Showing posts with label Roadside Rescue. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Roadside Rescue. Show all posts

Monday, 26 June 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post an  naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's clip is from Roadside Rescue, a short story that appeared in the themed anthology Liasons.


Sarah is on her way to an assignation with her old college professor, when her car breaks down and she has a spontaneous sexual fling with the garage rescue guy. In this excerpt she begins to re-examine the direction her life is going.




In her hotel room that night, Sarah sat on the edge of her bed and wondered what the hell she’d been thinking of. She’d never tried such a thing in her life before – so what had made her jump a recovery man like that? Sure he wasn’t unattractive, but she’d been on her way to visit someone else. Was that it then? After weeks of anticipation, was it being unable to cope with being frustrated at the last moment?

It wasn’t just weeks, she reminded herself. It was nearly three months since she’d last been able to meet with Mervyn. And then it had been a night at the theatre – two tickets bought separately – and a furtive against-the-wall shuffle in the Ladies’ during the second act.

She recalled that passionate struggle wistfully, but the picture blurred and was ousted by a more recent memory: Gavin shafting her doggy-style on the back seat of the truck cab. His grunts of pleasure as he powered his way into her. His hard thighs and thick cock.

Her phone rang.

Sarah knew who it was before she picked up. She’d left a message on his voicemail as soon as she could, and later rung the hotel reception at Fort William to leave another apology and a backup message: I’m stranded overnight seventy miles south of you.

‘Sarah.’

‘Mervyn – are you okay? Did you get my message?’

‘Yes. Where are you now?’

‘I had to take a hotel room.’ She explained hurried about the car and finished with, ‘Are you coming to pick me up?’

‘I don’t think so. That would hardly be wise.’ He was always very careful about traceability, was Mervyn. He’d never so much as given her a lift to the station. Sarah felt her shoulders sag.

‘Well what are we going to do?’

‘You can drive up tomorrow. And I’m going to wait here – I’m sure I can find something to keep me amused.’

She felt the hurt flex inside her. ‘Are you sure? That’ll only be one night we have together then.’ Even if Gavin does get the car fixed quickly, she added to herself. If it wasn’t until Monday she’d have blown the whole weekend for nothing, plus she would have to take a day’s leave from work.

‘It’ll have to do, if you can’t manage to keep your car roadworthy. Are you in your room at the moment?’

‘Yes.’ She was reeling a little from the clipped accusation.

‘Alone?’

‘Of course.’

‘Go and look out of the window.’

She stood and went to open the curtains. ‘What am I looking for?’

‘What can you see out there?’

‘Not much – it’s dark.

‘And your room light is on?’

‘Uhuh.’

‘Good. What’s out there by daylight?’

‘The main road through the village.’ Gavin had described it as a town but it was really no more than a village with a castle, a tiny museum, and a single hotel. ‘It goes along the water … We’re on a sea-loch here, I think. It’s calm out there. No beach or anything.’

‘Excellent. So anyone out there can see in your lit window?’

She shivered. ‘I guess.’

‘Touch your breast.’

She held her breath.

‘Sarah?’

‘Yes?’

‘Are you doing it?’

‘Mervyn…’

‘I want you to touch your breast, slowly. Squeeze it.’

An inner trickle of warmth told her how much she was in thrall to his voice. ‘Okay,’ she breathed, and cupped the warm curve of her right breast in her free hand. ‘I’m doing it.’

‘Rub your hand all over it. Play with your nipple.’

The familiar ache of excitement was running like a tide through her body. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Is it hard? Tell me how you’re doing it.’

It was hard like a bullet. ‘Yes, it is. I’m pinching it between my finger and thumb and twisting it. Like you do to me.’

And do you like that?’

She couldn’t keep her voice quite even. ‘It makes me want to feel your mouth on my breasts.’

‘On your what?’

‘My breasts.’

‘Oh no. You don’t use prissy words like that. Breasts and pussy are for good girls. You’re not a good girl, are you Sarah?’

