Blue Monday: Ring of Fire

Every Monday I'll be posting an excerpt from one of the stories in Lust in the Dust.

The first Zombie Apocalypse story in our lineup is Ring of Fire by Sommer Marsden, a tumultuous tale of trust and need that really burns!

“Alice, are you okay?”

“Please…” I said, surprising myself.

“Please what?” He cocked an eyebrow. His dark brown eyes were curious, but I could tell by the twist of the small smile on his face that he understood. That smile and the fact that he took a step closer, closing the distance between us.

“Take me. Just let me…” I shook my head. I wasn’t making sense. Not even to myself.
His hand cupped the back of my head and he pulled me in for a kiss. I could taste our terrible gritty campfire coffee on his lips.

I kissed him back, desperately, letting myself sink against his bulk. Now that I’d taken a breath, now that I’d exhaled, I realized how very tired I was. How extremely exhausted by handling things and running things and being brave.

Strength is sometimes overrated.

“Just let you what?”

I shook my head again, my eyes pricking with tears, not sure if I could put it into words. “Be. Let me go. Let me…”

“Turn off?”

I nodded. That was good. The best description yet. “Just for a few minutes.”

He kissed me again and I sank into it. I wanted to let go. I knew he could cover me. I knew it from our contact, our friendship, and our previous experience.

I trusted him. In this day and age, that was like handing someone your heart.

He turned me quickly before I knew what was happening. Somehow the burst of anger, the adrenaline, him squeezing my wrist, had all come together to make me wet. Unbelievably wet. But he did believe it, because he pulled me back against his chest, both of us facing that peep hole in the wall. Somehow, they always reminded me of medieval castles.

He pushed his fingers down into my jeans, slid them beneath my panties, and slipped two thick fingers inside me as easy as you please. He pressed them against me, stroking me, before pulling them free and playing my own wetness over my clitoris.

I chewed my lower lip, already so fucking close to coming.

He kissed the back of my neck and did it again. Plunging them in, playing them against my internal walls, pulling free, sliding them along my swollen clit. The kiss turned to teeth and my pussy flickered, gripping him tight. It stole my breath, how easily he could bring me pleasure when a moment before I’d wanted to hit him, to scream, possibly cry.

“That’s it,” he said, lips pressed to my neck. “Let go. It’s okay. Let me do it for a while. I’ve got you…”

Tears pricked my eyes and I hung my head. Joel took the chance to scrape his teeth along my nape, and then down my shoulder. I’m sure I tasted salty. Dirt and dust and sweat; how sexy. Goose bumps sprang up along my skin. He had a small chink out of his left front tooth and that added sharpness brought a fresh rush of wetness between my thighs.

I was lost in my own thoughts and pleasure when his hands began to war with my belt buckle. I tried to help. Then it was a flurry of our fingers. My belt came free, my zipper down, my pants fell open, and then he was batting my hands away quickly. Startling me. Adding more adrenaline and a rush of surprise to the fray.

He moved me, planted my hands on the back of a big discarded arm chair we’d lugged in so we could take turns sitting as we watched. We faced the peek window, not speaking it aloud, but needing to keep our watch even in this moment of frenzied fucking. He yanked my panties down, and a slow moan slid past my lips. He knocked my legs wide with his boot, as far as they would go with my pants tangled around my ankles.

I heard the jingle of Joel’s belt and the roar of his zipper. My ears thrummed with blood. Out in the openness was nothing but fire and smoke. None of them had appeared. Yet.

---

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It's the end of the world as we know it.

Peace and plenty are ideals barely remembered. Everything we used to rely upon has crumbled away, and pleasure is something few can afford. Every joy has to be fought for. When all the trappings of a civilised life are taken away, all we can hope to truly call our own are our bodies and our hearts. In the ashes, we make alliances where we can, and find solace and humanity in unexpected places. And maybe even a little hope for the future…

Lust in the Dust brings together ten erotic short stories set in times where civilisation and the rule of law have crashed and burned. The aftermath of a terrible war, a zombie invasion, a cityscape over-run by nature, a medieval fortress. Wherever there is life, there is lust.

Edited by Janine Ashbless - with stories by S. Nano, Elizabeth Coldwell, Raven Sky, Sommer Marsden, Cara Thereon, Jones, Gregory L. Norris, Nicole Wolfe, Janine Ashbless, Quiet Ranger.

On the eighth day Machine just got upset
A problem man had not foreseen seen as yet 

See, I grew up steeped in the Sexy Apocalypse ... 

There is such a thing as too much Slap

As a postscript to the Horror of the Fake Nails, I also had my face done for the photoshoot last week.

Contouring can do amazing things. I had long wondered wondered what I'd look like with a professional makeup job... and here's the answer:

Since it seems to be RUBY FECKING WAX I'm going to stick to my natural lumps in future 😲😂😭

Blue Monday: First Contact

Every Monday I'll be posting an excerpt from one of the stories in Lust in the Dust.

The third story in our lineup is First Contact by Raven Sky, simultaneously a thoughtful critique on the standard Apocalypse paradigm and a queer romance set in the wilds of Canada:

I knew I was fucked the moment I laid eyes on her. What the hell was a white woman doing this far north, squatting in my family’s hunting shack? Well, I guess I knew what she was literally doing, and I should have looked away, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was naked, standing in my kitchen, using water boiled on the wood stove to sponge-bathe her body. I’d spotted the smoke quite a ways off and come prepared to take on whatever threat had found my hideaway. I wasn’t prepared for her, though.

She was blonde. No one this far north was blonde. At least not above and below. Sure some of the reservation bimbos tried to fake it with expensive chemical dyes, but blonde was something foreign and exotic that we only ever saw on TV and the internet. Back when those things still existed.

I knew I was being a creeper, but still I looked on at her body framed by the window, as she used a cloth to wash her tall, lithe frame. She had an angry looking rash on her left calf, but otherwise she was physically perfect. I’ll be honest and admit that I didn’t check out her eye colour, but her skin was pale and her tits were small with perky pink nipples. Her hips were soft curves and her ass was perfectly rounded. There was soft, ample fuzz of the lightest shade of tan between her thighs.

I felt like I’d stumbled into some strange pornographic movie, because nothing this extraordinarily sexy had ever happened to me before. She was scrubbing the length of her arms, then her tits and torso, and I felt my own sex get slick at the way her rosy little nipples tightened up. I squirmed and thought about touching myself, but that was a step too far for my dignity. I snapped back into the reality of the situation, which was that a stranger was trying to steal my home. And even if she was a startlingly gorgeous stranger, she was still a threat.

I retreated to the trees and walked full-circle around the house, looking for clues. Who was she? Was she alone? Did she have weapons? What did she want?

---

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It's the end of the world as we know it.

Peace and plenty are ideals barely remembered. Everything we used to rely upon has crumbled away, and pleasure is something few can afford. Every joy has to be fought for. When all the trappings of a civilised life are taken away, all we can hope to truly call our own are our bodies and our hearts. In the ashes, we make alliances where we can, and find solace and humanity in unexpected places. And maybe even a little hope for the future…

Lust in the Dust brings together ten erotic short stories set in times where civilisation and the rule of law have crashed and burned. The aftermath of a terrible war, a zombie invasion, a cityscape over-run by nature, a medieval fortress. Wherever there is life, there is lust.

Edited by Janine Ashbless - with stories by S. Nano, Elizabeth Coldwell, Raven Sky, Sommer Marsden, Cara Thereon, Jones, Gregory L. Norris, Nicole Wolfe, Janine Ashbless, Quiet Ranger.

 

Jellicle jollies

I assume furries are rejoicing even as the po-faced internet harpies shriek with horror - there's going to be a movie version of Cats released this year! 😻😻😻

I saw the original stage show (video below) in London many years ago and I remember it as being weirdly sexy (in a "let's-not-mention-this" kinda way). From where we sat below the stage it seemed to be an endless parade of lithe lycra-clad butts and crotches gyrating in our faces. Needless to say, I loved it 😁😁😁



Up, up, up to the Heaviside Layer!

Hard As

Empress Dowager Cixi, and her 6-inch fingernails, for you history buffs

Well, I was booked in this week for a photoshoot and the instructions we received urged long, shiny fingernails.  My natural fingernails, even when I've not been nibbling them, are short and stumpy like my fingers and usually ingrained with garden dirt, so I decided to get false ones for the first time in my life..

HOLY FUCKING SHIT that was not a good move.

First of all, you've got to understand that this was WAY outside my comfort zone. It's an artform that belongs to younger working class women, predominantly, so I'm clueless both as to the terminology (gels? acrylics? infills?) and the appeal. But it's an Experience for sure. I entered this Thai production line in the nail-bar, and only embarrassment stopped me succumbing to a panic attack and bolting out the door.

The  process is sort of fascinating actually. They grind the surface of your natural nail to provide a key. Then they glue these plastic tips onto the ends of your nails and cut these down to size. Then they use this MAGIC POWDER that turns into a plastic slime when it comes into contact with the MAGIC PURPLE LIQUID*, and they slap it onto your extended nails and shape and buff it with EXTREME VIGOUR. I don't know what the glue they use is but it puts superglue to shame - it's instant and as far as I can tell permanent.

Here's the results:

They actually looked okay from that angle but when I walked out I discovered the true horror. They are 10 tiny levers of pain that connect to your nail beds. Doing anything that requires normal fingertip pressure (opening the car boot for example) is AGONY. Accidentally catching them against a hard surface is AGONY.

And I can't clean my ears when I wash my hair. Or pick up small objects from the floor. Or use a smartphone. Or, ahem, do any of the things I might normally do with my genital area...

Here are the evil buggers from the side:

Thick, aren't they?

I'm stuck with them, literally and figuratively. I have no clue whether they grow out naturally. Here's how the internet says you get them off:

1. Clip the acrylic nails as short as possible.
2. Pry the edges with the pointy end of the tweezer.
3. Now, pour acetone free nail polish remover in a bowl.
4. Soak the nails in the nail polish remover for at least 30-40 minutes.
5. Once you feel the nail loosened, pull it out gently with tweezers.

OKAY STOP RIGHT THERE. I am NOT gouging my nails out with tweezers!!!  😱😱😱

So basically I've clipped them short with tin-snips and filed them and now I'm going to ignore them until my fingers fall off.

At least I can, with some care, pick my nose again. 😠

---

(*poly methyl methacrylate acrylic (PMMA) mixed with "liquid monomer", usually ethyl methacrylate.)

Blue Monday: Addicted to Disaster

Every Monday I'll be posting an excerpt from one of the stories in Lust in the Dust.

Second in the lineup is Addicted to Disaster by Elizabeth Coldwell, a wry look at the very start of an apocalypse, from the point of view of some washed-up celebs stuck in a Big Brother style reality show:

Much to everyone’s surprise, including my own, it was Claire who walked out within the first couple of days. She could cope without cream cakes and kebabs, but she was so self-absorbed she drove the rest of us mad. Following a massive stand-up fight between her and Jake, when he’d dared her to use a sentence without the word “me” in it, she packed her bag and quit the cottage.

That was when the psychological torment began for the rest of us. Lights and loud noises keeping us awake; our food being reduced to nothing but unpleasant kale smoothies for days on end.

Though not all my personal torment was of the production company’s making. I was doing my best to hide a growing physical attraction to Jake Steele. I’d never officially admitted I was gay, but it was an open secret in the industry. No one was particularly surprised; after all, it was pretty much compulsory to have at least one gay member in every boy band. I just didn’t want my sexuality to be used as a marketing tool. And if the producers of Celebrity Cold Turkey knew I was into men, they would have used that as another weapon in their armoury against me.

Then, the morning after Claire made her sudden departure, I found myself sharing a shower with Jake. The disembodied voice that gave us our instructions told us we had ten minutes before the hot water was being switched off. “It might not come back on for a while,” the voice added. Not knowing how long it would be before we’d have the luxury of a hot shower again, Jake and I both dived for the small wet room. For once, his usual hostility thawed as we ducked and weaved under the shower head, lathering ourselves down. I tried to keep my eyes off his body, but it wasn’t easy. Unlike Graham, who tended to walk round in little more than a pair of shorts, I’d never seen Jake less than fully dressed. My eyes were drawn to the length of his back, the thin covering of dark hair on his pecs and his limp but undeniably meaty cock. I fought hard to prevent my own from stiffening as I admired it. Almost as if he knew what I was thinking, he started soaping his balls before taking his thick length in one hand and washing himself there, too. When Jake caught me staring, I made the excuse that I was looking at the Chinese character he’d had tattooed just above his pubic bush.

“It means ‘strength’,” he told me. “At least, I hope it does. For all I know, it could say ‘wanker’. I just liked the way it looked.”

“I was going to have a tattoo done,” I told him. “All the boys in the band were, as a publicity stunt. We were going to have ‘Together Forever’ on our arse cheeks. Two weeks later, I quit the band. Some forever that would have been…”

At that point, the spray from the shower head begin to run cold, and we knew it was time to get out. There was still plenty more I wanted to discuss with Jake, things I could only ask him while the water was muffling any chance of our conversation being picked up by the microphones dotted round the cottage. How was he coping without sex, if it really was so important for him to get laid once a day, every day? He didn’t seem to be as tetchy and disoriented as Graham and me, and he was having no problems sleeping. Was he scratching the itch by indulging in a crafty wank when he thought no one was looking? I couldn’t see it, somehow. The layout of the building had been deliberately designed to give us all the minimum of privacy. We even shared the same bedroom, Claire included. Perhaps Jake was somehow managing to pleasure himself under the covers, when the rest of us were asleep.

The image of him, hand wrapped round his shaft, trying not to make a sound as he brought himself off, had my cock twitching in frustrated desire. But the moment had passed, even if I pondered the question more than once over the next days and weeks, watching Jake moving around the cottage and wondering if he realised how I felt about him. I knew there was no chance of my feelings being reciprocated — Jake was all heterosexual, all the time, as he’d repeatedly told the press — but in quiet moments I could dream he might want to sample the delights on the other side of the divide.

For all his faults, it was Jake who first started to suspect things had somehow changed. “Is it me,” he asked as we were having breakfast, “or has there been a complete lack of new instructions for the last couple of days?”

---

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Hardcore Inspiration

I swore when I went to Edge-Lit, that this year I wouldn't buy ANY books!

I only bought 6! I think that's pretty good 😄😄😄

And this is how Simon Bestwick signed his ...

Okay okay!

"Not a duff story in here"

Mini-review from Dirty Sexy Words 💔💔💔

"Having had a sneak previews, I can safely say there’s not a duff story in here: they are wonderfully varied and one or two will stay with you for a good long time."

Thank you Zak!

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Blue Monday: In Pursuit of the Millennium

Every Monday I'll be posting an excerpt from one of the stories in Lust in the Dust.

We start with In Pursuit of the Millennium by S. Nano, who says: "I went for an historical setting, placing my story in 16^th century Germany which was awash with groups who believed the end of the world was imminent. It’s set in Munster at a time when a radical Anabaptist sect had taken control of the town, believing they’d instituted God’s rule on earth. What could possibly go wrong?!"

The terrified call spread like wild-fire across the square. “God save us, the tower’s falling!”

The crowd panicked. People desperately ran away from the tower, jostling for escape from the impending disaster. The square was transformed into a scene of fear and chaos. But Anna did not move. She trusted to God. The tower teetered above the platform where Jan van Leiden was preaching. Anna watched as the tower hung like a presage of impending doom before crashing down into the square. Blocks of broken masonry collapsed to the ground, tearing through the wooden platform where he stood.

Anna looked on open-mouthed. She peered into the impenetrable fog of dust surrounding the stage, desperately seeking out the preacher. Surely he would be crushed by the falling masonry?

As the fragments of stone and mortar got whipped into the air by the wind, a male body, defiant and imperious, emerged out of the dust.

Anna gasped. It’s a sign!

Jan of Leiden climbed down from the shattered remains of the wooden platform, unharmed, untouched. “The final day is upon us! Prepare yourselves, Brethren.”

He stepped down amongst those followers who, fearing nothing and trusting to the will of God, had not fled the falling tower; mostly young women like Anna.

Her heart beat faster. He has come down amongst us.

And then, as if to demonstrate his body was unscathed by the falling masonry, he ripped off his tunic, pulled his undershirt over his head and, finally, removed his breeches. His perfect body remained unblemished, and beautiful. She had never seen a man’s naked body before, but the sight of it aroused new and disturbing sensations in her. Her curiosity was aroused by the object dangling between his thighs. She felt her heart thumping, and a dampness in her crotch.

“Fear not, Brethren! The Day of Judgment is near. What need have we of clothes? For when Christ comes He will take us as we were born — naked like babes — naked like the Creator made us — naked as Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden. For this is how we will return to meet Our Maker.”

Anna didn’t know what came over her but at these inspiring words she had an overwhelming urge to divest herself of all earthly trappings and prepare herself for the imminent crisis by following his example. She pulled at the dirty rags that passed for a dress and threw them into the dust. She did so spontaneously, without any self-consciousness for her scrawny body, emaciated by famine, or her flat breasts. Her actions acted like a catalyst to the other women gathered around Jan, who, following her example, proceeded to rip off their skirts, bodices and undergarments and discard them.

“My children,” called the preacher, his arms upraised, a Bible in one hand, “prepare yourselves, for the Day of Judgment is here. Go forth and spread the word that all must assemble here in the square at midnight and await the coming of Christ Our Saviour, for His return is nigh and we must be ready for Him.”

At this, with no command or order, the young women got down onto their knees before Jan, the King of Münster, the ruler of the New Jerusalem. Anna forced her way to the front of the group immediately before him. His messianic gaze, full of the fervour of faith, stared into her and she swooned at the sight of it. It’s as if he’s picked me out.

His hand reached down and touched her forehead. “Bless you, my child,” he whispered.

He touched me. It was a shock that bore down to her very core. It aroused parts of her body she was barely aware of and produced a yearning tingle in her sex.

He bent down and addressed Anna directly, “Are you a virgin, my child?”

“Yes, my Lord, I am,” Anna mumbled, barely able to believe the Saviour would speak to her, that he would single her out for special attention.

“Then, my child, you are one of the elect and you must come to me at night’s fall to attend me on the final eve, before the sword of Christ smites our enemies and raises us up into ecstasy.” He raised his voice. “Just as Christ had his twelve disciples, I shall choose twelve virgins to lie with me, on this the final night.”

---

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It's the end of the world as we know it.

Peace and plenty are ideals barely remembered. Everything we used to rely upon has crumbled away, and pleasure is something few can afford. Every joy has to be fought for. When all the trappings of a civilised life are taken away, all we can hope to truly call our own are our bodies and our hearts. In the ashes, we make alliances where we can, and find solace and humanity in unexpected places. And maybe even a little hope for the future…

Lust in the Dust brings together ten erotic short stories set in times where civilisation and the rule of law have crashed and burned. The aftermath of a terrible war, a zombie invasion, a cityscape over-run by nature, a medieval fortress. Wherever there is life, there is lust.

Edited by Janine Ashbless - with stories by S. Nano, Elizabeth Coldwell, Raven Sky, Sommer Marsden, Cara Thereon, Jones, Gregory L. Norris, Nicole Wolfe, Janine Ashbless, Quiet Ranger.

IT'S HERE!

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And here's my foreword:

---

I grew up during the Cold War. The threat of the world ending hung over us; we were recipients of countless nightmarish TV programs about nuclear devastation and a government booklet called Protect and Survive which gave such spectacularly inadequate advice as propping an old door to make a family bomb shelter. At my family church they told us how the End Times prophecies were all coming true, and that the Second Coming would happen (accompanied by nuclear Armageddon) any day now. I was a teenaged member of CND; it seemed like the only protest I could make.

Then in 1991 the Cold War ended. We were suddenly safe. “History,” the pundits told us, “is over;” Western Liberal Capitalism had won, and the rest of the world would just fall peacefully into line now.

How little did they know.

Now, 28 years later, the Doomsday Clock stands at two minutes to Midnight — the closest it’s been since 1953 — and non-proliferation treaties are being torn up. Faith in pluralistic democracy has crumbled and we’ve voted demagogues and neo-fascists into power all over the planet. Medieval-style religious fundamentalism is running riot. Environmentally, we’re officially going through a Mass Extinction event. And of course there’s Climate Change. As I write this, scientists are warning that we’ve got twelve years to get enough of a grip on carbon emissions just to keep global warming to under two degrees. 

We’re all fucked, at best guess.

Which leads me to the subject of this anthology. 

I don’t know whether the human race will still be around in a century — or if it is, in what form. But I know that if we’re here we’ll still need sex and eroticism, just like we always have done. Not simply for biological procreation, but for solace and connection, validation and escape, identity and hope. Our humanity in all its aspects, good and bad, is expressed in our sexuality. 

When I put out the call for Lust in the Dust I hoped that the drama of the apocalyptic theme would spark authors’ imaginations — but I was knocked out by the variety of takes on the subject. Here you will find sombre stories and humour, literary fiction and porno-style romps, grief and defiance and love. Some of these tales will be challenging reads. Some won’t be for you. And there’s one story that made everyone involved in the production of this book cry.

My heartfelt thanks to all the wonderful authors who contributed. And my enormous gratitude to Anna Sky of Sexy Little Pages, who got the ball rolling, and to Lisa Jenkins of Sinful Press, who caught the ball in mid-air.

If you’re reading this book in the ashes, remember us.

xxx
Janine

---

Mad Max MMMMMMMYEAH

When Lisa Jenkins, publisher at Sinful Press, asked me what my ideal cover image for Lust in the Dust would be, I told her, "THIS:"

Mad Max: Fury Road

Post-apocalyptic grime? Check.
Conflict? Check.
Imperator Furiosa sitting on someone's face? Check.

That's my personal idea of sexy 😄😄😄 but hey, your experience may vary.

She's beautiful though...

And so's the eponymous Max, let's face it:

In fact if you are old enough to remember the original trilogy, and Mel Gibson before he officially outed himself as a dickhead, the entire Mad Max franchise is a rich seam of moody, post-apocalyptic hotness...

... and kink:

HELL YEAH AUNTIE ENTITY!

And if that's got your juices flowing, well, there's always this book... 😜

Amazon US (paperback) :: Kindle

Amazon UK (paperback) :: Kindle

Lust in the Dust is "enthusiastically recommended!"

 It's out on FRIDAY 5TH!

Amazon US (paperback) :: Kindle

Amazon UK (paperback) :: Kindle

And Lust in the Dust has garnered a fabulous review from Erotica for the Big Brain:

"The ten stories in this consistently engaging anthology take readers through a broad range of mood and emotion, from the sardonic to the heartbreaking, the breezily tongue-in-cheek to bullet-in-the-brain pan serious. Each and every one of them is finely-crafted, thoughtfully conceived, and damn sexy to boot! An embarrassment of riches, to be sure, yet no less a lambent example of something all too rare in our present throwaway age of planned literary obsolescence; an anthology that prioritizes quality over quantity: This is a credit to editor Janine Ashbless, whose introductory notes before each story lend a sense of unity to what could have been a rather rambunctious undertaking."

You can read the rest HERE

Thank you TAS! 💖💖💖

---

It's the end of the world as we know it. 

Peace and plenty are ideals barely remembered. Everything we used to rely upon has crumbled away, and pleasure is something few can afford. Every joy has to be fought for. When all the trappings of a civilised life are taken away, all we can hope to truly call our own are our bodies and our hearts. In the ashes, we make alliances where we can, and find solace and humanity in unexpected places. And maybe even a little hope for the future…

Lust in the Dust brings together ten erotic short stories set in times where civilisation and the rule of law have crashed and burned. The aftermath of a terrible war, a zombie invasion, a cityscape over-run by nature, a medieval fortress. Wherever there is life, there is lust.

Edited by Janine Ashbless - with stories by S. Nano, Elizabeth Coldwell, Raven Sky, Sommer Marsden, Cara Thereon, Jones, Gregory L. Norris, Nicole Wolfe, Janine Ashbless, Quiet Ranger.