Friday, 18 January 2019

Playing hooky

I spent yesterday in London rampaging around as many museums as I could in a day!

I saw this at the Tate Britain:

Which was just GLORIOUS - Burne-Jones isn't even my fave Pre-Raphaelite, but this collection of paintings and tapestries was just beyond amazing. I will post more photos later...

I went to the British Museum

for this:

And this:

And I finished off at the delightful Wellcome Collection of historical medical "objects" collected by a Victorian philanthropist -

for this kinda thing:

Birthing model for trainee doctors

A bourdalou - a chamber pot for ladies!

Roman votive offerings

and for this:

Then I went home and watched Bandersnatch, just to balance out my aching feet with an aching head!

Monday, 14 January 2019

Blue Monday special

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment! All since all this week my filthy fairy novel Named and Shamed is on a special price promo, here's a typically deranged excerpt from the wildest ride I've ever taken readers on:

Fairy tales were always thought to be childhood fancies. That is until the fairy folk returned.

As the closest thing to an expert on all things otherworldly, nobody knows better than Tansy the dangers of Them There. But with the world thrown into chaos, and another’s life in her hands, she has no choice other than to accept a magical offer of help.

And as Tansy soon finds out, there is always a price to pay for dealing with the Fairies. A price that may include her own life, if she can't find the True Name she is looking for.

So begins a descent into the wildest realms of Faerie - and into the darkest depths of Tansy's own out-of-control desires.

I turned on my heel and walked away, stuffing my boobs back into my bra. Vince dropped into the driving seat as I reached the car.

“Let’s go,” I said grimly, fishing a pack of baby-wipes out of the glove box and starting to clean up my knees and boots. “We’ve got trouble.”

“You’re trouble all on your own, girl.” He gunned the engine.

“You don’t know the half of it. That lot from the pub are still looking for us.”

Gail shot me a hard, angry glance. “You’ve got to be joking?”

“I wish,” I said, with feeling. “That’s all we need, isn’t it?” I swabbed moodily at my legs as we zigzagged down the twisty lanes. I felt scared and wired and guilty at the danger I was getting my friends into, and the combination didn’t sit well with me. As I tried to knot up the plastic bag I’d stuffed the dirty wipes into, it split and I lost my temper.

“Shit!” I shouted, flinging it all down.

Vince pulled the car over into a field gate and stopped the engine, glaring at me. I glared back — and then became aware that I’d rammed my hand between my thighs and was grinding it against my pubic mound in frustration.

“Get the fuck out of the car,” said Vince softly.

I was so surprised I obeyed. He came round onto the verge side where I stood, and shut my door for me with a decisive clunk. His eyes bored into mine.

“Turn around. Face the car.”

All the air went out of my lungs. As I turned, he tugged up my skirt, swatted my bum-cheeks and then reached down to grab my pussy, mashing it hard in his hand. I let out a strangled squeal as the burn flamed through my flesh.

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” he growled in my ear. “You’re just gagging to open wide for every man we meet, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” I moaned.

“I don’t know why you bother putting knickers on in the morning, girl. Unless it’s to keep your knees warm.” He demonstrated by pulling the garment in question right down and exposing my cunt.

“Spread them.”

I did what I was told, stretching my panties across my open thighs and thrusting my ass out in presentation. He smacked my sex with his open palm and I heard the wet splat.

“Damn!” he said appreciatively. “You’re just fucking insatiable. Your pussy’s like a black hole, girl — you’re going to swallow the whole damn world. Well, put me at the top of the queue.”

Action was matched to promise as his cock suddenly butted up against my pussy and — without preamble or foreplay — bulled straight into that tight hole, making me cry out.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, grabbing my hips and making space for his cock inside me with a few firm thrusts.

“God, you’re hard!” I yelped, awed. I couldn’t believe he was fucking me in broad daylight at the side of a public road. Where anyone could see us.

“That’s watching you blow that farmer,” he grunted, through gritted teeth. “You, going down on your knees in the shit for that big ugly mother. With your tits out, wobbling. That’s the dirtiest thing I ever saw. You’re the dirtiest girl I ever met, Tansy. Sex on a fucking stick, girl! Sure, my cock wants some of that.”

And I wanted to give him everything his cock would take. With the whole world watching. Bracing against the car, I moved my hips to meet his every savage thrust. He was hard as iron and he moved like a machine built for fucking.

I didn’t think it could get any better — until Gail wound down the window from inside, pulled out my tits from their straining bra and bit them, chewing on my nipples until I came — screaming, “Yes! Oh Christ yes… yes! Fuck me! FUCK ME!” up and down the Queen’s highway.

Yeah. Vince was right. That was what I needed.

Buy Named and Shamed at:

Amazon Smartlink $0.99 /£0.99!!!
Kobo - £0.99!!!
Apple iTunes Smartlink - $0.99 / £0.99!!!

Friday, 11 January 2019

The loneliness of the long-distance editor

Just an update on what I'm up to. I've been getting first edits off to the authors this week - there's just one left to do at the weekend.

Here's the stats:

9 stories (chosen blind, i.e. without knowing who wrote them)

5x M/F
2x M/M
2x F/F

3x Zombies
3x UK spelling, 6x USA spelling and/or setting.

According to publisher Anna Sky (who has access to legal names on contracts), 5 of the authors are women, 4 are men.

Honestly, I could not be happier! I think I've got an amazing, very eclectic mix of tales. They vary from literary to bawdy, hopeful to heartbreaking, historical to SF.

And I just LOVE the process of being an editor. It feels like I'm polishing up pieces of jewellery that have been loaned by craftspeople to put on display - and it's such an honour to work with these beautifully wrought pieces.

It's also terrifying, because I've been on the other side of the process. I know how defensive I get whenever I see an editor's red pen on my work. My instinct is to protect my creation - every word choice, every semi-colon (... especially the semi-colons!). I've probably wound up 9 very talented authors this week, I'm sure, to some extent or another.

The only thing is, I also don't like an editor who says "Yeah, everything's fine" for my work. I don't believe them. I'm too close to the story - I can't see the writing as the reader out there will. I know I need an outside eye, coming to the text cold, needing to be convinced. The editor is there, in large part, to advocate for future readers. To say "Okay, I don't think that bit is entirely clear - can you just tweak it a bit?"

So I'm nervous, and I don't want to piss anyone off, and I know my analytical streak can be a bit domineering if I don't keep an eye on it... but I've got to make the best anthology I possibly can.

And I honestly think it's going to be awesome πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–

Wednesday, 9 January 2019

Seasonal fashion notes

My friend Annie crocheted me some sparkly dragon-scale writing gloves for Xmas 😍

Of course y'all know that writers are supposed to look like this when they work:


So I'm rather letting the side down this week in my gloves and shawl 😁

Frankly, it's a triumph if I'm not still in my dressing gown

From the bottom of my heart I apologise to the erotica writing community, and I promise I'll try harder!

Monday, 7 January 2019

Blue Monday: Samantha MacLeod guests

Welcome to 2019!

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment, and we kick off the year with one from blog favourite Samantha McLeod, who has a new short story collection out - Legends and Lovers:

A passionate one night stand sparks a struggle between two worlds. A young Irish priest meets his match in the spirited woman he’s sent to tame. And the Norse trickster Loki finds more than he bargained for when he partners with Thor to retrieve the Thunderer’s lost hammer.

Sensual and poetic, this spellbinding collection of erotic stories from Samantha Mac-Leod transports you to a world where gods walk among mortals, the long-dead return to embrace the living, and the fires of passion burn bright enough to transform even the immortals.

(This excerpt is from The New Priest of Dunquin)

It was an especially beautiful day in early June, the Wednesday when everything changed. I’d rushed through my chores, digging potatoes from the field with frantic energy and sweeping out the henhouse like a dervish. When I arrived on the steps of the church, nearly breathless but pausing to smooth my hair, I found John had packed a lunch for us to share.

“I thought we could walk the cliffs,” he said. “Seems a shame to be indoors to-day.”

So we walked, although we might as well have been walking in a circle around the church for all I noticed. The cliffs of the Dingle Penninsula, those famous black, jagged rocks topped with emerald that draw tourists by the thousands, were no more than a passing distraction from the lines and curves of John’s face.

We stopped for lunch in a little hollow, tucked away from the wind and out of sight. After sharing his homemade bread and a chunk of hard farmhouse cheese, John lay back in the grass to stare at the sky. After a moment’s consideration, I joined him, placing my head in the crook of his arm. It seemed only natural.

“What’s it like, then?” I asked.

The warmth of the early summer sun rolled over both of us as the breakers crashed against the rocks far below.


“Heaven. God. All that. Surely you know?”

He laughed softly, his beautiful laugh that filled the hollow places in my heart and made me feel that this was, without doubt, the most perfect of all possible worlds.

His hand moved idly through my hair as he answered, and my skin prickled with heat. “They say it’s eternal bliss, in heaven,” he answered. “There’s no time, no sense of urgency or regret. It’s”

“That’s how I feel with you,” I said.

Looking back, it’s impossible to say who moved first. Perhaps he leaned to me; perhaps I stretched to reach him. I would prefer to think we both moved, our lips meeting for the first time to fill the space between us, sparked into motion by the unspoken, urgent needs of both our bodies.

Either way, he kissed me, and my heart opened like a flower greeting the distant sun. Heat flashed through me as the world shrank, reduced to the single point in space where our lips met. I closed my eyes, melting against his chest.

John pulled back. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he stammered.

I did not give him the chance to finish his sentence. I wrapped my hand around his neck, pulling his lips back to mine. He came willingly. His mouth opened for me, allowing my tongue to explore him. My hands sought his body, pushing his sweater over his chest, running my fingers along the warm, hard lines of his abdomen, the body that had filled my dreams for months.

I hesitated at his waistband, my fingers trembling. I’d followed the delicate rasp of hair against my palm, leading down, as our lips pressed against each other. Finally, half stunned by my own desperate boldness, I let my fingers dip below his pants to where his hair thickened and grow coarser.

He moaned into my mouth, and I became shameless. I wanted to feel all of him, the length of his body against mine. I pushed myself up from the grass and wrapped my legs around his waist, my skirts pooling over his thighs. I could feel him, the hard, hot length of him under his pants, and my body burned in response, pressing closer to him, heat from the core of me soaking into his pants, coating him. His breath came in hot gasps against my lips, and my hips churned into his, feeling him pulse in response, the fire inside me wanting to get closer and closer. Oh, he felt so good beneath my thighs, my John—

Then the pleasure crested, and I thought I was dying. Red heat exploded across my vision as every muscle in my body tensed, every nerve fired. I cried out, my mind swept away. Beneath me, John’s hard body shuddered and he gasped as his hands gripped my thighs hard enough to leave bruises.

I collapsed on top of his chest, panting into the hollow of his neck. He smelled so good, clean and warm, with a lingering hint of thick, holy incense. But his neck tensed against my kisses, and he sat up, pushing me off.

“Shannon…” he began, his voice trembling.

He stood, and I saw the dark, wet patch on the front of his pants. I blushed, thinking it had all come from me. John shook his head, ran his fingers through the waves of his sand-colored hair, and turned away from me. He began walking in a rushed sort of stumble toward the huddled stone buildings of Dunquin, almost as though he were drunk.

“John!” I called.

He did not stop. I came to my feet, my legs trembling, my heart throbbing in my chest. He did not look back, my John.

And so I ran to him.

“John,” I panted, closing the distance between us.

I grabbed his arm, forcing him to spin and meet my eyes. His face churned with emotions I could scarcely recognize, and his dark blue eyes burned. His lips trembled, but no words escaped.

“John, it was heaven,” I whispered. “It was just like heaven.”

Buy Legends and Lovers at:

Amazon US

Amazon UK
Everywhere else

Born and raised in Colorado, Samantha MacLeod has lived in every time zone in the US, and London. She has a bachelor’s degree from Colby College and an M.A. from the University of Chicago; yes, the U. of C. really is where fun comes to die.

Samantha lives with her husband and two small children in the woods of southern Maine. When she’s not shoveling snow or writing steamy sex scenes, Samantha can be found teaching college composition and philosophy to undergraduates who have no idea she leads a double life as an erotica author.

Samantha’s Blog
Amazon Author Page