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘No; you’re a dirty girl aren’t you? I know that. Ever since that day you stayed behind after my lecture for a little extra tuition. Wanting me to fuck you. It’s not allowed, is it, but that didn’t stop you. In your short skirt and tight blouse, wiggling your pert little body at me. Begging me to touch you.’

Sarah shut her eyes. It was all true; hers had been a crazy all-consuming crush on the handsome older man. ‘Yes.’

‘So don’t tell me about your breasts, dirty girl. What is it that you’re touching for me?’

She was on familiar ground. ‘My titties. I’m touching my titties and thinking about the way you suck them.’

His stifled groan was audible. ‘Then get them out for everyone to see, Sarah. Do that now.’

With a whimper she slipped the top buttons of her blouse and laid it open over her breasts. She wasn’t even wearing her bra; that garment was still hanging over a radiator to dry. ‘I’ve got them out. I’m touching my bare titties for you, Mervyn.’

‘That’s right. And anyone looking up at that window can see them now, can’t they?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what else will they want to see?’

‘No,’ she groaned; ‘please.’

‘Say it.’

‘My … pussy.’

‘Your twat, girl. Your dirty cunt.’

She took a deeper breath. ‘My cunt.’

‘Are you wearing a skirt, Sarah?’

‘Yes.’
‘Tuck it up then. Pull down your knickers. Show them. Touch yourself. Tits and twat.’ His voice was sounding croaky.

‘Please…’

‘Do it now.’

‘Yes.’ She obeyed, easing her panties down her thighs.

‘Have you got your hand right in your snatch, dirty girl?’

‘Yes. Oh, yes.’

‘Let me hear it.’

She lowered the phone to her crotch to let him hear the moist little noises her fingers were making in her slick flesh, and he did not speak for some moments.

‘Now tell me what you’re doing.’

‘I’m fucking myself. I’ve got one leg up on the windowsill and I’m sticking my fingers in my cunt and stroking the juices all over my clit. I’m all wet, Merv. I’m all wet and slippery and my titties are wobbling and I’m going to come soon.’

‘Good. Let me hear you. Let me hear you come, you dirty girl. Touching yourself where everyone can see you, like a real whore. Standing there with your tits on show playing with yoursel-’

She drowned his voice with her own, babbling as she slithered into orgasm. She thought she heard his staccato grunts, but couldn’t be sure, because as her moans died away the connection went dead, and she was suddenly alone in her hotel room with her cheeks burning and the muted TV flickering. She let out a long breath then, almost like a sob.

That was the second time today she’d betrayed Mervyn. She’d pleasured herself just as he’d demanded, but she hadn’t done it in public view. When he’d first told her to touch her nipple she’d moved quietly away from the window and put her back to the wall. The confusing thing was, she didn’t understand why.


Buy Liasons at:
Amazon US :: Amazon UK
GooglePlay

Sunday, 19 February 2012

Alternative Literature


[click to enlarge] From XKCD

For those of you who still like traditional books on paper, with actual words ... Lovehoney UK has a nice little special offer going until the 29th February:

If you buy any one of the Black Lace books they have in stock, you get a free bullet vibe worth £4.99.  They don't have any of my novels but they do have four anthos with my stories in (follow post labels below for more details, and excerpts from each story).


 
I buy from Lovehoney myself quite often - incredibly prompt FREE delivery of all sorts of stuff (*ahem*) under a plain wrapper ;-)  Way better service than Amazon, and in fact better than any other internet company I can think of.  Lovehoney rocks!

Wednesday, 19 August 2009

My heart is in the Highlands


We've had really mixed weather this summer in the UK, and every time it rains the English whinge. (We've got some of the mildest kindest weather anywhere on the planet, but we whine about it constantly.) Now I happen to like summer rain, in a strange way. Every time I open the back door to find clouds and drizzle and a blustery breeze I say to Mr Ashbless: "Ooh - feels like Scotland!" And I want to Go. Oh how I want to go, up to the west coast of the Highlands, through Glencoe and to the islands. It's like homesickness. It's like being in love.

When Mr Ashbless and I went on our very first cottage holiday together, back in 1992 or so, it was to Scotland - in fact it was to that tiny white blob of a house in the picture at the top there (I took the photo in 2007 when we returned to Ardnamurchan). We've been back to the country every couple of years since. I've only written one short story set there though. Maybe I should do more.

Scotland was where I first saw a wild heron, and deer jumping a six-foot fence. Where I picked garnets up on the sea-shore. Where I ran down a tropical-white beach in the pissing rain on my own, because even the dogs wouldn't get out of the car. Where the lobster came out to look at us and I decided I wasn't eating animals anymore. Where, in 1992, I decided I didn't want to be dead after all.

In fact, here's almost the precise spot I decided it was worth being alive:


The Scotland of my mind of course is not a realistic place: it's an idealised, permanent-late-summer vacation Scotland. If I had to live there year round I think the long nights would kill me. But that doesn't stop me wanting it, desperately.

I want cloud shadows chasing across open hillsides and sodden little tufts of bog cotton bowing in the wind. I want sheep bleating outside my bedroom window. I want pink-ringed jellyfish swaying in Caribbean-clear waters. I want the smell of the sea and peatwater. I want sea-lochs so calm it looks like you could walk across them. I want, above all, the huge open silences. And the sense of my smallness.


While I pine, Shanna Germain has been posting photos from her recent roadtrip with Nikki Magennis, here. And making me pine even more.

Monday, 15 June 2009

Eyecandy Monday

Oh - look at the shiny shiny!! Oh oh oh!!!

And on a less incoherent note ... Coffee Time Romance has a tasty review of the Black Lace Liaisons anthology up and gave it a 4-Cup rating. Here's what they had to say about my story, Roadside Rescue:

The first story is written so well, I wanted to dive right into the story...

Sarah is on her way to meet her lover, Mervyn, in Fort William, Scotland when her car breaks down. When Gavin arrives to tow her car, Sarah is surprised to find herself aching to connect with the driver. But with one lover waiting in another town, will she take the chance on a man who oozes sensuality?

Ms. Ashbless has written a very hot and sexy story. The way Sarah struggles, not only with her attraction to Gavin, but with her complicated relationship with Mervyn is very realistic and makes for a better story. Every sexual encounter in this story was steamy and the props used made this tale a unique and exciting read. If you have ever had a fantasy involving a mechanic, this is the story for you.

Thank you CTR! Every story in the book gets an individual review, which is something I really appreciate as a contributor. You can see the whole review here.

Thursday, 7 May 2009

Liaisons - on sale now!

A new month, a new Black Lace short story collection - this one themed around Liaisons and published this week in the UK (pre-order for June 23rd in the USA). Wow - lookee there - the anthology kicks off with my story Roadside Rescue, but it also includes stories by Justine Elyot, Charlotte Stein (twice, the hussy), Alison Tyler and Portia Da Costa.

"Liaison" according to my dictionary means an illicit sexual relationship - or cooperation between military forces or units - or the binding or thickening agent of a sauce. All of which led to some very strange trains of thought while I was considering what to write ... Soldiers in bechamel, anyone?

But as it turned out, Roadside Rescue is about a woman on her way to meet her secret lover in a Scottish hideaway. This man has dominated her sexual imagination and life for years, ever since he was her professor at university. Only things don't go as planned, because when Sarah's car breaks down on a lonely road and she's picked up by local garage mechanic Gavin, it suddenly gets all complicated...

Here's an excerpt from near the beginning, where Sarah, wet through, has got into Gavin's truck. The scene with the garage and the hydraulic hoist and the engine oil comes later...




With everything secured he returned to the cab and jumped into the driver’s seat in front of her, hastily stripping off his waterproofs. Underneath he wore a white sweater and worn jeans, and the rain had got through to them too in patches. ‘Pass the towel!’ he said.

She handed it over. ‘Sorry, it’s a bit damp.’

His eyes flicked up and down her. Blue eyes, and the beginning of nice lines in his face. He probably wasn’t even aware that he’d done it, she thought, but she knew he’d taken in the way her wet dress clung to her and she blushed, smiling. He hesitated before speaking, but she didn't seize the chance to look away and break the moment.

‘Oh, I can cope with a little damp.’ His humour was gentle. ‘Wouldn’t be living up here if I couldn’t, would I now?’

‘I suppose not.’ She could feel herself glowing. His gaze dropped to her wet breasts and this time he was clearly conscious of where his eyes were resting.

‘But you’ll be wanting a hotel room now.’

She didn’t know what to say. He caught his lip in his teeth and waited. ‘Okay,’ she managed.

The tentative flicker in his eye died down. ‘Since you’ll be staying overnight, I guess.’

‘Uhuh.’

‘And we don’t want you catching your death.’

The moment – the something that might have been, the barely definable suggestion of possibility - passed and he turned away. Sarah watched as he dried off with the towel, rumpling his hair to dark spikes. The back of his neck was weathered brown, his broad hands ingrained with old oil. Her heart was suddenly thudding in her chest. She felt she had to say something, had to keep him talking, because she could feel Mervyn’s disapproval looming at the back of her head and if she let the conversation lapse it would come crashing in on her.

At that moment she saw her fingers touch the back of his neck. They’d moved entirely without conscious direction, and though he was the one who jumped she was damn sure he was no more surprised than she was. His skin felt silky-warm.

‘Those are cold!’ He laughed to cover the precarious moment.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered, feeling the prickle of his nape hairs under her exploring fingertips. His heat was irresistible. ‘I really could do with somewhere to warm them up.’

‘Oh? He took a deep breath. ‘Well, you know, I can think of somewhere…’

‘Go on then.’ She had no idea where this daring was coming from, but it seemed to be determined to press on, wilfully ignoring Mervyn’s thunderous glare.

‘Well … You mean that?’

‘Yes.’

He was galvanised. He scrambled over the back of the seats, sitting in the notch between the headrests - the cab was just tall enough – staring at her, his breath suddenly loud down his nose. His lower lip caught once more in his teeth, making his smile lopsided and wary. He still didn’t look like he believed what she was offering until she reached up and laid her hands on his thighs, framing the bulge of his crotch. He put his hands on hers then, stroking her fingers and up her wrists, his fingertips callused, his touch increasingly firm. She undid his belt, slipping the top button of his jeans then working down the fly over what was a growing bulge. He had to help her pull out the burgeoning length of his cock, which quickly swayed impressively erect. His shaft surged and thickened even as she ran her fingers down his length for the first time. She could smell the washing-powder perfume of fresh clothes on the heat of his skin.

He was definitely on the substantial side.

‘God yes,’ he said in an undertone as she tipped forward to take his blunt and eager bell in her mouth, tasting his salt: there was nothing floral about that. He felt hot on her cold lips. He wrapped his fingers in her wet hair, quite gently, pressing her down on his cock. She took it all the way to the back of my mouth and held it there, squeezing, until he groaned with pleasure.

Because that was how Mervyn liked it too.


Buy from Amazon UK : Pre-order from Amazon US

Tuesday, 14 October 2008

Liaisons cover - and maybe news


Publishing is a funny old business. Not everything happens in the order you'd think.

Eagle-eyed Portia Da Costa, for example, spotted the new cover for the Black Lace anthology Liaisons this week: already up on Amazon, it's due out in May next year.

There's a very interesting bit in the publishers' blurb too:
"Indulgent and sensual, outrageous and taboo, but always highly erotic, this new collection of "Black Lace" stories takes the theme of the illicit and daring rendezvous with a lover (or lovers) as its theme. Popular "Black Lace" authors like Portia Da Costa and Janine Ashbless contribute saucy tales, as do a number of brand new passionate and edgy voices from the US. It is packed with a broad and thrilling range of women's sexual fantasies."

Really? Goodness me. That's the first inkling I've heard that my story Roadside Rescue has made the cut for this book. It's hardly official, but it's certainly good news if it proves true, and I'm not complaining!