It's one of three of mine (with varying degrees of silliness) published in Coming Together in Verse:
Tuesday, 28 April 2020
This be the verse
Hah! Look what I found! It's me reading my poem On Erotic Vocabulary, way back in 2015:
It's one of three of mine (with varying degrees of silliness) published in Coming Together in Verse:
It's one of three of mine (with varying degrees of silliness) published in Coming Together in Verse:
Tuesday, 21 April 2020
Blue "Monday"
Okay, I'm running a bit late but who's counting the days in lockdown?
Hot to the Touch was released into the wild last week, so here's an excerpt from my story, Meet My Husband:
“Talking of neighbors…” said Andrew thoughtfully, and indicated the hedge with a sideways glance. “Should we perhaps continue this conversation indoors?”
Jeff nodded. Cassie abandoned her dessert plate but took her wineglass. She felt giddy, but she doubted it was the fault of the single glass of chilled Chardonnay.
“Want a top-up on that?” Andrew asked, and she nodded. As he scooted away to the kitchen Jeff intercepted her under the veranda, blocking her path through the cane furniture.
“Did I hear you right—you're not into Andrew's peek-a-boo fantasies?”
She shook her head. “I like to keep my private parts private.”
“So you've never done it in the garden?”
“No.” Her inner alarms were a-quiver now; she knew that husky, considering tone in Jeff's voice. She knew where those roving glances were headed.
“Not even in the hot-tub? Or under here?” He indicated the structure of the veranda, its open walls almost sealed off by the heavy droops of leaves and flowers, the sunlight and shadows flickering where the breeze tried to break through. It made a lambent green room, humid with the smell of growing life.
“No...”
“Oh well,” he said with a grin. “Baby steps.” He looked down at her summer dress, blue cotton with a pink rose print, and put a fingertip lightly on the not-quite-risqué, almost-intimate skin of her breastbone. “Now take those panties down.”
“Jeff…” she chided.
“What? You scared your husband might suspect something's going on between us?” His finger traced a path downward and the voice behind his grin was low, and warm, and teasing. But there was an edge of iron in there that made her knees go weak. “I've got a kiss for you, but you need to earn it. Take them off, now.”
Andrew hadn't come back into view. Cassie took a deep breath and pulled her panties down and off. She wanted that kiss, after all—she'd been two hours in his company with hardly a touch, and she wasn't used to that. She yearned to feel Jeff's mouth on hers.
He held his hand out and she dropped the claret-colored thong with the lace sides into his open palm. Jeff rubbed it between his fingers. “Wet,” he said, tucking it into the breast pocket of his shirt. “Who's secretly been getting all worked up, you bad girl?”
Of course she’d been getting worked up. She’d been sitting with her husband and her lover, watching both, enjoying the contrasts, yearning to break out of their stultifying politeness and touch somebody. She cast him a you-got-me look.
Then Jeff pulled her slowly toward him and she lifted her arms about his neck, stretching up on her toes. She slid into his kiss like it was a hot bath that lapped every inch of her shivering skin. So rapt was she in the tug and tease of his mouth that it took her a moment too long to register the movement of his hands inside the spaghetti straps of her dress and down her back, deftly unclipping her matching bandeau bra. As he released her he pulled it off completely, leaving her naked beneath the thin cotton dress.
Cassie flashed a protest with her eyes, but he wasn't looking that high. His free hand covered her right breast, shaping the material against its soft orb and stiff nipple. His mouth tugged in a smile even as his fingertips tugged at her, making her exhale a long whimper.
“Bad, bad girl,” he breathed, and she felt the heat and the weight of her desire swell between her thighs.
You can buy Hot to the Touch at:
Simon and Schuster
Amazon US :: Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Hot to the Touch was released into the wild last week, so here's an excerpt from my story, Meet My Husband:
“Talking of neighbors…” said Andrew thoughtfully, and indicated the hedge with a sideways glance. “Should we perhaps continue this conversation indoors?”
Jeff nodded. Cassie abandoned her dessert plate but took her wineglass. She felt giddy, but she doubted it was the fault of the single glass of chilled Chardonnay.
“Want a top-up on that?” Andrew asked, and she nodded. As he scooted away to the kitchen Jeff intercepted her under the veranda, blocking her path through the cane furniture.
“Did I hear you right—you're not into Andrew's peek-a-boo fantasies?”
She shook her head. “I like to keep my private parts private.”
“So you've never done it in the garden?”
“No.” Her inner alarms were a-quiver now; she knew that husky, considering tone in Jeff's voice. She knew where those roving glances were headed.
“Not even in the hot-tub? Or under here?” He indicated the structure of the veranda, its open walls almost sealed off by the heavy droops of leaves and flowers, the sunlight and shadows flickering where the breeze tried to break through. It made a lambent green room, humid with the smell of growing life.
“No...”
“Oh well,” he said with a grin. “Baby steps.” He looked down at her summer dress, blue cotton with a pink rose print, and put a fingertip lightly on the not-quite-risqué, almost-intimate skin of her breastbone. “Now take those panties down.”
“Jeff…” she chided.
