Friday, 30 March 2018

Haunted land



This week I discovered this place, ten minutes from my house.

It's a huge community woodland. The paths go on and on for miles of fabulous walking...


The thing is, this is post-industrial landscape. This entire site used to be a colliery and those hills were its slag-heaps. Like so many of the pits in this country it was, despite huge opposition, mothballed. I'm old enough to remember the year-long Miners' Strike in 1984-5, with the incredible deprivation it caused and the pitched battles between police and protesters. The strikers were eventually starved back to work, the coal industry was privatised and one by one the pits were closed - this one in 1994. It must have torn the heart out of the community.



I think the place is beautiful, but I imagine many local people have very different feelings.

There's a brilliant article here about the long (and currently resurgent) British tradition of ghost stories rooted in the specific eerieness of the countryside: so-called Folk Horror. And it persuasively ascribes this feeling of unease to landscapes of social conflict, class oppression, and capitalist exploitation.

If that's true, then this park must be haunted as fuck.


No wonder there's a sign at the gate telling you:

Monday, 26 March 2018

Blue Monday: Kryssie Fortune guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest author is Kryssie Fortune, with an excerpt from her dark Regency BDSM romance, Wickedly Used:


Though she is due to inherit one of the largest fortunes in England, the fact that she cannot touch the money until she marries or turns thirty has kept Elizabeth completely at the mercy of her cruel uncle, and for years she has been treated as if she were a servant. Her encounter with Lord Rothbury is by far the most exciting thing that has ever happened to her, but while he shows great concern for her safety, he refuses to believe that she is anything more than a serving girl.

Despite having made it clear that he doesn’t consider a match between them to be possible, when Elizabeth disobeys him Rothbury proves more than ready to strip her bare, punish her harshly, and then enjoy her beautiful body in the most shameful of ways. But can she dare to hope that he will one day make her his wife, or is she destined to spend her life being wickedly used?


He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “You have this naïve idea that no one will hurt you. This far in the forest, I could take you so hard you screamed. None of the washerwomen by the river would be any the wiser. What if I’d been like those soldiers who kidnapped you?”

Her smile was temptation and sin. “You’re nothing like them. But so hard I screamed? Do it. Let’s have one last hurrah before we part.”

His shaft jerked in her hands. His smile widened into a grin, and he rolled away from her. Taking her hands, he pulled her upright and moved her to a waist-high boulder at the edge of the clearing. “Rest your elbows on there.”

Her puzzled look enchanted him as much as her innocence. He loved the way she only turned wicked and wanton around him. Slowly, she bent at the waist and did as he bid. Standing behind her, he bunched her gown around her waist. Looking at her—head down, bare bottom protruding—made him groan. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

She whimpered when he reached around her and pinched her nipples. Her rounded behind tempted and tormented him. He stroked his hand over it before giving it a light smack. “Don’t run from me. Ever.”

She stared at him over her shoulder. “I knew what would happen if I stayed.”

His grin turned mischievous. “It’s going to happen anyway. You’re irresistible. Damn it, woman, you drive me crazy, but what the hell were you doing, running into a forest? After the way those troopers manhandled you, you should know better.”

The atmosphere sizzled with their combined need. She gave him a saucy look that set his libido roaring. He wanted her, but he needed to teach her to take care of herself first. Beth took too many risks and put herself in danger. If anything happened to her, it would kill him. He pulled the belt from his trousers. “You need to learn some sense.”

Her smile faded when she realized his intention. He placed one hand on the small of her back when she tried to stand. “Move and I’ll double your punishment.”

He brought his belt down hard, hitting the rock beside her face. She flinched and closed her eyes. He pulled back and she heard the belt swish through the air. The leather landed on her bare butt with a crack.

She yelped and shot upright. Her hands rubbed her bottom. “Ouch. That hurt.”

He pushed her back down and admired the wide red stripe that decorated her bottom. “It was meant to. Move your hands. I don’t want to break your fingers. No more putting yourself at risk. Understand?”

She ran the back of one hand over her eyes and blinked hard. “I’ll do better, I promise.”

He stroked his hand over her behind then reached around her and pinched her clit. “I’m going to make your behind so tender that you’ll remember for days.”

She sniffed, folded her hands on the rock, and rested her head on them. “How many strokes?”

The rounded globes of her bottom temped and bewitched him. The way she accepted his dominance and discipline thrilled him. After he’d finished reminding her to take care of herself, he’d fulfill her sensual needs. She shuddered and gave a needy moan when he ran his hand down her cleft. “Nine more.”

She trembled at his touch. “I’ll need something to bite on.”

He found a stick as thick as his wrist and wrapped his handkerchief around it. A moment later he slid it between her lips and bound it in place. Stepping back, he brought the belt down on her already sore behind. She screamed behind her makeshift gag.

His next stroke hit lower, turning the tops of her thighs red. Again, she screamed. He waited for her to catch her breath then struck her again. The belt landed higher this time, slapping against the top of her butt cheeks. He worked his way down her bottom. The belt struck in a different place each time and turned her behind as red as a guardsman’s jacket. Each time it whipped at her flesh, she yelped, but her makeshift gag muffled the sound. When he stared at her feminine folds, they dripped with cum.

Once he reached the tops of her thighs, he worked his way back up her bottom. Each stinging bite of his belt against her already sore flesh hurt more. Tears poured down her cheeks. One final slap of leather against her red flesh, and he was done. “Punishment over, but put yourself at risk again and I promise you won’t be able to sit down for at least a fortnight.”

She nodded and relaxed against the rock. Since she made no attempt to remove the gag, he left it in place and dropped his trousers around his ankles. Shuffling closer, he pressed his thighs against the back of her legs. He leaned over her, surrounding her torso with his as he kissed the back of her neck. She sighed and pushed her bottom into his crotch. With a delighted chuckle, he thrust balls-deep inside her.

Around them, birds chorused the dawn and small animals rustled through the trees. Rothbury moved in an animalistic rhythm, his bare thighs slapping against hers. One final push and she came with a muffled scream. Her juices spilled over his cock and onto her thighs. Some smeared the rock she leaned against. She shuddered and cried out as she orgasmed. Again, the gag swallowed the sound.

Once he’d milked every drop of cum from her, he pulled out. Sperm arced from his cock, spraying the ground with streams of milky liquid. Panting hard, he pulled up his trousers and released the makeshift gag. Her eyes were heavy-lidded when he gathered her in his arms. He kissed her as if there was no tomorrow.



Buy Wickedly Used at


Kryssie Fortune reads everything and anything, from literary fiction to sizzling romance. Her earliest memory is going to the library with her mother. She can’t have been more than two at the time. Reading, especially when a book’s hot and explicit, is more than a guilty pleasure. It’s an obsession. 

Kryssie loves to visit historic sites, from Hadrian’s wall to Regency Bath. The first book she fell in love with was Georgette Heyer’s The Unkown Ajax. After that, she devoured every regency book she could. After a while, they went out of fashion, but part of Kryssie’s psyche lives in in in Regency London. She longs to dance quadrilles and flirt behind fans. Of course, Kryssie’s heroines do far more than flirt. 

Kryssie lives in Bridlington on the Yorkshire coast –about thirty miles from Whitby, where Bram Stoker wrote Dracula. She enjoys gardening, travel, and socializing with her author friends. You’d be surprised how many erotic romance authors live in the North of England.

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Sunday, 25 March 2018

Friday, 23 March 2018

Give me the future

Old phone:


New phone:


Yes, I have been dragged screaming and kicking into the 21st Century!

First photo I took:



Wednesday, 21 March 2018

Caspian's story - in cartoons

About 9 years back our writing circle took up the challenge to each write a children's story. We'd not had our dog Caspian for long then, so I wrote (and drew) this. It brings back so many memories of his crazy young days!





















Monday, 19 March 2018

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's is a pet-play excerpt from my story Good Doggy, which appeared in Nice Girls, Naughty Sex:


“Smells nice,” I said.

He cast me an odd look; there was warmth in his eyes, but speculation, too. Turning with the two bowls of pasta, he set one on the breakfast bar. I made to sit down.

“No, he said. “This one's yours.” Then he put the other bowl on the kitchen floor.

I stared at him.

“Doggies don't eat at the table, do they?” he asked. His gaze pointed me at the linoleum. “That's for you. Be a good girl.”

His voice was low, his expression firm. "Calm assertive energy" is what Cesar Millan would have called it. My legs suddenly felt weak. I'd never played this game before, not even with boyfriends I knew intimately – and here I was with a man I was only just getting to know.

But between my wobbly legs, oh, I was hot enough to melt. Without a word I sank to my knees. Craig nodded.

“That's right.” Then he went to sit at the breakfast bar and eat his supper, as I crouched over my own and lapped at it without cutlery or hands. Whenever I glanced up, I saw him watching me.

I tried to be neat, but I didn't finish it all; hunger was no longer important. Soon I crawled on all fours over to Craig and laid my chin on his knee. He stroked my hair back from my face and cleaned up a few flecks of pesto sauce with a piece of paper towel.

“Finished, girl?” he murmured. I didn't reply. Doggies don't talk, do they?

He'd already set out dessert; pana cotta and brittle almond biscotti. He broke off pieces of the thin biscuit, dipped them in the cream, and fed them to me. I pressed against him, trembling a little; it was colder down here on the floor. He reached down and found that my nipples were standing out like studs, and he played with them until I whined in my throat.

“You like having your tummy tickled, don't you, girl?”

I licked at his fingers and heard his breath catch. His eyes were dark with arousal and there was a bulge at his groin. This had as much of a grip on him as it did on me, despite his apparent calmness. I suppose I looked calm too, crouched there obediently at his feet. But my heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my belly, and my sex was swollen and my panties were sodden.

I had no idea why I was reacting so strongly to this. I'd never tried it before. All I knew was that it meant something to me, deep inside.

“Okay.” Craig rose from his stool. The swell of his cock was tenting his trousers. “I don't think doggies should wear skirts, do you, Beth? Go into the living room and take off your clothes.”

I made to stand but he tapped me on the nose with a finger, gently.

“On all fours.”

So I crawled on hands and knees into the other room, and he walked behind me, watching the swing of my ass. Then he turned away and went into the bedroom, leaving me alone for the moment. Without daring to let myself think, I slipped off and neatly folded my clothes, down to my hold-up stockings and my thong and my silk camisole top, all in powder blue. Strangely, I didn't like standing like a human again; it made me feel self-conscious to be out of character.

I squirmed and wet my lips when Craig came back into the room and nodded approvingly.

He pointed at the carpet at his feet. “Sit.”

It was such a relief to obey, to have him play Master once more. The game was still on. I went to my knees before him, looking up at him with anticipation. He had a leather belt in his hand, which he looped about my neck and tightened to the innermost notch. It wasn’t tight on my neck, of course, but the leather strap fell heavy on my breasts when he dropped it.

“There. A doggy needs a collar.”

I lifted my head proudly. Then I leaned into him, flaring my nostrils, rubbing first the tip of my nose and then my face into his groin, feeling the thick length of his cock through the straining cloth. Craig wrapped his fingers in my hair and crushed me bruisingly to him, groaning under his breath.

“Are you going to show me how good you are?” he whispered. He fished something out of his pocket. I was surprised to see it was a table-tennis ball. “We're going to play Fetch, girl.” He threw the ball across the room, and it vanished behind the sofa. “Go get it, Beth!”

So I went to get it. I was a good doggy, after all. And it was weirdly fun, searching for the ball, snatching it in my mouth, and bringing it back for him. It was fun for Craig too, seeing me scramble over the furniture and hunting, head-down with my ass in the air, only the straining gusset of my thong protecting my split. Doggies aren't modest, after all.

I brought the ball back in my mouth and knelt to present it to him, and he threw it for me over and over again. Each time I returned, he'd removed another item of his clothing. Jacket, sweatshirt, long-sleeved cotton T-shirt. Bare-chested, his leanly muscular body was perfectly suited for the Salsa-dancing we'd learned together. Then shoes and socks and trousers, until he was standing only in clingy white cotton undershorts – and his appreciation of my performance was only too obvious.

By this time I was out of breath and dishevelled. I released the ping-pong ball from my lips into his open palm one more time. The last remnants of my lipstick were smeared on the plastic. I looked into his face, panting a little but trying to control the heave of my chest.

“Very good.” He caressed my face with his fingers. “And good doggies get a bone, don't they?”  Pushing down the white cotton of his briefs he scooped his erect cock and tight balls out for inspection. I hadn't really seen his cock before, not in good light anyway. I'd felt it thick and hard and velvet-sheathed in my hand in the car, but this was the first time I'd looked it in the glistening eye: uncut, flushed darker than the rest of his body, and jerking with impatience. It was simply beautiful. My mouth watered.

“Do you want the bone, girl?” he asked.
I nodded, wide-eyed.

“No chewing,” he reminded me.

So I licked him. I want to suck – I wanted to suck it right into the back of my throat and feel his girth and taste his salt – but doggies don't suck, so I licked him instead, from root to tip, his cool balls too, and lapped at the seep of pre-cum. I drove him nearly over the edge with licking, until he had to push me away and get a grip on himself, snorting down his crooked nose.

“Heel,” he ordered, taking up the end of the belt. He walked me into his bedroom and pointed me at the double bed. “Up, girl,” he said, his voice ragged. “Up on the bed.”


Buy Nice Girls, Naughty Sex at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Friday, 16 March 2018

Caspian: October 2003 - March 2018



My aged greyhound Caspian was put to sleep yesterday morning. He was 14, and had lived a full and mostly happy life, at least in later years.

An Irish track dog, he had a thoroughly mediocre racing career as "Rosedale Ricky," in which he earned a grand total of 80 Euros prize money ... then was found in 2008 dumped on the streets of Northern England, riddled with worms and mange:



We had him nearly ten years, thanks to Tia Greyhound Rescue! And he was an utter rogue in his younger days, stealing food (he learned to unzip rucksacks) and chasing anything small and furry. The first or second day we had him, I looked out of the kitchen window to see him standing on the lawn with a pigeon-wing sticking out sideways from either side of his jaws. By the time I got out there the bird had been swallowed whole!

He got shot by teenagers and taught me an interesting lesson about gun-control.

He was a pinup dog, appearing in not one but two calendars:




In January 2017 he went into congestive heart failure, but with the help of enough daily pills to make him rattle, he lived happily, if much more quietly, for another year and more, fulfilling his life-mission of making terrible stinky farts and gallons of pee.

October 2017
It's a relief to be able to sleep with the back door shut for a change, but he will be sorely missed.

💔💔💔

Wednesday, 14 March 2018

My library brings all the boys to the yard

I have finally overcome the Box Mountain! All the books are on the shelves in our new library...


Well, except the three stacked boxes - which are all photo albums, and to shelve them I need to fit in another bookcase, which means getting that stupidly long radiator removed. It's a long-term project, that.



Do you like my car-boot-sale-rug of naked Greeks? 😍


There's even shelf-space for my collection of holiday gods:


NEXT: getting all the LARP kit sorted...

Monday, 12 March 2018

Blue Monday: Ashe Barker guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest author is Ashe Barker, with a hot bite from her novella, Rough Diamonds:


What if someone handed you over a million dollars in uncut diamonds, and a note? For services rendered…

A random act of kindness years earlier gives rise to an astonishing chain of events. Johan Klaas holds the key to the mystery and he will help her – for a price. Can she trust him? Should she? And what has Christa ever done to deserve such a reward?

Swept from her modest flower shop in England, caught up in the opulent global diamond trade in Antwerp and introduced by her millionaire lover to a sensual world of pain and pleasure, Christa is determined to solve the riddle.


Johan played her like a musical instrument, teasing just the melody he desired from her body. She was there, hovering, ready to tumble over the edge again, when he stopped.

“Turn over.”

“What…?” Christa gave a swift head shake. “But…”

“There’s enough flexibility in your restraints. Roll over and kneel up on all fours. Now.”

His tone had altered, only very slightly, but enough. A thread of steel now wound around those curt syllables and Christa had no desire to test his resolve. He was in control, that much had been established when she allowed him to tie her to his bed. Now, she wanted to obey him.

He slid back to give her room. Awkwardly, she moved into position. Her bottom was turned toward him, her knees perhaps shoulder-width apart. Johan tapped the inside of one. “Wider.”

Christa shuffled a few extra inches, until the sinews on her inner thighs protested.

“I can’t… I mean, that’s as far as I can…”

“It is good enough. Now, lean forward to rest your shoulders on the bed.”

Christa did as she was told, aware that he could now see her soaking, swollen pussy displayed in all its slutty glory. For him. All for him.

“You are beautiful, my little flower girl. I would make reference to a fresh, pink rose, or perhaps babble on about the delicate petals of your truly perfect cunt, but I fear you would find that somewhat excessive. Purple prose, I believe you English would call it. I suspect you might prefer a more direct form of appreciation.”

This time he used the digits of one hand to part her pussy lips, while with his free hand he thrust three fingers deep inside her. Christa cried out, a blend of surprise and undiluted pleasure. He withdrew, thrust again, and again.

The walls of her cunt rippled and convulsed around his fingers. Christa groaned, longed for him to rub her clit. It would take no time at all, she was so close, so fucking close…

He withdrew his fingers and she mewled in protest. A sharp and not especially light slap to her right buttock soon stopped her protest.

“Patience, little one. It will be worth the wait, I promise.”

“You slapped me!” Her squeal of indignation was tinged with desire. Christa’s arousal spiked, her entire body now quivering in anticipation.

“I did. I will not do so again if you prefer not.”

“I… I…”

“Christa?” He caressed the spot he had slapped, the sharp tingle now dissipating into her skin, leaving just a pleasing warmth in its wake.

“No, it’s fine. I… I don’t mind. But not too hard,” she added as an afterthought. Because she thought she probably should.

“No, little one, never too hard.”

He resumed his finger-fucking, but with each stroke he withdrew to smear her juices over her pussy and clit. Then he began to work backward, closer to her arse each time. Christa knew where he was headed, but, when he finally circled the tight ring of muscle she flinched.

“Not here?” He paused, waited for permission.

“I don’t know. It feels…good, but I’ve never…”

“Ah, an anal virgin. I promise I will not hurt you.”

“I know, but…”

“Christa, shall I continue?”

She gnawed on her lower lip, conscious of the gentle pressure of his fingers as he lazily circled her arsehole, so close but not touching. Not quite, not yet… Christa shifted, searching, angling herself for—

“Yes! Yes, please continue.”

He said nothing; his fingers did the talking for him as he pressed the tip of his right index finger against the puckered entrance, at the same time lightly scratching the very tip of her clit with his other hand. The dual sensation was beyond anything Christa could have imagined, and despite her initial uncertainty, her body softened and relaxed. He slid his finger past the sphincter guarding her entrance and swirled it just inside.

“Oh, God. Oh. My. Lord.” Christa buried her face in the pillow and moaned.

Johan was gentle, achingly so, as he pushed deeper. Her body opened, the slight burn of discomfort masked by pure joy as he continued to stroke her clit. She shook, her body, begging for release but she knew it wouldn’t happen until he allowed it. Until she accepted him fully.

He pushed his finger right inside, twisted it, then withdrew. He slid it back, in and out, in and out, as her arse slackened. The sensation was unfamiliar, intimate, utterly humiliating on one level, yet reverent on another. Her senses were confused, a tangle of conflicting responses, but all leading to one sweet truth.

She wanted this. She wanted this man and his clever, wicked fingers more than she wanted her next breath.

She gasped as a second finger eased in alongside the first. He was stretching her, pushing her limits, but it was wonderful. And intense. She needed to come. Now.

“Please, Johan, I need—”

He kissed her between her shoulder blades. “I know. I know what you need. You wish to come, yes?”

“Yes! Please.”

“You shall, but not until my cock is inside you.”

She nodded, ground her teeth in frustrated arousal. “Do it now. Fuck me now. I can’t wait…”

He kept his fingers embedded in her arse but had to relinquish his touch on her clit. All her senses were heightened, Christa heard the snap of the fastener on his smart, grey trousers, the whirr of the zip, then the soft swish as he shoved them off. The crackle of foil, another snap, then he was there. The head of his cock pressed against the entrance to her pussy, poised, waiting.

“Johan…” Her voice was low, almost broken. Surely, he wouldn’t tease her now.

He buried his cock inside her in one swift stroke, at the same time reaching under her to resume his attentions to her clit. Christa screamed, her body spasmed, and she came.


Buy Rough Diamonds at:

Amazon

Kobo
iTunes
Barnes & Noble
GooglePlay

USA Today Bestselling author Ashe Barker writes erotic romance and spanking romance in a variety of genres including contemporary, BDSM, paranormal, historical. ménage, gay romance and time travel. She is a #1 Amazon Bestseller and all her stories feature hot alpha males and sassy submissives, often with a lot to learn. Kink abounds, and there’s enough dirty talk to satisfy the most demanding smut lover. However dark and dirty the setting, love always emerges triumphant, and her stories never fail to deliver a satisfying happy ever after.

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Thursday, 8 March 2018

Tubex time


The snow has melted, so this week has been a big rush to try and plant trees in my wood before winter ends!


My soil is flint nodules over a nice bed of clay so it's not a quick job...


I ache SO MUCH now. But I'm hoping to actually thwart the deer this year...

Monday, 5 March 2018

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's is from Tail, a short anonymous "confession" I wrote for Nexus Anthology #6


‘What is it then? Have you been shopping online? Let’s have a look!’

I mumbled that it was just some things I’d ordered as a surprise for Neil, but she wouldn’t let it drop. She can be right pushy when she wants, can Carmel. Eventually I admitted that it was some stuff from a lingerie shop – and then of course we had to go back up to the bedroom and open it up and have a look.

I was careful. I got the top item out and tucked the box away as I let her have a look at that: a red PVC bustier. Carmel liked it – well, she squealed with laughter - and insisted I try it on, so there was a lot of giggling and dirty talk about how much Neil would go for it as I twirled in front of the mirror. I felt a bit weird wearing something so tartily sexy in front of my friend, but she was really complimentary about how well it suited me. And I did like the way it looked with the shiny red plastic stretched tight over my skin, and my creamy boobs bulging up out of the half-cups.

‘Is that the only thing you ordered? It was a big box for one piece of clothing.’

It was impossible to throw Carmel off the scent. I had to admit nervously to another new purchase. This was black and came in a plastic wrapper; it looked like heavy silk but when I got it out she could see straight away that it was a rubber mini-skirt. With a great squeal she spotted the selling-point: a hole cut out where the wearer’s bottom would be.

‘Perv! Is Neil into rubber then?’

‘He likes bums – you know that.’ I’d gone pink. ‘It’s just a joke thing, like.’

‘Try it on!’

So on went the latex skirt. It was very tight and smooth as I eased it over my thighs, and cool to the skin. It was the first time I’d tried this material. I’d imagined it would have a sticky texture and maybe smell of rubber, but it was talced so it was silky-smooth and it felt really nice to handle. It was also snug: I could feel my bum-cheeks bulging a little through the hole. I twisted, trying to get a look. ‘Is that in the right place?’

‘Well your thong looks silly. You’d look better without it.’

So I struggled my panties off from under the rubber skin, leaving my cheeks bare. The skirt was tight enough underneath to actually lift my bum, making it jut out even more than usual. ‘What do you think?’

‘Neil likes spanking you, doesn’t he?’

‘Sometimes.’ I tried to look casual. ‘He’s not weird about it or anything.’

‘He won’t be able to say No to that, then.’

I hobbled off for a look in the mirror, and had to agree. My bum cheeks and crack were framed by the black latex, making a perfect round white target for a hand to land on. I could see already how eager he’d be to turn that target a warm scarlet. Just the thought made me tingle. But while I was admiring myself, Carmel was sneakily examining what remained in the cardboard box.

‘What’s this then?’ She waved the third item I’d ordered, delight at my wickedness printed all over her face. Plastic-wrapped, it was looked at first glance like a short stainless steel carrot, but instead of leaves it had a whisk of long black hair. ‘Is it a whip?’ she asked, ripping the packaging open and trailing the hairs across her palm.

‘Uh…’

She flicked her bare thigh experimentally.

‘Carmel!’ I’d gone hot all over.

‘Oh my God!’ The truth dawned. ‘Oh my God! It’s a dildo with a tail!’
‘It’s a butt-plug.’ My expression dared her to disapprove.

For once she went quiet. Her eyes opened wide. ‘No! You do that?’

‘It’s a toy, that’s all. It’s fun.’

‘You’d stick something this big up your…?’ She looked admiring actually. Trust Carmel.

I squirmed, proud and flustered and a bit turned on all at the same time. ‘I don’t see why not.’

She grinned at me. ‘Think it’ll go in?’

‘Not easily,’ I admitted with a giggle.

There was a glint in her eye now. ‘Go on. This I’ve got to see.'



Buy Nexus Confessions 6 at
Amazon US : Amazon UK
Google Play

Sunday, 4 March 2018

Friday, 2 March 2018

Blondes have more fun


Or so they say - I certainly had fun last weekend at a 1950s-set horror LARP! I wore a blonde wig and the nastiest mustard-coloured dress in history:


... whilst hobbling up and UP and UP these  steps in agonising heels, being chased by the minions of the King in Yellow.


Because being woken at 3am in an ancient and creaking house by something horrific pulling at my bedding is my idea of fun 😋




I just don't want it happening in my own home ...