Monday, 24 July 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's excerpt is from my short story The High Ground, which appeared in the Black Lace anthology The Affair.



Jill thinks her husband Dan is carrying on with her friend Fiona. So she goes and confides in Fiona's husband Miles, who is a cold 'n' scary lawyer and a fellow runner. The two hatch a plot to catch Dan and Fiona in flagrante. But things don't go quite as Jill expects...

‘I love Dan,’ I said. ‘He’s my husband. I want to keep it that way.’

‘And he loves you. I promise you that. I know him, Jill.’

‘Then how could he do this?’ I demanded, the confusion bubbling up in my breast. ‘How is it that I’m not enough – that everything we have isn’t good enough for him?’

Miles shifted in his seat to face me. ‘Well,’ he said, so softly that if you didn’t know him you might even mistake it for gentleness; ‘I can understand, I guess.’

‘That’s horrible!’

‘I mean, I love Fiona, but that doesn’t mean that when I’m with you, Jill, I don’t feel the need – the very strong need - to wrap you around my cock.’

A jolt went through me, like electricity. ‘This is so not a good time,’ I whispered.

‘No?’ He lifted his fingers to my face, stroking my temple and the line of my cheek, brushing my lips softly with a touch like the feather of a fallen angel. I trembled under his caress as his fingertips dipped to my throat. Oh, I could so easily see him as an angel of sin: he was all cold fire and magnetic superiority. His voice was low and hypnotic. ‘Then when would be a good time for me to do this?’ he asked, leaning from his seat to kiss me.

Our lips were warm together. It was the Christmas kiss all over again, though inside me now as then the effect was rather more like Bonfire Night. For a moment it was almost chaste – then his tongue was on mine and everything was all heat and melting and yielding; my mouth opening to his, my breast quivering under the sweep of his fingers as he sought beneath the claret coloured fabric of my blouse for my heartbeat. A little whimper escaped my lips as he released me to draw breath. It was a helpless animal noise, the sort that cannot help but provoke the predator. He smiled.

‘I love Dan,’ I breathed. It was my mantra.

‘I know.’ His fingers deftly slipped the top button of my fitted grey waistcoat, the main barrier between him and my nipple; I wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that red blouse. ‘You love him, and you want to fuck me.’

‘Oh God, Miles -’

‘It’s all right Jill: I understand. I know.’ He kissed me again as he captured the plump berry of my flesh through the silky fabric. I groaned as pleasure danced across my skin, shooting like fireworks through my pulse and my sex.

‘We can’t.’ My voice sounded faint.

‘Nevertheless,’ said he, licking my throat, biting my earlobe, ‘we’re going to.’ His hand fell from my breast to my inner knee. It was summer and I had no tights on, just smooth skin under his strong grasp. ‘Open your legs.’

‘Not here.’ I was grasping at excuses: the fact that we were out in public, in his car and only a few hundred yards from his house, was a hook to hang my terror on.

‘Yes. Here. Open your legs for me, Jill.’

I parted my thighs and he ran his hand up beneath my best work skirt, over my skin, to the tight silky fabric stretched over the hot mound of my pussy. I writhed in my seat, burning with arousal and shame. I put one hand on his arm as if I was going to fend him off, and felt the hard muscle work under my palm. In the secret place beneath my skirt he found lace; an edge; hair; folds.

Wet.

I saw his pupils dilate, his pale eyes darkening. I was slippery with juice already, wet from his kisses, his touch, his voice. Whatever I said, however I tried to prevaricate, my sex was in thrall to him. My body had already surrendered.

His fingers felt cool in my hot liquid slash. Delicately he took the wet to my clit and circled the sensitive nub. I spasmed, arching, biting back a cry as my arousal hit flashpoint, and that wave of heat and need was liberating. It was an immense relief not to have to think any more; I had been doing far too much thinking for the past fortnight. I let the tsunami wash over my guilt and my terror and my loss, and drown them. I sank one hand in Miles’ hair and pulled his face to mine, biting his lips. Suddenly we were kissing again - but fiercely this time, scrabbling at each other’s clothes, stealing the breath from each other as we gasped for air. He wrestled off my panties and threw them aside, and then he hauled me over into his lap.

It wasn’t exactly graceful. I had one leg either side of the gear-stick and it wasn’t really clear whether I was supposed to be sitting with my back to him or side-on, and we were cramped behind the steering wheel and the windows were steaming up. But he managed to lift me clear enough of his crotch to yank my skirt up to my hips and release his cock from the confines of his trousers before it burst his fly. I didn’t even get to see his cock – but I felt it go in. Fuck, did I ever feel it. Three strong thrusts sank him to the root in my wet pussy. My eyes watered. His arms encircled me. One hand burrowed inside my disordered blouse to knead my left breast and pinch my nipple. The other sought my sex, at the place we were joined. With it he could feel his shaft filling and stretching my hole. He rolled my clit between his fingertips.

‘You want me to fuck you, Jill?’ he whispered fiercely in my ear, thighs and pelvis heaving me up and down on his lap and his impaling length.

I grabbed his thigh and sank my nails into it through his expensive suit.

‘You want me to come inside you – deep, deep inside?’ His voice was hoarse and uneven. He had to take long pauses between phrases; spaces filled with the sound of my gasping and the creak of the car springs. ‘Want me to stick my big cock in your mouth and fuck your throat until you choke down my spunk?’

I started to groan breathily..

‘Want me to tie you down and spray my cream on your pretty little tits?’ He tugged cruelly on one of those pretty little tits and I squealed, lifting myself up and writhing down on his cock. ‘Want me to spank your bottom until it’s bright red and then ride your dirty ass and come inside it?’

I think I tried to say Yes but it just came out as an incoherent wail as I slammed through the barrier into orgasm. Miles, lifting me bodily and pumping me down on his cock, followed suit seconds later. He made no sound at all, but his grip was like iron and his whole frame shook.

I collapsed back against his chest, staring at the fogged windscreen. Outside it was growing dark. My heart was pounding harder than it ever did when I was running cross-country.

‘That was ... That was very good.’ Miles nuzzled at my neck, his tongue testing my pulse. He didn’t seem particularly inclined to let go of me.

But the confusion I thought I’d drowned was waiting for me as my pleasure ebbed, stronger than ever. When my pulse had stopped rocketing I slipped from him and back into the passenger seat, tugging awkwardly at my clothes, fumbling at buttons. I couldn’t find my knickers in the footwell; I wondered if they had gone under a seat. My faces was flushed and I tried not look at the man I’d just had sex with.

‘So, are you wildly in love with me then?’ he asked, with the special flippant smirk he reserves for really caustic jokes.

‘No!’

‘The Defence rests, m’lud.’



Buy The Affair at:
Amazon US :: Amazon UK

Sunday, 23 July 2017

Shame!



There are several reasons you should watch this video RIGHT NOW:
  1. If you are a Game of Thrones fan, it is extremely funny. Yes, that is the same Septa.
  2. It's an advert for Sodastream, but the message is right on point.
  3. The Advertising Standards Authority/Facebook/Youtube banned it for use of the word "fuck," so it keeps being removed from t'Internet.
  4. The International Bottled Water Association is taking Sodastream to court to stop them saying that plastic bottle waste is bad for the environment. Fuck them.

Friday, 21 July 2017

I'm just trolling

See this?

Look at them, Mother Troll said. Look at my sons! You won't find more beautiful trolls on this side of the moon! (1915)
That could basically be *the* illustration for a story I just wrote: Yan, Tan, Tethera, Methera.

It's by John Bauer, a Swedish artist best known for his illustrations for an annual fairy-tale series called Among Gnomes and Trolls.



He was the absolute master of visualizing trolls, and he liked best to contrast their huge, lumpen, ugly forms with tiny delicate humans - often children or princesses - in a spectacular show of vulnerability and barely-concealed menace.


I like to think I just went that one step further. That one step too far, if you like πŸ˜‰


Because this is a story in which I don't hold back...


I'll let you know whether it meets editorial approval!



Wednesday, 19 July 2017

Just to say

Demon by Mihaly Von Zichy (1878)
... that I've handed the edited manuscript of The Prison of the Angels back to Sinful Press. Things are moving, behind the scenes!

Oh, and it's over 100,000 words.

And it's got way dirtier sex scenes than the previous two volumes in the trilogy.

And if it doesn't make you cry at the end, you are harder-hearted than my editor ;-)

Monday, 17 July 2017

Blue Monday: S Nano guests

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is the notorious gentleman-adventurer, S. Nano, with an excerpt from his comedic steampunk novel, Mistress of the Air:


Lady Sally Rudston-Chichester owns a brass mine in Zanzibar, a Lapsang Souchong tea plantation in China, a rubber tree farm in Malaysia, trunk loads of corsetry, and the country’s largest collection of antique whips and floggers.

Larger than life, and itching to find new and inventive ways to punish her submissive gentlemen, the Edwardian dominatrix has a vision. Embracing the spirit of the new age of aviation, she embarks on a series of adventures on her own airship, The Corseted Domme, with her transvestite maid, Victoria, her airship pilot, Captain Wyndham, and her automaton sex toy, Borghild. 

A select group of submissive gentlemen, consisting of a duke, bishop, lawyer and banker, is invited to join Lady Sally so she can try out her new dastardly devices and sex toys on them. She whips, spanks and punishes her way across the Empires of Europe, dropping off to visit her aristocratic relatives and friends for afternoon tea. 

But Lady Sally’s journey is not uneventful. War is threatening to break out and the Ministry of Aviation want to commandeer her airship for the war effort. And when The Corseted Domme has a crash landing, Lady Sally realises there is a stowaway on board intent on sabotaging her airship.

There will be wild escapades, kinky BDSM, dastardly devices, explosions and nice cups of tea.

For the rest of the day Lady’s Sally’s playroom was a maelstrom of activity. The sounds of the different devices filled the room. The electro-vibrator purred with an electric hum, the steam-powered pumping phallus thumped and hissed, the electric masturbating machine buzzed, whilst the steam-powered spanking device pumped and slapped. All of this, along with the gasps, groans, squeals and screams of pain and pleasure created a cacophony of noise which ebbed and flowed during the morning as the activity reached a series of crescendos. At the centre was Lady Sally like the conductor of an orchestra.

Every so often each of the protagonists was untied and placed into a different predicament so that everybody experienced the full range of Lady Sally’s wicked devices.

Borghild’s glass eyes glinted with an expression which could only be described as satisfaction; now fully trained, she was an enthusiastic participant in the sadistic orgy her mistress orchestrated.

For Lady Sally, it was a most satisfying day, and the culmination of her travels as her dastardly toys were being put to full use. She was enjoying herself immensely. She climbed up on the rack and was crouching over the duke to penetrate him with her strap-on. Her arse, a magnificent mound of peachy flesh, thrust into the air as she probed the duke’s anal passage ready to penetrate him.

Lady Sally’s arse was a thing of wondrous beauty, an orb of deliciously soft voluptuousness, and a source of both admiration and arousal to her submissive gentlemen. Positioned as it was, it presented a marvellous target. It hovered in the air invitingly. Of course, however tempting, none of her guests dare touch it without permission. On a rare occasion she might invite a privileged slave to plant his lips on it as an act of submissive homage to his mistress.

Borghild’s eyes swivelled around. They alighted on Lady Sally’s posterior and lit up with a red glow. She had been trained to find arse… she had been trained to whip arse… and this was the most inviting arse she’d ever recorded in her photo-sensitive cells. It was there, suspended in the air in all its fleshy glory, just waiting to be beaten. What else could a well-trained automaton do?

Lady Sally’s eyes widened. It came as a shock, the slash of leather thongs against her backside… and with one of her own whips! She knew what it felt like to be whipped. Purely in the interests of research she was not averse to experiencing the treatments she meted out to her slaves. But this was a complete surprise. It was undoubtedly a hard stroke but its impact was not without pleasure as Lady Sally felt her flesh wobble with the impact, and the prickly pain fan out across her backside. She took a deep breath. She cocked her head to one side to see the culprit, Borghild, standing behind her, whip in hand, a look of what could only be described as pleasure in her glass eyes. A look that Lady Sally had seen many times reflected in the mirror whilst she punished her slaves. The look of a dominatrix enjoying herself.

She waited to see what the automaton would do next. She felt a cold, brass hand run its fingers across her bottom. Borghild had observed and learnt well. This was precisely Lady Sally’s art, alternating sensual play with severe hits. A second stroke came zipping onto her backside. The gentlemen, now aware of what was happening, gazed aghast upon their mistress receiving a whipping from her automaton.

A third stroke whipped with a loud smack. It was not unpleasant… quite the opposite, the glowing pain was rather nice. Lady Sally understood only too well the pleasure her slaves got from the administration of seductive pain inflicted by a skilful mistress. In different circumstances, she might have allowed Borghild to continue. Indeed, when she got home to Rudston Hall, she may well allow the automaton to play with her in such a way. But this was not the time. She could not allow an automaton to get the better of her, especially in front of the men. That would simply not do. Her automaton had to be brought under her control and disciplined like any other wilfully disobedient slave. She needed to be taught a lesson.

Furiously, Lady Sally swivelled around and jumped off the rack to confront Borghild. Could the automaton understand what she had done wrong? Seeing the fierce look and dominant posture her mistress assumed as she snatched the whip from her hands, the red glow in Borghild’s eyes dimmed.

“Your behaviour is completely unacceptable. You must be punished. Punished. Do you understand?”

Borghild hung her head in shame.

Luckily, the whipping bench was free. Lady Sally grabbed the automaton by her brass hand and dragged her over to it. She pushed her onto her knees on the bench and, in moments, had her wrists and ankles cuffed. She pulled her head back by the blonde wig, stuffed a ball-gag in her mouth and tightened the strap. Lady Sally realised it was entirely unnecessary, but it was, nonetheless, a means of enforcing upon the automaton who was in charge.

Lady Sally lifted up the red latex skirt. She couldn’t help but admire the shiny, golden curves of her backside. The artificers had done a wonderful job with the moulding, the shape of the mounds being remarkably lifelike even though they were fashioned from brass.

Lady Sally stood in front of the automaton, the leather tendrils of the whip dangling menacingly before her eyes. The men looked on in astonishment, none of them daring to comment on the bizarre spectacle of their mistress striding around the whipping bench to administer corporal punishment on a brass arse.

Lady Sally raised the whip high above her head and brought it slashing down on with a crack on the shiny metal. The automaton might not feel a thing but, nonetheless, she had acquired enough understanding from observing her mistress to know this was a punishment. Lady Sally felt it was imperative to establish her control to prevent any further disobedience from Borghild in the future. Lady Sally continued to thrash the automaton with her hardest strokes, beating her relentlessly with slash upon slash.

This was the scene the captain encountered when he entered the playroom to inform his mistress they were beginning their descent towards the airship station in Paris. He looked surprised, and not a little bemused, at the spectacle of Lady Sally delivering a vicious beating to a brass automaton.

“You many well wonder what has gone on, captain. All I will say is that it’s a poor do when one has to discipline one’s own automaton.”

 Buy Mistress of the Air at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK



S. Nano is an author of erotic stories with dark and exotic content in fantasy, paranormal or historical settings, often drawing on the themes of female supremacy, BDSM and fetish but with a seam of quirky humour running through them as well.

His first full-length erotic novel, ‘Adventures in Fetishland’, a BDSM/fetish re-invention of Alice in Wonderland, was published by Xcite Books. His short stories and novellas have been published by Xcite Books, House of Erotica, Forbidden Fiction, Coming Together and Greenwoman Publishing.

His second novel, ‘Mistress Of The Air’ was published by eXcessica on 21st April 2017.

Web site

Saturday, 15 July 2017

Quick - hide the porn

BEHOLD MY DESK! It has never before looked this tidy!

It took a week to clear down to visible desk-top, let me tell you

Because we're selling the house and the guy is turning up to take photos for Rightmove first thing on Monday morning (*muffled Ashbless sobs*) , I have been doing a WHOLE lot of tidying up. Mostly it has involved hiding shit in the loft, and throwing out computer games we have never played and can't even run on the PC now. In fact I was advised by a Facebook friend to hide "anything that might be off-putting - really stupid stuff like a candle with a pentacle on it, books with "offensive" covers (specifically erotica), even a scruffy dog bed".

Since 90% of our household goods consists of weird shit/books, erotica and dog-beds, this may not be possible...


 But we did chisel the Green Man off from next to the front door...



I just can't do anything about the 6ft god in the back garden!


And the Hammer Horror Library is a lost cause, dudes...


 I think our marketing strategy has to be "semi-detached house, would suit weirdos", lol

 

Thursday, 13 July 2017

"A relentless, orgiastic tour de force"


Woah - fabulous review of my dirtiest book ever!

TAS at Erotica for the Big Brain has been reading three examples of "archectypal erotica":

Death and Beauty by Samantha MacLeod
Viking Thunder by Emmanuelle de Maupassant
Named and Shamed by Janine Ashbless

Samantha and Emmanuelle are no strangers to this blog, of course! We have in common a love of mythology, folklore, history, dark fantasy and writing stories that more than merely titillate, but re-imagine ancient tropes and poke around in the murky depths of their meaning.

And TAS has some awesome thing to say about all three of our books! For Named and Shamed his verdict is:
 
Janine Ashbless’ Named and Shamed is a relentless, orgiastic tour de force, a groaning board of pansexual delight unencumbered by the sort of repetition or slacking off in intensity that dooms so many full-length erotic novels. Drawing broad inspiration from Gaelic folklore and pagan myth... Sex of practically every variety and permutation is described in exuberant detail, whether with a group of horny auto mechanics in a greasy garage, or with just about every mythical creature populating the dark corners of the human imagination—a scene with a randy troll under a bridge is particularly memorable.
 Illustrated with a series of captivating line drawings by John LaChatte, Named and Shamed is an essential addition to any library of classic modern erotica.

THANK YOU TAS!

You can read the whole review post HERE

And you can buy Named and Shamed at
Amazon US :: Amazon UK 
Google Play
iTunes
for a limited time



Monday, 10 July 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

I rediscovered this story of mine this week, while trying to find a standalone excerpt for a website. Honey Trap appeared in the Seduction anthology from Black Lace many moons ago...



“I could give you a head-rub if you like,” he offered. “I learned Indian massage a while back.”

“In an ashram?”

He handed me my drink. “In Canberra. There wasn’t a lot else to do.”

He wasn’t to know it, but he’d hit on my weakness. I love having my head massaged; it’s the next best thing to sex. So at his suggestion I sat down on the couch and he knelt up behind me to take my newly-washed head in his hands and rub it. And he was very good indeed – patient, firm and skilled. He eased all the tightness from the back of my neck and pressed smooth my forehead and scalp. He tucked his arms under mine, ordered me to relax and shut my eyes, then scrunched my shoulders until they unknotted. I lost all sense of time or thought under his kneading hands, dissolving into pleasure, as if he’d opened my skull and taken my brains out. More and more of my weight relaxed against him. His hands broke little murmurs of pleasure from my lips, and when he stroked my throat softly I groaned. His arms were around me gently, his firm body supporting me.

“That dress you wore last night,” he murmured in my ear, tracing my cheekbones with his fingertips.

“Mm?”

“Did you know it went see-through against the floodlight? Did you know I could see all your body beneath it?”

I was almost too relaxed to speak. “That’s not true.”

“‘No?”

“I think Rhys would have noticed.” I was faintly aware that I was using my husband’s name as a talisman, to ward him off. It didn’t work.

“What makes you think he didn’t want to show off the beautiful body of his wife, for me to see?”

I smiled.

“You were wearing very sexy red lace lingerie last night. Right now though,” Marcus whispered, “you’re not wearing either a bra or panties. I can feel your skin through this dress.” He brushed his hand across my hip to make his point and I forced my heavy lids open, trying to focus. “No,” he breathed, his voice tender and heavy: “keep them shut.”

His fingers stroked my lids and my lips and I obeyed with a sigh. Cradling me in one arm, he kissed my lips softly, seducing them open with his gentleness. I tasted the smokiness of the whisky on his tongue. His free hand caressed the tips of my breasts and I realized that the air-con had brought them to obvious points under the cotton. I moaned into his mouth.

“Now I’m going to touch your pussy, Astrid,” he said. “And you’re going to let me.” He put his hand on me through my skirt and he was right; I not only let him, I parted my thighs a little. “That’s right,” he sighed, stroking me. “Now. You lifted our skirt for me at the restaurant, didn’t you? You’re going to do that again. Slowly.”

Mesmerized by sensation I drew my skirt up my thighs, finger by finger. Cool air lapped at my damp skin. When I got to the hem he laid his hand on my bare mound, parting the swollen lips with a couple of fingers, delving between to find the syrupy slickness of my juices. When he traced the contours of my clit I writhed against him.

“Oh, honey, you’re ready for this, aren’t you?” His touch was like fire to my tinder: I felt flames rushing through my body. “All day you’ve wanted me to do this, haven’t you? And you’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do it. Look how sweet and wet and open this is for me.” His lips brushed away any objections that might have risen to mine. “Now unbutton your dress. I want to see that beautiful body, Astrid.”

I fumbled with the little buttons, unable to look because he was kissing me, and bared my breasts. He sighed with satisfaction.

“Now play with them, Astrid. Play with your breasts while I make you come.”

I cupped them, squeezing them together, fingering my nipples, but I couldn’t do it for long. “Oh—I’m coming now!” I gasped.

Marcus plunged his fingers into my slippery entrance, using his thumb on my clit. “Yes. You are: right now.”

“Make her come,” moaned the echo.

I opened my eyes as orgasm flooded through me. I saw Rhys standing against the kitchen bench, but it was too late and I couldn’t stop; I just stared and moaned and spasmed in pleasure.

“‘Oh God,” whispered Rhys, wide-eyed.

“Rhys?” I whimpered, when I could speak again. For a brief moment I tried to sit up straight but Marcus’ arms tightened around me in a hug.

“It’s all right, honey.” His voice was warm and sure.

“Rhys? What’re you doing here?” My voice came out husky.

“Oh God, you’re beautiful,” said Rhys. “So fucking hot and beautiful.”

“He’s not angry,” Marcus said.

I gaped. This felt wildly unreal. “What’s going on?”

“Astrid, I…”’ My husband looked shifty.

I jumped to the worst possible conclusion. “Did he pay you for this?”

“Far from it,” said Marcus smoothly. “Astrid, there is something you don’t know. Rhys and I met on the Net about six months back. On a cuckolding site.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that we both have certain specialist interests. My thing is married women—“

“Your thing?”

“‘My passion. My obsession: women who are faithfully, happily married, and just longing to be seduced all over again. And Rhys’ single greatest turn-on,” he added, his voice hardening; “the thing he fantasizes about constantly, is the thought of his beautiful wife being fucked by another man. Of her being so aroused by this stranger that she’ll do anything for his cock. Of him watching helplessly while she gets the shafting of her life, better than any he could ever give her, and she screams that other man’s name and begs like a slut for him to fuck her more.”

I was stunned. It all made sense now: the way Marcus knew exactly the right things to say, the way he knew what I liked and what I wanted. He’d certainly done his homework: he’d been perfect for me. I’d been played by both men, but it was impossible to take the high ground when I’d just been discovered by my husband with someone else’s fingers up my pussy. I couldn’t even feel indignant. I cleared my throat to ask, “Rhys told you everything, didn’t he?”

“Everything. He gave me copious notes … and photos. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” Marcus stroked my damp hair from my face and kissed my cheek. “Now I’m going to fuck you, Astrid, in front of him. Just like he wants me to. Just like you want.”



Buy Seduction at
Amazon US :: Amazon UK

Friday, 7 July 2017

To Do

I write lists. It is how I stave off panic about ALL THE THINGS TO DO. And also my memory's not that great, let's face it πŸ˜‰

This is my list this week:


Wednesday, 5 July 2017

Looking for a forever home


I am, in fact. We started the house-hunting process a couple weeks back...

BUT what really amused me was this article in the New Yorker, which is both extremely funny and horribly close to the bone.

So I wrote an adoption advert for myself:

Meet Janine. This sprightly old lady still has a lot of life left in her, and a lot of love to give to the right person, though she can also be happily left alone for up to twelve hours a day. Her breed is basically nocturnal, so don't expect any early morning walkies! In fact she will not demand much exercise at all, though she has learned a few basic tricks such as eventually getting dressed and answering emails. Janine loves cuddles and food; her new best friend will have to keep a careful eye on her diet and not let her have too many treats. Janine does not socialise well with packs or new people and will do best where she is the only writer in the home. Would suit someone with strong PC helpdesk skills. She should be kept away from children of all ages.

Monday, 3 July 2017

Blue Monday: Jennifer Denys guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Jennifer Denys, with a M/m piece from her story To Claim a Mate, which is the first in the Balls and Chains shared-world BDSM shifter series she's curating:


Cole Linley is a gay wolf-shifter. In order to appease the Alpha within, he has taken up the BDSM lifestyle and become very experienced. This placates his wolf to a certain extent, but his dearest wish is to find a mate—male, of course. Except, the question is, how to find one in a city surrounded by humans where other wolf-shifters are rare.

Then, one night, he enters Balls & Chains, a BDSM club he frequents, and immediately senses another of his kind. And not only that, it is the scent of a potential mate, Jared Gray. There is only one problem—Jared is collared by another Master.

Jared’s relationship shows all the signs of an abusive relationship. Can Cole get him away from the other Dom and show Jared the delights of BDSM when done properly and what it means to be a beta wolf to Cole’s Alpha?


“Okay, my gorgeous sub, lie back on the bed holding on to the bars at the top.”

Jared glanced. The head of the bed had horizontal metal bars. Immediately he wondered how many other men had been tied there, and then felt Cole’s hand turning his chin to look up at him.

“I have had no other submissives here.”

“H—how did you know what I was thinking?”

Cole smiled. “For one thing, your face is very expressive. For another, after two wolf-shifters mate, there is a mental connection. It’s not that I can read your thoughts, more your emotions.” He laughed. “And they are now telling me to stop talking and make love to you.”

Jared’s heart leaped at the words. Surely if Cole didn’t care for him then he would’ve said, ‘have sex’?

As Jared scooted back and gripped the bars, his Master took hold of the sub’s legs pulling them apart before kneeling in between.

Cole ran his hands along Jared’s thighs and up his body as he moved to lie atop the younger man.

“Please stop waxing or shaving. It doesn’t feel right. It’s not the wolf way.”

Jared smiled. “Whatever you say, Sir.”

Peppering kisses over the sub’s chest, Cole then licked his neck, being gentle around the bite. Jared quite liked the mixture of human and wolf traits.

Making his way up to Jared’s face, Cole grinned as he made Jared reach out for a kiss, then pulled away. “Soon, my lover, soon. First, there’s something I must get.”

Jumping off the bed, Cole strode to a gym bag on a dresser. When he returned, Jared could see he carried some lube.

“It may not be necessary even though we are no longer in wolf form. However, you could be sore from earlier.”

Cole once more proved how caring he was. As Cole lathered the lube onto Jared’s backside, the sub groaned. Not because he was tender but because it felt delicious.

“Like that, do you?”

He nodded in response, suddenly unable to breathe as he panted in anticipation.

His Master threw aside the lube and pushed Jared’s legs up to his shoulders. Jared felt something press against his back sphincter. Since he was in this position, he was able to look down to see Cole’s massive cock push slowly into him. He was mesmerized by the fact that it appeared to be black. Although, his own penis and balls were darker than the rest of his body. Maybe it was a wolf thing.

Coherent thoughts then fled Jared’s brain as he experienced a sensation of all the space inside him being filled—pleasure bordered with not-uncomfortable pain.

Then, Cole was fully inside him. “God, you are so tight. I can feel you wrapping around me,” Cole finished his exclamation with a groan. With only a moment’s pause, the Dom started thrusting, retreating, then plunging once more hitting all the nerve endings Jared had inside him. It was bliss.

He tried lifting his butt up to meet Cole trying to urge him to go faster, but from this position, he had no leverage. His Master put his hands on either side of Jared and leaned in, using his weight to hold Jared’s legs in place. The rigid length of Jared’s erection prodded Cole’s stomach. “Just enjoy it. Let me do the work.”

Relaxing in to the fact that he couldn’t do anything else, Jared was conscious it was just like being restrained. It wasn’t necessary to be tied to have the sensation of someone else being in charge.

At that point, he gave in to the sensations—Cole heavy on top, pushing inside him, getting faster, nerve endings fizzing, breathing faster, grunting, sweating, balls getting heavier, seed rising and then Jared yelled as he spurted semen over their chests.

“Yes!” growled Cole as he gave a few final thrusts into Jared’s throbbing butt, releasing his own seed before pulling out with a shudder.



Buy To Claim a Mate at:
Amazon US :: Amazon UK
Luminosity Publishing

Jennifer Denys is a bestselling author in various genre (BDSM, contemporary, sci-fi, paranormal, with historical and fantasy in her works in progress) with several different publishers.

An Englishwoman through and through, she lives in a beautiful historical city and is game to try most things once. She’s had a tattoo done on her calf, flew down zip wires 100 feet up in the trees, and was photographed nude by a professional photographer. All of which have taken place since she turned 50!

Many of her experiences end up in her books… but you will have to read them to find out what!

Do contact Jennifer – she loves to hear from her fans at jennifer.denys@yahoo.com She posts to her blog three times a week and is on Facebook daily.

Blog/website
Facebook
Twitter 
Amazon Author Page


Friday, 30 June 2017

The Goat-to Guy

Francisco de Goya: Witches' Sabbath (1798)
I'm away-from-blog and off LARPing this weekend, and it's all going be very goat-themed. Baaah!
😈😈😈
Queue puns about horny blokes...

Wednesday, 28 June 2017

Prison of the Angels update

Stella Langdale: illustration for Christ in Hades (1917)
If you need anything else to blame Theresa bloody May for, the snap election she called has caused a bit of a delay in the publication of The Prison of the Angels, the final part of my Book of the Watchers trilogy - as my editor was busy campaigning for the opposition!

Anyway, we're catching up now. I am preparing to devote July to edits, and we should have a cover by August. I've also been told to get my finger out and write a blurb real soon now 😜

Given the usual 3-4 month run-up from final manuscript to paperback publication, we're on track for the end of this year as planned, which is excellent!

It's going to make you cry though.  

"I thought I was a good girl. I thought that no matter what happened around me, no matter the company I kept and no matter what others did for my sake, that I could stay innocent. I thought that as long as I acted out of love, I’d be blameless.
I was wrong, wasn’t I?"

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, 25 June 2017

ELO ello ello



While the rest of the nation was glued to the telly-box wishing they were at the Glastonbury Festival, I was dancing to ancient prog-disco-rockers ELO at the Wembley Arena 😁

Which involved considerably less walking and camping ... these things matter at my age!

Friday, 23 June 2017

OMG


SPOILERS AHOY
American Gods has just finished its Season 1 run, and what a lot of fun it was! - As well as laudable in its ethnic inclusivity, male nudity and fairly brave pokes at American Christianity. The CGI might have been ropey under HD, the artsy camerawork a little too self-indulgent, and the plot loaded with a typically Gaimanesque dearth of pace, but it was exactly what was needed whilst awaiting the next Game of Thrones season.  Hooray!

And then there's Shadow Moon, our luckless protagonist...


Shadow is the Everyman human pulled into a modern-day battle between the old pagan gods (Odin, Anansi, etc) and the new (Technology, Media, etc). He's bound to turn out to be pivotal and probably Prophesied (Mr Wednesday put a helluva lot of effort into recruiting him), but right now he just spends most of his time looking sweaty, and confused by the supernatural shenanigans unfolding around him

"OMG, WTF is this place?!"

""OMG y u here, Dead Wife?"
Physically, he looks a whole lot more divine than any of the actual gods!


To my surprise it turns out that the drop-dead gorgeous actor, Ricky Whittle, is actually British and really famous here! - I'd just overlooked his existence because he appeared in a terrible soap called Hollyoaks  that I don't watch (it's possibly the least accurate simulation of life in this country ever broadcast), and a celebrity dance-off series, Strictly Come Dancing, that I don't watch because ugh, dancing, and a SF series called The 100 which I was put off watching because it was full of bloody teenagers.

I can watch this for ages tho
Oh well, there's always Season 2 of American gods and MORE PRETTINESS to look forward to...
I shall leave you with a dance clip, because I'm all about giving the muse a go:


Wednesday, 21 June 2017

Sinful Pleasures lineup


The author lineup has been announced for Sinful Pleasures: an anthology of erotic tales, and it has an official release date of August 20th, yay!



Sinful Press is pleased to announce the release of our first anthology, Sinful Pleasures.Join us as we weave our way from mainstream erotic romance to surreal sex-filled dreamscapes and everything in between, created by some of the best new and established voices in the erotica genre.

Janine Ashbless - The Pier by Night
Ella Scandal
Jo Henny Wolf
Lady Divine
Gail Williams
Tony Fyler
Ellie Barker
Lisa McCarthy


Want an early look? Advanced Reader Copies are now available to reviewers and bloggers, so please contact Lisa Jenkins on:
to grab a copy!

Monday, 19 June 2017

Blue Monday: Samantha MacLeod guests

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is my amazing mythological-smutwriting-twin, Samantha MacLeod, with an excerpt from her latest Norse story Death and Beauty:


Baldr the Beautiful is dead.

Desperate to get back to his privileged role as Óðinn’s favorite son, Baldr strikes a bargain with Hel, the terrifying half living and half skeletal queen of the realm of the dead. He offers her the only thing he’s got: knowledge from the living world. Hel gives him three days. If he can teach her something new, she will return him to the realms of the living.

But the icy Hel seems completely impervious to Baldr’s charms. What’s worse, she already knows everything. By the end of the third day, Baldr realizes he’s only got one chance left to impress her.

Returning to his former life looks like it’s going to depend on Baldr the Beautiful seducing the most formidable woman in the Nine Realms.

I pulled Hel into my arms and kissed her. 

I wasn’t sure what to expect, if her lips would be silky, like her arm, or if I’d feel the hard scrape of bone against my mouth, but I couldn’t resist any longer. She looked so innocent, and so scared. I wanted to comfort her. 

I wanted to taste her.

Her lips felt soft and full against mine. I moved across them gently, feeling the hiss of air as she inhaled, then smiled before kissing her again, more urgently, tilting my head to meet her. I wrapped my arm around her waist, running my hand over the rough cloth of her ridiculously ugly dress as I pressed against her, asking for more.

She pulled back, shaking her head. “I don’t know how to kiss,” she said, her voice shaky and her breath uneven.

“You’re doing just fine.” I already missed her soft weight in my arms. 

She took a deep breath and smoothed the front of her dress. Her shoulders trembled. “I should lie down,” she said, looking at the petal-strewn grass beneath her feet.

Something golden flashed in the space between us. I froze. Hel panted as she stared intently at the ground. And with each ragged exhale, something flickered across her skin, like a slow ripple of light over water. When I wrapped my fingers gently around her wrist, the pulse of light flashed again, stronger and brighter. 

“Do you want to lie down?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Yes. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t…”
I stepped closer, turning my waist so I didn’t impale her with my hard-on, and leaned into her neck, running my lips softly along her skin as I reached around her back for the seam of that horrible dress. I kissed her lightly, listening to her breath catch in her throat as I unbuckled the row of clasps along her back. Her pulse raced, and golden sparks sizzled across her skin as I touched her. I wondered if she noticed them.

When the last clasp was undone, I raised my hand to her shoulder and gently slid the dress down her arms and over her waist. Then I stepped back, smiling at her. 

She had a surprisingly lovely body, curvy and soft. Her single breast was every bit as perfect as I’d imagined. Even her skeletal side seemed vulnerable, not terrifying. I realized I might be the first person to actually see Hel naked. The ripples of light flashed faster and brighter now, obscuring her body as they washed over her. No, maybe not obscuring. It was almost as if there was something else underneath.

Hel hesitated, her brow furrowing. The ripples of light stopped moving over her body, and I realized she was holding her breath. She looked like she was about to cry.

“You okay?” I asked, wrapping my hand around her waist.

“You’re looking at me,” she whispered.

I kissed her again. This time she opened for me, leaning into me, allowing me to explore her secret, hidden places with my tongue. I fell into our kiss, pulling her chest to mine, feeling her breast swell against me as her breast rose with frantic, panting breaths.

“I like looking at you,” I said, when we pulled apart. “You’re fascinating.”

She trembled, hiding her face against my neck, and I realized the truth of my words. Hel was fascinating; she was the single most fascinating woman I’d ever met.

“Let’s lie down,” I said.

Hel nodded and pulled back, stepping out of her dress. She didn’t meet my eyes as she lay down on the petal-strewn grass. Her naked body flashed and rippled with light. I didn’t dare ask about it. 

“Will it hurt?” she asked. “I’ve read that it hurts, the first time.”

I lay down next to her living side, weaving my fingers with hers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I brought her hand to my lips and kissed every finger, moving slowly, watching her chest rise and fall. Sometimes, as the web of light surrounding her rippled and crackled, I could see two breasts, their twin nipples tight as rosebuds.

I turned her hand over and brought my lips to her wrist, feeling her pulse race against my mouth. My lips moved slowly up her arm, kissing her as the golden light surged around me. She was gasping by the time I reached her chest; she cried out when I closed my lips over her nipple. Her scent overwhelmed me, and I struggled with the dull throb in my groin. Oh, damn, I wanted her.

I closed my teeth gently around the hard bud of her nipple, and her back arched beneath me. My hand slid down, leaving the soft curve of her chest and caressing her stomach. Her breath stuttered as my hand reached her thighs. I gave Hel’s perfect breast one final kiss and watched her face as my fingers moved between her legs.

Her eyes closed. Both eyes, although I hadn’t been certain her skeletal half had an eyelid. The golden light poured over her now, pulsing in rhythm with her breathing, and her lips parted. 

I caressed the curls outside her sex, waiting and watching for her reaction. Hel groaned, moving her hips into my hand, and I slipped a finger into her folds. She was slick and wet; heat poured from her, bathing my palm. My hand circled her lips, pressing gently as she panted under me, searching for the tight little bud at the apex of her sex.

She gasped when I found it, and her legs tensed around my hand. For a moment I thought that was enough, that I’d brought her to climax with one touch. But she lifted her hips again, moaning a single word.

“More.”


Death and Beauty can be pre-ordered (or bought from 20th June) at 

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 MacLeod's 

Sunday, 18 June 2017

Another Train



We were at a friend's party the other week, and a folk-trio called Quietfire sang this song, which I thought just extraordinary.

Friday, 16 June 2017

I want it painted black

Can you hear Absolute 80s Radio blasting out from my house? That's a 100%-accurate giveaway that I'm redecorating.


I've been turning our hall from "Presidential Orange" to "Ultrabland Off-White".

And an osprey is about to land on my ass

I'm not touching the blasted woodchip, mind. That can stay into the 22nd Century as far as I'm concerned!


Wednesday, 14 June 2017

Purple pRose


Here's the pretty purple pleats of the cover for The Sexy Librarian's Dirty 30, Vol.2 (edited by the ever-wonderful Rose Caraway). And here's the table of contents!

INTRODUCTION – Rose Caraway
1.  HONEY, I’M HOME – Chase Morgan
2.  CANVAS – Malin James
3.  JILLING OFF – Silas Bliss
4.  THUNDERCLAP – Sommer Marsden
5.  SWITCHES – Daily Hollow
6.  A POLITE FICTION – Terrance Aldon Shaw
7.  HEAVEN SENT – Jordan Castillo Price
8.  THE CARNIVAL OF CARNAL DELIGHTS – Dahlia Lovejoy
9.  SWEET HEL BELOW – Janine Ashbless
10. BLOSSOMING – Jean Roberta
11. THE SWEET TASTE OF INSPIRATION – Emily Bingham
12. GIRL NUMBER TWENTY – Rose de Fer
13. SCHEHERAZADE AND THE STRANGER – Dee Maselle
14. UNFINISHED BUSINESS – Rachel Woe
15. THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARK – Josie Jordan
16. A TASTE OF EROTICISM – Eva Hore
17. THE SEER – R.A. Goli
18. THE RETURN OF THE SNOW QUEEN – Tamsin Flowers
19. PURITY – Melina Greenport
20. DO NOT DISTURB – Sonni de Soto
21. TORRID ZONE – Elliot DeLocke
22. MOBY TIT – Landon Dixon
23. THE THIEF – Michael Lewis
24. THE CULT OF SEXUALITY – Janie James
25. LIFE DRAWING 101 – Brantwijn Serrah
26. THE HONEYMOON – Emmanuelle de Maupassant
27. THE DUDE – Spencer Dryden
28. SPIDER TWO, COME IN – M.L. Doyle
29. A CURE FOR LONELINESS – Brown Sugar
30. I REALLY DO BELONG TO YOU – Dorothy Freed

What a line-up - I'm proud and delighted to appear among such company and can't wait to see the book!

If you are a blogger or keen reader and want an advanced review copy, then you can email Rose Caraway to get on the list:
dirtythirtyantho(at)gmail(dot)com

Monday, 12 June 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

For the Pride Month I thought I'd try to share some f/f  from my back-catalogue. I've pathetically little to choose from, but here's a spanky piece from Named and Shamed:



“Gail!” My voice rose to a shout. “This is important! Get your ass out here!”

This time her giggle was accompanied by a resumption of the headboard rattle.

I lost my temper. Throwing open the door, I marched into the room. Vince was stretched out on the bed and Gail was riding him, cowgirl-style. Both were naked and the room stank of vigorous sex, but I ignored all that. Well, as best I could, anyway — it wasn’t possible not to notice the way her little tits were bouncing up and down like two tennis balls, or the taut stretch of her thighs straddling his dark hips, or the sheen of sweat all over her slender body. But did my best. I walked over, grabbed Gail’s long hair right at the base of her scalp, and hauled her unceremoniously off her boyfriend. I caught a glimpse of his cock when I did it, all slick and bobbing, but that wasn’t important right then. Gail yowled in protest as I dragged her out into the living room.

“Where’s my car?” I repeated as I let go of her and spun her to face me.

Gail stuck her bottom lip out, wrinkled her nose mutinously, and then suddenly grinned a slow dirty grin. “Not telling.”

Crap. I ran my hand over my face. “Gail, this isn’t the time for games. Tell me where it is.”

“Make me.”

Oh great. She’d decided to play the brat. We’d been doing this for years. We’d grown up close, living in the same Warwickshire village and playing together and often sharing a room overnight. Very early on, Gail had discovered she liked to have her bottom spanked and, to be honest, I didn’t mind obliging. I have powerful memories of her — back in the day when her hair was honey-brown and wavy, not blonde and straight — bending over in a corner of a remote field beneath the shelter of the willows, pulling up her skirt and displaying her teenaged bottom to me in the dappled light. Go on Tansy, she’d whisper: Spank me. Please! . . . . I just need it! I remember the sense of transgression, one that always brought a hot gush to my pussy, as I slapped her firm little ass. It had been our secret game. And yes, we still played at it sometimes, usually when Gail was between boyfriends.

She liked to initiate a session by acting the naughty girl. Something about rebellion and punishment clearly tripped her switches.

“I don’t need this now! It’s serious!”

“Make me,” she repeated, eyes narrowing.

“Fine,” I growled.

Seizing her hair again, I dropped her over one arm of the sofa with her ass in the air. For such a slim girl, she’s got a nice round bottom. Planting my knee in a cushion, I pushed one hand down between her shoulder blades and aimed the other at that pretty target. Hard. Damn it, I usually make it a rule never to do this when I’m genuinely worked up about anything, but this time I was in a real fix. Gail squealed and kicked with her legs as I landed smack after smack on her ass-cheeks and thighs, but she was off-balance and couldn’t get any purchase on the carpet. She rubbed her face in the seat cushions and clawed at the fabric and shrieked.

“Tell me!” I commanded grimly.

“Oww!” she howled, thrashing her thighs apart and giving me a distracting flash of her open pussy lips, pink and glistening from sex. She usually likes me to spank her pussy too, though rather more gently. But I wasn’t playing nice today. I clapped my tingling hand down on her left cheek with almost the full weight of my arm, seeing the flesh jounce and hearing her scream.

“Jeez,” said Vince: ‘Should you really be doing that?”

I looked up at him standing in the bedroom door, half-distracted from my mission. He was holding his jeans in front of his crotch to defend his modesty, but I could see the rest of his long, lean, mahogany-hued body all the way from his toes to the shaved fuzz of hair on top of his head. His brows were knitted in a frown, but his jaw was slack with surprise.

It must have been quite a sight from his standpoint, I guess. Tall redhead flatmate; little blonde girlfriend. Her legs were open and her ass was already scarlet, and her glistening snatch was pointed straight at him.

“Where’s my car?” I demanded. When no one answered me, I shifted my hand and evened up the score on Gail’s right cheek.

“AAAH!”

“Where’s my car?”

Vince’s mouth worked. “It’s . . .” he mumbled, but ground to a halt. His eyes were wide, his gaze fixed on Gail’s suffering rear.

I shook my head at their obstinacy. Smack. Smack. Smack. Swift and fierce, not giving her time to recover.

“Nooo!” she wailed.

I lifted my palm again, but held it aloft. “Where’s my car?” The noise of my hand falling was like a shot going off.

“AH! It got clamped!”

I let go of her. “What?”

“It got clamped and towed,” she sobbed. “We went out for pizza and when we got back they were taking it away on a truck.”

I felt like hitting her again but I didn’t. Never in real anger.

“You stupid -” I started to protest, but cut myself off. I had to stand up and pace around the room to vent my frustration. “You parked it on a double yellow line again?

“Only for a few minutes!” Gail lifted herself on her elbows but made no attempt to rise from the spanking position. Maybe she was too sore to sit up. I don’t know about her ass, but my hand was red hot and stinging.

“Where?” I demanded. “Where’s it gone?”

“Here,” said Vince: “We have the ticket here.”

I shot him a hard look. So he’d known. He’d known enough to stop the pain, all along. He sort of sidled around us, his gaze sliding back and forth from Gail to me, until he reached the sideboard and found a piece of paper, all without turning to show me his bare butt. I suspected that under his crumpled jeans he was nursing an almighty hard-on. In fact, as he handed the ticket to me, I saw him squeeze his crotch through the denim. He and Gail were going to have to have some things to talk over real soon, I suspected. And probably more than talk.


You can still buy Named and Shamed (if you hurry, before Sweetmeats Press closes) at: