On the Silk Road

This is our Travel Wall. It has a single photo from every country Mr Ashbless and I have visited together. And now I'm off to add three more frames to the display! We're on the Exodus Silk Road Tour with six old friends, so the poor guide has to put up with 2 weeks of in-jokes and oversharing our bowel symptoms.

Having anxiously followed Stu Nugent's horrorshow fascinating account of his trip through Kazakhstan, I'm not exactly expecting margaritas and red carpets, but it sure promises to be interesting! I will attempt not to be arrested even once. We have also scored tickets for the World Nomad Games!

I'll be back in couple of weeks or so - try not to destroy civilisation while I'm away, y'all. Mum and Dad -  please don't burn down the house or kill the dog ;-)

Geek Chic

Isn't this the best sweatshirt EVER?!

I've actually been on a bit of a T-shirt buying frenzy recently:

There's a certain theme...

I am confidently told that the Japanese reads "My Neighbour Cthulhu."

 Now you really can go crazy staring at my boobs 😂😂😂

"HAVE YOU SEEN THE YELLOW SIGN?"

Blue Monday: Kay Jaybee guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Sinful Press stablemate Kay Jaybee, who is launching a new edition of her erotic novel The Voyeur:

Wealthy business man and committed voyeur, Mark Parker, has a list of thirteen fantasies he is intent on turning into reality. Travelling between his London flat, his plush Oxfordshire mansion, and Discreet, his favourite S&M club; Mark is helped to realise his imaginatively dark erotic desires by two loyal members of his staff. His Personal Assistant, Anya Grant, and his Housekeeper, Clara Hooper.

Upon the backs of his willing slaves, Mark has written out his fantasy list in thick red pen. Only Fantasy 12 awaits the tick of completion against their flesh before Mark’s ultimate fantasy – Fantasy 13- can take place.

But have the girls performed well enough to succeed in the final challenge? And what hold does the Bridge's Gentleman's Club, Anya's previous employer, have over Mark? A place Anya was only too delighted to escape from.

In order to find out, Mark’s girls are going to have to face some of the fantasies they thought they’d left behind them all over again; and while they do, Mark will watch...

---

Crouched, shaking, and unsteady on her hands and knees, waiting with a contrary excitement for Fantasy 12 to start, Anya again ran her eyes around the hall, searching for a glimpse of Clara, but couldn’t see her at all.

Placing a bowl of pick ‘n’ mix condoms on the floor next to his PA, Mark yelled, “Begin!”

Feeling Mark’s shining eyes glued to her shackled body, and stealing herself for an instant orgy, Anya was surprised when no one moved. Perhaps it was the presence of the camera. Discreet was a place for anonymity; somewhere you could avoid being who you were from nine to five.

Just as Anya had begun to think this was all a big bluff just to frighten her, and that nothing was going to happen, her flesh jumped. A pair of smooth hands was sedately crossing her backside.

Clumsily tilting her face to one side, Anya saw a gorgeously curvy woman dressed in a stunning burgundy basque and panties giving her an intimately assessing visual examination.

The unknown woman addressed Mark. “I think a blindfold might make this even more interesting. What do you think?”

Mark wordlessly pointed to the poster for a second time. ‘Do what you want to me...’

The woman smiled, and Anya was immediately plunged into darkness behind a black satin mask.

After that Anya felt as if she was in a dream; or possibly a kinky nightmare. She wasn’t sure of anything except that she wasn’t ready for it to stop.

It began with the crack of a whip across her arse. Then came the hands. Hands everywhere; feeling, pinching, smacking, scratching. So many digits assailed her flesh that Anya had no idea how many individual pairs were actually touching her. Her nipples were rock hard as anonymous mouths gobbled at them, and her pussy quivered as tongues lapped and fingers were jammed in and out. Each time she showed any sign of coming however, it all stopped, and Anya was left to moan helplessly into her bizarre gag; a foam of spittle gathering at its sides.

Just as Anya thought her arms and legs would give way beneath the constant assault, a new pressure grew against her face.

Anya’s jaw clicked painfully as the dildo wedge protruding from her mouth was used for the first time.

The smell of wet snatch was almost overpowering. The redhead’s brain exploded with pornographic images of the picture she and her attendants must be presenting. Hands and mouths were sucking, smacking, and licking her to distraction, and now an anonymous woman had impaled herself on the fake cock.

Anya would have given anything to have her tongue free to taste the source of that beautiful aroma. She couldn’t stop pondering exactly how hard Mark’s dick must be as he watched the stranger thrust against her face. Not for the first time, the PA marvelled at her boss’s self-restraint, for she knew he’d allow himself no relief from his condition until they were all at home again and Fantasy 12 was safely completed.

Despite her best efforts, Anya’s exhausted arms eventually slipped against the sweat-slick wooden floor. There was a muffled shout as her body splayed, and then there was silence.

No one touched Anya as she lay there, motionless but for her heaving chest. She inhaled noisily through her nose, trying to rest her bruised limbs as best she could.

A sudden chill engulfed her as every hand and mouth was removed from her previously overheated body; her unsated flesh trembled. Anya was more desperate for an orgasm than she’d ever been in her life.

Minutes ticked by, then Anya’s skin rippled with mute relief as, from out of the silence that seemed to envelop her, something trailed across her anus.

Two sets of unseen hands pushed Anya onto all fours. She could feel the roughly calloused palms holding her up, supporting her shattered muscles. Then someone slid beneath her and gently nibbled at her swollen tits.

Biting into the hard gag, sweat dripping into her eyes, Anya frantically tried to stop herself climaxing until permission was given.

Expert fingers pumped in and out of Anya’s pussy. Someone was parting her butt cheeks, and even before she could prepare herself for the invasion she knew would come, the thin end of a whip was shafted between her buttocks.

The PA gave a silent scream into the rubber guardian as an unknown arse then speared itself onto the fake dick, its owner’s weight pulling at her face and straining her neck.

It was too much. Filled, yet left feeling frustratingly empty by the slim nature of the plugs being used in each of her orifices, Anya no longer cared about obeying Mark. She forgot about waiting for permission to climax.

He had created this spectacle; he knew damn well that she’d have to come eventually. Anya just hoped she’d managed to impress Mark by how long she’d lasted prior to giving in to the inevitable explosion.

As her head filled to bursting with swirling shapes and colours, Anya allowed her abused body to stop fighting the fulfilment she’d been denying it.

The tongues, cocks, and breasts, all blurred into a swarming mass as she bucked against them. Anya thought she may have heard Mark cry out, but she had no idea whether it was an angry or an ecstatic exclamation as she sank to the floor in exhausted unconsciousness.

---

The Voyeur is out on 24th August and is available to pre-order from:

Amazon
Kobo
iTunes
Barnes and Noble
Google Play

Kay Jaybee is the author of Making Him Wait and The Perfect Submissive series. Her fiction has been published by Black Lace, Xcite, Cleis Press and Berkley.

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Lud's Church

It's not a church, though it may have been used as a place of worship in the past...

It's a deep damp limestone cleft in Derbyshire ...

And almost nobody knows about it!

Lady got back

I've been trying on my new Victorian costume!

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

And since we're on the theme of Greek myth... Here's a clip from my short story Three Legs in the Evening:

In ancient Greece, disgraced and blinded King Oedipus is confessing his life story to a mysterious woman:

---

 “I want to know,” she said, “about Phix.”

 He went very still. “How do you know her name?”

 “I’m the one who asked for a story. And I want to hear the things you don’t tell other people.”

 “Really.” His neck was taut and now his hand curled, almost to a clench. He was taller than her, and if he had been sighted she would have been within easy snatching distance. Respectable women never came this close to a strange man, not on their own. Certainly not when the man had such an obscene reputation. “The things I don’t tell other people?” he wondered. “That won’t be hard. They’re only interested in the end of the tale.”

“But everybody knows how it ended. I didn’t have to come find you, to hear that bit of the story.”

“Hhh. Well. If you like, then. You’re not frightened of a story from a man’s point of view?”

“All stories are told from a man’s point of view,” she sighed.

“I meant...”

 “I know what you meant. Go ahead. I want to hear.”

He nodded, and moistened his dry lips. “Very well. Not the end, then. The beginning. You have to understand it from the beginning, or you’ll not believe.” He leaned back against the sarcophagus. “I was brought up as a prince of the palace of Corinth. Son, so far as I knew, of the king and queen there. Ignorant that I was a foundling, adopted—because everyone who remembered had been instructed to keep silent upon the subject. And there was a girl there—Is this the beginning? I’m not used to telling this part—There was a servant girl there in the palace…a Libyan…who had the most beautiful breasts.”

He paused, and tilted his head back, as if seeing the long-lost girl with his empty eyes.

“She was older than me, of course. I used to follow her around the palace when I was a youth, just to stare at those breasts. They were the color of pine honey, deep-clefted and firm and big, you understand, really big, swelling against her dress. And I wanted nothing in all the world so much as to lift those ample globes in my hands and suck upon her nipples and bury my head between them and suffocate there.” He smiled wistfully. “Don’t get me wrong—she was pretty too, with a big smile and a waist like so—” he shaped it, tiny beneath his masculine hands “—and a fine rump as round as the full moon, that waggled when she walked. I liked all of her, but oh…her breasts had me in thrall.

“You know, even if I weren’t blind, I don’t think I’d ever see a pair so perfect again.

“All the servants sniggered at me. ‘Here comes your puppy-dog again, Clio,’ they would tell her: ‘wagging his little tail as he follows you.’ And she laughed at me too, but gently. She liked me. The day she caught me by the hand and pulled me into a storeroom and said, ‘Time to do more than just stare at my tits, Prince Oedipus,’ as she pulled open her clothes and laid my hands upon her…I think that was the happiest moment of my life. I felt like a man must feel touching a goddess. I felt like I was holding the sun and the moon in my hands. I felt like all the mysteries and treasures of the earth hand been given to me.

“You know what the greatest wonder was? Her nipples stiffened as I touched them. They rose up, and their areolae puckered to the drag of my fingers, and she sighed and giggled. Her parts reacted to me—and I knew for the first time that a woman’s body felt pleasure just as my own did. Nobody had ever told me that. She loved me touching her.”

Oedipus shook his head in reminiscence. “Her tits. That’s what she called them. A low word for such glorious things. ‘Tits’ and ‘cunny’ and ‘ass’ and ‘clit’, those were the words she used, and she taught me all about them, over many months.

“And I was a diligent scholar, keen to master every lesson and put my learning to the test. I prided myself on the skills I developed under her tutelage. When, for the first time, Clio straddled me nose-to-tail and said, ‘Make me fall first, Prince Oedipus, and I’ll suck your cock until you spurt down my throat,’ I made her come three times before I let her finish me off.

“This is the secret I learned from her: a woman’s pleasure does not come, as almost every man thinks, from her being filled and stretched and pounded by the biggest cock possible, like a pestle banging away in a mortar. Oh, it’s far more subtle than that. And far more complex. A woman’s body is a labyrinth to be solved.

“I took the skills my Clio taught me, and practiced upon other women. Bee-keepers and dancing-girls and weavers and potters…My reputation spread through Corinth like spilt wine, and couldn’t be stopped. Through giggled confidences, they learned from one another. They came to my chamber by night and lured me into barns by day. They wanted to know if I was all I was rumored to be, and I delighted in confirming the tales. That was my pleasure—my obsession if you like, for it became like a yearning for wine or opium. I lusted to make women come. My own fist upon my cock was good enough for me, though I’d no objection to the hotter embrace of a mouth or cunny. But what I really wanted, what I could do for hour after hour, was to lap the nectar between a woman’s legs, and make her arch and swear and blaspheme. To take the shy and gentle maid and make of her a raving maenad. To have the lissome creature astride my face beg for more and more and more, and then weep with joy and thank me and kiss my cock like it was a god. I took delight in pushing a woman to so many climaxes that she would beg me for mercy out of sheer exhaustion.”   

“And were you merciful?”

Oedipus smiled. “Oh, eventually.”

She bit her lip and was glad he couldn’t see her flushed cheeks.

 “It became a point of pride for me that no woman was immune to pleasure, under my hands. I would rise to any challenge: young or old, fair or plain. An ambassador of the Amazons, corded with muscle and scar-tissue, who had never had any use for a man, laughed at my reputation—but she’d changed her mind by the next morning and confessed publicly, blushing, that I had proved her wrong.

“After that I trod closer to the edge of propriety. I took two priestesses of Artemis to my bed and sent them away the next morning reeling and wide-eyed and debauched—but still technically virgins despite the throb of their licked and well-fingered winks and the taste of my semen in their mouths. Married women threw themselves in my path—but who could make an accusation of adultery, when my cock never went near the forbidden shrine of their marriage? My preferred site of oblation was across the pillowy expanses of their tits.”

He smiled, fondly, then shook his head as if he were waking from a dream. “Eventually I provoked too many complaints from confused and outfaced men. To get me out of Corinth and give the pot a chance to stop boiling, the king sent me on a mission to the Oracle at Delphi. Some question about the siting of a new temple. So I went, with a dozen companions.”

His smile had gone now. His mouth was a hard line. “There, in the dark of the cave, the Pythia breathed in the fumes from that crack in the floor that leads to the Underworld, and then slipped from her high stool into the priests’ waiting arms, thrashing and gibbering. All very holy. It made my skin crawl, if I am honest. They carried her forward to where I waited, and she looked straight at me with pupils wildly dilated. And then she said it…You know that bit. Everyone knows that bit.”

 “You will kill your father and marry your mother."

---

Buy The Sexy Librarian's Big Book of Erotica at:
Amazon US : Amazon UK

Calypso

My current researches have led me to bump tangentially against the legend of Calypso. A minor Greek goddess...

Henri Lehmann: Calypso (1869)

 ... she's most famous for rescuing Odysseus from yet another ruddy shipwreck...

Cornelis van Poelenburgh - The Goddess Calypso Rescues Ulysses (1630)

  and then keeping him prisoner on her island of Ogygia for seven years as her sex-toy.

Newell Convers Wyeth: Ulysses and Calypso (1929)

She only let him go after the other gods sent their messenger Hermes to order his release.

Most accounts have Odysseus gloomily staring out to sea and sighing for his wife back home:

Odysseus and Calypso - Arnold_Böcklin (1883)

 That's presumably because there was nothing else to Ogygia but beach:

Herbert James Draper: Calypso's Isle (1897)

He even refused her offer of immortality - there's only so much sex and sand a man can take, clearly...

Jan Styka: The Goddess Calypso Promises Immortality to Odysseus (1901)

Although he gave the titty-fondling a good go for seven years:

Jan Brueghel the Elder - Odysseus and Calypso (1616)

There are a LOT of depictions of this legend out there, most of them a bit bland and Baroque. But I was delighted to discover William Russell Flint's 1924 illustrations of The Odyssey, which are just full of nipples, nudity and lust:

In fact I'm now rather obsessed with Mr Flint's work!

Dark Voices - out now!

It's out! Dark Voices, a charity horror story anthology from Lycan valley Press, is on sale NOW, with 100% of profits going to Breast Cancer organisations

Voices are meant to be heard. Darkness amplifies sound. And Dark Voices cannot be silenced. You won’t find pages filled with sunshine and lollipops or rose glass filtered landscapes. Instead, gloom and evil lurks, monsters and despair prevail. As you read these 38 women of horror, sci-fi and dark fiction, their voices will linger in your mind and infiltrate your soul. Their voices are loud. Their voices are strong. Their voices are dark.

Amazon US :: Amazon UK

My own story, Nine Portraits of the Empress Danrin, is set in 1919 during the great Spanish Flu pandemic - and here's a little excerpt:

---

It has occurred to me that there is as yet no proper, scientific record of the processes of decay in the human cadaver. We are surrounded by death in this generation, but we have not learned to read the words it inscribes. Imagine the mercy to the relatives of those lost on the battlefield, and the boon to the forces of law and order, if we could look at a human body and state with confidence how long it has been deceased, of what cause, and - in the case of those found nameless and misplaced - if we could discover from its mortal remains its history, its living appearance and perhaps even its identity.

I am setting myself the task of making a meticulous photographic record of the process of post mortem dissolution. Such a thing has never been attempted before, to my knowledge, although I know of some rare artists who have flirted with the theme. Whilst I was at Oxford a friend took me behind the scenes at the Bodleian Library and showed me a scroll from old Japan that illustrated the body of an empress in the nine stage of decay, from death to bare bones. Despite the graphic and gruesome nature of the paintings (which were clearly rendered from reality, if greatly stylized in manner), I found the story curiously moving. The Empress Danrin, renowned for her great loveliness, wished to demonstrate to her subjects and admirers the illusory nature of human beauty and the foolishness of attachment to such transient flesh. She ordered that upon her death her body was to be exposed by the roadside, so that all might see the truth of The Buddha's teachings upon impermanence. Her parable in the flesh, as it were, inspired many Japanese artists to depict the subject.

I have set myself to creating a modern version of this record, on a purely scientific footing.

* * *

[Portrait Two: the lady's fresh corpse lies abandoned among the weeds, her robe open to expose her pale breasts. There are as yet no external signs of decay.]

Cadavers are easy to come by, in my position. After death, patients are washed down by the nurses and then laid out quickly in pine coffins in the mortuary. Our hospital is of course chronically understaffed, such is the fear of the flu and the attrition rate among young employees. It's simple enough, if one works late at night as I do, to surreptitiously replace the body in the box with sandbags from the yard, and remove the corpse via the lift apparatus to the top floor of the building. I believe that these ranks of small rooms were quarters for servants back when this place was originally built, but they are currently unused and I have forbidden access to all medical staff.

I can run many experiments concurrently.

Blue Monday: Lily Harlem guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Lily Harlem with her new book His Vampire Harem

He's special. He just doesn't know it yet.

Darius Linnet has it all. He's a top male model, he's traveled the world, and everyone wants to either be him or be with him.

But would they really want to walk in his shoes? Because when emotions consume him, heated sparks fly. When he sleeps, his dreams take on an other-worldly twist. And his perfect body—sometimes it doesn't even feel like his own.

Until, that is, he meets a group of sexy, mysterious men who claim they've been searching for him for centuries. He's their savior, apparently, the key to their release from eternal damnation. They love him and they want to show him the pleasure he's been denying himself. There's only one problem: Darius's demon father has other ideas.

---

His gaze trailed down my body, then back up again. “Okay, press play.”

I did as he’d asked, then silently removed my t-shirt. If I was lucky enough to get close to him I didn’t want clothing in the way.

I guessed the on-screen guys had only just started. They were still in jeans and were kissing, their hands roaming over each other’s toned upper bodies.

I moved closer to Darius.

“You ever done it outside?” he asked as the men undid each other’s pants and shoved at them.

“Yeah.”

“You like it?”

I grinned. “I like sex no matter where I do it.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You’ll love it too,” I reached for his hand, tugging it from its tight clasp on his other one. “When you’re ready.”

“I hope that will be soon.” He tipped his chin, his attention firmly on the screen.

Two cocks were out now. Each big and hard and glossy in true porn-star style.

The men were moaning, their kisses noisy, as they worked each other’s shafts.

For a few minutes we watched in silence as the camera panned around them, giving views of their cocks, butts and faces.

When one man sank to his knees, I moved closer still to Darius. My arm brushed his, so did my leg. Being so near to him thrilled me, as did the solid wedge of flesh tenting his sweats. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes.” His voice was breathy.

“Me too. The one on the right has a great cock, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” He swallowed.

“And it’s about to get sucked.”

He glanced at me, then turned back to the screen. He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip.

The urge to kiss him, hold him, bring him pleasure and taste his blood was almost overwhelming. I reined myself in. “Would you like me to suck your cock?”

He hitched in a breath and his eyes widened as the onscreen cock disappeared into a willing mouth.

“You’ll know what it feels like then, Darius. You won’t have to imagine.”

“You want to…do that to me?”

“Hell yeah.” I ran my hand down his warm arm, across his belly, then to his cock. “I can think of nothing I’d rather do.” I leaned closer and pressed my lips to the ball of his shoulder.

“Rhys…” He looked at me and touched my cheek.

“No strings,” I said. “Just a bit of fun.” I paused. “An experience I’d be honored to give you."

His eyes flashed and he rubbed his fingertips together. I wondered if heat was growing inside him, a heat that would result in sparks; I hoped so, I wanted to see them.

“Okay,” he said. “I mean, yes please. If you don’t mind, I mean—”

I chuckled and brushed my lips over his. “You’re the hottest guy I’ve seen in a long time, and me and you, we’ll be good together.” Pushing to the edge of the sofa, I then sank to my knees between his legs. I looked up at him as I curled my hands into the waistband of his sweats. “Keep watching the TV and relax. Let me do this. I consider it somewhat of a speciality of mine.”

He lifted his hips, allowing me to pull his sweats to his thighs.

His cock sprung free and a wild rage of excitement went through me. This was the man we’d been waiting for, and now I had him. He was mine, for now at least.

I gripped his shaft.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, my hands are cold.”

“It’s not that, it’s…”

“What?”

“Just having you touch me. Rhys, I…” He rested his hands on my head.

“I told you, relax, and come when you want to.” I leaned forward and swiped my tongue over the tip of his glans, gathering up a tiny leak of pre-cum. I moaned and closed my eyes, he tasted divine.

His thighs tensed around me and he gripped my hair.

I opened my mouth wide, forming an ‘o’ with my lips, and sank onto him.

The noise that peeled from his throat was long and guttural and vibrated through me.

I tipped farther forward, cupping his balls with my free hand and taking him as deep as I could. Once there, I paused.

The sounds coming from the television were sexy as fuck—moans, groans, gasps and unholy praises to God.

I wanted to hear Darius making those noises, so I lifted up and started on a steady rhythm, using my hands, fingers, lips and tongue.

This man is everything I need and more.

“Rhys, fuck, I can’t last long.” His cock twitched, more pre-cum slid onto my tongue.

I didn’t answer, instead I upped the pace, making sure I lodged him against my throat on each downward plunge.

He was shaking, his body tensed to granite. His hips were rising to meet my mouth and he was yanking at my hair following the rhythm.

And then it was there.

He held his breath, froze, and hot cum shot from his cock. His shaft throbbed and his balls contracted.

I swallowed and didn’t let up.

He cried out, a long wail of release I knew I’d never forget.

The men on the screen were going for it, flesh-on-flesh slaps filling my ears as they pounded.

Darius yanked at my hair, pulling my mouth from him.

I caught his shaft in my palm and set my thumb over his slit.

He was breathing hard, his face was flushed and his pupils wide. He held his hands out to the sides, fingers splayed on the sofa.

“How was that?” I asked, wiping at a drip of saliva trickling down my chin.

“That was…damn, I should have lasted longer but it felt so good.”

“It wasn’t a test, it was an experience. You came when you wanted, what’s wrong with that?”

He wiped his forearm over his brow then glanced at the TV. “Where’s the remote?” As he’d spoken he’d picked it up and turned it off.

“You weren’t enjoying it?”

“I’ve got the real thing, why would I need that?” He smiled. A lovely wide grin that melted my heart all the more for him.

I love him so much.

I studied his groin and traced my fingertip over a vein leading from his abdomen to his right thigh. It was a delicate shade of lilac and combined with the pulse I could feel in his shaft, I had a desperate urge to taste him.

“Just here,” I said, looking up at him. “Can I bite you?”

“Bite me?” He laughed, though he was still out of breath and currently studying the ends of his fingers. “What, like a hickey?”

“Yeah, something like that.” My fangs were tingling in my gums. “I want to taste you here.” I placed the tip of my tongue on the vein. So damn good, so damn close.

---

Buy His Vampire Harem at Amazon

Lily Harlem's sexy romance novels are highly praised and frequently hit bestseller lists. She lives in the UK and since giving up a career in nursing spends her days penning steamy novels and enjoying a view over the beautiful Welsh countryside. She has a passion for animals and can’t help adopting any waif and stray that comes along, much to Mr Harlem’s despair (he actually doesn’t mind in the least!).

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Full set

Getting excited now!

Will I hit my writing deadline before we fly, that's the question...

The Scent of Tears - cover reveal!

It's official now! With a gorgeous wrap-around cover by Jon Sullivan -
 

For the first time in print, Adrian Tchaikovsky has opened up the realm of the Apt, as featured in his best-selling Shadow of the Apt decalogy, to a carefully selected cast of fellow writers, inviting them to do their best and their worst within the world he has created.  

They have done just that. Topped and tailed by two new stories form Adrian himself, some of the finest imaginations in fantasy, including winners of the David Gemmell Award, the Costa Book Award and British Fantasy Award, have combined to produce a stunning collection of tales that examine fresh aspects of the Apt world and its people. 

There I am (in my KM guise), honoured to be nestled next a whole bunch of prize-winners! Out in October!

Pre-order available