Monday, 15 July 2019

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?”

Buy Lust in the Dust:

Sunday, 14 July 2019

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 πŸ˜„πŸ˜„πŸ˜„

And this is how Simon Bestwick signed his ...

Okay okay!

Thursday, 11 July 2019

"Not a duff story in here"

Mini-review from Dirty Sexy Words πŸ’”πŸ’”πŸ’”

"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!

Monday, 8 July 2019

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 16th 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 MΓΌnster, 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.”

Buy Lust in the Dust:

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.

Friday, 5 July 2019


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.


Wednesday, 3 July 2019


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 πŸ˜„πŸ˜„πŸ˜„ 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:


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

Monday, 1 July 2019

Lust in the Dust is "enthusiastically recommended!"

 It's out on FRIDAY 5TH!

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! πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–

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.

Sunday, 23 June 2019

Ripping (off) the Light Fantastic

Over a year since moving in, and the last chandeliers are coming down!


Here we go again with the paint...

Thursday, 13 June 2019

Lust in the Post

It's here!

Contributor copies of Lust in the Dust have been arriving this week in the hands of their authors. It looks LOVELY!

And it's officially released on JULY 5TH through all the usual stockists πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–

I've been decorating the stairwell all this week (see cheerful shade of Apocalypse Red in photo above) so I'm absolutely cream-crackered, but this should keep me awake reading for a few nights...

Tuesday, 4 June 2019

Avon calling

I was very sorry to hear yesterday of the death of actor Paul Darrow, who played Kerr Avon in the TV series Blake's 7 many decades ago. He was one of the first characters I had a total crush on as a child...

Blake's 7 was a massively popular 1970s Brit SF series with a rather varied quality of script (and the occasional terrible set) which probably doesn't stand the test of time, but it goes down in history for having the most crushing ending ever to a series, as the Evil Federation comprehensively wins and our protagonists are betrayed to ignominious deaths. It traumatised a generation of kids - if you think the Red Wedding was grim then you are just a naive baby!

The other thing it did to a generation of kids was turn them on to some less-than-vanilla character relationships in the shape of Avon and arch-villain Supreme Commander Servalan...

Avon was a bad guy who accidentally found himself in company with the rebellious heroes and stuck around for the political struggle because he didn't have any better options. He dressed in black, was witheringly sarcastic and heartless, and is generally responsible for all my sexual interest in uber-intelligent emotionally-unavailable bastards.

Here's a lovingly-curated compilation of his bitchiest moments:

RIP Paul Darrow - you will be missed πŸ˜”

Thursday, 30 May 2019

Legendary Lineup

It's time for a signing...

I'm off under my other name as part of the signing lineup at the official NewCon launch THIS SATURDAY (1st June) 1-5pm . I'm part of the Legends Vol.3 set, with my story The Price of Passage, but there will be authors launching the Best of British Fantasy 2018 as well, because we are all about value for money πŸ˜‰

Stories that are brimming with swordplay, treachery, deeds both dark and noble, with cunning thieves and wily tricksters, blood-thirsty gods and flawed heroes. David Gemmell passed away in 2006, leaving behind a legacy of memorable characters, epic settings, and thrilling tales. In the Legends anthologies, some of today's finest fantasy authors pay homage to one of fantasy fiction's greatest ever writers. Welcome to Legends.

1. Introduction by Stan Nicholls
2. Blood Debt – Gail Z. Martin
3. A God’s Mercy – Richard Webb
4. Berserker Captain – Neal Asher
5. The Price of Passage – Keris McDonald
6. Summoner – Danie Ware
7. Pelicos the Brave and the Princess of Kalakhadze – Steven Poore
8. The Timekeeper’s Tarot – Den Patrick
9. Her Grail – Ben North
10. Piercing the Mist – Shona Kinsella
11. Chosen of the Slain – K.T. Davies
12. The Dying Land – Nick Watkinson
13. A Hero of Her People – Anna Smith Spark
14. All Deaths Well Intention’d – RJ Barker
15. By Any Other Name – Justina Robson

Everyone is welcome, so come along and mingle and drink free wine!

126 York Way
N1 0AX
Saturday 1st June 1 - 5pm

Oh ... and then I'm off to see Muse in concert in the evening. Busy day!

Monday, 27 May 2019

Blue Monday

Mondays are the day I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

The Sexy Librarian's Dirty 30 Vol.3 is OUT NOW! It includes my Western story Sourdough:

Come inside, experience the breadth, inspiration, and excitement of superb erotic storytelling.

Browse my card catalog. Find the perfect story to suit your mood, with subjects tantalizingly indexxxed to whet your appetite!

Lose yourself in these thirty risquΓ© adventures, loaded with fabulous characters in provocative situations. Get ravished by flirty-frills and sassy petticoats in our hot bodice-ripper romance. Keep it strictly confidential as you fall in love with a dangerous undercover spy. Feel your heart quiver as you lust after two brothers on the lone frontier. The choice is yours in this library of sexy-sharp stories!

Sourdough, by Janine Ashbless: 

Grace busied herself with kneading the dough, rolling it out onto the floured table-top and plunging her hands into the soft white mass. The muscles danced in her forearms as she bore down upon it, stretching and folding and squeezing, and the familiar work made her breath come harder. The rhythm was mesmeric, almost, and it was a while before she looked up at Amos again.

He was watching her. Not her face, she realized; he hadn’t even noticed her surreptitious glance toward him. He was staring at her cleavage as if entranced, his mug half-way to his lips but forgotten.

Such a famished look in those eyes.

Heat rose to Grace’s face as she realized her culpability. Her white camisole was low-cut, the top button not even done up, and her breasts bulged softly out over the top of her corset as she leaned forward, just like rising loaves. He’s lusting after me. The wave of heat washed down from her cheeks, through her breastbone and into her belly and down between her thighs, gathering weight and force as it went, until she thought it would wash her out down the creek and into the Missouri and out to sea a thousand miles away, all the way back to her giddy girl-days in England. The shock took the breath from her.

Without thinking—she couldn’t think, not with the blood roaring in her ears like that—she flipped the dough forward a few inches on the tabletop, so that she’d have to lean even deeper into the kneading. The bulge of her breasts must be more precarious now, and she could feel the quiver of her cleavage with every move she made.

When she looked up at Amos this time, she made the motion obvious, though she never paused in her labors. Their eyes met, burning, and his face went stiff, like a mask.

They both knew.

It felt inevitable.

Push went her hands in the dough. She sucked her dry lips briefly to moisten them.

As if pulled by gravity, his gaze fell back to the cleft of her breasts, struggled to her face, and then fell again. She looked at the felt hat in his lap and imagined what it must be covering. She’d seen his erection tenting his canvas pants before at odd moments—once when she’d been hanging out laundry and he’d been chopping wood nearby. Once when she’d poured the hot water into his tin bath while he waited to undress and wash. She’d always pretended not to notice. Now she wondered dizzily what his cock would feel like against her palm, her thighs, her lips.

Push. Fold. Turn. The heavy beat of life. The damp well of her sex was threatening to spill down her thighs.

Softly, almost shyly, he slid his hand beneath the hat to grasp himself. There was a plea in his eyes now.

She smiled. Hot, she thought. Hard. Full of marrow and frustration. She’d like to see that.

The muscles of his forearm bunched as his hidden fingers gripped tighter.

That was the moment that Ezra came thumping down the stairs from the bedroom above. Amos managed to whip his hand out from beneath the hat before his elder brother opened the stair door, but the rest of him stayed frozen. He couldn’t move from his chair. Grace straightened up sharply, pulling the great ball of dough toward her. She felt as if her whole being was about to fly apart like a keg of gunpowder.

“Morning,” said Ezra, swaggering into the room behind her and surveying them both.

“Good morning, husband,” said Grace over her shoulder. Her voice would not rise above a whisper.

Amos nodded, quick and—she thought—looking guilty.

Ezra certainly noticed something in the air. He came up behind Grace as she worked assiduously at the dough, and rested his big hands on her hips. “There’s a fine sight for a morning,” he said, snuggling his crotch into her ass. “You enjoying it, brother? Just sitting there taking in the view?”

“I’ve just got in,” Amos muttered. “Been out in the long pasture.” He dropped his coffee mug on the

“There’s nothing like the sight of a wife hard at work in the morning,” said Ezra, ignoring his words.

Her prices is beyond rubies, as the Good Book says. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness, isn’t that so?” His hands were working in her long skirts, squeezing her ass through the layers of cloth, gathering them up. “Bet you wish you had one, brother.”

Amos glowered. He was used to being taunted, Grace knew, though it was rarely this blunt. But he couldn’t move right now. If his lifted the hat and stood, his guilt would be obvious.

“Ezra,” she protested, as he found his way under her dress and to the thin cotton of her long drawers. Her face was growing ever more pink.

“Hush now,” he said, putting a hand between her shoulder blades and tipping her forward over the edge of the table. “You’ve got women’s work to be getting on with.”

For a moment she thought he meant the bread, until she felt him toss her bundled skirts up around her hips and reach between her thighs to the split of her bloomers. Ezra always woke with a beam you might build a bridge on, but he’d never been this bold before. Not in front of his brother.

Amos squirmed angrily.

“Damn, this feels fine,” her husband said, his fingers sliding rudely into her while his other hand worked open the buttons of his fly. “Best feeling in the world, Amos."

Buy The Sexy Librarian's Dirty 30 Volume 3 at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Thursday, 23 May 2019

Sheffield's Bear Pit

I'm still exploring our new area! One day this Spring I paid my first visit to the city of Sheffield. First of all to its Botanical Garden (which are absolutely excellent for anyone with an interest in plants):

It has one of the oldest glasshouses still standing (1830s) full of scary flowers like this triffid thing:

It has a fossilised tree-stump, discovered in a local coal seam:

It sells the strangest looking tea ever:

And it has a BEAR PIT!

This dates from Victorian times and no one seems terribly certain whether actual bear-baiting took place in there - it was probably just a zoo enclosure. The bears got moved out after a child fell in and was savaged, it's said.

From one of the oldest glasshouses then to a very modern one, and one of the largest in built here in the UK within the last century: the Winter Garden in the town centre:

No bears though...