Friday, 20 October 2017

Re-release: The King's Viper


No! He shaped the word in his head even as he reached out and pulled her against him.

"This is high treason," he said raggedly. Then he kissed her.

IT'S UP ON SALE!

My game-of-thronesish hot romance The King's Viper is now available in a new e-edition so that you can enjoy all the sexual frustration, medieval politics, betrayal and heartache* with a stylish new cover!

When Lady Eloise of the Isle of Venn becomes betrothed to the King of Ystria, she looks forward to a life of luxury and status at the royal court. She certainly doesn’t anticipate being shipwrecked on the way to her wedding, escorted by the King’s assassin, Severin de Meynard, the most hated man in the kingdom. Nor does she anticipate them having to make their way back home to Ystria on foot, through hundreds of miles of enemy territory. Above all, she doesn’t expect to fall in love with the cynical, ruthless Severin.

Eloise and Severin struggle to control their growing attraction to each other because if they do not—if she returns to the King no longer a virgin—then they will both be executed. Yet their passion threatens to be far stronger than their self-control. Severin and Eloise are torn between duty and their burning need for one another, and both will face bitter sacrifice before the end.

Buy 'The King’s Viper' at Amazon US

Buy 'The King’s Viper' at Amazon UK

Buy 'The King’s Viper' at Barnes & Noble

Buy 'The King’s Viper' at Apple iTunes

Buy 'The King's Viper' at Kobo

Buy 'The King's Viper' at Inktera


*[SPOILER] It also has filthy, passionate sex and a HEA

Wednesday, 18 October 2017

Selfie


I've done it - I've officially hit "publish" on my first reverted novel! It's slowly clocking through the works and going up on Apple, B&N, Amazon ...  (fingers crossed)

It took me about six months of angst to get to this point, and then Lo And Behold it turns out to be WAY WAY EASIER than I'd ever imagined. All those earnest "how to" guides online make it sound like a huge technical undertaking, and it really isn't. If you've thought about self-publishing but never dared, be reassured - if I can do it, anyone can!

  • You need a clean pared-down Word document. No contents page, no title page.
  • You need a cover JPG, unless you are amazingly lazy and want to use a generic one.
  • You need your bank details or paypal account, and tax reference number.
  • You need an ITIN if you are not American, to stop distributors withholding 30% of your US royalties.
 You don't need to do your own digital conversion. You don't need to buy your own ISBN.

  • Go on Draft 2 Digital and set up your account, with bio and author pic.
  • Upload your cover, if you have one, or use one of theirs.
  • Upload your .DOC and they convert it for you. Look through the preview. Choose from their array of fonts and styles.
  • They make a .EPUB for you to publish.
  • They make a .MOBI which you can take to Amazon
  • They make a PDF which you can upload to paperback publishers.
  • They provide links to free emulators so you can check these all look okay on various readers (phones, tablets, Macs).
  • Then, when you're ready, pick a price and hit "publish".

  • Repeat process with Kindle Direct for Amazon platforms. KDP is less user-friendly than easy-peasy D2D but it's not that bad, honestly.

Then wait...

Monday, 16 October 2017

Blue Monday: Lea Bronsen guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Lea Bronsen with an excerpt from her new Viking novel, Torn Avenger.


A DARK VIKING ROMANCE
Murder. Passion. Two ancient worlds colliding.
 
As the second son of a Viking earl, Alv Gunnulfsen wasn't meant to inherit a throne or avenge a murder. But when his brother is slain during a raid and their father dies of grief, Alv is expected to take command and claim the killer's death. In a world of ruthless retaliation and strict social codes, he must also maneuver cleverly to protect a troublesome secret: his attraction for men.

Roeland van Dijk, a wealthy Dutch merchant settled in Norway, has done the unthinkable to protect his family — hacked off the head of a Viking rapist. The wrath of the blond savages will cost him his freedom, and possibly his own head… Unless he's willing to accept the love of another man.


The erotic kiss had Roeland’s body give into lust, some parts of him melting, others swelling and hardening. His breathing quickened. His mind became numb and succumbed to the need for comfort, relief from reality, and heady pleasure. He kissed Alv back, tentatively at first, discovering him, learning to know him, getting used to the idea of kissing someone after Hilda had passed.

Thank goodness his inner voice said it was okay, that he deserved love, sex, and shouldn’t feel bad about it. When she died, he’d believed he loved her so much he could never be with another woman, but now he did just that with Alv, this half-man, half-woman being. It didn’t feel like he was cheating on her. If it had, he would’ve loathed himself for the rest of his life. But Hilda would’ve wanted him to be happy. Speaking of life, the Vikings might do away with him any given time, and what was happening with Alv could well be his last chance to share intimacy with someone.

He parted his lips, and Alv slid his wet, sweet-tasting tongue inside his mouth. God, delicious. Roeland moaned in appreciation, his body melting even more, his cock growing.

Alv released his lips with a small sucking sound and whispered, “Ssh, be quiet.”

Oh, right, they weren’t alone! Cold flash back to reality.

Roeland had heard moans and hard breathing in the darkened prisoner barn in the past nights, but Alv and he needed to be discreet. If word got out that a man of nobility snuck in here to sleep with a slave, especially when both were men… He didn’t want to think of the consequences, and it would probably be wise to stop playing before things went farther.

Alv attacked his lips again, with silent furor this time, thrusting his tongue inside Roeland’s mouth and toying with his. Didn’t he understand the danger? But Roeland didn’t have willpower to refuse him. He would go along then, but careful not to make a sound.

As if reading his thoughts, Alv brought his arms up to Roeland’s neck and circled it, pulling him into a tight lover’s embrace and pressing their stomachs and erections against each other. Fire rushed from Roeland’s cock to his chest. Stifling a groan, he wrapped his arms around Alv’s slim waist and hugged him back.

It felt right to hold another person like this, to tangle their lustful tongues, to savor their swollen cocks’ throbbing of desire. It had been so long since he’d gotten laid. When Hilda announced her pregnancy, he’d decided he wouldn’t touch her—smother her—until after she gave birth. Most men didn’t mind sleeping with women whose wombs carried a fetus, but he did. And so, month after month had passed without him allowing himself to go into sex mode. He hadn’t even used his hand to get off on his own, out of respect for his wife.

“Get down,” Alv ordered, breathing hard but silently to his mouth, pushing Roeland to slide onto his knees. Before they found their balance in the dark shadow of the wall, Alv reached for Roeland’s pants and pulled them down.

Oh! His cock uncurled from its constraint, like a snake in a bag. Alv grabbed it and stroked upward in one slow motion, toward the tip, his fist warm and firm. The intense sensation caused heat to course through Roeland, and he held his breath to stop a low growl from erupting in his throat. Fluid rushed to the tip of his dick and leaked a droplet, the wetness in contact with the air reminding him of how chilly it was inside the barn.

Alv kissed him deeply again and continued stroking base to tip, each time pulling the foreskin over the bigger head, enhancing the pressure in Roeland’s tense cock.

His world spun. He trembled. He wouldn’t last, the wait had been too long. At the same time, a small part of his brain that still worked acknowledged he should return the favor.

He fumbled for Alv’s erection in his pants and pulled it out, caressing slowly then pumping the long, veiny shaft in a steady rhythm, the way he would to himself. It was the first time he touched another man’s dick, but it was quite all right. And from the choked sounds of pleasure deep in Alv’s throat, it had to feel pretty good to him, too.

Kneeling on the hard ground in the dark, linked by eager mouths and hands, they kissed, masturbated, and held each other closely until a familiar tightening of Roeland’s balls told him he was going to come.

Suddenly, he didn’t know what to do about it—he was going to ejaculate all over Alv’s clothes!

Too late, a ball of heat unfurled in his groin, rushed through the length of his stiff cock, and sprayed out of the tip as burning, pulsating fluid. His mind blackened. His release seemed endless. Riding waves of insane delight, he knocked his forehead into Alv’s, closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth to stop a long, deep growl from slipping out.


Buy Torn Avenger at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Smashwords
Barnes and Noble
iTunes
Kobo
paperback
Add it to your shelf on Goodreads

Lea Bronsen likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her own stories the same intensity. After venturing into dirty inner-city crime drama with her debut novel Wild Hearted, she divides her writing time between psychological thriller, romantic suspense, and dark erotic romance.

Website / Blog / Facebook / Twitter / Amazon / Pinterest

Sunday, 15 October 2017

Fonts

CLICK

... keen-sighted.

(Says the woman who literally can't read the small print in her holiday brochure, it's so small. Still, I'm sure everything will be fine...)

Friday, 13 October 2017

Big reveal - and a new cover

cover by JH

I'm going for it. I'm going to do the self-publishing thing!

I've had THREE publishers kick the bucket on me this year and I'm fed up. So I'm going to take my reverted works and publish them directly, starting with The King's Viper above, so that they are easily available to readers at low low prices.

I know what you're all thinking - "Janine, that's not a proper genre cover!" Well, I don't care. I never liked romance covers much, and I don't want to get lost in the crowd, and it's not as if I've ever made huge sales in Romance anyway. So I'm going to build myself a brand. Blue covers for Romance, red covers for Erotica.

If all goes well with this first one my plans - after some very careful checking of my contracts - are:

Romance:
The King's Viper (ex-Ellora's Cave, Game of Thrones stylee political fantasy)
Heart of Flame (ex-Samhain, Arabian Nights fantasy)
Bound in Skin (ex-Cat Scratch Books, Victorian werewolf novella)
The Grief of the Bond-Maid (ex-Storm Moon Press, Viking magic novella)

Erotica:
In Appreciation of Their Cox (ex-Ellora's Cave rowing short)
Melusine (ex-Sweetmeats Press, fantasy short)
A Wicked Muse (collection of short story reprints, mostly from Cleis)

Horror:
That Ought to Crawl (short stories)
The Collected Gillian Troth Stories (2 vols, paranormal satire)

That should keep me busy for some time! We'll see how it goes...

"What about Named and Shamed?" you might ask. "What about the Fierce Enchantments collection? Haven't they reverted too?"

Heheheh - I've slightly different plans on that front. Watch this space!
😈

Wednesday, 11 October 2017

The Expanse

"My eyes are up here"
I just want to say how much I am LOVING the Netflix series The Expanse, which has got to be the best space-based SF since the Battlestar Galactica relaunch and is kicking Star Trek's flabby ass.


And I do not just love it for Amos as depicted above, who is sort of a pit-bull in human form (complete with puppy-dog eyes). It has whole diverse cast of sexy - ahem - I mean engaging characters, and a compelling three-strand plot that twines together to reveal an epic alien threat to all human life.

There's the self-described Shit Magnets who start off as miners in the asteroid belt, thoroughly oppressed by the ever-bickering governments of Earth and Mars, and stumble onto a nasty NASTY secret:

The Designated Adult, the Pitbull, the Wannabe Hero Who is a Bit of a Tosser, and the Nerdy One
There's the Earth-based political shenanigans in the UN;

She scares me more than the Alien
And the mystery thriller plot when a crooked cop tries to track down a missing woman:


By Season Two you also get some Martian Marine characters involved in their own related crisis:


Have you noticed that this SF future isn't predominantly White? Awesome! And they have a lot of fun with languages and accents.




The setting is gritty-to-grim, with every difficult decision having even more difficult consequences, and no shying away from the moral baggage.

THIS. THIS.
And yeah,  it's sexy, of course 💖 That never puts me off!



I can't wait for Series 3!

Monday, 9 October 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's vignette is from The Icing on the Cake, which appeared in the anthology Misbehavior. Suze is making a wedding cake for her frenemy Helen, when the groom drops by....



‘I said I wanted to fuck your beautiful bum,’ he said softly. He was standing right behind me as I was bent over, I realised suddenly. Close enough that I could feel the brush of cloth on cloth - then the exploratory bump of his weight against me. ‘I wasn’t drunk.’

My hand started to tremble and I put the cake-topper down carefully. ‘Um,’ I said, not as quick-witted as I liked to think myself.

‘You have got a lovely bum,’ he pointed out, putting one hand on my arse cheek, with reverent appreciation. All the blood seemed to leave my head and flood down into my body, charging my lower regions with heat. I could feel the flesh between my thighs grow heavy, and my legs correspondingly weak.

‘Shouldn’t you be thinking about Helen’s bum right now?’ I asked, my voice coming out all husky and plaintive.

‘What bum? She’s been on this sodding diet for months – no bread, no alcohol, no chocolate – and she looks like a string bean. She hasn’t got an arse any more.’ Both his hands moved on my cheeks in warm caressing circles. ‘Not like you. God … this feels good.’

If I’d been capable of thought I might have tried to come to grips with the peculiarly male notion that less is not in fact more, but thinking was it seemed no longer one of my strong suits. I was too busy feeling the shockwaves of sensation washing through me with each flex of his grip on my cheeks. Too busy trying to sort out the alarm and the glee that we were battling it out in the empty shell of my skull. With a little groan of relief, Pete pushed his groin and thighs up against my long-coveted butt, and I could feel the hard challenge to my cushioning softness. Like - really, seriously hard. The kick of arousal that shot through my guts was like a jolt of electricity. I barely had the sense to push the cake a few inches further away towards safety. ‘Oh God,’ I said. What I meant was, You really mean it! You really do!

‘Oh yes.’ He ground his hips against me.

Pete, of course, had an excuse for all this. His forebrain paralysed by pre-wedding panic, it was his lower brain that was in charge. So what was my excuse? Getting one over on a friend who had always put me in the shade? Getting a slice of a seriously hot man beyond my normal aspirations?

Maybe the truth is that I’m simply a bit of a slut, when I get the chance. Well, how should I know? – it’s not like other women’s blokes are chucking themselves at me all the time.

‘Suzie,’ he murmured with pleasure, taking me by the hips and wriggling up against me snugly. ‘You’ve got such a lovely fucking arse, I’ve wanted it for years, and-’ He paused, then leaned in to murmur in my ear: ‘And you’re not wearing any knickers, are you?’

‘No,’ I whispered.

‘Lucky me.’ He tugged at the elastic waistband of my trousers, baring my hip, the swell of my bum, the cleft between my cheeks, right down to the tops of my thigh. Then he worked my bum against his crotch, back and forth over the rigid length of the erection that fought the confines of his own clothes. I loved the way he manhandled me; I loved his greed and his delight. I straightened up against him, bracing my hands on the table, my back to his warm chest.

‘I’m not wearing a bra either.’

God, that got him going. He grabbed at my tits through the thin cloth, squeezing and mauling them like he was discovering boobs for the first time, while his hard-on ground into my backside and I gasped encouragement. Then he found that he might as well stick his hands up under my shirt, and then he pushed the top up to bare them, tugging at my nipples and rolling them between his rough fingers. ‘Great tits,’ he grunted: ‘great arse.’

‘You like them?’ I pulled my top off over my head and flung it behind us; I think it landed in the sink. Then I scraped my nails down his neck, provoking him into squashing my tits together into one luxurious bosom and pinching my nipples until I squeaked.

‘Fuck yes,’ he groaned. Like I said: there was nothing complicated about Pete. He whirled me round to face him then, picked me up and plunked my bare arse on the table – God knows what the food hygiene people would have had to say about that - and for a second just goggled at my tits. I cupped them in my hands and lifted them for his inspection, and Pete just fell into my breasts, plunging his face into my cleavage and taking great wet mouthfuls like he would eat me all up. I had to cling to him just to stop myself falling over backward among the sugar flowers and the bottles of colouring. His hot sucking kisses on my tits sent me crazy, my nipples standing up like jelly sweets in response to his tongue and his lips and his teeth. When he lifted his head from those glistening orbs there was a hungry, wicked look in his eye.

‘Don’t stop,’ I said, pouting.

Grinning, he grabbed the icing bag and turned the nozzle on my left tit.

‘Pete!’

‘Hold still.’ A thin line of sugar icing squirted out as he squeezed, and he drew a spiral round and round my flushed, swollen nub of flesh, capping it with pure white. With almost comic precision he did the other one too.

‘Got a sweet tooth?’ I giggled.



Buy Misbehavior at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Google Play

Sunday, 8 October 2017

Friday, 6 October 2017

E-Ely Woman

It's an Eel...
I've been on a trip to a new (to me) city in England: Ely. Its name means "eel island" because it used to sit in the centre of the vast swampy fenlands, and TBH they are obsessed with eels. There is even an Eel Heritage Walk :O



It's also the one of smallest cities in England - barely the size of a small town - and qualifies for the title only because it has a medieval cathedral:


It's huge!


We climbed up the central lantern tower:


To hang out with the angels:


And feel dizzy!


The other thing Ely is famed for is that Oliver Cromwell lived there:


He has a haunted bedroom...

And an eel, of course ;-)


Wednesday, 4 October 2017

FREE book offer!


Sinful Press has announced a BRILLIANT book offer for those of you who'd like to try my fallen angel trilogy:
Because the first book, Cover Him With Darkness, was released by Cleis Press, we have no control over the pricing, and you may consider it a bit too much. Between now and November 30th, if you provide us with proof of purchase for Cover Him With Darkness, we will gift you the ebook version of In Bonds of the Earth absolutely free. Proof can be in the form of a screenshot, a receipt, or sharing your purchase to our Facebook page or by emailing to contact@sinfulpress.co.uk
FULL POST HERE

Why? Because we want you to get so hooked on The Book of the Watchers trilogy that you just won't be able to resist buying volume 3: The Prison of the Angels when it is released on December 1st!
:-D

Fierce romance, shocking sex, fallen angels, twisty-turny betrayal, life-and-death adventure, blasphemous secrets and THE END OF THE WORLD - what are you waiting for? ;-)


Monday, 2 October 2017

Blue Monday: Kryssie Fortune guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest post is from Kryssie Fortune, with an excerpt from her new novel release, Submission, Secrets and the Soldier:


Luke Roberts, a former army mechanic, has a new sub. She's shy and inexperienced, but willing. As he teaches her about sensation play, she fears he'll really hurt her and screams her safewords at him. Her reaction causes Luke to have a flashback. Although he's clawing his way back to normal, he suffers from PTSD. Determined to get well, he contacts a PTSD specialist in Westhorpe Ridge.

Kathryn Johnson has visited a BDSM club three times. When she hooks up with Luke Roberts, he unintentionally terrifies her. She swears off spankings and goes home to Westhorpe Ridge. The last person she expects to see there is Luke Roberts.

Circumstances force them to share an apartment. Can Luke protect her when danger threatens? Or is she just a temporary sub in residence?


Possibilities, scenarios, and desires cascaded through Kathryn’s brain like dominoes. Luke’s suggestion that they tick off another item on her sensual to-do list started a slow-burning fire inside her. Warmth flowed through her, building, burning, until it turned into an inferno. Her nipples tingled, and her pussy ached as new desires consumed her.

How Luke made her horny by accepting her refusal was beyond her. She followed him into the kitchen. “Which one?”

He looked over his shoulder. “Huh? Which what? Oh, the things on your fantasy list. I’d never push you to do anything you didn’t want, so like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

Kathryn moved in close. “Tell me what you had planned.”

His slow smile spread over his face. “First, I’d need you naked, your beautiful nipples bare and your cunt wet with desire.”

She should run away and never look back, but his words sent her into sensual overdrive. The intensity in his gaze made her breath catch in her throat. Her cunt was already wet for him, and she craved his hands on her body or his tongue teasing her clit. Lost in a world of desire, she unfastened the top button of her blouse and ran her tongue over her lips. “And then?”

His gaze fastened on her hand as she opened the next button. He coughed to clear his throat, then told her, “Next, I’d run my hands over your curves before rubbing my fingers over your clit. Not that I’d let you come yet.”

She undid the third button. “I’d want to come for you.”

He smiled and undid the next button. “Not yet. Not until I’ve tossed you over my shoulder and carried you into the bedroom.”

Panting slightly, she undid the remaining buttons and slid the blouse from her shoulders. As it pooled on the floor, she unhooked her bra and let it fall atop her blouse. “I’d be so turned on by that. So wet and willing. Would you let me come then?”

His gray-eyed gaze heated with desire. “You’re a very impatient girl. No. You can’t come until I’ve spread-eagled you over the bed and tied you in place. I bought some silk ties especially for us to use. They’d be soft and strong against your wrists and ankles as you writhed for my touch. I’d drive you crazy with desire, always letting you come close to orgasm but backing off rather than taking you over the edge.”

She closed her eyes and unfastened her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. “I’d beg you to let me come.”

Kathryn stood with her breasts bared, her eyes glazed with desire, so turned on by Luke’s words, her breath came in quick, eager pants.

He mesmerized her with his gaze. “You’d have to wait until I’d clamped your nipples and gone down on you. I’d suck your clit and feast on your intimate juices.”

Lost in the pictures their words conjured up, she slid her panties down her legs and stepped out of them. “Would you let me come then? I’d be desperate and needy, on fire for you. I’d want your cock in my mouth or my pussy. I’d let you come.”

As if propelled by an invisible force, he threw her over his shoulder, marched to his bedroom, and tossed her onto the bed. Before she could squeal, he had her tied in place, legs spread to give him easy access to her cunt.

She tested her bonds, but they held her motionless and at his mercy. Luke leaned in and sucked one nipple between his lips, teasing it with his teeth and tongue. Once her nipple stood erect and proud, he fastened a clothespin on it. He repeated everything with her other nipple, again clamping it in a clothespin. “Say mercy if things get too much.”

She nodded and licked her lips, but he resisted her unspoken demand for a kiss and nibbled his way down her belly. A gentle tug at her pubic hair made her squeak and rotate her hips. His fingers rimmed her rear entrance while he lapped at her pussy.

Her eyes opened wide when he slipped his little finger in her ass. “I’ve never… Oh, God, don’t stop.”

He held her on the brink of orgasm, always backing off when he felt her pussy tense. Her hips writhed, and she tossed her head, spreading strands of her hair in a dark curtain across the white pillow. Incoherent with need, she moaned and sighed, her body demanding more.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard her phone ring, but lost in a world of sensation and desire, she ignored it. “Please, Luke, fuck me now.”

He chuckled and kissed his way up her belly, but he still tormented her clit with his fingers. Eyes closed, breath coming in quick, eager pants, she moaned and bucked her hips. Her body felt fevered, so needy she burned from the inside out, and still he stopped before she came.

Luke removed the clothespins, watching as blood rushed back into her nipples. He kissed and licked each in turn, making her moan again. She needed him inside her, fucking her like crazy. She tried to speak, but passion made her voice hoarse. “Please.”


Buy Submission, Secrets and the Soldier at:

Kryssie Fortune is never seen without her kindle. She reads everything and anything she can get her hands on. When she discovered hot, sexy reads, she felt like she’d found her home. The only books she hates are the ones that end with a cliff hanger or have unhappy endings. 

Kryssie tries to set her stories in places she’s explored. Hopefully, it adds color to her writing. Anything can spark a story idea. Sometimes she takes liberties though. The North Yorkshire town of Whitby is one of her favorite places. To keep the details of her imaginary town, Westhorpe Ridge, consistent, she mentally shunted Whitby over the Atlantic and renamed it Westhorpe Ridge.

When not writing, Kryssie loves to walk on the beach of home town, Bridlington, or potter in her garden. Popping down to London to see her family is her favorite thing to do. 

Kryssie currently has thirteen books on general release along with a boxed e-book of the first three Westhorpe Ridge stories. All her stories are M/ F or M/M/F. All are edited by publishing houses in either the UK or the USA. While her stories sizzle with sex, plot comes before bed. Life’s always an adventure going on in Kryssie’s world. 

Wednesday, 27 September 2017

Running away!

John Duncan: Heptu Bidding Farewell to the City of Obb, 1909
Things are reaaaaaally busy at the moment, so I'm taking a few days off the blog to ride away naked and side-saddle on my unpleasant-looking griffinish thingie. Back soon ... hopefully having beaten HSBC into some semblance of co-operation.

HSBC hates me and I hate it back.

Monday, 25 September 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a filthy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's excerpt is from my short story, Wet, which appeared in I is for Indecent - an anthology of taboo erotica. You have been warned...



We made it across the final road to the block concealing the multi-storey car park. There were stairs up to the entrance and a wheelchair ramp and both looked equally impassable to me. I stopped.
‘I not sure I’m going to make it.’

Terry turned to face me and pushed his hand between my legs to take a firm grip, making me moan with equal parts shock and gratitude.

‘Get a room,’ suggested a passer-by cheerily but Terry ignored him.

‘Hold it in,’ he ordered, rubbing my clit. ‘You’re going to get there. Just hold it in.’

Gasping, I nodded. My cheeks were flaming. At any other time it would have been with excitement at his daring.


‘Do you want me to carry you?’

I shook my head and saw he understood; one squeeze and it would all be over.

‘Okay.’ He coaxed me up the stairs one at a time, holding tight to my hand, and we passed into the ground-floor interior of the building. This was a shopping arcade too, but a cheaper one. The stores sold tupperware and greetings cards and food you had to weigh out of tubs and everything-for-£1. They were shuttered but the concourse remained open all night because people were parked upstairs. They drifted through on their way back from pubs and restaurants and cinemas. It wasn’t the sort of place I’d want to be on my own in the small hours.

‘Oh God,’ I whimpered under my breath.

‘I’ll go check the toilets are open.’ Terry dropped my hand and trotted off before I could think to protest. I shuffled forward like a shopping-mall zombie, my thighs clenched and both fists balled at my hips. I felt like I had a fever; I was flushed with heat but plumes of chill kept washing up my spine. The shop fronts and the few passers-by were a blur at the periphery of my vision.

Then came the first little sensation of warmth and I realised I was leaking. I stopped, legs pressed together as if I could hold my urethra closed by brute force, unable to take another step, utterly frantic. There were beads of sweat on my upper lip. ‘Terry!’ I whimpered like a little lost girl.

And there he was, hurrying back to me, his face alight; nodding.

‘Help me,’ I begged him, writhing: ‘Oh please, Terry.’ Then my muscles finally gave way before the inevitable and suddenly there was hot wetness all down my legs and I was pissing as I stood there on the tiled floor. The relief was indescribable, the agony transformed in a second into bliss, but the shame was indescribable too. Tears ran down my face. I was shaking. Some part of me thought to try and save my new shoes so I opened my legs and let my water flood out. Other people were staring at me but I could hardly tell. I had eyes only for Terry who’d stopped a few paces off, transfixed. His pale eyes were wide like he’d never blink again as he watched me pee, staring at my crotch and my spread legs and the pool growing between my feet. I couldn’t look down at myself but I could see his face, his expression of horror and awe.

Slowly, after an interminable period over which I had no control, the soft splashing grew still. I was empty. I shut my eyes. I felt Terry take my hands in his.

‘Come on love,’ he whispered. And he led me away in my wet knickers and stockings. He took me to the enclosed concrete stairwell that we’d descended earlier in the evening. I felt light-headed, almost drunk, with release. I thought we were going up to the car but he pulled me into the short corridor beneath the stairs, his grip on my wrist so tight it was uncomfortable. He pulled up my spattered skirt. ‘Get these off.’

His hands tugged at my panties. Shuddering, I let him draw them down over my bum and my thighs and then I pulled the horrible reeking things off in a twisted wet knot. Terry flung them aside, then shoved me up against the cement wall. He was breathing hard.

‘Dirty girl,’ he breathed. He grabbed my hand hard and forced it against his crotch, letting me find out for myself that he was so erect that he was nudging out of the waistband of his trousers. Shaken and reeling, I was in no shape to do anything about it. He had to release it himself, with desperate clumsy movements. I stared aghast into his face; it was set and feral and almost unrecognisable. Then he pressed me back against the cold wall and hoiked up my skirt even higher, pushing my feet apart with his own. His hand groped for my sex. It found pubic hair in wet ringlets and, deeper in, a hotter more viscid wetness that’d been in readiness for hours. Where his fingers went the blunt head of his cock followed, and without ceremony he was suddenly inside me, nailing me to the wall.

Anyone could have come in and found us. Anyone could have glanced over the railings and watched.

‘Dirty girl!’ he repeated with a groan, his backside plunging under my hands. My wet hold-up stockings embraced his thighs. ‘What do you think you are? Wetting yourself in public!’


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Saturday, 23 September 2017

End of an era


Today we sold our vinyl at last...

Farewell, both copies of Queen's Greatest Hits

Took all the annuals to Oxfam...

No one has heard of "Project Sword"

And boxed up the *ahem* "toys" so the removal guys wouldn't find them...

It required a larger box than I expected 3:)

We're getting there.