“What? You scared your husband might suspect something's going on between us?” His finger traced a path downward and the voice behind his grin was low, and warm, and teasing. But there was an edge of iron in there that made her knees go weak. “I've got a kiss for you, but you need to earn it. Take them off, now.”
Andrew hadn't come back into view. Cassie took a deep breath and pulled her panties down and off. She wanted that kiss, after all—she'd been two hours in his company with hardly a touch, and she wasn't used to that. She yearned to feel Jeff's mouth on hers.
He held his hand out and she dropped the claret-colored thong with the lace sides into his open palm. Jeff rubbed it between his fingers. “Wet,” he said, tucking it into the breast pocket of his shirt. “Who's secretly been getting all worked up, you bad girl?”
Of course she’d been getting worked up. She’d been sitting with her husband and her lover, watching both, enjoying the contrasts, yearning to break out of their stultifying politeness and touch somebody. She cast him a you-got-me look.
Then Jeff pulled her slowly toward him and she lifted her arms about his neck, stretching up on her toes. She slid into his kiss like it was a hot bath that lapped every inch of her shivering skin. So rapt was she in the tug and tease of his mouth that it took her a moment too long to register the movement of his hands inside the spaghetti straps of her dress and down her back, deftly unclipping her matching bandeau bra. As he released her he pulled it off completely, leaving her naked beneath the thin cotton dress.
Cassie flashed a protest with her eyes, but he wasn't looking that high. His free hand covered her right breast, shaping the material against its soft orb and stiff nipple. His mouth tugged in a smile even as his fingertips tugged at her, making her exhale a long whimper.
“Bad, bad girl,” he breathed, and she felt the heat and the weight of her desire swell between her thighs.
It doesn’t matter what you heard in the past, because Hot to the Touch: Views from the Polyamory Lifestyle is changing the rules. Three isn’t a crowd anymore—it’s the most erotic party your x-rated mind can imagine!
This new collection from well-known editor Cole Riley propels readers into the heads, hearts, and libidos of lovers committed to the Poly Life, open relationships, open communication, and open bedroom doors. With stories from those just beginning to explore the poly lifestyle to those that have years of experience pleasing multiple partners—in or out of the bedroom, together or separately—this collection will arouse your senses and make you yearn for your own menagerie of sexual partners, lovers, and so much more.
This new collection from well-known editor Cole Riley propels readers into the heads, hearts, and libidos of lovers committed to the Poly Life, open relationships, open communication, and open bedroom doors. With stories from those just beginning to explore the poly lifestyle to those that have years of experience pleasing multiple partners—in or out of the bedroom, together or separately—this collection will arouse your senses and make you yearn for your own menagerie of sexual partners, lovers, and so much more.
Simon and Schuster
Amazon US :: Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Tuesday, 14 April 2020
Out now! Hot to the Touch
Hot news!
There's a brand new anthology of stories out today, edited by Cole Riley. A collection of polyamory erotica, Hot to the Touch includes a new story of mine: Meet My Husband 😍😍😍
This new collection from well-known editor Cole Riley propels readers into the heads, hearts, and libidos of lovers committed to the Poly Life, open relationships, open communication, and open bedroom doors. With stories from those just beginning to explore the poly lifestyle to those that have years of experience pleasing multiple partners—in or out of the bedroom, together or separately—this collection will arouse your senses and make you yearn for your own menagerie of sexual partners, lovers, and so much more.Publisher's Weekly reviews it:
"Janine Ashbless’s playful “Meet My Husband” and Sommen Madsen’s high-tension “Him” showcase the power of combining the erotic energy of three different lovers. ...Though not a definitive collection of poly erotica, this anthology will appeal to those who want well-crafted, cheating-free stories that explore sexuality beyond the couple."
Table of Contents
Meet My Husband - Janine Ashbless
Ghost Swinger - Amanda Earl
The Dinner Party - Remittance Girl
Because of Bingo - Rebecca M. Kyle
Bob & Carol & Ted (But Not Alice) - M. Christian
Homecoming - Teresa Noelle Roberts
Snakefruit - Anne Tourney
Him - Sommer Madsen
Speed Play - Abigail Ekue
Between Two Lovers - Thomas S.. Roche
Reminder - Jeremy Edwards
Sleeper Car - Max Lagos
The Benefit of the Doubt - Cole Riley
One Last Fling - Kristina Wright
Meet My Husband - Janine Ashbless
Ghost Swinger - Amanda Earl
The Dinner Party - Remittance Girl
Because of Bingo - Rebecca M. Kyle
Bob & Carol & Ted (But Not Alice) - M. Christian
Homecoming - Teresa Noelle Roberts
Snakefruit - Anne Tourney
Him - Sommer Madsen
Speed Play - Abigail Ekue
Between Two Lovers - Thomas S.. Roche
Reminder - Jeremy Edwards
Sleeper Car - Max Lagos
The Benefit of the Doubt - Cole Riley
One Last Fling - Kristina Wright
Simon and Schuster
Amazon US :: Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Monday, 6 April 2020
Blue Monday: isolation special
 |
| Keeping my finger on the pulse, LOL |
Who says my erotica isn't contemporary and relevant for today's world? 😁 I've been fingering my way through my files, ahem, to find the stories that speak to this international pandemic.
The obvious one is Quarantine, which you can find in full and for free if you hop over to my Website and click on FREE READS in the top bar. It's set in an Ebola research facility and it's about two people going stir-crazy under lockdown:
'This bloody sucks!' Lee moaned.
'Well whose fault is that?' she yelled, surprising even herself with her vehemence.
'Not mine!'
'Really? Who are you blaming?'
'You're the one who bent -' Lee stopped mid-sentence.
'What?' Tessa sat up and dropped her voice to a hiss. 'What did I do?' She saw Lee's face work as conflicting impulses fought for control.
'You were bent over.' The words seemed to come from a constricted throat. 'Your ... arse...' He made a generously curved shape in the air with his hands to make up for his incoherence. 'I walked into the bench.'
She was gobsmacked. 'You dropped solvent everywhere because you were looking at my butt? In a HAZMAT suit?'
Bolt Hole, which appears in my collection Fierce Enchantments, is also about two uneasy companions hiding away in a confined space, only this time it's during a zombie outbreak:
“What’re you doing out here on your own?” he asks.
“I wasn’t alone,” she rasps.
The water down her cleavage just feels like more sweat now. She can’t bear it. She’s got to lean back against the metal just to stay upright. Discarding the spade against the wall beside her, she wrenches off her other glove, then pulls down the zipper of her suit from collar to navel. The vest-top beneath is absolutely sodden with sweat, and plastered to her torso. She sees the pale flash of the man’s widening eyes, and she knows her chest is heaving as she pants for breath, but it doesn’t seem important. All she wants is to get out of these leathers.
She wriggles out of her bags and belts, frantic to shed the weight. The front zipper of her biker all-in-one goes all the way down to her crotch, making it easier to peel off the arms and shoulders and drop the top half of the suit to hang from her hips. That helps. She sets her shoulders back against the corrugated metal, praying for cool, but it’s warmer than she is. She can see the man staring. His torso is completely bare, and she envies that. She can feel the moisture flooding between her burning thighs. Her mind is a churning whirl.
She wants to be naked. She wants to be cold. She wants water and a breeze.
He’s gone very still. Outside, the living dead moan with frustration.
Amazon US : Amazon UK
Kobo
Barnes and Noble
Lust in the Dust is of course full of apocalyptic crisis sex. My own story, The Basque of the Red Death, is a pastiche of Poe's famous plague tale:
On Midsummer Eve, six months after we'd sealed ourselves within the castellated walls, Prince Prospero threw his wildest party yet; a masquerade ball themed upon pagan Arcadia. A suite of seven chambers in the heights of the abbey was opened and prepared; a cloister in coloured glass wherein the old abbot had been inclined to contemplate the Seven Ages of Man, or the Seven Deadly Sins, or perhaps the Seven Sorrows of Our Lady, but now turned to more worldly and hedonistic use.
The Easternmost room, lit in blue, was dedicated to the pleasures of the tongue; Amuse-bouche, the nobles called such things. The centrepiece was a plump and naked maiden, lying supine amid platters of tiny pastries and sweetmeats, covered from head to rosy toes with creamed vegetables piped into intricate patterns, and bejewelled with pomegranate pips and sugared almonds — like a living, breathing, reliquary. Officially she represented Gaia, Mother Earth. I happened to know that Helga had volunteered for this role because she preferred it to running up and down the abbey's stairs.
The Purple Room centred upon a veiled trio of Fates who stood with arms linked, facing outward to the walls of the chamber. They were veiled and draped in prodigious swathes of plum-hued silk, so that not only their features but their very forms were impossible to make out — all but their breasts, which were uncovered and glistened with oil, the nipples stained dark with blackberry juice; somehow more naked for the being the only body-parts visible. The unspoken invitation to touch those orbs, to grope and stroke and play, was all but irresistible.
In the Green Room an ivy-wigged and leaf-painted dryad sat in a sling at head-height, her thighs spread by two loops. On a table beneath was a bowl heaped with brandy-soaked fruit, which the wanton would receive with a giggle into the slippery clench of her sex before squeezing it back out of that cornucopia, now subtly flavored.
The Orange Room was staffed by Cynocephali; naked girls masked with the heads of dogs and leashed like animals too. They served strictly on their knees.
The White Room took this theme further; the seven Pleiades here were bound firmly to racks and upended over tables, thighs spread by bars and wrists hoisted over their heads; their virginal silk dresses artfully inadequate to the task of shielding their maidenly modesty.
In the Violet Room flagellation was on offer; the three mistresses there were dressed as avenging Furies and strutted about with horse-whips in hand, taking full advantage of their license to inflict punishment.
But the Red Chamber, the one at the end — the one with that terrible black-draped clock — stood empty and unused. Whatever debauchery it was intended to host, no one had yet plucked up the courage.
Oh - and if you are up for a horror (not erotica) tale of necrophilia, dark gods and mental collapse set during the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1919, you can always try my story Nine Portraits of Empress Danrin, found in Dark Voices: