock and hotter than fever. I felt like the Giant of Cerne Abbas. I dug in my heels and pushing up into her kneading grasp.

She bent over my face. Her lips brushed mine, very softly. Her hand, relentless, worked my long staff. I felt her breath mingling with my own, tasted her warm mouth. I could suddenly move - enough to pass one hand up to the back of her head and pull her against me, our tongues melting together in a warm, hungry, terrifying dance. Her hair was thick and soft under my palm. Joy stabbed through me so sharply that it hurt.

Then she pulled away, ignoring the pressure of my hand, leaving my lips bereft. Her expression was heavy-lidded and grave. She kissed my face and my jaw and my throat, began to work her way down my body with her mouth. My skin was cool so her tongue felt like fire, though it left a cold trail across my flesh. She licked my flat nipples until they hardened to hailstones and I writhed under her touch; she tugged my chest-hair with her teeth; she blazed a trail down my breastbone and belly and licked a tickling, tormenting path around my navel. My right hand was entwined in the abundance of her hair. It fell like a living fountain across my skin, cold and warm all at the same time, soft as nightfall and puissant as moonrise.

The bell in the castle tower began to toll the hour.



Buy the Cruel Enchantment collection at:

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Google Play
iTunes
Audible  (audiobook)
iTunes (audiobook)

Friday, 7 December 2018

When I was 51...

... I hefted a golden eagle!
Every year, soon after my birthday, I like to take a look back at stuff I've done for the first time EVER, in order to ensure that I'm not too deep into my middle-aged rut.

Here goes with this year just past ... when I was 51:

For the very first time IN MY LIFE:

  • I drove a BMW Z4 35is convertible sports car (bright red, of course)
  • I got a photographic driver's license instead of the tatty old paper thing I'd had since a teenager
  • I acquired a smartphone!
  • And bought a blu-ray player (not yet plugged in, I admit)
  • We moved into a house that's actually big enough to hold all our books. (This is it, Peak House ... next stop is a nursing home)


  • I thus became the owner of some chandeliers. Still getting rid of them...
  • I stained my deck. It took 4 days and lasted less than 4 months, so I'm pretty pissed off about that, believe me
  • I used a supermarket scan-as-you-shop handheld device. It's like Star Trek, I tell you!


  • I ate a fortune cookie
  • I visited Uzebkistan, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan
  • I attended our local Parish Council meeting ( which was one of the most horrifically poisonous, bitter, unpleasant public exchanges I've ever seen. Jesus Christ on a bike...)
  • I visited Intensive Care in a hospital ... in fact I spent a lot of time hospital visiting πŸ˜”
  • I delivered a eulogy at a family funeral
  • I used Discord to play new-to-me RPG Numenera 


  • I was commissioned to write a professional RPG scenario
  • I went to the Edgelit convention, which may be my favourite now
  • I had three dark fantasy stories published! (That's more than my erotica count this year ... the house move and family obligations really slowed me down I'm afraid)



  • I picked the stories for a Sexy Little Pages anthology:

Now the hard editing work begins...
  • I joined FreeCycle and the National Trust
  • I bought a hanging basket for the front door, and a rotary dryer for the garden
  • I hand-sewed some curtains
  • I lit a Yankee Candle ... 

Shit, what was that about a middle-aged rut?!
I'm DOOOOOOOMED 😱😱😱

Wednesday, 5 December 2018

War of the Worlds - live concert show


So last night I went to see The War of the Worlds concert show in Leeds...


It's 120 years (ish) since the first serial publication of the SF novel by H G Wells, and 40 years since the release of the iconic prog-rock album by Jeff Wayne:


Wayne is back to conduct a full orchestra and rock band on the concert tour, which also features a bunch of guest soloists, enthusiastic CGI of aliens invading Victorian England




and whizzy stagecraft - a Pepper's Ghost of Liam Neeson (the Narrator) and a Tripod that shoots real flames over the audience being the highlight.





It was a glorious musical/nostalgia evening and I may have drunk too much wine... if you do get the chance to see the tour I thoroughly recommend it!



Monday, 3 December 2018

Blue Monday: Zak Jane Keir guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Zak Jane Keir with her new publication Black Heart. She says: "Black Heart was initially published as an ebook a few years ago, and now I have finally got the rights to publish it in paperback – and undo some of the original publisher’s edits that were WRONG. So the new version is like the director’s cut…"


Rosa has put her kinky days behind her, and built a new life as the landlady of a popular pub, but the past isn't easily forgotten. It seems like her beautiful barman, Daniel, really needs a strict Mistress to take him in hand, and it's Rosa he has a deep, submissive crush on.

Natasha, Rosa's new best friend, wants to help her rediscover her inner dominatrix, particularly now that legendary fetish club The Scarlet House is about to relaunch.

But Rosa's previous adventures on the scene ended badly, and Daniel's relationship with the drummer in his band is closer than he's letting on. Maybe everyone's got a dirty little secret, deep inside..


Daniel’s cock began to rise, and he took a deep breath. ‘Yeah. OK, yeah. I, er, there was this woman. I met her and she, well, she was the real thing, a total mistress. And she said I looked like I could do with a good hiding. And so she…’

‘Where did you meet her, though? And what was she like? Come on, I want all the details.’ Coffee evidently disregarded, Gary came fully into the room and sat on the sofa. He was wearing nothing but a pair of black tracksuit bottoms, and his hand went, almost absent-mindedly, to his pierced nipple, hooking a finger through his nipple ring and gently tugging on it.

Daniel supposed he could have lied, could have claimed he’d taken himself to a fetish club after work – though he wasn’t sure any would have been open on a Tuesday night, outside of the dubious variety that were more about cash than consent. But he didn’t want to lie to Gary. It wouldn’t be right. He shut his eyes for a moment, then described his encounter with Natasha, from the moment she’d walked into the Seven Stars, looking like something out of a high class porn film, to the end of the session; how he’d come all over the table and she’d simply disappeared. The only thing he didn’t mention was that Rosa had known what was going on. That was something he didn’t feel ready to share.

‘Oh, if I’d been there, too,’ Gary groaned. He had his hand down the front of his pants by the time Daniel finished the story, and Daniel glanced down at his own cock, rigid and swollen from reliving that night. Something about their respective positions seemed to intensify his arousal: standing naked and defenceless, confessing his dirty deeds. His eyes met Gary’s, and he knew the other man was experiencing something similar.

Abruptly, Gary tugged down the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms, freeing his cock. The foreskin had already retracted, and the head of it gleamed with moisture.

‘Look what you’ve done now, ’ he said. ‘She’d make you deal with it, wouldn’t she? She’d tell you to suck me off.’ He smiled, almost cruelly. ‘Do it. Let me put it in your mouth.’

Daniel knelt down, and took hold of Gary’s shaft, starting to wank the base of it. He ran his tongue over the helmet, tasting the precome, then took the first couple of inches into his mouth, sucking and licking. Gary hooked his fingers into Daniel’s hair, pulling him closer; Daniel turned his head slightly, letting the fat domed tip slide into his cheek, tightening his lips on the rod. With his other hand, he played with himself, gripping and squeezing, rubbing his glans, teasing the opening that was weeping with excitement. It didn’t take very long: both of them were too revved up to delay the release they needed. Gary went first, filling Daniel’s mouth with hot, sour jets of spunk, and as he swallowed it down, Daniel felt his own prick erupting in his hand.


Buy Black Heart at:
Amazon UK
Amazon US

Zak Jane Keir writes fiction about sex and sexuality, usually with kinky/BDSM elements. She runs the Dirty Sexy Words site, edits anthologies and hosts erotica reading slams. She was shortlisted for the Sexhibition Erotica Writer Of The Year award in 2016.

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The Kinky Brits

Saturday, 1 December 2018

The HU



The HU are Mongolian folk rockers, and the best thing on Youtube right now πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–

Thursday, 29 November 2018

Black Sails


While we on holiday in lovely sunny Dorset (Brrrrr!) last week, we watched a whole lot of Black Sails. It's the series you want if you like pirates but found Pirates of the Caribbean just too damn silly, and woefully deficient in lesbian sex:
 

There are boobs, bums and cocks in Black Sails, which is why it's here on my blog 😈 Also, two series in, we've seen two poly threesomes, which is pretty heartening ... even if there's no guarantee that the individuals won't have betrayed each other twice before tea.  Characters in Black Sails change their allegiances with dizzying frequency.


It's a giant, high-speed political soap opera really, with a background of sailing ships and mass murder. Every action has unforeseen (and usually terrible) consequences. The premise (if you are even further behind the curve than me and need to be told) is that it's set twenty years before Treasure Island, so there's a really clever mixture of fictional characters like Long John Silver and Captain Flint ...



... alongside historical characters such as 'Calico Jack' Rackham, Charles Vane and Anne Bonny:


Of course most of the main characters are SCARY HAWT, because this is television...




Even the ugly ones are hot, particularly Vane who sort of looks like an Uruk-hai with maxed-out charisma:


And who am I to complain? 😍


Black Sails also has gorgeous sea scenery, tons of violence, and THIS wonderful intro sequence:



What it doesn't have, despite the above, is any undead. Oh well ... back to Game of Thrones for that!

Monday, 26 November 2018

Blue Monday - with free books!


Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today is a bit special because you can download these books for FREE on Kindle! Editor Rose Caraway is holding a sale at Stupid Fish Books, so today and tomorrow (26th-27th November) several of her beautiful erotica anthologies are going for £/$ NOTHING, even if you aren't signed up to Kindle Unlimited - including a couple featuring my own short stories (both definitely on the horror spectrum, btw).


Sweet Hel Below:

The Norse god Baldur dies, goes down to the Land of the Dead... and goes down on its terrifying queen

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 UK
Amazon US

The Sorcerer's Apprentice:

A cocky would-be sorcerer meets his match when he tries to take advantage of a succubus




Mr. Deverick kept a woman in the penthouse apartment. In a cage.

Heh. I felt a bit weird about that, the first time I saw her. The mirrored wall slid back and behind it was a dark windowless room. As Deverick stepped over the threshold the lights came on. The room was featureless except for the cage, and the cage was empty except for the girl. She was kneeling on the floor, her face to the hardwood inlay, her long blonde hair fallen over her hands. I could see a lot of bare skin, the color of clover honey.

The room smelled faintly of pussy.

I thought: Fuck, is this a test? He hadn’t warned me. And I’m pretty sure some of the bugshit-crazy stuff he gets me to do is just to test me out.

This made me nervous, and I couldn’t help making a snorting noise. Like a laugh, only not really, because this wasn’t funny or anything. It was a bit creepy.

But the noise made her raise her head and sit back, and then it became creepy and hot—both at the same time. She was wearing a little pair of baby-pink panties and a T-shirt in the same color, except that the shirt had been hacked off way too short, covering her nipples but showing a whole lot of under-boob. She had big tits, see, and because the room was cold I could see her nips poking through the thin cloth like light switches. Those trashy clothes made her look more fuckable than if she’d been naked, I swear.

As her eyes lit on Deverick her expression went from sad and pouty to a hopeful little smile, all eager to please.

My cock did 0-60 in less time than it took my hand to reach up and pull nervously at my tie.

“What’s on your mind, Dylan?” my employer asked me. “Something funny?”

I cleared my throat, knowing that if he glanced in the vicinity of my crotch he wouldn’t have to ask. That girl was just prime T&A. Majestic tits, teeny little waist, wide hips flaring out below. Hair long and blonde and sleek, streaked with ashy highlights. Big wide don’t-hurt-me-daddy eyes that looked green even from this distance. And a mouth like …

I told my inner art critic to shut the fuck up. “I was just wondering if they’re real, Mr. Deverick,” I said, trying to sound all cool. “Her tits, like.”

He lifted an eyebrow. Flicking a finger at the girl he spoke a few words in a language I didn’t recognize, and though he didn’t raise his voice it was clearly an instruction. She rose to her feet and came forward to the bars, allowing me to add Incredible Long Legs to my inventory of her assets.

The steel struts were placed just the right distance apart. She pulled up her T-shirt and thrust herself forward so that a bar was nestled in the valley of her cleavage, and her award-winning golden globes stuck through on either side. Her nipples stared at me.

“Have a feel,” said Deverick with a polite gesture.

Say what you like about my boss—and people do say some nasty shit about him, though only when they think he’s out of earshot—Michael Deverick knows a thing or two about perks for loyal employees. Today’s particular perks were … perky, to the max. I moved in close. The girl, either bashful or plain old nervous, looked up at me through her long lashes and glanced at Deverick as if for reassurance. At the periphery of my vision I saw him nod.

She smelled like sex in a rose garden.

I cupped those fabulous titties with a feeling of genuine awe and squeezed slowly, questing—in vain—for the over-firm bulge of silicone implants. I pressed them together round the bar and thumbed her nipples and rubbed her skin. And to my surprise I felt her respond: a flush crept up her throat and her eyes darkened as her pupils dilated. Then she moaned, very softly: perhaps too softly for Mr. Deverick to hear. It was like a secret between us.

My cock was like a fucking totem pole by this point. You could have held a war dance around it.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Are they real, then?” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh yeah.” I gave her nips another tug and saw her eyelids flutter. I knew I should stop, having done the task requested of me, but my hands had a will of their own and my hard-on was voting with them. “They’re real alright. Is she Russian? I mean, I know you’ve got a line in luxury imports…”

He laughed softly. “No, not Russian.”

“That language?”

“Enochian.”

Fuck. Enochian. I might have a shed-load to learn from Deverick, but I’d already heard of Enochian. It’s the language of angels … and fallen angels.

I let go of the beach-balls and took a couple of steps back. My boss grinned that Hollywood Irish grin of his. But the girl just grabbed the bars and looked up at me with those big innocent eyes, desolate.

“Is she …?” I didn’t want to say angel. It sounded gay. “A demon?”

“A succubus.”

I stared at her, waiting for a flash of sulfurous yellow eyes or fangs or something. But she just looked like a human girl. Except better.

“So your job while I’m away next week is very simple,” he told me, pointing at the floor of the cage and putting her on her knees with two words.

I shut my slack jaw and tried to focus. Simple was good. Simple made a change. He was forever sending me off on errands that were complex and downright peculiar—crossing five Thames bridges, blindfolded and on foot, before sunset; or busking outside Kings Cross Underground and giving a bottle of … something … to the first blue-eyed man who dropped me a coin. Nor did the sly bastard ever explain what purposes these acts had. I just had to guess—and if my guesses were getting stronger over the last year, that was down to my own hard work. He was in no damn hurry to teach me anything, despite our agreement.

“Every night after dark you come in to this suite, you open this door and come in here. Then you whack your Mr. Ugly through the bars and give her a cream tea. That’s all. Don’t fuck her, and whatever you do don’t kiss her. Once only. Then leave.”

Amazon UK
Amazon US

Sunday, 25 November 2018

Brave New World



Take one look at your skies
And in the darkness realize
Kill fear, the power of lies
For we will not be hypnotized

Friday, 23 November 2018

Who's a Big Boy then?


I have made a pilgrimage to what must surely be my spiritual home, and paid respects to my totem god.

Can you see him over my shoulder there?


It's the Cerne Abbas Giant, who is official possessor of the Biggest Dick in Britain - 36 ft long!

He's actually best seen from the sky:

Photo from Wikipedia, CC License
Carved into the chalk hillside above a Dorset village by hands unknown (but probably sticky), the Giant is ancient (at least early 17th Century) and may possibly be Romano-British or even older. No one knows. He's a big hit round Cerne Abbas. Apparently spending the night on his knob is helpful if you are trying to get pregnant - or so they say!

We  ate lunch in this nice pub:


Where we drank this beer:


See - travel does broaden the mind ;-)

Wednesday, 21 November 2018

Dirty 30 Vol.3: table of contents


Rose Caraway is publishing a third volume in The Sexy Librarian's Dirty 30 series of anthologies, now officially aiming at Spring 2019. She's just published the line-up, and my story, Sourdough, is right up there!

Sourdough is a step outside my comfort zone because it's a Western - you can read a teaser snippet here.

The Sexy Librarian returns with
Dirty 30, Volume 3!

COMING, Spring of 2019!!
This may be her hottest collection yet.
Get ready for; a concubine who makes samurai blush, interrogation room suspense, moonshine and revenge, a nurse who gives good bedside manner, a night burglar, priestly desires and parishioner confessions, couple’s massage, a sexy bidding war, rekindling of old flames, a jewelry heist, hot courtroom drama, aliens, a new spin on Hansel and Gretel, mermaid folklore, and so much more!

Monday, 19 November 2018

Blue Monday: S J Smith guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Sinful Press stablemate S J Smith, with an excerpt from his new erotic-comedy novel Return to the House of Fox:


The new management has embarked on a program of modernisation, intending to reopen the doors of the greatest brothel in the known universe for business. But while the plans are not welcomed by all, forces of both good and evil have recognised an opportunity to finally worm their way inside the infamous House of Fox.

For Doctor Katrina Moore, a chance meeting with a mysterious patient will set her on a journey of self-discovery. Meanwhile, Kitty de Catt just wants her old job back, and is prepared to go to any lengths to make sure she gets her way.

Once again, every fantasy will come true, in this gripping sequel to The House of Fox that literally no one has been waiting for: Return to the House of Fox: The ***** of the Golden ***** (subtitle redacted for legal reasons).


“So now you go quiet on me.” Katrina, chin propped on knuckles, sat on a kitchen stool in front of Willy, who remained in a comatose flop in his wheelchair. She’d brought him back to her home for lack of any better ideas, but now, with the sun well on the rise and the traffic steadily building toward rush hour outside, she realised that particular decision had been a stupid one. A rush of blood and adrenaline had carried her through the night, but in the cold light of day she had to face up to the fact she had kidnapped a patient from the hospital, and sooner or later, someone was going to start looking for him.

She had to take Willy and get out of here, that much was obvious. But where? Now she had him, what the hell was she supposed to do with him? “Come on, Mister, a little help would be appreciated,” she implored for the umpteenth time. But the Jesus Penis wasn’t playing ball, and remained small and shrivelled, hiding in the nook of Willy’s pyjama flies like some tiny, skittish mammal, too scared to poke its nose out its nest.

“Okay,” she pointed a waggling finger. “Maybe I’ll just force you to come back to life,” and she took hold of it, rubbed and squeezed it, gently massaged the shrunken head. Nothing happened. So she leaned forward and kissed it, trailed her tongue along the limited length of its shaft. Nothing happened. Not a sausage.

Hmm. This was a headscratcher. How to coax an erection from a seemingly impotent cock. If anyone could do it, surely it ought to be the former eminent cockologist, Dr Katrina Moore? Medically, she knew exactly how the damn things worked. Give her the right combination of tools, physical therapy and drugs and she could raise even the limpest of winkles from the dead. To personally inspire a stiffy was a different matter, however. She’d never exactly pushed the frontiers in the bedroom department. Standard missionary with the lights off was perfectly sufficient, thank you very much. Just get it over with quickly, because she had far more important things to do.

“Got to be sexy,” she whispered to herself, as she narrowed her eyes and tried to second guess the reluctant cock. She undid a couple of buttons and leaned forward, giving the Jesus Penis an eyeful of cleavage. Nothing happened. How about a bit of dirty talk? “Hey there. How’d you like to engage in full penetrative intercourse and be inserted into my vagina?” Nothing. God, she sucked at this.

How did they do it, those seducers and teasers of men? How could a grown woman pout and jiggle and slowly strip naked for some drooling man, without the patent ridiculousness of the situation sending her into a laughing fit? She thought about the girls she’d seen on TV, how they held their audience enraptured by simply hinting they might take off their clothes. Maybe that was the answer; would a lap dance entice the Jesus Penis out of its shell? She got to her feet, stood over Willy and undid a couple more buttons while swaying her hips in what she hoped was a vaguely erotically pleasing manner. Nope. She couldn’t go through with it; it was just way too stupid. “To hell with you,” she snapped, turned her back on the cock and stormed away to put the kettle on.

Angrily throwing a teabag into a mug, she decided to take matters into her own hands. What was the point hanging around here waiting for a limp dick to tell her what to do? Since when was a man the master of her? She carried her cuppa to the kitchen table, then went and fetched a road atlas from the shelf in the drawing room. Opening it out at a full page map of Wales, she blew the steam off her tea and pondered the image; here was Coraton, down on the south coast, and out of its urban sprawl, a network of highways led off in all directions, each one a potential journey in the making. All she had to do was choose one; throw Willy in the back of the car and set off; see where the road took her.

As she traced the red line of a motorway with her fingernail, she became aware of movement in the corner of her eye, and turned to see the Jesus Penis expanding and swelling. “Oh, finally you decide to put in an appearance.” She folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip, keen to let the appendage know it wasn’t in her good books right now. But there was something different about this erection, something altogether more powerful, and instead of arousal, fear coursed through her veins.

Below her feet, a tremble shook the ground, and she clutched at the rim of the table in alarm. The light in the hall dimmed and surged, dimmed and surged, and the digital radio sprung to life, broadcasting some ominously heavyweight German opera. The Jesus Penis grew bigger and bigger, passing a foot in length, vibrating as if being manipulated by some unseen hand.

“Oh my God,” Katrina ducked down. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

A deafening roar, like the approach of a tsunami, had her put her hands over her ears, and she dived below the table for cover. Plates tumbled from the cupboards and pictures fell from the wall as the whole room shook. The Jesus Penis’ angry purple head swung around in her direction.

No, please, stop.”

With a sound like the popping of a champagne cork, the King of Cocks ejaculated a wad of spunk. It flew through the air, six feet off the ground, and landed with a splat on top of the table, somewhere above Katrina’s head. The shaking stopped. Everything became quiet and still.

After a couple of minutes, she dared to creep out from her hiding place. The room lay wrecked, broken crockery and glass shards scattered across the beige floor tiles. Katrina got to her feet, trembling with fear. The Jesus Penis had returned to its dormant state, tiny and insignificant, a snail in its shell. “What the hell happened?” She took two steps out into the open, and only then did she realise.

The blob of greyish white spunk had landed on the atlas, plopping down right on top of a town called Rhyl.

Buy Return to the House of Fox at:

Amazon (universal link)

SJ Smith is a neurotic recluse who lives in a small town in North Wales. It has long been his dream to become a filth monger.

SJ Smith blog 
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Sunday, 18 November 2018

The Old Straight Path


Here's a setting for a spooky encounter I came across this week ... the old Drove Road across the Quantock Hills in Somerset. It's been in use by shepherds and drovers since at least medieval times, when it was called the Alferode ("Elf-Road"? "Alfred's Road"?) Certainly Alfred the Great might have used it, as it it was a Saxon "Harepath" (an army route) and features an even earlier Bronze Age monolith at Triscombe Stone.


The wibbly beech trees are relatively late plantings on top of the stone walls.

Friday, 16 November 2018

1933



Frank Turner puts my reaction to the last few years into verse 😨😭😣


The first time it was a tragedy,
The second time it's a farce.
Outside it's 1933, so I'm hitting the bar.
But I don't know what's going on anymore -
The world outside is burning with a brand new light,
But it isn't one that makes me feel warm;
Don't go mistaking your house burning down for the dawn.

Wednesday, 14 November 2018

Read it, now edit


The submissions window for Lust in the Dust has now CLOSED, which means it's time for me to go into overdrive.

Sexy Little Pages likes a fast turnaround on acceptances and rejections, so my job now is to make that choice of 9 stories. Already I'm feeling bad.

Why? Because I'm going to be rejecting some perfectly great stories, for various good reasons - they don't quite fit the theme of the anthology, or I've reached my quota of zombies, or they aren't right for this publisher (but they'd do fine elsewhere). One of the stories I love, but we're really not sure it'll get past the Apple censor. Two of the stories, both of them dramatic and well written, have essentially the same plot twist ... and I can't choose both!


And I'm aware, because I'm on the other side of this so often, that those authors have poured hours of effort, their heart and soul, into their creations. So it feels cruel saying Sorry, No.


It's a tough job ... but I guess someone's got to do it. Pity the editor, folks.

Monday, 12 November 2018

Blue Monday: Lucy Felthouse guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is more used to organising promo for other people - it's erotica powerhouse
Lucy Felthouse, with an excerpt from her own new short story collection, Multi-Orgasmic: Vol.2


If you’re a fan of erotic short stories, then get your hands on this collection from the pen of award-winning erotica author Lucy Felthouse.

From famous movie stars to sexy farmers, holiday flings to seducing delivery drivers, and even unusual household items being used as bondage, this book has variety galore. It’s sure to get you hot under the collar and eager to turn just one more page.

Enjoy nineteen titillating tales, over 54,000 words of naughtiness packed into one steamy read.

Please note: Many of the stories in this book have been previously published in anthologies, as standalones, and online, but three are brand new and never seen before!


“Need a hand with that, sweetheart?”

The oh-so-familiar voice crashed through her fantasy like a bulldozer through a sheet of paper. Her eyes flew open and she shrieked, cursed, then died of embarrassment right then and there. Or at least she wished she’d die of embarrassment, wished the ground would swallow her up… anything that would mean she wasn’t sitting, spread-legged with a makeup brush inside her pussy and Lucas Forbes right in front of her.

She wanted to tell herself that at least he couldn’t read her thoughts, didn’t know she’d been fantasising about him, masturbating over him. But it didn’t lessen the shame at being caught in such a compromising position. Her face was so hot it had to be almost purple.

“I… I… I…” It was the best she could do. Realising she’d frozen in place, in that lewd position, she yanked the brush from her cunt and snapped her legs shut.

Lucas smirked, then turned and closed the door behind him, before twisting the lock. “What’s the matter, Carmen?”

She couldn’t answer. Literally. Fear and humiliation had paralysed her tongue, stopped her brain from providing anything useful. Stopped her thinking, full stop.

Then Lucas did something totally unexpected. He walked over to where she sat and knelt down in front of her. Without a word, he removed the brush from her hand and put it on the table. Then he placed his hands on her knees, pushed her legs open, and let out a hum of approval. “Somebody’s wet. I can smell you from here. And now I want to eat you. Any objections?”

He looked up, an expectant expression on his face. She met his gaze, but couldn’t do anything else. He raised an eyebrow. After several more long seconds of silence, she managed to choke out a reply. “N—no. No objections.” She shook her head rapidly, emphasising her words.

“Well then, that’s great.” He slowly moved his hands up her legs, inching closer to her crotch.

Carmen didn’t realise she’d tensed up until her muscles began to scream with the effort. She made herself relax, or as much as one could with Lucas Forbes’s hands and head growing ever closer to one’s sex. She watched as he hooked his fingers around the gusset of her panties, just as she had done, and pulled them out of his way. Immediately, he shoved his face up against her pussy, slid his tongue between her labia, and moaned as he tasted her.

Even though the sound he’d made had clearly been one of pleasure, of approval, she couldn’t prevent her blush. Lucas Forbes was licking her pussy, for heaven’s sake! How was a girl supposed to be cool about that? She was cool with it, of course—fucking delighted, in fact—but she couldn’t act like it was normal, like it was just a day in the life of being Carmen Montero.

Ugh—she was thinking way too much. She should just enjoy what was happening, while it was happening. Pulling in a breath through her nostrils, she tried to chill out. To concentrate on Lucas, on what he was doing. After a few seconds, she actually achieved it. Only then did it hit her how skilled he was at going down on a woman. Her nerve endings were on fire, her abdomen was tight and her hormones raged. God, any second now and she was going to come all over his face.

She couldn’t stop—once her climax was imminent, it was nigh on impossible to prevent its arrival. And if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to. She let the pleasure overtake her. Lucas played deftly with her cunt, his tongue and lips licking and sucking at her clit, his fingers pumping in and out of her, just as the makeup brush had done. She edged closer and closer to the precipice, her entire body tingling, and felt as though she were floating. On a cloud, perhaps. Cloud nine.

Then, with another suck and thrust from Lucas, she was undone. She stuffed her fingers into her mouth to muffle her screams and tumbled into bliss. She was aware of Lucas slipping his fingers from her, and her internal walls rippled around nothing as she bucked and twisted in the chair, juices gushing onto the cushion and Lucas’s waiting tongue.

After a couple of minutes, she came down from her natural high and grinned goofily at Lucas. His expression mirrored hers, and the sheen of wetness around his mouth made hers drop open with shock. Had that really just happened? Had one of the hottest male actors on the planet today really just made her come all over his face? While they were at work, no less!

She cleared her throat. “W-what are you doing here? I mean, why did you come back? Aren’t you meant to be shooting?”

“There was a technical fault, and the team aren’t expecting it to be fixed for another hour or so. I figured I’d come here and chill out. Instead, I found you… fucking yourself with a makeup brush. I couldn’t resist taking over. I hope you don’t mind.”

Blinking stupidly, she shook her head. “Why the hell would I mind? But I have to ask… why did you do it?”

Lucas frowned. “What do you mean, why? Why not? You’re a beautiful, sensual, sexual woman, and I’ve wanted you for a long time. I was trying to stay professional, but seeing you like that… well, let’s just say you broke my resolve, big time.”

“Oh. Oh!” She didn’t know what else to say. Was he teasing her? Or just flattering her? What the hell did a man like him want with a woman like her?

“Carmen,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Would you mind awfully if we finished what we started?” He stood up and cupped his crotch, the bulge there immediately apparent.

Oh, to hell with it.

Buy Multi-Orgasmic Vol.2 at:

Amazon
Barnes & Noble
iBooks
Kobo
Smashwords

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances CafΓ©’s Best MΓ©nage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Heiress’s Harem series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at her website, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here

Friday, 9 November 2018

Wassup?


Just a catchup on what I've been doing this week...

  • I've sent off a horror story
  • I've started a fairy tale
  • I've asked a publisher to sub one of my stories to a reprint antho
  • I've been reading through stories for Lust in the Dust - there are some good ones already!
  • I'm off tomorrow to the Yorkshire Romance Writers' meeting (Yahay! Cake!!!)

I'm not the the most focused writer in the world, so for me this is pretty damn productive...  😜

Wednesday, 7 November 2018

Feeling Justified


In my eternal quest to be 5 years behind everyone else watching TV, I'm keeping my eyecandy quotient up by watching Justified while reading subs for Lust in the Dust this week (GET WRITING btw, if you haven't subbed already!).

Timothy Olyphant has a pretty hot bod and is clearly the only good-looking guy in the whole of Kentucky...


but his eyebrows are the real stars. They deserve acting credits all of their own: Left Brow ... Right brow.  Quizzical, come-hither, or embodying barely-supressed rage (okay, mostly the latter), they are captivating πŸ˜€



Plus, it has great title music: