Monday, 31 December 2018

Happy New Year!




I hope that whether you are celebrating tonight or not, alone or in company, you all have a joyous start to a great 2019!

XXX

Janine




Sunday, 30 December 2018

2018 in the rearview mirror

This is my annual post where I look back at the cultural touchstones of the year.

Best Movie:

I saw very few films this year, sadly, because my regular movie-buddy upped and moved to Nottingham, and then I moved house, so was too busy on most weekends with Painting Everything White.

Of the paltry 13 I saw on the big screen, my faves were:



1) Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
2) Avengers: Infinity War
3) Deadpool 2


Best Book:

Sapiens just bowled me over - it's a history of humankind which focuses on the big forces not the events, and has a way of taking everything you thought you knew and framing it in completely unexpected ways. All I can say is that the section on the development of share-based capitalism was riveting, which was one hell of a surprise to me, I can tell you!


Best TV:

We finally finished watching Breaking Bad this year! I've also enjoyed the second series of Westworld, the first few series of Justified, Inside Number 9, Black Mirror, Altered Carbon, The Terror ... but my greatest love this year went to two very different series:

A piratical romp:


And a philosophy-based sitcom:



Best DVD/Download:

I actually managed to catch up on a few movies I should have seen at the cinema (The Quiet Place, I Fight Giants, Black Panther) but my fave off-the-shelf finds were a Bollywood horror:


And a piece of 1970s family entertainment complete with embarrassing blackface and execrable SFX.:




Best Music:

Oh pooey, I've let my musical tastes fall into a bit of a rut this year! There were new albums from old faves Frank Turner and Muse, but I've only been to one live gig ๐Ÿ˜ž

New-to-me bands whose CDs I've been listening to are: Heilung, Madisen Ward and the Momma Bear and Greta Van Fleet...





Best Picture:

Elon Musk is busy devolving from Bruce Wayne into Doctor Octopus, but THIS WAS AWESOME:



May 2019 be the year we start to raise our collective selves from the gutter to the stars...

Monday, 24 December 2018

Have a greyt Xmas!


I'm signing off for the usual drunken debauch chez-Ashbless - see you on the other side everyone, and I hope you have a very happy and peaceful holiday!



XXX
Janine

Saturday, 22 December 2018

Post from Whamhalla


FINALLY - I've got the Xmas tree decorated!

I sacrificed my Wham! mortality in a last minute dash to the supermarket for lights though. And they were already clearing the shelves for Easter Eggs !๐Ÿ˜ฎ


Thursday, 20 December 2018

Tentacular Spectacular

(This pic, BTW, is from Tumbbad, which is definitely worth watching on Amazon)

After a week which has felt like wading through cold custard in lead wellies, I've finally finished the witchy erotic story I was writing. I'll be pushing right up to the deadline, but if I can get it tidied up and handed in tomorrow, all is well!

Also I've finished redecorating the dining room in time for Xmas. Yay me!

The tree has been up for nearly a week but I haven't had time to decorate it. Naturalism is in this year.

I've not written a single Xmas card. BOO me!

The new dog we were hoping to adopt will NOT be arriving in this country at 4.30am on Xmas Eve after all ... I had a bit of a blub but it'll certainly mean the holidays involve less driving the length of the country in the middle of the night. So that's good, I guess.

I need 12 hours sleep and a drink, not in that order!

Monday, 17 December 2018

Blue Monday: Ashe Barker guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today Ashe Barker is my guest star, with an excerpt from her new book Her Celtic Masters:


Two fierce Celtic Warriors with a thirst for vengeance, and the proud Viking lady with the strength to submit.

Left penniless and without a home by a sudden, tragic turn of events, twenty-year-old Kristin Lofnsdottir plans to start a new life as a seafaring trader. If she is going to have any chance at surviving, however, let alone succeeding, she'll need money and capable men to protect her. A partnership with a pair of Celts offers both, but Kristin quickly realizes that the arrangement will mean sharing much more than just her profits. The two stern, handsome brothers intend to make her theirs, demanding obedience, punishing defiance, and mastering her beautiful body together.

Though Nyle and Bowdyn have been given plenty of reason to hate Vikings over the years, conquering the feisty, headstrong Kristin proves even more satisfying than they had anticipated. As they claim her ever more thoroughly and shamefully, her need for them only grows more intense, but can they be firm enough to tame her recklessness before it puts them all in danger?



Her nipples swelled into hard pebbles and poked between his fingers. Nyle continued to toy with them as Bowdyn moved round and onto her pallet. He knelt down, his back resting against the outer wall of the dwelling and gazed up at his brother’s play.

“When you have quite finished…” he grumbled.

“My brother is impatient to feel your lips around his cock,” murmured Nyle. “Perhaps we should not keep him waiting.” He relinquished his hold on her breasts and stepped to the side, his powerful arms folded across his chest. “Kneel down between Bowdyn’s legs and open his trousers to release his cock.”

The instruction was clear enough. Kristin sank to her knees as directed and reached for the fastenings on Bowdyn’s trousers. She could readily discern the bulge within his clothing, but still let out a small gasp when his erection sprang free.

Bowdyn’s cock was beautiful, the skin smooth and adorned with a network of raised veins. The bulbous crown was already slick with the juices that trickled from the slit at the end. Her husband’s attentions had been perfunctory and usually conducted in the dark. This was the first opportunity she had had to study such an organ in detail and she was stunned by the sheer wonder of it.

“You are magnificent,” she breathed. From the occasional glance she had caught she had assumed Baldvin to be of average proportions but clearly, he was not. Or perhaps Celts were simply… bigger.

“I am sure my brother appreciates your compliment. Now, if you please, you will grip his cock in your fist and rub your fingers up and down.”

Kristin was delighted to do so. She grasped the shaft firmly. Her fingers did not meet around it but rather than employ both hands she used her free one to cup the balls that hung beneath. She was astonished at the softness of the skin as she squeezed lightly.

Bowdyn let out a groan. Kristin loosened her grip. “Did I do something wrong?” She looked from Bowdyn to Nyle for guidance.

“No,” growled Bowdyn. “Nothing wrong…”

Nyle lowered himself to his haunches behind her. “Grip hard. Yes. Like that. If he groans that is a good sign. Lean forward, take the head in your mouth.”

Kristin opened her mouth wide to be able to do as Nyle instructed. The tangy, salty flavour of the liquid filled her senses.

“How does that taste?” Nyle had leaned in close to murmur in her ear.

“Strange,” she replied, lifting her head to enable herself to speak, “but pleasant.”

“Good. Lean forward and lift up your bottom. Take him as deep as you can. Yes, like that, and work with your hands, too.”

As Kristin concentrated on obeying the instructions she was given, Bowdyn reached for her and combed his fingers through her tangled hair. “Look at me,” he commanded.
She did so. He smiled, then his gaze shifted to his brother who was now behind her. “She’s ready for you to fuck her now.”

Kristin blinked, then startled when Nyle laid his palm on her still-throbbing buttock.

“Spread your legs wide for him,” encouraged Bowdyn, “and keep your bottom up nice and high.”

They are twins. Is Nyle as huge as Bowdyn? Will he fit…?

Bowdyn must have seen the panic in her eyes because he stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “Relax. No harm will come to you.”

Nyle was kneeling behind her now. At some stage he had removed his own trousers because his cock was at her entrance, pushing, pressing…

No, not his cock. His fingers. His gentle, skilled fingers entered her as before, first one, then two, then a third. The sounds of her wetness, her arousal, reached her ears. Kristin was embarrassed despite the waves of pleasure created by his touch. Lust, however, rapidly overcame any residual shreds of modesty. She clenched, swayed her hips from side to side, sought to press back against his hand.

Nyle withdrew his fingers and she groaned around Bowdyn’s cock.

“She is impatient, brother. Our little Viking wants you inside her. Is that right, Kristin?”

She nodded, the movement small, barely perceptible but Bowdyn saw. He glanced up at Nyle, gave a brief but decisive nod of his own. Nyle pivoted his hips forward and drove his cock deep into her channel.

Kristin moaned, the sound completely muffled by the other cock that filled her mouth. She knew a brief moment of panic as sensation threatened to overwhelm her, but Bowdyn’s hand against her scalp held her steady and grounded her.

“Slow, easy, be still. Breathe,” he commanded. “You can do this.”

He was right. She could. Her sudden burst of alarm receded. She swallowed, wrapped her tongue around Bowdyn’s cock, and lapped at it.

“Suck,” he murmured.

She did. He tightened his grip in her hair and thrust his hips forward.

Kristin grasped his waist and hung on as he began to take charge. He found a rhythm, driving his cock in and out, a little deeper with each stroke until the crown reached the back of her throat. Kristin thought she might choke, but he never allowed it to come to that, pulling back each time and permitting her the gulps of air she needed.

All the while, Nyle remained motionless within her. He filled her. Her inner walls stretched about his wide girth, but he did not thrust. He demanded nothing of her but that she accept his solid presence inside her. Only when Bowdyn had established his own rhythm and Kristin was coping with that did Nyle add his contribution.

He used his thumbs to part her punished buttocks and Kristin tensed when he perused her most private rear hole. He laid his thumb over the furled ring of muscle, gently rubbed, but no more than that. He withdrew his cock halfway then slowly drove it back again. The next stroke was longer, his re-entry slower as she stretched to accept him, her inner walls reshaping around his cock.

It was intense, the sensation again threatening to consume, to overwhelm her. But he was slow, achingly gentle, timing his strokes to somehow match those of Bowdyn. As her mouth emptied, her cunt was filled, and when Nyle slid back Bowdyn drove his cock to the back of her throat. It was a sensual, intimate dance, and Kristin was rapidly captivated by the perfect symmetry of it.

Buy Her Celtic Masters at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Read Chapter One for free!


USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.

Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea. 

Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontรซ moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days - her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises. And a very grumpy cockatiel. 

At the last count Ashe had over forty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too. 

Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.

Ashe loves to hear from readers. Here are her social media links:

Newsletter sign-up
Website
Facebook
Twitter
Instagram
Pinterest
Goodreads
Or you can email her direct on ashe.barker1@gmail.com

Friday, 14 December 2018

The Alarm


Last week, for my birthday, a friend took me to see The Alarm,Wales' finest Eighties export. Mike Peters is pretty old now, but still does a stonking live show! They're full of incredible energy and absolutely buoyed up by the adoration of their fans.

If you have fond memories of the group, I'd absolutely recommend seeing this latest incarnation while the chance exists.

I worked out that it was 1990 when I saw them last... OMG!

Wednesday, 12 December 2018

Winter Chills


Ooh - my horror story Special Needs Child gets a listing in Winter Chills, Simon Bestwick's seasonal list of 10 recommended creepy stories:


Special Needs Child does have a certain sexual theme, but it is in No Way Erotic. As Simon says:

The narrator, a hard-bitten Iraq veteran, takes part in the clean-up that follows the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, and discovers a pregnant woman’s decaying corpse. The body’s surely too far gone in decay to have a living child inside it… and yet it does. She adopts the child, but despite her best efforts at denial, it slowly becomes clear that there’s something very wrong with him. It’s a belter of a story, and with an ending that definitely isn’t for the easily shocked.

Full review / list here

Amazon UK - Kindle and paperback
Amazon US - Kindle and paperback

Emmanuelle de Maupassant's not-really-erotica collection Cautionary Tales  - which I reviewed here - also gets enthusiastic mention BTW!

Thank you so much, Simon! XXX

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 ๐Ÿ˜”
  • 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 ๐Ÿ˜ฑ๐Ÿ˜ฑ๐Ÿ˜ฑ

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 ๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–

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 ๐Ÿ˜ˆ 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? ๐Ÿ˜


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.”

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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 ;-)